“Don’t you ever get tired, Lydia?” Ambrose asked.
“Do you?”
“No, but I’d think you would be bored by all this now.”
“Never.” She sipped her brandy and he could see the curve of her lips through the bowl of the glass balloon. She reclined on the satin sofa, put her legs on the back of it, and crossed them, ankle over beautiful ankle. Her lips glistened as she licked off the liquor. The hand holding her glass dropped to her side.
“So, what did we learn tonight?” Ambrose rested his head on the back of his chair and closed his eyes.
This was how they ended every evening since they were first together: Lydia talking, Ambrose listening. He valued her instincts and her insight. Some might have thought this simply a habit, but habit was something one did thoughtlessly. He and Lydia had no habits.
“Where shall I start?” Lydia laughed her throaty laugh. “Senator Bidly? Mona Kluger? How about the waiter who is now in possession of the money clip that fell out of Ambassador Hargerfeld’s pocket?”
“You are sharp eyed, Lydia,” Ambrose chuckled. “Start with Mona.”
“That twit? How she got elected I’ll never know,” Lydia scoffed. “All right. Her gown was off the rack, her hair reeked of cheap hairspray, and her jewels were paste.”
“Lydia,” Ambrose chided.
“Girl stuff, honey, otherwise Washington would be boring with all you men strutting around like peacocks. I’m telling you, you all look the same to me after awhile.”
“I hope there’s an exception,” Ambrose didn’t open his eyes. He liked to feel her voice melting as thick as liquid gold into his brain.
“Only you, darlin’. You are the right peacock.” She chuckled. “Well, Mona says she’s getting plenty of grief from the good folks at home about all sorts of things. They’re not happy with the immigration stall; they’re furious about this new insurance crap; they’re still harping on the lack of jobs. She’s got five cities in her district going bankrupt and everybody’s wondering why they can’t get bailed out.”
“Because the world has gone to hell in a hand basket is why,” Ambrose answered as he opened his eyes. “There is no money. Besides, her districts are of no importance.”
“She knows that, but she’s looking for something, anything. She hasn’t got one thing to crow about during her campaign,” Lydia pointed out.
“And?”
“And she’s thinking if you could just throw her a little bone she would be ever so grateful.”
Up came Lydia’s hand. She took a drink but she was lying at an odd angle and the brandy spilled into the indentation at the base of her throat. She swiped at it with one finger. When that didn’t do the job she used the silk chiffon of her gown as if it were an ordinary napkin. Ambrose was enchanted the way one might be when a particularly beautiful dancer falters on stage and goes on without embarrassment.
“What does she want?” Ambrose asked.
“She wants you to talk to Tom Critchfield and have him shoot some transportation bucks her way. It wouldn’t have to be much. A hundred million.”
“And in return I would get what?”
“Her undying support for your presidential run.”
Lydia turned her head. That gorgeous, perfectly formed face of hers wore an expression more suited to a gambler with a good hand than a trophy wife.
“I don’t need it,” Ambrose reminded her.
“True,” Lydia agreed, “but she’s part of the women’s caucus and you know they’ve been having second thoughts about you.”
“I don’t know why,” Ambrose objected.
“Oh, honey, everyone on the hill knows Sylvia Dias’s people have done everything but bought a bed and spread her legs for you and you haven’t given her a second look. She’s the only one who has any viability as a VP and you act like she’s the last person you’d invite to the prom. And don’t you think I know, honey, that you had Eugene leak a short list two weeks ago? Undisclosed source, my ass. There wasn’t one woman on it even as a nod.”
Lydia threw her legs over the side of the sofa, shot the rest of her brandy, put the glass on the table, and planted her feet.
“I don’t know why you won’t do it. Far be it from me to lobby for someone just because we are the same sex. Most women in politics are idiots, but it only makes sense to look at a one for the ticket. You’d make history with a woman VP and it’s not like a woman could hurt you, Ambrose. Every damn poll shows you winning by a landslide. Why not bring a honey along for the ride?”
Ambrose laughed, “That is precisely why I will not choose a woman. I do not want to make history because of my running mate.”
He pulled at his black bow tie until it was loose. No one wore a tuxedo like Ambrose Patriota and even at his age no one looked better discarding one, but his wife was not to be seduced.
“Sylvia Diaz is perfectly acceptable, but she’s young. She’ll have her time. There’s someone else I want,” Ambrose said.
“Blazes, sugar. You’ve decided?” Lydia’s eyes widened and Ambrose was thrilled to have surprised her. “Come on, honey, who is it?”
“I will not divulge the name until I am positively sure and that includes talking with said person.”
“Not even a pronoun to give me a hint. Now that is intriguing, Ambrose.” Lydia slipped off her shoes. She wasn’t wearing any stockings and Ambrose wondered if she was wearing under things. She got off the couch and her gown cascaded to the floor. She walked over to him and put a hand on his face. “I dare say I love a challenge. Let’s see if I can’t coax it out of you upstairs.”
