I made a mumbling sound that I hoped sounded like an answer and made a big to-do of folding the dress into a little square. Ethan Crane is a drop-dead handsome attorney who’d handled Cora’s granddaughter’s estate. It was true that he was interested in me. It was also true that any unmarried, unattached, undead woman with estrogen in her veins would have been thrilled to have Ethan want her. So what the heck was wrong with me?
Before Christmas, Ethan had invited me to dinner at his house, and I’d gone planning to lose my second virginity—the one I’d assumed after my husband died—but Ethan hadn’t given me a chance. Instead, he had walked me to my car after dinner, given me a kiss that seared the soles of my feet, and sent me home hot and astonished.
We probably would have had some follow-up dates if circumstances hadn’t intervened. Like a shoot-out when a man got killed, and like Guidry being there when I needed somebody. Ethan had pulled back and seemed to be waiting for a sign from me—either a go-ahead sign or a closed shop sign. The problem was that I didn’t know myself well enough to know which sign I wanted to give him. Especially now, when Laura’s murder was a stone in my shoe and the ultimate result of Jeffrey’s surgery something I couldn’t even let myself think about.
Cora’s shrewd old eyes were sizing me up. “Something’s wrong. What is it?”
I hesitated. I didn’t want to stir memories of the way Cora’s granddaughter had been killed by mentioning Laura’s murder, and I didn’t want to make her sad by telling her about Jeffrey’s surgery. On the other hand, protecting people from the truth is another way of shutting them out.
I said, “I’m concerned about a dog I’m taking care of. He belongs to a little boy who had brain surgery to stop seizures, but I don’t know yet if the surgery was a success. The dog and the little boy are extremely close, and the dog doesn’t understand what happened to him. She’s under a lot of stress, and there’s not much I can do for her. It’s impossible to communicate with animals and explain things to them.”
Like Paco, Cora went straight to the nub. “It’s a terrible thing to lose a child.”
I didn’t want to go there, didn’t want to be reminded that death is always in the wings. Whether you’re three or ninety-three, death knows your name.
I said, “Cora, do you think any of your neighbors might know who that man was that visited Ms. Grayberg over in the nursing unit? I don’t like the idea of somebody going around talking to sick people the way he talked to her.”
“You know, I’ve been thinking about that man, and I think I know who he was. I don’t know his name, but he drives people to the doctor. I was on the elevator one time with him and a man that lives here. Prissy-voiced man. As I remember, he was on the pudgy side, and he had big fat lips.”
“He works here at Bayfront?”
“I guess he must. Anyway, he drives people. But don’t worry about him, Dixie. And don’t worry about that little boy either. You can only do what you can do, and that’s all you can do.”
I grinned and took her muumuu. “You sound positively zen.”
She looked pleased. “Well, I do try to be positive.”
I kissed her goodbye and zipped off with the muumuu. I felt more positive too.
Downstairs, the lobby was buzzing with good-looking white-haired people carrying tennis rackets or shopping bags or just gathered in groups to gossip. All that energy and good humor was almost enough to make me nostalgic for growing old.
Instead of going out the front doors, I detoured to speak to the concierge at the front desk. I said, “You know, Ms. Mathers was in the nursing unit for a couple of days.”
“I know, I’m so glad it was something minor.”
“She had a roommate over there named Grayberg. I heard a man talking to Mrs. Grayberg while I was there, and I thought I recognized his voice. He left before I could make sure. I think he may work here driving people to the doctor. Do you happen to know who it might have been?”
She blinked at me. “I wouldn’t know.”
“He talked like a schoolteacher. You know, the boring kind that nobody listens to. He was nasty to her.”
Twin lines appeared between her eyebrows, and she went professional.
“I’m sure it wasn’t anybody connected with Bayfront. You’d have to ask Ms. Grayberg who he was.”
“Thanks, I’ll do that.”
I gave her a big friendly smile to remind her I was on her good side and went out to the porte cochere, where a valet galloped off to rescue my car. When he eased it under the portico, I handed him a couple of bills. Tipping was prohibited at Bayfront, but he and I both knew that green was a color that got me quicker service.
He said, “You been visiting Ms. Mathers? She’s a sweet old lady.”
Cora would have despised being called a sweet old lady, but I smiled and agreed.
I said, “When she was over in the nursing unit, a man came in and spoke to her roommate. He had a deep voice and used lots of big words like he was reading the dictionary. I think he may work here as a driver. Do you have any idea who he was?”
He grinned. “That old fart does talk like he’s reading a dictionary. That’s a good one. That would be Frederick. Used to work here, but he got fired for being weird.”
My pulse thrummed, and I had to clench my hand to keep it from throwing more money at him. “What’s his last name?”
“Don’t know, you’d have to ask the manager. But he’s really ticked at old Fred. The dumb boob lost a woman over at Sarasota Memorial. Took her to ER and forgot about her.”
I said, “Ms. Grayberg.”
He looked surprised. “You know about that?”
“I heard some people talking about it over at the nursing unit, but I don’t know the details.”
He leaned close, eager to give me the scoop.
“Well, see, Frederick drove people shopping or to doctors’ appointments, things like that. Sort of a personal driver, but anybody living here could hire him. So Ms. Grayberg had him take her to Saks to get something to wear to the birthday party they were throwing for her here—you know, they do that for everybody when they make it to one of the big ones, eighty, ninety, a hundred. Anyway, while she was there she had a stroke. So instead of calling nine-one-one like he should’ve, Frederick put her in the car and took her down the street to Sarasota Memorial. Took her to the emergency room, and then the dumb cluck forgot about her. Didn’t call here to report it or anything. The hospital had to look in her purse and get her address to know where to call. So Frederick got fired.”
My body wanted to jump out of the car and run inside and ask the manager what Frederick’s last name was, but my head told me to be cool. I listened to my head for a change, told the valet goodbye, and drove sedately out of the parking lot. As soon as I saw a driveway into a business lot, I whipped in and took out my cell phone to call Guidry.
I got his voice message, so I was denied the pleasure of saying “I told you so.”
Instead, I said, “The man who came to Laura Halston’s door when I was there used to be a driver at Bayfront Village. Took people shopping and to doctors’ appointments. His name is Frederick. I don’t know his last name, but he has fat lips. He was with Ms. Grayberg when she had a stroke. He drove her to the ER at Sarasota Memorial, but he didn’t call Bayfront to report her stroke, and they fired him for it. I imagine if you check ER records, you’ll find that Ms. Grayberg was there about the same time Laura Halston was there with a pulled knee.”
I closed the phone and pulled out of the lot into traffic. I was quite pleased with myself. Smug, even. I’d found out who the man was who’d stalked Laura and come to her door demanding to see her. Since it seemed to me that nobody else was making a lot of effort to get answers, I was glad I was one who was. What the heck was wrong with everybody else?