Trimmed With Murder

by Sally Goldenbaum

  Nell looked over at Birdie. “I feel like I’m about to enter Fort Knox. How did Andy ever get Amber inside?”

  “There’s an employees’ gate near the laundry building. Everyone who works here is given an electronic pass because they don’t always have a guard on duty over there,” Birdie said.

  The main building was in the center of the complex, the grounds much like that of a fine New England college campus. Winding paved pathways crisscrossed across spacious lawns, all leading to smaller buildings and homes tucked into wooded areas. Massive pine trees were lined with tiny white lights, park benches covered with a dusting of snow and ropes of green. It was a winter fairyland.

  They made their way to the main building and up a fan of steps leading into the spacious lobby.

  “This is beautiful,” Nell said, her voice hushed as if she wasn’t sure they belonged there. People passed them by, coming and going, some carrying flowers or gifts, and all of them bundled up against the cold.

  Inside, they spotted Priscilla Stangel immediately. She was standing near the half-moon reception desk. She wore thick-lensed glasses, her back slightly stooped, her hair as white as snow. She wore a strand of pearls, a soft wool suit, and practical shoes—fitting into the elegant, spacious lobby as perfectly as if an artist painted her there.

  They enjoyed watching her for a moment as she greeted people, some who embraced her, probably remembering her from earlier years.

  “She’s a legend,” Birdie whispered. “For better or for worse.”

  Priscilla squinted over the top of her glasses, then recognized Birdie and came over, her gait slow but her steps sure. She hugged her friend warmly and greeted the others. “I’m so pleased Birdie has brought you by. I love showing off my Ocean View.”

  Birdie had filled them in on Priscilla’s venerable career as director of the whole organization. Thirty-five years, Birdie had said. And over those years, she had entertained the Ladies’ Classics and Tea Club with hundreds of rollicking Ocean View stories—always told discreetly, of course, never revealing names that could possibly embarrass a potential benefactor.

  “Can you believe I thought of retiring?”

  Birdie couldn’t, although she knew the board had urged just that. Ocean View was Priscilla’s life, and she blessed whatever board member finally had the humanity to urge the others to keep her on, even in a job that was a slightly sophisticated version of a Walmart greeter. It kept Priscilla alive—and she loved it.

  “There are a lot of things going on today, lots of visitors in from out of town,” Priscilla explained. “I’m going to be busy, but I’ll give you the mini tour and then set you free with your map. There are lovely volunteers everywhere to answer questions.”

  The setup was perfect. One worry had been escaping from Priscilla’s watch to do some looking around on their own. Priscilla was giving it to them on a silver platter.

  As they walked through the lobby and around the public areas, Nell brought up the question that needed clarification first. “Is this the building Ellie Harper lived in?”

  Priscilla didn’t seem surprised by the question. “Oh, yes,” she said. “Ellie had one of the suites. Elegant. It was the China Rose Suite.” She grasped a polished wooden railing and began walking up a flight of stairs, wide enough for a bridal party. “I was so very sad to hear about her daughter. That poor girl—” Her voice dropped as one’s did when one was talking about a tragedy.

  “Yes, it’s awful,” Izzy said. “Amber Harper was a good friend of my brother’s.”

  Priscilla’s head nodded as she continued walking up the stairs. It wasn’t clear to any of them if she heard.

  At the top she caught her breath and faced them. “I thought I saw the girl here one day. It frightened me. Ellie was here for so long—we all knew her, tended to her. I saw this figure in the room that used to be Ellie’s and I thought it was Ellie’s ghost—the similarity was jarring. The nurses explained to me later that her daughter was in town, that that’s who was sitting in the chair. I knew the daughter must be staying with Esther Gibson—Esther used to bring her in here, you know. I called Esther and suggested she ask the girl not to return. And then I saw her again, and I called again. I regret it now. But she shouldn’t have been here. This is a place to visit the living, you see. She knew no one here. We’re very careful with who comes and goes.”

