“I know Brittany well enough now that I don’t think she could have done it. She really liked Kyle.”
Wilson raised a brow. “She could be a great actress, playing a role for you.”
“So you think Brittany and her mother were in cahoots or one’s providing an alibi for the other?”
“Could be.” He shook his head. “But I think it’s a long shot. No, my money’s on the known criminal here—Oscar Vargas.”
He held up the paper with the man’s address on it. “Thanks for getting this for me. I owe you.” Then he stood.
Claire knew that was a dismissal. She stood, too. “You’re welcome. I’m glad I could do something to help solve the case. I’d love to get my brother’s stable out from under the dark cloud of suspicion that’s been hanging over it. Will you call Charley and me after the raid?”
“Of course.” Wilson came around his desk to shake her hand. His step had a real bounce to it. “I know you’re both anxious to put this behind you. Hopefully it will be business as usual for your brother by the end of the week.”
“That would be wonderful.” Claire smiled at Wilson and walked out of the bullpen area.
Her steps weren’t so bouncy, though. She didn’t feel as hopeful as Wilson. Any number of things could go wrong during the raid. Even if they caught Vargas, was he really the one who killed Kyle? For no good reason?
And it would be awhile before Charley’s stable was back to “business as usual.” With most of his staff gone, the immigration issues, and the murders on his property, even if someone wasn’t deliberately ruining his business, the effect was the same. Trouble kept piling onto Charley’s shoulders, almost as if by malevolent design.
sixteen:
memories and confessions
Claire stood nervously in the lobby of the Liberty Heights retirement facility in Colorado Springs late Thursday morning, awaiting her brother Charley’s arrival. She hated to bother him in the middle of all his business troubles, but they had a decision to make about their mother. The facility director had called Claire that morning and said they couldn’t wait any longer.
Charley strode through the lobby doors. He had changed out of his typical stable wear and was dressed in black jeans, a white pearl-buttoned shirt with black trim, and a black bolo tie. He wore the same fancy maroon-tooled cowboy boots and fawn-colored felt cowboy hat that he had worn to the stable’s opening event, just two and a half weeks before.
Relieved to see him, Claire approached and gave him a hug. “Thanks for coming. This is going to be so hard.”
He returned the hug, then stepped away but kept a hand on her back. “Seems like today’s my day for tough decisions. I had to let Jorge go this morning. I couldn’t wait any longer because ICE could show up anytime. The immigration lawyer said it was the only thing I could do right now.” He heaved a great sigh.
Looking up, Claire could see how much that decision had cost him. She hoped he had enough emotional reserves left to get through what was yet to come. “I’m sorry. Did he go to Nancy Schwartz’s place?”
“Yes, but he said he’d volunteer—” Charley made quotes in the air. “—for me two days a week after ICE is long gone. We agreed to swap his time for the fees I’m paying the lawyer.”
“Sounds like a good arrangement.”
“For however long it lasts.”
“Speaking of arrangements, did you tell Hank that Outlaw has equine distemper?”
Charley grinned. “Oh yeah, and he ate up the whole story. I saw him leave the barn soon after that, and I followed him. He took out his cell phone and made a call. I heard the words Park and Rec before I ducked back inside. I bet Tom Lindall’s got all of his wranglers scrubbing stalls now.”
“Sounds like Hank’s definitely your spy. Are you going to have to fire him?”
“God, I can’t do that. He’s the best wrangler I’ve got left. Maybe I can just keep him on and feed him stories that will yank Tom’s chain.”
Claire grinned. “That’s downright evil, Charley.”
“Nah, I’m just joshing. I think I’ve caused enough trouble for Tom. I do plan to keep Hank on for a while, though, until I can hire some new wranglers and get them trained. Then I’ll let him go. I’ll just be careful about what gets said on the grounds until then.” He took off his cowboy hat and ran a hand through his hair. “So what’s our agenda here?”
“Lunch with Mom first in the dining room, then we’ll meet with the director.”
“Think she’ll remember us this time?”
“Who knows? If not, hopefully she’ll have a nice lunch with two kind strangers.” Claire smiled lamely at Charley, but his response was just a worried frown.
She linked her arm in his and steered him toward the elevator. In the semi-twilight of mid-stage Alzheimer’s, their mother was currently housed in the Assisted Living section of the complex. Claire had moved her out of an independent living apartment a few months ago. That was when the director had told her that her mother could no longer be trusted with a kitchen after leaving burners or the oven on for hours at a time. Now, she and Charley had another decision to make.
When they arrived at her mother’s room, they found her sitting primly on the edge of her favorite easy chair next to her bed. She was dressed in a nautical-themed pantsuit and clutching a purse. A staff member had opened the door for them. She whispered to Claire that her mother was having a pretty good day, then left. Claire surmised that the young woman had helped her mother get bathed and dressed. Otherwise, her hair would have been a mess and her clothes would have been mismatched.
Claire walked over, squatted in front of her mother, and lightly touched her arm. “Hello Mom, it’s your daughter Claire.”
Her mother tsked. “I know who you are, dear.” She peered at Charley, though, with no sign of recognition on her face.
