After they’d caught up with each other’s news, Sarah got stuck into some revised copy and images for the upcoming Walk for Mental Illness brochures. She knew the group had limited funds and so she did it for cost only. A website make-over for Howie’s Turkey Farm would more than cover any loss.
Then — into the background of Broadmead.
She quickly found that it was operated by Hearthstone Investments. But beyond that, there seemed to be no information.
While Sarah knew that she was supposed to be the expert on all things internet, she called over Grace, who grew savvier by the week.
“Grace — I’m getting a listing for the company that owns that home. But no names, no contacts. All there is is a generic-sounding email.”
Grace slid over to Sarah’s desk on her wheeled chair.
“Hmm. Must be a private concern. I think there are different regulations regarding names, disclosure … for that versus a public company, aren’t there?”
“Maybe. But usually you can at least get a name. It’s as if whoever is running Hearthstone — and Broadmead — doesn’t want to be known.”
“Based on what you told me about the place, I’m not surprised.”
Sarah sat back, for the moment stymied.
Then Grace leaned forward and tapped the screen. “Maybe we should work backwards?”
“Hmm?”
“Start with the home, any trails that lead to it on the net. Reports, or maybe they had some work to be done, something needing approval? See if that leads to Hearthstone … and maybe a name.”
“Brilliant. You should be running this place.”
“Learning from the best, Sarah,” Grace said, sailing back to her own desk, and hi-res images of turkeys looking eager and happy to meet their maker.
And Sarah did as Grace suggested.
Not much popped up, but then — from just a few months back — a report of a break-in. No loss reported, but the owner — Hearthstone — contacted, and a name behind that … Richard Leacock.
It rang a bell.
Searching it, she found that he had an office in the nearby village of Brampton.
Cute village. Even more upmarket than Cherringham. Property prices through the roof.
Leacock was clearly doing a good job keeping his name distant from the nursing home his investment company ran.
She was tempted to call him but thought she … they … might get only one shot at that, so best to wait until she and Jack knew more.
Then — to the website for the Care Quality Commission — the regulator for Care Homes. The euphemistically bland government body also had a suitably vague and maze-like site. Hard to find where one could find a record of any investigations and charges.
Who designs these things? she thought.
Like they’re hiding Easter eggs.
But after going back and forth from the main page to the various off-shoots, she finally found a page that linked to past investigations, and establishments that had been investigated.
She scrolled down the list.
And came to the name ‘Broadmead’.
She wanted to call Jack — but before she could, her phone trilled.
Beth Travers.
And Sarah took the call from her good friend and discovered that — even in a blizzard — word travels fast.
Jack watched Riley attempt to bound through the snow, flopping ahead a few feet then racing back to his previous position as if the white stuff was an enemy to be faced.
Then, to the right, coming over the narrow bridge by the weir, he saw Sarah’s car, moving slowly.
So the road had been ploughed. In the night, Jack thought he’d heard the teams at work. She’d have to park well away from the mooring of the Goose and trek over.
But a cup of coffee and some planning before they went back to Broadmead would be good.
He watched as Sarah began walking along the river edge, the snow less deep there, to where Jack stood outside, a steaming cup of coffee in his hand.
“Morning. Roads all good?”
“Some. Amazingly the old Rav started. Think it may be quite a while before your little Sprite gets out.”
Jack laughed at that. “That’s okay. Going to be a pedestrian for a while. Kids have another day off?”
“God, yes. They’re over the moon. Two snow days in a row! They feel like American kids. Never happens.”
Riley came bounding back and went over to say hello to Sarah.
“Hello boy …” then to Jack. “Seems like Riley loves the stuff too.”
“Does, doesn’t it?” Then: “Come on in. Have a coffee, and … I think I have those biscuits you like.”
“Great.”
And she followed Jack on to the deck of the Goose, then down to the small galley.
Jack topped his coffee off as Sarah took a sip.
“You do like it strong, hmm?” she said.
“’Fraid so. Want to ditch it for some tea?”
“No. Perfect. All that caffeine! Feel more awake already. So let me tell you about Beth.”
“Nice woman.”
“The best, and she had heard about what happened with Archy and Reg. She even knew about the power failure. Her grandmother’s there, Jack. Odelia Travers. Ninety-two years young.”
“Wow. Some name. And some age.”
“Heart of gold, too. I knew her well when I was younger. Pillar of Cherringham.”
“I bet.”
“And Beth’s parents are living in Catalonia, thinking everything is okay. Beth says she doesn’t get to see her grandmother as often as she’d like — but this has her concerned.”
“Hence the call, huh?”
“She asked if we were going to look into things.”
“Hope you told her most definitely. And not just for Odelia. That building is filled with … hard-working people who raised families. Probably war heroes as well.” Jack took a breath.
Things like this got to him.
“Told her we were going there today. We’d check on Odelia.”
“Good. And if Miss Woods doesn’t like our dropping in we can say we were asked by a relative.”
“Perfect.”
Then Sarah told him about her discovery of the owner of the place.
“Brampton. Nice village. You know it?”
