Lost and Found

by Margaret Lake

  Rosemarie stepped back to let Michael in and it was then he noticed the gray-haired security guard standing next to an elderly woman in a wheelchair, her legs covered with a light throw.

  Mrs. Findlayson was very small, shrunken by age, her face and hands wrinkled and spotted. Michael knew from his research that she was eighty-nine, but despite the wrinkles, her faded blue eyes sparkled with youth and vitality. This woman’s body might be failing her, but her spirit was certainly still alive.

  At least the cottage was nicely decorated and well kept by the estate maintenance people. The walls were a clean, bright white with soft floral and landscape paintings hung on the walls. The furniture was nicely padded and upholstered in easy care fabrics and bright colors.

  Michael did notice there were few mementos around and wondered why the residents hadn’t been allowed to have more personal things. A few family photos, some treasured knick-knacks, would make this place feel more like home.

  “Mrs. Findlayson, I’m Michael Broderick, a reporter for the Bankston Daily.”

  “Why so formal, young man?” she replied. “I will call you Michael and you must call me Carla.”

  “Then I shall be honored, Carla.”

  “Sit down. Rosemarie will get you some tea and you can tell me why a reporter would want to interview me of all people.”

  “Actually, there are a couple of things I want to talk to you about. One is the woman who was found sitting on the front porch of the Victorian house you own in Joseph.”

  “Rosemarie, you didn’t tell me she was found at my house.” Carla spoke sharply to her companion. She wasn’t at all upset by the discovery, only that it had been kept from her.

  “You haven’t lived there in many years,” Rosemarie replied calmly, “and there wasn’t any connection to you personally.”

  “All the same, I should have been told,” Carla protested. “And don’t give me any nonsense about it being a shock at my age.”

  “No, Mrs. Findlayson,” Rosemarie smiled slightly. “I know better.”

  “Good,” Carla nodded. “My heart is in fine condition. So is my brain. It’s just this damned body that’s giving out.”

  Carla turned to Michael with a sigh. “They’ll be moving me into the nursing home section pretty soon. They say I’m getting too weak to take care of myself even with Rosemarie here to help me.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that, Carla,” Michael said, his face twisting in sympathy. It was a fate that awaited them all and he only hoped that when his time came, he’d still be as sharp as this woman. And the move, of course, was why the tables were so bare. Almost everything had been packed.

  “Enough of that nonsense. Ask your questions, young man.”

  “First, let me ask Ms. Williams and you, sir,” he nodded toward the security guard.

  “Roger Timmons.”

  “Mr. Timmons,” Michael nodded again. “How have things been around here in general? Anything unusual? Anything that made you uncomfortable or curious?”

  “There have been a few transfers to the hospital and one death, but that’s nothing unusual in a place like this,” Rosemarie replied.

  “I’m usually called when that happens. Either me, or one of the other guards. Deaths usually happen at night.”

  “And what is your role in all of this, Mr. Timmons?”

  “When there’s a death, I have to make sure that the police are called in. The body can’t be released until an officer looks for signs of foul play or neglect.”

  “And what about if a patient is transferred to the hospital?” Michael asked, his fingers busy on the keyboard of his tablet.

  “We don’t have to call the police. The nursing staff is responsible for documenting any bruising or cuts, anything suspicious,” Rosemarie replied. “But with the elderly, almost any touch can cause bruising. Their skin is so fragile, you see.”

  “Yes, I understand,” Michael nodded. He needed to know the procedure to see how easy it would be to spirit someone out of the facility under the pretense that it was a normal transfer or death. And it seemed as if too many people were accountable for someone to get away with it.

  “Do you work in the nursing home section at all?” Michael asked, nodding at Rosemarie.

  “When they are short-handed, yes. But otherwise, all my time is taken up here. Mrs. Findlayson isn’t my only patient, although I’m spending more time with her now that she’s going to be transferred to full nursing.”

  “When is that going to happen?” Michael asked.

