Papoosed: An Essie Cobb Senior Sleuth Mystery

by Patricia Rockwell

  “But what if it was Essie’s doctor? Or . . . worse . . . what if it was Violet?” asked Opal. “If she’s suspicious of us, she just might call to check up on Essie.”

  “Or worse, she just might drop by,” added Essie. “That’s what really scares me. She is the Director. She has a master key. She can walk in any apartment at Happy Haven whenever she wants.”

  “Oh, Essie,” said Marjorie, “she can’t just go around barging into our apartments without a really good reason.” She flopped her head of curls back and forth in a child-like manner.

  “And now she has a good reason,” replied Essie. “Clara has given her one.”

  “She would need more reason than one resident complaining about a noisy neighbor to just enter an apartment unannounced,” said Opal, logically. “I think that’s unlikely, Essie. But I do agree that Violet is probably going to be watching you . . . and us . . . more closely. We need to be much more careful what we do. We need to be especially quiet and we need to try to keep Antonio as quiet as possible.”

  “But Opal,” said Marjorie, “he’s a baby! Babies cry!”

  “True,” agreed Essie, “but there’s four of us. We all need to work together to anticipate his needs before he has the need to cry.”

  “Good luck!” said Opal, ever the pragmatist.

  As the three women continued to argue, Fay returned to the living room, pushing the bedroom door shut behind her. She put her finger to her plump little lips to indicate that the infant was sleeping. The women all put their fingers to their lips to indicate that they got Fay’s message.

  Marjorie whispered, “Essie, what did you say about bugs? Something about the exterminator?”

  “No,” whispered Essie in response, “a flu bug. I overheard one of the nurses talking to Phyllis at the front desk. Several residents have caught a nasty bug, it appears. Remember Adele Anderson this morning?”

  “So, it wasn’t food poisoning?” asked Marjorie.

  “They don’t know,” replied Essie. “They’re running lab tests. It looks like the same strain as the lady who got sick in the dining hall this morning. This has me more worried than anything. I’ve had my flu shot . . . “

  “Me too!” declared Opal.

  “And me!” added Marjorie. Fay nodded to their statements and pointed to herself, as she drove her wheelchair into the circle.

  “Yes,” said Essie, “but Antonio hasn’t! And he’s more susceptible than anyone! He’s a newborn. He hasn’t been seen by a doctor. Who knows what underlying physical ailments he might have that might compromise his immune system . . .”

  “Essie,” argued Marjorie, “Antonio seems very healthy. His skin isn’t sallow. He’s nice and plump and he’s very responsive.”

  “Says Dr. Marjorie?” responded Essie. “You taught second grade, Marjorie. You aren’t a pediatrician. If one of us comes down with this virus, Antonio will be in great jeopardy!” The four women sat frozen, staring at each other contemplating the seriousness of this most recent development.

  “As I see it,” said Opal finally, laying out their options, “it’s a toss up. Maybe Antonio would be safer from a contagion standpoint if the four of us were not involved, but from a workload standpoint, Essie, it . . . takes a village . . . or so they say, to raise a child. At least, at Happy Haven, it takes four senior citizens to care for one newborn. Face it; we can barely take care of ourselves!”

  “I resent that, Opal!” exclaimed Essie. “I get along quite well.”

  “As long as you have your aide to dress you in the morning and get you into your pajamas at night,” added Marjorie, poking Essie playfully.

  “The same as you!” retorted Essie. The escalating argument was cut off when Essie’s telephone rang.

  “Oh, no!” cried Essie. “We’ve been too loud. That’s probably Violet calling to inform us that Clara is complaining again.”

  “It’s better that she call to complain,” noted Opal wisely, “than she show up at your front door!”

  “That’s right!” said Marjorie. The phone rang a second time. Marjorie carefully lifted the receiver from the phone, holding it as if it were a rattlesnake, and handed it to Essie.

