“Of course,” replied Phyllis. “Most of us use it as a short-cut to the parking lot too.”
“Hmm,” noted Essie. “So, any staff member going through this back hallway could feasibly stop at the residents’ mailboxes and remove their mail.”
“Oh, no, Essie!” exclaimed Phyllis. “No one would do such a thing! Besides, the mailboxes can only be opened from behind with the mail master key—and I keep that at the front desk.” She nodded succinctly as if to say that that should calm all of Essie’s concerns.
“Who has access to that key?” Essie asked.
“Now, Essie,” said Phyllis, “I can’t understand why you’re so concerned about the safety of your mail. Are you missing a letter you were expecting?” She eyed Essie with dismay.
“Oh, no!” said Essie, laughing lightly. “Nothing like that! Just curious, Phyllis. You know me, I’m curious about everything!”
“I do know you, Essie, and you are the curious one for sure! It’s probably all this excitement over that secret admirer of yours. Maybe you think he’s sent you another card and we’ve somehow failed to get it in your mailbox?” She tipped her head to the side, as if anticipating Essie’s response.
“No, nothing like that,” said Essie. “I have every faith that you deliver my mail correctly every single day, Phyllis. It’s probably true, though, that getting that valentine from my secret admirer has made me much more interested in the mail these days.”
“Well, that’s understandable,” said Phyllis. “I hear you carry that card with you everywhere!”
Hmm, thought Essie. You’ve heard that, have you? That’s good. It means my plan is working. Essie reached down and opened her seat lid. She pulled out the envelope and held it up so Phyllis could see it.
“I do carry it with me,” Essie said. She clutched the envelope with both hands and gave Phyllis a sickeningly sweet facial expression.
“Oh, Essie, dear,” Phyllis sighed. “You don’t need to worry. I know residents get worried about their mail. We once had a man who thought we had lost his Social Security check. We hadn’t, of course. It was simply a day or two late in arriving, but the poor man was inconsolable. He contacted the government and was about ready to set forth a major investigation. We’re really very careful about your mail. I promise.”
Essie nodded as if she was a child and Phyllis was her mother giving her a lecture. All the while, she was contemplating the maze of hallways behind the mailboxes and the various people who had access to them. She looked around the front desk as Phyllis continued to ramble on about how careful Happy Haven was with residents’ mail. On a small bulletin board on the wall behind the desk, a variety of keys hung from hooks. Each key had a marking on it. Essie guessed that the master key to the mailboxes that Phyllis had mentioned was hanging on this board—right out in public for anyone to grab, assuming they knew which key it was. And probably many staff members knew which key it was.
Phyllis continued to drone on and Essie continued to smile at her. As far as she could tell, almost any staff member would be able to extract mail from a resident’s mailbox, or possibly grab a particular envelope before it even got placed in the resident’s box. She started to think about things in reverse order, from the point of view of the dealer at Happy Haven. Whoever the person was must have some method for indicating to the Boston dealer who to send a particular cocaine-filled envelope to. It was likely that the Happy Haven dealer chose a resident at random and sent that resident’s name and address to the Boston dealer who then sent the appropriate amount of cocaine to the Happy Haven dealer, via the mailbox of the indicated resident. The Happy Haven dealer would then be on the lookout for a certain type of envelope arriving for that particular resident that he or she had already indicated to the Boston dealer. Obviously, the Happy Haven dealer was not going to use the same resident over and over again for the drop, because if an envelope happened to slip through—as it had in Essie’s case when Phyllis put it directly into her hands—the Happy Haven dealer would not want to use that resident again. Essie reasoned that a similar situation had probably happened with Betsy last year. Somehow, the cocaine-filled envelope slipped through the Happy Haven dealer’s routine and got in Betsy’s hands before the dealer could grab it. However, in Betsy’s case, the dealer just waited until Betsy put the pretty valentine on her television set, slipped into Betsy’s room when she was out, and grabbed it, with Betsy being none the wiser.
Busting britches! thought Essie suddenly. There are obviously more envelopes with cocaine arriving at Happy Haven than just these two. The one I found and the one Betsy got are probably just the tip of the iceberg. Who knows how many little packets of cocaine are arriving here daily in the U.S. mail! The police know this. Supposedly, they have someone undercover keeping an eye on things. She wondered if the undercover cop was looking for the drug dealer or was watching her to protect her. Oh, well! She couldn’t spend her time worried about that.
