“Yeah, this was swank living, those apartments. They had stairs going up the outside of the buildings with railings and covered lattices and arched grape arbors at the top. Screened back porches so you could sit out and see over to the river, get the morning sun. And your mom’s grandparents were always cooking cabbage stew with potatoes and onions and ham and carrots in it, and apple cinnamon strudel. The smell would waft all over town because they were cooking up so high. There’re stories about these old buildings that go on forever.”
“You’re not that much older than I am, Brunsvold. I don’t remember any of that and I used to live on Main Street.”
“I just remember hearing about it, Ken, the stories, you know. And another story is that the first real donuts in town were made by Edwina’s grandmother. Bet they really smelled good. Now we’re down to those powdered plastic things at the Sinclair, Wonder bread or whatever. Imagine all those wonderful aromas wafting from those vacant, roofless buildings once, over a town half again this size.”
“There’s somebody in one of those buildings right now.” Kenny said and opened the door on his side. “Do you suppose it’s Myrtle?”
Charlie and Del tumbled out the other side and stopped to look at each other.
“He must have meant Marlys, not Myrtle,” Del reassured Charlie and drew his mega flashlight.
“Just don’t call her ‘honey’, okay?” Charlie could swear she smelled the donuts and the onions and carrots and ham. Why would anybody cook cabbage? There were still vine tendrils attached to the side of the second buildings. “Well, what family were these maternal grandparents of my mom’s?”
“They were Auchmoodys.”
“And Marlys married an Auchmoody. And Kenny told me once that we Auchmoodys knew how to wear a pair of jeans. Because of the color of my eyes?”
“Myrtle’s mother was an Auchmoody. So was Kenny’s grandfather.”
“And so was Edwina’s mother. But I’m adopted. Yet I came from this area. What am I missing?”
“Damned if I know. Those Myrtle eyes have spread everywhere by now, definitely all over the county, probably the country. I heard there were Auchmoodys in Texas during the Civil War. You know, these buildings still smell like sauerkraut? One night a week at The Station, they serve spareribs and sauerkraut. A real big draw. Serve it over mashed potatoes and swimming in juice. Oh, my.”
Charlie and the marshal stood between the two buildings, where the wind had cleared out the snow but for one humongous drift. Charlie wondered if the marshal too was in no hurry to rescue Marlys, who took up half his time and the taxpayers’ money. Not like she could be tried and jailed if she were the murderer. You just had to respect her determination to die and escape the Oaks.
The top of that one drift was as high as the second-floor landing on the inner building, and Kenny stepped out of the hole that once had been its door, carrying a bodylike load. “Del, I need help.”
It wasn’t Marlys this time.
CHAPTER 27
DELWOOD BRUNSVOLD STARTED to race up the steep footprint-pocked drift, but instead, brought it down with him, bringing Kenny and his burden, too.
“Edwina? What the hell were you doing up there?”
“Charlie, have a little compassion here. Christ, she’s your mom. She was probably looking for her childhood memories and her roots,” Kenny said, untangling himself from the marshal, the snow, and Charlie’s mom.
“Looking for Marlys. Ben and I thought we saw her and we were out here trying to avoid the ubiquitous press and—”
“You weren’t smelling sauerkraut and onions and carrots and donuts? Reliving your childhood?”
“Charlie, where do you get this stuff?” Edwina slid out of her enormous coat from the home place and rubbed an ankle. “Trust me, nothing smells worse than sauerkraut and no smell lasts longer, unless it’s cooked cabbage.”
She and Ben had climbed the drift and Edwina had fallen through a rotted floorboard just far enough to get stuck up to her thigh. Ben had kept going. “There really is a floor up there, and some of the walls and part of the roof. And I swear I saw Marlys Dittberner, naked from the waist up.”
“Must of been creepy with the moonlight and the memories and all.”
“Not as creepy as CNN at Viagra’s.”
That’s one of the few things Charlie had often appreciated about her mother. She wasn’t sentimental.
“Where’s Ben?”
“I didn’t see him,” Kenny said. “Or Marlys either. Let’s see if you can stand on that ankle.”
