Shadows in the Night [Hawkman--Book 12]

by Betty Sullivan La Pierre

  “No, they didn't,” Maggie said. “Edna couldn't have babies and they thought about adopting, but never got around to it before they were too old. They both had full time jobs and didn't want to give up their luxuries to raise a family.” She shrugged. “Some people just aren't meant to raise children. At least Edna was honest about it.”

  “When these people died, did you hear any rumors about their deaths?”

  “Nothing out of the ordinary. Except they all died in their sleep of so called heart failure,” Maggie said, raising her hands and letting them flop down on her thighs.

  Hawkman raised a brow. “You heard this about all of them?”

  Maggie nodded. “Yes, now that I think about it.”

  “Who said these things?”

  “Mostly the residents who were their friends.”

  “Did you know if any of them had heart conditions?”

  “We know Ronald did,” George said. “Edna felt more comfortable for him to live in an area where there were people. They lived out in the country with no one around for miles. This way, if he collapsed or had a problem, she felt he could get immediate help. Money was no issue with them.”

  “The next three names are those of your friends, so I won't need to go into those.” Hawkman stood. “I'm off to talk to a few more people. Have a good day.”

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  * * *

  CHAPTER NINE

  Hawkman ambled down the hallway greeting the people who crossed his path with a nod and a verbal hello. He figured, once they got used to his presence, he'd stop and chat. Right now, his eye-patch, cowboy hat and size might intimidate them, especially the women.

  In hopes Perry Foster had returned from lunch, he stepped out of the elevator, rounded the corner, and headed for the man's office. He stopped at the door past Lisa's office, which also said Management, flipped on his recorder and knocked.

  “Come in,” a male voice called.

  Hawkman stepped inside, but saw no one at the desk. He stood for a few moments and could hear the noise of a printer spitting out paper from an adjoining room. “Hello,” he called. “Is this Perry Foster's office?”

  “You've found him. I'll be right with you,” the voice called.

  When the man hustled to his desk and sat down, Hawkman noted he appeared to be in his mid fifties, about five foot six inches, and must have weighed over two hundred pounds. He wore a brown suit, which showed its age by the slick looking fabric. The buttons on his dress shirt bulged to the point they could snap off at the next deep breath. His bald head glowed under the fluorescent lighting and a sheen of sweat glistened on his flabby jowls.

  Foster quickly finished the task on his computer, then glanced at Hawkman with a big toothy smile, and extended his hand. “Hello, Mr. Casey. I'm glad you came to the staff meeting and explained what you're doing here. Very interesting project you've undertaken. I hope you don't find anyone at Morning Glory Haven threatening our sweet Maggie.” He gestured toward the chair in front of his desk. “Have a seat. Mr. Mackle instructed us to cooperate with your investigation as much as we could. So what can I do for you?”

  “Ms. Montgomery tells me you schedule the employees’ work shifts and take care of the outside contracts.”

  “True. Since we require round the clock staff in the Assistant Living and Alzheimer's sections to be on duty, it can get mighty trying at times.”

  “I can imagine. Right now, I'm more interested in the Independent Living quarters and the people you've hired in the last six months, plus outside companies who take care of the cleaning of the building, food preparation, and any other groups who aren't connected with the personnel payroll.”

  Mr. Foster rose and went to a filing cabinet situated behind his chair. After thumbing through several files, he pulled out a couple and plopped them on his desk.

  “Before we get started,” Hawkman said. “I'd like you to know I'm recording this information. I get a more accurate account of what's being said. Besides, I hate taking notes.”

  Perry laughed. “That's a great idea. I've been thinking about getting one of those little contraptions to take to meetings. I hate writing all the stuff down too.”

  “It definitely saves time.”

  “Our food preparation is in-house with our own cooking staff. Also, we have our own cleaning crew. They all go through rigid background checks. We want no felons in our employment.”

  “I've seen your dining room. It's really modern and appears very well run.”

