Mayhem in Myrtle Beach

by T. Lynn Ocean

  Offended, angry, and constipated, Mabel stood up with both hands placed on her hips.

  “Look, I really don’t think that the state of my gastrointestinal maneuverings are any of anyone’s business,” she said loudly with disgust. Her Southern accent became more pronounced, and even her styled red hair looked agitated. A vein in her forehead prominently stood out between scrunched eyebrows.

  “You mean the absence of maneuverings,” Smith said. “Or should that be maneurings?” Laughing, Mrs. Storrey poked him in the ribs. Smith decided that she could poke him in the ribs anytime. He kind of liked it.

  Ethyl spoke up. “If you’d have listened to me, you’d be regular by now.”

  “Oh, shut up Ethyl,” Mabel answered with as much disdain as she could muster. Constipation could make a person grumpy, Ethyl decided, and shut up.

  When Sherwood reached the front of the bus, Freddy asked her how their passengers were doing.

  “Well, Mabel is still constipated and Burt still hasn’t had a decent shave. The rest of us are doing pretty well. Oh, except for Gus. I think he got stung by some ants, or something. His socks are off, he’s scratching his ankles, and Maggie’s trying to locate some cortisone cream.”

  “I already told you, I can’t take Ex-lax!” Mabel screamed behind them.

  Freddy laughed out loud, and suddenly wanted to hug Sherwood. She was adjusting to her new job quite nicely and he admired her bold attitude. He hadn’t heard any of their passengers lamenting about their previous activity director or criticizing Sherwood lately and sensed that they were beginning to like her despite their plan not to. And, he was definitely liking her more and more. He could actually sense the way her body would feel against his as he pulled her into an imaginary embrace and he could smell the clean scent of her shiny hair. If only she found him attractive. Even just a little bit. Something more than a big brother type. He busied himself by checking the dashboard gauges and recording the mileage on a daily route sheet.

  When all were accounted for, Sherwood gave him a ‘thumbs up’ sign in the rearview mirror, glad that she couldn’t read his mind. He shot her a cool, quick smile in return as they crawled away from the plantation house and back into the present.

  Fifteen

  The Sea Shell Hotel

  Friday late afternoon

  Sherwood arrived back at the hotel feeling relieved. The Georgetown tour had gone off without a hitch, and her seniors enjoyed it. After the rice plantation, she had guided Freddy through Georgetown and spoke to her bus group of its rich history. She had studied well and only had to refer to her notes a couple of times. Since Georgetown was the second oldest city in South Carolina, there were a lot of landmarks to point out and a lot to talk about. Plus, she figured that it couldn’t hurt to throw in a lowcountry ghost tale, which she did. The story of Alice’s grave had enchanted them.

  “Do you have any messages for me or the bus driver?” Sherwood asked the clerk. It was the same clerk, the tucker.

  “Uh, let me check.” He turned to the mini mail slots behind him.

  “Do you always work? What I mean is, you are always here. In the morning when we leave, at night when we get back.”

  “Yeah,” he said tucking in the shirt. “We recently lost some help and the college kids went back to school. Even though fall season is much slower than summer, I’ll be working long weeks until we get some new people trained. No messages.”

  It was the most she’d heard him say since the group had checked in.

  “What is your name?” She and Freddy had only referred to him as the clerk.

  “Henry.”

  “Good to meet you, Henry. Listen, I’m getting a bit worried about the resident in room 314. We haven’t seen him today, and he is still not answering the phone.” We apparently haven’t seen him the entire trip, she wanted to say. We don’t have a clue who he is. She looked at Henry expectantly.

  “So what do you want me to do?”

  “You’ve got a pass key, right? Let’s just go to 314 and make sure everything is okay in there.”

  Henry shrugged. “Sure why not.” After a phone call, Gregory the manager appeared.

  “Going to assist a guest in 314. Be right back,” Henry told him.

  A gnawing apprehension overcame Sherwood as they stood in opposite corners of the rising elevator. A rush of adrenaline shot through her body and settled heavily in the bottom of her stomach. She shivered. Something was wrong.