Edwina winced, the ankle was tender. Kenny and the marshal decided to hobble her over to the Jeep and have Charlie and Del take her to the Oaks for a nurse to check it out, since they had to report to the coroner and sheriff anyway. Kenny would check out the CNN invasion at the pool hall and look for Ben and Marlys.
When they arrived with the injured Edwina, Gentle Oaks was once again in the midst of chaos. The sheriff and the coroner had not been able to contact the marshal, who had inadvertently put his cellular on voice mail. There had been yet another death at Gentle Oaks and Elsina Miller was upset because the loved ones of families, her aging angels, beloved of Jesus, had been disturbed in their blessed sleep by pagans.
Charlie didn’t see any pagans but the place had that strange, sour odor left over from dinner still. Edwina identified it as cooked cabbage. Charlie had thought cabbage was eaten raw—like in coleslaw or fish tacos.
“Always seemed to me it grew stronger rather than dissipating.”
“Why do they cook cabbage?” What Charlie had wanted to say was, Did you find out something horrible about my birth mom? Something that would make you hate me like Great-aunt Abigail does? I don’t think I could handle it if you did. But I’d pretend to.
“Beats me. Old people like things cooked, mushy. Probably cook lettuce, for all I know. Actually, it doesn’t taste bad—cabbage cooked with a little milk and butter, salt and pepper. But the smell gets into your clothes and hair, and the furniture even.”
Harvey was getting ruddy from hypertension or dipping into the meds—as well he might. National newscast exposure about murder at Gentle Oaks would certainly have an effect on filling up the sudden explosion of empty beds. “The economy of Myrtle, and even Floyd County, could be at stake.”
It seemed that Doris Wyborny’s roommate would never again beseech all who came near to help her. Which blew the theory that Marlys Dittberner was responsible for the sudden rash of deaths. She had not returned, and the alarm went off only when people with ankle bracelets went out. Then again, Charlie didn’t remember seeing one on Marlys. And she could escape again through the cat door anyway. But Edwina and Ben had seen her on Main Street.
Charlie sort of hoped Kenny had time to get the CNN crew too drunk at Viagra’s to get here, and time to find Marlys and Ben, too. “You know, the Grim Reaper has been long overdue at Gentle Oaks. Maybe he’s just catching up.”
“I’m afraid not with Wilma Overgaard, Miss Charlie,” the jolly coroner said. He always wore a white shirt and a tie. According to the wrinkles, he changed the shirt once a week. Even his jowls were good-natured, jiggling regardless of whether he was laughing or not.
The sheriff was small, slender, and about half bald. Sheriff Drucker squinted, blinked, and pursed his lips at the coroner’s every statement like he was processing information. “Same M. O., but this one was botched. Badly. There’s a murderer loose in this place. No doubt about it. Think it’s time to call in Mildred?”
That got everything on Leland the mortician jiggling. “Oh, let’s do. Time we have some levity around here, right, Harvey? It’s getting depressing.”
They’d gathered in the dining/activities room, Nurse Hogoboom inspecting Edwina’s ankle, Harvey pacing dramatically, hands behind his back. Deep thoughts going on behind knitted brow? Charlie could only hope he was figuring out who was playing Grim Reaper at Gentle Oaks, so that everyone would quit looking at her like she should have this all figured out
by now and so there’d be no reason for her and Edwina not to catch the first plane out of here.
“I will not allow that creature in this facility.” Elsina Miller glared at Harvey Rochester. “Mildred Heisinger is evil. A daughter of Satan and a charlatan.” Her flowered dress had wilted. She was on the verge of tears. Administrators and generals are not meant for the front lines. How did Harvey manage all this?
“No, she’s a psychic,” the sheriff said. “Nice lady, too.”
“Assisted living,” Harvey said, like ancient actors would say Eureka! “That’s the new thing now, you know. Long-term health-care facilities offer a service nobody wants, everyone dreads it. But assisted living is in your own space and there are merely people close by to help you when needed. Closest thing to being in your own home or that of a family member, but this way, you don’t have to upset their lives. Or independent-living apartments with home health-care aides who come in to keep you in your home/apartment. It’s the wave of the future. Everybody would want that service. Elderly. Exhausted caregivers.”
