“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” questioned Marjorie.
“I’m thinking that he’s on his way here to see Bob,” said Essie. “Is that what you’re thinking?”
“It is,” agreed Opal.
“Me too,” said Marjorie. “And it sounds like his secretary knows what he’s up to or she suspects.”
“That’s what I’m thinking.” said Essie. “Ladies, if that Ben Jericho is on his way to Happy Haven to see Bob, things have just become critical. I don’t know what to do now.”
“Are you afraid he’ll find out Bob’s in a coma in the hospital and try to hurt him?” asked Marjorie.
“Like in the movies?” suggested Opal. “You know, how they inject an air bubble in the poor man’s IV.”
“We can’t let it get that far,” said Essie.
At that moment, the intercom crackled to life with the announcement of the first seating for lunch.
“Come on,” Essie said. “Let’s get Fay and go eat. We’ll need all our strength if we have to confront this Jericho fellow—and for all we know—he may get here sooner than later.”
The three women rolled out of Essie’s front door in single file, like a determined battalion of soldiers on their way to war.
Chapter Fifteen
“Age is something that doesn’t matter, unless you are a cheese.”
—Billie Burke
On their way to the battleground—or in this case, the mess hall—they stopped for Fay who was still seated at the computer terminal. She was, surprisingly enough, wide awake and plunking away at the keyboard. As the women rolled by, Opal motioned for Fay to join them. Fay hit the print button, grabbed the output and added it to several other papers in her fist, and then unlocked the wheels on her chair and pivoted expertly to the tail end position behind Opal. The foursome arrived first at the entrance to the dining hall. Santos was the Maître ‘D’ on duty for the day and he greeted the ladies with delight.
“Miss Essie, Miss Opal, Miss Marjorie!” he exclaimed. “And, Miss Fay! You ladies are first in line. You must hear that we having Cornish game hens today and that there not enough for everyone to have one!”
“Yes,” agreed Essie. “Santos, we’d better all get one of those little birds, or I will hold you personally responsible!”
Santos’s face fell. “Miss Essie, not to worry. I will see you get the bird!” He smiled encouragingly. Essie looked at him pointedly then at her friends. Was he pulling her leg? She suspected that Santos’s English was probably much better than he let on. Oh, well. It didn’t matter. The glass double doors opened from inside and Santos guided the women through the entrance and towards their regular table.
After they were all seated (except for Fay who remained in her wheelchair) and their vehicles parked nearby, the four friends continued their excited conversation while they waited for their fellow diners to be seated. Each quickly glanced at the menus, but Santos was right. The Cornish game hen was the best choice and all four women selected that as their entree when Santos arrived with his order pad.
“Tell Fay what happened,” said Opal to Essie.
“Really, Opal,” replied Essie. “I’m really not sure she understands . . . Oh, all right anyway. Fay, we called Ben Jericho’s wife but she wouldn’t talk to us. Then, we called his secretary and she said he’d left town on a ‘personal’ matter just today and wouldn’t be back for several days.”
“Essie thinks he’s coming here,” whispered Marjorie across the table to the short lady in her wheelchair.
“She doesn’t know what we’re talking about,” said Essie, smiling warmly at Fay. Fay’s eyes were wide as she turned her head from one woman to the other.
“What’s she got in her hand?” asked Marjorie.
“What?” asked Essie.
“Look,” said Marjorie, pointing across the table at Fay who was clutching several sheets of paper in her left fist.
“Here, Fay,” said Opal, gently. “Can I see what you have there?” She reached over and took the papers—pried them actually—from Fay’s hand. She straightened them and thumbed through them—three sheets in all. “My goodness. Look at this.”
“What?” asked Essie.
“Fay, you were very busy at that computer, weren’t you?” questioned Opal. “It looks like she was doing some investigating of her own.”
“You mean more dirt on Ben Jericho?” asked Marjorie.
“No,” responded Opal. “Not Jericho. Violet.”
“What?” gasped Essie.
