Best Place to Die

by Charles Atkins

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Good,’ he’d said, and hung up.

  She’d wanted to scream back that he could take his friggin paper and . . . But really, where would that get you? Out of a job, most likely. While she certainly didn’t need the pennies they gave her from the weekly column and whatever added cash she’d get from these articles, having a real job, with a real paper, was a rare thing. Especially now where all the papers were shrinking, reporters were losing their jobs, and increasingly people looked to the Internet for their news.

  The waitress, thankfully not the one who’d been here last fall when she’d had her heart attack, refilled her coffee. ‘You sure I can’t get you anything, Mrs Campbell? A piece of pie, maybe?’

  ‘No thanks.’ Lil’s cell rang. Figuring it was the Fire Marshall, cancelling after all and putting a demoralizing cap on her afternoon, she looked at the screen; it was her daughter, Barbara. ‘Hi sweetie,’ she said, her voice lighter than her mood.

  ‘Mom . . .’

  ‘What’s the matter?’ Immediately tuning in to her worried tone.

  ‘Are you at your computer?’ she asked.

  ‘No, I’m at the Brown Bear waiting for someone, who’s probably going to stand me up.’

  ‘Ada?’

  ‘No, why?’

  ‘Mom, there are photos of you and Mrs Strauss on a website called Grenville4Grenvillians.com.’ She paused. ‘I got a Google alert and . . .’

  ‘What are you talking about?’ She was aware of the website, which frequently posted embarrassing tidbits about local officials. But this, trying to piece the information . . . ‘What the hell is a Google alert?’

  ‘It’s where you get notified whenever something or someone you’re interested in gets posted on the web. I have a few dozen of them for projects I’m working on, for myself, the kids, Carlton, and I did one for you.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Lots of reasons, mostly to try and stay on top of what people are saying in the press. With the kids it’s another way to make sure they’re not getting into something they shouldn’t on the web.’

  Lil had a sick feeling. ‘What kind of pictures?’

  ‘It’s nothing pornographic . . . but someone’s been watching the two of you.’ Again there was hesitation.

  ‘Just spit it out.’

  ‘There’s one of you kissing, another of the two of you holding hands . . . and someone obviously got one of the two of you in bed . . . together.’

  The sick feeling blossomed, a combination of rage and fear, blood rushed to her cheeks. ‘Why . . . who?’ Immediately thinking of their across-the-walk neighbors – Bernice, Clayton.

  ‘I just got the alert, because they actually included both of your names with the latest postings. But it’s not the first time they’ve put up photos of the two of you. If I scroll back, looks like the first ones went up on Monday . . . Mom?’

  ‘Yes?’ And suddenly, a moment Lil had been putting off was at hand. While Ada and she had certainly not hidden the nature of their relatively new relationship from their respective children, their unspoken approach had been ‘if they don’t ask, we won’t tell’. Ada’s grandson, Aaron was the only one in their lives who knew they were a couple. Now, apparently so did anyone in Grenville . . . or anyone who accessed the website, such as her daughter in LA. ‘It’s true, Barbara.’ She looked up as the bell over the diner’s front door jingled, and Sam King in a dark green blazer with a Grenville patch on the left side of his chest entered. ‘Barbara, I’ve got an interview to do now, thanks for the heads up. I’ll give you a call later and we can talk.’

  ‘Mom, you know I love you, but . . . are you gay?’

  Aware of her surroundings, and Sam as he approached, she lowered her voice: ‘It’s complicated. We need to talk. I love Ada. So whatever that makes me.’

  ‘What am I supposed to tell the kids? Stuff like this gets around, once it’s on the web . . . this could go viral.’

  ‘But who would care?’ Lil asked, realizing that obviously someone did. Who would do this and why? And how the hell could they get a picture of the two of us in bed? Immediately picturing the sliding glass doors that looked out on the woods behind their condos. They often left the curtains open at night to catch the sunrise. How easy it would be for someone to walk around back and . . . her heart was racing.

  ‘People do care,’ Barbara said. ‘You have no idea how much. They won’t tell you to your face, but you’re going to find that people treat you differently.’

