Papoosed: An Essie Cobb Senior Sleuth Mystery

by Patricia Rockwell

  Santos and baby continued to bond for a few more precious moments. Then, Santos eventually placed the infant back in Essie’s walker basket and rose from her sofa and headed for her door.

  “Thank you, Miss Essie,” he said, hand on doorknob. “I keep try to find Maria. I talk to you at lunch.”

  “Yes,” she replied, straightening the baby’s covers in the basket. “I will keep trying to track her down too, Santos. Maybe something in her little purse will provide a lead. I’ll let you know what I find, if anything, at lunch. Please keep your chin up.” She tucked the small wallet in her pants’ pocket.

  “Chin?” asked Santos, suddenly grasping his face. “Is chin down?”

  “It’s just an expression,” replied Essie, smiling at Santos, “It means don’t lose hope.”

  “Santos’ chin is very up, Miss Essie!” he said with a jaunty thrust of his chin as he headed out her door.

  “Good,” replied Essie to herself. “Now, if I can just keep my chin up!”

  Chapter Fourteen

  “There is nothing in the world of art like the songs mother used to sing.”

  –Billy Sunday

  Essie remained in her room when she would normally go to lunch. Her stomach was rumbling because she hadn’t eaten much breakfast. She thought how used to eating at a certain time of day she had become and even having to wait an additional half an hour was making her uncomfortable. Finally, Marjorie, Opal, and Fay arrived at her door, already having rushed through their meals.

  “Where is my little papoose?” squealed Marjorie, with a shake of her bouncy curls, when the three women had gathered inside Essie’s small living room.

  “Yours?” replied Opal with a regal glare at Marjorie, rolling into Essie’s kitchen and automatically starting to prepare new glove bottles for Antonio. “Don’t you mean ours, Marjorie?”

  Essie wheeled her walker into the bedroom to get the baby and quickly returned with the infant in her basket. Fay motored her wheelchair over to Essie and reached in and quickly scooped up Antonio into her lap. She immediately started to cuddle him. As she hummed a soft lullaby the little boy responded with a wide-eyed stare at Fay’s face.

  “I didn’t know Fay could sing,” called out Opal from the kitchen.

  “She’s humming, not singing,” replied Marjorie, now seated on the sofa. “Essie, you’d better get going if you want any flounder. It’s the special of the day and almost everyone ordered it.”

  “I don’t care what I eat,” said Essie, heading for the door, “as long as I get something. You three be careful and keep the noise down. Clara Monroe was complaining to me that she could hear a lot of sound from my place. She thinks I have visitors.”

  “Did she mention a baby?” asked Opal, looking up at Essie from her formula preparation efforts.

  “Yes,” replied Essie at the door, “but, I think she just thinks I have an apartment full of guests.”

  “You do,” responded Marjorie with a twinkle in her eye, “three adults and one child! You’re a regular motel!”

  Essie chuckled, and then shook her finger at her friend.

  “It’s not funny, Marjorie,” she scolded. “Clara is a pest and I wouldn’t put it past her to cause trouble for us.”

  “You’re right, Essie,” agreed Opal, solemnly, her long, aquiline nose lifted. “We’ll be as quiet as possible. But, we can’t do much about Antonio. Babies cry. There’s not much you can do about that!”

  “I know,” said Essie, “but try to attend to his needs as soon as possible so he doesn’t want to cry!”

  “We have Fay for that!” exclaimed Marjorie, totally undeterred by the criticism. “She’s a pro at calming babies!” And truly it was so, as all three women glanced at Fay who was engaged in some private silent conversation with Antonio by Essie’s outside window.

  Essie shrugged and headed out of her apartment and down her hallway. She felt comfortable entrusting Antonio’s care to her friends. They all obviously had bonded as much with the little boy as she had. One infant was no match for four old ladies, she reasoned. Even if the relationship had to remain on the Q.T. Essie moved into the family room, around the tall Christmas tree, and into the lobby. As it was lunch time, the lobby was filled with residents and visitors. Some people were sitting and chatting in front of the fireplace. Some were walking through the lobby going in or out of the facility. A line of three or four people stood at the front desk which was at the moment manned by Phyllis who was festively attired in a bright green sweater with red buttons. Phyllis was answering questions from a lady at the head of the line about her mother who apparently was a Happy Haven resident.

  “No, ma’am,” Phyllis was saying. “I don’t know where she might be. You could check the community room upstairs.”

  “She’s usually in her apartment at this time,” replied the worried woman.

  “She might be in the dining hall having lunch,” offered Phyllis, her genuine smile topped by her rich brown eyes.

  “No, I checked there,” said the woman, now becoming somewhat unnerved.

  Essie noted this dialogue as she passed by on her way to the dining hall. She knew that the woman would eventually find her mother because, although Happy Haven was large, there were only so many places where residents could go. It was unlikely that any resident would venture outside for long on a day like today. She glanced out the main double doors of the facility as she rolled on. Snow was not just drifting down, it was now blowing, and she could hear the wind howling even from the lobby. She was glad to be inside and glad that baby Antonio was safe inside, but she couldn’t help but worry about the location of the infant’s mother. What had happened to her? Had her husband beaten her? Had she run out and gotten lost or fallen and been unable to get to safety? Where could she be? Essie hoped that Maria was not stranded outside in this increasingly foul weather.