  “Here we are,” Henry said. “Well, this is odd. There’s a ‘Do Not Disturb’ hangar on the door but it’s the middle of the day.” He knocked, waited, knocked again more loudly.

  “Do you want to go in?” he asked. Sherwood nodded.

  The first thing she noticed was that the bed was still made and did not look like it had been slept in. Since the ‘do not disturb’ sign was on the door, the maids would not have serviced the room that morning. It should have been messy; the bed unmade. Both pillows were propped against the headboard and a bottle of Maalox lay on top of the bedspread. The television was on with the volume barely audible. A golf pro from a local area course was demonstrating how to hit out of compacted sand.

  The next thing she noticed was the hand. It was an aged hand, spotted, the arthritic fingers thick with knobby joints. Its color was a bluish-gray. Not the healthy flesh tone of a warm hand. It was sticking out of the bathroom door and rested just across the threshold.

  Sherwood rushed into the bathroom. The man, clothed in a pair of checkered pajamas, was sprawled face down on the tiled floor. She knew he was dead even before she reached down to feel for a pulse at the carotid artery in his neck. His skin was cold and unyielding and there was no pulse. She was no expert, but it was clear that Willie had been dead for several hours. Another shiver ran through her body. First aid and CPR training had not prepared her for something like this. She felt dizzy.

  “Is he dead?” Henry asked behind her. He was looking over her shoulder while she squatted beside the body in the small bathroom.

  “Yes. Call your manager at the front desk. Explain the situation and tell him to call nine-one-one.”

  “Criminy.” Henry fainted and fell against Sherwood, pushing her onto the dead man’s body.

  She struggled to push herself up while making as little contact with the body as possible. The clerk was thin but his unconscious weight on top of her felt like three hundred pounds. She rolled Henry onto the floor outside the bathroom and stood, taking deep breaths, fighting to stay calm. She made the phone call herself, then checked on Henry. He had regained consciousness and was climbing off the floor. He stumbled past her into the hall.

  Unable to look at the body any longer but knowing she shouldn’t leave the room, Sherwood propped the room door open and sat on the edge of the bed to wait. She felt like crying for a man that she never knew, and hoped that his passing hadn’t been painful. The faint sound of a siren could be heard in the distance.

  Freddy hustled through the doorway. “What’s going on?”

  She stood on shaky legs and moved into his arms. “Willie’s dead.”

  Sixteen

  The Sea Shell Hotel

  Later Friday

  The stark realization of a resident’s death had sunk in and settled deep in the pit of her stomach. Sherwood’s arms and legs were heavy and her eyelids felt thick. She clenched the telephone receiver in a white hand. Gregory and Freddy sat in the cluttered office with her as she placed the phone call to Great Wings in Virginia. Things happen, she reminded herself. People die. It was nobody’s fault.

  “Mrs. Sullivan? Hi, it’s Sherwood.”

  “Hi! How is everything going at the beach? And like I told you before, call me Jane.”

  “I, um, have some very bad news.” Sherwood paused trying to collect her thoughts.

  “Yes? What is it?”

  “One of the residents has died in his hotel room,” Sherwood relayed in a quiet voice.

  “Who is it? What happened?”

 
; “Willie Candler. He was in a single room by himself. He didn’t join us for breakfast this morning.” Sherwood, after being grilled by the police, was reciting the facts in monotone. She felt as though she was operating under the direction of a remote control.

  “We called his room but there was no answer so we left him behind, thinking that he had gone for a beach walk or something. We got back to the hotel around five o’clock today. When he still didn’t answer his phone, we checked his room and found him on the bathroom floor.”

  “Willie?” Jane asked, then paused. Sherwood knew she was searching her memory, trying to recall the image of the man, just as all the residents were doing. Jane didn’t know who he was, either.

  “How did it happen?”

  “Well, the paramedics came and then the coroner came. The police questioned everyone and reviewed video security footage to make sure nobody else was in the room. Then they okayed it for his body to be taken to the morgue. They think he died of natural causes late last night.

