“What specifically were you thinking, Olympia?” Now he sounded cautious.
“Well, as you must know, some people, including her daughter, think she should sell the house and move to a smaller place; but like so many older people, even though it’s a lot of work, she wants to stay in her own home.” She paused. “OK, here’s the thing. I don’t know enough about what the insurance adjuster was saying regarding her various options and timelines to be able to help her understand and make up her own mind. Do you see what I’m saying?”
Upon hearing this, the man sounded considerably more amenable. “I’m complimented that you’d call me, Olympia. I was getting the feeling that you were upset with me about something.”
Olympia almost crossed her fingers. She hated lying. On the other hand, simply leaving some things out of a conversation wasn’t lying. What was it her mother used to call it, a sin of omission? Well, she was about to commit one.
“I’m going over to the church in a few minutes. Any chance you could drop by when I’m there? If you don’t mind, would you bring along that folder you left in her house, the one that I picked up last week? It’s not like it’s confidential anymore; we both know I opened it.”
“You may have opened it, Olympia, but you did it unknowingly. I still don’t think it would be ethical for me to share that information with you a second time.” The cautious tone was back.
“I suppose you’re right, but I’ve only ever bought one house in my life, and to be honest, I still don’t understand everything that happened. I need a quick tutorial. Is that much within the bounds of business ethics?”
“Marginally. I’ll bring the folder, but I’ll keep it in my possession. Then if you have specific questions, I may or may not be able to answer them without breaking confidentiality, but I’ll do what I can.”
“Fair enough,” said Olympia.
“Will you be there in a half-hour?” said Bateson.
“Can you make it forty-five minutes? Deb Herlihy, the church administrator, will have the place opened up by then. She’s got some stuff I have to look at first.”
“Does she come in every day?”
“No, just Monday, Wednesday and Thursday mornings from nine-thirty until noon. You know, mother’s hours.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” said Bateson.
When Olympia hung up the phone, Frederick asked if she thought he should come along for ballast, but she declined, saying that a conversation in the church office with someone on the other side of the wall was hardly going to be putting herself in danger. When Jim raised a cautionary eyebrow, Olympia pooh-poohed them both, reminding them that anything suspicious thus far was a combination of circumstance and conjecture, and if she arrived with reinforcements, it might be questionable in the eyes of the beholder.
“Point,” said Jim.
“Counterpoint,” said Olympia.
“Pencil,” said Frederick and then responded to their vacant and uncomprehending looks in his direction. “You know, something with a point.”
The abstract English witticism was lost on Jim and Olympia but served to make Jim realize that Olympia knew what she was doing. “I’m going back to Dorchester this morning, Olympia,” he said. “Can you drop me off at the ferry on your way to the church?”
“No problem. Are you almost ready? I told Bateson I’d meet him in forty-five minutes.”
Jim pointed to a slim carry-on near the door. “I travel light.”
When they were in the car, Olympia had little time to remind him to keep her informed of whatever the doctors said and ask if it was all right to tell Frederick about his medical situation.
“Eventually you can tell him, but for the time being, I need to get my own head around the situation and all of the implications before I say anything to anyone else. Do you mind?”
Olympia reached out and laid her free hand over the upturned hand of her dearest and most trusted friend. “Of course it’s all right, Jim. I just want you to know there are two of us in your corner, wherever that corner is and whatever you find there.”
Jim curled his fingers around hers and then smiled. “Thanks. And I’m glad you’re … going steady, if that’s what you insist on calling it. It’s good for you to have someone to turn to.”
“I have you, Jim. That’s not going to change just because I’ve admitted to having a boyfriend. You came first, remember.”
“I got a bad report, Olympia. That does change things. Not right away maybe, but …”
“Not another word, Jim. I’m hanging in with you for the long haul.”
~
When Olympia got to the church, William Bateson was sitting in his car, waiting for her. She was comforted to see that Deb’s car was in its usual spot in the shade of the maple tree that graced the lawn of the lovely old chapel. She waved, and he got out of the car. It was warm outside but not as bad as it had been the last several days. From where she stood, the clammy scent of the sea breeze coming straight off the harbor signaled a very low tide. She was already learning the unspoken language of the island. She wrinkled her nose.
“Uh huh, low tide,” said Bateson, turning his face into the soft wind. “The sea gulls are feasting down by the ferry dock.”
Olympia led the way into the chapel. “One of them dropped a clam on the roof of my car. Scared the bejeezus out of me.”
“Me, too, the first time it happened. I know what it is now.”
They were making small talk, testing the waters between them as they walked through the musty wooden building. Inside her office Olympia invited Bateson to take a chair, then pushed the door so it was almost shut but deliberately did not close it all the way.
“Where do you want to begin?” Bateson took the lead.
“I think I need to understand what Mrs. West’s options are in this situation. If you aren’t comfortable talking about her specifically, let’s just talk about someone nameless in a similar situation, an elderly lady, living alone, whose house is getting to be too much for her and which, because of an accident, needs major repairs. As a realtor, what would you recommend?”
