Diamonds and Cole: A Cole Sage Mystery

by Micheal Maxwell

  Cole found the address to the Eastwood Manor Convalescent Hospital and Guest Home in the Yellow Pages. The small map in the corner of the ad had helped and he had a general idea where it was. Turning back to the car, he took a deep breath. The calm before the storm.

  Eastwood Manor was in the middle of the block on an older residential street. The houses for most of the block across from the Manor had been torn down and construction on what would become Driftwood Apartments—”A Place to be Yourself” according to the sign—was underway. The Manor grounds were spacious and covered with the shade of majestic oak trees. The building was one story and white. The lawn held the Eastwood Manor sign, way past its prime with paint peeling badly. An elderly man in a wheelchair was parked on the sidewalk with a pale blue thermal blanket pulled to his neck and tucked tightly around his thin body. Cole intended to say hello as he passed. As he approached, he saw the man sat with his toothless mouth agape, his eyes milky blue and unfocused, and on his face an expression that was a cross between pain and fear. Cole shuddered.

  He went through the large double glass doors into a reception and waiting room. Several elderly people were sitting in wheelchairs. Most appeared to have no idea where they were. Cole thought of Annie Clark and wondered if a place like this would be her next stop. The air was heavy with cleaning solvent, urine, and air freshener.

  “May I help you?” a voice asked from behind the tall reception desk.

  As Cole approached, he saw a heavyset woman of about fifty seated behind the desk reading a romance novel.

  “Yes, I am here to see Ellen Christopher.” The name seemed so foreign to Cole he repeated it, “Ellen Christopher.”

  “Have you been here before?”

  “No.”

  “I need you to fill out this little form here,” the woman said, passing a clipboard across the desk to Cole.

  “Why?”

  “What?” She responded as if she had just been slapped.

  “Why do I need to fill out a form? I’m not checking in.”

  “It’s the rules.”

  “Well, you don’t need my address, phone or anything else. I’m simply visiting Mrs. Christopher on her request.” Cole hated forms, and the stress of seeing Ellie was getting to him.

  “Look, Mister, I don’t make the rules. Why get snippy with me?”

  “Then get your supervisor, I’ll snip at them if you’d like it better,” Cole replied.

  “Mrs. Juarez to the front desk, Mrs. Juarez to the front desk,” the woman said into an industrial microphone that sent her voice echoing throughout the halls. “She’ll be right here.” She raised the romance novel so that it covered her face in a quick dismissive snap.

  Cole turned and walked to a window and watched the sprinklers spray the far end of the lawn. After several minutes, he heard voices behind him and turned to see a tall Hispanic woman in a crisply starched uniform talking to the receptionist in hushed tones. The receptionist pointed at Cole as he made his way back to the desk.

  “That’s him,” Cole heard her say.

  “Can I help you, Mr....?” the Hispanic woman asked.

  “Sage, Mrs. Juarez. I’m here to see Mrs. Ellen Christopher at her request.”

  “Cassie says you don’t want to fill out our visitor form.”

  “Cassie’s telling the truth. I will not give you my personal information so you can send me junk mail that I don’t want to receive. It is a privacy issue, and frankly, none of your business. Now, which room is Mrs. Christopher in? I would like to see her now.” Cole gave Mrs. Juarez a big fake forced smile.

  “It is the policy of Eastwood...”

  “Look. Mrs. Christopher is an old dear friend of mine and is no doubt paying far more than it’s worth to be here. Now if you don’t want me to talk to the licensing board about the half dozen or so infractions I’ve seen already, I suggest you just give me her room number and I’ll be on my way.”

  “You are a very unpleasant man,” Mrs. Juarez said in a condescending tone. “Room 128.” She turned and walked through an open door behind the desk.

  There were two hallways off the reception area. The sign above one door indicated that Rooms 78 through 140 lay beyond. Along the hall, open doors revealed bed after bed of patients simply waiting to die. A few weary old heads turned as he passed. Many slept and a few just stared ahead. One older man called out to Cole asking for cigarettes and muttered curses when Cole said he had none. Televisions were on everywhere. Soap operas, talk shows, game shows, mindless, meaningless, pointless, endless fluff came from nearly every room. Awake, asleep, it didn’t matter. The television filled the room with noise.