  Clicking noises travelled through the receiver and Sherwood knew that Jane was pulling up his resident file. “Anything else you can tell me?”

  Well, nobody even knows who he is, she thought. Or which building he lived in. The man seemed to have appeared from the backdrop of a movie set. One of many extras. A nameless face, whose purpose was to create the illusion of a group.

  “He must have been feeling sick and came back to his room to rest because there was a ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign on the door and a bottle of bottle of stomach medicine on the bed. He didn’t tell anyone that he was ill and the hotel says that no phone calls were made from his room phone.” Sherwood reminded herself to breathe. “Anyway, his body is in the morgue and I need to know how to proceed. Nobody in this group knows anything about him, like if he has any family.” Sherwood’s eyes misted as the stress of the situation picked at her normally calm self. It wasn’t the fact that a man had died. It was more about the fact that none of his neighbors even knew his name.

  “Okay, I just need you to stay calm for me, okay?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do any of the other residents know?”

  “No, not yet.” She decided to be honest and tell all. “Jane, it appears that nobody on this bus trip knows who he is, or was. He roomed by himself, and when I was coming up one short on the head count this morning, we couldn’t figure out who was missing. It’s like... he was a total stranger to everyone. I’d have to show the others a photograph to remind them who he is. I wasn’t even sure of what he looked like myself, until I found his body. With a group of almost fifty people... you know... I don’t know them all yet. But, anyway, I’m guessing that he just recently moved into Great Wings, right? He’s a new resident?”

  “No,” Jane Sullivan said quietly. “I’m looking at his file now. Willie Candler has lived at Great Wings for four years.”

  Sherwood remained silent in thought. How could a man live in a place for years and not get to know anyone there? For that matter, how could he have ridden several hours on a bus and joined in the conversation?

  “What’s on the schedule tonight?” Jane asked. A man had died, but they still had residents to take care of and emotions did not get things done.

  “Dinner and then to a club for dancing. No show tonight. In fact we planned to leave at six. It’s about time to go right now. The residents are probably gathering outside as we speak,” Sherwood said. Freddy nodded his agreement. Taking it all in and looking very pale, Gregory simply sat motionless. No one had ever died in his hotel before. Partied, yes. Fought, yes. Once, there had even been a woman who gave birth to a baby girl on the fourth floor before the ambulance could get there. But there’d never been any deaths.

  “This is what you do,” Jane said. “Go on with dinner as planned tonight. After all, everyone has to eat. Not to sound callous, but life goes on. You’ll need to notify everyone what happened. No details, just explain that he died in his room.”

  “Okay, I can do that.”

  “Plan on the club event tonight, too. It’s a demonstration of the state dance, as I recall?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, if they still want to go, take them. If they decide they’re not up for it, you need to call the club and cancel so they don’t hold seats for us. But honestly, it will be good to keep them busy and keep their mind off Willie. At least for tonight.”

  “Okay.”

  “Call me back tonight once you’ve returned to the hotel and are in for the evening, doesn’t matter how late.” Jane gave Sherwood her personal mobile phone number. “I’ve got to finish going through his file and gather some additional information.” Her mind was already busy formulating a possible plan. “And, Sherwood, you’re doing a fine job. Keep it up. I’m depending on you.” The line went dead.

  Sherwood passed along the news of Willie Candler’s sudden death once everyone was back on the bus, as Freddy drove them to their dinner at Damon’s restaurant. They responded as anticipated, with surprise and shock. But what she didn’t anticipate is that they immediately went into ‘take-care-of-the-family-and-friends’ mode, despite the fact that they weren’t sure who the deceased was. Conversation immediately rolled into taking care of business—where they needed to send food and flowers and which church Willie attended and who his closest friends were so they could offer condolences. Willie had been a resident of Great Wings. He was a neighbor and therefore, one of them. That’s all they needed to know. Problem was, not a single person on the bus knew anything about the man himself, Willie Candler, much less who his family and friends were. They were ready to take action, but stumped as to what to do.