Claire decided to help her mom out. “My brother Charley and I are here to take you to lunch.”
Claire motioned him over and he bent to take his mother’s hand. “Hi, Mom.”
She looked flustered for a moment. “Charley, oh Charley, how nice of you to come so far to see me.”
Charley opened his mouth to say something, but Claire shook her head. He had been in to see their mother a week and a half ago, and at least twice a month since he and Jessica had moved from Durango to Colorado Springs. Every time, he’d had to tell her that he was living nearby now. Maybe it was time to just drop it.
Charley nodded at Claire and turned to their mother. “No distance is too far to come to have lunch with my mother.” He cupped a hand under her elbow. “Ready to go?”
She let him ease her out of the chair.
When the purse slipped off her lap, Claire grabbed it and rose. “We can just leave this here, Mom. You shouldn’t need it.”
Her mother put out a hand. “A woman always needs her purse. What if I have to pay for a taxi?”
They weren’t leaving the building. Charley’s gaze at Claire over their mother’s head was tender with sadness.
“Here you go, then, Mom.” Claire looped the purse over her mother’s arm. She followed her and Charley out of the room and down the hall to the elevator.
Over lunch in the Liberty Heights dining room, Claire realized her mother thought they were at a restaurant, and Claire didn’t bother to try to correct her. Also, her mother was treating Charley as a stranger again, which Claire could tell was bothering him.
Finally, her mother took a sip of iced tea and dabbed her mouth with her napkin. “You remind me of my son,” she said to Charley.
Before Charley could respond, Claire said, “In what way? What do you remember about Charley?”
Charley shot her a pained look, but Claire gave her head a little shake. Maybe their mother’s memories of Charley would help her recognize that he was sitting across the table from her.
; “Poor Charley.” Her mother shook her head. “Always in the shadow of his big sister, trying to compete with her.”
Uh oh, maybe this wasn’t a good idea.
But their mother went on. “I remember when Claire brought her first spelling paper home from first grade with a big red A on it. She was so proud. Charley was just four, not even in … what’s it called?”
“Kindergarten?” Claire offered.
“Yes. Well, he took a page out of his coloring book and scribbled all over it, like he was writing. He was learning his al … letters … then but couldn’t write any words. Then he put a big red A on the top and brought it to me.”
She chuckled. “Of course, I had to praise him as much as I did Claire. Or even more. It was so sweet. Charley needed my love more than Claire did.”
This was a mistake. Not only had her mother forgotten that Charley was her son, she was talking about Claire in third person now, too. And Charley was blushing and glancing around the crowded dining room awkwardly.
Claire patted her mother’s hand. “I’m sure you love both your children.”
Before Claire could change the subject, though, her mother said, “Oh, of course, though Charley was harder to love. Claire was easy, with her good grades and smiles. But Charley would … do this—” She made a pout with her lips. “—whenever I praised his sister. Then I’d have to find something good to say about him so he wouldn’t act up.” She paused. “I guess I should have found more good things to say to him first.”
“Like when I lettered in football and baseball the same year in high school,” Charley said between gritted teeth.
Their mother waved her hand. “Oh sure, sports are important for boys, keeps them out of trouble, but they’re not as important as grades. I wish Charley had been able to make A’s like Claire instead of B’s. I used to worry how he’d make a living.”
“But Charley’s doing great now.” Claire waved her hand at her brother, whose expression was pained. “Running his stable business and everything.”
Now her mother looked pained. “Something’s wrong.”
Claire leaned over. “What’s wrong? Are you feeling sick?”
“No, no, something’s wrong with Charley’s business. He has to sell it. Right?” Confusion showed on her face, and Claire realized her mother was thinking of the situation with Charlie’s old stable in Durango months ago.
“It’s fine, Mom, just fine.” Charley was gripping his napkin tightly on the tabletop. When Claire looked at him, he shook his head, obviously not wanting to update his mother—again—on the move and to describe the murders and other current problems to her. She would just forget them anyway. “Shall we have some dessert? You like tapioca pudding, right?”
Their mother was looking confused, probably because Charley called her ‘Mom,’ but then she brightened. “Oh yes, and those red fruits.”
“Strawberries?” Claire asked.
“Yes, yes, that’s it.”
After they had eaten their desserts and taken their mother back to her room, Claire turned to Charley while their mother was in her bathroom. “I’m sorry about pushing Mom to talk about you. I thought it would help her remember who you are.”
Charley frowned. “Yeah, the son who always disappointed her, compared to you, who could do no wrong.”
“Don’t,” Claire said. “Don’t let her push you into putting yourself down. You are a capable businessman, a good husband, and a good son. You have nothing to be ashamed of.”
“But I’ll never be as good as you in her eyes or …”
“Or in your own?” Claire turned on him. “Well in my eyes, Charley, you’re better than I am. Better at business, better at sports and more fit, willing to take risks I’m not, and more successful.”
“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me. No way can you think I’m better—”
The bathroom door opened and their mother stepped out. When she saw them, she said, “Oh hello, are you the ones who’re going to take me to lunch?”