  The thing that struck Cole was the absence of staff. The light above several doors was on which he assumed was meant to call for a nurse. One stooped Asian woman passed him with a pushcart full of brushes, solvents, and cleaning equipment. The fumes of ammonia and body fluids ebbed and flowed with the passing of people and doorways. Slippered feet, unable to push forward, propelled wheelchairs backwards down the hall towards Cole. Catheter bags dangled from the sides of the wheelchairs and omitted their own distinct aroma.

  Cole had never been good with sick people. It wasn’t a lack of sympathy; it was quite the opposite. He hurt for every person he saw. He ached for their loneliness and despair. Cole suddenly felt claustrophobic, as if trapped in a low-budget zombie movie. He wanted to just run away. Why in God’s name was Ellie in this hellish place?

  Room 128 was the next room on his right. Cole came to a stop six feet from the doorway. He could hear the television; a game show’s bells, and applause, rang out into the hall. He felt like his feet were stuck to the gray speckled tile. Cole Sage was not a coward. He had faced rebels, street gangs, and the soldiers of Cambodian dictator Pol Pot and not given an inch. At this moment, however, he felt a fear so deep and so terrifying he could not move.

  Cole laced his fingers and put them behind his head. He looked up at the ceiling and took deep, heaving breaths. He knew he had to go in. His imagination ran wild with images of what lay inside the room. Coma, cancer, paralysis and all manner of illness filled his head. For a fleeting moment, he saw the face of a young beautiful Ellie on the body of a naked, old, withered, motionless woman lying on a bed, mouth gaping, staring at the ceiling.

  Cole rubbed his forehead and held his hands over his face for a long moment. He took a deep breath and walked the last few steps into the room. A form sat at the window in a wheelchair of chrome and maroon Naugahyde.

  “Ellie?” Cole said softly.

  A pair of thin hands took the wheels and, with great effort, turned the chair around to face him. “Hey, big guy,” Ellie said in a shaky voice.

  Cole could barely recognize her. She was dressed in a light cotton floral print robe. The once statuesque beauty was bone thin. Her neck was long with tendons clearly visible. The face once beaming with life and energy was drawn and etched with the lines of pain. The glorious mane of hair that had bounced and glistened with every step was oily, combed straight back, and laid along her neck. In her eyes, though, he saw the girl and woman he had loved so long ago. The strength and kindness that was so a part of Ellie’s being shone through.

  “Hello, sweetie.”

  Ellie reached out a hand to Cole. He took the few steps to her and put her hand in his, kissing it gently. She reached up, placed her other hand on his cheek, and looked deeply into his eyes. With every ounce of strength he possessed, Cole fought back tears. It was no use. He bent down and threw his arms around her. Ellie stroked his hair and softly wept. Several minutes passed and her tears flowed freely. Cole raised his head and tried to speak. Ellie put the tips of her fingers to his lips.

  “I have something I need to tell you,” she began. “I have Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis, Lou Gehrig’s disease. I can no longer walk. As you can hear, it has affected my voice and I am losing strength in my arms. Eventually, it will affect my ability to breathe. I know you will have many questions; I have asked them all mys
elf, please understand. I am dying. The only thing I don’t know is how long it will take.” She took a deep halting breath and let it out. “I am so sorry you have to see me like this. I am so ashamed.” She began to cry.

  Cole didn’t know what to say. He got to his feet and wiped her eyes with his handkerchief. He, too, took shuddered breaths. His mind was having a hard time processing what she had said. Lou Gehrig’s disease was something you read about in People magazine; the brave soul who paints or writes poetry to inspire others who fought to the end. It did not happen to those you loved. He turned to face Ellie.

  “I am so sorry I reacted so badly.”

  “It’s a bit of a shock to see me like this, huh?” She smiled.

  “I have missed you so,” Cole said without thinking.

  “Cole, please sit down. You are making me very nervous.” Ellie gave a soft giggle. “Let’s start over, what do you say?”

  “Good idea.” Cole smiled, and pulled up a chair.

