“Maybe she’s hurt,” suggested Marjorie who was sitting on her walker, shivering.
“Yes,” added Opal, also on her walker, clutching her palms together in an attempt to warm her hands. “Maybe that husband of hers got drunk and beat her up and then stormed out . . . .”
“And plowed right into another car,” added Marjorie.
“That’s all possible,” replied Essie with a shrug, “but it’s all just hypothetical until we find Maria. So far, no one knows where she is. Maybe she doesn’t even know that Gerald is dead.”
“If she knew he was dead,” said Opal, “you’d think she’d return for Antonio. There’s nothing to prevent her from keeping her baby now.”
“I’m not so sure,” said Essie, as she turned her own walker around and sat on her leather seat and chewed on her lip. “Maria is new to this country. Who knows what she knows or thinks? Who knows what garbage her husband filled her head with?”
“True,” agreed Marjorie. “If that Gerald tried to convince her that he could take her baby from her or send her back to Mexico or any other crazy thing, that poor woman could be hiding . . . even if she does know her husband is dead. Maybe she thinks that Antonio is safer with Santos.”
“It’s hard to know,” said Essie, nodding to Marjorie’s thoughts. She looked over at Fay who was having a quiet private conversation with baby Antonio and was apparently oblivious to the discussion the other women were having. She wondered if Fay was at all aware of the serious situation that the child she held was in. It didn’t appear so. It only appeared that Fay and Antonio were having a delightful time in their own little world. Fay cradled the baby in her arms and pushed the button on her wheelchair. The device moved soundlessly forward and Fay glided around the outside of the chapel slowly, giving Antonio a ride and pointing to all the sparkly sunbeams that pierced through the stained glass windows.
“I think we can probably return to my place,” said Essie to Opal and Marjorie. “It’s been at least an hour since the bug man sprayed.” She glanced at her wrist watch.
“Yes,” agreed Marjorie, “and we need to get back before Antonio starts to get hungry.”
“Which could be anytime,” added Opal. “He’s a greedy little Gus when it comes to his protein drink.”
“Let’s go, then. It’s freezing in here!” said Essie, rising and grabbing her walker handlebars. “Fay, come on! We’re going back to my place! Bring the baby here so we can tuck him back into his basket!” Fay responded quickly and moved her wheelchair back to the three women. She carefully wrapped Antonio’s blankets tighter and handed him to Essie.
“Come on, little papoose!” said Essie to the baby. “Back you go into your carriage! Sorry we have to hide you like this.”
“I think he likes his basket, Essie,” said Marjorie, “At least, he never cries when he’s in there.”
“You’re right,” said Essie. “It’s probably the motion.”
“That’s surely it,” agreed Opal. The women tucked the infant inside the basket and gently closed the lid. Then with Essie in the lead, they headed out of the chapel and down the back hallway, through the family room, and into Essie’s hallway.
As they passed through the empty family room, they noticed a commotion in the lobby, directly in front of the front desk. One of the residents was sitting on the ground surrounded by staff and other residents. A nurse was positioned at the woman’s head, her arm around the resident’s shoulders. All of a sudden, the woman bent forward and heaved her breakfast onto the ground. All the residents standing around moved back cautiously. The staff nurse cradled the woman and helped her lie down. She gestured for one of the staff to go and the young man headed out of the lobby. Essie saw all of this activity with a sideways glance as she led her three friends through the family room and down her hallway.
When they reached Essie’s apartment, Essie motioned for them to remain at the doorway as she entered on her own. She walked around inside, sniffing. When she returned to the doorway, she gave the “okay” signal and the three friends entered Essie’s front door. Fay quickly removed the baby from the basket and motored over to the window with him.
“I think the bug spray odor has dissipated enough, don’t you?” she asked.
“I can’t say, Essie,” said Opal. “My sense of smell isn’t what it used to be. But I still smell something.”
“Me too,” added Marjorie.