  Her group thoroughly enjoyed the food at Damon’s, and decided that they did want to see the shag dance demonstration. After all, it was the state dance of South Carolina so it had to be something special. And it was. The couples on the dance floor were professional shaggers and spun about with amazing turns and fancy footwork for nearly an hour. Sherwood heard a few comments that the dance resembled a refined, more modern ‘jitterbug’, whatever that was. She’d have to look that one up.

  After the shag demonstration, instructors were on hand to teach the basics of the dance, but there were no takers in the Great Wings cluster. Instead, they had a group toast to their neighbor, Willie Candler, and decided to leave Fat Harold’s early. At ten o’clock that evening, Sherwood placed a call to the director at her home in Virginia. She didn’t hang up until eleven-thirty, and when she did, she felt much better.

  Seventeen

  The Sea Shell Lobby

  Saturday Morning

  There was a spacious sitting room off from the Sea Shell lobby that was designed with multiple tables and plenty of outlets where people could plug in their computer tablets and smartphones. Freddy stood close by, wondering how Sherwood would hold up during the rest of her week-long trial period. After all, it was only her third official day. He studied the gathering seniors. There was a lot of hushed conversation and speculation about who Willie was.

  “Can everyone hear me?” Sherwood said.

  There was a nodding of heads and affirmative grunts.

  Their temporary activity director took a deep breath. “I know that everyone is saddened by what happened. We’re all wondering what to do from here. Well, I had a long conversation with Mrs. Sullivan last night when we got back from dinner. She was going to fly in to Myrtle Beach today, but then we decided that she needed to remain in Virginia to handle things from that end. So she asked me to convey her thoughts.”

  “First, let me tell you what the medical examiner said. Willie—”

  “Died of a heart attack,” Gretta finished for her. “We already know all that. He wasn’t feeling good and put that ‘don’t disturb’ sign on his door.”

  “And they’ve ruled it natural causes,” somebody else said. “The cops checked phone records and the hotel security footage.”

  “Yeah, for Pete’s sake,” Gus said. “He was in there by himself.”
r />   “It was just his time to go,” Joan said.

  The room was quiet for a moment.

  Sherwood was incredulous. “How did you all know—”

  “News travels,” Mabel drawled, her shoulders up in a shrug.

  “Okay, well let me tell you a little bit about Willie, then,” Sherwood offered. “He doesn’t have any living family or relatives. His wife died several years ago. Willie moved to Great Wings about four years ago and was a very quiet fellow. He kept to himself most of the time which is probably why none of you know much about the man.”

  “Right,” Gretta said with a hint of impatience. “We already know all that, too. I called Brad. That boy is the sweetest maintenance man at Great Wings. Knows what going on ‘round that place, too.”

  “Brad’s the one who talked Willie into coming on this trip,” Maggie added.

  Gus’s putter rose. “Brad told him to get off his butt and make some friends, for pete’s sake.”

  “Right,” Sherwood jumped back in, amazed at just how fast news did travel among her group. “He was very quiet and reclusive at Great Wings, which is probably why none of you knew him well.”

  “We know!” several seniors said in unison.

  Sherwood paused and sought out Freddy for support. He nodded at her. The group was shuffling, but had quieted down. Some looked pensive, sad maybe for the loss of a neighbor they hadn’t gotten a chance to befriend.

  “Okay, then,” Sherwood said. “What don’t you all know?”

  “What the plan of action is!” a woman answered loudly from the back of the room. “Where will his funeral be?”

  “How old was he?” came another voice from the group.

  “Where did he hail from?” a man said.

  “And what can we do to help?” Mrs. Storrey asked.

  Sherwood’s brain went into scramble mode. She’d expected the group to be more subdued and quiet. Then again, she knew that with age came wisdom. And while Sherwood had never lost a close friend, her grandmother was losing them at a rate of one every few months. Sherwood supposed that she’d been much more shocked by the incident than the Great Wingers were.