Scry Me A River: Suspense with a Dash of Humor (Blood Visions Paranormal Mysteries Book 2)

by Donna White Glaser

  "Now, just wait..." By then, though, Jane was talking to the closed door. She turned to Arie. "Really, Miss Stiles. This isn't going to work."

  "I'm afraid it will have to if we expect to get my grandfather to cooperate. And the thing is, my parents aren't sure how much longer Grumpa can stay in his own home. We're hoping that if he gets used to coming here for the activities and social life, the transition won't be so difficult when the time comes to find him a permanent care facility. I suppose we could explore other facilities, but after I saw how considerate you were with the Bernie Reynolds situation, I felt good about recommending this center to my parents.

  "And besides," Arie rushed on before the director could speak, "I really won't be here that much. I do work, and I get called out unexpectedly. It would probably only be a few hours the first week."

  "Only for a few hours the first week?" Jane was tugging at the collar of her blouse. She seemed a little old to be having a hot flash. Her gaze flicked to the attached bathroom several times. Maybe she had to pee.

  "Definitely," Arie lied. "After that, I'm sure he'll be fine."

  Jane paused slightly while considering the not-so-subtle ultimatum. "I suppose we could give it a try. If any of the residents complain, though, you'll have to stop."

  "They won't even notice I'm there," Arie said, smiling sweetly.

  They were in.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Getting the paperwork and finances squared away took over a week, but during that time, the visions tapered to only a few a day. Evelyn had paid Arie and Grumpa two just-dropping-in-to-say-hello surprise visits, which included an inspection of the refrigerator and a review of their weekly meal plan.

  On the positive side, Arie had a small BioClean job—a factory accident where an employee's sleeve caught in a gear of the machine he was operating, which subsequently ate his hand up to the elbow. In order to thoroughly clean and disinfect the scene properly, they had to be walked through disassembling the machine by the plant manager. Since the sight of blood made him faint, he kept trying to stick his head between his knees while instructing them, which made him fall on his butt more often than not, landing him in the middle of the blood-covered machine parts. That led to projectile puking and a twenty-minute Silkwood shower, which did not make the project go any faster. Grady eventually appropriated a wheeled office chair and a plastic trash can for vomiting purposes. Once he was seated, they were able to trundle him around the work area without worrying about him toppling over. All in all, that doubled the estimated hours, but neither Arie nor Grady minded. More time meant more money.

  When Arie and Grumpa showed up at the activity center at nine the following Tuesday morning, a petite woman in a light-blue smock greeted the pair in the foyer.

  "Mr. Wilston? I'm Cindy, one of the nurses here. We're glad to have you." She shook hands with Grumpa then turned to Arie. "Do you have something you're dropping off?"

  "Me? No. I'm just... I'm going to keep Grumpa company for a while."

  "You are?" Cindy's face crinkled. "I'm sorry, but that's—"

  "It's fine," Jane said as she came up from behind the young nurse. Arie noticed she wasn't using her cane.

  "But Jane—" Cindy said.

  "Do you mind if we call you Harlan?" Jane said to Grumpa. "We believe in promoting a friendly atmosphere in our community."

  "Not at all, Jane," Grumpa said. "I think that's a splendid idea."

  The center director smiled wide enough to show her gums. "Wonderful. Welcome to River Rest." She sailed back to her office without another word.

  Cindy watched her boss's retreating back and shook her head slightly. Arie wasn't sure what the gesture meant, but she filed it away for future reference.

  As before, the main room was filled with seniors involved in different activities. Most were grouped around three banquet tables. One staff member, a young woman with shoulder-length blond hair, sat with a group who appeared to be embroidering pillowcases. Another group was involved with painting wooden birdhouses. Grumpa took one look and headed for the latter, Arie trailing behind.

  As Arie sat down, she noticed Cindy whispering in the ear of the blonde. They both looked over and eyed Arie, who gave them a smile and a finger wave. They looked away, the blonde shrugging. Arie pulled her attention back to the group in time to hear the start of their introductions.