  Priscilla moved on, through a wide archway into an elegant sitting area, as posh as the lower level but with a more assisted feel—walking bars attached to the walls, wheelchairs, and young helpers escorting people to comfortable wingback chairs. A well-dressed group, some with oxygen tubes and in wheelchairs, was gathering around a large-screen television. Soft music played in the distance and a uniformed man tended a polished walnut bar, serving lemonade, coffee, tea, and cocktails. It was a country club atmosphere with nursing home assistance.

  “Was Amber being disruptive?” Birdie asked. Her voice was matter-of-fact.

  Priscilla looked up. “I’m responsible for people coming and going,” she said, a hint of defensiveness creeping into her soft voice. “I need to know who is here. Who is visiting.”

  “Of course you do,” Nell said. “I know you do a wonderful job. I’m sure you saw to it that Ellie had excellent care.”

  Priscilla pushed her glasses up her nose and smiled graciously. “She had the very best care. Dr. Alan and Father Larry were here religiously. The nurses used to tease that she had more male visitors than anyone on the wing. And every single week someone brought her the most beautiful fresh flowers.”

  Fresh flowers? Was that a Lydia touch? Owning a nursery, it would have been an easy gesture, Nell thought, but somehow she didn’t think Lydia was the sender.

  “The nurses were kind to her, loving,” Priscilla added.

  “Are any of the nurses who cared for her still on staff?” Izzy asked.

  The question seemed to challenge Priscilla, but finally she said, “No one that knew her from the beginning like I did. They’re all gone. But there are some who were here during the last few years of Ellie’s life. Some volunteers, too, perhaps.” She began to mumble names softly, pulling them out of her memory one by one. Patty. Erica. Carly. “Someone could check for you, of course. I instituted a very exact record-keeping system when I was director.”

  They held back smiles. Birdie had shared the tale. Priscilla was fastidious at keeping records, and that included the Ladies’ Classics and Tea Club. She recorded every book they read—back when they actually discussed them—every wine they favored, every appetizer and piece of cake they ate, and she also dutifully recorded the names of waitresses and waiters who served them at Ocean’s Edge. No one knew what Priscilla did with her information, but somehow, somewhere, there was a stack of yellow legal pads that recorded the Ladies’ Classics and Tea Club activities for all posterity—and it was continuing to grow.

  They could only imagine the kind of record keeping she had instituted at Ocean View.

  Priscilla pointed down a wide carpeted hallway. “Our suites are in that wing.”

  “So that’s where Ellie lived?”

  Priscilla nodded. “China Rose.” She smiled.

  “May we look at it?” Birdie asked.

  “Normally I would say no, even to you, Birdie.” Priscilla smiled. “But China Rose is empty right now. We’re always updating and remodeling. Everything at Ocean View is up to date, you know.” She looked up at a large clock on the wall. “I’ll need to leave you for a bit, but there are nurses around, people to answer questions.” She pointed them in the right direction, hugged Birdie again, and bade Izzy and Nell good-bye. Then slowly she made her way back to her position in the lobby, graciously greeting every person who came through the door.

  They walked down the hallway, a wide and welcoming area, the walls filled with fine art. Halfway down they came to a nursing station with polished wooden secre
tary desks, flowers, computers, and comfortable chairs. A pleasant-looking young woman took off her glasses and walked over, offering to help.

  “Carly,” Izzy read her name tag out loud.

  The young woman smiled, then subtly checked the passes pinned to their coats.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, embarrassed that they’d seen her checking. “We’re careful about who comes in and out. Those are security rules.”

  “Is there a need for that here?” Birdie asked.

  Carly lifted one shoulder and laughed. “Not really, but sometimes we get people who aren’t visiting someone or who don’t have passes like yours. So we’re careful about it.”

  Birdie nodded. “Is it possible to see the China Rose Suite?”

  Carly looked surprised at first, then led them to the end of the wide hall. The door was open and Carly explained that the suite was almost ready for occupancy again. It was the loveliest suite on the floor.

