Stella, Get Your Man

by Nancy Bartholomew

  When the driver emerged from behind the van, we both relaxed. He carried a large cardboard box loaded to overflowing with produce and assorted grocery items.

  “Lucy Valocchi?” he asked.

  “This is the place,” I answered.

  Jake and I were both standing now, and Jake moved down the steps to take the box. After a brief examination of its contents, he set it down on the top step and dug in his pocket for tip money. He peeled a twenty from a small wad of bills and handed it to the driver.

  “Tell me everything you know about this order,” he said.

  The skinny man looked briefly at the bill before slipping it into his pants pocket, took a last drag on his cigarette and then ground it out in the dead grass.

  “All I can tell you is this old guy comes in and fills a cart full of groceries, then he asks to see the manager. I only know this much on account of I was in the office clocking out when he come up. The old dude asks Johnny if we can do a special delivery for him and Johnny says he don’t know, it depends.”

  The man patted his jacket pocket, found what he was looking for and pulled out a pack of cigarettes.

  “The guy says he needs to send this order to Surfside Isle and right off, Johnny says we don’t deliver that far and besides, his driver’s off duty and he doesn’t have anybody else. Now, I’m his driver, so I figure maybe the guy’s gonna make it worth my while. I mean, he don’t look flashy, but the guy’s got money. I can tell that much by the way he’s acting.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “Well, some guys flash their money. They wear a lot of gold. They drive hot cars and talk loud. They treat the little guy like shit. Really rich guys don’t do that. They wear expensive clothes, all right, but they don’t talk about it. They just act like they know they’ll get what they want because if it comes down to it, they’ll pay you right. This dude was like that. So I said, I’m off duty, but I might be looking to take on a side job. How much you payin’?”

  The skinny man paused, tapped out a cigarette and stuck it in his mouth.

  “He says I’ll pay you two hundred dollars.”

  The driver fished in his jacket pocket again, pulled out a lighter and lit his cigarette before continuing.

  “And I was right about the guy, too. He paid cash for the groceries, handed me two one-hundred-dollar bills and drove away in a beat up Land Cruiser.”

  Jake frowned. “You ever see him before?”

  “Nope, and I bet I never do, too.”

  “How come?” I asked.

  The skin around the man’s eyes crinkled as he squinted up at me through the cigarette smoke.

  “Well, for one thing, he wasn’t local. His car had Maryland tags. And for another, he didn’t look like he was in town to stay. There was a suitcase in the back of his Cruiser. I only know that ’cause he was parked right near the van, and I was watching the guy. I mean, it’s not every day somebody like that comes into Guinta’s. Besides, Benny Valocchi was a good guy. I don’t want anybody making trouble for his widow. I gotta make sure this dude’s on the up-and-up. I mean, money’s nice, but it ain’t everything.”

  I nodded and smiled at the man. “I appreciate you looking out for my aunt,” I said.

  “Think nothin’ of it,” he said. “Besides, from the way the old guy talked about your aunt, I think he was on the up-and-up. I asked him if he was related to your family and he said no, but he knew your aunt was on vacation. He said she was particular about her cooking. She didn’t use just anything, so he wanted her to have what she was accustomed to. I thought that was nice, looking after her like that.”

  Jake pulled a card out of his wallet and handed it to the driver. “If you happen to see him again, give me a call, all right? Even better, if you catch his tag or—”

  “Gotcha, chief.” The skinny man stuffed the card into his pocket, turned to leave and stopped. “Hey, there’s nothing wrong about that dude, is there? I mean, I wouldn’t have taken the job if I’d thought he was—”

  “No, I’m sure he was just trying to do us a favor,” I said. “We just want to know who to thank, that’s all.”

  The man seemed reassured and smiled for the first time. “That’s good. I wouldn’t want no harm done. You know, I got a family, too.”

  I nodded and smiled. The driver hitched his pants up with a nervous twitch and walked back to the van. As we stood watching, he cranked the engine and left, leaving us with a box of groceries and lots of unanswered questions.

  Jake shrugged. “What do you make of that?”

  I was rooting through the box, examining everything with a cautious eye. No bugs this time, just my aunt’s favorite olive oil, fresh basil, tomatoes, semolina flour and assorted spices.

