Patricia Rockwell - Essie Cobb 03 - Valentined

by Patricia Rockwell

  She opted for discretion and turned around and rolled back down the hallway, around the corner and back down to her own apartment. Once inside, and after a quick potty break, she slid comfortably and gratefully into her rocker where she contemplated the various mysteries that had presented themselves to her that day.

  Oh, the life of a detective, she thought. It’s a lot of work. Especially when you have more than one case on your plate. In a few seconds, Essie was sound asleep. Sleep always rejuvenated her. When she awoke, she realized that she would miss dinner if she didn’t hurry. Wonderful, she thought. Now I can meet with my three pals and get some help on these mysteries. There surely must be some logical reasons. Maybe Opal, Marjorie, and Fay had managed to figure out the secret admirer/drug dealer mystery themselves. She pulled herself reluctantly out of her soft recliner and grabbed the handle bars of her walker. With a quick stop in front of her mirror for a face check, she headed out her door and down the hallway to dinner.

  Chapter Nineteen

  “Speak low, if you speak love.”

  —Shakespeare

  She arrived at the dining hall just after the doors had been opened to allow the group for the second seating to enter. There was Santos, standing at the dining hall door as he always did for the second seating. Had he really been in Grace Bloom’s apartment while she was in the dining hall eating dinner? Essie could see Marjorie, Opal, and Fay far ahead in the line. Essie glanced around the room to see if Grace Bloom was still there, but evidently Grace had returned to her apartment.

  “Good evening, Miss Essie,” said Santos warmly as Essie passed through the doorway.

  “Humph,” she responded, ignoring the young man who had so skillfully evaded her and her efforts to solve the mystery of Grace Bloom and the food tray. Santos shrugged and smiled at the next resident through the door. Essie rolled over to her table and joined her friends.

  “So, Essie,” whispered Marjorie, when the four women were seated, “did anyone ask about the valentine?”

  “Shhhh, Marjorie,” cautioned Essie from the corner of her mouth. “Let’s be careful what we say.”

  “I’m just asking about your valentine, Essie,” said Marjorie, pointedly. “You know, the one you received from that secret admirer of yours.”

  “Yes, yes,” responded Essie.

  “We thought you were going to talk it up around the building,” added Opal.

  “Opal,” said Essie, “quietly, please. You never know who might be listening.” She smiled sweetly at her tablemates and picked up her menu and began to study the evening’s entree choices. “Lord’s gourds! What a selection!”

  Santos appeared at their table with his pad in hand.

  “Ladies ready to order?” he asked.

  “Oh, Santos!” exclaimed Essie, “you surprised me. You just seem to pop up, don’t you?”

  Santos laughed uncomfortably.

  “I’ll have the stuffed peppers,” said Opal. Santos recorded her choice and looked up at the other women.

  “Oh, me too!” said Marjorie. “They’re usually so good!” Santos made a mark on the pad. Fay pointed to the stuffed peppers entree on her menu and Santos added a third mark.

  “How about you, Miss Essie?” he asked. “Would you like to join your friends?”

  “I don’t know,” said Essie. “I’m feeling a bit adventurous tonight! Maybe it’s because of the beautiful valentine I received from my secret admirer!” She made this announcement in a loud voice so that not only Santos, but all of the surrounding tables and several kitchen workers who were passing heard her remarks.

  “That is very romantic,” said Santos. “But you are lovely lady, Miss Essie. I can imagine that many of the gentlemen here at Happy Haven have big crush on you.” He gave Essie a short bow.

  Essie fluffed her hair in a staged gesture of vanity.

  “Oh, my admirer isn’t from Happy Haven,” she announced in her same public address quality voice. “He’s from Boston!”

  Her three friends grimaced noticeably.

  “Boston?” asked Santos. “Boston is very far, is it not?”

  “Yes,” replied Essie, now sounding as if she were giving a geography lesson. “Boston is located on the east coast in Massachusetts.”

  “Do you have any idea who this admirer is?” continued Santos, obviously intrigued.

