Bingoed

by Patricia Rockwell

  “Oh, my,” said Essie, glancing around so she could see the scene taking place at Bob Weiderley’s table. As Rose spoke to Evelyn, all three women could see a dramatic difference in the faces of Evelyn and Hazel, even from this distance. Both were now smiling broadly. Evelyn stood and hugged Rose tightly. Then all three women sat back down. “That looks like good news, wouldn’t you say?”

  “I would,” said Opal, nodding. “Very good news.”

  Suddenly the intercom sputtered to life, and Phyllis’s voice reverberated through the dining hall.

  “Residents, I am happy to report that we have just received word that Bob Weiderley has come out of his coma. Doctors are cautiously optimistic about his recovery.”

  At the announcement, a cheer arose throughout the dining hall followed by applause. Everyone looked over at Bob’s table and waved to Bob’s tablemates who in turn nodded and waved back to their friends around the room.

  “This is fantastic news,” said Essie. “Once Bob returns, he’ll be able to deal with this Ben Jericho and we can bow out of the picture.”

  “He may wonder where the letter is,” suggested Marjorie, “as he left it on his desk.”

  “Yes,” said Essie, “I agree. We’re going to have to return that letter before Bob comes home.”

  “We?” cried Opal.

  “We broke into his apartment together,” argued Essie, “so we should break in together and return the letter.”

  “Why don’t you just put it in his mailbox?” offered Marjorie.

  “Bob’s not stupid!” countered Essie. “He knows where he left the letter—and it wasn’t in his mailbox.”

  “I know,” suggested Opal, “just give the letter to one of the cleaning ladies. Tell her you found it on the floor and you don’t know where it belongs. She’ll see Bob’s name and she’ll probably put it in his apartment.”

  “I can’t trust that anyone would do that,” said Essie. “A cleaning lady might just give the letter to Violet and she might see that it’s open and read it! No, we have to return it ourselves.”

  Oh, all right, Essie,” said Marjorie. “I’ll help you.”

  “I will too,” Opal agreed begrudgingly.

  “Let’s do it right after dinner,” said Essie. “There’s some piano player performing tonight so most residents will be in the lobby listening and the hallways should be fairly deserted.”

  “We can leave Fay at the computer,” suggested Opal. “Maybe she’ll find something about Violet while we’re breaking and entering.”

  “You’ll have to get the security lock key again,” said Essie to Opal.

  “I know,” said Opal, “and I can snag it if you and Marjorie will distract Phyllis for a minute or two.”

  “Done!” chirped Marjorie.

  “Let’s go!” said Marjorie, “I’d like to finish my burgling early so I can come listen to Liberace or whoever is playing.”

  Chapter Twenty

  “What most persons consider as virtue, after the age of 40 is simply a loss of energy.”

  —Voltaire

  After again swiping the security lock key from the small basket on Phyllis’s desk, Opal joined Essie and Marjorie. The three women parked Fay in front of one of the computer terminals in the family room and then took the elevator back to Bob’s apartment on the second floor. They repeated the same routine they had used previously with Opal standing guard by the corner where the back hallway met the main hallway. Essie and Marjorie removed the lock and slipped quietly inside Bob’s apartment. Once inside, Essie removed the envelope from under her walker seat and placed it back on Bob’s desk in the same position in which she found it—she thought.

  “Does this look natural, Marjorie?” she asked her friend who was standing near the door.

  “Come on, Essie,” whispered Marjorie, “Just drop it and let’s get going.”

  “But I want to put it just like I found it.”

  “I don’t remember what it looked like because you grabbed it while I was in the bedroom.”

  “Come here.”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake!” Marjorie scooted over to the desk. “It looks fine. Leave it and let’s go.”

  “Maybe more like this,” said Essie, turning the blotter sideways and slipping the envelope into the side sleeves. As she lifted up the corner of the large rectangle, Marjorie looked underneath.

  “Essie, what’s that?”

  “What?” She set the blotter to the side of the desk and picked up an aged piece of folded newsprint.