  “It’s very beautiful,” Nell said, walking inside. A wall of windows looked out over the grounds and in the distance, just visible above a band of sweet bay magnolias, was the sea. She walked over and looked out at the vista Lydia Cummings had paid for. She wondered if it had brought Ellie any feeling, and comfort or pleasure.

  Carly walked up beside her. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it? A woman lived in this room for a very long time, and every day we moved her so she could see this view.”

  “Ellie Harper,” Nell said softly.

  “I thought maybe you knew her. There was something in your face when you walked into the room.”

  “I didn’t know her, not really, but I feel like I do.”

  Birdie and Izzy had come over to the windows and looked out.

  “Did you know her, Carly?” Birdie asked.

  Carly nodded. “I’ve always worked in this department. And Ellie Harper got to me, somehow. I had a job offer a few years ago over in Danvers, closer to where I live, but I turned it down. I couldn’t leave Ellie. Doc Hamilton felt that way, too. He talked to her all the time. I would hear him, so I decided I’d talk to her, too. We had great long talks, Ellie and me. My boyfriend would laugh, but I could tell, he felt the same way. He loved Ellie, too. Her cast of admirers.”

  Carly looked at the bed as if Ellie were still in it. “She had good friends. Sometimes patients like Ellie are left completely alone, but she must have been quite an amazing woman to have endeared herself to people the way she did. Loyal friends. Do you know every single Monday morning I’d come in and there’d be the most beautiful bouquet of flowers here?”

  “Did Ocean View do that?” Birdie asked. “An expensive touch.”

  “Oh, no. They don’t do that. There wasn’t a card. Someone brought them on Sunday nights and they stayed beautiful all week long until the next arrangement arrived.”

  “Have you been here a long time?” Izzy said. “You aren’t very old.”

  Carly laughed. “Old enough. I came here right out of school. I was with Ellie about nine years, I guess. I was with her the day she died, or at least most of that day. When I came in the next morning, she was gone. It was very sad for those of us who knew her over the years. She’d become a part of our lives in a strange but very nice way.”

  “I hope that last day was a happy one,” Birdie said.

  “I think it was. Doc Alan was here that morning. And her friend Esther. Risso. Those people were so loyal. I think Father Northcutt was here that day, too, and one or two others. I didn’t know her night visitors because I didn’t regularly work nights.

  “When I left that day I gave her a kiss. I don’t know why, I just did. She looked beautiful that day. I could almost imagine what she looked like when she was young. I plumped the pretty pillow her friend Esther gave her, tucked her in, and kissed her good night.”

  Carly’s eyes filled and Nell felt a surge of gratitude for this sweet woman who had loved Ellie Harper.

  Carly excused herself and for a while they stood alone in the lovely room that had been Ellie Harper’s home for nearly her whole life. And they imagined Amber, sitting on the upholstered couch by the window, Esther beside her, reading the young Amber books.

  On their way out they stopped by the nurses’ station again. Carly had her back to them, checking the computer. “Carly, were you here a week or so ago?” Nell asked.

  Carly turned. It was as if she had been waiting for them, for the question. “When Ellie’s daughter showed up, you mean?”

  “Yes.”

  “I wasn’t here when poor Priscilla Stangel saw her sitting in the chair and thought it was a ghost. She came a couple more times, but our paths only crossed once. It was a Saturday and I had taken the night shift for someone. I sometimes did that. Apparently she’d been here awhile that day, and one of the nurses called security and they were making Amber leave as I came on duty. Physically escorting her out of the building. I felt awful when I heard what was going on, so I rushed out and walked down with her. I liked her right away. She reminded me of what Ellie might have been like, feisty and strong. We stood outside together, just the two of us, and I told her about my time with her mother, about her friends, the flowers.”

  “Why did they make her leave?”

  “Some of the nurses were new and didn’t know her mother. They were freaked out by her questions. It was understandable.”

  “Do you know what she was asking about?” Nell asked.

