Eli was waiting for the two ladies with walkers to make it through the door, which opened automatically. He smiled and waved back to the guy on the bench. "Hi, how are you?"
"Finer than frog's hair!" he replied. "And it's a beautiful day!"
When the old ladies finally made it inside, they turned and smiled at him and said hello. They seemed nice and so happy to see him. It was weird being in this strange place in a city he still wasn't used to. This whole trip had been pretty scary. He felt so grateful for the friendly smiles. He even started to tear up a little, and he wasn't sure why.
At the front counter, there was a sign, BINGO 2-NITE! 6:30--ACTIVITIES ROOM. Beside it was a Latino woman with shoulder-length hair and orange scrubs that had the sunflower logo on it. She smiled at Eli and asked if he needed any help.
"Yes, I'm here to see Vera Cormier," he said.
She reached for the phone. "I'll see. I doubt she's in her suite."
Eli's heart sank a little. Had he come all this way for nothing?
"Are you Vera's grandson?" the young woman asked. She had the phone to her ear. "I didn't think Vera had any kids."
"Um, my mom's a friend of hers," Eli lied.
She hung up the phone. "No answer." She turned toward the doorway to a room behind her. "Hey, Noreen, have you seen Vera? She isn't in her digs. Do you know where she might be?"
"Three guesses!" called the woman from the back room.
The pretty receptionist nodded, then smiled at Eli. "She's in the garden, honey--"
"You guessed it," said the woman from the back room.
The receptionist told Eli to go straight down the hall to another set of doors that led outside. The garden was just to the right of the flagpole. He couldn't miss it.
As Eli headed down the corridor, a slightly putrid smell filled his nostrils. He passed a few people in wheelchairs parked in the hallway. Some of them were in their robes or nightclothes, and they looked pretty out of it.
He breathed easier outside. The lawn in back was bordered by the forest. A winding path snaked through the yard and the garden area. Several benches flanked the path, most of them occupied by the elderly residents. A few nurses in scrubs were pushing folks in wheelchairs.
Eli headed to the garden, dense and cluttered with tall plants, flowers, and blooming bushes. Someone had set a bunch of different lawn ornaments in the garden--a birdbath, a fake deer, a couple of gnomes, a Cupid, and even a small replica of the Statue of Liberty. It reminded Eli of a miniature golf course.
A blond woman was on her knees at the edge of the garden, planting some pink, purple, and white flowers. She wore a straw hat and gardening gloves. On the back of her tan sweatshirt was a drawing of some flowers over the words: COMPOST HAPPENS.
"Excuse me, ma'am," Eli said, approaching her. "Are you Vera?"
The sweet-looking old lady turned and gaped up at him. "Am I under arrest?" she asked.
Eli was confused for a moment, then he looked down at his CHICAGO POLICE T-shirt. "Oh, um, no."
"Well, that's a relief," she said, with a grin. Holding the hoe, she dabbed her brow with her sleeve. "For a minute there I thought I'd forgotten to pay a parking ticket back in 1973 or something. Do I know you, dear?"
"No, we--we haven't met," Eli said, a bit nervously.
Setting down the hoe, she took off a gardening glove and held out her hand to him. "Well, I'm Vera, resident tiller of the soil here."
Eli shook her hand. "I'm Eli. I--um, I like your garden a lot."
She frowned at the fake deer. "Personally, I think some of this tacky stuff can go, but I've been outvoted. These new petunias ought to be nice. They're such a cheery flower." She looked him up and down, then smiled. "Eli, that's a nice name. So what did you want to see me about, Eli?"
"I live in the Tudor Court Apartments with my mom," he said. "We moved in about five weeks ago. We're in apartment number nine."
The smile ran away from her face. "Oh."
"We've had some pretty weird things happen in there." Eli squatted down so they were face-to-face. "We figured out the place is haunted. I hear this woman killed her son in there, and then she shot herself. I was talking to the caretaker, Larry, and he said you were living next door in number ten when it happened."
A slightly pained look on her face, she nodded again. "How is Larry? Does he still have the canary?"
