Patricia Rockwell - Essie Cobb 04 - Ghosted

by Patricia Rockwell

  “Oh, don’t worry, Essie,” said Opal. “I would never do that. And besides, I really think your recent…problem was just a fluke!”

  “Yes, Essie,” contributed Marjorie, “it was probably just a one-time thing!”

  “I hope you two are right!” said Essie. “What do you think, Fay?” She looked at her little friend on the opposite side of the table. Fay glanced around questioningly from Marjorie to Opal and then back to Essie. Then she brought up both hands and gave Essie two thumbs up.

  “See,” said Marjorie, “even Fay agrees. You’re probably just fine, Essie. It won’t happen again. I predict that that squirrel will stay squirrel size from now on!”

  “I agree,” said Opal.

  They all smiled at each other around the table. Essie felt rejuvenated. No one could uplift her spirits more than these three ladies—well, maybe handsome Felix Federico and a kiss on the hand could. But she felt normal again and no squirrel outside her window was going to spook her.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  “…an old, moldering house, full of gloom and haunted by ghosts.”

  ––Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

  The four women loitered in the dining hall much past the normal closing time. Essie wanted to get caught up on all that she had apparently missed during the last 24 hours. As it was evidently not much, she breathed an internal sigh of relief and savored a second cup of coffee with her friends as they chatted amiably about Felix Federico, the new resident Edward Troy, Essie’s infernal answering machine, and, of course, the upcoming field trip. All the pressure had worn Essie down and she had agreed to join her friends.

  Santos was hovering around with a coffee pot, attempting to refill their cups.

  “Ladies want more coffee?” he asked sweetly, pot poised in the air.

  “Oh, my, Santos,” said Essie. “I’ve already had two cups, which is one cup past my limit.”

  “Me too,” added Marjorie. “If I have any more caffeine in the middle of the day, I’ll never sleep tonight.”

  “Girls,” said Opal, looking around the deserted dining hall, “I think, maybe, Santos is trying to tell us that we should be going…” She gestured around at the empty tables.

  “Oh, no, Miss Opal,” replied the young waiter. “You ladies may stay and chat all you wish. We will vacuum you all around!”

  “Santos,” said Essie, “as delightful as that sounds, I think we’re probably done here and we need to get going anyway. We’re planning on signing up for the haunted house field trip!”

  “Oh, very good, Miss Essie!” he replied. “Very scary! Santos, he not like to be scared. The world, it is too scary like it is. I no know why anyone want to go where they scare you. Why is?” He looked quizzically at Essie.

  “That’s a good question, Santos,” said Essie. “I can’t figure it out either. Something in our American nature, I guess. We like to be daring!”

  “Oh, then, Miss Essie,” said Santos, smiling broadly, “you must go, Miss Essie. You very daring lady!”

  “That she is, Santos,” agreed Opal.

  “Mr. Federico wants her to lead us at the field trip,” added Marjorie.

  “Bravo, Miss Essie!” cried Santos, and with a little bow of honor to his heroine, he cradled his coffee pot and backed away to the kitchen.

  “Ladies,” suggested Opal, “let’s get going before we get vacuumed up!” She set down her cup, wiped her mouth with her napkin, and stood up using her walker for balance.

  Marjorie and Essie followed suit and Fay punched a button on the arm of her wheelchair which immediately turned her vehicle around. Essie led the way out of the dining hall and into the lobby.

  The lobby, centrally located in Happy Haven, and the hub of all activity in the place, was bustling with visitors, residents, and staff. Some residents were relaxing in the sofas and arm chairs in front of the blazing fire in Happy Haven’s beautiful double-decker fireplace. A row of jack-o-lanterns rimmed the hearth, each sporting a cheerful face, the candle inside flickering through pumpkin-colored teeth. One large, black witch cut-out flew over the ceiling at the top of the fireplace.

  Essie rolled over to the front desk to the side of the main entrance. There was a short line of people waiting to speak to the clerk, Phyllis.

  “Just grab the sign-up sheet,” suggested Opal to Essie, pointing to a clipboard on the counter beside Phyllis.