“Well, we’re going to have to put up with it,” noted Essie. “At least it’s warm in here. Wait a minute! I have an idea.” She rummaged around in her desk drawer and brought out a small metal spray bottle wrapped in gleaming gold foil. “Here! This should do the trick! It’s Christmas incense! I won it at Bingo the other night. It has frankincense and myrrh in it.” She unwrapped the sprayer and pushed the atomizer on the top of the device. Suddenly a heavenly aroma began to permeate the room. “Doesn’t it smell good?”
“If you say so, Essie,” said Marjorie.
“Yes, Essie, I trust your judgment on smell-related topics,” said Opal.
“What!” exclaimed Essie, placing the sprayer back on the top of her desk. “You mean you two can’t smell all those lovely middle eastern odors wafting around in here?”
“Not really,” admitted Marjorie with a sheepish grin.
“Me neither,” said Opal. “Is it important?”
“What about you, Fay?” Essie asked her plump friend who had stationed herself by the window where she was showing Antonio the snowflakes that were drifting down outside. Fay turned to Essie when she heard her name called. “Can you smell the frankincense?”
Fay took a deep breath, smiled and nodded several times. Then she returned her attention to the baby.
“There!” said Essie to Opal and Marjorie, “There’s someone else with a delicate sense of smell, just like me!”
“My sense of smell is good enough to register when Antonio has filled his britches,” cried Marjorie.
“Mine too!” added Opal. “Besides, Essie, what any of us can or can’t smell is totally beside the point. We need to get Antonio’s glove ready for his next feeding.”
“You’re right,” said Essie, reluctantly. Even so, she rolled around the room and sprayed the holiday scent all around her living room. Opal and Marjorie headed to the kitchen where they began to prepare a new batch of Vigor formula in Antonio’s glove bottle.
“Did anyone see who that was on the floor in the lobby when we passed through?” asked Essie.
“It looked like Adele Anderson,” said Marjorie, “but I’m not sure. Poor thing! Do you think she got food poisoning?”
“She was certainly heaving her meal,” noted Opal with a certain amount of disgust.
“I saw a resident vomit this morning in the dining hall,” added Essie, “when I was down talking to Santos.”
“Maybe it’s bad broccoli,” offered Marjorie. “There was an outbreak of a bad batch of that several weeks ago. It was on the news. Remember?”
“I do,” agreed Opal, standing next to Marjorie while they filled the glove, “but that was in Arizona. There was never a report of any bad broccoli here.”
“Luckily,” said Essie to them as she sat in her lounge chair and picked up her telephone book, “Antonio doesn’t eat broccoli. So, I think we’re okay.”
“You mean, Antonio’s okay, Essie,” replied Opal, primly. “We would only be okay if we didn’t eat any of the tainted broccoli.”
“Now, Opal,” argued Marjorie, “This is all hypothetical. We don’t know that there’s any bad broccoli around. We don’t even know if Adele has food poisoning. Let’s just remain calm and not exaggerate.”
“Yes,” agreed Essie from her chair, “Let’s concentrate on Antonio . . . and finding his mother.”
At that point, Essie’s telephone rang.
“Oh, no!” said Essie. “No one ever calls me!” She allowed the device to continue ringing.
“Essie,” said Marjorie, wheeling herself over to Essie’s side from t
he kitchen. “You can’t just not answer the phone.” Opal followed behind, gesturing for Essie to answer. She handed the glove bottle to Fay then rolled back to Essie.
“It might be about Antonio,” Opal said, motioning for Essie to answer, “or about his mother. Answer it, Essie.”
“That’s ridiculous!” said Essie on the third ring, “No one knows I’m involved in looking for Antonio’s mother . . . at least no one who knows my telephone number.”
“Santos knows,” said Marjorie. Marjorie and Opal hovered beside Essie’s chair, encouraging her to answer the phone as they might encourage someone to capture a poisonous snake that was slithering around loose on the floor.
