by Bill Clem
“Bitch?” Jennie said.
“Yes. Gold plated. You should have heard what she said to me in the office.”
Jennie looked at him and smiled. “Well, how ‘bout we have dinner later and talk about it? You have any plans?”
Paul felt his pulse quicken. “Me? Are you kidding? My plans consist of a TV dinner and a beer.”
“In that case, I saw a great little Italian place in town. If it’s as good as the sign says, we’re in luck.”
Paul leaned against the car door. “I don’t have any wheels with me. I never bring them when I’m on a travel assignment.”
“I’ll pick you up. How’s six thirty sound?”
“You got it.”
Paul walked away with mixed emotions. He was thrilled to be going to dinner with a gorgeous girl on his second day of work. At the same time, Margaret was already beginning to bug him. Her initial charm had quickly worn off and she had turned into an ice queen.
Had he made a mistake coming here? And how the hell did she know he was in the organ room?
Chapter Eleven
The restaurant was every bit as good as Jennie had suggested. It seemed a bit odd to Paul for an authentic Italian restaurant to be smack dab in the middle of Vermont, but it was more Italian than some places he’d eaten at in New York. Small red and white-checkered table clothes covered the square tables that were decorated with but a single candle placed in an empty Chianti bottle.
Paul ordered the veal picata, while Jennie decided on lasagna. Her favorite, she had confessed. They were on their second bottle of Lambrusco and Paul was feeling lightheaded.
“So tell me, what is Jennie Bradford like?” he asked.
Jennie shrugged. “Just your average girl from Montana.”
“Montana! You’ve got to be kidding me. I’m from Billings! And by the way, you’re anything but average.”
“Oh my God. I can’t believe this. I’m from Butte. And thank you for the compliment.”
“How did we end up here of all places?” Paul asked.
Jennie rolled her eyes. “I’m starting to ask myself that same question after the reception I got from that boss of yours.”
“She is a bitch. And defensive. Every time I ask her about Harbor View, I get put off. It’s almost like they’re hiding something.”
Jennie took a gulp of wine. “Maybe they are. Although, by my records, they have one of the finest facilities in New England. Do you know that they haven’t had a death in over twenty years?”
Paul’s mouth dropped open. “Twenty years?”
“Yep, unless my reports are wrong. I guess we’ll find out tomorrow.”
“Yeah, but enough about Harbor View,” Paul said. “What about you? You still have folks in Butte?”
The waiter showed up with a huge Caesar Salad and basket of bread sticks. Jennie grabbed a bread stick and took a quick bite.
“No. My grandparents raised me. My father was killed in Viet Nam. My mother couldn’t handle it. She ended up in the state hospital. By the time she got out, her health had deteriorated to nothing.”
“I’m sorry,” Paul said.
Jennie smiled ruefully. “It’s fine. I had a great childhood, despite it all. Grew up on a big ranch. Grandfather was in cattle. Ate steak every day of the week.”
“So, that’s why you ordered lasagna,” Paul said, gulping the last of his wine.
Jennie exhaled silently. “How about you, Paul?”
“I’m an orphan of sorts myself. My parents were killed in a plane crash in 1975. Fortunately, I was old enough to take care of myself. You want some more wine?”
“Sure, fill it up,” Jennie said, extending her wine glass.
Paul filled their glasses and pushed the bottle back into the ice bucket. They clinked glasses and drank. As Paul sat his glass down, he glanced furtively at Jennie. The food arrived just in time. It was apparent she was as anxious to change the subject as he was.
Outside the restaurant an hour later, Paul paused. “I need to get some flashlight batteries before we go back.”
“I saw a drugstore around the corner,” Jennie said. “Come on, I’ll show you.”
Paul followed, his steps slowed by the wine.
“I couldn’t eat another bite,” Jennie said.
“Me neither. That was a great choice, by the way.”
Jennie stopped suddenly. “Thank you,” she said, giving Paul a kiss on the cheek.