  “No, no,” responded Essie in a whisper. “Let’s just wait for Phyllis.” Opal huffed but followed Essie’s request while Marjorie and Fay stood behind. Eventually, Phyllis completed helping the individuals in front of Essie, and Essie moved up to the counter.

  “Hello, Phyllis,” she said. “My friends and I would like to sign up for the field trip to the haunted house. Is there any room left?” Essie hoped in a part of her heart that the trip would be full and circumstances would prevent her and her friends from being able to attend.

  “Oh, Essie,” said Phyllis, reaching to her side for the clipboard. “Here you are! I believe there are slots left!” As she was glancing down at the board, Sue Barber appeared from her office across the lobby and came up to the counter beside Essie.

  “Oh, Essie!” she gushed. “You’re signing up for the field trip! How wonderful! I know you’ll just love it!”

  “We’re going too!” added Opal from behind.

  “That’s fabulous!” replied Sue. She grabbed the clipboard from Phyllis. “All four of you?” The women all nodded. “That’s wonderful. Looks like we just have room enough for you. But that fills all the slots! You girls are certainly lucky.” She beamed at Essie as Essie signed her name to the list with the little pencil. Then she moved aside and motioned Opal to move up to the counter and sign her name. Opal did this, followed by Marjorie. When Marjorie was done, she handed the clipboard down to Fay, seated in her wheelchair, and Fay added her name at the very bottom of the list.

  “Isn’t this just perfect timing?” said Sue as Fay finished the last letter in her name. “You girls just got your names on our list in time. I was just about ready to cancel the field trip because we didn’t have enough residents who wanted to participate! But with the four of you going now, the field trip to the Tippleton haunted house is a go!”

  Essie cringed, thinking that if she had just waited a few more minutes, Sue Barber would have given up getting enough residents to attend the field trip and she, or rather, they wouldn’t have had to go. Oh, dear! Now she, that is they, were stuck having to go to a haunted house where she’d no doubt get her pants scared off. That was probably an understatement. That was probably the least that would happen to her pants.

  Essie was smiling mightily at Sue Barber who was excited beyond what Essie considered normal for anyone who had managed to snooker, or rather convince, a bunch of old ladies to attend something that was more appropriate for a group of teenage boys. Sue was almost doing a little jig, she was so happy. Essie contemplated grabbing the clipboard from her hands and scratching off her name.

  “Come on,” said Opal, grabbing Essie by the arm. “Let’s get going before you do anything you might regret.”

  “What?” said Essie, turning around to look at Opal. Marjorie and Fay were still entranced with Sue Barber’s fit of glee.

  “I see that look of fury in your eyes,” whispered Opal. “And I know you didn’t really want to go on this field trip.” She bent sideways to speak to Essie but pretended to be enjoying Sue’s enthusiastic success.

  “Can you blame me?” asked Essie. “You remember the last field trip we were on. I was almost attacked by a tree!”

  “It was an accident, Essie,” said Opal quietly, trying to calm her friend.

  “Opal, if something like a tree branch can reach out and grab me at the Reardon Botanical Gardens,” postulated Essie, “just imagine what might grab me at a haunted house.”

  “Essie, you know you’re just worried about having a ‘potty’ accident,” said Opal. “You’ve got to get over this silly fear. Especially when you’re so
fearless in every other aspect of your life. Look at all the mysteries you’ve solved. What about catching that drug dealer last year? Good grief, Essie, you’re a super hero. There’s simply no reason for you to be frightened of the haunted house.”

  “But, Opal,” insisted Essie, “what if I lose my memory again? I can’t account for the last 24 hours. What if I start seeing giant squirrels?”

  Opal bent over and gave Essie a warm squeeze.

  “Then, you have me—and Marjorie and Fay!” she said. “Come on, let’s go look at the jack-o-lanterns.” Opal gestured to the line of pumpkin creatures at the fireplace and she and Essie headed over to admire them. Marjorie and Fay followed along, having lost interest in Sue’s public display of glee.

  “Look at this one,” said Opal, pointing at one pumpkin face.