  Carly fiddled with a pencil, rolling it between her palms. “What any daughter in her position would want to know. How did her mother die? Was she alone? What was her last day like? Was she in pain? Amber had every right to ask those questions. She wasn’t here when Ellie died. She needed to be as close to that day as she could, to live through it, hour by hour, with her mother. I understood it. It’s exactly what I would have done if Ellie had been my mother. And I would probably have wondered, just like she did, why my mother died suddenly, without any sign of wearing down. Even though it sometimes happens with PVS patients, I would have wondered. So I tried to answer every question I could.”

  They heard the compassion in Carly’s voice. And could almost hear Amber pressing for answers.

  Carly was quiet for a minute, as if weighing whether she should say more. Finally she did.

  “And that’s why I said yes.”

  “Said yes?” Izzy asked.

  “She asked me if I could find some records for her, and I said yes. I owed that to Ellie’s memory. I told her I’d get them that night, and I’d give them to her the next day, on Sunday.”

  They were all quiet, going back through the days, but it only took seconds to mentally put the calendar in order, only a few seconds to figure out what had happened between that visit and the next day.

  Ellie Harper’s daughter was murdered.

  Chapter 33

  They made one detour on their way home from Ocean View, a pleasant diversion from the tension of the day.

  “I think Esther’s knitting needles are what get her through those long shifts at the police station,” Nell said. “She knit some ornaments for our Harbor Green tree and asked me to pick them up. I think she has at least a dozen. She’s putting us to shame.”

  Esther Gibson was home as promised, but not alone. She and her husband, Richard, were sitting in the family room playing poker with Alan Hamilton and another good friend, Claire Russell. “It’s our Sunday ritual,” Esther explained as they walked back to the family room.

  Nell felt a sudden, grateful rush. She’d been hoping to run into Doc Hamilton—and here he was. Birdie’s good omen was still working its magic. Hopefully it would stay with them, the wind at their back, until the “beast” was behind bars.

  And hopefully that would be soon.

  “We’re interrupting your game,” Birdie said, eyeing the poker chips stacked at each place. She looked over at the doctor and said, “I don’t me
an to insult you, Alan, but they’re beating the pants off you.”

  Alan looked at her and joked right back—“Good thing Esther doesn’t allow strip poker in her little casino.”

  “Excellent thing!” Birdie said, with such punctuated enthusiasm that they all burst into laughter.

  “Sit, sit,” Esther said.

  “All we have is beer and bottled water,” Richard said. “Any takers?” He pointed to a makeshift bar.

  Izzy went over and grabbed water bottles for Nell and Birdie and one for herself.

  “So, has this been going on long? This little clandestine gambling casino?” she asked, perching on the arm of the couch.

  “Blame it on Richard,” Claire said. “He’s pretty good at it. They say he’s taking Reno by storm.”

  “Richard, I’d never have guessed,” Birdie said. The retired fisherman was quiet, usually letting Esther take the lead in conversations. Being a cardsharp didn’t fit his profile.

  Richard laughed at Birdie’s surprise, but then confessed, “Esther keeps me on a tight leash. Reno’s a special occasion. Usually I go to some of the casinos around here—but it’s just for fun and with only a couple of fifties in my pocket. Esther’s rule. That’s it. When it’s gone I come home. It’s fun. Same expense as going out to dinner and a movie.” He grinned, warming to the subject. “Some guys joke that playing the slots is a sure way of getting nothing for something. Not true for me. I have fun with my buddies, drink a few beers. That’s what I get. I stay away from folks I know out there who take it too seriously.”

  “Who’s that?” Claire asked. The landscaper had turned Nell’s backyard into a paradise for Izzy’s wedding, and she had been a cherished friend to all of them ever since.

  “Oh, you know, other folks around town,” Richard said. “You get to know each other. You’d be surprised, some Sea Harbor folks have made a bundle off the slots, the cards. Lost a bundle, too. Not me.” Richard laughed again.