  “Open it,” demanded Marjorie.

  Carefully, Essie unfolded the newspaper article, revealing an old police report from the Hartford Journal of 1995. A short paragraph indicated the arrest and conviction of one Violet Hendrickson for DUI. An accompanying photograph showed the Violet they knew but younger and looking nowhere near as glamorous as she presently did. Marjorie read over Essie’s shoulder. As soon as they had completed reading the short paragraph, the two women looked at each other.

  “Violet has a criminal record,” whispered Marjorie.

  “And Bob knew about it,” added Essie.

  “That’s not good,” said Marjorie.

  “Not if Violet knew he knew,” agreed Essie. “Let’s get out of here. I’m leaving both of these items.” She replaced the newspaper clipping under the blotter and the envelope on top.

  They quickly exited the apartment, replaced the lock, and rolled themselves down the hallway where they caught up with Opal standing guard at the juncture to the main corridor. The ladies rolled together around the corner and down the long carpeted hall. At the elevator, when the door opened, they found themselves staring directly into the faces of the three women who had become known to them as Bob’s girls.

  “Essie!” cried Evelyn, tonight wearing a particularly lovely purple silk scarf wrapped and tied around her head. “Did you hear about Bob?”

  “Yes,” replied Essie, somewhat flustered, “how wonderful! He’s out of the coma, I hear!”

  “Yes, how wonderful!” agreed Opal and Marjorie.

  “I was there in his hospital room when he came to,” said Rose, beaming and squeezing Evelyn’s arm protectively. Hazel stood on the other side of Evelyn, very close to her, somewhat like a guard dog.

  “How is he . . . doing?” asked Essie. “Do the doctors think he’ll be coming home soon?”

  “It’s too soon to tell,” said Rose, “but I know he wants to get back here as fast as he can.” She squeezed Evelyn’s arm again and smiled warmly at her friend. Hazel touched her hand to Evelyn’s shoulder.

  “Did you speak to him?” Marjorie asked Rose.

  “Just a bit,” answered Rose, “then the nurses swished us out of his room so they could run tests. It’s fine with me. Just knowing he’s coming back soon is all that matters, isn’t that right, Evelyn?”

  “Yes!” said Evelyn, who had one small tear rolling down her cheek.

  Essie, Opal, and Marjorie smiled warmly at the three women and then cautiously traded places with them in the elevator. Rose and Hazel both used canes. Evelyn used nothing, but even so she seemed the frailest of the three. Essie, Opal, and Marjorie all used walkers and the small elevator was briefly the site of a major traffic jam.

  “Bye!” all of the women called out to each other as the elevator doors closed.

  “How strange!” said Opal when the three women were alone in the elevator.

  “That they all seemed really happy that Bob is going to be okay?” asked Marjorie.

  “Rose and Hazel are very solicitous of Evelyn,” said Opal.

  “She’s been ill, Opal,” noted Essie, “and undergoing chemotherapy. Did you see how she was walking? Rose and Hazel had to practically hold her up and they were the ones with the canes—not her.”

  “I guess that’s it,” agreed Opal. When they reached the family room, they saw Fay tapping away at the computer keyboard.

  “My goodness, look at her go,” said Marjorie. “What is she doing?”

/>   “Maybe she’s found some more dirt on Violet,” offered Essie. The three rolled their carts over to where Fay was working diligently at the terminal. Fay turned and saw her friends had arrived. She hit the “print” button and the wheels of the printer behind the monitor started to spin and soon dozens of pages of printed material began pouring forth.

  “What is all this?” asked Essie, gathering the pages together.

  “Why don’t you take it and read it, Essie?” suggested Opal. “I should probably see that Fay gets back to her room now.” Opal tapped Fay on the shoulder and motioned that they should leave. Fay rolled the wheels on her chair back and then forward until she was aimed in the direction of the elevator and the two friends headed into the open chamber with the door closing behind them.

  “Do you want me to read some of that, Essie?” asked Marjorie, pointing to the sheets of paper in Essie’s hands.