  “Cute,” said Essie. “Not unlike a squirrel.”

  “Essie…” warned her friend. Marjorie and Fay gathered behind them.

  “Now that we’re all going on the field trip,” said Marjorie, “should we plan our outfits?”

  “What?” cried Essie.

  “We could all wear coordinated skirts and sweaters,” suggested Marjorie. “Do you all have any orange tops? Wouldn’t that be adorable?”

  “It would be silly, Marjorie,” sneered Essie. “Besides, if you remember, my daughters just cleared out my closet. I only have a few tops left. And I know none of them are orange! Yuck!”

  As the four women chatted and admired the little jack-o-lanterns on the hearth, the handsome new resident, Edward Troy, dressed in his striking leather bomber jacket, strode purposefully through the lobby and past the mailboxes. Essie wondered if he was heading out the back door to meet the same person he had met with the other day (whenever that was).

  “Don’t look now, girls,” she said to her friends, who immediately looked up from the pumpkins and around and behind themselves. “I said don’t look! You missed him!”

  “Who?” asked Opal.

  “Edward Troy,” whispered Essie. The women were all standing in front of the grand fireplace, their walkers and Fay’s wheelchair gathered together in a circle like a group of prairie schooners on the plains. “He just headed out the back entrance again like he did the other day!”

  “Should we follow him?” asked Marjorie with excitement.

  “No, Marjorie,” answered Essie, shaking her head. “He’d surely notice all four of us. Just how discreet could we be as a group?”

  “I don’t see how he gets away with that,” noted Opal. “You’d think a staff member would stop him and tell him the rules.”

  “He obviously waits until no one is watching,” replied Essie. “He’s very sly. Just like a spy! I told you!”

  “Really, Essie,” scoffed Marjorie. “I hardly think any of these things makes him a spy!”

  At that moment, Edward Troy slipped back through the rear entrance and strode purposefully through the lobby. The four women quickly turned away and pretended to be admiring the jack-o-lanterns. After he’d passed them, they sighed collectively.

  “That was close,” said Essie. “I hope he didn’t see us watching him.”

  “I don’t think he did,” offered Opal. “I hope not, Essie. Now, you’ve got me scared that maybe that man is up to no good.”

  “I can’t say exactly what he’s up to, Opal,” observed Essie, her eyes following in the direction where Troy had disappeared into the family room, “but I did notice that he was carrying another of those strange packages.”

  “Do you think it’s bomb making supplies?” asked Marjorie, actually sounding a bit worried.

  “I don’t know what it is, Marjorie,” replied Essie, “but I’m going to find out.”

  “What about your memory loss, Essie?” asked Opal. The women were still grouped tightly together and whispering.

  “I think…I hope that all of that was just a fluke,” she said. “I know I feel completely normal.”

  “What day is it today, Essie?” asked Marjorie, as the four ladies continued to chat at the fireplace.

  “What?” asked Essie, surprised.

  “I’m just checking on your memory,” replied Marjorie.

  “It’s Monday, Marjorie,” replied Essie. “Just after lunch. The four of us just signed up for the field trip to the Tippleton haunted house, apparently minutes before Sue Barber was going to cancel the whole thing! How could I possibly forget that? And, we’ve verified possible nefarious activities of the elusive Mr. Troy.”

  “Yes, the old Essie is back,” said Marjorie, giving Essie a friendly pat on the back.

  “I’m back, Marjorie,” said Essie. “And I’m not letting a little memory loss or some dumb imaginary rodent get the better of me.”

  “That a girl, Essie!” said Opal with a fist punch.

  “So, ladies?” asked Marjorie. “Anyone for a game of cards? Or do you all have things to do?”

  “I’m afraid I have things to do,” said Opal. “My daughter is coming in a bit to take me to my eye doctor.”

  “I need to call my son,” said Marjorie. “It’s been a long time since he’s called me, and I’m tired of waiting to hear from him.”

  “Good for you, Marjorie!” said Opal. “Thankless children!”

  “Oh, he’s a good son,” added Marjorie. “Just busy.”

