Scry Me A River: Suspense with a Dash of Humor (Blood Visions Paranormal Mysteries Book 2)

by Donna White Glaser

  So Connor did know that she'd been brought in for questioning. Had he been there, at the station, the whole time? A lump of shame dropped into Arie's gut.

  "I tell you what," Connor continued, "I'll see if I can talk to Barb. She might be able to convince Clarkson to hold off on the RO in order for you to visit Harlan."

  "What? A restraining order? Are you kidding me?"

  "Arie, there are a lot of strange things going on over at that place, and you seem to be in the middle of all of them. Again. Just... keep clear of the place until I can figure out what's going on. I'll check on Harlan for you. It's a little Machiavellian to think he's being held against his will, but I'll give them a call. And I'll talk to Barb about the restraining order, too."

  "'A little Machiavellian?'" Arie's words had to strain through her suddenly closed-up throat.

  "Arie, I'm just trying to say that—"

  She never heard what he was "just trying to say." She'd hung up.

  Arie could barely restrain herself from jumping back in the Caddy and initiating a full-scale armed attack on River Rest. Unfortunately, "full-scale" consisted of only one petite-yet-buxom young woman, and the only arms she carried were attached to her body and slightly out of shape.

  It wouldn't be fully dark for another hour and a half, which gave Arie's panic attack plenty of time to bloom and flourish and wreak havoc on her nerves. If she were in a movie, she'd have used the time to roll out blueprints that she'd downloaded after cyberhacking the city hall's archives and assembling an assortment of MacGyvered break-in tools that she would carry in an old gym bag. Instead, she ate both sub sandwiches and half a package of chocolate-chip cookies then burrowed through her closet, looking for her black jeans and a dark turtleneck. At least she would look the part. If, that is, she could still fit in her jeans.

  Getting into them was a struggle, but after lying down on the bed and wiggling like a beached trout, she managed to snap them closed. Grumpa must have washed them in hot water again.

  With that thought, Arie burst into tears.

  Stupid, stupid old man. Had to go and get yourself kidnapped, didn't you? Why didn't you just tell Ma no, Grumpa? Just tell her—

  Arie took a deep breath. How many times had she been in that position? Just tell Ma "no." Ha. How likely was that? Her mother was a steamroller dressed in beige and pearls. Grumpa could only have done so much, especially without Arie there as backup.

  Arie sighed and looked out the window. It was dark.

  Time to go.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  In the end, Arie waited another hour and a half before heading out. She wanted to make sure the nursing home was quiet, with everyone asleep, she hoped—nurses included. Just after eleven o’clock, Arie parked the Caddy a couple blocks away from River Rest and walked the rest of the way. The night was way hotter than she'd expected, and sweat ran in rivulets down her spine. The jeans and turtleneck were a definite mistake. She hoped that would be her only one.

  Although lights shone in the nursing home, the wing of the rec center was shrouded in darkness. Perfect.

  However, the center side of the building was so dark that Arie could barely see two feet in front of her face. She'd left her phone in the car because she didn't trust it to not ring at some inopportune moment. No matter how careful she was to turn the volume off or set the Do Not Disturb or even to power the whole cell phone off altogether, the stupid thing consistently rang during church services, weddings, even once at her Uncle Milt's funeral. Ma had not been pleased. At any rate, the flashlight app would have come in handy right about then.

  Instead, Arie was forced to crawl around in the bushes lining the exterior wall of the rec center. Rocks dug into her hands and knees, and she was scratched so viciously she started to believe the shrub was a direct descendant of the enchanted thorn bushes surrounding Sleeping Beauty's castle. Except this was no fairy tale. To top it off, she wasn't even sure the object she was looking for was still hidden there. If it wasn't, she was going to have to improvise.

  After a vicious twig nearly gouged her eye out, Arie's hand swept across the cold metal of the step stool Bernie and his harem had stashed under the library window.

  Arie struggled to her feet and pulled on the stool, but the bush held onto its treasure. After trying various ways to twist it loose, Arie gave a mighty heave. The bush relinquished its hold, sending Arie and the stool sprawling to the ground with a crashing chorus of snapping branches and clattering metal.