“This is all material on Violet,” said Opal.
“Our director, Violet. Miss Hendrickson,” clarified Marjorie.
“Let me read,” said Opal with a wave of her hand. “It says here she was involved in a campus protest back in the seventies.”
“Violet was a hippy?” asked Essie. “That doesn’t seem like her at all.”
“Looks like it,” said Opal. “Here’s a photo of her holding a peace sign and giving the finger to the cameraman.”
“Violet?” both Essie and Marjorie said.
“Apparently. This is over thirty years ago. She was just a young teenager here. She looks a lot different with that long straggly hair and the band around her forehead. And, of course, her name is different—probably a maiden name, but it’s her all right.”
“I’d say,” agreed Essie. “If she was involved in political protests, who knows what else she might have done . . .”
“You mean, like poison a resident who’s left five million dollars to Happy Haven?” asked Marjorie.
“Exactly,” said Essie.
“Ladies,” said Opal, holding up her hands to quiet them. “Just because she was a rabble rouser in her youth does not mean she’s a murderer—or attempting to commit a murder.”
“It sure makes me more suspicious,” said Marjorie.
“Me too,” said Essie.
“We’re getting way off track,” argued Opal. “Even if, on the very off chance that Violet somehow did something to cause Bob’s collapse, it’s unlikely that she’s going to attempt anything else while he’s hospitalized. Right now, we have bigger worries. This Ben Jericho appears to be headed this way. When he gets here, what will he do? Will he show up here at Happy Haven?”
“He’ll have to,” said Marjorie. “He sent the letter here. He has no way of knowing that Bob is in the hospital. But as soon as he arrives and says he’s looking for Bob, some staff member will direct him to the hospital—and that isn’t good. What can we do if he gets to Bob in the hospital?”
“Right,” agreed Essie, “we can’t protect Bob from here.”
“Do we really think this Jericho fellow will attempt something at the hospital? We don’t have any evidence that he’s trying to do anything physically harmful to Bob. All he did was write him a letter—hardly a huge lethal threat,” said Opal.
Santos arrived with four lovely little hens, each garnished with creamy cheese sauce, a crab apple, cole slaw, and a potato flan.
“Ooo! Santos! How beautiful!” squealed Marjorie.
“And it smells divine,” added Opal.
“I give you the bird, Miss Essie,” said Santos, placing the plate before her with a polite bow.
“Lovely, Santos!” smirked Essie. Santos took his leave and the women began cutting and eating their poultry meals.
“Fay,” said Essie, “I really wish I knew what was going on in that brain of yours. You obviously know something. You knew about Bob getting that letter that led to his collapse. Now, you find all this information on Violet that suggests she has secrets in her past. Why did you suspect her? Why did you go searching for information on Violet?”
Fay looked wide-eyed as Essie stared at her.
“I don’t think she understands what you’re saying,” said Marjorie.
“She must,” countered Essie.
“Essie,” explained Opal. “Fay understands a lot, but in her own way. You can’t force her. She’ll tell us what she wants us to know in her
own time. Until then, we have to be patient.”
“You’re right, Opal. I’m sorry for pressuring you, Fay,” said Essie. She patted Fay’s hand. Fay took another bite of her hen and smiled.
“I suggest,” offered Opal, “that we try to find out what we can about Violet from the staff—but discreetly.”
“Yes,” agreed Marjorie. “Maybe someone on the staff knows something about where she was before coming here.”’
“When did she come here?” asked Opal. “I’ve been here eight years and she was here when I arrived.”
“She was here when I got here too,” added Essie, “ten years ago.”
“Ten years for me too, Essie,” added Marjorie. “Remember, we came the same year. I don’t think we know much about Violet because she keeps herself so removed from the residents. When I saw her when Bob collapsed the other night I hardly recognized her.”
“I agree. She’s a mystery,” said Essie. “And while we’re looking into Violet’s background, we must keep our eyes open for Ben Jericho. I don’t suppose it’s possible for one of us to station ourselves near the front desk at all times.”