  "I'm Marilee Adams. And you, sir, are very, very welcome here." The woman's voice had a deep smoker's rasp. She was either experiencing a repetitive tic or was trying to bat her eyes. She had short-cropped white hair—hell, they all had white hair—and blue eyes that she'd tried emphasizing with black eyeliner. Unfortunately, it had smudged and bled into the wrinkles around her eyes. "Thank God we have another man around this place. I was getting worried. Alan bats for the other team, so he's no use to us. Even Larry here was starting to look good."

  Almost everyone at the table laughed. The holdout—Larry, obviously—scowled at Marilee. His features seemed cast in a permanent frown, and Arie guessed he was the butt of their jokes more often than not.

  "Well, I certainly don't mind having another man around the place." The gentleman who spoke was one of the quartet Arie had seen huddled under the oak tree the first day she and Grady had come. He wore a navy-blue sweater vest over a striped button-down shirt and was more skilled at batting his eyes than Merilee. "I'm Alan Berkly."

  "Nice to meet you, Al," Grumpa said. "I'm Harlan Wilston." He hitched a thumb over his shoulder. "And this is my granddaughter, Arie."

  "It's Alan, actually. Al sounds like a car mechanic, which I am certainly not." He smiled, but it seemed tinged with bitterness.

  Behind his back, Larry rolled his eyes and pantomimed a "limp wrist." Arie swallowed her distaste and turned her back on him.

  "And this," Alan continued obliviously, "as you might have guessed, is Larry. Marilee wouldn't stand a chance with him, anyway, because he only has eyes for Fabulous Phyllis." Alan performed a seated bow, indicating the woman on his left.

  Arie jumped, recognizing her as the woman Bernie Reynolds had been partying with in the dark office.

  "Fabulous Phyllis" was not amused at Alan's introduction. Like Alan, she was more fashionably dressed than the others, who seemed content with loose-fitting, comfortable clothes. Phyllis Richards was fully decked out in white slacks and a maroon blouse, hair carefully set and curled. Her ears and hands dripped jewelry, and although she had a birdhouse in front of her, she didn't seem to be painting it. She pushed it across the table to Grumpa. "You can have mine. They use us as slave labor for the center's craft sale. I refuse to be exploited."

  "Oh for heaven's sake, Phyl," Marilee said. "You'll be the first one on the bus when we go on the casino trip." She turned to Grumpa. "Ever been on a riverboat casino cruise? I love them. Go every year. The center puts on a big rummage and craft sale. Helps pay for the trip. Some of us who aren't rolling in money"—she smirked at Phyllis—"need a little help with the tickets and all."

  Phyllis rolled her eyes and stood. "This is boring," she announced and walked away.

  Larry stood and hobbled after her. They retreated a few feet away, to a set of armchairs near the window, where Phyllis picked up a magazine. Larry sat down in the chair opposite, though he didn't bother with reading material.

  "My, my," Alan said. "I thought I was the catty one here."

  Grumpa selected a bright spring green for his paint—the color of natural death, Arie noted. Probably best not to mention that little fun fact. Grumpa began applying a base coat to the birdhouse.

  "I can't stand when she acts like she's too good for a little work," Marilee muttered. "All she's got to do is slap some paint on the dang things."

  "You know that's not the problem," the woman sitting next to Marilee said. She was plump and fluffy and had a soft, sweet voice. Arie was pretty sure she'd seen her outside the center the first day, too. Checking over her shoulder to make sure Phyllis wasn't listening, the woman continued in a confidential
tone, dividing her explanation between Grumpa and Arie. "It's the arthritis. Phyl has a hard time holding things like pens or paintbrushes. Never mind needles, though she told me she used to love crocheting. Getting old sucks. I suggest you avoid it as long as possible." Her eyes twinkled into Arie's.

  "I'm not sure how I'll manage that," Arie said. She couldn't help smiling back.

  "Well, probably not if you keep hanging around us old folks. My name's Kathy, by the way. What are you doing here, dear?"

  Arie had wondered if anyone was going to ask. "The director gave me permission to stick around for a while. I'm thinking of getting a nursing degree. Besides, Grumpa gets nervous—"

  "That's enough, missy," Grumpa interrupted brusquely. "You're not here to be socialized. I am."

  "Ho, ho, ho," Alan crowed. "I guess you told her."