  Lil forced a smile and looked up at Sam, now standing at the edge of the booth, his gaze furtive as he looked from her and then back to the door. ‘Just a second,’ she told him, sensing he wanted to be anywhere but there. ‘Barbara, I have to go.’ The news that she and Ada were now cause for scandal and Barbara’s closing words had her shaken. And what were these pictures? She hung up. ‘Hi, Sam. Thanks for coming.’ Knowing full well that she’d strong-armed him into this meeting, by leading him to believe she had compromising information. ‘I’m sure you’ve got to be crazy busy with this Nillewaug mess.’

  ‘You have no idea.’

  ‘Sit, please.’

  ‘I don’t have long,’ he said, and he eased his big gut into the booth. He glanced around the restaurant and pulled a Manila envelope from inside his jacket; he slid it across the table. ‘You wanted this . . . It’s a copy of Nillewaug’s emergency plans.’ He looked up at the waitress. ‘Coffee.’

  ‘Thanks.’ She opened the folder, her thoughts on Barbara’s bombshell – she needed to see those pictures, and more importantly, I have to warn Ada. ‘Sam,’ she said, searching his face – does he know? But all she saw was someone she’d known for decades, who seemed a bit older than the last time they’d chatted, and whose brown eyes were hooded from lack of sleep, and what was likely the biggest case in his career. Beyond that she knew he was a flawed man whose wife eventually left him because he couldn’t keep it in his pants and whom she now suspected of some complicity in the Nillewaug disaster. ‘Two seconds, Sam, I need to make a quick call.’

  ‘You want me to leave?’ His tone hopeful.

  ‘No, please sit. I’ll be fast.’ She was out of the booth, cell in hand, her finger pressing the screen for Ada’s cell. Aaron picked up, as she stepped outside the diner and stood in the shadowed doorway.

  ‘Lil, I’m so glad you called. Grandma wouldn’t let me get in touch with you. Where are you?’ he asked. ‘We’ve got a situation here.’

  ‘What’s happening?’

  ‘Alice’s granddaughter drove up from New York and is taking her back with her. She’s pretty upset.’

  ‘Alice?’

  ‘No, Kelly, the granddaughter. I guess when I was at school Alice got out of the condo and wandered off. Grandma found her, but . . . it’s kind of a mess. Kyle’s here too. Oh, and Lil . . .’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘You heard about the blog postings?’

  ‘I did. You’ve seen them?’

  ‘Everyone’s seen them,’ he said.

  ‘How’s your grandmother taking it?’

  ‘I’ll put her on . . . they’re not that bad, though. Nothing pervy, kind of sweet actually. But you’ve been outed.’

  ‘Great.’ She looked back at Sam; he seemed lost in anxious reflection as he sipped his coffee and then checked his watch.

  ‘Lil?’ Ada’s voice, like a balm on Lil’s troubled mood.

  ‘Ada, what’s happening?’

  ‘Put it this way,’ she said drily, ‘it’s been a busy afternoon. My mother took a nap, and Alice took a walk . . . a very long walk. Which, thank God, she’s all right and thank God again for that ankle bracelet.’

  ‘Where’d she go?’

  ‘I found her at the lake watching the ducks. Of course I had to call Kyle, and he was fine with it, but apparently his sister Kelly freaked. She drove up from New York. And now she’s insisting that Alice go back with her. Which honestly –’ her tone dropped to a whisper – ‘right now that would be
just fine. What are we going to do?’

  Lil wasn’t certain what part she was asking about. ‘They’re her family,’ she said, taking a stab at the first layer, ‘let them decide. At least she wasn’t hurt. Have you seen the web postings?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What’s up there?’ Desperate to get on-line and see for herself.

  ‘There are two entries. Yesterday’s has a picture of the two of us holding hands. But today’s . . . Lil, someone was outside our bedroom taking pictures. It was last night. If it weren’t totally creepy and very frightening I’d say it was a cute picture. You look sweet when you’re asleep, of course my mouth is wide open . . . do I snore, Lil?’

  ‘Sometimes . . .’ She could tell Ada was trying to keep her tone light. ‘What does it say?’ Tempted to pull up her web browser, but the last time she did that while on the phone, she inadvertently disconnected the call. ‘Can you read it to me?’