  “I think he must know her,” I said. “He told the driver he bet Aunt Lucy hated to be without her usual cooking supplies. They’re all in here, like he knew she left in a hurry and he knew what she’d be wanting. That’s weird.” I straightened up and turned to Jake. “Actually, it’s more than weird, it’s spooky.”

  Jake didn’t cook, at least I didn’t think he did, so the fact that someone knew these peculiarities about my aunt didn’t seem that strange to him.

  “So far, we’ve got an old guy who tails your aunt to our office, serenades her from the back of a flatbed and sends her flowers…”

  “With a bug on the vase,” I added.

  Jake nodded. “If he’s the one who added the bug. Then he sends her groceries.”

  “But only the exact items she already has in her kitchen.”

  “So maybe he’s the one who broke into the house,” Jake said. “Maybe it wasn’t Joey.”

  “Or maybe he knows Aunt Lucy, and she’s forgotten.”

  Jake’s expression softened. “Stella, have you considered the idea that maybe your aunt knows who he is and doesn’t want to tell us because it might seem she’s being unfaithful to your uncle’s memory?”

  “No, that wouldn’t fit. She thinks Lloyd is Uncle Benny. She wouldn’t cheat on my uncle.”

  Jake picked up the box of staples and started up the steps. “Stella, your aunt’s a very smart woman. Granted, your uncle’s death threw her for a loop, but do you really think she believes your dog is her dead husband? I mean, I could see her pretending that, maybe even half believing it, but really, do you think she’s that delusional?”

  I followed him, thinking about what he was asking and realizing that I just wasn’t sure. Aunt Lucy was brilliant, but she was also eccentric. It would comfort her to believe Lloyd was Uncle Benny. On the other hand, maybe that was all it was; like a toddler with a baby doll, a comforting stand-in.

  Aunt Lucy wasn’t in the kitchen when we returned. Spike and Nina were sitting at the kitchen table, Aunt Lucy’s empty Chianti glass between them.

  “She’s lying down,” Spike whispered. “I think she’ll sleep if we’re quiet.”

  Jake put the box of groceries on the counter and joined us at the table.

  “I made coffee,” Spike said. “I thought we could use a little added brainpower.”

  Nina’s eyes were red-rimmed and I knew she’d been crying, probably worried sick about Aunt Lucy. I reached over and patted her hand while Spike found mugs and brought the coffee to the table. We needed to stay focused, I thought. We needed to take charge so the unknown wouldn’t feel so overwhelming.

  “Okay,” I said. “Let’s make a plan.”

  “Stella, I really don’t feel like doing a mission statement right now,” Nina murmured.

  Jake hid a grin behind his coffee cup. “I think she’s just talking about a short-term plan, like maybe for the afternoon.”

  I nodded. “I don’t think Aunt Lucy should be left alone again, not with Joey Smack on the loose and her secret admirer scaring the hell out of her.”

  “Why don’t you and Nina go look up Fred May’s mother,” Jake said. “I’ll stay here with your aunt. I can call the local florists, just on the off chance one of them delivered the f
lowers.”

  Spike said, “I’ll go look for Lloyd. He hasn’t come back yet and I know your aunt will worry.”

  Nina’s eyes were huge, worried orbs. “Do you think that’s safe? I mean, look what happened to Stella!”

  “I think Joey Smack’s looking for Stella and Jake, but not us. I think I’ll be all right. Besides, I have all that Krav Maga training. I don’t think Joey’s people want to mess with me.”

  Nina didn’t seem any less worried. “That’s martial arts—those guys have guns.”

  Spike nodded. “I’ll be very careful, baby.”

  “All right then,” I said, standing. “Let’s get going. Her place is on Apple Street, 2912 Apple, in case anything happens or you need us. The sooner we leave, the sooner we’ll be back.”

  Spike pulled a pen out of her pocket and wrote down the address on the only paper handy, a scrap of paper towel. “Got it,” she said.

  Nina seemed torn, but Spike urged her up. “That’s right, baby. Go see old Freddie’s mama so you can tell me all about it. Of course,” she said, with a sly grin, “I will try not to be jealous of your other love.”