“It will do you no good.” Ambrose took her hand and kissed her palm. “I will tell you this. Mona was going to get the money from transportation anyway. This way she’ll think it’s my doing. You call her in the next day and a half and breathlessly tell her that you think I’ll be able to swing it for her. Will that keep you happy for a bit?”
“A day or two maybe.” She withdrew her hand. “I love that people think I have that much sway over you.”
“But you do, my dear. Yes, you do,” Ambrose stood and reached for her. She melted into him.
“Just not enough when it comes to the big stuff like who will be your running mate.” Lydia’s beautiful brow furrowed but it was only because she was truly concerned for her husband. “You don’t want to lose too many friends with a dark horse, Ambrose.”
“In Washington friends are easily lost. It’s alliances that are important. I’m confident in those,” Ambrose reminded her. “You, my dear, are my only true friend.”
“Honestly, Ambrose, if I could package you I’d be a rich woman.”
“You are already a rich woman.” He switched off the table lamp. His hand had just gone around her waist and they were headed upstairs to find out about her lingerie or lack thereof when the doorbell rang.
“A bit late,” Ambrose groused and sent her up without him. “I’ll take care of it.”
The bell rang again, annoying Ambrose even more that whoever it was at this hour didn’t have the decency to be patient. When he opened the door his irritation grew two-fold.
“Eugene?”
***
“My dad taught college, but then he got offered the research job at Ha Kuna House so my parents moved here before I was born. My mom was a piece of work, so I just took off after high school. I finally came home and found my mom gone and dad pretty much living at Ha Kuna House. He was like the others, just wacko. My dad didn’t deserve to be alone. He was always good to me so I stayed.”
“Who paid for his placement?” Stephen asked.
“Mr. Reynolds told me it was part of his insurance and I should just leave him as long as he was happy. I didn’t think he was, though. The whole place didn’t seem happy. It seemed kind of – I don’t know how to explain it – like I was always in some alternate reality.”
“It’s convenient that you got a job there,” Josie noted.
“It was smart,” she answer
ed. “I didn’t have anybody beating my door down wanting to hire me because I was a high school graduate. Dad still had title to the house near town. I thought he might get better if he lived with me. Dad and Emily spent their days together, Mr. Reynolds pretty much just kind of left everyone alone, and dad and I went home at night. Some days felt perfect and some were scary and some were boring. I didn’t have anyone else. Do you understand?”
Josie understood the path Amelia had wandered down all too well. They both lived with their fathers while Emily stood between them. The woman was a placeholder in their lives, a point of reference.
“What a waste,” Josie murmured. “It would have been so easy to bring Emily home.”
Stephen cleared his throat. He was uncomfortable sitting with these ladies as they paddled down the River Styx. They needed to get ashore and find a point to all this.
“Amelia, sweetie, do you know who was responsible for Emily’s commitment or anything specific about her condition? I think we’d be better served by knowing that.”
“I don’t,” Amelia shook her head.
“You don’t seem to know much, do you?” Josie noted.
“Listen, I used everything I had to get my dad to you: all my vacation time and all my money. I think about it now and it was bizarre; all that planning and secrecy just to give you some pathetic stuff. He rolled and unrolled that bag a hundred times. He said he knew they’d be looking for it. Stupid.”
Amelia dropped her chin and let her head swing back and forth. Her voice cracked. Josie thought she looked like some nocturnal animal making its way through the dark looking for a place to hide. But when Amelia looked up that night creature was all teeth and claws, ready just in case she found something to dig into.
“You can’t be all passive aggressive like it was our fault that you and your dad didn’t know about Emily. For all I know your father put her in there. What do you think about that?”
“My dad wasn’t even in the country when she disappeared,” Josie objected.
“Doesn’t matter now. Does it?”
“I’m not accusing you of anything,” Josie countered.
“And I’m not apologizing for anything. My dad is dead and Emily is alive. You should be grateful.”
Amelia grabbed her purse and took out an envelope. From inside the restaurant came the sounds of running water and dishes clattering. When Amelia spoke again, her voice was close to a whisper.
“There are only four people in residence now. Only Emily can still be engaged. There’s me, and another full-time aide, and a caretaker who lives on site. There’s Mr. Reynolds, of course. He lives in a larger house out back.”
“One person on each shift to take care of four sick people?” Josie asked.
“It’s a better ratio than most nursing homes,” Amelia assured her.
“Who owns that place?” Stephen asked. “Reynolds?”
“My paycheck comes from a place called MPS. It’s headquartered in Virginia.”
Amelia slid the envelope into the middle of the table. Stephen picked it up. He took out the pages inside, perused them and handed them off to Josie. She scanned the top sheet and then counted quietly as she flipped through them.
“Twenty-five resident admission forms.” Josie raised her brow and pursed her lips. “So?”
“There are twenty-five forms. Twenty-one of those people are dead. I didn’t think anything of it, but my dad wouldn’t let it go. He was obsessed with their deaths. He kept saying they were disappeared on purpose. He didn’t say these people were killed. He didn’t say they died. He said they were disappeared.”
“But couldn’t that sort of behavior be part of his illness?” Stephen asked.