“But he’s . . . ,” said Essie on ring number four. “Oh, maybe it is Santos. But he doesn’t know my telephone number.”
“Essie, answer the phone!” cried Opal. With a deep sigh, Essie cautiously removed the receiver and carefully put it to her ear.
“Hello,” she said in a tiny voice. She listened a bit then responded, smiling. “Oh, Claudia, dear. Hello.” Placing a hand over the mouthpiece, she whispered to the other women, “It’s my youngest daughter.” Then, returning to the telephone, she continued to listen to her child’s voice on the other end. Soon, her face began to change from a warm expression to one of concern. “But, dear,” she interjected to the unseen Claudia on the telephone, “I really don’t think I’m up for all that!”
“What, Essie?” asked Opal, pushing in front of Marjorie so she could whisper in Essie’s ear and nudging her arm. Marjorie shoved Opal out of the way and moved closer to the phone too so she might be able to hear what Essie’s adult daughter was suggesting that was possibly going to cause a problem for the four elderly babysitters.
“Don’t tell her about the . . . you-know-who,” whispered Marjorie in Essie’s ear. Essie waved her hand at Marjorie and Opal and then cupped it over the ear piece in an effort to drown out the distracting voices in the room. Fay remained blissfully unaware (it seemed) of the little drama taking place around Essie’s telephone as she fed baby Antonio from the glove bottle.
“Yes, dear,” replied Essie to her daughter, “Yes, I heard about the carolers, but I really wasn’t planning on trekking down to hear them. I can usually hear them in my room. They’re always fairly loud.” Essie smiled at Marjorie and Opal who both appeared to catch on immediately to what Claudia was apparently suggesting to Essie on the telephone. They scowled in unison as they watched their friend use her charm to finagle her way out of an obvious invitation from her daughter. “Yes, dear,” continued Essie into the receiver, “I’m thrilled that Kurt has arrived early. Yes, it’s lovely that the three of you want to take me out to dinner and come over to listen to the carolers with me this afternoon . . . .”
Marjorie and Opal responded with wide eyes and open mouths when Essie paraphrased her daughter’s invitation. Obviously, the last thing Essie needed was to have her attention diverted from solving the problem of finding Antonio’s mother by having to entertain her three adult children at a Christmas music festival followed by a dinner out. Marjorie began to gesture to Essie in an attempt to offer a suggestion. Opal, with a competing suggestion in mind, restrained Marjorie’s hands with hers and also tried to get Essie’s attention. Fay continued to feed the baby and smile.
“But, dear!” cried Essie into the phone, “I’m just not up for going out to dinner today!”
Opal and Marjorie nodded vociferously when they heard Essie’s latest excuse. Obviously, if an elderly lady is not up to an outing, she is not up to it. Surely, that would be the end of it. The two women waited frozen for Essie to seal the deal.
“But, Claudia!” exclaimed Essie, “Please!” Essie listened a bit longer and then heaved a huge sigh. “Yes, dear,” she intoned morosely into the phone, “I’ll see you at four.” She slowly placed the receiver back on the phone.
“Essie!” cried Marjorie, stomping her foot, “you can’t go out! You can’t have your children over here!” She stood up straight at her walker and placed her hands emphatically on her hips.
“What about Antonio, Essie?” added Opal, pulling herself up to her full imposing height and expanding her chest. She towered over Essie in her lounge chair. “What about the baby?”
“I’m sorry, girls,” replied Essie, a bit sheepishly, “but my Claudia simply will not take no for an answer. It seems my son Kurt has arrived in town early for Christmas and now that all three children are here they want to take me out to dinner . . . and to the caroling concert this afternoon. What can I say? Claudia says the three of them will be here at four and she’s not taking no for an answer. And she won’t. She’s stubborn.”
“You’re her mother, Essie!” exclaimed Opal, her long, thin face awash with turmoil. “Just tell her to stay home!”
