Patricia Rockwell - Essie Cobb 03 - Valentined

by Patricia Rockwell

  “Hello,” said Essie holding out her hand in greeting. “I’m Essie Cobb. I’m wondering if I might have a word with you before Bingo begins.”

  “Essie Cobb?” asked the woman. “Oh my! Of course! I know all about you and your adventures! Let’s sit over here, shall we?” She motioned to a table near the door and far away from the Bingo set up at the far end of the dining hall. The women sat down at the table. Essie parked her walker nearby.

  “Betsy,” began Essie, “my friend Marjorie tells me she was playing cards with you today and she mentioned the card I received from a secret admirer.”

  “Yes, she did!” replied Betsy, smiling. “The way she described your card, Essie, it reminded me of a card I got from a secret admirer last year around Valentine’s Day.”

  “Really?” asked Essie. “What was your card like?”

  “Very elaborate, flowery,” said Betsy. “It had a little red heart in the center. I’d never seen anything like it since I was a child.”

  “Was it anything like this?” asked Essie as she opened her walker seat and brought out the card.

  “Oh, my!” exclaimed Betsy. “It was just like that! I mean, it was very similar to this. It may have been a different color. I’m not sure. But I do remember all the lace and ribbons and a little puffed up heart just like this one in the center.” Essie handed her the card and Betsy examined it carefully.

  “And yours was signed ‘secret admirer’ too?” asked Essie.

  “Yes,” said Betsy. “I was so excited and curious by the whole thing. It just made my Valentine’s Day last year. Probably the best one ever—even better than any with my late husband Donald.”

  “It is mysterious, isn’t it?” said Essie. “Betsy, now that you see my card, do you think there’s any possibility that the cards are the same? I mean that maybe they were sent by the same secret admirer?”

  “You mean someone we both know here at Happy Haven?” asked Betsy.

  “That’s a possibility, I guess,” agreed Essie. “But my card is postmarked Boston, Massachusetts. Do you remember where your card came from?”

  “No, Essie, I’m sorry I don’t. I guess I just assumed it came from someone here at Happy Haven.”

  “Yes, but mine is postmarked Boston. I don’t see how anyone here at Happy Haven could send a card from there,” said Essie.

  “Maybe he could mail it to someone he knows in Boston and the person in Boston mails it from there,” suggested the other woman.

  “It’s possible,” agreed Essie. “But why? Why would any man here at Happy Haven go to all the trouble to do that? You’re sure you don’t remember where your card came from?”

  “I really don’t remember,” said Betsy.

  “I don’t suppose you kept the card, did you?” asked Essie gingerly.

  “I certainly would have. It was so beautiful and so mysterious. I was proud that I had a secret admirer out there even if I couldn’t figure out who he was. I definitely planned to keep that card forever.”

  “But you didn’t?” questioned Essie.

  “I would have,” said Betsy, “but soon after I got it, I put it on the top of my television set. You know, to display it. I really wanted everyone to see it and see that some unknown man somewhere had sent it to me. It was exciting!” She blushed and smiled.

  “You displayed it in your apartment,” prompted Essie.

  “Yes,” she said, “I don’t remember when it happened, but I remember returning to my room at one point and discovering it missing. I looked everywhere for it. At first, I thought I misplaced it. Then I thought one of the cleaning people took it. But, Essie, that just made no sense. I keep a beautiful diamond and pearl necklace that Donald gave me for our sixtieth wedding anniversary in the top drawer of my dresser. I know the cleaning people have all seen me put it there. They all know it’s there. If they wanted to steal something from me, you’d think they’d take that—not a greeting card—no matter how pretty it was.”

  “So, you never found it?”

  “No, I really looked for it too. I asked my aides and the cleaning people. I reported it to Lost and Found and Phyllis tried to help me track it down. But we never found it. I guess I just gave up on it finally. Really, when you think about it, it wasn’t worth that much money. It was more the thrill of it, the secret admirer part. I knew I’d never know who he was. He’ll always remain a mystery to me. Then, when Marjorie mentioned today about you receiving a valentine from a secret admirer, and told us what it looked like, it got me thinking that your secret admirer card sounded a lot like the one I had received.”