  As she entered the dining hall, she heard Phyllis now speaking to the next person in line. Their conversation was also about the visitor’s mother . . . something about the mother being sick in her room and needing additional care. This was also a common situation and families frequently adjusted a resident’s care status when the person’s health needs changed.

  Essie rolled her walker to her regular table and sat at her spot. It seemed lonely without Opal and Marjorie and Fay. Essie preferred to eat her meals with company, and at this late point in the lunch period, most residents had already finished their meals and had returned to their rooms. She glanced around. Several residents remained at their tables sipping beverages. A waitress quickly brought Essie a menu and she pointed to the flounder, hoping there was still some of the favorite dish remaining. Soon, her meal arrived and she ate quietly. She caught a glimpse of Santos several times and he seemed busy so she refrained from signaling him. Indeed, she had nothing new to report to him so she merely sat and sipped her coffee for a few minutes before she returned to her room.

  “Miss Essie,” said a male voice. She looked up to see Hubert Darby standing beside her, sporting a new festive vest. Did the man have an outfit for every one of the twelve days of Christmas? “Miss Essie, did you like my present?”

  “Oh, Hubert,” replied Essie, “that was a lovely thought, but I really can’t eat hard candy with my . . . uh . . . dentures, so I haven’t actually opened your present yet.” She smiled warmly at the man. Maybe if Hubert knew she wore dentures, Essie reasoned, he’d cool his apparent ardor.

  “Please, Miss Essie,” continued Hubert, evidently undeterred by her dental condition, “please open my gift.” He lifted up and down on his heels in a nervous gesture and then abruptly turned and walked purposefully out of the dining hall. Essie shrugged and returned to her coffee. She had barely had a moment of peace when another voice interrupted her meal.

  “Essie,” said Violet Hendrickson, “I’m glad I ran into you.”

  Essie stared up at the Happy Haven Director looming over her, armed with a clipboard and pen as if they were weapons.

 
“Miss Hendrickson,” said Essie, cringing. This was not a good situation. Violet had discovered Essie seated in the dining hall, making it difficult for Essie to make a quick getaway as she had the other day when she’d used her weak bladder as an excuse to avoid the director. “So nice to see you.”

  “Essie,” said Violet, glaring over the top of her clipboard, her golden earrings gleaming like armor around her face. “Clara Monroe came to see me, concerned that you are having loud visitors in your apartment.”

  “What?” sputtered Essie, spilling some of her coffee on her lap. “She actually went and complained to you?” Essie knew Clara was a busybody and a buttinsky but she’d only thought the woman was annoying. Essie didn’t really think Clara would go to Violet and make a fuss. Essie assumed Clara was as intimidated by Violet as she–and everybody else at Happy Haven–was. This was not a good development.

  “Yes,” continued Violet, tapping her pen with a vengeance on her clipboard, “Clara says she can hear a crowd of people in your apartment at all hours of the day and night!”

  “Oh, Miss Hendrickson,” exclaimed Essie, “that’s absolutely not true! I don’t know where Clara is getting such ideas!”

  “Have you been entertaining a noisy crowd of people in your apartment, Essie?” demanded Violet. Even though Violet’s voice was soft, it was insistent, and the few remaining diners had now turned to see what was going on at Essie’s table.

  “Of course not, Miss Hendrickson!” replied Essie. “Oh, I know what it must be!” she fabricated quickly. “I did have my tablemates over last night. We were . . . uh, working on a surprise present for one of the residents . . . but I don’t believe we were terribly loud.”

  “Clara says she hears many loud voices late at night! Even children! Infants! Have you had relatives staying with you, Essie?” Violet’s eyes were like those of a hypnotist’s, and Essie could feel herself being drawn into her power. It was not against Happy Haven policy to have overnight guests, but if guests became so rowdy that they disturbed a resident’s neighbors, they would be asked to leave.

  “Oh, no, Miss Hendrickson!” said Essie, her face becoming red. “All of my relatives live in or near Reardon. There’s no need for any of them to spend the night with me!” She looked down at the ground to break the threatening spell that the heartless administrator was weaving.

  “No children? No infants?” pushed Violet, stabbing her pencil at Essie.

  “I know! My tablemates and I were watching that new reality show last night about the family with twenty children. Can you imagine a woman giving birth to twenty babies? I had three and that was more than enough for me! There were lots of children and infants on the show. That’s probably what Clara heard!” Essie laughed pitifully and glanced up over her glasses to see if Violet was buying her story.

  “Humph!” said Violet, continuing to tap her pencil on her crossed arms. She fingered one of her gold earrings as if it were a beetle she was contemplating squashing, and took a deep breath. “I don’t know what you’re up to, Essie Cobb, but mark my word; I’m going to find out!” She said this last part in a whispered snarl. Then, she turned abruptly and stormed out, her high heels clipping on the linoleum floor.

