Papoosed: An Essie Cobb Senior Sleuth Mystery

by Patricia Rockwell

  PAPOOSED

  Patricia Rockwell

  Chapter One

  “Every child begins the world again.”

  –Henry David Thoreau

  “Someone is trying to sabotage me,” Essie thought she heard the young waiter say. Something about wanting her help. In the kitchen. Was the man being threatened by one of the kitchen workers at Happy Haven? Surely not. She sat at her table pondering his whispered remark as Santos, the young waiter, slipped back into the kitchen after neatly depositing hot fudge sundaes in front of Essie and her three dinner companions–Opal, Marjorie, and Fay. A sprig of holly provided a festive holiday touch to the top of each dessert.

  “What was that about, Essie?” asked Opal, on her right, her stern eyes glaring over her glasses at Essie from her imposing height. Opal obviously didn’t approve of anyone making small talk with the staff.

  “Santos was just asking my opinion,” fibbed Essie. No need to drag her three gal pals into this little mystery until she knew exactly what Santos was talking about.

  “He was whispering in your ear,” added Marjorie on her left, with a sprightly wiggle of her shoulders. The white fur collar on Marjorie’s red wool sweater made her look like one of Santa’s helpers. “It seemed rather cozy to me, Essie!”

  “Oh, for St. Nicholas’ sake!” cried Essie, keeping with the Christmas spirit, “He was asking my opinion about something.”

  “What?” demanded Opal in a whisper, leaning in towards Essie with a superior glare.

  “Opal,” snapped Essie, plopping her red napkin down next to her now melting sundae. “He’s just a nice young man who values the advice of a more experienced person–such as myself.”

  “But what kind of experience does he need?” asked Marjorie, in a suggestive whisper.

  “Marjorie! He’s young enough to be my grandson!” retorted Essie, grabbing her spoon and scooping up a huge mound of chocolate sauce and ice cream and ramming it into her mouth, thus effectively ending any further conversation for the moment–at least from her end. The fourth member of the group–Fay–sitting across from Essie, gobbled her sundae without comment.

  All four women became suddenly silent as they concentrated on finishing their sundaes before the ice cream had melted away to a soupy mess. It was really too cold to eat ice cream any way, reasoned Essie, being only a few weeks before Christmas. By the time Essie had sipped the last few spoonsful of ice cream, the women’s focus had changed–Santos, the waiter, and his whispered request, apparently forgotten.

  “Oh, look,” whispered Opal, staring above Essie’s head and giving her a little shove with her elbow. “Hubert Darby’s suspenders are falling off again! Will that man ever learn to keep his pants up?”

  “Where?” demanded Marjorie, quickly turning her head of curly reddish-silver locks toward the direction that Opal’s elbow indicated. “Oh, my! You’re right! Look! When he bends over to pick up his tray, you can see his crack!”

  “Marjorie!” exclaimed Opal.

  “You’ve heard worse, Opal!” countered the former elementary school teacher. “First graders say ‘butt crack’ all the time! It’s one of their favorite insults!”

  “We’re not first graders!” responded the sour Opal with a dramatic sniff. Opal’s years as an administrative assistant for a major legal firm were evident in her professional and stern demeanor.

  “Stop it, you two!” said Essie, extending her arms and patting the hands of her friends who sat to either side of her at the small square table, charmingly decorated with a glowing red candle surrounded by small poinsettias. “The poor man probably doesn’t have a clue that his suspenders are lop-sided and . . . .”

  “And his pants are falling down!” added Marjorie with a devious smile. “That’s fine with me, Essie! More men should wear suspenders and then maybe more pants would drop!”

  “Marjorie, you’re disgusting!” said Opal, posture perfect, fingering the cameo around her neck with a prim haughtiness.

  “I’m sure his suspenders will do their job,” said Essie, continuing to pat her friends’ arms, the patting becoming more insistent as Opal and Marjorie bent over Essie scowling at each other. “Stop it, now! Both of you! Hubert Darby doesn’t deserve this kind of treatment from either of you.”

  The two women finally shrugged and leaned back in their chairs. When Essie, the leader of their group, gave orders–no matter how thinly veiled–the other three women typically followed them. At least, that was what had happened recently. Essie had gotten riled up when one of the Happy Haven residents had fallen into a coma after winning a dollar playing Bingo and had sent all four of them on a merry adventure to discover a possible mystery behind the event. As it turned out, the man had recovered and the mystery was solved, but Essie and her three henchmen–or rather henchwomen–had played a major part in bringing it to a positive conclusion.

  Opal and Marjorie glanced at Essie. Essie wasn’t much different than they were–all senior citizens living in the Happy Haven Assisted Living Facility. Essie was the oldest at ninety, but Marjorie, Opal, and Fay were close behind her in their mid-eighties. Of course, everyone who lived at Happy Haven was a senior citizen, but Essie, Opal, Marjorie, and Fay were a close-knit group primarily because they always sat together for their meals. Indeed, everyone at Happy Haven had a regular seat at an assigned table for all meals–breakfast, lunch, and dinner– so tablemates got to know each other quite well.