  Arie lay on the ground, panting and waiting for an alarm to go off or a SWAT team to rush around the perimeter of the building to arrest her. When, after several moments, nothing happened, she hauled herself to her feet. Her sweater was a pincushion of spiky twigs, and she'd torn a hole in the knee of her jeans. She leaned against the brick building, halfheartedly picking twigs and leaves off herself. She was exhausted, her knees bruised, nerves—and jeans—frayed... and she hadn't even begun the real "mission." She couldn't give up, though.

  Arie dragged the stool over to the library window. As she did, she noticed the shrubbery had a "bald spot" in the exact place she needed to set the stool up in order to reach the window. Thank you, Bernie.

  Flash.

  Holy fudge, woman! How much does she weigh? My biceps are quivering, and I don't think I can hold her much longer. If she doesn't get through the dang window in the next five seconds, they're going to find the two of us flat on our backs with matching broken hips. I give a big shove to her backside, and the silly goose squeals like this is part of the fun and games. Get in there, you silly heifer!

  Arie slapped herself in the face. Not now, Bernie.

  The step stool was a little too wiggly for Arie's taste, but if a horny octogenarian and his flavor-of-the-month honey could manage, so could she. One hand on the window frame, she offered up a short but fervent prayer. The lock could easily have been fixed in the time following Bernie's death—probably had been. Arie didn't know what she would do if it—

  The window slid open. Arie yelped in surprise and relief and almost fell off the stool. Now for the hard part... Climbing through the window meant shimmying her boobs over the sill and then letting gravity tip her in. The metal of the frame dug into her stomach, making Arie regret every single bite of her sub sandwich—and Grumpa's too. The only bright spot was she was able to catch the side of the bookshelf bordering the window, which prevented her from landing headfirst on the floor.

  She made it, though. She lay gasping for a moment then hauled herself up. No time for dillydallying. She made her way by feel across the small dark room. The door leading into the hall made a creepy horror movie–type creak that she could have happily done without. However, it did confirm that the place—this side of the nursing home, at least—was empty, because no one responded to the sound. Navigating the hallway was easy, just a straight shot, but she slammed to a stop when it opened into the social hall. The cavernous room was pitch dark and filled with obstacles. Arie wanted to kick herself for not bringing her phone. She just had to go slowly and be careful. Not her usual way of dealing with life, but what choice did she have? Near what she thought was the midpoint of the room, she realized she should have used the bathroom before starting the trek. If she got caught, she just knew she'd wet herself. On the other hand, if she got caught, peeing on herself would be the least of her problems—the most embarrassing, perhaps, but not the biggest.

  Crossing the hall and groping her way to the door between the center and the residential part of the facility seemed to take Arie eons. She sure hoped Merilee and Kathy had been right about the lock only being on the nursing-home side. She also hoped no one was standing on the other side, watching her creep into the place she'd just been escorted from several hours earlier. The knob turned, and she slowly swung the door open. At least that one didn't creak.

  Arie eased through the door. A dark hallway stretched out for twenty feet, another corridor branching off halfway down. Faint light glowed from the intersecting one, a
nd a cacophony of rhythmic, rasping sounds echoed around the bend—snoring. She was in the right place. She started forward then realized the door behind her was swinging gently shut. The door! Arie lunged, grabbing it before it shut—and locked. Heart thumping like a jackrabbit on crack, Arie looked around for something to keep the door from latching. Since she was standing in an empty hallway, she didn’t have a lot of options. She pulled off one of her tennis shoes and wedged it between the door and the frame. That would work as long as no one came by and saw it. She also slipped the other one off—no sense keeping it on, and she'd be quieter in her socks anyway. She tiptoed forward and peeked around the corner of the branching hallway.

  That was a much longer corridor with at least a dozen doors spaced at intervals on each side. Softly glowing lighting strips ran along the base of the walls. At the end of the hall was a circular desk but no staff that Arie could see. The snoring coming from each room was so loud in that area that Arie was surprised anyone could get any sleep at all. Of course, the residents were likely all hard of hearing, so removing their hearing aids would provide respite from the din. Unfortunately, she had no way of knowing which door Grumpa's rasping wheeze was emanating from. She knew she would have to check them one by one and hope that nobody woke up and started screaming.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  The floor lighting was worrisome. The nurses were possibly doing rounds or helping someone, which meant one or another could pop out of a room and discover Arie lurking in the middle of the hall at any time. She crept to the first bedroom.

