Dying Wishes

by Judith K Ivie

  “I should go. Margo’s waiting in the car, and she’s not a happy waiter.” Impulsively, I went to Ginny and gave her a hug, which she accepted willingly enough. “See you Wednesday,” I said huskily and nearly ran for the door.

  All in all, it had been quite a day, and I couldn’t wait for it to be over.

  Seventeen

  Tuesday was devoted to paperwork and lots of it. Before work I sealed my completed questionnaires in a manila envelope with a request for a follow-up appointment on Wednesday and pushed the package through the old-fashioned mail slot in the front door of MacRae’s office. On my way back to the car, I noticed the thick, thorny bushes at the corner of the house and smiled to myself. It served her right, the little minx. Actions have consequences. I hoped she scratched for days.

  My first call after I reached the office was to Ada Henstock. The sisters had decided to move into the two-bedroom unit they had seen with Bert and me, and both the listing agreement on the house and the lease agreement on their Vista View unit were ready for signature. I made arrangements to stop by at four o’clock that afternoon.

  After that I was caught up in the whirl of the day, as were both Strutter and Margo. Emma thumped up and down the stairs regularly, making endless photocopies and putting the final touches on transaction packages needed for the day’s closings. Where she got her stamina, I could not fathom, but somehow she managed to keep Jimmy and Isabel on track while simultaneously juggling innumerable nervous clients.

  At two-thirty Strutter took a call on her cell phone, then dropped it back into her purse with a frown. “Damn!” she said uncharacteristically. Strutter very seldom swore, so our heads snapped up. “Olivia’s sitter just called. She woke up from her nap crying, which is unusual for her, and she’s running a little fever. I’m pretty sure she’s just cutting a tooth, but the sitter can’t risk the other kids getting sick.” She turned her hands up helplessly. “I’m so sorry to do this to you, but I’ve got to go pick her up.”

  “You’d be leaving in an hour anyway to collect Charlie,” I told her. “Such are the demands of motherhood. I remember them all too well and none too fondly.”

  “Off you go, Sugar. We’ll get by, but you tell that baby girl to straighten up because we need her mama here tomorrow,” Margo added, only half-kidding.

  The next hour and a half flew by. At a few minutes before four, I left Margo to cope on her own and went to keep my appointment with the Henstock sisters. I felt a little guilty, knowing I would surely be offered a delicious tea that would more than compensate for the lunch I once again had not had time to eat, while Margo made do with peanut butter crackers at her desk.

  “Arf arf arf arf arf!” yapped Henry joyously as Ada opened the front door to me, and I gave the little dog a pat. With all of the changes the sisters were about to face, I was glad that they could keep Henry, nuisance though he could be, with them.

  “Come in, come in,” Ada urged, leading the way into the living room where Lavinia already presided over the tea trolley, which was laden with appetizing goodies. I hoped the growling of my stomach wasn’t audible.

  “Business first, as I’m afraid I have another engagement to get to,” Lavinia fluttered. I had noticed a handbag, sweater and notebook stacked in readiness on a table in the entrance hall. “Shall we get the signing taken care of?”

  Obediently, I took a seat and produced the necessary files and a couple of black ballpoint pens from my briefcase. We set up a sort of assembly line and managed to get all the documents signed by both sisters and safely tucked back into the file folders before a beige sedan pulled into the driveway. Lavinia had been keeping a watchful eye out the front window the entire time we shuffled papers.

  “Goodness, there they are,” she exclaimed and hurried into the hall to collect her things. “I’m so sorry to leave before we’ve had our tea, but I don’t want to keep my friends waiting,” she apologized. “We’ll talk again soon, I’m sure.” She was into the car and was gone, leaving Ada to drag Henry unwillingly into the kitchen and out the back door to his run. When she returned, I raised my eyebrows.

  “Lavinia has made some new friends?”