  “No,” said Essie, shaking her head. “I asked for it, so I’d better read it. I can’t imagine that Fay actually found any real dirt on Violet, but it’ll give me something to do tonight before bed.”

  “I’ll see you tomorrow,” said Marjorie and she headed off down her hallway.

  Essie straightened up her pile of papers, tucked them inside her walker’s compartment and rolled herself down her hallway to her apartment. Once inside, she sat down in her armchair and began to glance at the papers Fay had printed.

  She wasn’t exactly certain what all of the verbiage was. The tops of most of the pages were labeled “Minutes” and there was a date on each page. One page had a heading “Board of Directors’ Annual Meeting, Happy Haven Assisted Living Facility.” The date on each page was “June 15th, 1995.” Hmm, thought Essie. Quite possibly, the minutes from this Board meeting might indicate just what the flack was over the hiring of Violet Hendrickson—why one Board member wanted to hire her—and one didn’t. Did one of the Board members know about Violet’s DUI? Or her past as a college protestor? Unfortunately, the minutes were written in boring prose—and proved very difficult to read with lots of “therefores” and “whereas’s.” Essie had completed about three out of the dozens of pages Fay had printed, when her nighttime aide, Connie, arrived to get her ready for bed and give her her bedtime meds.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  “We’ve put more effort into helping folks reach old age than into helping them enjoy it.”

  —Frank A. Clark

  When Essie awoke the next morning, she was chastising herself for not finishing reading the printed minutes from the Board of Directors’ meeting. She’d left the pile of papers on her end table in the living room. Now, she probably wouldn’t have any time because Prudence was coming over right after breakfast to take her to her doctor appointment. DeeDee’s voice called out and soon her lively Italian morning assistant was cajoling her out from under her warm duvet and whipping Essie into her daily uniform in her typically efficient yet bubbly manner.

  “DeeDee,” said Essie, as she held up her foot to get her shoe laces tied, “what is your opinion of Violet Hendrickson?”

  “Old sourpuss? Ooops, I mean, our Director,” chuckled DeeDee, a hand over her mouth.

  “You’re not too fond of her?” asked Essie.

  “She doesn’t have a very touchy-feely manner,” noted DeeDee, smacking her lips in an exaggerated fashion and then quickly placing her finger to her lips in the “shh” gesture.

  “Does all the staff feel the same?” continued Essie.

  “Most of us, I guess,” answered DeeDee, now helping Essie up and to her walker.

  “What about Sue Barber, the Social Director?” queried Essie as she shuffled out to her living room.

  “Oh, her!” scoffed DeeDee, bringing Essie her pills. “She’s just her flunky.”

  “Flunky?” said Essie, astonished.

  “Yeah,” replied DeeDee. “That woman adores Violet. Why, I’ll never know. Violet is such a cold fish. Why she ever wanted to work at an assisted living facility—let alone got to be a director of one—is beyond me.”

  “Her job has never been in jeopardy?”

  “I guess she must know people in high places, if you know what I mean,” said DeeDee rolling her eyes.

  “Does the job pay well?”

  “Essie, let’s just say that for what she does, it pays really well,” answered DeeDee.

  “You mean she’s incompetent.”

  “More like superfluous,” responded DeeDee. “This place is a well-oiled machine. You know it. We have a great staff and we’re well paid compared to lots of facilities. Violet is really just a figurehead who sits in her office and greets visiting dignitaries.”

  “I saw her handle a rather sticky situation yesterday rather well,” suggested Essie tentatively.

  “Oh, she can be diplomatic. Don’t get me wrong. She knows how to sweet talk and persuade. Unfortunately, she tends to use those skills more for her own benefit than for Happy Haven.”

  “Hmm,” said Essie.

  “You’re all set, Missie,” said DeeDee, giving Essie a hug. “Now, you’re not going to repeat all of this to Violet, are you?”