"Yeah," Eli said. "Larry's fine."
"A nice man," Vera said. "Bit of an odd duck, but a nice man and a hard worker."
Eli could tell she didn't want to talk about the murder-suicide. She was changing the subject on him. "Anyway," he said. "I was hoping you could tell me something about what happened with that woman and her son. No one seems to know what really went on. No one even remembers their names and when it happened."
With a long sigh, the old woman glanced down at the box with three more petunias in plastic pots. The rest of the box held empty pots. "You know, these petunias can tolerate a lot of heat," she said. "But this afternoon sun is a bit strong for yours truly. Why don't we sit over there in the shade?" Pulling off her other work glove and dropping it on the ground, Vera nodded toward a nearby bench--beneath a sycamore tree. "First, help an old lady up. These knees aren't what they used to be."
Eli took her by the arm and helped her up from the kneeling pad at the garden's edge. He noticed she had some trouble walking, and she clung to him until they sat down on the bench. "Whew!" she said, taking off her hat and fanning herself. "So--you want to hear about Loretta and her boy?"
"Loretta? That was the mother's name?" Eli asked, sitting beside her.
Vera nodded, then she squinted at him. "Say, why don't you just look up all of this on the Internet World Wide Web or whatever?"
Eli shrugged. "Because I don't know their names--or when it happened."
She stopped fanning herself with her hat. Her mouth twisted into a frown. "You know, Eli, you and your mother should just find another place to live. Ever since Loretta and her son died there, something's been wrong with that apartment."
"Do you remember the son's name--and how old he was?"
She nodded. "He was about your age, fifteen."
"I'm going to be thirteen soon."
She smiled at him. "Well, you're very mature for your age. Earl, he was a young fifteen."
"Earl," he repeated. The Ouija board had said that the boy's name was Carl and he was fourteen--just one letter and one year off.
"You remind me of him," Vera said. "Your names are similar, too, Earl and Eli. He was a good-looking boy, too, and very sweet."
"What was their last name?" Eli asked. "Do you remember?"
She nodded. "Sayers, Loretta and Earl Sayers." She slowly fanned herself with her hat again. "They moved to Tudor Court in July 1974. Loretta had just left her husband, an older man who lived in--um, Magnolia, I think. And he had some older children from a first wife who died." She ran her bony fingers over her mouth. "I can't for the life of me remember his name. He and Loretta weren't married for very long. His name wasn't Sayers. That was the name Loretta went back to. Earl was her son from a previous marriage, this Sayers fellow. I don't know what happened there."
"What was she like?" Eli asked.
"Oh, she was a very beautiful girl--or I should say, woman. She was in her late thirties and a bit withdrawn--moody at times. Maybe she was just lonely. I never saw her with a friend or a boyfriend."
"What about Earl?" Eli asked. "Did he have any friends?"
"Only one that I ever saw, but he was over quite a lot," she answered. "I forget his name, but he was a little older than Earl. He had to be at least sixteen, because he usually drove over, and ended up blocking my car in the garage. It really got my goat, the way he'd just leave his car right in front of mine for hours on end. I don't know how many times I had to call Loretta and ask Earl's friend to move his silly car..."
"When did they die?" Eli asked. "Do you remember?"
"November, that same year," she replied. "The s
hot woke me up. It was around three in the morning. I thought someone had lit off a rocket-bottle on the beach."
"Bottle rocket," Eli said. "Did you call the police?"
Vera shook her head. "No, but the next morning, her husband came by--I don't think they'd officially divorced yet. He got the super to let him in, and they found Loretta and Earl upstairs. A lot of people talked about how the murder-suicide looked staged. I don't see how they could say anything like that, because the police sealed off that place right away. So no one saw anything in there except for the authorities. But there was some gossip that maybe the husband had murdered them both, only he'd set it up to look as if Loretta had killed Earl and then herself. I suppose I did as much to fan those flames. The police asked me about him. He visited there quite a lot, especially during the first month or so. It was late summer, and with the windows open, I could hear them arguing. For such a quiet little thing, Loretta's voice sure got loud at times. I'd hear her screaming at him on the phone sometimes, too. I got the distinct impression he didn't want to let her go--at least, not without a fight. And fight, they did."