“Very upscale,” said Jack. “Guessing this Leacock is doing well running the home?”
“Doing well, if you don’t count the loss of a resident or two.”
Jack finished his coffee. “And this investigation you found,” he said, “No charges?”
“No.” She pointed out a line on the printout she’d made. “But see here … it says a ‘warning issued’. About ‘general conditions’.”
“Guessing that’s food, living quarters, rats in the basement …?”
“Who knows? Couldn’t find out anything else. Guess we might dig up more at the home.”
“Yeah. I wonder … did things change after that report? Get better, get worse? Has there been any follow-up?”
“That’s all they had on the website,” Sarah said.
Jack nodded. “Bet it’s another case of a government agency overwhelmed. From what I saw, the ‘general conditions’ of the place were none too good.”
Sarah took one of the shortbread-like biscuits, and dipped it in her coffee.
“Imagine there will be an investigation now, what with Archy escaping.”
“Funny …’ Jack said. “That word … ‘escaping’.”
“You think it got so bad that—?”
“Don’t know what to think, but — on behalf of Odelia and everyone else stuck there — let’s hope we find out.”
Riley, sitting by the door, made a grumbling noise.
“Looks like he wants to go out and play some more.”
“Guess dogs are like kids. They love the snow.”
Sarah stood up. “Wish I could say the same. Ready to head out?”
“Sure. Just a word of caution—�
��
“What’s that?”
“When we get there … they may not have told the other residents about Archy yet.”
“Oh, right.”
“Could be pretty frightening for them. Perhaps some of them were his friends.”
“Got it.”
Jack pulled on his parka, and cloth cap tight, and after putting their cups in the sink, walked to the stairs up and out of the Goose.
But then he turned to Sarah.
“And you know, for anyone living there, I’d say you’d have good reason to be frightened.”
And they left the boat for the snowy way back to Sarah’s car.
10. No Place Like a Home
Shirley Woods opened the door, and Sarah saw that whatever scowl she had worn previously instantly deepened at the sight of the two of them.
“God, now what the — what are you two doing back here?”
Jack, ever the diplomat when it came to potentially criminal situations, took a step closer.
“Sister Woods, we’re actually here to check up on—” he shot Sarah a glance, “an old family friend, Odelia Travers.”
“She’s fine. They’re all fine, and anyway, visiting hours are over—”
“Except,” Jack said, “for Archy Fleming.”
Wow, Sarah thought.
Jack does know how to play his cards.
And that stopped the home’s senior nurse. Then:
“Like I told the police — he was … confused. Not thinking straight. I — we can’t—”
“You know it was us who found him?” Sarah added, as if trying to give more reasons why they should come in and check on Odelia.
Then Sarah added, “Actually, I found him. Face up, in the snow. And for Odelia, for the others, we’d just like to help.”
Better to use the word “help” than the more ominous find out what the hell is going on, Sarah guessed.
A nod from the formidable Shirley Woods, and the giant door of the place slowly opened.
But before they went in she caught Jack give her a look, a smile … and Sarah realised that when it came to card-playing, she wasn’t exactly without skills herself.
They found Odelia Travers sitting in a corner of a large common room. A muted TV off to one side ran a sitcom with grinning teenagers. Other residents sat quietly at tables or on sofas, some knitting, some dozing, no one looking at the screen.
“There she is,” Shirley Woods said.
Sarah noticed the sister softening a bit — “She’s quite a girl. Even at her age, has a smile for everyone.”
“Thanks,” Sarah said.
Then: “You can see she, the others … all of them, are perfectly fine.”
Shirley Woods walked away. And Sarah, taking the lead, walked over to Odelia. Jack stayed back a bit.
The old woman looked so tiny; sitting all bundled up by the window, looking out at the snow, now glistening in sunlight. She had a napkin between her gnarled fingers that had been twisted and turned, shredding.
“Mrs. Travers?” Sarah said quietly.
The woman turned away from the window, her face immediately confused. Sarah looked at Jack. A small nod there.
“Mrs. Travers, how are you? It’s me, Sarah Edwards.” Then, like a light switch coming on, the old woman’s face brightened, eyes widening. “Sarah, my Beth’s Sarah, yes?”
Now it was Sarah’s turn to smile. “Yes, it is. Glad you remembered.”
“You two …” she kept grinning, “as thick as thieves. I seem to remember that you like those little muffins I baked.”
Sarah laughed. “You bet I did. Raisins, butter …”
“Piping hot!” the woman said, looking away as if she could picture herself pulling a tray of muffins out of the oven for her granddaughter and her best friend.
“Mrs. Travers, I was wondering if … we could talk to you a bit?”
Only now did Odelia take in Jack, standing a few feet to the side.
Odelia’s smile faded a bit. “Talk?”
“Beth asked me to drop by, what with the big storm and everything. And my friend Jack here offered to come along.”
Odelia appeared to think about this for a moment. Then:
“Well, of course. Have a seat you two. If this place wasn’t so understaffed, I’d see if they could manage some tea.” She lowered her voice. “No chance of that happening.”