  “Betsy, how soon after you received the card did it go missing?” asked Essie.

  “Oh, very soon. The next day or maybe two days at the most.”

  “Do you remember receiving the card in your mailbox?” asked Essie.

  “I must have received it in my mailbox,” answered Betsy. “That’s the only place I get mail.”

  “I mean,” said Essie, “did you take the card out of your mailbox yourself? Did someone bring it to you?”

  “Oh, I’m sure I got it from my mailbox myself,” said Betsy. “I always get my own mail. It’s one of my favorite things to do. That sounds pitiful, doesn’t it? That picking up my mail every day is one of my favorite activities.”

  “You aren’t saying that you wait at the mailboxes for Phyllis to deliver your mail?”

  “No,” said Betsy, “I’m not that bad. Besides, she delivers it at different times every day. It always depends when the postman comes. But she’s very good about getting the mail into our boxes as soon as it arrives. I’ve noticed that and I appreciate her efforts.”

  “Yes,” said Essie. “Phyllis is very good about prompt mail delivery.” She was contemplating Betsy’s observation and wondering how or if it fit into the secret admirer valentine puzzle.

  “Is there any other information I can give you, Essie?” asked Betsy. “I’d love to be able to help you solve one of your mysteries. “

  “You’ve helped a huge amount already, Betsy!” cried Essie. “I really think that my secret admirer is or was your secret admirer too. That seems to imply that he’s someone we both know. Now I have to figure out how that piece of information fits into the puzzle.”

  “Well, if you need any more information or if I can help you, just let me know,” said Betsy with a smile, patting Essie’s hand.

  A voice called out, “Ready to start our first round of Bingo! Do you all have your cards?” Essie looked up to see that Sue Barber was standing at the far end of the room with her Bingo paraphernalia ready to call. Essie and Betsy gathered their belongings and headed to the Bingo tables, grabbing several Bingo cards on the way.

  Chapter Eight

  “Before I met my husband, I’d never fallen in love, though I’d stepped in it a few times.”

  —Rita Rudner

  Essie won fifty cents at Bingo. But other than that financial windfall and her brief discussion with Betsy Rollingford about her stolen valentine, she acquired no additional information that would lead her to identifying her secret admirer.

  “Oh, you mysterious little piece of fluff!” she said to the valentine resting in her lap as she sat in her recliner. She idly ran her fingertips over the delicate doily. She could feel the soft, silk ribbon intertwining throughout the little nooks and crannies of the thin lace. Whoever had done this weaving had gone to so much trouble. It was as if the artist had woven or crocheted the ribbon into the doily with the skill of an expert knitter. The filigrees were so thin and the ribbon was so fine, it was truly an art simply to line the edges of the card in this fashion. And yet, despite the delicacy of the work, the card was sturdy. It was well constructed and didn’t appear that it would come apart easily.

  Essie examined the items on the front of the card more carefully. Her curiosity was in full force. She kept thinking about Betsy and her valentine. If Betsy had received a similar valentine from a secret admirer, and if that valentine was made by the same per
son, then that implied that she and Betsy had the same secret admirer. Now, what were the odds that some man in Boston would be smitten with two little old ladies in an assisted living facility hundreds of miles away? Who could he possibly be? She thought about Betsy and what she had in common with the woman. Was there some obvious reason that this unknown admirer would be infatuated with both of them? What was it about the two women that might have engaged this unknown man? Essie thought and thought. The only conclusion she came to was that she and Betsy both lived at Happy Haven. That wasn’t much of a common bond. Did some man living on the east coast have a thing for old ladies in facilities in the middle of the country? And if so, how did he find them? Why had he selected her and Betsy? None of it made any sense.

  She continued touching the card, running her index finger over the little pink heart in the center. She lifted it to her nose and sniffed. She wondered if the heart was a sachet as Sue Barber had suggested. It didn’t appear to have any odor, so as far as she could tell, that wasn’t its purpose. Even so, she peered at how it was attached. If it was intended as a sachet, surely the maker expected the recipient to be able to remove it from the card. Essie tried to lift up the edges of the heart from the center of the doily.

