Simon’s voice broke through her reflections. “What’s the address?”
“It’s 11502 Avenue D,” Skye read off a slip of paper.
He reached into the pouch on the door and withdrew an atlas of the city and surrounding suburbs. After studying it for several minutes, he inserted his business card to keep his page and placed the book between them. “That’s on the south side. A changing neighborhood, as they say.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means that at one time it was a mostly working-class Polish area, but about ten years ago poorer minorities started moving in and the whites moved out. The elderly were pretty much left behind.” Simon started the car and guided it out of the driveway.
“Why?”
“Most of them hung on too long and when they finally wanted to move, the value of their houses had decreased so much they could no longer afford to go. Because they were on fixed incomes, they had nothing more to add to the pot.” He drove steadily, exiting onto Interstate 55.
“I figured Esther is anywhere from sixty to eighty-five. Minnie’s friend said Minnie was a senior when she went away, so she must have been about seventeen or eighteen. She’s fifty now, so this whole thing took place about thirty-three or four years ago. But if what you say about the neighborhood is true, Esther’s probably on the older end of my estimate.”
“Let me get this straight. You want to find this woman because she took care of your aunts thirty-three years ago when Minnie had a breakdown. Right?”
“Right. I’d like to know more about what everyone calls a breakdown. There are a lot of mental states that could refer to.” Skye watched as he skillfully maneuvered through the thick traffic.
“And you need to know this because . . . ?” Simon trailed off.
“Because I want to know if Minnie has a history of mental illness that would suggest she is capable of harming either herself or others.”
“You still question whether she really attempted suicide?”
“Yes, but if she did, she’s certainly a prime suspect for having also killed Grandma.” Skye was surprised at the lump that gathered in her throat and the sorrow she still felt over her grandmother’s death.
They drove in companionable silence, listening to a classical music station that Simon favored. At first Skye knew where she was, but after the third change of highway she became hopelessly lost.
When Simon finally exited onto 103rd Street, it looked as if they had traveled to another country. Signs were in Spanish, Polish, and languages she didn’t recognize.
A few turns and Simon stopped the car in front of a detached two-story home. Its siding appeared to be made of gravel and tar paper. The windows and door were heavily barred.
They climbed steep concrete steps, holding on to the black metal railing. There were two bells. Neither had a name. Skye looked at Simon, who shrugged. Taking a guess, she pressed the bottom bell and hoped for the best.
They waited. They could hear shuffling sounds that seemed to grow nearer. Finally the front door was flung open, leaving the barred storm door between them and the woman on the other side.
Her size and age were hard to determine because she was bent over with a dowager’s hump on her back. She leaned on a cane and scowled.
Skye felt herself rushing to find the right words. “Hello, my name is Skye Denison and this is my friend Simon Reid. We’re looking for Esther Prynn.”
“Yeah.”
“Are you Ms. Prynn?”
“I don’t go for that Miz crap. I’m Miss Prynn. Have been for the last seventy-five years and will be on my tombstone.”
“We’re from Scumble River. I understand you did some private duty nursing there back in the sixties.” Skye made herself sound more sure of her facts than she was.
“Maybe. Used to help out lots of folks from the country. What’s it to you?”
“Would it be possible for us to come in and discuss this? I’m sure your neighbors don’t need to know our business.” Skye put her hand on the door handle. This was sort of like a home visit. Not pleasant, but something she was trained to do.
Miss Prynn looked them both up and down, then demanded, “Let me see some identification.”
They pressed their driver’s licenses against the bars. She squinted between the tiny photos and their faces, finally unlocking the door and permitting them to pass. She carefully turned keys and bolts behind them.
Once inside, they found themselves in a small foyer with scarred wooden steps leading upstairs. To their right was another door.
It was through that portal that their hostess led them to a small living room crowded with dusty overstuffed furniture. There was one hard chair in the room, and Skye, remembering the advice of a social worker during her training, chose to sit there. Miss Prynn settled into what was obviously “her” chair, which left the couch for Simon.
“So, what’s so important? I’m missing my TV program.” Miss Prynn clutched the remote.
“Do you remember working a case in Scumble River about thirty-three years ago?” Skye sat forward.
Miss Prynn rubbed her temple. “Maybe. I worked lots of cases in that neck of the woods.”
“I was told that back in the early to mid-sixties you helped out when one of my aunts had a nervous breakdown. Her name was Minnie Leofanti.”
“Mmm, Leofanti. That name does sound familiar. But I’m remembering a different first name.” Miss Prynn stared at the blank television screen. “Name was Mona, not Minnie.”
Skye, hardly containing her excitement, struggled to keep her voice level. “Well, as I understand it, Minnie’s younger sister, Mona, accompanied her when you came for them. Could that be the mix-up?”
Miss Prynn sank back in her chair. “Sure, I remember now. Two girls, both in their teens. Pretty little things. Didn’t look at all Eyetalian like their name.”
Skye restrained herself from correcting the older woman’s pronunciation and explaining about the blonds of northern Italy. “Yes, that would be them. Do you remember where you took them for treatment?”
When Miss Prynn didn’t answer, Skye tried another question. “Do you recall what Minnie’s diagnosis was?”
Miss Prynn’s eyes took on a cunning gleam and she rubbed her hands together. “I might be able to remember. Keep all my records right here for safekeeping and I could go back and look, but you know that information is all confidential.”
“I realize that, and I understand your position. I’m a psychologist myself, but this could be a life-and-death situation. I’d be very grateful.” Skye tried to connect with her, one professional to another.
“Grateful, huh? Just how grateful would you be?” Miss Prynn’s eyes brightened.
Skye frowned. “I’m afraid I—”
Simon cut her off. “How much would it take?”
Miss Prynn smiled. “Ten thousand?”
Simon stood up and took Skye’s arm, forcing her to rise, too.
“Five thousand?” The old lady’s voice took on a whiny tone.
Taking out his wallet, Simon said, “One hundred, for your inconvenience.”
“Five hundred. It could mean my license.”
Skye found her voice. “Two-fifty. You don’t practice anymore.”
Miss Prynn fisted her hands. She looked at the shabby room and small television set. Frustration mixed with anger on her face. “Okay. You know, you’re as much of a bitch as your aunt was.”
“I don’t suppose you’ll take a check?” Skye asked, half in jest.
“Cash. Tens and twenties.” Miss Prynn stood. “I’ll dig out the file tonight. You bring the money Monday morning, first thing.”