  “Thank you. We're very proud of this facility. Have you seen the recreation rooms or noted the entertainment sponsored by us? It's usually posted on the bulletin board.”

  “No, but I'd like a tour.”

  “Remind me before you leave and I'll have one of our Marketing Directors show you around. Now, back to your question. The only outside business we use is for the ground's maintenance.”

  “Do you have much of a turnover in employees?”

  “Surprisingly, no. Most of our help has been here ever since Morning Glory Haven opened.”

  “How long have you been in operation?”

  “Five years. Our popularity has gone through the roof, and we now have a waiting list for apartments. Not only in this building, but in the other two wings as well.”

  “Do you have many complaints about your service?”

  Perry raised his brows. “Mr. Casey, I can tell you haven't been around old folks much. If they can scream about something, they do. We've always got a bunch running in after the cleaning crew have been in there apartments to tell us they didn't do something right or such and such has been stolen, which I might add, we eventually find in their rooms. So yes, we get complaints, but nothing major.”

  “I can see you have your hands full.” He leaned forward and placed an elbow on the desk. “Would someone be able to steal any poisonous substance from the cleaning crew?”

  “I really doubt it since there are usually two people working side by side, but I guess it could be done.”

  “I'm assuming the gardeners never come inside.”

  “Right, they come once a week and maintain the grounds. We receive the bill on a monthly basis. The lawnmowers and blowers are very noisy, so we recommend they come in the middle of the day when most of the residents are awake.”

  “How about the laundry facilities?”

  “The resident's apartments are wired for washer and dryers if people so desire to have their own. We also have a laundry room, but everyone supplies their own detergents, or whatever they need. So nothing is left once they've finished with the appliances.”

  Hawkman stood and extended his hand. “Mr. Foster, I've taken enough of your time and want to thank you for your cooperation and information. It has saved me hours of work, and I appreciate it.”

  “You're more than welcome.” Perry stood. “Let me get in touch with our Marketing Directors and see if one of them is free to take you on a tour.” He picked up a mobile unit and punched in a number. After speaking into it for several seconds, he placed it back on his desk and glanced up at Hawkman. “Don Jackson will be more than happy to take you for a tour of our wing. He should be here in just a few minutes. If you'd like, you can wait here or out in the lovely lobby area where there's a couch.”

  “Thank you. I'll go sit on the sofa, so you can get back to work.” Hawkman left the office and headed for the large waiting room with it's lovely furnishings. So far the friendliness of this place impressed him. The people he'd talked to seemed to be more than willing to help in this investigation. Maggie had told him some things, and Foster had verified her comments.

  He meandered around the room checking the contents and noticed the bulletin board on a three legged easel near the door. Reading the events, he could see why Maggie liked this place. Something for everyone, even a cocktail hour with a pianist.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  * * *

  CHAPTER TEN

  Hawkman had just moved fr
om in front of the bulletin board when a well-dressed man of about forty-five walked up. He held a mobile unit and a folder in his hand.

  “Hello, you're Mr. Casey, right?”

  “Yes, I am.”

  “My name is Don Jackson. Mr. Foster says you'd like a tour of the facilities.”

  “I hope this isn't cutting in on your work time.”

  He smiled. “Not at all. In fact, it's my job. I know why you're here, as I attended the meeting when you were introduced. I hope there's no problem with our staff.”

  “I don't suspect there is. But I'd like to see the lay of the land.”

  “Okay, let's get started. As we walk, I'll tell you about Morning Glory Haven. We have seventy-six units, which include private studios, and one or two bedroom apartments. They have kitchenettes and the residents may bring in their own microwaves. Also, in each apartment is a spacious common living area.”

  “I've seen Mrs. Hampton's and it's lovely.”

  He waved a hand toward the large room with a jukebox. “This is our social lounge. People can gather and visit or play a game of cards. It can also be transformed into a small auditorium.”