  Nina tried to smile back. “Oh, baby,” she whispered. “If you only had a clue!”

  I hustled her out the door then, knowing she’d cave if we didn’t keep moving. I kept asking questions, making her search for directions and watch the road signs all the way across town. When we reached the address written on Nina’s folded-up index card, I turned and tapped the piece of paper.

  “Are you sure this is it?”

  Nina stared up at the low-slung brick building. “It has to be,” she answered. “It says 2912 right there on the front door.”

  The sign in front of the building said 2912 all right, but it also said Ocean Bay Nursing Home.

  “Shoot! She’s probably comatose.”

  Nina fumbled with her door handle. “Stella, you’re stereotyping. Mrs. Kinsky says she stops in to visit at least once a week. Come on.”

  Nina sailed right up to the front door, rang the bell, waited for an attendant to open it and marched us both up to the front desk.

  A large woman sat behind the desk reading a paperback entitled Destiny’s Dark Desire. The cover left no doubt as to the book’s contents. A half-naked pirate held a blonde captive in his arms. I looked at the reader, imagined her in the pirate’s arms instead of the blonde and knew why she wasn’t happy to be interrupted.

  “We’re here to see Angela May,” Nina said. “Is she still in room 131?”

  The attendant sighed, looked at a sheet of paper attached to a clipboard and nodded.

  “Cool,” Nina said. “Thank you.” She turned to me. “Come on!”

  We started off down the hallway with Nina in the lead. I followed her, feeling uncomfortable and ill at ease. I don’t like nursing homes; they make me think about death. They smell of urine and disinfectant—at least the ones I’d been in always did. This one wasn’t as bad, but I knew if I sniffed hard enough, I’d pick up the scent.

  We passed a woman in a wheelchair. Her left leg had been amputated just below the knee. She wore a pale housecoat and she had gray, wiry hair and a dull, disoriented look on her face. She grabbed at Nina, stopping her, and I froze.

  “Help me,” the woman muttered.

  Nina knelt down beside the wheelchair, took the woman’s hand in hers and smiled. “Whatcha need, sweetie?”

  The woman said it again. “Help me.”

  “Okay!” Nina said cheerfully. She stood up, still holding the woman’s hand and nodded toward the chair. “Push. We’ll walk down to the nurses’ station and see if we can’t find someone for her.”

  Nina patted the woman’s hand and walked along beside her while I steered the chair. When we reached the station, Nina spotted a woman in a bright smock, gave her a bright smile and said, “My friend needs a little help, I think.”

  The nurse looked up from her chart work and gave Nina a smile that was every bit as bright. She walked over to her patient, and just as Nina had done, knelt down, touching the woman’s knee as she spoke.

  “What do you need, Mrs. Colson?”

  The tiny woman babbled something incoherent and the nurse nodded. She looked up at us. “Sometimes she gets lost,” the woman said. “It’s all right.” She looked back at Mrs. Colson. “Come on, honey. Let’s go to your room.”

  Nina watched their progress for a second then started back down the hallway.

  “Do you know where we’re going?” I asked.

  “Yep. I’m just following the signs.” Nina raised an eyebrow. “You don’t like this, do you?”

  “Not even a little bit.”

  Nina shook her head. “Stella, try and look at it this way, they don’t want to be here, either. They’re lost and scared. They just need a little reassurance, that’s all. A touch or a hug.”

  “I hope I never end up here,” I muttered.

  Nina’s eyes glittered. “Wouldn’t we all? Being old isn’t easy, especially when our culture doesn’t value age and wisdom.” She stopped in front of a closed door. “Here we are.”

  She didn’t hesitate, tapping lightly and listening to the sounds of a TV blaring from inside.

  “Mrs. May?”

  Nina opened the door a few inches and poked her head inside. An elderly woman with snowy-white hair sat in a wheelchair. A large TV flickered a few feet in front of her and Oprah looked out at us, a broad smile lighting up her face.

  “Do you believe that? Honey, I was just amazed!” Oprah gushed.

  Nina stepped into the room, walked up to the chair and placed one hand on the woman’s shoulder.