Bateson leaned back in his chair. “Well, that makes it a little easier for me to answer. If an adult child were living closer, I might suggest they find a place to stay, repair the house and move in together. Or I might suggest that they cut their losses, save energy, unload the place and find something easier to maintain. You know, something that’s one level, or a duplex so they could have separates spaces, but something where the old lady wouldn’t be alone.”
Olympia winced at hearing Dory referred to as an old lady.
“Frankly, if it were my mother, I’d go for the latter. Construction is so time and energy consuming, and workmen are just so damned—excuse me, Reverend—so unreliable these days. It would take years off however many she had left.”
Olympia nodded. The man was right. She continued with her questioning.
“Do you have such a place in mind or know where you might find one?’
“Not right at the moment, but if I could sit down with Mrs. West and her daughter and see where they are in all of this, I might be able to pull up something.”
It all sounds so reasonable.
“Tell you what, think about what I’ve just said, then you go and talk to Mrs. West and her daughter. They might feel better having the first conversation with their minister. After that, if you think I might be of help, give me a call. That way you will be able to help them with what otherwise might be a difficult and emotional decision. Then you can tell me what you think is best from your perspective.”
Olympia nodded thoughtfully.
Bateson blinked his eyes and sat up straight. “Wait a minute, I just thought of something. I have a friend who’s an elder affairs lawyer. She has an office on the Cape and one over here. She’s even given talks at some of the senior centers. If anyone knows the ins and outs of this kind of thing, it’s going to be her.” He flashed a warm and knowing smile at Olympia and rubbed his
hands together.
Olympia nodded. “That makes perfect sense. I always say the more information, the better. You call her, and I’ll have a talk with Dory and her daughter, and maybe even Julia, and find a time when they can meet with us. Then I’ll get back to you. If you don’t mind, I have an appointment in a few minutes, and I need to make a phone call before then.”
“William Bateson almost leapt out of his chair. “Of course. I’ll wait for your call.” He paused. “Thank you for talking with me. I was afraid we’d gotten off on the wrong foot.”
Olympia looked up at him. She was the picture of innocent wonder. “Why ever did you think that? Well, never mind, I’m glad we’ve cleared it up. I’ll be in touch.”
Olympia closed the door after him and sat alone, staring out of the window. She wasn’t entirely sure the meeting had gone as she might have wished, but hearing that Bateson had a friend who was an elder affairs lawyer certainly brightened the picture. She dropped her head forward and massaged the back of her neck with her fingertips. Her muscles were far tenser than she realized.
~
Sitting in his car outside the church, William Bateson took out his cell phone and tapped in a number. “MaryAnn? It’s me, Bill. You aren’t going to believe this. I just enlisted the good Reverend for our side!”
~
Inside the church office Olympia was on the phone, listening to Dan Parker tell her that the autopsy report on his mother indicated that she had the heart of a fifty-year-old woman, and her cause of death was consistent with an accidental fall.
“Accident, my foot,” said Dan.
“We need to talk. You going to be around later today? I’ll call you back after lunch.” Olympia hung up the phone and motioned for Jack Winters to come in and be seated.
~
In Olympia’s cottage Frederick was picking his way around what passed for a kitchen, collecting the breakfast dishes, when he was startled by the sound of a door opening behind him.
“That you, Olympia?” He turned to see a well-dressed, slightly embarrassed looking man standing in the doorway.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I’m a member of the church. I saw the open window and thought the Reverend was home. I needed to ask her something and figured I’d save myself a trip. I’ll try and catch her at the church later on,” said William Bateson.
~
In Somerville, Laura Wilstrom typed David Pearlstein, Oregon, age 50-55, Northeastern University, into the search engine of her computer.
~
Father Jim Sawicki was driving north on Route 3 toward Boston, listening to the Bach “Double Violin Concerto” and weighing the relative importance and order of priority of real estate scams, medical reports … and his future life in the priesthood.
~
Jack Winters settled into the chair opposite Olympia in her office. Despite his perennial seafaring tan, his eyes showed the stress of the last several days. Olympia couldn’t tell whether it was the strain of the diagnosis or the deadly cancer already manifesting itself, and she didn’t really want to ask. She pushed away the awful thought and simply asked him how he was feeling and if the medical team had established a treatment program.
“To be honest, Olympia, I’m not sure how I’m feeling. Everything in my life is colored by the cancer, and that color is looking pretty dark from where I stand.”
Olympia grimaced in spite of herself but was determined to sound more hopeful than she felt. “What are they going to do, and when do you start?”
“Pretty heavy duty chemo for six weeks, then a course of radiation, if I can handle it. The good news is I don’t have to go all the way into Boston. I can have most of it right over in Falmouth at the hospital there.”
“And after that?”
“I have a fifty-fifty chance of being impotent, incontinent or both. Isn’t that just ducky? And that is only if I make it though the treatment.”
Olympia shook her head in tender sympathy with the man sitting in front of her and took an optimistic leap of faith. “How long might either or both of those conditions last?”
“I guess the good news, if there is any, is that they will pass as I get my strength back.” He leaned forward. “But I’m not sure I’m willing to take the chance.”