  “Day after tomorrow,” Rosemarie replied, patting Carla’s hand. “I’m sorry Mrs. Findlayson. I’m really going to miss you.”

  For a moment, just a moment, Carla lost her composure, then Michael could see the mental stiffening of the woman’s spine.

  “Now don’t you fret, girl. Time ends for all of us and I’ve had a good life, all in all.”

  Michael was lost for words, not because Carla Findlayson was coming to the end of her life, but because she had no family left to hold her hand. Never had children, no brothers or sisters, husband dead for more than ten years. And that’s when Michael became committed to getting justice for those poor lost seniors with nobody to care what happened to them. He’d been committed to the story, of course, but not really to the people and for that, he needed his sister and her friends, including Anna Tomaselli.

  Taking her other hand, Michael smiled, and asked, “Carla, I’d like to be here when you move to your new home. Is that okay with you? I want to make sure you’re settled in and have everything you need.”

  “I would like that very much, young man,” Carla smiled, her voice a bit wobbly.

  “Then you can count on it,” Michael assured her. “Rosemarie, you have my card. Please call me as soon as you know when.”

  “It will definitely be day after tomorrow. Mrs. Findlayson’s room is scheduled to be vacant, but what time depends on staffing. Sometimes a move happens first thing, but more often than not, we wait most of the day for the transfer to take place.”

  “Then I’ll clear my schedule for the day,” Michael nodded firmly. “And if you don’t mind, there are some people I’d like to bring to visit you once you’re settled in.”

  “Now you don’t have to fuss, Michael,” Carla protested, but only halfheartedly. “Nobody likes to be dragged into an old folks home. Too depressing.”

  “Not these people,” Michael laughed, still holding her hand. “In fact, I’m guessing they will be most anxious to meet their landlord.”

  “You mean …?” Carla gushed.

  “Yup. And my sister is one of the women.”

  “Oh, Michael, then yes. I’d very much like to meet them. And don’t tell me a thing about them. I want to find out for myself.”

  Michael was pleased to see that Carla was sitting up straighter and her eyes had recovered their shine. But he sure hoped that shine wasn’t tears.

  “I know you’re not going to like to hear this, Mrs. Findlayson, but you’ve had enough excitement for now,” Rosemarie interrupted, although she hated doing it. It was wonderful to see her charge so happy.

  “Of course,” Michael said, giving Carla’s hand one last pat and rising from his seat. “I will see you day after tomorrow, but I’ll wait until the next day to bring those visitors.”

  “Thank you, Michael,” Carla said simply.

  Michael was just tucking his tablet back into his bag when he turned to the guard escorting him.

  “Just a moment.” Michael turned on the tablet and quickly scrolled to the photos of the wandering seniors. “Do you recognize any of these people?”

  “Well, I saw their pictures in the paper, but that’s about it,” Roger told him.

  “Rosemarie?” Michael asked as she walked over to them.

  “No. Except for the paper, I’ve never seen them,” she replied, handing back the tablet. “But, you know, although this is the biggest senior community in the area it’s not the only one. There are others in duplexes a
nd even single-family homes run by licensed companies. They don’t have large staffs in these homes and they certainly don’t have the extensive facilities or grounds that we have. They keep things affordable for those who would otherwise have no place to go. Mostly, the residents just sign over their Social Security payments to the owners.”

  “And what do they get for that?” Michael asked, very interested.

  “They’re fed, kept warm, have a roof over their heads. Usually two to a bedroom and a common room, a small garden.”

  “No activities? No physical therapy? They never leave the place?”

  “I don’t know that much about them,” Rosemarie protested hotly. “But I do know that they fulfill a need and there’s always someone there to call a doctor or an ambulance if one is needed. Too many seniors end up living in dingy little apartments or even rooms, and if they fall, they might lie there for days without help. Or worse.”

  “Okay. I get it,” Michael murmured, but already he was expanding his research, not to mention his search, for the identities of the men and women that had ended up in his town with no one to care.