  She drifted off into thought again. What, she thought, of Fay’s attempts to locate the return address and the company? Obviously, these unsuccessful efforts pointed strongly in the direction of her admirer intending to maintain his anonymity. But why? Why send such a card and sign it ‘secret admirer’? Was he really so shy that he wanted to convey his affection without revealing his name? And if he was the same person who’d sent Betsy’s valentine, just how many women did he secretly admire? Maybe he had dozens, hundreds even, of women in facilities all over the country whom he tantalized with these valentines without ever revealing his actual identity?

  Oh my, thought Essie suddenly, maybe it’s one of those senior scams I’ve heard so much about. Where unsuspecting senior citizens are coerced into buying some ridiculous product or real estate scheme by devious crooks. But Betsy hadn’t mentioned any such occurrence happening to her last year, although Essie hadn’t asked her. Essie thought that if Betsy had been approached by someone who connected himself to her secret admirer or claimed to be her secret admirer in order to fleece her, Betsy surely would have made that connection and would have mentioned the fact to Essie. No, if this secret admirer card was the beginning of some sort of ruse to get her money, it was certainly one of the most convoluted approaches that Essie could possibly imagine. She put that thought on a very back burner.

  She was still fingering the little heart. As she gently tugged at the edges, she noticed the glue around the base starting to give way. Oh, dear, she thought, I don’t want to break it. If I pull too hard, the filling might leak out. However, it was too late and with her last pull, the small silk heart detached from its base and popped into Essie’s hand. She carefully lifted it up and turned it over. The back of the heart was sewn with the smallest hand stitches she had ever seen. On top of the stitches, a layer of glue provided additional protection. Indeed, the bottom of the heart was rock solid. It was possible to remove the heart from its base, but it would be virtually impossible to open the heart from behind. It probably was intended as a sachet, Essie reasoned, even if it didn’t smell good to her. It was sturdy enough to remain indefinitely in someone’s drawer without accidentally breaking and spilling its contents out on one’s clothes.

  Essie touched the center of the card where the heart had been and she felt a sticky substance. It appeared that the heart had been fastened with a type of glue that would allow it to be reattached, so Essie carefully placed the little heart in the center of the card and gently pressed it down. The heart appeared to stay put when Essie held the card up to test to see if the heart would fall off. It didn’t.

  Her nighttime aide, Lorena, stuck her head in the door.

  “Miss Essie,” she greeted Essie warmly. “You want to get ready for bed, or are you plannin’ some late night rendezvous with that secret admirer of yours?” Lorena came in and closed the door.

  “Oh, Lorena,” said Essie, “don’t tell me you heard about the valentine too?”

  “Miss Essie, honey,” said Lorena, busily getting Essie’s nighttime pills from her kitchen cupboard, “there ain’t nobody at HH who don’t know about your admirer!”

  “Oh, no!” cried Essie. “Can’t a girl have a boyfriend without it being broadcast to the world?”

  “Not here, she can’t!” said Lorena knowingly as she brought Essie’s pills to her, along with a glass of water. Essie took the pills and water and swallowed them without a fuss. Lorena smiled broadly. “Good for you, girl! You usually moan and groan about those big ones!”

  “I have other more pressing issues on my mind tonight, Lorena,” noted Essie, as she handed the glass back to her aide.

  “You mean you trying to find that mystery boyfriend of yours?”

  “You haven’t seen one hanging around outside have you?” asked Essie. She and Lorena always liked to tease each other about their love lives or lack thereof. Lorena had been married for years and she and her husband had five children. She had always made it clear that her idea of romance was when her husband just left her alone.

  “It seems Betsy Rollingford got a secret admirer valentine last year,” said Essie. “It was a lot like mine but she misplaced it.” Essie was loathe to say it was stolen, because she assumed that Lorena would infer that she meant one of the staff stole it.

  “That’s not good,” said Lorena, still standing beside Essie’s recliner. “That the card?” she asked, looking down at the valentine in Essie’s lap.