  ‘Hold on.’

  She stared through the plate-glass window feeling pulled. From across the street, she saw Belle Evans who ran the multi-dealer shop where Lil had worked briefly last fall. She waved, thinking Belle had seen her; she didn’t wave back. I guess she hadn’t seen me, or . . . did she just snub me?

  Ada came back on line. ‘I’ve got it in front of me. Yesterday’s post under the picture of the two of us holding hands: “From Doctor’s wife to hand-holding dyke. And we all thought she was such a proper lady. Guess she had us fooled.”’

  ‘Where was the picture taken?’

  ‘It’s just outside our condos from yesterday morning; it had to have been Bernice or Clayton.’

  ‘That was my thought, and the second posting, what does it say?’

  ‘“Lesbians in our midst. Doctor’s wife Lillian Campbell in bed with retail tycoon Ada Strauss . . . literally. Is this the Grenville we want? What next? A Gay Pride Parade down Main Street?” If this were New York,’ Ada said, ‘no one would care.’

  ‘I know . . . but it’s Grenville. Ada, I’ll be home as soon as I can. I’ve got Fire Marshall Sam, and he clearly does not want to be here. But he knows something, and he’s scared of what I know.’

  ‘Which is?’ Ada asked.

  ‘Not nearly enough. I feel like a fraud.’

  ‘Get him to talk,’ Ada urged. ‘Make him think you know something. The more I read about those Ravens the more I think I understand. Three teenage boys given the keys to the town – and now thirty-four years later they’re still running the place, committing major fraud, systematically milking old people out of their life’s savings, getting their families to collude. I think Mr King has important things to say. Remember, Lil, when all else fails, men like to talk about themselves.’

  ‘Right,’ she said, and they hung up. Lil went back inside the restaurant that smelled of bacon and fresh-baked bread. She looked at Sam, wondering if this was a dead end. Already bracing herself for Fleming’s critique. She slid into the worn red upholstered booth, and pulled a pad of paper and pen from her bag. Her first thought: put him at ease, don’t scare him away. ‘What can you tell me about the plans for all of the displaced Nillewaug residents?’

  He looked up from his coffee and shook his head. ‘Other than it’s a fucking nightmare, excuse my French.’

  ‘No apology necessary, and please continue. Tell me about the emergency plan, and thanks again for making a copy for me.’

  He looked at her from over his coffee, his expression wary, like a child at the doctor’s waiting for the needle. ‘This all has to be off the record, Lil. And you’re not taping it.’

  ‘OK,’ Lil said, feeling like he could bolt at any second.

  ‘All right. For starters, it’s useless. The plan only covers the two nursing-home units, neither of which had to be evacuated. So really, it has almost no bearing on what’s happened.’

  ‘There was no emergency plan for the residential complex?’

  ‘Nope, and by law they didn’t need one . . . except . . .’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Well . . .’ He leaned over. ‘And this is what you want, isn’t it?’ His voice choked. ‘There’s a lot that wasn’t kosher about that place. And it’s all going to come out. You know that, you put a lot of it in your articles, but one thing you didn’t have, and heads are going to roll because of it. Someone signed off on the entire facility as being a nursing home.’

  ‘Which it wasn’t,’ Lil added.

  ‘Not at all. Official word back from Hartford and the Health Department is that “a mistake was made” in the number of beds considered skilled. There was no mistake. Someone got paid off. Someone high enough up so that “the mistake” would remain undetected.’ He reached across the table and flipped open the folder. ‘Here,’ he said, pulling out a copy of a license issued by the state. ‘See, right there, “capacity seven hundred”. It should only be for one hundred . . . And catch this, Lil. What they’re saying is that the seven instead of a one is a typo.’

  His candor was surprising. He was giving her a scoop, and Lil could already imagine Fleming’s response – ‘You can’t handle this, Lil . . . too green . . . don’t know what you don’t know.’

  Screw him! She met Sam’s gaze, he seemed like a man resigned. ‘Aren’t licenses renewed annually?’ she asked, remembering how each year Bradley would send a check and get the new certificate to post in his office.