  The occupant had left the TV on, a twenty-four-inch mounted in the upper corner of two walls. M*A*S*H was playing: Hawkeye Pierce and BJ Honeycutt sprawled on their cots, drinking martinis, while Frank Burns appeared to be having a tantrum next to his. The blue light allowed her to see enough to know that she was in a man's room but not, she thought, Grumpa's. She didn't recognize any of the belongings. Just to be certain, she tiptoed up to the bed. The occupant was curled on his side, facing away from Arie, but she was pretty sure it was Larry.

  She hurried to the door, peeked out to check for nurses, then darted to the next room. No TV was on in this one, but her eyes had finally adjusted to the dim lighting. She moved farther into the room then slammed to a stop. A man stood hunched over and motionless in the corner next to the bed. A shriek rose in Arie's throat, but she slapped a hand over her mouth, catching herself just in time. It wasn't a man. It was Alan's fedora perched on a hat stand on his night table. She'd almost wet herself because of a hat stand. Sparkly dots danced in front of her eyes, and the wooziness that presaged a faint came over her. She hobbled to a chair near the bed, sat down, and tried to stick her head between her knees. Her boobs got in the way, but she managed to regain control of her breathing. She stood shakily, and—

  Alan shot up from the bed and grabbed her wrist.

  "Ow!" Arie cried then clapped her hand back over her mouth. "Alan, it's me, Arie. Let me go," she continued in a hoarse whisper.

  He blinked myopically at her. He was wearing bright spring-green pajamas, and his hair stood in wild tufts, making him look like an elderly daisy. "What the hell are you doing here?" His grip pinched.

  "You're hurting me." Arie tried to pry his fingers from her wrist.

  He immediately released her. "Arie?"

  "I'm sorry. Go back to bed." She backed toward the door, thinking that if he called for the nurse, she'd have to run for it. "This is... just a dream."

  "Like heck it is. You looking for Harlan?"

  Arie stopped. "Uh... well..."

  "Two doors down, other side of the hall. What time is it?"

  Arie didn't wear a watch, and of course, her phone was back in the car. She looked around and saw the glowing orange numbers of a digital alarm clock. "Almost midnight."

  "The witching hour, huh?"

  "I guess. Uh, Alan, I have to go."

  He slid from the bed, his pajama bottoms riding up to display pale, skinny legs that practically glowed in the dim light. "Hold on. If you go now, you'll run into Kelly. She—"

  He froze, and the squeak of rubber-soled shoes could suddenly be heard over the multiphonic snoring. Arie's breath hitched, and she started to hyperventilate again. Alan grabbed her elbow and shoved her into the dark bathroom then closed the door halfway. He had only taken two steps away when Arie heard his bedroom door open.

  The nurse, apparently not expecting to see Alan standing in the dark in the middle of his room, gave a yip. "Oh gosh! Are you okay?"

  "I'm fine. Why wouldn't I be fine?" Alan's voice was high-pitched and edgy.

  "Well, good. How about we get you back to bed, then?" Arie heard the swish of cotton as the nurse walked over to Alan.

  "No, no. Never mind. I'll get myself to bed, thank you. I'm not a child."

  "Well, all right then. Can I get you anything to help you sleep? Some water?"

  The shoe squeaks drew closer to Arie's hiding place. She held her breath and closed her eyes.

  "I said I'm fine!" Alan noisily clambered back into bed. "You can go. All this talking is just going to keep me awake."

  Arie had to wiggle back and forth to keep from peeing. She eyed the toilet. As soon as that nurse left... She heard shoe squeaks receding toward the door.

  "Good night, Alan."

  "G'night."

  Arie barely waited for the shoes to get out of hearing range before she plopped herself down on Alan's toilet and power peed for nearly a full minute. She heard Alan's sigh of exasperation, but she didn't care. The relief of her bladder was nearly as great as her relief at not being discovered.