  “What are you all talking about?” Carla called to them across the small room.

  “About different types of care available to seniors,” Michael told Carla.

  “And what were you showing them on that tablet thing?”

  “Pictures.”

  “Naked pictures? Porn, I’ll bet,” Carla cackled.

  “You’d love that, wouldn’t you,” he laughed. “No, just pictures of the people we’re trying to identify.”

  “Disappointing, but I’ll take a look anyway.”

  Michael brought the tablet back to where Carla sat impatiently. She felt bad for those poor people … there but for the grace of God and so forth … but this was the most excitement she’d had in forever.

  “This is the first one we found.”

  “Glasses,” Carla snapped and settled them firmly on her face. “Hmm, don’t know him.”

  “And this one?” Michael swiped the screen, then swiped it two more times at the negative shake of her head. When he came to the woman found on the porch of the Victorian, Carla held up her hand to stop Michael from swiping.

  “That’s the lady from your porch,” Michael told her, his heart giving a little leap. “Maybe she’s been there before? A friend?”

  “I don’t know,” Carla murmured, trying to concentrate. “What was she doing when they found her? Just sitting?”

  “No. She was making hand motions, like she was knitting. The doc says it’s muscle memory. Something that you do over and over until it becomes almost automatic.”

  “Knitting?” Carla mused, looking inward. “I wonder if …”

  Carla seemed to shake herself mentally then asked, “Is there any way to turn back time on these photos? I mean, I know they have software to age photos to see what someone looks like when they get old. Can’t they do the opposite?”

  “Now that you mention it, I once saw a video on YouTube where this guy turned a photo of a very old woman into a young woman, mostly by erasing her wrinkles and smoothing out her features. He did it using Photoshop,” Michael replied, raising his eyebrows. He’d bet anything the FBI had that kind of software and he’d call Chief on his way home to find out.

  “That’s a great idea, Carla. I’ll see what I can do and let you know when I see you on move day.”

  “You do that,” Carla smiled, but her face was tired and she had to admit to herself that she needed rest. A good long rest, and maybe the final rest, was coming up sooner than she’d expected or hoped.

  “You’ve been a great help, Carla,” Michael said gently, leaning down and kissing her soft cheek.

  Not wanting to tire her any further, Michael turned and headed out the door. He’d learned a lot and now there might be another lead, if they could reverse time on that photo. And he had another idea for a set of features on elderly care. The planning story would have to wait. This was urgent.

  Michael started up his car and as soon as the Bluetooth connected to his phone, he started to tell it to call Chief. But then he stopped. There was too much information to relay it over the phone. This would have to be face-to-face.

  Chapter Eleven

  Mia sat in the kitchen by herself, wondering what she was going to do for the rest of the day. She needed her car, she needed to get to class, she needed to get out of the house. Not just today. Her life was on the edge. The edge of graduating, the edge of her teaching career, the edge of her own business and right now, she felt like she’d been pushed off the edge.

  Two little paws on her knee and a silky, little head pushing insistently under her hand brought a small smile to her lips. It was hard to enjoy a good pity party when an adorable little dog was looking at her with love in his eyes.

  She’d missed the class, but she could study on her own. As long as she studied, she’d pass the test. She’d never had any problem passing tests and soon she’d be graduating with honors. The landlord had agreed to everything, they’d be signing the lease tomorrow and the contractor was ready to start the repairs on Monday. As for her car and being stuck at home, that was easily remedied. A call to her insurance agent and she’d be provided with a rental while her car was being repaired.

  A couple of calls later, a rental car was on the way and Ashley had agreed to meet her at the house, measuring tape in hand. Ashley had the most experience, although her experience consisted of measuring fabric, not floors and walls. Still, no one would trust Mia with that task. The old rule of measure twice, cut once, did not apply to her. However many times she’d measure the same space, that’s how many different feet and inches she’d get. It was a curse but at least it got her out of a lot of home maintenance projects. Nobody would trust her with hanging a picture or even placing furniture. She’d leave all that to her more artistic friends.