“Just tell her you’re not going,” said Marjorie, in her cheerful but insistent school teacher voice. “Can’t you claim your arthritis is acting up, or something?”
“She’d know that was a lie,” replied Essie with a grimace. “I never let things like arthritis get in my way.”
“That’s true,” agreed Opal. “You’re as stubborn as your daughter, Essie.” The four women sat quietly in a circle for several minutes. The only sound was the occasional coo of a small baby. Eventually, Essie stood up.
“I’m not just going to sit here,” said Essie, finally, with bravado. “I’ve got hours before my children arrive. There’s plenty we can do to find Antonio’s mother before then. And then . . . if we haven’t found her . . . you three can take the baby to one of your rooms until I return from my dinner out. What do you say?”
“Okay,” replied the others enthusiastically. Actually, Fay just nodded.
Chapter Twelve
“The hand that rocks the cradle is the hand that rules the world.”
–William Ross Wallace
When baby Antonio had finally drifted off to sleep for his mid-morning nap, the women parted company and each returned to their own rooms for a while. Essie zipped out to the Happy Haven family room and surreptitiously grabbed a copy of the morning newspaper which had been tossed haphazardly in sections on one of the square card tables in the middle of the room. She glanced around to make sure that no one observed her making off with the paper. Residents were expected to read the newspaper in the family room and then leave it there–in good condition–for other residents to read. Essie ignored this stipulation, slipped the paper into her basket and rolled quickly back down her hallway and into her room. She peeked into her bedroom to make sure that Antonio was still asleep–which he was–and then, she plopped herself down in her comfortable lounge chair and withdrew the newspaper from her walker’s basket.
Quickly she scanned the pages, looking for anything that might provide more information about Gerald Compton’s fatal accident the day before. She knew that local newspapers invariably provided more detailed reports of events that occurred in their area than did local television stations. It was simply a matter of logistics, she reasoned. The television news programs only had a half hour to present the most important, or as Essie often thought, the most salacious, details. Newspapers could get to the deeper aspects of a story. Using her handheld magnifying glass, Essie’s eyes went up and down the columns in Reardon’s small daily paper. Towards the end of the first section, she found a story headlined, “Multi-car collision claims life of local resident.” She immediately began reading the contents of the article, searching for any tidbit that might not have been presented in the television report of the crash. Here she learned again that Gerald Compton was 35. He had worked at Rose Brothers’ Construction. His address was given and she recognized the street as one she knew that was close to Happy Haven, which made sense because Santos had said that Maria walked to work. The article claimed that Gerald Compton was a life-long resident of Reardon and was survived by his father. What? She re-read the last line. What about his wife? Quickly scanning the article, she realized that Gerald’s wife Maria was not even
mentioned. That was strange. What did that mean? Did the reporter just do a shoddy job of checking the facts about Gerald or–worse–could it be that Gerald and Maria were not legally married? If that was the case, the situation for baby Antonio was even more precarious–his citizenship status definitely in question. She would have to be extremely cautious to protect the little fellow until she could find his mother and determine what was going on. If Antonio was discovered and his mother was not, it would very likely mean that he’d be put in a foster home.
She listened for Antonio, but the baby made no sound. Luckily, it appeared that he was not bothered by all the drama going on around him, all of which affected him so directly. Essie re-read the newspaper article. She contemplated the information about Gerald Compton being listed as a life-long resident of Reardon and his only relative being his father. She tried to imagine how this information would have come to light. Gerald Compton had been in a fatal car crash. When this occurred, the police probably looked for identification on him–or in his car–and that information somehow led them to Gerald’s father, not to Maria. Essie reasoned that Gerald must not have had any identifying material on himself or in his car that even mentioned his wife, Maria, but that somehow did mention his father. Possibly, she mused, Gerald was driving his father’s car. If that were the case, the police would immediately contact the father and report to him that Gerald had been killed in the car.
Papoosed: An Essie Cobb Senior Sleuth Mystery Page 8