"Did you ever hear him threaten her?" Eli asked.
Vera let out a little laugh. "You sound just like the police." She pointed to his T-shirt, "You look like one, too. Well, Eli, I'll tell you what I told them. I tried not to eavesdrop, but it wasn't easy when their voices were coming right through my window. I never once heard him threaten her. But some of the other neighbors, I guess they heard differently, because the newspapers at the time reported he'd threatened to kill her on more than one occasion."
Vera glanced up at the darkening sky as the sun went behind a cloud. "The police couldn't find enough evidence to make a case against the husband. But that didn't stop people from gossiping. If you ask me, I believe the official story. Loretta seemed to have a lot of emotional problems. I think she slit her son's throat while he was sleeping. The newspapers said she even tucked him in afterward. Then she got undressed, got into the bath, and shot herself through the head." She shuddered. "Well, there's just no polite way to talk about it, is there?"
Eli just nodded. He felt a little numb. He didn't know what to say.
"So--you've been having some strange problems in the upstairs bathroom," Vera said. "Am I right?"
"In my room, too," Eli murmured.
"Oh, of course, that only makes sense. All the different people who have moved in and out of that apartment always reported strange goings-on in the upstairs bath. But most of them used Earl's room as a guest room, and they wouldn't have been in there very much." She patted his arm. "You poor boy, having to stay in that room where Earl--" She shook her head. "Well, I've talked too much."
"No, I asked to hear it." Eli put his hand on top of hers. "Thank you."
She nudged him. "You and your mom shouldn't be living there."
"Right now, I'm trying to get her to move back to Chicago," he admitted. "But I don't think it's working."
Vera glanced up at the sky again. "Looks like we're losing our sun. And I've been sitting down too long." She was a bit unsteady as she got to her feet. Eli tried to take her arm, but she pulled away. "Nope, thank you, dear, but I need to walk on my own."
He walked alongside her until she reached the garden's edge. "I'm moving like molasses in January, I know." She groaned as she got down on the kneepad. "It's no fun getting old, but it beats the alternative."
"Thanks for talking with me," Eli said.
"I hope you don't have nightmares thanks to me," Vera said. She put her gardening gloves back on. "Come back any time, Earl."
He balked. "Um..." He was about to say, 'I'm Eli,' but instead, he just said good-bye to the nice lady. Then he walked away.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Dear Elizabeth,
I really enjoyed working with Angela on Movers & Shakers last November. Spending time with your sister and getting to know her was a lovely experience. She had such a wonderful spirit. I was so sorry to hear about her death. In my book, she was a true hero and a very special human being.
I got your kind e-mail today. I'm glad the flowers arrived. Do you by any chance know the name of the florist who delivered them? I'm sorry to bother you with this during such a difficult time, but...
"But what?" Sydney muttered to the computer monitor. What kind of excuse should she use in this e-mail to Angela's grieving sister? How could she explain her interest in the local florist that had delivered the roses she'd never sent? She hoped somehow to trace whoever had put in the order by talking with the people on the delivery end.
But it didn't seem right, bothering Angela's poor sister about this. She was still in shock--and mourning. How devastating to lose a family member in such a violent, bizarre way.
To lose a family member.
Sydney looked at the clock again: 2:40. She sat back in her chair and sighed. Eli had said he'd be back by three. She still had twenty minutes before she went into panic mode. Sydney glanced out the window at the gray clouds forming over Lake Washington. The beach had to be emptying out. Why wasn't he home yet?
The phone rang, giving her a start.
Sydney jumped up from her chair and raced into the kitchen to answer it. She didn't even bother checking the caller ID box first. "Hello?"
"You sound haggard," her brother said on the other end.
"I am, totally," she muttered.
"I figured something was up. Three messages since yesterday afternoon and you sounded more and more frazzled in each one. I was out with friends last night, and by the time I got home, it was too late to call you."
"So--did you get lucky at least?" she asked, a bit of cynicism creeping into her tone.