  “Gone!” exclaimed the fourth member of the group sitting across from Essie in her wheelchair. The pudgy little woman examined her spoon in obvious frustration that the ice cream and chocolate sauce in her dish had vanished.

  “You ate it all, Fay!” said Essie, leaning across the table to the small lady, who was now trying to scrape the sides of the dish of any possible remaining dessert.

  “I guess she liked it,” noted Marjorie, smiling warmly at Fay. Fay continued to manipulate the spoon against the sundae dish with no success in securing any additional sauce to eat.

  “It’s good there’s something she can get excited about,” offered Opal with a wise sigh.

  “How true!” added Essie. “I don’t often know what she’s thinking. When she makes a comment I sometimes get a little glimpse of what’s going on in there.” Essie smiled at Opal and Marjorie and nodded at their fourth member. An outside observer might conclude that Fay was slow because of her inability or unwillingness to communicate fully. They would be wrong, as all three of her friends knew well. In previous adventures, the women had discovered that although Fay was not terribly talkative, she had abilities that none of the rest of them possessed. Each day, it seemed, they discovered something new about Fay. They knew, for instance, that Fay was a computer whiz. They didn’t know how Fay had developed her skills, but they surmised that she had learned them either in her previous job as a research librarian or from one of her children. They were also not at all certain what had caused Fay’s present rather uncommunicative state, but they loved her just the same and all three adjusted their own schedules when needed to help Fay function at Happy Haven. It had become obvious to them that Fay was capable of saying almost anything, but that she just saved her comments for the most appropriate–or sometimes–inappropriate– moments.

  “Hello, Miss Essie!” said a male voice.

  The women all turned at once in the direction of the sound. Standing beside Essie was the very man whom they had all been deriding because of his unhooked suspenders and low-slung trousers. The man was large, tall and dressed rather nattily, if you ignored the obviously open suspender on the back of his pants. His hands were twisting painfully in the pockets of his brigh
t red cardigan vest that featured Christmas reindeer on the front. His large round head was ringed with a halo of thin, straight brownish-grey fringe. A bright red tie set off his light blue shirt and matched the suspenders which were attached to his khaki trousers. A nice pair of clean black and white sneakers completed his ensemble. The man blushed noticeably and repeated his greeting in a low grumbly voice.

  “Hello, Miss Essie.”

  “Uh, Hubert,” said Essie with a weak smile at the man and a concerned glance back at her three friends.

  “You look nice today, Miss Essie,” said Hubert Darby, rocking back and forth on his rubber-soled shoes with a sort of controlled frenzy. Essie bit her lip.

  “Thank you, Hubert,” she replied. She again glanced at her friends who remained frozen, waiting for the continuation of the conversation. It appeared that Hubert Darby did not intend to speak to the other women at the table. “Hubert? You know my tablemates–Opal, Marjorie, and Fay?”

  “Um,” he grumbled, or maybe moaned. “Miss Essie, you . . . you . . . .” He continued looking at Essie, attempting to form his sentence, rocking on his feet, his face getting progressively redder. Essie thought that if it got much redder, the man’s head might just explode. She continued to smile at him politely awaiting his next statement. Essie believed in being patient when someone was having difficulty speaking and obviously Hubert Darby was having difficulty. It was somewhat like what happened to Fay, reasoned Essie, but when Fay spoke, she didn’t have any trouble saying whatever she wanted to say, she just didn’t say very much very often. All of a sudden, the man turned abruptly and scurried away from the table and out of the dining hall, his trousers drooping in back because they were held up by just one suspender.

  “He has a crush on you, Essie!” said Marjorie with a wink.

  “Just what she needs,” added Opal with a sympathetic sigh.

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” replied Essie. “He was just making polite conversation. I try to encourage him because he obviously has trouble speaking.”

  “Oh, it’s more than that, Essie,” said Marjorie, “Hubert is smitten with you! He wore his red suspenders! Probably because he planned to plight his troth.”

  “He should have made certain they were hooked to his pants,” noted Opal smugly, “before he went courting.”

  “Hubert Darby is not smitten with me,” said Essie firmly. Fay had given up on her empty ice cream bowl and had fallen asleep in her wheelchair. “I’m just someone he trusts.”

  “It’s more than that, Essie,” added Marjorie, with a jab at Essie’s shoulder. “You’ll see! I know the signs. I used to see this kind of behavior in many a love-struck first-grade boy when I taught elementary school.”

  Before Essie could respond or even digest Marjorie’s evaluation of Hubert Darby’s unusual pronouncement, Santos, the young Hispanic waiter, had returned and was standing beside Essie.

  “Miss Essie,” whispered the waiter, bending down and speaking quietly into Essie’s ear. “Miss Essie, can you come back to the kitchen now?”

  “Santos,” replied Essie, looking up into the frightened face of the young man who bussed her table several meals a day. “What’s wrong?”

  “Miss Essie,” he repeated softly but insistently in her ear, “por favor. I cannot talk about it here. You come back to kitchen. I show you.”

  “Show me?”

  “Por favor! Please!”