Another thought crossed Essie’s mind. Why just valentines? Yes, her drug-filled card was a valentine and Betsy’s card was a valentine. But that didn’t mean that this drug scheme was restricted just to valentines. Why would a drug dealer function only during February? There were probably drugs arriving in birthday cards, anniversary cards, get well cards, Christmas cards, and every other kind of card anyone could imagine.
She wondered how long this scheme had been going on. It was obviously a small enough plot that it simply didn’t draw much attention to itself. It could have been going on for years. Who would suspect an old person who lived in an assisted living facility as being a drug dealer?
Phyllis had wound down. She was patting Essie’s hand. Hand patting always seemed to mean that the younger person who was speaking wanted to have the older person who was listening to them agree to what was being said and go about their business. Essie got the message. She thanked Phyllis and headed back to her room.
She by-passed her chair and went straight to her bed and plopped down on her spread. In a second, she was sound asleep.
When she awoke from her brief nap several minutes later, she was refreshed and hungry. First things first. She checked her walker basket. The card was still there, still in its envelope on the top of the pile. She didn’t think anyone would come in during the day when they knew she was in her room, but one never knew. She rolled into her bathroom and did some quick ablutions in preparation for lunch.
Essie Cobb, you rascal! she said to her image in the mirror. You managed to pull off this ridiculous ploy. You also managed to convince everyone that you are gaga over this unknown man. You’d think people around here knew you better than to believe that you’d be all doe-eyed over some fellow you’ve never met. She grabbed her brush and fluffed up her beautiful, shiny white curls. Yes, she looked ninety, but she did have sparkling blue eyes and a killer smile. No wonder some guy in Boston had a crush on her—even if he was a fake.
I wonder if I’ve spread the word enough, she thought. I can’t be sure that the dealer has actually received the word that I still have the card. Of course, whoever it is wouldn’t just forget about that stash of cocaine. They may be lying low and waiting for me to take it out of my basket. Maybe they figure I’ll eventually either throw it away or put it in a drawer or display it on my television like Betsy did.
Either way, I can’t give up now. Until something happens, I need to keep up my efforts to flaunt my card around Happy Haven. I’ll have to think of other places in the facility where I might show the card to people who might not know about it or who might not have heard about it. Until I’m positive that everyone here knows about the valentine, I need to keep at it. And I just need to hope that that undercover cop has my back, in case the Happy Haven drug dealer becomes suspicious. She grabbed her walker and headed out for lunch.
Chapter Twenty Six
“Love is like quicksilver in the hand. Leave the fingers open and it stays. Clutch it, and it darts away.”
—Dorothy Parker
The chef’s Valentine’s Day lunch was even more charming than his Valentine’s Day breakfast. A tasty tomato soup provided the red. Each soup bowl was set in the middle of a plate which was rimmed with an array of mini heart-shaped sandwiches with various delicate fillings. Essie could hear some of the men at other tables grumbling about the “sissie” food, but the women were on the whole delighted.
“I love Valentine’s Day!” proclaimed Marjorie. “You can almost feel the love in the air.”
“What I can feel in the air is deodorizer,” noted Essie, ever practical, sniffing. “It covers the smell from all the adult diapers.”
“Why are you so sour?” asked Opal.
“I’m frustrated because I’ve been all over Happy Haven, waving this fool valentine I made around, hoping that someone would try to swipe it from me and prove that they’re the cocaine dealer,” she whispered. “And so far, no one has.”
“Essie,” said Marjorie in her school teacher voice, “you don’t expect the dealer to just come up to you and grab that card, do you? I mean, really. If this person has been able to remain undetected for, who knows, years, they’re certainly not going to do anything so ridiculous to jeopardize their set-up.”
“You have to learn patience, Essie,” added Opal, obviously agreeing with Marjorie. “Surely, the person wants that card back and they’re probably trying to figure out a way to get it back. I bet they’re quite aware that you have it—or they think you have it. You just need to be patient and watch.”
“Opal, what do you think I’ve been doing all day? Every muscle in my body aches from traipsing all over Happy Haven showing off my card.”