"Yeah, I found a dime on the sidewalk. God, I can tell you're mad at me--"
"I'm not," she insisted. And she wasn't, really. Her brother had a life of his own. She hated herself for being so needy and demanding of his time lately.
"Syd, I was out with work people at this lame-o play and then a late dinner. I dragged my ass home alone at twelve-twenty. I didn't call back because I thought I might wake you guys. I slept in and almost missed opening an open house at nine. That just ended, and now I'm finally calling you back. Okay?"
"Okay," she said, rubbing her forehead. "I'm sorry I'm Needy Nelly and left you three messages, but I'm freaking out here."
"'You kids, and all the bickering!'" he said, imitating their late mother. It was scary the way Kyle could sound just like her. Then he lapsed back into his own voice. "So--what's going on? Why are you freaking out?"
Kyle already knew about Leah and Jared. Sydney told him about Angela Gannon's death, and how--for the second time--someone had sent flowers to the next of kin in her name. "It's nobody from the network, I checked," Sydney said.
"It isn't someone on your film crew?" he asked.
"No. That wouldn't be like them. We pass the hat whenever we have to buy someone a birthday cake. If one of them was sending flowers in my name, they'd let me know."
"That's really screwy," he said. "No wonder you're freaking out."
"Oh, that's just for starters," Sydney said. She recounted her brush with the stranger in the Mariners 59 T-shirt, the dead robin on her pillow, and the blow-up with Eli last night. She took him right up until three hours ago when Eli had gone off to the beach. "He didn't answer the lifeguard's page. Maybe he didn't hear it. But with everything that's been happening, I don't want him roaming around by himself."
"I understand why you're going into meltdown territory, Syd," Kyle said. "But Eli's very smart and very mature for his age. He'll be fine. Nothing is about to happen to him in the middle of the day on a crowded beach. He's all right."
Sydney let out a shaky sigh. "Kyle, let me remind you that in the middle of a hot July day on a crowded beach--by Lake Sammamish--Ted Bundy abducted two of his victims."
Kyle was silent for a few seconds. "That kind of creeps me out," he admitted. "Okay, now I'm officially worried, too."
She glanced at the microwa
ve clock again. "If Eli's not back in ten minutes, I'm going to the beach again. It should be less crowded. I ought to have a better shot at finding him--" Sydney heard a beep on the line, another call coming in. "Oh, maybe that's Eli right now," she said. "I'll call you back."
"Okay," Kyle said, and then he hung up.
Sydney clicked the Flash button on her receiver. "Hello?"
"Is this Sydney Jordan?" It sounded like a woman, her voice weak. But the nasally whine was very familiar. Sydney hadn't heard that voice in over ten years. She cringed, and her grip tightened on the phone.
"Sydney? Is that you? Hello?"
"Yes, this is Sydney," she said.
"It's Rikki Cosgrove, Sydney." There was a pause, in which it seemed she struggled for a breath. "I saw you on the five o'clock news last night--at that ValuCo thing in Auburn. I had no idea you were back in town. Shame...shame on you for not calling me."
"I'm sorry, Rikki," she said. She glanced at the clock again. "I've just been very busy. How are you? How's Aidan?"
"Oh, I'm not doing so well. I've been seriously ill, Sydney..."
Rikki Cosgrove had always had problems--and demands. Sydney didn't want to hear them now. For the last thirteen years, she'd managed to avoid Aidan's mother. Unfortunately, that had meant losing touch with Aidan.
"Well, you do sound very weak, Rikki. I can barely hear you."
"Oh, it's true. I can't even get out of bed..."
Sydney wondered if Rikki was still smoking in bed. They say that was how the fire had started. Even with all her respiratory problems, she hadn't quit smoking.
With the cordless phone to her ear, Sydney wandered to the front door, opened it, and stepped outside. She gazed at the courtyard and the gate at the end of the driveway. All the while she listened to that raspy, whiny, weak voice: "...haven't been able to get around for quite a while now. The doctor says there's not much they can do..."
Final Breath Page 21
