Bingoed

by Patricia Rockwell

  “I decided to try this herbal powder that I’d seen advertised in a magazine. I ordered some and had started to use it—and actually I thought it was working pretty good . . .”

  “So did I!” agreed Evelyn with a coy smile.

  “But that’s what the doctors found in my bloodstream. This weird herb.” And that Marjorie had discovered in Bob’s medicine cabinet, thought Essie.

  “Is that what caused you to collapse, Bob?” asked Essie, now wondering how this information affected her concern that Sue Barber had attempted to kill Bob with a poison-drenched dollar bill.

  “Nope,” said Bob. “My physicians think this herb I was taking might have interacted with one of my prescription drugs.”

  “Did they find any other substances in your blood?” asked Essie.

  “You’re really probing, Essie,” said Bob.

  “She’s been really concerned about you, dear,” said Evelyn softly to her husband. “And she’s been very good to me while you were in the hospital.”

  “Then, no, Essie. They didn’t find anything else.” Bob smiled at Essie who continued to look befuddled as she glanced back at Sue Barber.

  “Then they don’t have any idea why you collapsed?” she asked. “I mean, you yelled ‘Bingo’ and Miss Barber checked your tiles and you had all the correct ones. Then she handed you the dollar bill for winning and then you collapsed.”

  “Actually, Essie,” said Bob, “you’re wrong. Miss Barber did hold out the dollar bill to me, but I never got it. I was on the floor before I could even get my prize!”

  “I can remedy that,” offered Sue Barber, from the sidelines, coming forward and reaching into her purse. “After the EMTs took you away, Bob, I put your winning dollar bill in a plastic bag and stuck it in my purse for safe keeping and to keep it separate from my own money. I figured you’d want your prize when you returned!”

  “You’re right, Miss Barber!” said Bob with enthusiasm. “Give me that huge prize I won so I can hand it over to the ol’ ball and chain.” He smiled sweetly at Evelyn and she gave him a nudge in the ribs. Sue Barber took the dollar out of the plastic bag and handed it to Bob.

  Essie cringed. Was it really safe for Bob to handle? Surely, if it wasn’t, Sue wouldn’t be showing it off so publicly. If Bob collapsed again and poison was discovered in his system, everyone would suspect immediately that it came from Sue’s dollar bill.

  “The final diagnosis,” said Bob, “is that the doctors don’t really know why I collapsed. Isn’t that the way it usually is? They said it was no doubt stress. Ha! I guess you might consider getting married and trying to have a successful honeymoon—all in secret—stressful.” He and Evelyn smiled at each other again.

  “But, Bob,” called out the fat friend, “why’d you have to keep your marriage a secret?”

  “We just didn’t want anyone to make a fuss,” he offered, “and with Evelyn going through all this chemo . . .”

  “Bob wanted to keep everything low-key,” said Evelyn, “but I tried to tell him that happy stress wouldn’t bother me. The stress that bothered me was him being in the coma. But, he’s better now, so I’m feeling much better.”

  “And she’s doing much better too,” said Bob to the crowd. Everyone responded with happy sounds.

  “Looks like it all worked out for the best!” cried out another woman from far across the room.

  “Yes, it did!” agreed Bob, reaching over and giving his new bride a big kiss. The crowd screamed and clapped enthusiastically. Then, as it was evident that the show was over, most started to return to their previous activities. As they dispersed, Evelyn looked up and called to Essie.

  “Essie,” she said. “I appreciate all of your kind support for me while Bob was in the hospital.”

  “And I appreciate it too, Essie,” added Bob leaning forward. Essie sat down across from the happy couple. Fay, Opal, and Marjorie moved closer behind Essie so they could hear the discussion.

  “Essie, if you must know, there’s another reason that I was upset and that possibly led to my collapse,” said Bob.

  “It’s what I told you he wanted to tell me about after Bingo that night, Essie,” added Evelyn.

  “I explained this to my wife . . .” and he smiled again at Evelyn as using this word obviously still felt new to his lips. “Something happened the day of the Bingo game that caused me a huge shock. I didn’t know what to do about it and I was debating how—or if—I should even tell Evelyn. I eventually realized that I had to tell her and I intended to tell her after Bingo—then I collapsed and wasn’t able to explain the problem until just today.”