“I hope you were cautious in what you said, Essie,” said Marjorie, shaking her head.
“Of course,” replied Essie. “I put my acting skills to the test. I’m sure I made everyone think I was enamored of this secret admirer person who sent the card and my vanity was motivating me.”
“I’m sure no one would ever think that,” said Opal, deadpan.
“Well, what would you suggest I do, Opal?” demanded Essie.
“I told you, Essie. You should leave all of this to the police. Let them ferret out this individual. You don’t have any idea what you’re getting yourself into. If this person discovers what you’re up to, that you’re working with the police, so to speak, and that you’re attempting to set a trap for him, heaven knows how he may retaliate!”
“Indeed, Essie,” added Marjorie, “Detective Abbott told us to keep quiet about all of this. He didn’t say make a fake valentine and try to catch the culprit by waving it around everywhere!” She shook her little soup spoon at her friend.
The women continued sipping their soup as they spoke in whispered tones, bent over the center of the table. Fay was slumped in her chair, snoring quietly, having downed her soup without a sound while her friends were arguing.
Santos arrived with dessert, a rich chocolate cake topped with raspberries. He set the treats at each woman’s place and removed their soup dishes, leaving politely without a comment. Fay evidently smelled the cake and awoke abruptly and dove into the cake with gusto.
“Santos is certainly quiet today,” noted Opal.
“Essie probably scared him at breakfast, quizzing him so much about poor Grace Bloom!” suggested Marjorie.
“Oh, birds’ turds! I was hardly quizzing him!” responded Essie, licking some chocolate off of her lips. “I merely asked him why he was taking meals to Grace. And, if you recall, he never answered. If that doesn’t indicate that something fishy is going on, I don’t know what does!”
“Now what could be fishy about Santos taking meals to Grace Bloom in her room, Essie, if indeed that is what he is doing? That seems like a perfectly lovely thing for him to do!” said Opal.
“So why does he have to keep it a secret?” asked Essie.
“Maybe Grace doesn’t want anyone to know she’s sick,” offered Marjorie.
“She’s not sick, Marjorie!” cried Essie. “I’ve seen her at dinner and other people have seen her in the building too!”
“You know,” added Opal, “I bumped into Grace during the blood pressure check a few days ago. We actually chatted a bit. She seemed fine to me. Although she didn’t stay long. She just got her check and then headed back to her room. She used to come to Quiz Bowl all the time, but I haven’t seen her there in quite some time. I mentioned to her that we missed her, but she never said why she hadn’t been in a while.”
“For heaven’s sake, Essie,” added Marjorie, “you don’t think Grace is the cocaine dealer, do you?”
“No, Marjorie!” snorted Essie. “I don’t! But I do think something strange is going on in her room and she and Santos are in on it.”
“And they don’t want you—or anyone else to know about it!” added Opal. “So honor their wishes!”
“But what if it’s something bad?” asked Essie. “Something that threatens Grace? Or Santos? Don’t you think we should investigate and find out?”
“Essie,” said Opal calmly, “we should not be investigating Grace Bloom or anyone else! And neither should you!”
“You people are too complacent!” replied Essie. “You’d all just stand around while the snake flung apples to Eve in the Garden of Eden!”
“I would, unless the Lord told me to step in and stop it!” retorted Opal.
“The Lord appreciates initiative!” said Essie. “Look at Noah. He built a giant boat and people thought he was nuts but he didn’t let them stand in his way. And when the cocaine dealer came knocking and the rain poured down, Noah could say ‘I told you so’!”
“Listen, Essie,” said Opal with a sigh, leaning back in her chair. “Obviously, I or we can’t stop you if you’re determined to go ahead with this plan of yours. So, I guess, what I want to say is, I think you’re crazy, Essie Cobb, but if you must act like a loon, I will be your backup.” She gave Essie a short, forced grimace. “Marjorie?”
“Of course,” replied Marjorie. “I’m with you, Essie. But I agree with Opal. You’ve really gone over the top on this one. Drug dealers are not just nosy neighbors. They have guns. They kill people. I worry about you.” She suddenly stuck out her lower lip and a tear dripped down her cheek.