  Ada harrumphed and reached for the teapot. “I would hardly call them friends. They’re followers of some self-proclaimed spiritualist-cum-channeler. Has a website and everything. Just to please Lavinia, I went with her to one of the sessions. It was apparent to me that this woman had merely copied a lot of occult claptrap out of an obscure book she found somewhere and has managed to convince some gullible people that the information was channeled through her. They actually pay good money to sit there while she reads them a few pages at a time.” Ada snorted as she handed me my cup. “Her specialty these days is convincing old people that they can take their bodies with them into eternity, of all the ridiculous drivel. Never mind. I’m quite used to Lavinia’s naiveté. This will pass just as all of her other dabblings have. If anyone suggests that she get together with them to drink Kool-Aid, I’ll interfere, but so far there seems to be no real harm to this. Meanwhile, it gives her an interest.”

  I laughed with her, but my thoughts were on more serious matters these days. “How will you manage when one or the other of you passes on?” I couldn’t help but ask. “Your lives have been intertwined for such a long time now.”

  Ada gazed out the window, a wistful smile on her face. “We shall manage the same as any other two people who have shared a lifetime, I suppose. After all, life is essentially a series of losses. Eventually we learn to take our happiness in moments as we encounter them, because that’s all we have.”

  She turned back to me fondly. “Think about it. Our first experience with serious loss is probably the death of a pet or a grandparent. After that we might lose a friend who moves away, a spouse to divorce or war, our parents.” She looked back out the window.

  “We lose jobs and homes and sometimes, most tragically, even children. After that we lose our vision, our hearing, and maybe even our marbles,” she chuckled, “and finally we lose life itself. That’s the way it is, and no self-appointed prophet or quack spiritualist can change the natural course of events, no matter what Lavinia hopes. She has fallen into the clutches of one after another of those charlatans her whole life, poor darling, despite dear Papa’s attempts to get her to see reason.”

  I nodded understandingly. “Is that where she went this afternoon with her new, um, acquaintances?”

  “I’m afraid so. She’s run off to hear this latest one-name guru tell her how she can live to be a thousand if she drinks enough pomegranate juice and learns to visualize her happy place or something,” she said ruefully, “but try as she might to escape her fate, she knows she’s just as mortal as the rest of us. Mama and Papa died, and we’re both going to die, and no one can say for certain what happens after that. We can’t say because we can’t possibly know until we die ourselves.”

  She reached for the teapot and refilled our cups. “But to answer your question, my dear, if Lavinia passes on before me, I shall do as I have always done, take care of my home, cook my dinner, get my hair cut, go to the dentist, and hope for those flashes of love and joy that come along every now and again to balance the books, as will Lavinia should I be the one to leave this world first. She’s a lot tougher than I’m making her sound.”

  “Do you have each other’s power of attorney for health care? I’m sorry to pry, but I’ve been getting my own documents in order for the past couple of weeks, so I’ve become rather a bore on the subject,” I apologized.

  “Not at all. Yes, dear Gerald helped us get everything tidied up some time ago when Lavinia had her TIA episode.”

  “Gerald MacRae? He’s my attorney, too.”

  “I believe he mentioned that the last time we played bridge,” Ada murmured, “along with something about your friend Margo’s dog. What was that all about?”

  “It’s a long story that turned out to be much ado about nothing,” I assured her. “Anyway, I’m glad to hear that he�
��s taken care of things for you and Lavinia. He seems very competent.”

  “Oh my, yes,” she agreed. “He and his wife are absolute fiends at bridge, too.” She paused before deciding to continue. “Dr. Petersen has helped us put one other back-up plan in place, so you really needn’t worry about us. Such a lovely man. He’s been our physician simply forever.”

  My ears perked up. “What plan is that?” I put down my cup and waited.

  She smiled gently. “Sister and I had quite a spell of not being able to sleep at about the same time we were consulting with Gerald. Dr. Petersen helped us out with short-term prescription for Seconal, a quite powerful barbiturate. At first he was very hesitant, and then he seemed to reconsider. He mentioned that it’s not an uncommon problem for people of our age, but he cautioned us to take the pills only when we were absolutely certain that we needed them. He was quite clear about that. We had the prescriptions filled, but the oddest thing happened. Just knowing we have them stashed away in our medicine chest seems to have solved the problem. We sleep very well now, knowing the choice is ours to take them or not. It’s really very comforting. More tea, dear?”