  “And, Essie, it really isn’t a problem,” said Evelyn. “At least I don’t think it’s a problem.”

  Essie wasn’t certain if this “problem” Bob was speaking of related to the letter from Ben Jericho or the newspaper clipping about Violet Hendrickson’s DUI. She chose one.

  “Could it have something to do with Violet?” she asked.

  “Violet?” asked Bob. “Oh, my! You must mean . . . Essie, are you talking about her DUI conviction?”

  “Is that what you’re talking about?” asked Essie.

  “No,” said Bob, “I don’t know how you know about that. One of the Board members here asked me to look into Violet’s past—and I had hired an investigator to check into her background. Yes, Violet does have a rather checkered past . . .”

  “I’d say,” noted Essie.

  “I don’t know how you know about all of that, Essie,” said Bob.

  “Essie knows a lot of things,” called out Marjorie from behind her friend.

  “She’s very smart,” added Opal. Fay smiled and nodded.

  “Anyway,” continued Bob, “my investigator checked into Violet’s background. After all, she is the Director of the facility where I live—and where my wife lives. I want that person to be qualified and ethical. My investigator found quite a few anomalies.”

  “Like she’s had several different identities to hide her DUI’s,” said Essie.

  “You are a whippersnapper, Essie,” said Bob, shaking his head.

  “Yes,” he said. “We found out all of that. But, Essie, all of that happened years and years ago. Violet was named the Director here over twelve years ago—long after her DUI’s and her identity changing had occurred. And the identity changing occurred to cover up each of the DUIs. There was some scandal in how she was appointed, but my investigators never found anything to indicate that she was culpable in securing her position. And since she’s served in an exemplary fashion for the last twelve years—including not only making Happy Haven financially solvent—which it hadn’t been before—but making it actually profitable, I personally see no reason to doubt her capabilities.”

  “You mean you’re not stressed out because of Violet,” said Essie.

  “Nope,” answered Bob. He looked around. Both Violet and Sue were nowhere to be seen. They had obviously exited with the majority of the residents. Bob and Evelyn were now relatively alone in the lobby with Essie, Fay, Marjorie, and Opal. Phyllis stood behind the counter out of hearing range.

  “So,” said Essie, “it was something else altogether that caused you so much stress that you collapsed at Bingo?”

  “Yup,” said Bob, beginning to sound more and more like John Wayne. At that moment, the main door opened and in walked a man whom Essie (and her three compatriots) recognized immediately. Ben Jericho strode towards Essie who was sitting behind her walker in the center of the lobby.

  “Miss Essie!” he called. When he reached her side, he glanced over to the couple seated on the sofa. “Mr. Weiderley?” he asked.

  “That’s me,” said Bob, reaching out his hand to the man. “Ben Jericho, I presume.”

  “Yes,” said Jericho, as he shook Bob’s hand.

  “My Lord,” said Bob, as he looked over at Evelyn and then back at the man standing in front of him. “You look just like Julia.”

  Essie gulped. She felt a shiver run up and down her back.


  “Mr. Weiderley,” repeated Jericho.

  “I guess you might as well call me Bob,” said Bob, “or—Dad—if you want to. But, I understand if you don’t want to do that.”

  “Uh, Bob,” said Jericho, “I don’t know what to say. It’s been like pulling teeth to discover where you were . . .”

  “You went fishing, Bob,” said Essie.

  “Oh?” said Bob, laughing and glancing again at Evelyn. “That’s what they call lying in a coma nowadays!”

  “A coma!” cried Jericho.

  “Yes, Ben—if I may call you Ben,” said Bob, “and if anyone is the cause of that coma,” he said as he looked pointedly at Essie, “I guess it would be you, Ben.”

  “Me?”

  “Yes, it was your letter,” said Bob, “your letter explaining that you are my son that sent me into a tailspin and evidently landed me on the floor.”

  “I’m so sorry,” said Ben Jericho, kneeling in front of the older man.