  Hawkman followed him into another area.

  “Here's the billiards room.”

  Walking around the table, Hawkman ran his fingers along the felt edge. “Hey, this is luxurious. I wouldn't mind living here myself.”

  Don laughed. “It's a wonderful place. Our residents are very happy.”

  “I can certainly see why.”

  He opened another door. “Here's our fitness center with the latest equipment; each machine is pressure fixed so the elderly have no problem operating them.” He explained how this was done and pointed out the seats on the equipment so the residents didn't have to stand for any length of time.

  Hawkman scratched his sideburn as he studied the room and ran a hand over some of the metal. “Wow, I'm impressed.”

  “I'm sure you've observed our beautiful landscaped garden, courtyard and walkways.”

  “Yes.”

  “There's a Bistro area at the end of the social lounge, which has twenty-four hour coffee, snacks and refreshments. Then there's our dining room, where meals are prepared fresh, and it's open all day. The residents may eat at any hour they chose.”

  “Mrs. Hampton told me that was her favorite place.”

  “She's not the only one,” Don said as they continued down the corridor. “I'm sure you noticed the elegant fireplace in the sitting area, along with a grand piano. Occasionally, one of the residents will play, or we hire someone in for special functions. There are always events scheduled.”

  “What about telephone and cable?”

  “The apartments are wired for those services, and it's up to the residents if they want to pay for them. There's also a small closet for a washer and dryer in some of the units. We do have a laundry room, for those who don't care to have the appliances in their apartments.”

  On the second floor, Don pointed to an individual working on a jigsaw puzzle in a small alcove, then he gestured toward the computer center. We also have a nicely stocked library with cushioned chairs and tables on the first floor.

  “We have daily activities as well as special events; you probably noted the announcements on the bulletin board. We also have scheduled transportation for those who are no longer driving. There's normally a guest suite available for visitors, or for those who just want to try the place out before committing. You might have noticed we're situated right behind a mall. People can walk over and shop anytime.”

  They ended up back where they'd begun the tour. Hawkman put out his hand. “Thank you, Mr. Jackson. This is quite a place. I can see why you don't have many vacancies.”

  “I enjoyed taking you around.” He handed Hawkman a folder. “This tells you more about Morning Glory Haven and the cost. If you have any questions, my card is in the file. Just give me a call.”

  “Before you go, tell me about those mobile phones I see most of your staff carrying.”

  He held his up. “It makes it a lot easier to stay in contact, and in case there's an emergency, no one has to come looking for us.”

  “Great idea,” Hawkman said. “What happens when there is one? How do you get into the apartment?”

  “Those on duty have a master key. We can at least open the door, if no one can let us in. We stay with the person, after calling 911, but never touch them if they've fallen, as we don't have those skills, and could do them damage. We can place a blanket over their body, but we let the paramedics do their job.”

  “What if someone falls at night?”

  “The alarm goes straight to the emergency line. They have a special code to enter the Independent building.”

  “Sounds like you have all situations covered.”

  “We try.”

  When the two men parted, Hawkman left the building and since it was still early, he decided to go back to the office where he could decipher the recordings he'd taken while talking with management. Possibly this weekend, he could contact some of the deceased's’ kin.

  When he pulled into the parking lot, he licked his lips. A bear claw with a cup of coffee would sure taste good. He hoped Clyde hadn't closed, and hurried toward the donut shop. The lights were still on, and the bronze bell clattered as he opened the door. A big smile creased the face of the baker.

  “Oh, you're one lucky man. All pastries are half off.”

  Hawkman smiled as he pulled money from his jeans pocket. “In that case, I'll take two.” He carried his prizes upstairs and put on the coffee pot. While waiting for it to brew, he plugged the recorder into the wall socket to recharge.

  He settled behind the desk and moved a yellow legal pad toward him, took a big bite of a bear claw and washed it down with a swig of coffee. “Aaah, that's good,” he said out loud.