  ~

  On Wednesday morning I arrived at the Vista View sales desk with a somewhat lighter heart. Although Ginny was preparing to leave Vista View, she had apparently regained her emotional equilibrium, which was good to see. She might still have concerns about Margaret’s death, but she had decided to let me off the hook, and that was a huge relief. Tommy had his much-needed job back, and we had put an end to his girlfriend’s shenanigans. Young Olivia had cut her tooth and reverted to her smiley, adorable self, allowing Strutter to rejoin us. Best of all, my pal Bert was on the mend. I resolved to pay him a visit at lunch time.

  The morning passed pleasantly enough. I chatted with a couple of rental prospects and wound up showing a man and his wife the still-empty unit that was to be the Henstocks’ new home. The couple knew the apartment was no longer available, but they wanted to get a feel for an actual unit, so I took them over. I was glad to get another look at it myself to be sure that all was in readiness for my friends. I was reassured by the bright, yet cozy, ambience of the place and could easily picture the sisters—and Henry, of course—enjoying its comfort and security.

  After locking the unit and returning my prospects to the visitors’ parking lot, I drove to the Phase III nursing facility to say hello to Bert. The feeling of dread I experienced before entering any medical building quickly dissipated in the cheerful reception area. Comfortable chairs, lots of potted plants and flowered drapes at the floor-to-ceiling windows softened the functional counter behind which several staff members had workstations.

  “Goodness, another visitor for our Mr. Rosenthal,” chirped the plump, motherly lady I approached with my request. “We’re going to have to rename this building Albert Rosenthal Hall at this rate.” She winked at me chummily. “We’re going to miss him when he goes back to his apartment. He’s really livened up the place.”

  “He does that,” I agreed and smiled to myself as I followed her directions, not to a patient room but a solarium at the rear of the third floor, where convalescing patients were enjoying the sunshine. Bright chintzes and flowering plants furnished a number of small seating areas where patients read or dozed or chatted quietly to the accompaniment of classical guitar music wafting from concealed speakers somewhere above us. The overall effect was that of the lobby of a four-star hotel in a resort area, not a nursing facility in Connecticut. The more I saw of Vista View, the more I was coming to appreciate what it had to offer those who lived there.

  I spotted Bert dozing in a wicker chaise behind a large potted palm, an unlit cigar drooping from his hand. He was his usual nattily attired self in a crisply ironed blue shirt, albeit without a tie, and charcoal gray trousers. His leather slippers were the only indication that he was at all indisposed.

  I approached quietly, uncertain whether to disturb him, but I needn’t have worried. Within seconds, his nose wiggled.

  “Tova Signature,” he correctly identified my perfume. “Must be Kate.” His eyes popped open. “How are you doing, Gorgeous? Come by for that dance?”

  “Maybe later when they play something a bit livelier,” I retorted, unable to stop grinning at him. I pulled a chair closer to him and sat. “See? I knew all that walking you were doing was bad for you.”

  His trademark cackle rang out, reassuring me further. “We’ll have to do up an article for the Journal of the American Medical Association on the dangers of exercise,” he agreed. “So what trouble have you stirred up lately? The last time I saw you, you and your good-looking blonde friend were causing a ruckus at the punch bowl.”

  I laughed at the memory of Saturday night’s confrontation gone wrong, which seemed eons ago, and filled him in on the events of the last few days. He listened intently, his face registering a gamut of emotions. By the time I got around to telling him that Tommy was back at work, he was beaming with relief.

  “Wow, you couldn’t make this stuff up if you tried. Life, love and intrigue among the geriatric set, or in this case the not-so-geriatric set.” He cackled again softly, his face sobering. “Ms. Preston is really leaving over this Margaret Butler business? That’s too bad, a real shame,” he said thoughtfully. “Why do you think it’s so important to her?”

