“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.”
“You think the person who stole things was-is-an addict, someone who worked here and has now left,” Susan guessed.
“Got it in one. And so did I,” she added, fitting another piece of the puzzle into its place.
“Do you know the identity of the person?”
“Yes. Mike Armstrong. Nice young kid. Not that we see many kids here, nice or not nice. But I liked Mike and he’s sort of family here. He was in trouble with the law while he was in high school-graffiti. I don’t approve of vandalism, of course, but he definitely has real artistic talent. Not that talent will make any difference if he gets involved in drugs.”
“And was he?”
“I don’t know. He might have been. I noticed that his eyes were red on more than one occasion. I do know that he was very, very upset the day before he vanished.”
“And when was that? After the murders?”
“The day after the last one. I’m not telling this story very well, am I?”
Susan didn’t want to criticize. “Well…,” she began reluctantly.
“You don’t have to tell me. I know I’m not. My mind is not as sharp as it was, and there are days when I’m confused. Time goes so slowly here and, despite the inane decorations they’re always taping up on the walls, it is not always easy to tell one season from another. But I remember this… I remember the day Mike Armstrong left. And the circumstances.”
Susan sat and quietly waited for Sally to put her thoughts in order and begin her tale.
“We were all upset about the murders. Death is all too familiar to those of us who live with other elderly people. But unnatural death, death intentionally caused by another human being-well, that’s different, isn’t it? We were all on edge.”
“Thinking you might be the next to die?” Susan asked.
“I don’t know about everyone else, but that didn’t concern me much. I wanted-I want now-to know who was killing the other residents, but murder is not the way I expect my life to end.”
Susan thought that was probably true of most victims of murder, but she didn’t interrupt.
“But some residents and staff were very upset, and Mike was among them. I was surprised by his reaction. I mean, a lot of old people get weird and paranoid and of course the murders upset them a lot. But Mike always impressed me as being a pretty tough kid-self-sufficient, streetwise. I didn’t expect the murders to have quite such an effect on him.”
“What had happened?”
“He was a wreck-nervous, on edge. I swear, he looked as though he was going to cry.”
“What did he do here exactly? What was his job?”
“He was an aide, a health care assistant. He helped out in any way he was asked to-feeding residents, helping the male residents get in and out of bed, things like that.”
“Was he good at it?”
Sally smiled. “Sometimes. He was wonderful working with the people he liked, residents as well as staff. But he wore his heart on his sleeve and if he didn’t like someone, they knew it. So he wasn’t always the most popular of the staff, but he did what he was supposed to do even if he didn’t always have a smile on his face.
“But as I said, the murders upset him. At first I thought he was shocked-this was his first job working in a nursing home and he just wasn’t used to people dying. It sounds callous, but if every time a resident died the staff became distressed, things would be much more difficult around here.”