Sherman Rochester, his grandfather, wandered by with socks clanking, poking at nothing but air with his cane instead of using it for balance. His socks, a hospital gown, and droopy diapers were all he wore. He still had hair, still asked the air in the hall in front of him for a smoke. Everybody noticed Sherman but his grandson. The coroner didn’t even giggle. Just blinked.
“Is there anybody here who can live on their own, even that much?” Charlie asked. “With no mind and no memory? Your grandfather could care less if you as a caregiver were exhausted. He doesn’t know who you are or who he is either. All he knows is he wants a cigarette.”
“But we could separate the two wings, Charlemagne Catherine, put a nice central dining room in the less dependent wing. Spruce it up. I don’t know why I didn’t think of this before. I’m a genius.”
Was everybody thinking what Charlie was? The coroner, Sheriff Drucker, Mary Lou Hogoboom, and Edwina watched Harvey thoughtfully. The sheriff’s deputy and Marshal Del appeared sleepy but unconcerned, Elsina simply at the end of her rope. Was this assisted- and or independent-living thing a good way to keep the nursing home viable? Would it mean getting rid of a bunch of human vegetables first? Was Harvey the murderer here?
No wonder law enforcement settled on the most likely suspect and set out to prove his or her guilt. Real life was too up for grabs—just when you think you’ve figured it out … .
Wilma Overgaard sprawled half out of her bed and so did her bedding, as if she’d put up a struggle. Charlie had never seen her anything but flat out and immobile, but then, she had probably only glimpsed her twice. “I’m trying to remember if I heard her when I was here earlier tonight, or if her vocal agony was so persistent the other times I’ve been here. Is she the same one who thinks it’s so hard now to be alive?”
“No one suffers in agony here. How dare you even imply God would allow such a thing,” the administrator said from the doorway. “You should be glad for her. She has gone to the Lord.”
“I am glad for her. I’m glad for all of them but Darla Lempke. I’m a little concerned as to where this all will end.” Wilma Overgaard hadn’t been dead nearly as long as the others, except for Darla. Both of them were fairly fresh kills. Someone had gone on a rampage tonight. Accelerated things. Why? Or was it a copy cat running with the momentum of excitement? Who among the inmates had that kind of mind or mobility? Besides Dolores the tomcat? Who among the staff was in the building to facilitate all the deaths? Or would they have to be, since getting in was easy? How many in the community would be relieved to see some of these people put out of their misery?
“Are we sure Marlys didn’t slip back into the building when no one was looking? She manages to slip out regularly.” Charlie didn’t wish the poor woman to be the murderer here. But she hated to give up on her instincts, too.
Wilma Overgaard had either struggled against her attacker or her body had been mussed up after her death or—what was that idea niggling so far back in Charlie’s head, so weak but persistent? What was it about the mussing that was similar to the other dead bedridden? God, it was so close and so frustrating. Well, she’d better call it up soon, before this whole institution was wiped out.
Or was the Rampant Reaper really doing all involved a kindness?
The national press, the staggering number of already helpless victims murdered, had either convinced the sheriff of Floyd County to call in state and federal officials or had convinced state and federal officials to convince him. Whatever, a passel of investigators descended on poor Gentle Oaks, this time without helicopters or press fanfare, but the Mexicans disappeared anyway. The administrator’s office was commandeered, and to Charlie’s relief, real forensic types roamed the building. Unfortunately, so did the residents, particularly since most of the butt-wipers had fled.
At one point, Charlie and Harvey sat in a corner of the dining/activities room, both gray with fatigue, propping their chins in their hands, elbows on a table. Harvey said, “God, what I wouldn’t give for one of Kenneth’s killer coffees about now.”
“Me, too. But you know what I don’t get about you? How, as an ex-Broadway actor, you can really enjoy what you’re doing here. I mean, after Broadway, how much empathy can you have with people who drool and leave turds behind when they walk down the hall? Who don’t know who they are? I admit I haven’t been here long, but I don’t see scores of grateful relatives clamoring for an encore. Is it just the money? How can there be that much?”