  “Absolutely not, DeeDee,” agreed Essie. “And thanks for your honesty.” She smiled and waved goodbye to her aide as DeeDee headed out the door. Essie sat in her chair, her clipboard of crossword puzzles in her lap, and contemplated her next move. Violet Hendrickson required more investigation; that was for sure. As she had some time before breakfast, Essie reached over to the stack of printed sheets next to her telephone where she had left them the previous evening. For some reason, Fay seemed to think that these minutes held some important information. Or maybe, Fay was just dreaming. Maybe she just found Violet’s name listed somewhere and printed everything she could find whether it was meaningful or not. She looked at the page on the top of the pile. Flipping on her table lamp, she brought the small print as close to her eyes as possible and started to read.

  The minutes indicated a rather heated discussion about the finances at Happy Haven. She really didn’t understand what the Board members were arguing about, but it seemed to concern investments in the facility’s holdings. Some Board members believed that Happy Haven needed to diversify their holdings more and other members disagreed. Page after page indicated motions and counter-motions regarding changes to the portfolio. It was excruciatingly boring—sort of like listening to Darrell, her financial advisor, ramble on about the stock market for hours at a time. After about six or seven pages of this, she came to a spot where one Board member made a motion to consider filling the Director’s position at Happy Haven. He noted that the present director was retiring in several months and that they would be obligated to replace him. The minutes indicated that several candidates had applied and had been interviewed. The top three candidates for the position were listed in the minutes. One of those candidates was Violet Hendrickson. After this, the minutes indicated an intense discussion about the three candidates. Ah, thought Essie, now it’s getting juicy.

  “Mr. James Abernathy moved that the Board select Margaret Peterson as the new Director of Happy Haven,” indicated the minutes. Then discussion from fellow members was recorded in the minutes. Ms. Peterson’s qualifications were discussed critically. Following this scrutiny of the first candidate, the same routine was utilized for a second candidate—a Priscilla Hardy. Finally, said Essie to herself, the Board came to their final candidate—Violet Hendrickson.

  “Ms. Hendrickson,” read the minutes, “has the educational qualifications and the experience for this position.” Essie read then about Violet’s background, her major in college, her work experience, and a list of her former jobs. She was duly impressed. Even so, Violet’s qualifications didn’t seem any more stellar than those of the other two candidates.

  At one point, one Board member asked, “Should we not re-interview these three women, seeing as how they all appear to be equally qualified?”

  Another Board member responded, “Since they’re all equally qualified, does it r
eally matter which one we choose?”

  Essie stopped and reread this remark to be sure she had read it correctly the first time. Yes, it appeared the Board didn’t seem to be all that concerned about their choice of director for Happy Haven.

  “I move,” said one Board member, as indicated in the minutes, “that we offer the position of Executive Director to Violet Hendrickson.” Why? Essie asked as she continued to read.

  “I have no problem with the Hendrickson woman,” said another. “Either of the three would be fine. Their qualifications are all relatively comparable. I don’t think we really need to interview them again.”

  So, why Violet? Essie wondered. She continued to read.

  The Board member who had moved to hire Violet added in the minutes, “I knew Ms. Hendrickson’s father years ago. A good family—and a well-placed one. She has a nice social standing—the other two, I don’t know much about their families.” Several other members offered confirmation for this analysis in the minutes, making their remarks sound as if Violet’s social position and family background were of greater importance in qualifying her for the Director’s position than her own education and experience.

  Hmm, thought Essie. I guess they either ignored that DUI or didn’t know about it. Even so, she realized, all of this had happened years ago and Violet had been their Director for the entire time that Essie had been a resident, so for all she knew, Violet was a sterling Director compared to other assisted living facility directors around the country. Could she—should she— hold one indiscretion against the woman? A DUI was not exactly elder abuse. But she couldn’t help but wonder at the cavalier attitude of this Board of Directors—as evidenced by these minutes—the very people who should be most concerned about the welfare of the residents—just doling out the top job to someone based on their family’s social standing. Or at least to Essie’s understanding, that’s what appeared to have happened.