  “Hello,” said Essie tentatively but pleasantly into the mouthpiece. “Oh, Claudia,” Essie said with a relieved sigh. She continued to listen and nod, her face taking on a look of greater and greater despair. “Yes, Claudia, I’m thrilled that Kurt arrived early. Uh hum. The program’s at four. ” Essie rolled her eyes for the benefit of her three friends. “Truly, Claudia, I wish we didn’t have to do this today.” She gave a pitiful sigh into the receiver. Fay, Opal, and Marjorie nodded encouragingly to Essie and motioned her efforts with gestures. “Why not? Because . . . because . . . there’s some sort of bug going around.” She listened to her daughter’s reaction. “Oh, no, dear, I’m fine, but, you know, some of the residents are pretty sick and . . .”

  “Tell her you think you should stay in your room,” suggested Opal.

  “Tell her you don’t want them to be around a lot of sick people,” added Marjorie. Essie attempted to listen to her two friends and to her daughter on the telephone at the same time.

  “Yes, dear,” said Essie into the telephone, “yes, I know I have to eat. Of course, I want to see Kurt. It will be lovely to have you three children take me out, I’m sure.” Essie cringed and ran her palm over her forehead. Fay, Opal, and Marjorie looked back and forth from one to the other.

  “Don’t worry, Essie!” whispered Marjorie. “If your children insist on coming over and taking you out to dinner, the three of us can watch Antonio in one of our rooms until you return.” Opal and Fay nodded their heads to Marjorie’s promise.

  “Yes, dear,” said Essie into the phone. “I guess I’ll go with you. Yes, you’ll be here a little before four. In time for the caroling program. Yes, dear. It does sound lovely! Okay. See you then!” Essie gently placed the receiver back in the telephone cradle. Her shoulders sagged noticeably as she looked from one friend to another. “Are you sure you three can handle this?”

  “Haven’t we been doing a fairly good job so far?” queried Opal with a shoulder point to the bedroom.

  “Oh, I didn’t mean to imply that you all aren’t competent,” said Essie quickly.

  “Then, don’t, Essie,” said Marjorie. “Just go out with your family and let the three of us take care of Antonio. When you get back, we’ll bring him back down.”

  “Fine,” agreed Essie. “I guess if we’re going to transfer Antonio from one location to another, we should make arrangements now.”

  “Yes,” said Opal, sitting upright on the sofa and gesturing for their attention, as if she were conducting a meeting. “What I suggest is that the three of us return here around three or three thirty to pick up the baby and his belongings. That should give you time enough to get ready for your children before they get here at four. Then when you get back from dinner, just call me . . .”

  “Why doesn’t she call me, Opal?” interjected Marjorie. “We can keep Antonio in my apartment.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” said Opal. “All of our apartments are virtually the same.”

  “Why not Fay’s apartment?” offered Essie, in an attempt to squelch the budding argument. “Does it matter? Actually, come to think of it, I suggest you all go to Marjorie’s place because it’s closest to mine . . . on the same floor. You’ll be less likely to run into anyone . . . especially Violet or Clara . . . transferring the baby from here to there and back again.”

  “She’s right,” agreed Opal, deferring to logic. “Marjorie’s apartment it is then. Fay and I will meet you there, Marjorie, and then we can all head over here to pick up the baby.”

  “Great!” said Essie. “Now, as Antonio is sound asleep, I suggest we all adjourn to our own places and rest up. I, for one, know that I’ll need to relax before things get really hectic later this afternoon.”

  “We’ll get going, Essie,” agreed Opal. “We’ve put plenty of cans of substitu
te formula in case you need it.”

  “And a stack of baby diapers that Fay made out of those Reliables are piled up in the cupboard over your toilet,” added Marjorie.

  “Super Cooper!” exclaimed Essie. “It seems I’m a prepared babysitter!”

  “Now all you need is for your boyfriend Hubert Darby to come over for a make-out session on the couch!” suggested Marjorie with a sassy smile.

  “Marjorie!” gasped Opal.