  “No,” replied Essie, “but I would certainly like to know! It’s not every day that a girl has a secret admirer!” She practically yelled the phrase “secret admirer” and directed the comment over her shoulder so that the entire dining hall could hear her remark. “Oh, and Santos, I’ll have the oysters!” Her friends gasped, but Santos just chuckled. Having finished collecting the dinner orders from Essie’s table, he gave a short bow and swiftly headed back to the kitchen.

  “Essie,” said Opal in a whisper when the young waiter had retreated, “Oysters! You hate oysters!”

  “As do most sensible people,” responded Essie, “so I’m sure my ordering them got a lot of attention.”

  “You aren’t being very discreet,” said Opal. “And now you’ll have to eat those horrid things.”

  “I’m not that hungry,” replied Essie with a shrug.

  “You know what Detective Abbott said,” added Marjorie, warning her friend.

  “Shhh, Marjorie,” replied Essie, also in a whisper. “No talk of you know who.” She then smiled broadly for the other residents who had taken notice of her. The four women conversed quietly for a while about innocuous topics until the other diners appeared to lose interest in them.

  Eventually Santos returned with their dinners.

  “How lovely!” exclaimed Opal. “Our chef always does such a nice job with stuffed peppers!”

  “He does,” agreed Marjorie.

  “And oysters for you, Miss Essie,” said Santos as he deposited a plate of little brown circles in a buttery sauce in front of her. Essie gulped and smiled politely at the young man. The other women quickly began consuming the peppers which were brimming with finely chopped tomatoes and other fresh vegetables. Essie pushed the oysters around on her plate while she endeavored to ignore the smell of her tablemates’ meals. She gingerly stabbed one of the oysters with her fork and took a small bite. After Santos disappeared, the women continued their previous conversation in hushed voices that did not carry to the surrounding diners.

  “I hope your overacting did the trick, Essie,” noted Opal serenely. “I haven’t seen such an over the top performance since the days of silent movies.”

  “Yes, Essie,” added Marjorie, “you’re a regular Charlie Chaplin. All that eyebrow raising and arm waving. Aren’t you afraid Santos and anyone else watching you order and talk about your secret admirer will become suspicious?”

  “And what would they become suspicious of, Marjorie?” asked Essie pointedly.

  “That you were lying!” Marjorie replied. “Nobody brags about getting a card with that much gushing. Really!”

  “I just wanted to be certain that everyone heard me,” said Essie.

  “They heard you in Cleveland,” said Opal, setting down her fork. She had made short work of her pepper and was now patting her mouth with her napkin.

  “The more people who know that I got the secret admirer valentine and that I still have it, the more likely that the intended recipient—the drug dealer,” she said, only mouthing this last phrase, “will know where the card—and the cocaine is.”

  “But you don’t have it, Essie,” said Marjorie. She too had finished her main course and was waiting for dessert, drinking her coffee.

  “Don’t remind me, Marjorie,” said Essie. “It became painfully evident to me today that it was a problem.” Essie was still nibbling on her oyster, as if she were also nibbling on her problem.

  “A problem?” asked Opal.

  “Yes,” said Essie. “It’s really hard to talk about this wonderful valentine I received and how much I love it and then not be able to show it to anyone.”

 
“You can’t show it if you don’t have it,” said Marjorie, pointing out the obvious.

  “It’s at the police lab,” added Opal.

  “You think I don’t know that!” cried Essie in a contained whisper. “Hmm, these oysters aren’t half bad.” She finished the one on her fork and then speared a second one. “I really wish Detective Abbott hadn’t felt the need to take it away. If I had it, it would be so much easier to lure the dealer in to trying to get it.”

  “Essie!” cried Marjorie. “That’s so unwise.”

  “It’s dangerous!” added Opal. “You know what Detective Abbott said about not taking any chances and being discreet. Let the police deal with this. You stay out of it!”

  “You two,” replied Essie, “have no initiative. The police aren’t going to catch this scoundrel. They don’t have any way to do it. But I do. I can catch him if I can convince him that I have the card that he wants and he tries to get it.”

  “And what if he does try to take the card, Essie,” noted Opal, “and you get in the way and he…he…”

  “What can he do?” asked Essie. “You think this guy would hurt an old lady like me? You think he’d kill me?”