“We wouldn’t need to be there at night, because they lock the main door at nine,” noted Marjorie.
“That’s right,” said Essie. “I know. Phyllis is at the desk most of the day. After five, there’s usually one of the aides there. Maybe we can cue Phyllis that we’re expecting this Ben Jericho and we need her to let us know when he gets here.”
“But what are we going to tell her?” asked Marjorie. “We have no connection to him.”
“I know,” said Opal. “We can tell her that Jericho has been trying to scam one of us and we need to know as soon as he shows up!”
“That’s a great idea! And it’s close to the truth!” said Essie, “except that he’s trying to scam Bob not us! Do you think Phyllis will go for it?”
“I don’t see why not,” said Marjorie.
“All we can do is try. The most important thing is that we don’t let Jericho get to Bob,” said Essie. “Let’s see if we can find Phyllis right after lunch.”
Chapter Sixteen
“In dog years, I’m dead.”
—Author Unknown
The friends laid out their story for Phyllis, the front desk clerk, immediately after their meal. All bunched up at the counter, with Fay in her chair and hanging on the edge of the counter trying to see over, the women described Ben Jericho and his nefarious plot to Happy Haven’s sweet counter lady.
“He tried to get me to write him a check,” said Essie, “from my bank account. If it hadn’t been for my financial advisor I would have given that man most of my savings and I’d never see it again!”
The ladies nodded and made sounds of woe in the appropriate spots during Essie’s heart-rending story. Phyllis listened courteously as she always did when one of the residents had a problem. When Essie was finished Phyllis spoke.
“Essie,” she said, “this is really a serious problem. You really need to talk to Violet about it. We absolutely don’t want this man coming here and trying to bilk our residents out of their money.”
“Uh, no,” replied Essie, gulping. “I’d be . . . uh, too embarrassed to talk to Violet about this. I just don’t want to run into this fellow . . .”
“And she doesn’t want him to pester anyone else here either!” added Opal.
“Essie will be fine, Phyllis,” said Marjorie, “but she’s really just concerned about everyone else here. This man is a real scumbag and we want to keep him from harming any of our friends.”
“Of course,” replied Phyllis. “Actually, he’s probably fairly easy to roadblock. If he should show up, I’ll ask who he wants and whoever he says, I’ll just say that no one by that name lives here.”
“That’s a great idea, Phyllis,” said Opal. “I’m sure that will scare him away.”
“What was his name again?” asked the clerk.
“Ben Jericho,” replied Essie. “Here’s his photograph.” She handed Phyllis the picture that Jericho had mailed to Bob.
“How did you get a picture of him, Essie?” asked Phyllis.
“I . . . uh . . . oh, he gave it to me when he first started talking to me about investments. Sort of a friendly gesture, I thought.”
“At the time,” added Marjorie.
“He called me and he claimed to know people I knew and he said they had invested money with him. Then he came over here one afternoon and showed me all these charts . . . I was going to write him a check, but I told him I wanted to ask my financial advisor first. Then, he seemed sort of scared and he left rather quickly,” explained Essie.
“I see,” said Phyllis, her large, soulful brown eyes looking at all three women sympathetically. “I’m sure I can handle this, girls. Don’t let it worry you anymore. If this Ben Jericho shows up, I’ll send him packing in no time. In the meantime, you really need to tell Violet about this so she can decide what, if anything, needs to be done about this man.”
“We will, we will,” agreed Essie, smiling. Opal and Marjorie smiled and nodded their agreement and then the foursome headed on their way.
“Now what?” asked Marjorie.
“Now, I say back to that computer to see what else we can find on Violet,” said Essie. “Something tells me that what Fay found may be just the tip of the iceberg.”
They rolled into the family room only to discover that both computers were in use.
“What?” exclaimed Essie. “I hardly ever see anyone at those things! Now when we need one, they’re all in use. Just like public toilets!”
“So what should we do?” asked Marjorie.