  “Now, hey,” said Bob, motioning for Ben to get up. “It’s not as if you intentionally tried to cause it.”

  “I didn’t,” said Ben. “I thought approaching you by letter first would be the best—in case you didn’t want to have anything to do with me. But I just couldn’t wait. I was so excited to meet you. When my Mom told me about you right before she died, I knew I had to find you. I’ve been trying to track you down ever since.”

  “I’ve been doing some tracking too,” said Bob. “I have some investigators myself. So, as soon as I came out of my coma, I had them look into you and your company—this Medilogicos. Quite a place you have there, Ben.”

  “He’s the Donald Trump of medical softeners,” said Essie, nodding.

  “Indeed he is!” agreed Bob, and he and Evelyn laughed together.

  “I just want you to know, Bob,” added Ben Jericho, “that you will not have to worry about your care—if you chose to stay here. I have the financial resources to assist you and I will.”

  “I do appreciate that, Ben,” said Bob, chuckling, but I don’t believe I’ll need any help. I think Evelyn and I will be just fine.”

  “Evelyn?” asked Ben.

  “Yes,” said Bob. “Ben, meet your new stepmother, Evelyn Cudahy Weiderley.”

  “Wow!” said Ben. “Instant family!”

  “Maybe not the least stressful way to acquire a family,” noted Bob, “but still a joyous one!” Evelyn opened her arms and both men folded inside them as she hugged them tightly.

  Essie turned and gestured to her three friends who were standing behind her gawking at the reunion scene taking place before them.

  “I think we’d better leave them alone,” said Essie to her gang. The women nodded in agreement and got in line behind Essie as they headed out towards the family room.

  “I’m exhausted!” said Essie. “All that sleuthing has worn me out!”

  “But, Essie,” argued Marjorie, “all of the plots that you thought were afoot weren’t.”

  “Yes, Essie,” agreed Opal. “Ben Jericho wasn’t a scam artist. Sue Barber wasn’t a poisoner. Violet Hendrickson . . .”

  “Was a drunk driver!” said Essie.

  “And did change her identity three times,” added Opal.

  “But she didn’t do anything to harm Bob,” challenged Marjorie.

  And Evelyn certainly doesn’t seem to be out to get Bob’s money. She seems genuinely in love with him, thought Essie.

  “So she does,” agreed Essie.

  “So after all,” said Marjorie, “all of our detecting work was to no avail.”

  “What?” cried Essie. “To no avail? This was the most fun I’ve ever had!”

  All four of the ladies laughed together and squeezed their walkers and wheelchair as close as possible for a big group hug.

  Epilogue

  “With mirth and laughter let old wrinkles come.”

  —William Shakespeare

  Later at dinner at Essie’s table—because it was obviously Essie’s table—the four women rehashed the day’s developments.

  “Miss Essie,” gushed Santos as he delivered tossed salads to all four ladies. “Is it not the best wonderful news about Mr. Bob and Miss Evelyn?” A big lock of hair fell over his forehead and he pushed it back quickly.

  “It certainly is!” agreed Essie, and in her self-deprecating manner she didn’t even mention her own involvement in the event.

  Santos zipped off to the kitchen with an even livelier skip to his step than usual.

  “I guess love is in the air,” noted Marjorie.

  “You mean Santos?” asked Opal. “Who’s he in love with?”

  “I mean that Bob and Evelyn’s romance has inspired everyone. The whole staff is just beaming,” replied Marjorie.

  Opal noticed Essie’s less than joyful expression. “What is it, Essie?” she asked.

  “Aren’t you as excited for Bob and Evelyn as the rest of us?” queried Marjorie.

  “Of course I am,” responded Essie. “It’s just hard to accept that none of those people who I thought posed a threat—did.” She pouted and ran her fork around her salad plate in concentric circles.

  “Essie!” cried Marjorie, “You should be thrilled that it turned out that the suspects you suspected don’t deserve your . . . suspicion.”

  “After all, Essie,” argued Opal, “the people you suspected were . . . are friends and staff here at Happy Haven. It would be terrible if one of them turned out to be guilty of attempted murder.”

  “Or worse,” added Marjorie.