  “He might,” replied Opal. “You’ve got his drug supply, or he thinks you do. He may be desperate. He probably isn’t going to let you stop him.”

  “Yes,” said Marjorie, “I agree. You are taking a huge chance by flaunting all over Happy Haven that you have that valentine in your possession.”

  “I don’t care,” replied Essie. “I’m not going to let him continue to use Happy Haven as his home base and take advantage of my friends here in this drug scheme of his. But without the actual card, I’m forced to pretend that I have it, but that I’m not willing to show it to anyone.”

  “So?” asked Opal.

  “If you were the drug dealer,” suggested Essie, “would you believe that I actually had the card if I never showed it to anyone?”

  “I might,” answered Marjorie.

  “That’s because you’re so gullible, Marjorie,” sneered Essie. Marjorie fluffed her blouse and shook her shoulders in her signature move. “If I had the actual card, I could put it on my television just like Betsy did hers and then lie in wait for the dealer to break in and steal it.”

  “And what if he broke in while you were asleep?” asked Opal.

  “I’d stay awake all night,” said Essie flippantly.

  “Ha!” said Marjorie. “You fall asleep in your chair while watching your shows. You’re worse than Fay!” At the mention of her name, the chubby lady in her wheelchair popped awake and looked around at her friends.

  “What do you think, Fay?” asked Opal in a confidential whisper. “Should Essie keep up this silly pretense of having the secret admirer card? Even if she is risking her life?”

  Fay’s eyes bulged out as Opal described the situation. Fay nodded as she listened to Essie’s dilemma presented clearly by the group’s best analyst. Then she reached across the table and grabbed Essie’s hand and squeezed it tightly.

  “What does that mean?” asked Marjorie. “Is she giving you her blessing?”

  “Of course she is,” replied Essie. “Fay is always one for more action and less talk. Right, Fay?”

  Fay nodded.

  “Really, Fay?” asked Opal. “You think Essie should risk her life by this ridiculous plot that Detective Abbott specifically prohibited?”

  Fay stared at Opal and waited for a moment as she appeared to think about the question. She looked at Opal and then over at Essie. All three women focused on their smaller, quieter friend, still clutching Essie’s hand. With a final squeeze of Essie’s fingers, Fay nodded once.

  “See!” said Essie. “Fay agrees with me. You two may be scaredy cats, but I’m not, and neither is Fay. She knows how important this is and she knows that we, or at least I, have a chance to solve this mystery and rid Happy Haven of this drug dealer scourge.”

  “Oh, all right!” said Marjorie. “I support you! I just hope I don’t end up going to your funeral because of this!”

  “Me too!” added Opal. “I guess if you’re going ahead with this foolish plan, Essie, the least the rest of us can do is have your back.”

  Santos arrived at that moment with their desserts.

  “Ooo!” declared Marjorie, “apple cobbler! I love apple cobbler!”

  “Me too!” added Opal. The women suddenly were silent as they dug into the little bowls of fruity, rich goodness.

  “Santos,” said Essie, as she bit into a large chunk of crispy apple, “I believe I saw you delivering another food tray down my hallway this afternoon. That wouldn’t be to Grace Bloom, would it?”

  Santos finished placing the last apple cobbler in front of Fay.

  “Not remember, Miss Essie. Sorry,” he replied and then hastily retreated to the kitchen with their dirty plates.

  “What was that about, Essie?” asked Opal. “You asked Santos about delivering food trays earlier. What’s going on? Why do you care who he takes a tray to?”

  “I know Grace Bloom,” added Marjorie. “She’s not sick. She was at knitting club this morning.”

  “She was?” asked Essie, ignoring Opal and focusing on Marjorie.

  “Yes,” replied Marjorie. “She seemed fine to me. She didn’t say anything about needing a food tray. Of course, she didn’t stay long either. She only showed up to pick up her knitting project from the last meeting and take it back to her room. I thought that was a bit odd.”

  “Yes,” said Essie. “It was.”

  “You don’t think Grace is involved in this drug dealer scam, do you?” asked Opal suddenly.