  When she came out, she found Alan sitting on the bed, slippers on and cane in hand.

  "What are you doing?" she whispered.

  "I'm coming with. If I leave it up to you, Harlan will end up like What's-His-Face in that Cuckoo movie."

  "No way, Alan. It's too dangerous for us both to be wandering around here. I need to—"

  "That's the point. With me, you aren't going to be wandering. Besides, you don't have a choice. I'm not going to tell you where Harlan is if you don't let me come."

  "Two doors down, other side of the hall. You already told me."

  Alan's face scrunched up in disgust. "Dang it! I forgot about that. But I'm still coming with." He pushed off from the bed, weaving a bit until he got his cane squared away.

  "Get back in bed, Alan. You aren't coming with."

  They stood in the dim light, glaring at each other. Then Alan's scowl suddenly evaporated. "Just how are you going to stop me, young lady?"

  Arie sighed. She was so tired of stubborn, scheming old men. She bowed her head in defeat. "Fine. Okay. Just... let's go."

  Alan shuffled over to his door. "Let me be the lookout. If they see your face peeking out of my bedroom, they'll think I switched teams. Blech."

  After making sure the coast was clear, they hurried down the hall to what Arie fervently hoped was Grumpa's room. Alan poked his head around the door then shooed Arie inside.

  Another dark room—but it smelled like Aqua Velva and lavender.

  Grumpa.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  Alan remained at the door, keeping watch as Arie crossed the room to where her grandfather lay sleeping. He looked so old and vulnerable she wanted to weep. His hair was in wild bedhead disarray, and his dentures had been removed. As Arie watched, Grumpa snorted in his sleep, making his cheeks flap like flags in the wind.

  She leaned forward and shook his shoulder, hoping he wouldn't freak out when he was awakened out of a sound sleep. He could be pretty cranky when he first woke up. Crankier.

  At her touch, Grumpa snorted again but didn't wake up. Arie shook harder and whispered his name—still nothing. She shook again, enough to rock him back and forth, but he didn't stir. Frightened, Arie looked over at Alan. He shrugged.

  "They must have drugged him up," he whispered. "You could tell he was upset, even if he was cooperating."

  But why had he cooperated?
That was the one thing Arie couldn't figure out. Her mother might have wanted power of attorney, but she couldn't have gotten that so quickly. At least, Arie didn't think so. At any rate, that wasn't the time to figure that out.

  "How the heck are we going to get him out of here if he's comatose?" she asked.

  Even in partial darkness and from clear across the room, Arie could see Alan's smug smile. "I told you that you'd need my help. Now, aren't you glad I'm here?"

  Arie pressed the heels of her hands against her eyeballs. She took a deep breath. "Yes, Alan. I'm very grateful. Now"—through gritted teeth—"do you have any suggestions for getting Grumpa out of here?"

  "Well, unless you're going to sling him over your shoulder like a Tibetan Sherpa, I suggest you find us a wheelchair. There's plenty of them. They're all over the place."

  "Easy for you to say, Alan. But I don't know my way around here. How about you go—"

  But Alan was already shaking his head. "I'm sorry, my dear, but I just can't." He patted his leg. "This would betray us both. You're going to have to do it, but it won't be that bad."

  "Oh, really. Why is that?"

  "You only have to go three rooms down. Wait." Alan stuck his head out the door for a moment. "Make that four rooms down, opposite side of the hall. Marty Kowalewsky has a nifty little custom-made chair. His kids got it for him a year ago because they never visit. A guilt gift, you know? And it just got new wheels, too, so it'll be quieter."

  Arie squinched her eyes shut. She had a headache. "What if he wakes up and starts screaming?"

  "Never happen. Marty gets sleeping pills every night. You could stand on his chest and yodel, and he wouldn't wake up." He ran a head-to-toe glance over Arie. "Break every bone in his ribs, maybe, but he wouldn't wake up."

  "Okay, rude."

  Alan flapped a hand at her. "He's old. His bones are brittle. Don't be so touchy. Now, come on. It's shift change, so they'll all be in the conference room, yakking. You've got twenty minutes, easy."