Sarah pulled a straight-backed chair from a nearby card table close to Odelia, Jack as well. And they sat in the sun streaming from the window, the snowy piles just on the other side of the glass.
“Oh, I’m fine. Place has got, well, a bit run down these last few months. You can see that. But they feed me; make sure I’m all right at night. They could be nicer about it, though …”
Jack cleared his voice. “Mrs. Travers, does it seem like everyone’s being taken care of okay?”
“Everyone? Hmm,” Then she stopped. “You’re an American, aren’t you.”
Jack laughed. “Why, yes I am.”
A big smile from Odelia. “Always liked Americans.” Then a look to Sarah. “You two, the two of you, aren’t—?
Now Sarah’s turn to laugh “No. Just good friends.”
She left out any of the detective stuff. This Odelia seemed sharp enough that she could easily put two and two together, and sense that something was wrong here … that something had happened.
In fact — she might well do that anyway.
“Well, to your question, Jack … I have heard people complain. Not getting medications on time, left in bed all day. Me, I’m pretty independent. But such things wouldn’t surprise me. And since these big storms, well … it’s a skeleton crew here, I can tell you.”
Jack nodded. “Big storms,” Jack said. “They really hit the village.” Sarah noticed that he looked at her, maybe unsure about his next question.
“Do you know a resident here … Archy Fleming?”
“Archy! Everyone here knows old Archy.” Again Odelia leaned close. Her voice was already a croaky whisper but she lowered it even more. “Crazy old sod. But the tales he can tell.”
Sarah picked up on that: “Gets a bit confused, does he?”
“A bit? Half the time he doesn’t know where in the world he is. Sometimes cruising the Adriatic, other times ready to meet the Queen.”
That had Odelia laughing. Another twist of the paper napkin between her fingers. “But he’s such a sweet, sweet man … even with most of the marbles out of his jar.”
Jack laughed. “Sounds like you like him?”
“Oh yes, we all do. Funny old Archy. Haven’t seen him this morning though …”
Keeping it quiet here, Sarah guessed.
And something lingered in Sarah’s mind with that. Not quite sure what it was … more instincts, a feeling?
Something here.
“And I guess you know Reg Povey?”
“Reg? Yes, new here. Can’t say I know him as well as old Archy.”
Sarah nodded: “But equally as, um, confused?”
Again, Odelia didn’t seem to understand that question.
“Reg? Haven’t spoken to him much. Like I say, he’s new here.”
Jack pulled his chair a bit closer.
“Odelia, you’ve been here a while, hmm?” he said.
“Oh, yes. Not the best place, probably not the worst.”
“Can you think of any reason why … anyone would want to hurt Archy or Reg?”
As if on cue, Sarah heard a voice booming behind them, a man in a blue tartan robe, fluffy slippers.
“Morning prayers in the main chapel, eight a.m. sharp!”
Sarah saw who it was …
Reg Povey.
Talk about timing!
“There he is,” Odelia said, sounding relieved. “Hurt him, or Archy? Why on earth would anyone want anything to happen to those two old coots?”
She shook her head at this.
But Sarah guessed some wheels were spinning in Odelia’s mind. “And, and there he
is, fit as a fiddle.” A small smile returned. “Though what chapel he’s talking about, I have no idea. Still — like my husband Arnold used to say … ‘whatever floats your boat’.”
“See you all in the chapel promptly,” Reg announced.
Then he turned to leave the room — but not before glancing over at Jack and Sarah.
Perhaps espying new parishioners for his non-existent church.
But — Sarah thought — he held that look, as if he was about to come over.
Then, in his dementia — or whatever he had — he instead made the sign of the cross, blessing all the souls in the common room and left.
And when she turned back to Odelia, she had also — in kind of a way — left. Staring out the window, gazing at the snow.
Maybe thinking of the countless snowfalls in her lifetime.
It all goes so fast, Sarah thought.
I need to remember that.
She reached out and covered Odelia’s intertwined hands.
“We’ll leave you for now, hmm?”
Odelia nodded.
“But is it okay if we pop around, visit from time to time?” Jack said. And Sarah knew he meant it.
“I — I’d like that,” Odelia said.
Sarah gave those hands a squeeze. “Later then …”
And they got up.
Out in the hallway they ran into Ania, arms full of bed sheets.
“Ania!” Sarah said.
The nurse still seemed tentative, guarded.
Are you still short-staffed because of the storm?”
“Me, changing beds? You could say that …” The nurse looked eager to hurry on.
But Sarah had one quick question.
“Ania — can you tell me where the chapel is?”
Ania nodded.
“The chapel? Yes — it is through the common room — that way.”
She pointed across the hallway to a corridor, then hurried away.
Sarah turned to Jack.
“Why don’t I look in on the morning service — while you see if you can track down our favourite member of staff?”
“Nothing would give me greater pleasure,” said Jack.
Sarah watched him turn and head towards the office.
Would she get any sense out of Reg?
11. Suspects
Sarah pushed open the door to the chapel and peered into the darkened room.
Cherringham--Snowblind Page 5