  “I don’t,” replied Essie, “but something strange is going on, and I’m not sure what it is. But Santos is usually so open about residents who are having problems. If Grace were ill you’d think he’d let us know so we could help her. Besides, I stopped by her room and she seemed fine, but she surely didn’t want me to come in.”

  “Maybe she’s the drug dealer!” offered Marjorie.

  “Oh, no!” said Essie. “I can’t believe that.” And she didn’t, but yet she couldn’t come up with a reason for the strange goings on between Santos and Grace Bloom.

  Chapter Twenty

  “I will wear my heart upon my sleeve for daws to peck at.”

  —Shakespeare

  Later that night, as Essie sat in her recliner, waiting for bedtime, she couldn’t help but reflect on the events of the day. Now as she sat in her thin pajamas, she felt vulnerable—more vulnerable than she had felt earlier. Then she had been all bravado as she implemented her strategy throughout Happy Haven. By now, surely the entire building was aware of her secret admirer and believed that she had the card in her possession. So far, no one had attempted to take it from her directly, but there was the unknown individual who searched her apartment when she was out. They must have been looking for the card.

  Had she done the right thing? She had flagrantly disobeyed the directions of the police who had told her to lay low and be discreet—not something she was known for doing. As she looked around her little apartment, she realized that if the drug dealer was going to come searching for the card, it would very possibly be tonight. Her friends were right. No matter how motivated she was, it would probably be impossible for her to remain awake all night. And when she fell asleep, the culprit would probably sneak into her room, look in her walker basket for the card, and seeing it not there, leave undetected. How would that help to catch him?

  There must be a better solution. Essie put on her thinking cap. Her imaginary thinking cap. It matched her pajamas well because she often wore it at this time of night. Logically, she didn’t think there was any reason to fear for her safety because the drug dealer didn’t want to reveal his identity to her and he certainly didn’t want to do anything to upset his little business at Happy Haven. She assumed that would mean not hurting or frightening any of the residents, such that the authorities would be called. Of course, the dealer probably was
n’t aware that the authorities had been called and Essie intended to keep it that way—at least until she could catch him.

  But how? If this fellow sneaked into her apartment and searched her things and her basket, how would she know unless she was awake? And, if she was awake, the man probably wouldn’t come in. He’d probably be very careful not to enter if he had any suspicion that Essie even might be awake.

  Of course, she reasoned, if he found the valentine, he’d exit and be satisfied and not bother me anymore. But then she wouldn’t know who he was. He certainly wasn’t going to stop her in the hallway and thank her for the valentine. Oh, how she wished she still had that card! The possibilities for catching the dealer just seemed greater when she possessed the card. She could show it around. She could hide it and see who came looking for it. Without the card, she was forced to act. That is, she was forced to become an actress and pretend that she had the card when she didn’t. That was really hard for her to do. She’d rather face the danger of the drug dealer breaking in and stealing the card from her walker than be constantly pressed to pretend something that didn’t exist.

  A light bulb went off. Essie felt it as if a little pop exploded right inside her head. It dawned on her that the drug dealer at Happy Haven was expecting a card, probably a valentine, and probably addressed to Essie. What he probably wasn’t expecting or didn’t know was what that valentine would actually look like. She had been running on the assumption that she had to refrain from showing this unseen card because she didn’t have it. How carefully would this drug dealer look to see if a card in Essie’s walker basket was the actual card she had received or a substitute?

  She quickly got busy. Her first thought was the sack full of greeting cards in the lower left-hand drawer of her desk. She pulled it out. There were some cards in her sack that she never used—mostly because they seemed inappropriate for any of her children or grandchildren. She now selected several of these and pondered them. One was long, thin, and black. Essie didn’t know why she even kept it in her sack. She couldn’t imagine giving anyone a black birthday card, even though the sentiment on the card was appropriate. Another card was a get well card. It was flowery, but the message was obviously one designed for a sick person. There were actually two valentines in the sack. Why she had never sent either of these was abundantly clear to Essie as she stared at them. Both were excessively gushy with ribbons and bows and little birds flying around the edges on one. As she tried to choose which one was the best choice for her purposes, she contemplated primarily the size, shape, and color of the envelopes. She realized that the crook would see the envelope first. Indeed, the crook might not even look inside when he was swiping the card from her basket.