  ‘They are. Every year since two thousand, when Nillewaug was first licensed, there has been a “typo” on their certificate.’

  ‘For eleven years?’

  ‘Apparently.’

  This information was too good not to use, and no way in hell was she giving it to the reporter Fleming had assigned to the bigger story. ‘OK, if it’s licensed for seven hundred, even if it’s a typo, then shouldn’t the emergency plan extend to all seven hundred residents?’

  ‘Yes, absolutely.’

  And that’s when she realized two things, Sam, as the Fire Marshall, would have been aware of the ‘typo’ on Nillewaug’s license, and he’d obviously said nothing . . . for over a decade. Feeling like a nugget of gold had dropped in her lap, she attempted to pull the interview back to shores where he’d feel safer. Not once losing sight of her and Ada’s suspicion about the Ravens, which was likely where the mother lode lay. ‘How bad has it been trying to get people into safe shelter?’ she asked, noting how he wouldn’t meet her gaze, while wondering how she’d track down whatever state employee had made that initial ‘typo’.

  ‘Bad.’ Clearly relieved by this new direction, he educated her in what becomes of people dispossessed by fire. He explained how it was in everyone’s best interest to make Nillewaug habitable ASAP. ‘The structure is sound,’ he said with conviction, after the waitress had filled his coffee a third time, ‘but the damage . . . extensive. The clean-up is massive, and very expensive.’ He leaned in again, and not for the first time, she regretted not taping this. ‘The insurance companies don’t want to pay.’

  ‘Of course they don’t want to pay, but beyond that? What are you saying?’

  ‘Here’s the deal. Nillewaug is insured through Clarion Mutual. Then you have the residents who had various insurance through a couple dozen companies. Now, here’s where it starts to split apart. Samples from Dr Trask’s apartment clearly show there was accelerant. The question becomes, was the fire started deliberately, or was it an accident, likely from spontaneous combustion of the various solvents he used on his clocks?’ He looked at her. ‘That was my conclusion and I stand by it. One of his piles of rags fell to the floor, he didn’t see it, and four hours later it ignites. It happens a lot. Some of the smartest people I know are total idiots when it comes to home safety. But in something this big, the state comes in and they’re saying arson can’t be ruled out, which makes the insurance companies nervous. Especially The Clarion that’s on the hook for tens of millions. So what do they do?’

  She shook her head, noting how this was a topic where Sam seemed comfortable. ‘Not a clue.’ Wanting to
keep him talking, while thinking how to steer back to deeper waters.

  ‘They bring in their own investigator, who took samples. And he’s not alone. I took samples. And . . . because it’s a big fire, the state Fire Marshal took samples. And . . . because the Feds are somehow involved in this mess, a team from ATF showed up and they took samples. Which means, we now have four separate sets, to be interpreted by four different labs, and we will most likely get four different results.’

  ‘Samples?’

  ‘From where the fire started. And though I’m certain it was caused by spontaneous combustion, at least one of those three other investigators will lean on the side of arson. And, considering we have a homicide that occurred around the time of the fire, arson becomes increasingly suspect. All of which leads to a lengthy, and very expensive, process. And I’m not even getting to anything criminal. Before checks get cut to the victims, there will be a tremendous amount of jockeying, about who should pay. Which, if it doesn’t get resolved, will mean a longer time before people can actually get their places cleaned and they can return. And here’s a fun fact, Lil. If it is determined arson, and the homicide is related, then all the deaths will be considered homicide. In Connecticut, arson homicide can warrant the death penalty.’

  ‘That is interesting. And in the case of arson don’t you mostly look to whoever will profit the most?’

  ‘Yes.’ Holding up his empty coffee cup, he flagged the waitress. ‘People burn their places for the insurance money. But . . . you always have to look for your nut case. Because just when you’re convinced it’s greedy Jim Warren – and he is a bastard – it’ll turn out some fire bug set the whole thing just to watch it burn. Or, God help us, there’ll be a pyro on the fire department who set it so he could play the hero.’

  ‘Are you kidding?’ Her interest perked at the mention of Jim Warren, and clearly no love was lost between the men.