  The initial shock was over. Cole tried to look either in her eyes or not at all. The sound of her voice was so familiar yet the tremors kept it from being wholly hers. They were sitting about three feet apart facing each other. Cole noticed that her toenails were badly in need of clipping. The room was bare and undecorated: a bed, a small closet, a door to the toilet and the television. Cole stood and took the remote from the stand on the bedside table and clicked off the television. Then he sat back down.

  “Oh,” Ellie started, “I hardly notice it’s on anymore.”

  “How long have you been here?”

  “Little over a year. Allen put me here shortly after I lost the use of my legs.”

  “Tell me about this disease.”

  “Gee, I feel like I’m being interviewed. Is this on the record, Mr. Sage?” Ellie smiled. Her wit still sparkled in her eyes.

  “I’m sorry, I...”

  “You used to take teasing better. I was diagnosed a little over two years ago. They think ALS is hereditary but nobody really knows for sure. At first, I took a medication called Riluzole, but it made me so dizzy I couldn’t function. Then I tried this stuff called Baclofen. It gave me these weird muscle twitches. I sound like a pharmacist. There really is no way to stop the disease’s progression. It disconnects the nerves where they connect to your spinal column. Little by little as they disconnect, the parts of your body to which the nerves sent signals lose their ability to function. I am one of the lucky ones, they tell me. It went to my legs first. Physical therapy helped a little. Stretching, stuff like that, to keep my muscles from contracting so much, but that stopped when I came here. The thing that’s a real drag is the pain. My butt hurts all the time!” Ellie laughed, “Used to be a bigger pain. Not much of it left anymore.”

  “There is no...?” Cole hesitated

  “Cure? Nope. So here I am.”

  “I am so sorry, Ellie.”

  “Here now, we’ll have no pity parties around here. So, tell me about you. I saw you on CNN when you won that award. I was so proud of you. What have you done lately?”

  “Not much. I wrote a piece just before I left, part of a series I think, about mental health and the elderly.”

  “You’d have a field day around here.”

  “Why here, El? Why are you in this place? Isn’t there a facility that people who have, I mean, people with...”

  “ALS, come, you can say it. I’m not afraid of it.”

  “ALS.”

  “Yes, Cole, there is, but Allen, my husband, isn’t willing to pay for it. He’s a real estate salesman.” Ellie did an imitation of Groucho Marx raising his eyebrows and flicking an imaginary cigar. “And a pretty bad one.”

  “Are you serious?” Cole spoke before he thought.

  “Yes, I’m afraid so. So you know about my bad choice. Any ladies in your life I should know about?” Ellie said coyly.

  “Only you,” Cole said softly.

  “Stop, I’m serious.” Ellie smiled.

  “No, no one. There are so many things I want to ask you.” Cole changed the subject excitedly, “What have you done with yourself all these years? Do you still paint? I mean, well I guess not in here but...”

  “I did for a while, but after I married Allen I became the ‘house mom.’ It sort of got lost somewhere.”

  “Mom! I guess I never thought of, well that’s cool. Tell me about him, her, them? Boys? Girls?” Cole had relaxed and he felt the old connection to Ellie. It wasn’t gone. As they spoke, he had begun to see her through this new form.

  “One of each that were Allen’s when we got married, and my angel, Erin.”

  “Wow, I had no idea. Guess I should have figured. So what are they doing? Ages?

  Tell all.”

  “Chad is—was—at Desert Community. Ann is at San Diego State, or maybe she’s finished by now.”

  “What do you mean is, was. That doesn’t seem like you, not to know.” Cole broke in.

  “I haven’t seen or heard from them since I came here.”

  “I’m not sure I’m getting all this.”

  “My marriage to Allen was in trouble before I got sick, Cole. My illness just gave him an excuse to get me out of the way. I sort of interfered with his social life. I haven’t seen him, either. I was sent here in an ambulance during a really bad spell. I really have ups and downs with this. Right now, I’m on an upswing, lucky you.” She smiled sadly.

  “But you raised those kids, right?”

  “If you want to call it that. They resented me from the start and Allen never did anything to ease the strain. I would correct them and he would side with them. By their teens, I had given up. It was like two families in one house: Allen, Chad and Annie, then Erin and me. I’m sorry, Cole, I was trying so hard to keep things, you know, kind of light on your first visit.”