  “The very one,” said Essie.

  “Hmmm,” said Lorena, peering at it from her standing position. “That about the fanciest card I ever seen!”

  “Me too!” agreed Essie, picking up the card and handing it over to Lorena.

  “My goodness, Miss Essie,” she said as she opened the card and read the inside. “This man, he flat out mad about you!”

  “I’m not so sure, Lorena,” said Essie, shaking her head. “If he really cared about me, why be so mysterious? Wouldn’t he want me to know who he is?”

  “He shy,” said Lorena as if that answered all of Essie’s questions and put the entire mystery to bed. She handed the card back to Essie. “Shy men, they do weird things. They a lot of shy men at HH.” She headed into the bedroom.

  “Oh, Lorena!” said Essie, laughing and calling out to her. “I don’t know about that!”

  “I do, Miss Essie!” replied her aide, as she returned from the bedroom with Essie’s pajamas. “Lordy, do I wish I had me a shy man. My Bernie! He not shy. Not shy at all. Nope. We got five kids, Miss Essie. A little more shy not bother me at all.” Lorena rolled her eyes as she helped Essie out of her trousers and into her nighttime attire.

  “Lorena,” said Essie, “I do appreciate your insight, but I don’t think my secret admirer is shy. I think there’s a totally different reason for his secrecy.”

  “No, he just shy!” maintained Lorena. She finished helping Essie get ready for bed and then headed out to her next resident. “Mark my words, Miss Essie. This one shy man who love you!” She shook her finger at Essie as the door closed behind her. Lorena’s words of wisdom did little to calm Essie’s concerns. Now, in addition to her aide’s personality assessment of her secret admirer, Essie was concerned that Lorena had seen the card. It appeared that most, if not all of Happy Haven, now knew she had received a card from a secret admirer. Probably a good portion had figured out or could figure out that she probably kept it in her walker basket. She did keep many of her important possessions in her walker seat—as did many Happy Haven residents who used walkers. It wasn’t that Essie feared that Lorena would steal her card. But she did worry that her gregarious aide might accidentally mention the card to one person too many. Essie did not want to lose her card as Betsy Rollingford had.

  She rolled into her bedroom,
still contemplating these issues, her valentine housed safely in her walker basket. She pulled down her covers and slid under her sheets, pulling her walker close by. This was where she usually kept her trusty vehicle, because she often needed it in the middle of the night for quick bathroom visits. Now, however, there was a second reason to keep her walker close to her bed. If someone did try to slip into her apartment in the middle of the night and steal the card, Essie wanted to be prepared. She wasn’t exactly certain what she’d do if someone actually did enter her bedroom and try to take something out of her walker basket. Really, all she wanted was to know who it was. She figured that if someone took it, it would be someone who either was the secret admirer or who knew who the secret admirer was. In a way, Essie was actually hoping someone would come and take the card. Then this mystery would be solved. Maybe. It didn’t really dawn on her that someone breaking into her apartment and stealing something from her was actually dangerous and if she attempted to intervene, even by trying to discover the person’s identity, she could endanger her own welfare.

  She lay down and tried to sleep. Eventually she drifted off. When she awoke in the middle of the night with an urgent need to visit her toilet, she first opened her walker seat. The valentine was still there in its cream-colored envelope. She even peeked inside to be sure someone hadn’t come in and removed the card from the envelope, but the original card was definitely there. No one had come to get it. She made her quick bathroom trip and returned to bed. This process was repeated several more times throughout the night, and each time when she awakened and checked in her basket the card was still there.

  Chapter Nine

  “Passion makes the world go round. Love just makes it a safer place.”

  —Ice T

  At breakfast the next morning, Essie was anxious to tell her tablemates what she had learned from Betsy Rollingford. Her valentine remained snug in the basket of her walker seat beside her.

  The women were uncharacteristically quiet as they savored Happy Haven cinnamon rolls that the chef made fresh once a week. Essie had slathered hers with more butter than she typically used, but she figured she deserved this little addition to one of her favorite treats. After all, she’d been hard at work trying to figure out a puzzling mystery.