“Oh, scoops of poop!” said Essie. “Marjorie, Opal—and Fay. Are you still awake, Fay?” Fay opened her eyes. “I appreciate all of your support, really I do. But, truly, there’s not much you all can do to help. I just have to wait and see if the drug dealer takes the bait I’ve set for him.”
“Well, I for one intend to keep an eye on you,” said Opal. “If you don’t show up for your meals right on time, you can be assured that I will come looking for you.”
“Me too!” added Marjorie.
Fay pointed at herself and nodded.
“Thank you, dear friends,” said Essie. “I know you all have my back. And keep your ears open. If you hear or notice anything unusual about the mail, Grace Bloom, Santos delivering meals, anything at all related to these mysteries, please let me know right away.”
The women agreed to Essie’s requests and having finished their chocolate cake and coffee, wiped their mouths and headed out of the dining hall. Essie rolled herself out, still pondering the issues she had discussed with her friends at lunch.
As far as the fake valentine’s card went, she believed that she had shown it to as many people at Happy Haven as she was capable. Obviously, not everyone who lived or worked at Happy Haven had seen it, but surely, the cocaine maven on the premises must now know that Essie still had the card and was no doubt trying to figure out how to get it. He had already attempted to search for it in her apartment without success. Essie guessed that he was thinking that she kept the card with her and if her behavior of this morning was any indication, he would have that belief solidified by now. He probably was trying to figure out a way to get the card from her without her being aware of it. That would mean that he would either have to come into her apartment while she was sleeping and take it from the w
alker, which would be very risky. Or, he could attempt to sneak it from her walker basket sometime during the day when Essie wasn’t aware. Unfortunately, those moments were few and far between, mused Essie. She took her walker with her everywhere she went and the basket in the walker seat was always within a few feet from her at all times. Essie realized that the dealer was probably experiencing a real dilemma. He probably realized that there were very few opportunities to grab the card from Essie’s walker, because of her regular behavior. As Essie contemplated this, she thought that it might be wise to participate in some Happy Haven activities that would allow the dealer greater access to her walker. Hmmm, what activities might those be? Obviously, she didn’t intend to actually just leave the walker alone somewhere where the dealer could take the card without Essie knowing. No, she had to find some things she could do where the walker would apparently be left unattended, but where she could still keep her eye on it, surreptitiously.
She stopped at the front desk where Phyllis kept sign-up sheets for various activities going on at Happy Haven throughout the day and for upcoming days. She saw sheets for “grocery trip,” “museum field trip,” “library trip,” and other places outside of the building. These held no interest for her. Also, they wouldn’t be appropriate for her plan as it would be unlikely that the drug dealer would follow her on the Happy Haven bus to a field trip.
There were other sheets for in-house activities. She looked these over in an attempt to determine something she could sign up for which would not only announce her presence at a particular location at a particular time (which she reasoned would be advantageous for the dealer), but she was looking for an event or activity which would allow her to be separated from her walker at least for a while. Her eye landed on sign-up sheets for various exercise activities in the building’s small gym on the second floor. Essie had been to the little gym a few times, but found it boring. She believed that she got plenty of exercise just rolling around the Happy Haven halls at the breakneck speed she usually went. There was aerobics, dancing, and other high energy-sounding events listed. Essie eventually settled on yoga. She didn’t know much about yoga but what she did know was that yoga was a relatively gentle activity without much bouncing and running, something she didn’t care for at all. She picked up the attached pencil and signed her name for one of the spots in the yoga class at two o’clock that afternoon. She glanced at her wristwatch. It was past one, so she realized she’d better get going if she was going to clean up and change. She headed back to her room. After her regular bathroom visit, she went into her bedroom and sat on the edge of her bed and attempted to determine which of her various slacks and tops would be appropriate for a yoga class. As Essie had no tights or leotards, which she understood were the de rigeur uniform for such a class, she opted for a loose pair of old trousers with elastic around the waist. Over this, she added a very loose knit top that allowed more than her usual amount of movement. It took her almost a half hour to change out of the outfit she had been wearing and pull on this new outfit. She appreciated DeeDee’s morning help in dressing even more as she struggled to drag the slacks on over her feet and up her spindly legs without too much damage to her arthritic fingers. Finally, after adding her socks and tennis shoes, she rose and looked at herself in her dresser mirror.
Patricia Rockwell - Essie Cobb 03 - Valentined Page 16