  Arie made a face at him, which made him laugh even more. Then his forehead creased, and he tilted his head and stared at Arie.

  Grumpa turned his birdhouse over, examining his paint job. After dabbing paint over a few spots he'd missed, he started applying a second coat. Arie was surprised and a little amused at the care he seemed to be taking.

  "You look familiar," Alan said to Arie. "Have we met?"

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Have we met? That was the other question Arie had been waiting for.

  "Um... not officially," she said to Alan. "But I was here about two weeks ago."

  "You were?"

  Arie nodded. "I work for BioClean 911. We were called in to remediate the area where Bernie Reynolds was shot." She purposely didn't say "shot himself" or mention suicide. Her statement, occurring in one of those inexplicable silences that drop at random into a roomful of chatting people, rang throughout the room.

  Everyone froze, faces turning to Arie. She felt a blush rising from her toes and flaring through her body.

  "She cleans up dead people," Grumpa offered helpfully. He pulled a large plastic jar of lavender paint closer. "So, what happened with this Bernie fella? Anything I need to worry about if I decide to keep coming here?"

  "Why should you?" Larry answered from his chair by the windows. "He was a jerk who killed himself right here in the nurses' break room. Inconsiderate, same as he always was."

  The silence took on a tense electricity. Grumpa either didn't notice or chose to ignore it.

  "Why here?" he asked.

  Excellent question. Arie was impressed.

  Alan glanced around the room, pointedly noting the attention the conversation was getting. Stutters of chatter started up in the wake of his stare. Lowering his voice, he said, "Bernie was always sneaking over here in the middle of the night." He smirked. "Usually with some hooch and a hoochie mama, right, girls?" He waggled his eyebrows at Marilee and Kathy, and his eyes seemed to flicker over to Phyllis.

  Arie knew from the visions that Bernie thought of himself as a "ladies' man." Still... Three?

  Larry harrumphed and pulled himself out of the armchair with a grunt. "Good riddance to bad rubbish." He grabbed a newspaper from the end table and strode toward the bathrooms.

  "Larry!" Kathy said in a mock-scolding tone that would have been entirely at home addressing a kindergarten class. He ignored her and continued on his mission.

  "Now look what you've done." Marilee tittered. "You know he hates to be reminded of Phyllis's checkered past."

  "Sitting right here," Phyllis caroled, though she didn't lower her magazine. "Not deaf yet."

  "Well, you know it's true, dear," Alan said. Turning to Grumpa, he said, "Poor Larry's been carrying a torch for Miss Fabulous since the first day her dainty tootsies crossed the River Rest threshold. Not that she's ever given him the time of day, have you, you hard-hearted hussy? The typical love triangle, actually. Very cliché."

  Phyllis flung her magazine down. "You're a bunch of idiots. All of you. I don't care two hard turds about Bernie Reynolds, and I never did."

  Merilee snorted.

  "All right, folks. Time to clean up and move on." The blond staff member was standing next to the table, hands on hips. "And I do mean move on."

  "Oh, come on, Carly. We were just—"

  She clapped her hands, effectively interrupting Alan's protest. "Time for snacks."

  "Ooh," Kathy said, standing abruptly. "Is it cupcakes today?"

  "Is it ever cupcakes?" Alan muttered under his breath. "One thing Bernie was right about—they run this place like a day care. We're not children."

  Arie noticed he was making quick work of putting his paints away, though. Grumpa, completely absorbed, continued working on his. He'd chosen a light purple and was gently dabbing it on with a small brush. It just looked like a bunch of splotches at the moment, but Arie had a feeling that Grumpa had a bigger plan.

  "That's pretty," she said.

  Grumpa snapped upright. "It's just a birdhouse. How much longer do I have to stay here?"

  Arie wasn't sure if he was trying to stay in character or if he really wanted to leave. She suspected he was embarrassed at being caught taking pleasure in an art project, so she said, "Maybe another hour or so. Why don't you go see what they have for snack?"

  Grumpa scowled and—carefully—snatched up his birdhouse, carrying it over to a drying rack in the back of the room.