  “What’s worse than attempted murder?” asked Essie, slamming down her utensil and sneering at Marjorie.

  “Uh . . . actual murder,” suggested Marjorie.

  Santos whizzed back and quickly removed their salad plates.

  “Hey, wait a minute!” cried out Essie. “I haven’t finished with that!”

  “My apologies, Miss Essie,” replied Santos, with a gracious bow accompanying his apology as he replaced her salad plate.

  “No,” she shrugged. “Take it away.”

  “As you wish, Miss Essie.” He retreated again.

  “Really, Essie,” continued Opal, “you’re acting as if you’ve lost your best friend. You should be thrilled that everything turned out so well!”

  “I know. I know,” agreed Essie. “It’s just that all that sleuthing really got my juices going.

  “Which juices would those be?” asked Marjorie with a sly gleam in her eye.

  “Not those juices, Marjorie,” snapped Essie, “get your mind out of the gutter.”

  “It wasn’t in the gutter,” said Marjorie, “it was in the toilet.” She laughed out loud and quickly covered her mouth with her hand.

  “My creative juices,” clarified Essie.

  “I understand, Essie,” said Opal, in support. “Helping Bob and trying to figure out what happened to him gave all of us something important to do.”

  “For a change,” added Marjorie.

  “Yes,” said Essie. “People think all we old people are good for is just sitting around making macramé baskets and playing solitaire.”

  “I hate solitaire,” noted Opal.

  “That’s not the point,” explained Essie. “They think just because we’re old that we can’t contribute to society or accomplish anything important on our own.”

  “Well, they’re wrong!” exclaimed Marjorie.

  “They certainly are,” agreed Essie. “When three—I mean four,” and she smiled at Fay who was actually awake and apparently listening to her diatribe, “ladies put their minds together—there’s no telling what they can do!”

  “And we almost did it!” said Marjorie.

  “Almost!” said Essie, “We did do it! If it hadn’t been for us, I don’t think Bob and his son would ever have found each other.”

  “Maybe not,” said Opal, “we certainly did keep that fire burning, didn’t we?”

  “We did!” agreed Marjorie. “And Evelyn! You supported her, Essie. I know she a
ppreciated that.”

  “I tried,” said Essie, nodding.

  “And, of course,” noted Opal, “if it hadn’t been for us, the escapades of Violet Hendrickson would never have seen the light of day.”

  “Those escapades saw the light of day—for a brief moment—and are now back in the dark,” said Essie, “which is where they need to stay—according to Bob. Are we agreed to that?”

  The women all nodded. Santos arrived with their entrees—spaghetti.

  “Spaghetti is so much fun to eat!” declared Marjorie. “Like rolling worms around your fork!”

  “Yuck! Marjorie!” scowled Opal.

  “Ladies,” said Essie, in her calming voice. “Let’s behave!” They all dug into the heavenly marinara sauce that the kitchen had lovingly created.

  “Yum!” said Fay suddenly.

  “Fay!” exclaimed Essie. “It’s nice to hear from you!”

  “Yum! Yum!” repeated Fay.

  “A veritable monologue,” reported Opal. “What’s brought about her loquaciousness?”

  “I don’t know,” shrugged Essie. They nibbled in silence except for a few moans of ecstasy over the sauce.

  “Essie, I was thinking,” said Marjorie after most of the plates were almost clean. “I was thinking that our wonderful kitchen might enjoy putting together a post-wedding reception for Bob and Evelyn.”

  “Marjorie!” replied Essie, “What a wonderful idea! What do you say, Opal?”

  “I agree,” said the tall, somber looking member of the group. “Let’s suggest it to them.”

  “We’ll need a theme,” said Marjorie.

  “A theme?” asked Essie.

  “Yes!” explained Marjorie, “every wedding these days is built around a theme. Don’t you watch David Tutero? You could have a seaside theme, or a roses theme, or an all black and white theme . . . or. . . or any kind of theme you want.”

  “You’d want a theme that Bob and Evelyn would like,” noted Opal.

  “Yes. What do you suppose that would be?” asked Marjorie.

  “I know!” shouted Essie, holding up her hand.

  “What?” asked Marjorie.