  As her gal pals looked on incredulously, Essie rose and grabbed her red and black walker which was parked next to her chair and followed the young man through the bustling dining room and into the kitchen. Santos moved quickly, turning his head back every moment or so to be certain that Essie was behind him. She was. Although Essie was ninety and unable to walk upright on her own, when driving her walker she was hell on wheels and could go faster than most people could walk.

  “This way, Miss Essie,” called out Santos, as he wound his way through the main kitchen area. The many workers barely glanced at their co-worker followed by one of the Happy Haven residents as they attended to their business of washing plates, preparing dishes for future meals, inventorying supplies, and other tasks. Santos led Essie quickly through a back hallway where the hubbub of the kitchen lessened. She followed him down a long hallway stacked with boxes of goods. Some boxes were opened. One box held giant cans of peaches. Santos continued quickly down the hallway. Essie could see a closet door at the end of it. It was obvious that Santos was taking her to this closet to show her something, but what, she had no idea. Maybe, he wants my opinion on what type of vegetable or fruit to serve for an upcoming meal? No, that doesn’t make sense, she thought. The kitchen staff never asked residents for their input on meals. They certainly wouldn’t ask just one resident for her opinion. Santos finally reached the door which was open a crack. He turned to Essie who had arrived behind him. He looked over her head, as if to see if anyone was around or watching. Then he carefully opened the closet door.

  Inside, Essie could see a walk-in storage area. A change in air pressure indicated to her that the storage closet was noticeably warmer than the hallway. As they moved inside, she saw that shelving units lined the three walls. On all shelves were boxes of packaged foods and canned goods. Santos moved quickly to the far end of the closet and bent down to the lowest shelf. Essie could see an open cardboard box full of what looked like thin white towels. Santos knelt beside the box and gently lifted the towels. Essie peered into the box. Inside, sleeping soundly was a totally beautiful–totally round and chubby–newborn baby.

  Chapter Two

  “Babies are always more trouble than you thought–and more wonderful.”

  –Charles Osgood

  “Santos!” exclaimed Essie, her eyes agog. “That’s a baby!”

  “Madre Dios, Miss Essie!” whispered Santos, rising and putting his hand gently but firmly in front of Essie’s mouth. “Quiet, por favor. Baby sleep. No one can know.”

  “You mean, no one on the staff knows there’s a baby here? Don’t they come back here for supplies?” Now Essie had her hands on her hips as she scowled at the young man incredulously.

  “Oh, no!” he continued in a soft voice very close to Essie’s face. “Baby is secret! I hide him before dinner, before crew get here.”

  “But, why, Santos?” asked Essie, glancing back and forth between Santos and the infant peacefully sleeping in the box on the lower shelf. “What are you doing with a baby in this storage closet? Oh, my! Is this your baby?”

  “Oh, no, Miss Essie!” cried Santos with a certain amount of shock. “Not my baby! I not married!”

  “Of course, I didn’t mean . . .” Essie sputtered, “I meant, maybe the baby of some woman you were . . . um . . . dating?” She cringed as she looked to see how Santos would respond to her delicate phraseology.

  “No! No!” continued Santos, “This is Maria’s baby, Miss Essie. Maria work here. I get Maria job in kitchen several months ago. I did not know about baby then.”

  “What?” replied Essie. “This is . . . confusing, Santos! What is going on? And why did you drag me back here to see this poor child? Where is its mother?”

  “That is big problem, Miss Essie,” said Santos, his voice rising along with his shoulders. “I don’t know where Maria is.”

  “You don’t know where the baby’s mother is?” she questioned. “How can that be? I thought you said she worked here. So, where is she?”

  “She’s gone, Miss Essie!”

  “Gone where?”

  “I do not know, Miss Essie!” replied the young man, shaking his head pitifully. “Oh, Miss Essie, I do not know what to do. Can you help me?” With a miserable face, he looked at the old woman and slowly sunk to the floor in a heap next to the baby in the box.

  “Me?” snorted Essie. “What do you expect me to do? I don’t know where this child’s mother has gone.”

  “I know, Miss Essie,” said Santos from the floor, his head in his hands. Essie tapped her foot. This was obviously a very ser
ious situation. A newborn child needed its mother. It didn’t need to be hidden away in a closet among the canned green beans. Essie sighed and looked around frantically as if she’d find the answer to this dilemma in the labels on the canned fruit. Finally, she twirled her walker around and sat down on the built-in leather seat.

  “Now, start from the beginning, young man,” she ordered, “and start now.”

  “Yes, Miss Essie,” replied Santos still on the ground, cringing as Essie shook her finger in his direction. “I do not even know Maria is pregnant.”

  “When was this?”

  “Maria? I do not know about baby when Maria and Gerald move here six months ago.”

  “Wait a minute,” said Essie, holding out the palm of her hand. “Who’s this Gerald?”

  “Gerald is Maria’s husband. They meet in Mexico. Gerald is American. He meet Maria in Los Colinas Rojas . . . where Maria lives. Maria and Gerald, they get married. Very fast! That very bad, says mi madre . . . my mother. She says very bad when man and woman get married too soon . . . and . . . .”