It was a warm evening and a few nighthawks chirped high in the dark sky. Despite the hectic day, the evening had turned out great for Paul. It was obvious that Jennie agreed.
“I’m glad I asked you to dinner,” Paul said.
“I believe I asked you,” Jennie said smiling, taking Paul’s arm in hers.
They entered the drug store and Paul found the batteries in the first aisle he came to. “Here we go.”
Jennie fixed her gaze on Paul. “Are you planning on going camping? If you are, I’d like to go.”
Paul laughed. “No, but there is something I need to check out at Harbor View.”
Jennie bit the side of her lip. “What?”
“I’m not sure. I’ll let you know when I find out. It could be interesting.”
Jennie drove Paul back to Harbor View and stopped at the gate. He got out and came around to the driver’s window. She embraced him in a warm hug and kissed him on both cheeks.
“Thanks,” she said. “I really had a great time.” She shot him a look just short of seduction. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Before he could reply, Jennie accelerated and turned her car around, heading back to town. Paul just smiled to himself. He had been attracted to her from the start, and, if he read the signals in her glance and smile and voice correctly, the feeling was mutual.
He hummed an old Herman’s Hermits tune as he went up the drive: Something Tells Me I’m Into Something Good.
Chapter Twelve
Phillip Baxter stood in his robe before the full-length mirror, brushing back his thick hair. A knock at the door stopped him, and he set down his brush.
That would be Margaret, he knew. She had called him earlier. “Come in.” Baxter continued to stare at himself.
“The new inspector arrived today,” Margaret said.
“Yes, I anticipated she would. What’s she like?”
“Young. And nosey. She and Paul Grant were inside the organ room shortly after she arrived.”
Baxter’s eyes flashed and he turned to Margaret. “How did that happen?”
“Sadie Mills has been running her mouth again. She told Paul about it.”
“I think it’s time we had a talk with Sadie. And don’t tell this inspector too much. We can’t afford to have her snooping around. Did she mention her predecessor?”
“Only that she retired.”
Baxter smiled and looked back in the mirror. “Yes, she certainly did, didn’t she?”
Margaret came up behind Baxter and put her arms around his shoulders. “Do you want me to stay tonight?”
Baxter turned and examined her face closely.
“Not tonight. I’m a bit preoccupied.”
Margaret recoiled as if she’d been slapped.
Baxter turned back to the mirror as she left. He loosened the belt of his robe and let it drop open. He stared at the reflection of his shriveled penis. “Preoccupied indeed,” he said to the mirror. It disgusted him. He closed his robe and looked back at his face. Several new lines had appeared that weren’t there last week. They were ominous signs.
The time was near.
Chapter Thirteen
Sadie Mills shifted in her bed in the dark room. She couldn’t adjust her vision to the dark, despite the elixir. Her ability to see well had left her years earlier.
She heard the door open and close abruptly.
Maybe it was just the janitor?
He frequently kept late hours and snooped around the resident’s rooms. Sadie flipped on her night light and sat up.
“Who�
�s there?”
No one answered and Sadie bent forward and squinted her eyes to try and focus. “Probably mice,” she muttered to herself.
Having reined in her fear, Sadie turned out the lights and dropped her head onto the pillow. She longed for the good ol’ days when she could get a sleeping pill. Since Baxter had returned, he’d allowed no medicines except his ‘elixirs’. Maybe she could talk the new nurse into sneaking her a pill. After all, living a hundred and ten years, she at least deserved that much. Even if Baxter didn’t think so. She got a grip on her rampaging thoughts just as the noise at her door started again. She fumbled for her light.
“Goddammit,” she said, as it crashed to the floor. “Who’s there? Is that you Hudson?” Sadie swung her legs over the edge of the bed. “I’ll fix you, who ever you are!”
Grabbing the edge of her night stand, Sadie wrenched herself from her pile of blankets and climbed out of bed. Despite her vision, she felt her way across the room to the light switch next to the door. The room flooded with light and she covered her eyes. When the spots cleared, she saw a dark-clad figure standing over her.