  Essie knew that Marjorie’s son was a busy person but, still, she thought that he could—and should—make some time to call his mother from time to time. Even so, Marjorie was not one to complain and always had an upbeat attitude.

  “And you, Essie?” Opal asked.

  “Oh, my!” Essie cried. “I just remembered. Since it’s Monday—not Sunday like I had thought—I guess that means I have my standing hair appointment this afternoon.”

  “At least it’s not a field trip to go to the Happy Haven beauty parlor!” noted Marjorie. “I just love Bev!”

  “Me too,” said Opal. “She’s so friendly.”

  “And such a wonderful source of information,” added Essie.

  “You mean gossip, Essie?” asked Marjorie. “If anyone knows anything about Happy Haven, it’s Bev. I mean, she’s been here almost as long as Happy Haven has been around.”

  “She’s a fixture,” said Essie. With that, the four women bid each other adieu and turned their walkers and wheelchair and headed off to their own places.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  “My dear sir, it haunted me for the rest of my life.”

  ––Peter O’Toole

  Essie rolled slowly into her apartment. She was stoic as she considered her situation. So what if she had lost track of a few hours in the day? After all, she was ninety years old. She could still get around on her own and most of the time, at least, her mind seemed to function just fine. The proof of that was the speed with which she could whip out a puzzle—either one on her clipboard or one on her favorite television game show. And if she saw a big squirrel or two now and then, did it really matter? So far, at least, the giant rodent hadn’t attempted to bite her. Compared to the really, genuinely awful things happening around the world, Essie viewed her own petty problems as insignificant. It was probably that positive, can-do attitude that had gotten her to age ninety.

  She looked at her watch and realized that, if it truly was Monday afternoon, she did have an appointment for her monthly hair styling. She rolled over to her little desk and ran her finger down her calendar. Sure enough! She had written in the appointment for Monday at two o’clock.

  I’m certainly glad I didn’t hallucinate my way through my hair appointment, she mused. I’d really hate to miss it. My hair looks terrible!

  She left her desk and rolled over to her recliner and eased herself down. She reached over to grab her clipboard with all her unsolved crossword puzzles and couldn’t help but notice her new answering machine standing guard on her end table. The little light that indicated a message was waiting was flickering on and off.

  Bouncing beanbags! she cursed. Now what? Somebody’s trying to
get in touch with me again. Why couldn’t they have just waited until I returned from lunch to call me? I know this thing was not blinking when I left here. Despite her practice session with her grandson, she didn’t want to deal with the gadget.

  Essie ignored the beckoning red light and grabbed her clipboard. Taking a nearby pencil, she leaned back and started to contemplate some of the empty squares in the puzzle on the top of the board.

  Hmm, she read, ‘an urgent message.’ She thought a while, but the clue to the puzzle answer only served to remind her of the red light steadily calling to her from the machine.

  In frustration, she slammed down the clipboard and bent over the machine. The array of buttons stared up at her.

  Now which one of these is the one I’m supposed to press?

  Not able to remember the correct button to use to play back a message, Essie closed her eyes and let her finger land by chance on one of the many buttons on the machine. She gave it a little push and hoped for the best.

  The machine responded by doing nothing—but the blinking light ceased its blinking.

  Oh, jumping jackrabbits! Now what have I done? She waited a few moments, hoping that the message presaged by the blinking light would magically play, but silence reigned. She debated whether it would be best to just let the machine alone—after all, it was quiet and the light was not on—but then, that might mean that it wasn’t working. Maybe she should call Ned and ask him again. Oh, no, she’d pestered her poor grandson enough. She really ought to have the hang of the infernal contraption by now, but obviously she didn’t.

  Essie persisted. She was going to learn how to use this answering machine. After all, her entire family seemed to think that her life depended on it, and for all she knew, maybe it did. She pressed the button she had just pressed which had stopped the blinking light before. This time, the light started up again—blinking frantically like some lighthouse on a secluded seacoast calling to a wayward ship.

  Pestering poppycocks! Now I’m back to where I started.