  Punching on the recorder, he went through the interviews of Lisa Montgomery and Perry Foster. When he finished writing down the needed information, he read through the notes. Fred Horn's personal physician, Dr. Eva Paulson, might well be worth a visit to determine what she thought about her patient's death. It would be interesting to find out more information on those who'd previously passed. He hoped the relatives would be cooperative.

  Hawkman gathered up his notes, and put them into a folder, which he then slid into his briefcase. When he left the office, he met Clyde as he came around the corner of the building.

  “Hey, you're working late tonight.”

  The baker stopped and smiled. “Needed to clean the ovens and it always takes longer when I decide to mop the sticky floors.”

  “Sounds like a messy job to me.”

  He nodded. “Appears you're working overtime too.”

  “Yep, new case,” Hawkman said. “Have a good evening.”

  Both men waved and walked toward their vehicles.

  Driving home, Hawkman went over the people involved in this case and wondered if anything would come of it. It seemed odd to have murders in an old folks home where the patients were destined to spend their last days. The world is a strange place, he mused.

  He felt the tension leave his body as he rolled over the bridge and could see his house. Jennifer had every light on. She usually sat at her computer, but it looked like tonight, something had taken precedence. He drove into the garage and strolled in the front door. The smell of meat baking swirled around his nose.

  “My word, what's going on? I've never seen so many cooking utensils out at one time in this house.”

  A dish towel flung over her shoulder, she moved a pan to the pile in the sink and lifted a large fancy bowl from the cabinet. “Hi, honey. Remember, I told you there had been a death in the Perlick family, and many people have journeyed to their home. A group of us got together and decided to take turns furnishing a dinner for a few days, until the company slows down. I'm fixing it for tomorrow.”

  “That's a very kind gesture from all of you.”

  “You know Carole would do it for us.”<
br />
  “Yes, she would.” He placed his briefcase on the counter and sniffed the air. “It sure smells good. What are you fixing for these lucky people?”

  She counted off on her fingers. “I decided on ham, baked beans and potato salad.”

  He frowned. “So it's all going down the street? I love your potato salad and baked beans, not to mention ham.”

  Patting him on the shoulder, she grinned. “Don't worry, I'm making extra, so there will be plenty for us to have for our meal on Sunday.”

  His sad expression dissolved. “Great, it will give me something to think about besides eccentric old people.”

  She raised her brows. “Shame on you. We'll be old one of these days.”

  He rocked back on his heels and looked at her mischievously. “Didn't you tell me when I took on this case that it'd be a doozie? I'd be talking with a bunch of people who couldn't hear, have a hard time getting around and wouldn't remember what happened fifteen minutes ago.”

  Her cheeks turned pink. “Well, I really didn't mean it. However, you still might have trouble getting reliable information.”

  The timer dinged and she turned off the burner under a big pot of potatoes, put on a couple of mitts and carried it over to the sink where she poured the white cut up vegetables into a colander to drain, then checked the oven. She placed a big butcher block on the counter, then lifted out the pan containing a huge ham, and set it on the board to cool.

  “I can't stand to see all this food in here when I can't have any. I'm going back to my office.” He lifted his briefcase off the counter.

  “Expect Miss Marple to join you. Her nose is really out of joint because I won't allow her in here while I'm cooking.”

  He glanced behind him and sure enough their pet cat was at his heels. “Come on, little nosey. You're welcome to join me tonight. We're being punished something terrible.” Hawkman grabbed the toy stuffed bunny from the floor, then he and Miss Marple disappeared down the hallway.

  * * * *

  Saturday morning, Hawkman arose quietly, so Jennifer could sleep. He had no idea how long she'd stayed up. When he hit the sack, he could still hear her banging around in the kitchen. He grabbed his jeans and a clean shirt out of the closet, then stopped at the guest bathroom to dress. When he went to the kitchen, Miss Marple stood in front of her empty bowl and let out a yowl.