“Who are you? Get out of my room!” Sadie grabbed the wool mask covering the intruder’s face and yanked it off. “You!” she said, recognizing the face. She braced herself for the impact when she saw the metal pipe come around from the side. She put up her forearm in a defensive posture, but on impact, her arm snapped like a dry twig.
The next blow ripped her skull in two.
Chapter Fourteen
Paul Grant lay down on his bed only to realize he was just as restless as the previous night. Despite what Paul had told Baxter in his interview, the truth was more complicated than what he’d revealed to Baxter. The truth was, Paul wasn’t all that thrilled about taking the assignment at Harbor View to begin with. He was used to the convenience and pace of a large city. His last assignment, an Intensive Care Unit at a major Los Angeles hospital, was a far cry from the dairy farms of Vermont.
His new boss, however, had begged and prodded him with a large bonus that was difficult to turn down. When he finally relented, he learned that he was the only nurse on staff that had met the tough criteria Harbor View had set forth. That surprised Paul. From what he’d seen, Harbor View was more of a babysitting job. The only perk to the whole thing was that he had met Jennie Bradford. That in itself was reason enough to stay.
His last girlfriend, a fellow nurse in L.A., dumped him right after their respective assignments were over. He found that in the travel nurse business, it was quite common. Couples often paired up for the duration of their stay, a kind of mutual agreement to use each other with no strings attached. Paul, though, tended to get too emotionally involved, instead of seeing it for what it was. Paul realized his expectations were tied to his own parents’ conventional marriage. It lasted thirty years until the doomed airliner abruptly ended it.
With Jennie, he would have to be careful. Her aggressive nature made her all the more attractive to him. He was not going to get stung this time.
Then again, he always said that.
Paul swung his legs over the edge of the bed and flipped on the light. It was 1 A.M. and all his attempts to sleep had accomplished was to make him more restless. He loaded his flashlight with the new batteries and checked the switch. The beam cast across the room to the adjacent wall. He flipped it off immediately.
Now let’s see what’s in that storage room.
He turned off his light and felt his way across the room to his door. Peeking out in both directions, he took a deep breath to bolster his courage and stepped out. The only sound came from the constant hum of the fluorescent lights overhead, where several gypsy moths fluttered about.
Moving quickly, he made his way to the South Hall and down an adjacent corridor on the other side. At the far end, he could see the steel doors of the storage room. He headed toward the doors, flattening himself against the wall until he reached them. He slipped out his credit card. Despite the chill of the hall, beads of perspiration dripped of his nose. As before, he easily jimmied the lock open. Holding his breath, he slipped inside and turned the flashlight on. Millions of dust specks danced in the beam of light.
Paul’s heart was racing as he swung the light across the room. It was more expansive than he had been able to see the night before. The beam cast an eerie glow across numerous file cabinets, antique bureaus, trunks and old boxes on both sides. He located the trunk he was interested in, between two stacks of luggage. With some difficulty, he managed to make his way over to it. He slid a small box off the top and shined the light on the trunk’s dusty surface. He took a deep breath and looked at the brass plate on top. He recognized the initials: C.A.B.--Charles A. Baxter. The same man as in the pictures he’d seen in the hall.
A metal latch, partially rusted, connected the top to the trunk. Paul pulled on it and it came loose easily. The lid creaked as he opened it, and he felt his body flush. Ever since he was a small boy, he liked looking through old things. Once, while playing, he found a treasure trove of old stamps in his grandparents’ attic.
But this was the granddaddy of them all.
Inside the trunk, the top shelf was thick with correspondence, pictures, and all sorts of official looking documents. All very, very old.