“What are you talking about?” Her shock and dismay were evident in her face as well as her voice.
“Olympia. I’m a man who looks after himself. No one is going to change my diapers. I’d rather end it all now than go through that—or worse, have Janney and my sister have to witness it.”
Now she was alarmed. “Jack! Don’t even think that way. You’ve got a reasonable chance. They wouldn’t have offered you treatment if you didn’t. For God’s sake, man, fight back. I’d be lying if I said it was going to be easy or neat, but if you have got a chance at life, don’t just sit there, Jack, take it!”
“Everything all right in here?” Deb Herlihy stuck her head around the edge of the door.
“I’m sorry, Deb,” said Olympia. “I get a little loud sometimes when I’m trying to make a point. I’m sorry if I alarmed you.”
Deb smiled and retreated.
“What a sweetheart she is,” said Olympia.
Jack looked up at Olympia. “Thanks, Reverend, I guess I needed that.”
“Deal?”
“Deal.” said Jack, starting to get up, but Olympia waved him back down.
“Before you go,” she lowered her voice, “I want to ask you something in confidence.”
Jack looked toward the open door.
Olympia shook her head. “She can’t hear me over the radio. Tell me something. When I first got here, you told me you didn’t trust William Bateson. Can you tell me exactly why?”
Jack Winters folded his arms. Olympia resisted the urge to count the freckles on his arms.
“I think I said he might be gay, but that’s no reason not to trust someone. It’s something about him. He started coming to the community church less than a year ago. When he did, he jumped right into the middle of everything. He volunteered to be an usher, he came to the potlucks and—I think I said this, too—he sucked up to the old ladies. Of course, they all loved it, but he finally seemed to settle on Dory West. She lives alone, and she ate it up. When I think about it, what’s the harm in it? Some people just naturally gravitate to older people. Maybe they don’t feel threatened or something. Like I said, I don’t know, it’s just a feeling; and since I really don’t know the guy, I have no business bad-mouthing him.”
“Thanks, Jack. Intuition is a wise advisor. I appreciate your candor.”
“Glad to be of assistance, I think, but I really do have to be going. I’m supposed to pick up Melody in five minutes in Edgartown.”
“You’re not going to make it.”
“No sh …” Jack stopped himself just in time, winked and let himself out.
Olympia got up and got herself a glass of water. When she returned to her desk she called Julia Scott-Norton and asked when might be a good time to meet with Dory and Jessica and William Bateson and Mary Beth Lessing, the elder affairs expert.
“I’ll try and arrange it for this afternoon,” said Julia. “Shall we meet here about four? That way we won’t be disturbed by anyone dropping into the church, and you’ll have plenty of time for lunch and anything else you might need to get out of the way.”
With Jim on his way back to Boston and Frederick alone in an empty house, the thought of an extended lunch with her dearly beloved became increasingly tantalizing. Olympia could feel her temperature rising but said sweetly, “That’s perfect. Dory and Jessica are already there. I’ll call William Bateson and see if his lady-lawyer friend can make it. I’ll only call back if they can’t make it. Otherwise, I’ll see you then.”
When she got back to the cottage, Frederick told her about the man who had walked unannounced into the house earlier that day. He went on to say how much it upset him that someone, particularly a man, should just feel he could walk into her house without even k
nocking or otherwise announcing himself. But once he described what the visitor looked like, Olympia dismissed it, saying that it was undoubtedly William Bateson, and he must have thought of something after he left her at the church. This was the island, and one of the things she was learning was that not everybody knocked before they entered one another’s houses.
Frederick tried to continue the protest, saying that the man, whatever his name was, had implied that he had not seen her that day. He tried to impress upon her that this was not how the English in polite society called upon one another. To emphasize his point, he firmly closed the door and locked it.
Twenty-Six
Olympia was the last person to arrive but was pleased to find someone had reserved a vintage Boston rocker just for her. Julia had thoughtfully set out pitchers of water and iced tea and a plate of oatmeal cookies on a side table in front of the window. William Bateson had spread an array of impressive looking papers on the coffee table in front of Jessica and Dory, and Mary Beth Lessing was holding up a serious looking document, explaining how it would protect Dory’s holdings, both for herself and eventually for Jessica.
“Once you sign this, you give me power of attorney to work with you in whatever way you wish. I can sign checks on those days you don’t feel like going out, and I can take care of legal matters so that Jessica doesn’t have to fly back here every time something needs to be signed.”
Dory was nodding and listening politely, but it was clear to Olympia that a lot of what was being said was going right over her head. It was late in the day, the time she usually took a little nap, and try as she might, her eyes kept glazing over.
Jessica was asking intelligent questions, but even she seemed out of her element in the face of such fluent legalese so rapidly and superbly delivered. She held up her hand to get the attention of the speaker. “OK, let me see if I understand. We give you durable power of attorney, and this empowers you to sign things like contracts, checks—in other words, whatever my mother might need while she repairs her house or waits until it’s sold and uses the money to buy something that might be easier to maintain.”
A Despicable Mission (Olympia Brown Mysteries) Page 16