  “Let’s concentrate on the ‘baby’ in our babysitting,” said Essie, shaking her head.

  The three friends rolled their respective vehicles to Essie’s front door and quietly departed. Essie peeked around outside of her door to the left where Clara Monroe’s apartment door was . . . about ten feet down the hallway. She could see the giant silver wreath on Clara’s door. For someone with such a public display of Christmas spirit, Essie reasoned, Clara was not the most generous of souls. Was she just jealous? Or lonely? Why would she complain about Essie’s behavior? Essie was quite sure that she and Marjorie, Opal, and Fay had not made any excessive noise in taking care of baby Antonio. If Clara had noticed the baby crying, why wouldn’t she just mention that? It seems that complaining that a resident had a baby in their apartment for any period of time other than a brief visit would be sufficient grounds for concern. But no, Clara had complained that Essie had visitors and that they were making too much noise. Did Clara feel she was being left out of some sort of wild hallway party? Essie didn’t know. Her attempts to befriend Clara had not succeeded and she wasn’t sure that she should make any additional efforts.

  Essie rolled back into her living room and to her bedroom door. She carefully cracked the door a few inches so she could check inside to see if baby Antonio was still asleep. He was. Like a little angel. Whatever miserable beginning his little life had had, he was one sweet-natured and well behaved infant. Surely, he didn’t deserve the wrath of Clara Monroe. Essie pulled the door closed and rolled back over to her lounger. She plopped down in the soft cushions and pulled up the foot rest. Within a few moments she was sound asleep.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “Babies have big heads and big eyes, and tiny little bodies with tiny little arms and legs. So did the aliens at Roswell! I rest my case.”

  –William Shatner

  When she woke up, Essie felt refreshed. Her watch indicated that she had slept just a half hour but it felt like more. She glanced over at the gift package of peanut brittle from Hubert Darby that was resting on her end table. She could always re-gift it to someone in a Secret Santa drawing. Oh, no, she reasoned. Hubert would find out and that would hurt his feelings. I’ll just give it to my grandchildren.

  Her hand went to her pants’ pocket where she retrieved the small blue wallet that Santos had found in Maria and Gerald’s apartment. She again looked inside. The only item there was a green card. The name on the card said Maria Compton. Hmm, thought Essie. Apparently one branch of the government considered Maria to be Gerald Compton’s wife. Just how legal was their marriage? Just how legal was Maria? Or baby Antonio? Essie knew nothing of immigration law. She examined the small thin wallet, looking for hidden compartments. Other than some small change and a few dollar bills, the wallet contained nothing else.

  Essie pushed herself out of her lounger, leaning against her walker. Why would just a little nap so adversely affect my knees? She got up and moved into her bathroom for a quick refresher. She pulled open the cupboard above her sink where her friends had hidden the makeshift diapers for Antonio. The little pink packages were lined up neatly. There were about thirty or forty of them. Enough to last several days, Essie reasoned. She glanced in her mirror. Oh my, she said to herself. My hair looks like it’s been combed with an eggbeater! She remembered that when she had been a young mother, her appearance was the least of her concerns too. Her first child, Pru, had kept her awake at night a lot and her husband had not done much to assist her. Of course, in those days, it was the woman’s duty to care for the children. Men did not get up at night to attend to cranky babies. Nowadays, there was more equality, or so she had heard. Of course, Gerald Compton evidently wasn’t aware of any of this. He apparently had been living in the dark ages as far as how a modern father should behave. Essie fluffed up her sparkling silver curls with her fingertips and tweaked her cheeks to give them a healthy glow. Then she headed back to her living room to see what else she could do to track down Antonio’s mother before the little boy awoke from his nap.

  She quickly tracked down the telephone number of the newspaper she had called earlier. This time, she was rewarded when the reporter who had written the article on Gerald Compton’s fatal automobile crash, Bernice McVickers, answered her telephone extension.

  “Ms. McVickers?” asked Essie.