Claire and Charley looked at each other.
He reacted first, took her arm, and led her to her easy chair. “We already did, Mom. Your stomach feels full, right?”
She sat and put a hand on her stomach. “Oh, I guess it does. It’s time for my nap then.”
Claire covered her mother’s legs with the afghan that lay folded on the footstool in front of the chair and lifted her mother’s feet onto the stool. “Have a good nap, Mom.”
They both kissed her and eased out of the room. Claire checked the bathroom on the way out, turned out the light, and flushed the toilet her mother had forgotten to flush.
After she closed the door of the room, she turned to Charley. “God, her doctor said this is likely hereditary, that it could happen to us.”
“If it does,” Charley said grimly, “I hope Jessica will just take me out back and shoot me.”
Claire was silent while they rode the elevator back down to the first floor. If it did happen, she would go first. Would she not recognize Charley—or Roger—when he came to see her? A shudder coursed through her.
When they entered the director’s office, they turned down offers of coffee or water.
The director eased his large bulk into his desk chair. “How did lunch with your mother go?”
Charley frowned. “Not good. She didn’t recognize me and had forgotten again that I’ve moved here from Durango.”
“She’s still pretty functional, though,” Claire added.
The director nodded. “Both of your observations match our assessment. We’ve talked to your mother’s doctor, and, unfortunately, there are no other medications he can suggest.”
“What about donepezil?” Charley glanced at Claire. “I did some Internet research on it after a friend mentioned his father had taken it and it helped.”
The director shook his head. “It’s not compatible with her heart disease. As you know, Alzheimer’s is a degenerative disease, and she’s not going to get any better. She’ll just continue to slowly deteriorate, and we’d like to make sure she’s in a safe environment and getting proper care.”
He shuffled a few pages in a file on his desk, probably their mother’s file. “In Assisted Living, we make sure your mother eats all her meals and we administer her medications. So that’s all taken care of. But, she’s been found wandering the halls alone a few times. And that’s not safe, because her balance is shaky, and she’s fallen a few times.”
“What do you do when she falls?” Claire asked.
“If a staff member is present when it happens, we keep her still until we’ve checked for injuries. If she has any pain, we x-ray the area. Thank goodness she hasn’t broken anything yet, but the last thing we want to happen is for her to break a hip. And we certainly don’t want her to wander outside at night.” He nodded at Claire. “As I told you on the phone, these are signs that a client is ready to move on to the next level of care—our secure memory care unit.”
Charley leaned forward. “How expensive is this next level?”
“It is more costly, because of the additional staff requirement, but I’ve reviewed your mother’s long-term care policy, and it will cover most of the expense for two years.”
“Then what?”
The director looked from Charley to Claire, his gaze softening. “With her heart disease, the, ah, prognosis is that she won’t last that long.”
Claire gasped. “Oh, God.”
Charley reached out to squeeze her hand.
“Mom’s dying, Charley.”
Charley swallowed hard. “I think we’ve known that for a while. We just didn’t want to admit it.” He looked at the director. “We’ll do what’s best for Mom. What papers do we need to sign?”
The director pulled out some forms. The two of them initialed and signed all of them, Claire as the primary, with her power
of attorney for her mother’s affairs, and Charley as a family witness. By the time they were through, the words were running together in Claire’s mind and her emotions ran away with her thoughts. When they left the office, Claire was choking back tears.
She turned to Charley. “I’m scared, Charley. Scared for Mom, and scared for me. I’m next, you know. Your older sister is going to become a babbling idiot.”
Charley pulled her into a hug. “Kind of puts my childhood jealousy into perspective, doesn’t it? It’s pretty darn stupid compared to this.” He pulled back and looked at her. “No matter what happens, you’ll be my big sister and I’ll love you. And I won’t think of you as an idiot any more than I already do.” His chest rumbled with a chuckle.
Claire gave him a trembling smile and took a deep breath. “But will you take me out back and shoot me?”
———
The phone rang in Claire’s house late that evening while she and Roger were watching TV after dinner. When she picked it up, Detective Wilson said, “I’m headed for your brother’s house. Can you meet me there? I have some things to tell you all, and I’d rather not have to say them twice.”
“Sure, Roger and I will head over there now.” She hung up.
Wilson had sounded stressed out and wired up. What was so important that he had to convene a meeting at Charley’s house? She rounded up Roger and they hustled into the car. After a tense drive, they were soon at Charley’s house. Wilson’s car sat outside. When they rang the doorbell, Jessica let them in.
“Oh good,” she said. “Detective Wilson hasn’t been here long. I just brewed a pot of coffee, because he asked for some. Want some too?”
After they both said yes, she waved a hand toward the living room. “He and Charley are in there. Claire, could you help me bring in the cups and cookies?”
When Claire and Jessica entered the living room a few minutes later with trays, the men were standing around awkwardly. They were making half-hearted comments about the Broncos’ running game, which Claire knew Charley couldn’t care less about. But Wilson obviously hadn’t wanted to dive into what they were all waiting to hear until everyone was in the room.
3 A Basket of Trouble Page 20