“Well, insurance doesn’t pay that much, but the government shells out once the family fortunes are spent down or the heirs’ lawyers have figured out ways to get around that little problem. Most of the people in here came before the new laws and were able to gift any money they had to their heirs, so we’re largely Medicaid here. But, lovely Charlemagne, after practically starving for so long in the arts and now actually earning a living, having money for investments—it’s a challenge and a turn-on I would never have believed either.”
Harvey was called off to the administrator’s office for interrogation, and Nurse Hogoboom and Elsina Miller allowed out to the dining room. A twit who had no idea what was happening and was too young to have interest in the national news was sent to question Charlie and she fell asleep on him more than once.
The last time he woke her was with an expletive, and behind Charlie, Gladys said, “We got plenty of that.”
The woman had her wrapped leg down and the shoulder strap of a familiar purse hanging from beneath a lacy nightgown.
“I didn’t know Gladys could get herself up and out of bed and into her wheelchair,” Charlie told Elsina, who drooped at another table.
“Neither did Miss Miller,” Mary Lou Hogoboom interjected. “Old Gladys can get herself on and off everything but the freaking pot.”
Charlie took another look at old Gladys, who stared back triumphant and sly. Or maybe in her weariness, Charlie imagined that.
She’d promised herself earlier to spend what she hoped would be her last night in Iowa out at the home place, well away from the erotic complications at Viagra’s. But in the wee hours, she fell into Kenny Cowper’s bed beside her mother, too exhausted by murder to worry about anything so mundane as an oversexed hunk who had the same color eyes she did.
This was not the first time Charlie Greene had been way wrong.
CHAPTER 28
WHEN CHARLIE AWOKE, the bookcase-divided apartment sounded empty but for a dripping faucet. She lay there in the big bed—well, Kenny was a big guy.
We will not think of that.
Right. Wonder how Edwina’s ankle is.
Charlie’s mom had left the not-so-Gentle Oaks long before Charlie last night. Someone must have driven her. Maybe Kenny had come for her.
The ankle was swollen only slightly and Nurse Hogoboom had found some crutches that would suit Edwina. “Lots of people come in here on crutches but they’re soon in walkers, then in wheelchairs, then comas. We
kinda recycle the crutches around town.”
Charlie wondered where Edwina and her crutches had gone.
That sly look on Gladys’ face last night had really startled her. Then again, Gladys could keep track of the number of fictitious boyfriends to needle Charlie about. The old woman might be strong and mobile and clever enough to plan and carry out the demise of some of the weaker inmates at the Oaks. Fighting that purse away from her in the wee hours had been an eye-opener. But Darla Lempke was young, strong, agile, and quick. Yet the coroner/mortician thought Darla too was smothered.
Charlie hated nonfiction, real-life mysteries. But she couldn’t resist mulling puzzles. They just nagged at her.
Harvey wanted to revamp to a ritzier asylum. He’d have to get rid of half the vegetables to do that, and cordon off the cognizant old, so that the assisted and/or “independent” folks wouldn’t be reminded of what was coming next. He was making a good start.
Cousin Helen might wish to get rid of a lot of “born Staudts” so she and Buz could go visit the dark-eyed grandchildren who couldn’t visit here—and enjoy what life they had, in the warmth of Arizona before Gentle Oaks.
And the two skeletal Fatties were certainly mobile and strong enough to chase pretty young aides down the hall and figure out how to propel wheelchairs into fighting positions. Rose could remember enough to read. And then there was poor, clever, unbelievable Marlys Dittberner, perhaps the oldest person Charlie had ever encountered. She could have slipped into Gentle Oaks, committed a few murders, and slipped out again. But why did she keep trying to burrow herself into the grave of the town’s namesake?
And Kenny-of-the-hormones had spent a lot of bucks on this place. Would he inherit some money if his grandma died? Would it be more convincing if a bunch of other Jack Kervorkian needies died first? The problem with puzzles was that there were always too many pieces with edges that didn’t fit. In this one, Darla Lempke stood out like a cut-up piece of a camel swimming in an ocean scene.
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