“I suggest some face-to-face sleuthing,” said Opal. “I’m scheduled for physical therapy this afternoon up in the rec room at three o’clock. I’ll ask around among the therapists to see if any of them know anything about Violet and her background.” With that, she motioned to Fay and the two women rolled over to the elevator to head up to their rooms.
“I’ll go play trivia at two here in the family room. I always like doing that,” said Marjorie.
“Good,” answered Essie, “and, you know, my hair is looking a bit disheveled. I’m going to see if Beverly can squeeze me in for a wash and set.”
“Excellent!” said Marjorie.
“We can report our findings at dinner,” replied Essie. “See you!” The two pals scooted around, each heading for their own rooms and their individual assignments.
Back in her living room, Essie called the beauty shop which was actually just a short distance down the hall and off the family room. She knew the shop would be open this afternoon. If she couldn’t get an appointment, she could always just walk down there and chat with Beverly, the chief beautician, and a really friendly woman. Luckily, however, Bev had just had a last-minute cancellation and she was more than happy to fit Essie in for a wash and set.
Essie made a quick pit stop before leaving. At the moment she really didn’t need to pee, but once she found herself in the chair at the beauty shop, she knew her opportunity to relieve herself would be sorely limited, so she took precautionary measures. Then she was off. In just a few moments, she entered the Happy Haven Beauty Shop. There was one sink and three stations with mirrors and chairs. Two chairs, of course, were unnecessary because Bev was the sole beautician. Two residents were already ensconced in plastic covers in the end chairs. Bev was winding permanent rods in the hair of Dolores Morales at the far end. A woman whom Essie didn’t know was in the nearest chair.
“Essie!” called out Bev, a cigarette dangling from her lips. “Center chair! Are you in luck? Yvette O’Connor just cancelled! Say ‘hi,’ Bruno!”
Essie rolled over to a basket just inside the front door of the small shop and tousled the ears of Bruno, Bev’s lazy but friendly sheepdog. Bev typically worked out of her home, but three afternoons a week, she opened up the Happy Haven Beauty Shop and did a roaring good business. The female residents of Happy Haven were obsessive about having thei
r hair done regularly. Bruno always came with Bev because all of the Happy Haven residents enjoyed his company. Essie grabbed a plastic cover from a hat tree near the wall near Bruno’s basket, tied it around her neck, and scooted over to the center beauty chair. She climbed in.
“That’s okay, honey! Just leave your walker!” shouted Bev, cigarette still clenched between her lips. “I’ll move it in a minute.” Bev put the final curler in Dolores Morales’ hair and tied a plastic scarf neatly around her head. Then she assisted Dolores in climbing down from the movable chair and underneath the only hair dryer at the back of the shop. She flipped the switch and handed Dolores several magazines. Then stubbing out her cigarette in an ashtray on the station behind Essie, she twirled Essie around.
“Now, doll, what are we going to do with you today?” She ran her fingers through Essie’s silky white curls. “My God, I hope I have hair like yours when I’m your age!”
“You won’t want to be my age!”
“What?” teased Bev, “you mean twenty-two?”
“Ninety!” said Essie with a combination of pride and horror.
“That’s impressive, Essie!” said Bev. She got out her equipment in preparation for the haircut.
“Just the regular, Bev,” said Essie, leaning back and glancing over at the other woman in the chair next to hers. This woman had a head full of curlers and was reading a magazine. “Hi,” she said to the stranger. “I’m Essie. I’m on the first floor—C103.”
“Stella Grainger,” replied the woman, reaching out from under her long plastic cape and shaking Essie’s hand. “Second floor—D144.”
“Nice to meet you.”
“Nice to meet you too. I just moved in a week ago.”
“Okay, ladies,” interrupted Bev, “have to break this up. Essie come on, let’s get you washed.” She helped Essie down and over to the sink where she seated her, leaned her back, and then expertly wet and washed her hair with a spray nozzle.
“It’s always nice to meet new residents,” said Essie. “But it reminds me of how long I’ve been here.”
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