  Cole laughed. “You still have a gift for understating things.”

  “We haven’t spoken in years, I call for help, and you are on the next plane. And here I sit, wheelchair bound, dying of this damnable disease, with a family that has abandoned me. And the hell of it is, I’m trying to be charming, and I’m so embarrassed and humiliated. I would throw myself out that window, but I can’t stand up.” Ellie was coming as close to shouting as her shaking speech would allow.

  “Now that’s more like it! Let it out! That’s the girl I remember!”

  “Oh shut up! I’m angry.”

  “Of course you are! You’ve still got fight left! I was starting to worry about you. I got a news flash, though: we’re on the ground floor.”

  “Please don’t make fun of me,” she said quietly.

  “I never would.” Cole stood and walked to the window.

  His emotions were like static electricity. Here was the person that he thought was “out in California living the good life,” the person he jealously envied and longed to be with, who all along was as miserable as he was. He cursed himself for never contacting her. He cursed his pride. He cursed the life fate had handed them both.

  “Cole?”

  He realized he had been standing at the window just staring and thinking. What was he to say to her? I’m sorry I didn’t come and rescue you? I was too busy feeling sorry for myself? I’m going to live a long time after you’re gone, still loving what you had been? His heart was breaking, if there was such a thing. All he had dreamed was a lie. He wanted to melt into the floor.

  “Cole?” she repeated.

  He couldn’t face her. He couldn’t bring himself to turn around. Why had he come? There was nothing he could do for her. She was sick. He had no cure to offer. He couldn’t make her family suddenly love her. Why had she called him? What did she think he could do? There was no hope.

  He felt Ellie’s hand take his and her head rest against his arm. “Wish I could see out that window. Must be good. There is pretty green paint down here though, kind of.”

  “Well...,” Cole began.

  “I have read a lot of things you’ve written over the years. You always dig up the adop
tive mother, catch the city official with their hand in the cookie jar, get the MIA’s body back, and that thing with the president you did. You’re kind of a detective. What I mean is, you know how to find what you’re looking for, right?”

  “Yeah, I’m kind of nosey.” Cole shrugged.

  “Find Erin.”

  “Your daughter?”

  “Yes.” Ellie looked down to steel herself. “It’s Allen, he...”

  “Has he hurt her?”

  “No, no not like you think. Please sit so I can see you.” She waited until Cole was back in the chair. “When my parents died, an inheritance came to me. I put it in a trust for Erin for college or her wedding or, or something. Anyway, I’m not going to last very long. I want her to get the money. It means a lot to me that she gets what was meant for her. Knowing how Chad and Annie were, my folks, well, they wanted Erin to inherit.”

  “That seems easy enough. Do you have a will?” Cole asked.

  “That’s just it. It isn’t that easy. You see, when I was really bad, Allen had me sign a, oh what do you call it, a power of attorney. I didn’t really understand. Then, later, when I got some strength back, I realized what I had signed. She can’t touch the trust until I’m gone. The way it was set up, Erin didn’t get it until she was 25 if anything happened to me. So, until then, he could change it. She’s 23 and if she can’t be found and I die...” She looked up and into Cole’s eyes. “Cole, this is important to me, can you understand?”

  “Look, these things aren’t as easy to do as you think. He can’t...”

  “Yes, he can. He already sold my parents’ home. We had it as a rental. It was in my name, but he sold it. I only found out because I called his office. The secretary congratulated me on the sale.

  “Find Erin, Cole. She’s my greatest joy. We, we had a ...” Ellie looked at her hands as they twisted in her lap. “I was a fool. I sided with Allen. I thought I should support him as head of the house and maybe he would consider me in dealings with Chad and Annie. It all went wrong. He could have cared less. It drove a wedge between Erin and me. She wouldn’t listen to me, just shut me out. One day when I was out, they had an argument and he told her to leave. She did, and I haven’t seen her, she hasn’t written or called. I don’t know where she is. Knowing him, he told her I would side with him. I never would have!” She put her hands over her face.