  Thank goodness, her dojang wouldn’t require anything more than mats on the floor and space for visitors to watch from behind safety glass. Mark was going to help her with all that, and she’d base her design, if you could call it that, on her current dojang.

  But waiting for the car to arrive … any waiting at all … was not something that Mia did well either. The agent said it would probably take about an hour because there were no rental agencies in Joseph or nearby Graceville and they got their cars from Bankston.

  Take Sammy out for a walk? No. Suppose the car came early and she wasn’t there. Make a cup of tea? Yeah, that would take up a whole lot of time. Jessica was scouting out other artisans that might want to display their crafts at her shop. It would help to have a variety of styles to attract customers and take the burden off her of supplying all of the stock herself.

  Mia dunked a tea bag in the cup of hot water, muttering to herself. It was hell being all alone with nothing to do but wait. At least she’d be meeting Ashley at the house soon.

  Thoughts of the house brought her to thoughts of Jane Doe, sitting and knitting on the front porch without needles and yarn. What must it be like to have a mind stripped of all that you knew except for one task? And even that was probably more muscle memory than brain memory.

  “That’s it!” Mia shouted to the empty room, startling Sammy into barking. The dog had been sitting at her feet, no doubt hoping for something tasty to drop on the floor, when Mia had her brain wave and startled him into barking at whatever had made her shout.

  “It’s okay, Sammy,” she laughed, reaching down to rub his head and soothe his little doggy fears. “I just had a thought and I’m going to call Mikey.” Not Chief, she thought. He’d just refer her back to Michael. Besides, what was wrong with working with her own brother? Michael was not only quick to pick up on things, but he was just as quick to give her credit for the idea.

  Mia headed for the living room where she’d dumped her messenger bag stuffed with books and things that would have been in her purse if she carried one. Pulling out her phone from the side pocket, Mia quickly pressed Michael
’s speed dial number and waited impatiently for him to pick up.

  “Mikey, I’ve had an idea.”

  “About what?”

  “About Jane Doe, of course.” He must have been writing or deep into research or he would have picked up on what she was thinking.

  “Oh, yeah. Wait a minute. Let me tell you about Carla Findlayson. You’ll never believe …”

  “Okay, you can tell me about Mrs. F after. Just listen for now. Jane knits. I mean really knits, probably from muscle memory, like you’ll probably type on an imaginary keyboard when you end up like that.”

  “Hey! I’m nowhere near …”

  “Yeah, yeah. It’s a long way off. Don’t get all bent out of shape. And no, I won’t be tossing people over my shoulder when I’m old and don’t know who you are. Although not knowing who you are might be a side benefit.”

  “I can just see the headlines now. Old lady Broderick terrorizes nursing home,” Michael laughed.

  “Stop laughing,” Mia demanded. “Listen. There must be knitting shops or craft shops or even department stores that sell yarn. So, that’s where we start showing Jane’s picture around.”

  “Good idea, Mims. Glad you thought of it.”

  “Of course it’s a good idea. It’s a great idea. Me and Ash and Jess can make the rounds. We have a long time to wait until we can move into the house.”

  “Go for it, but you’d better tell Chief.”

  “I will. Gotta run. Bye!”

  “Mimsey, would you just hold on a second!”

  “Can’t hold it in anymore?” Mia laughed. “So, tell me about Mrs. F.”

  “She thinks she knows who our Jane Doe is and she suggested we try to do a reverse aging on the current Jane’s picture.”

  “That’s great! Can you get us copies of the young Jane Doe as well? We might as well show both photos.”

  “Good idea. I’ll get it to you as soon as it’s ready.”

  “Excellent! We’ll start as soon as we get the copies. And Mikey? You might just be the most irritating big brother in the world, but you’re a stand-up guy when it counts.”