  “You got me,” replied the woman succinctly.

  “I spoke with your colleague Mr. Watts earlier,” said Essie. “He filled me in on the story you wrote about that fatal car crash on the corner of Farris and Orchard, but he suggested I talk to you about the specifics . . .” She tried to sound authoritative.

  “And you are?” asked McVickers.

  “Uh . . . “ stammered Essie. “I . . . uh . . . live in the neighborhood where the crash occurred . . .”

  “You do?” interjected the reporter. “Did you know this guy? The victim?”

  “You mean Gerald Compton?” asked Essie.

  “Yeah,” replied the woman, “the whole accident was strange . . .”

  “Strange?” probed Essie.

  “Yeah,” continued McVickers. “The guy was flying down a residential street. Completely oblivious of this other car in the intersection, legally, I might add. The police think . . . you know . . . maybe suicidal? Anyway, did you know him?”

  “Um . . . not personally,” replied Essie, “but I did know of him.”

  “Yeah,” replied the reporter, now with curiosity, “I questioned a number of neighbors around the intersection. Don’t remember you. It was just a block from his home.”

  “Yes,” said Essie, now getting excited that the conversation was turning to an aspect that might prove valuable to her. “I had heard that the man’s wife wasn’t questioned . . .”

  “Wife?” cried the voice at the news office, “Hey! What wife? The Compton guy wasn’t married. He was driving his father’s car. As far as we were able to determine, he lived alone.”

  “The father told the police that?” asked Essie.

  “That’s my understanding,” said McVickers. “The father was the only surviving relative.”

  “My understanding was that Mr. Compton had a wife and a child,” offered Essie.

  “What? If that’s true,” said the woman suspiciously, “the dead guy’s father was lying . . . and why would he lie about something like that?”

  “Yes,” replied Essie. “Why would he lie?”

  “The police spoke with Compton’s landlord. He said Compton lived alone.”

  “Really?” asked Essie, puzzled.

  “So, what’s this wife’s name? Where is she?” continued the reporter, “And how would you know this? Hey, what did you say your name was?”

  “I didn’t,” replied Essie, fearing she’d probably said too much and wondering now if revealing the existence of Maria and her baby as Gerald Compton’s wife and child had been the best thing to do. Biting her lip, she gently placed the receiver back on the telephone base.

  This entire debacle was becoming stranger and stranger. Just what was the relationship between Gerald and Maria Compton? Were they married? Legally? If not, what was going on? If so, why was Gerald keeping his relationship with Maria a secret? From his father? His employer? His landlord? Evidently everyone? It was looking more and more as if Maria had no legal claim to American citizenship. Essie had no idea what lay in store for little Antonio given the unusual circumstances surrounding his parents. Could things get any worse?

  At that moment, the PA system crackled. Oh no, more announcements. Luckily, the announcement
s had not been blasting away when she was talking to the newspaper reporter. She recognized Phyllis’s voice on the intercom.

  “Residents!” said Phyllis in a serious voice, “I have an important announcement that will affect all of you. It appears that a rather fast-moving and serious stomach virus may have hit Happy Haven. Just within the last few hours, we’ve had eight residents become quite ill. Three have been hospitalized. Our staff doctor and our nurses have been discussing just how to deal with this potentially very serious virus. We have decided that as a precautionary measure we’re going to quarantine the entire facility until further notice. This means that no resident is to leave his or her apartment for any reason other than a scheduled outside appointment such as a doctor’s visit. Staff members will bring you your meals and we will have additional nurses’ aides on duty to assist if any of you need help. Please call the front desk if you have any concerns or need anything. Otherwise, do not leave your apartment. The dining hall and the family room and all other areas in Happy Haven where residents might congregate are now officially off limits. Oh, and we are so sorry that we will have to cancel the Christmas carol program that was scheduled today for four o’clock. We will be bringing you updates on the status of our quarantine from time to time. Please watch for bulletins put under your doors as well.”