“I don’t see why not,” Mike said. “Helena may not have liked Gardner, but Alfred is a whole other kettle of fish to stick a spoon into.”
Right then, Shadow appeared beside her left thigh, pressing his furry body as close to it as he could.
Are you trying to say that you’re sorry, or are you just huddling for warmth? As usual, Sunny’s wisecracking side had to have the last word—even if no one knew it but her.
But she gently reached down and petted her cat all the same.
*
The next morning, Sunny woke to find Shadow plastered against her under the covers—although that might have been due to the fact that she had her air-conditioning unit on. She gave Shadow a careful hug, then got up and went to the bathroom. Peeling off the gauze, she flexed her hand and frowned. It hurt a little, but the real problem was that she didn’t want anyone to know that Shadow had scratched her, and the healing slash marks were too easily identified.
Guess I’m going to be wearing gauze for a while. Sunny could only shrug.
She took a shower, put on a new bandage, and got dressed in lighter-weight clothes this time around.
When she got downstairs, she found a note from her dad, saying he’d set off for outlet-land to do his walk in air-conditioned comfort. He also warned her to take an umbrella, since the weather was supposed to break late in the afternoon, but there was a chance of showers. Sunny went to the phone, called Bridgewater Hall, and asked for Elsa Hogue. The occupational therapist said she’d be busy with clients, but agreed to meet with Sunny a little later in the morning.
Sunny had almost finished breakfast by the time Shadow came creeping in, the picture of subdued contrition.
“There you are.” Sunny had already cleaned and refilled his water bowl. Now she put some dry food in the other one. She knelt down to arrange the bowls, and Shadow came closer, his gold-flecked eyes seeming larger than usual as he gazed up at her.
“I can see you feel badly over what happened.” He made a little noise of distress and nudged her hurt hand. “What got into you?”
He licked her fingertips, something he’d never tried to do before.
“Okay, okay.” She scratched his head between his ears. “You’re forgiven. Just don’t start this humble act with Dad. He’ll think you’re sick and start pestering me to take you to Jane Rigsdale for a checkup.”
*
Sunny drove up to Bridgewater Hall after the morning rush, which allowed her to avoid all traffic. With the windows down, the forced breeze kept the heavy, sultry air from feeling too horrible.
She signed in at the security desk and walked down to the rehab wing, arriving early for the appointment she’d made with Elsa Hogue.
And who was Elsa working with but Ollie Barnstable, urging him on with some good-natured banter as he complained about the number of reps he had to do, lifting a weighted bar. “Oh, we always ask you to do more than you want to do,” Elsa told him with a smile, “but never more than you can do.”
Ollie didn’t notice that Sunny was there until he finished his session. When he did, his face tightened, his eyes going from Sunny to Elsa.
Yeah, you didn’t have any trouble with us going after Alfred, or Mr. Orton, or Dr. Reese, Sunny thought. But investigating means bothering people you like, too—like Luke Daconto . . . or Elsa.
Sunny patted him on the shoulder. “You’re doing wonderfully,” she told him. “I’ll be in to see you after I speak with Elsa.” Lowering her voice, she whispered in his ear, “I’ll be gentle.”
Then, to Elsa, she said, “Is there somewhere private where we can talk?”
They wound up outside in the garden. As they passed through the door, Sunny saw a notice warning residents about going out in extremely hot weather.
“I think we’ll live,” Elsa said, following Sunny’s gaze. Sunny could tell that since Gardner Scatterwell was no longer on the scene, the woman had changed. She’d let her hair down, falling softly around her face, and though she still wore her glasses, Sunny detected traces of makeup. And instead of the sloppy sweats Sunny had seen her in on the first day, today Elsa wore what looked like a tailored safari suit, the arms of her jacket rolled up to reveal well-toned arms.
“Is there something you need to tell me about Mr. Barnstable?” Elsa’s expression grew sympathetic. “You see a lot of men like him in rehab. They feel their body has betrayed them. They hurt. They’re scared. That’s pretty much standard. Usually it’s just a question of volume.”
“He gets loud when he’s frustrated,” Sunny admitted.
“But he’s settling in now,” Elsa said. “He’s working hard, and if he keeps it up, he may find himself better off than before.”
Sunny thought of her own dad, taking regular exercise, eating more healthily—even if she had to argue with him about it. Wait a minute, we’re getting off the track.
She shook her head. “I have to ask you some questions about Gardner Scatterwell. Oliver and several other people here at Bridgewater Hall have asked me to look into the circumstances of Mr. Scatterwell’s death.”
Elsa’s expression became haunted. “All I can tell you is that Gardner Scatterwell was a vile sort of person. He began acting inappropriately almost as soon as I began working with him.”
“He had a reputation as a ladies’ man when he was younger,” Sunny offered. “I’m told he fell violently in love about every six weeks.”
“‘Violently,’” Elsa echoed in a bitter voice. “And it went on for more than six weeks. But then I suppose the pickings were slim around here.” She seemed to shrink in on herself. “He used to touch me when he thought he could get away with it.”
She looked Sunny in the eye. “Maybe I do the man wrong. He seemed cheerful and charming with everyone else. Strokes sometimes have psychological effects. If so, I took the brunt of a very nasty split personality.” From the look on Elsa’s face, she didn’t really believe that possibility. “Or maybe it’s a family trait. Alfred Scatterwell always claimed he was a very different man from his uncle, but he had the same cruel streak . . . or self-absorption to the point where it amounted to the same thing.”
Sunny wondered what had prompted Elsa’s low opinion, but after her few encounters with the younger Scatterwell, she couldn’t imagine Alfred improving with longer acquaintance. She decided to keep the conversation focused on Bridgewater Hall.
“But Gardner was your real problem. And you couldn’t do anything . . .” Sunny prompted.
“Because of his friendship with Dr. Reese. That’s why I was working late, getting my reports in order. I needed to maintain a good level of performance, because I’ve been looking for another job.”
I didn’t expect that, Sunny thought. But I guess it’s the only option Elsa had. Out loud, she said, “It must be difficult, leaving a facility with such a strong reputation.”
“Not really,” Elsa shook her head. “Several therapists have left already. We’re all independent contractors, you know.”
“No, actually, I didn’t know that. You aren’t in the union?”
“Sometimes I wish we were,” Elsa said. “It might give us a little more bargaining power. As it is, we find ourselves working longer hours for less pay and fewer benefits. As do a lot of people these days. I guess that’s why Dr. Reese feels so free to press us—so far he’s pushed one person into retirement, and two others to new facilities.”
“And you were ready to vote with your feet, too,” Sunny said.
“I like this place, my colleagues, and most of my clients, but it’s not enough.”