  I considered the question. “I thought I knew Ginny pretty well, but it turns out I didn’t. I knew she was efficient and responsible, a person who prided herself on getting things done, but I’m afraid those traits sort of tipped over into obsession. In this instance her natural sense of accountability somehow escalated into guilt when the fact is she had no control over the situation. Whatever happened to Margaret, or didn’t happen, probably had no connection with Vista View at all, but not knowing is driving Ginny crazy. It won’t let go of her, so she’s letting go of it by leaving here.” I shrugged. “That’s my best guess anyway.”

  Bert continued to look somber, but humor glinted in his eyes. “Not bad for an amateur psychologist, and I thought I was the resident expert. Maybe you could go into practice part-time and put up your shingle in the lobby. You know, Kate Lawrence, Vista View sales rep. Armchair analysis while you wait.”

  I made a face at him. “Okay, okay. I told you it was just a guess. Do you have a better explanation?”

  Again, the thoughtful expression. This time his silence lasted longer, and I frowned. “What is it, Bert?”

  “Actually, I think you’re right on the money about Ginny Preston. As I said before, it’s a damned shame, but unlike you, I’m in a position to offer you a solution.”

  I stared at him. “What would that be?”

  His eyes slid to a small zipper case in the chaise next to him and returned to my face. “I can tell you the truth, or rather, I can show you.” He picked up the case, unzipped it and removed a flat plastic container, the kind that holds a CD or DVD. “I remember a while back you did some research on an organization called the Citizens for Compassionate Decisions. You recognized a couple of names on the major donors list in their annual report, as I recall.”

  I nodded, my eyes glued to the plastic case in his hand.

  “It’s a big group,” he continued. “It has a lot of supporters and gains more every day, but they only have to list those donating very large sums. That wouldn’t include me on my fixed income. Still, I believe absolutely in their mission so I help out on a volunteer basis from time to time.”

  I looked at him directly, my hands clenching in my lap. “Doing what, Bert?” I asked, not at all sure I wanted to hear his answer.

  He glanced at the case in his hands and back at me. “The laws being as unenlightened as they still are in most of the country, it’s important to have conclusive records of these events in case of official inquiries. We document the deceased’s voluntary actions and the total lack of influence exerted by those around her. We make an unassailable record of her dying wishes, you should excuse the very bad pun.”

&nbs
p; I didn’t return his tentative smile. “How do you do that exactly?”

  “By videotaping the event from start to finish with no breaks, no edits. Mind you, the recording isn’t meant to be viewed. It’s strictly a precautionary measure to protect those peripherally involved in case it becomes necessary to defend themselves against false accusations. I think we may be on the verge of that here, Ms. Preston being as obsessed as she seems to be. I don’t believe for a minute that she’s letting go of this thing.”

  I looked at the case again. “Margaret Butler?”

  He nodded and held out the case to me. “Albert Rosenthal, chief videographer and loyal friend of the deceased.”

  I accepted it reluctantly. A small label on the spine read merely MARGARET BUTLER.

  “You’re trusting me with this?”

  “That’s exactly what I’m doing, Gorgeous, trusting you to learn the truth and do the right thing with it to put your friend Ginny’s mind at ease. At some point the needs of the living have to take precedence over the wishes of the dead.”

  I held the DVD with distaste. How had I been pulled back into the middle of this yet again? “But I don’t want to watch it.”

  He nodded. “I know you don’t, but you will, and honestly, you don’t need to be afraid or worried about it. If anything, I think you’ll find it reassuring.”

  “Why can’t you just tell me what’s on it?”

  “I can, but in a court of law that would just be hearsay. You need to have direct knowledge of the event in order to testify in anyone’s defense.”

  I felt trapped. “I don’t need direct knowledge, Ginny does. How is my watching this going to give her the truth she craves? Shouldn’t she be the one to see this?”

  He shook his head. “She trusts you, and if you tell her you’ve watched this recording and nothing illegal happens on it, she’ll believe you. If we’re lucky, that will be the end of that. But if she sees it herself, given her extreme sense of morality rooted in her religious beliefs, she’ll feel compelled to act on her knowledge. Believe me, no good will come of that.”