Paul picked up a photograph off the top and blew the dust off. It was a picture of a small boy. Someone had written in the corner: Charles Baxter, age 11. He continued leafing through the pictures until he found another that caught his interest. The picture showed a jungle in the background and a group of men standing near a river. A tall blond man stood in the foreground next to Charles Baxter. Paul recognized Baxter from the photograph in the hall. Several pygmy natives stood around them, holding a huge snake they had apparently just killed. Paul flipped the picture over. It read: Dr. Charles Baxter and Hans Olsen, Amazon 1934.
Paul was continuing to look through various papers and documents when he came across a small book. It was bound in aged brown leather and tied up with some sort of twine. Paul pulled on it and the ancient string snapped easily. The entire book was stiff and brittle and he gently opened it, reading the first page: The Chronicles of Charles Baxter, September 5, 1933.
Paul felt his pulse quicken. He couldn’t believe what he’d found. Was it possible no one else knew about this? He turned the next page and read the first entry:
This disease has about got me. The only thing that keeps me comfortable is the morphine, which I must inject five to tentimes a day. It’s a horrible existence, but one of which I have no choice. I have begun to plan for what will be mylast trip.
C. B.
Paul heard a noise down the hall and his heart nearly came to a stop. If he got caught in here, he’d be fired for sure. He closed the trunk and realized he still had the diary in his hand. He wanted to finish reading it and obviously no one would miss it. He sucked in his stomach and jammed it in his waistband. He pulled his shirt down and made sure it wasn’t noticeable. Racked with fear, he grabbed his flashlight and worked his way back to the entrance, pressing his ear to the door. After he was satisfied it was clear, he slipped out and gently closed the door.
Halfway down the hall, he heard it.
Footfalls following close behind him. There was nowhere to go except the stairwell, so he dove behind the door and waited. He could only hope whoever it was would pass by.
He waited for what seemed like an hour before looking out. Finally, it was quiet and Paul hurried back to his room and collapsed on his bed, exhausted.
He’d forgotten all about the diary.
Chapter Fifteen
Paul’s eyes blinked open and he was instantly awake. He grabbed his watch. Seeing it was 8:20 A.M., he cursed silently to himself. He had to meet Jennie and Margaret in half an hour. He started to rise, but stopped dead in his tracks when he noticed the diary lying next to him on the bed. How could he have forgotten? Despite his narrow window of time, Paul couldn’t resist talking another look at it. Grabbing the book, h
e went to the window for better light. He flipped past the first page and stopped at the second entry:
I will go to the Amazon to study the Yohagi tribe, an anthropological oddity that might be my last hope. Alas, I am weak, but I must continue with my plan
C. B.
Paul closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He realized he was reading the diary of a dying man. The elder Baxter was chronicling his last days.
Did Dr. Baxter know about his father’s diary?
He gazed back at the diary. Carefully, he turned individual pages and glanced over the entries. Most were short; only a few sentences for each day, which included a terse description of the weather. Paul closed it up and looked at his watch. It was already 8:50. To his astonishment, he’d been leafing through the diary for half an hour.
He slipped the book into the night stand drawer and yanked off his boxers. It would have to be a quick shower; he needed to be ready in ten minutes. If he was late, though, it was worth it. He had some interesting things to share with Jennie.
Chapter Sixteen
Jennie Bradford arrived that morning looking fresh and professional. She wore a white oxford shirt, blue skirt, and navy blue flats. Margaret studied Jennie with the envy an aging beauty reserves for a younger woman. Paul noticed and smiled at Jennie as she came in the office.
“Morning,” Margaret said, her words underscored by her acid voice.
“Good morning,” Jennie said, glancing at Paul.
“Want some coffee?” Paul asked.
Jennie waved him off. “I just finished three cups.”
Margaret stood. “I think we should get right to it,” she said. “Jennie, how about we visit a few residents and show you around?”
As Paul expected, Margaret was all business. While he looked on, she introduced Jennie to half the residents, reciting a short biography on each one as if she was a zookeeper.
Finally, two hours later, Margaret stopped. “It’s getting close to lunch, why don’t we break for an hour?”