“That’s what I thought, but then I realized that in all the time I worked there I never saw a visitor. I never took a phone call for a resident. There were no letters. We never got new residents. Half the time Mr. Reynolds was at his house because there wasn’t much to do in the main house.
“One day I was in the office when everyone was sleeping and I was bored out of my skull. I know I shouldn’t have, but I went into the files. I figured if I knew something about the residents I could talk to them, maybe jog their memories. Those forms were all I found.”
Suddenly, there was a bang from inside the restaurant. Three heads turned. Stephen stood up, straddling his little bench. Amelia put her hands on the arms of the chair as if she was ready to launch. Josie collected the papers and put them under the table just as the screen door flew open and the burly cook threw a skinny kid down the stairs. The kid yelled something then scrambled up only to fall again. They all held their breaths, anticipating that he would come their way. When he disappeared round the corner of the building, when the screen door slammed shut again, they relaxed. Josie brought out the papers and spread them in front of her.
“These aren’t even proper admission forms.” She pushed one back at Stephen. “There is no contact information, no social security numbers, no next of kin, no personal information of any kind, even about their medical history. There’s just a name and date, time of admission, and a phone number.”
“Did you ever call the number?” Stephen asked.
“No,” Amelia admitted. “I didn’t know who I would be talking to. It might be someone who would report me to Mr. Reynolds or sue me or worse.”
“But you made copies,” Josie said. “There had to be a reason you did that.”
“At first I was just curious, but then I got spooked. No one was admitted between 1973 and 1987 except Emily. See? January, 1987 and after that no one.”
“She disappeared in August of 1986. Where was she for those six months?” Josie wondered, before addressing Amelia directly. “Do you think she ran away with your dad?”
“No, my mom and dad were just married then,” Amelia said. “And look, there’s no admission form for my dad. There’s no paperwork on him at all and he was living there for a long time,” Amelia countered. “Even if they considered him an employee and took over his care out of gratitude, there should be something.”
“Your dad is more than a little bit of a mystery, isn’t he?” Stephen chuckled even though he was befuddled. “If what you say is true and the dates on these forms are correct, and we’re assuming all these people were adults when they came to live at the house, that means by the late eighties they were all very old. Is it so odd that there would be deaths?”
“But when they passed away they were just gone,” Amelia insisted. “I never heard about a funeral. There isn’t a cemetery on the grounds. I never saw a mortuary car or a hearse. Once I asked where their belongings were in case anyone came looking and Mr. Reynolds said he sent everyone’s things to storage. Don’t you think that’s weird?”
“We can’t make a judgment if we don’t know the operating procedures,” Stephen said.
“My father couldn’t bear the idea that Emily would simply disappear one day. That’s what this is all about.” She looked from Stephen to Josie, tired and ready to get on with things. “Look, I totally get that what we did seems nuts. I’ve asked myself a thousand times if I’m insane, too, but then I look at those papers. I didn’t know most of those people but Emily is real, then you were real, so I figure my dad couldn’t have been a total lunatic.”
Once more the screen door opened but this time the cook called out to Amelia that they would be closing. She called back her thanks and told him they wanted nothing. After that, no one at the table spoke and no one contemplated Ian Francis’ insane legacy more solemnly than Josie. She was thinking about Ambrose Patriota’s contention that a portion of the citizenry lived in their own reality, causing harm, creating turmoil, living in shadows, and communing with spooks and ghouls who walked among us.
“I don’t know what you expect me to do,” Josie murmured.
“You owe him something.” Amelia’s words came out on a wistful sigh. “Without him, you never would have known about Emily.”
“Amelia, your dad was a trou
bled man.” Josie picked up the papers and tapped them on the table until they were neat and even again. She put them in front of Amelia. “I will always be grateful that he led me here. I will always be sad that your dad died without knowing I found Emily. Above all, I understand your dedication to him but you are going to waste your life chasing his demons.”
“The way you wasted yours looking for Emily?” Amelia asked. “I mean, she could have been dead for all you knew. Were you ever going to give up?”
Josie shook her head. “I would have wondered about her until my dying day, but my life had moved on. Yours should, too.”
“So my dad is gone like those other people? Is that okay with you? I mean what if it was Emily?”
“The girl has a point.” Stephen looked at Josie and then gave Amelia a sympathetic smile.
“If something is wrong at Ha Kuna House wouldn’t you want someone to save Emily if they could?” Amelia pressed.
Josie was not immune to her pleas. When she was younger, she had been so sure Emily was just around the corner. The years went on, the corner was never turned. Amelia was in the first throes of her crusade. Josie needed to put her energy into her own family. Emily was right in front of her. She could live without knowing what had happened all those years ago. What she needed was to get her mom home. That would be Josie’s closure. Sadly, Amelia would have to find her own. Still, Josie knew there was something she could do to help. The question was what.
While Josie considered her options, Amelia took the papers and put them back in the envelope. When she was done, she looked up and Josie was reminded of the old woman in that Washington alley: homeless, alone, shocked to find herself sleeping in a heap of trash, stunned to find herself a piece of trash. That’s when Josie made her decision.
Forgotten Witness Page 17
