Valerie Wolzien - Death In Duplicate

“Yes, I met with Astrid Marlow a few days ago. She said I could return at any time and look around, and… and I have a few questions about… about security. My mother worries more and more as she gets older… about fire and things like that,” she added, not sure exactly what was like fire.

“We have a state-of-the-art fire alarm system. It connects directly to the volunteer fire department as well as to the police station,” the receptionist assured her. “The state inspected it just a few months ago and found everything completely satisfactory.”

“Oh.” Susan wasn’t quite sure how to continue.

“Have you seen the results of the inspections?”

“No.”

“They’re printed up and are part of the prospective resident package. I’m surprised you weren’t given one on your first visit.”

Susan realized that she had been given one, but she hadn’t bothered to look at it. “I did have one, but it was misplaced somehow.”

“Let me get you another then. Perhaps two copies so you can share one with your mother?”

“That’s a wonderful idea.”

“I believe there are extra copies on a bookshelf in the living room. I’m not supposed to leave this desk unmanned, but-”

“I could go get them,” Susan said quickly.

“That would be helpful. Do you know the way?”

She didn’t, but she could bluff. “It’s down that hallway, right?” She pointed to the left.

“I’m afraid you’re turned around. It’s that way.” The receptionist pointed in the opposite direction.

“Of course. I’ll just go get them. You did say on the bookshelf, didn’t you?” Susan asked, hurrying off to the right.

She recognized the living room from Mandy’s description. A few groups of residents congregated in the elegantly decorated space, sitting on the chintz-covered couches and chatting as they perused today’s newspapers and current magazines. Three women sat around a card table, working on a large, nearly completed jigsaw puzzle. Susan removed two Perry Island Care Center brochures from a nearly empty bookshelf, then walked over and peered down at the table. “What is that?” The puzzle seemed to have been created from thousands of small brightly colored disks.

A woman with a gray bun on top of her head looked up. “Bottle caps of the world. My grandson sent it to me for Christmas. He’s a hotshot student up at M.I.T.-probably thought it would stump a bunch of senior citizens. He’s going to be up here for my birthday next week. We’re determined to get it done before then.”

“Yes, nothing is quite as motivating as proving to the young that we’re not completely brain dead.” This from a chubby woman with twinkling pale azure eyes and white curls bobbing on her head.

“It looks impossible,” Susan said.

“Nothing’s impossible when you have as much free time as we do,” the last woman in the group assured Susan, getting up and wandering off to another group.

“I wonder if I could ask you some questions,” Susan said to the remaining women.

“You can ask what you want, but you won’t necessarily get any answers,” the grandmother of the M.I.T. student answered, not even bothering to look up.

“Ignore her,” said the woman with curls. “She’s suffering from low blood sugar. Her endocrinologist can’t seem to get her meds adjusted.”

“That’s what’s wrong with this place-too much talk about doctors and medications,” the woman being discussed growled, putting another piece of the puzzle in place.

“That’s what I want to talk to you about-what’s wrong with this place?”

“Which relative are you planning on sticking here? Your mother? Father? Mother-in-law?”

“How do you know I’m interested in putting someone here?” Susan realized that her cover story was being accepted as the truth.

“Well, you collected the publicity info from the shelf and you’re wandering around looking uncomfortable. Those are two unmistakable signs that we’re going to be joined by another unwilling inmate-”

“Sally!” Her white curls bobbed. “Please ignore my friend, Mrs…”

“Henshaw. Susan Henshaw.”

“Mrs. Henshaw, nice to meet you. I’m Tally Consadine. This is my friend Sally Worth. We are all very happy here despite what Sally says. Believe me, this is the third nursing/rehab facility I’ve lived in and it’s by far the best. P.I.C.C. is wonderful. Everyone knows it. If it hadn’t been for the murders, there wouldn’t be any openings here.”

“Sure, tell her about the murders, Tally. That will encourage her to think highly of P.I.C.C.” Sally looked up from the puzzle. “There were people killed here, you know. And the murderer-or murderers-has never been identified.”

“I know,” Susan said simply, sitting down in the empty chair. “That’s what I was hoping to talk to someone about.”

“Well you’d better talk to my fellow inmates then. The staff has orders to pretend they didn’t happen.”

“Sally is exaggerating-as usual,” Tally said. “Management was concerned, quite legitimately, I believe, with maintaining the quality of care here. The police investigation was fairly discreet, but the influx of what I can only call gutter press was more than a little distressing to many of us. It’s shameful to benefit from the unhappiness of others, but if that dreadful movie actor hadn’t shot his mistress between the eyes at a restaurant down in Greenwich, we might never have gotten rid of those nosy parkers!”

“The murderer was never found, was he?” Susan asked.

“No, but you don’t have to worry, dear. We all agree that the killer is long gone from Perry Island Care Center.”

“How do you know that?”

“We don’t know anything. Tally’s just talking. She’s like that.”

“We know that a lot of problems ended when he left.”

“You’re confusing murder and petty theft, Tally.”

“No, I’m not. There’s a huge difference between taking someone’s wristwatch and someone’s life. But I do know that a lack of morals leads to both things and I don’t believe even you will argue with that, Sally Worth.” Tally stood up. “It’s time for dinner, Mrs. Henshaw. We are allowed to have guests so if you would like to accompany me to the dining room you could sample our healthy-but slightly dull-cuisine.”

“I think I’ll stay here,” Susan said. “It’s a bit early for me.”

“Then don’t get old. You’ll hate living in a nursing home. We have breakfast at eight, dinner at eleven, afternoon tea at three and supper at five-thirty. If the staff is lucky, we’re all tucked into bed by nine at night,” Sally said, still moving around puzzle pieces.

“Aren’t you eating lunch… ah, dinner?” Susan asked now that they were alone together.

“No. I have a stash of fresh fruit and cookies in my room if I get peckish before teatime. Have a seat if you want to help me with the puzzle-or if you have more questions.” She looked up and smiled, deep wrinkles almost obliterating her eyes.

“I came here wondering about the murders, but I didn’t know anything about watches being stolen,” Susan started.

“Tally is a sweet woman, but she lived a fairly sheltered life. She knows about crime-well, can anyone who turns on television these days not know the intimate details of the most horrendous events?-but she doesn’t know the criminals.”

“And you do?”

“My grandson is a cocaine addict-oh, not the one at M.I.T., although I’m not so naive as to believe there aren’t a few addicts at every institution of higher learning. It’s perfectly possible to be smart and an addict. Anyway, my grandson the addict has been in and out of jails, prisons, rehabs for the last twenty years of his life. He’d steal you blind-well, he has to feed his addiction-but he’d never kill anyone. He’s been through a lot, but he’s still a good person underneath all the evil drug crap.”