  Alan, the only other person remaining at the table, was watching Grumpa, too. "He'll get used to it," he said quietly. "It's hard on all of us." He stood stiffly and grabbed the quad cane from the back of his chair. Using it, he made his way over to the snack area.

  Arie's tummy rumbled, but she didn't join the group. Instead she walked over to a small table shoved against the wall, where Cindy was filling out paperwork. Finally having a chance to really study her, Arie noted that the nurse's hair was lank, not quite greasy, but it could have used a wash. She was rail thin, bags under her eyes, and her nails were bitten so far down to the quick that it looked as though even holding her pen would be painful, especially as tightly as she seemed to be gripping it.

  Cindy's cubby, Arie remembered, had been one that had caught a great deal of Bernie's biomatter. She'd had to throw out several items, including a worn romance novel, a baby pacifier, lotion, and a few other odds and ends. She sat down next to Cindy, and when the young nurse looked up, Arie smiled.

  Cindy's eyebrows rose. "Do you need something?"

  Arie lost the smile. "Oh. No. I'm sorry." She made to rise again, but a look of embarrassment flooded Cindy's face.

  "I'm sorry," she said. "That came out wrong. You just surprised me."

  "I didn't mean to disturb you. You're probably trying to get your work done."

  Cindy's smile relaxed her entire body. She leaned back in her chair. "There's always work to be done. Actually, today's been pretty easy, since not everyone's here."

  Arie looked around the room. "Really? It seems pretty crowded already."

  "We have several residents out on appointments. You know, doctor, dentist, whatever. We have a van that runs them around, and we usually try to coordinate them all so there's less trips. If your grandfather has any medical appointments, be sure to let us know a week ahead so we can book him in."

  "That's nice. I didn't realize that was part of the whole thing."

  "He's a resident, isn't he?" Cindy asked.

  "Of the nursing-home part? No. We—" Arie caught herself. "He lives in town. My folks aren't ready for him to be put in a home yet, but they're starting to have some concerns. They decided it was time to start researching the area's facilities."

  "Oh, I see. So for now, he's a day client. We don't have very many of them. Almost everyone here is a resident of the main facility. And, by the way, it's called a senior care center. Not a nursing home."

  "Sorry."

  Cindy shrugged. "Doesn't matter to me what you call it, but Clarkson gets pissy about it. 'Words have meaning, Cindy.' Not that she would correct you. You're a family member."

  "I'm thinking of going to nursing school. That's one of the reasons I'm hanging out her
e."

  "I was wondering about that," Cindy said. "But listen, if you have any dreams of being Florence Nightingale or dating handsome doctors, you better chuck them. This is a really tough profession. It's not easy, believe me. What's the other reason?"

  Arie looked over her shoulder at Grumpa. "My grandpa has a hard time with people. He gets anxious. He's practically agoraphobic. The only way we could get him here was to tell him I'd stay 'til he settled in."

  "Huh. It's still weird that Clarkson let you stay. It's not really kosher, you know?"

  "I told her my folks are thinking about a more permanent living situation for Grumpa."

  "Ah. Well, that would do it," Cindy said. "They like to use this place as a funnel if they can. That's why it's open to the public and not just residents from the main building."

  "Do you like working here?"

  The nurse seemed to recall herself. "Of course I do. I need this job."

  "Don't we all," Arie said. "Plus, you have a kid, right?"

  Cindy really drew back, caution cloaking her face like a shadow. "Who told you that?"

  "Nobody did. I just figured because of the pacifier. You know? You had it in your cubbyhole when I cleaned it out last week."

  Recognition dawned on Cindy's face. "Oh my gosh, I didn't recognize you. You were with the cleaning service?"

  Arie grinned and nodded. "I can't blame you for not recognizing me. Maybe if I'd come in wearing my yellow Tyvek and booties."

  "Well, no wonder you're looking into nursing. Anything would be a step up from that job. Seriously. I don't know how you do it."

  "I don't mind," Arie said. "It's interesting. And it pays well. The hours aren't great, though."

  "They aren't great in this field either, but it'll be a whole lot better for me when I'm done with school." Cindy raised a victory fist. "Last semester."

  "That's wonderful," Arie said, smiling.

  "It certainly is. I love nursing, especially now that I've heard about your job. Yuck."