  “Why, honey,” Angela May said. “I didn’t hear you come in. Turn that thing off and sit down.” When she saw me she said, “You brought a friend. Isn’t that lovely! Pull up a chair, darlin’.”

  Nina spotted two folding chairs against the wall and handed me one.

  “Maybe you should let me handle this,” she said softly.

  “Good idea,” I whispered.

  She smiled at Mrs. May, opened her seat and placed it in front of the woman’s wheelchair. I followed her lead but stayed slightly off to the side, making Nina the focus of the elderly woman’s attention.

  “My name’s Nina,” she said. “I came to see you because I’m trying to find Doug.”

  Mrs. May nodded. “How is school, dear?”

  Nina smiled. “School is good, but I can’t find Doug. Do you know where he is?”

  Mrs. May’s face fell and tears came to her eyes. I shot Nina an “Oh, shit!” look and muttered, “Maybe we should go.”

  Nina reached out to touch Mrs. May’s knee. “Don’t cry, sweetie.”

  “He’s dead,” Angela May said. “Didn’t you know? We lost Dougie.”

  Nina shook her head slowly. “No, honey, Dougie’s not dead.”

  Mrs. May shook her head vehemently. “Yes, he is! They told me Fred died, but he didn’t die. He came to see me yesterday. Doug died.”

  Nina changed the subject. “Did Mrs. Kinsky come to see you this week?” she asked.

  The transformation was instantaneous. “Oh, darlin’, I love her! I love her! I love her! She is so good to me! She brings me cake!”

  Mrs. May’s voice rose and the words came rapidly in a staccato cadence that seemed stuck in her head. “I love her! I love her!” she repeated.

  Nina wasn’t fazed by this. “I know you do,” she said. “You love lots of people, don’t you?”

  Mrs. May’s smile broadened.

  “Do you love Fred?” Nina asked.

  “Oh, yes, I do! I do!” Her face clouded. “He can’t be dead! I won’t have it! Never!”

  “Shh,” Nina soothed.

  “I will kill her! I’ll kill her, I will!”

  Nina looked at me, puzzled. “Who, darling?”

  “His wife! Dolores! I will kill Fred’s wife! I don’t like her! Fred is not dead! He is not!”

  Mrs. May was growing more agitated, her voice rising u
ntil I thought someone would certainly hear her and come running.

  Nina tried distracting the distraught woman. “What lovely violets,” she said, pointing to a windowsill full of flowering plants.

  Mrs. May looked at them for a moment, muttering, “I hate her! Fred is not dead. Doug is lost.”

  Nina tried the photographs pinned to the cork bulletin board. She took one down and brought it over to Mrs. May.

  “Look,” she said. “There’s Fred. See?”

  Angela May took the picture, studied it carefully, then tossed it back in Nina’s lap. “Not anymore! That Fred is gone! He is dead! He went away, he did! Doug went first and he will never come back. Never! I hate her! She made him go!”

  Nina handed me the picture. A tall man with a beard and glasses smiled out at me, his hand resting on his mother’s shoulder. Dead Fred, Fred is dead. I was catching Mrs. May’s rhythmic speech. Dead. Dead. Dead. Poor Fred.

  I walked to the corkboard and studied the other pictures. Two young men at the beach caught my attention. While Nina soothed the agitated Mrs. May, I carefully removed the photo and turned it over. “Doug and Fred, 1982,” was written in scrawling script across the back.

  I recognized Fred from his other picture. Doug stood on the left, tall like his adoptive brother, but fuller, more muscular, with beach-boy good looks and white-blond hair. A real charmer.

  “Turn on Cops!” Mrs. May demanded suddenly. “It’s three o’clock. Time to catch the bad guys! I love it! I love Cops!” Mrs. May smiled at Nina. “They will get Dolores,” she said. “The cops, they will get her and I will kill her!”

  I looked at the clock and saw that it was indeed three o’clock. Nina switched the TV on, fumbled with the remote and found Mrs. May’s show. As we watched, a uniformed officer from Baltimore ran along a back alley, chasing a drug dealer.

  Nina rose and motioned toward the door. “I think we should leave,” she said. “I don’t think she can tell us anything else. Maybe if we come back tomorrow, she’ll be more alert.”