  “Sue’s gnus!” said Essie to herself. She glanced around and gave a friendly shrug at the residents who had witnessed this little conversation–as if to say, ‘show’s over, folks!’ The last thing Essie needed was for the Happy Haven Director to get her dander up about her activities and start investigating. If Violet came by Essie’s apartment unannounced and demanded to come inside, she would find baby Antonio and Essie’s goose would be cooked. Worse, Violet would surely turn the baby over to social services and his mother–if she was still alive–might never get him back. Everything was a mess. Could things get any worse?

  Essie headed out of the dining hall. She hadn’t spoken to Santos, but she knew he knew where to find her if he needed her. She rolled into the lobby. The line at the front desk had diminished and Phyllis was now speaking to one of the staff nurses. As Essie rolled by she heard their conversation.

  “Mildred McKensie, last night,” said the young nurse, dressed in her colorful animal print jumpsuit, leaning over the desk, as she and Phyllis glanced together at a list. “Then, of course, Adele Anderson, you remember. This morning right here in the lobby.” The nurse pointed to a name on the list.

  “Yes,” replied Phyllis, making a mark on the list with a pencil.

  “Then we just had four more within the last hour,” said the nurse and rattled off the names of several more residents. The doctor confirmed it.”

  “Blood tests?” asked Phyllis.

  “Running them now. The doctor expects them to be positive for Mildred,” replied. “And Adele. We expect the same for these other four.” The two women looked at each other.

  “Pretty violent symptoms,” said the nurse. “Looks like a very contagious stomach virus.”

  Essie heard the last phrase “stomach virus” as she was rounding the decorated tree and heading back down her hallway. This was a really frightening development. A contagious disease of any sort in an assisted living facility could be dangerous. Even though she’d had her annual flu shot, she knew there were always strains of viruses that managed to make it through that barrier and cause havoc at many places such as Happy Haven where groups of people lived together. And, of course, there was the baby. Infants were particularly susceptible to contagious diseases. And she and her friends were keeping him here in a hothouse of germs. What were they thinking?

  She rolled quickly down her hallway and into her apartment. Her three friends were feeding the baby with the glove bottle. Essie came in quickly and closed the door. She heaved a deep sigh and then told them the news.

  “There’s a bug going around,” she announced dramatically, “and Violet thinks we’re holding wild parties!”

  Chapter Fifteen

  “If your baby is ‘beautiful and perfect, never cries or fusses, sleeps on schedule and burps on demand, an angel all the time,’ you’re the grandma.”

  –Theresa Bloomingdale

  “Essie, your phone’s been ringing off the hook!” said Marjorie as Essie stormed into her living room. “What do you mean bug?”

  “And what wild parties?” asked Opal, looking up from the sofa, baby Antonio cuddled warmly in her lap.

  Essie moved to her favorite chair and flung herself down with a sigh. “Violet accosted me in the lunchroom. Seems Clara Monroe complained about the noise we’ve been making!” Her three friends looked concerned.

  “What noise?” cried Marjorie with a loud gasp, then suddenly whispered, “What noise?”

  “I think Clara’s just jealous,” replied Essie in a similarly soft voice. “She sees the four of us going and coming from here and feels left out. That’s all I can think of. The baby just doesn’t cry that much.” Fay nodded to this last statement and patted Antonio where he was quietly slurping his dinner in Opal’s arms.

  “Should we ask her to join us?” asked Opal as she squeezed the glove bottle gently to help baby Antonio secure the last few drops of substitute formula. Antonio playfully pushed the bottle away and stretched. “Here, Fay, why don’t you put him on Essie’s bed and see if he’ll fall asleep?”

  Fay carefully took the little boy in her arms and expertly drove her automated vehicle silently into Essie’s bedroom.

  “Heaven’s to Hermione!” exclaimed Essie in response to Opal’s suggestion. “Don’t you think we have enough of us involved as it is?”

  “I, for one, don’t want to involve Clara,” said Marjorie, conspiratorially. “She’s always turning her nose up at me. I’ve spoken politely to her but she acts like she’s better than everyone else.” She shifted her shoulders back and forth and stuck out her lip in a pout. Essie often thought that Marjorie was very much like the grade schoolers she used to teach.

  “I don’t know about that,” argued Essie, “or if she just doesn’t know how to go about making friends . . .
”

  “Certainly not by complaining about her neighbors!” declared Opal, slapping her arm decisively on the end of Essie’s flowered sofa. Opal was all about mature and responsible behavior. She had had to mollify many an irate employee and customer in her many years as an administrative assistant and she had been very good at her job.

  “And what did you say about a bug?” asked Marjorie, all excited..

  “What did you say about my telephone?” countered Essie. “You didn’t answer it, did you?”

  “Of course not!” exclaimed Opal with a huff. “That would take a lot of explaining, now wouldn’t it? And, besides, it wouldn’t be proper.”

  “It depends on who was calling,” suggested Marjorie. “Most of the calls I get are from people conducting surveys or trying to get me to buy a timeshare vacation home in Bermuda. If it was one of those people, I don’t think they’d know or care who answered the phone.”