“No. I’d love it.”
“You would?”
“Of course. And not as a reporter. As a person.” He was sweating again. She laughed.
“Can you pick me up here sometime tomorrow night?”
“What time would be good?”
“7 PM. Fortunately, Mr. Rothschild doesn’t eat dinner as early as most of our residents.”
“No, that’s great.” He felt his neck turning red. The blush moved down his body.
“Great. It’s a date.”
“I’ll see you then.”
“Oh, and it’s semi-formal dress. So I’ll be better dressed than this.”
She looked great. He wanted to tell her. Be aggressive. But he’d done well enough. He gave her a wave goodbye and the bell dinged again as he opened the door. He could feel himself smiling, even though he couldn’t see it. Outside, everything looked beautiful. It wasn’t even hot yet, even though it was…
He looked at his watch.
He was late. It was already 9:10. The old woman probably didn’t have anything to do, but he still didn’t like to keep people waiting. And he hadn’t been in any of the residences before. That was something to look forward to. He might even be able to work a detail or two into one of his pieces. “Residents in some condo communities put out welcome mats in the hallway, even though they are indoors.” A white haired woman walked by, dragging a dog along a leash. That welcome mat thing seemed like something she would do.
He walked briskly down the winding path. He knew where Building B was, but he wished he knew the woman’s name. At least he had the number: 112. As he reached the bottom of the path, he looked at his watch again. 9:13. He’d apologize to the woman before she started her little story.
But when he rounded the corner, he didn’t see the door to the building. He saw something else. Something he didn’t expect. The door to the complex was being held open by a rock. And two men in white clothes were going in and out. An ambulance was parked on the curb next to the building and the back doors were open. He ran around and looked in the ambulance’s cab. No one was inside yet.
He ran to the propped open door and grabbed one of the men on the shoulder, a short Hispanic kid who smelled like aftershave.
“What happened here? Is everything OK?”
“Sorry sir, we’re very busy.”
“I know, just tell me what happened.”
“An accident.” A walkie talkie buzzed but the kid ignored it.
“What kind of accident?”
The kid strained to hear his walkie talkie. Someone came out of the building-an elderly man wearing a red-brimmed hat. Jake turned away from the kid and caught the man.
“Sir, what’s going on? What happened here?”
“Oh, they wouldn’t let me look in. But this always happens. Happens every few days. A sad thing though.”
The man shook his head.
“What? What happened?”
He tipped his hat and started walking away.
“Sir,” Jake said. “Can you tell me what room this happened in?”
“Charlotte’s room.” He turned back. “She’s in room 112.”
The old man walked off and Jake ran his hands through his hair. Room 112 in Building B. He looked at the ambulance idling by the curb. He could imagine the siren spinning around, glinting red when it took her body away. Bright bright red. The same color as Mel’s dress.
CHAPTER 4
The Hispanic kid was more talkative when he wasn’t distracted by his walkie talkie. While he sat in the passenger seat of the ambulance, Jake talked to him. The driver finished paperwork for the call.
“Does this sort of thing happen a lot?” Jake asked. He stood on the curb, still breathing heavily. The kid leaned out the window.
“Oh yeah, all the time.”
“Do you get used to it?”
“I wouldn’t want to.” He squinted. Might have been thinking. Or it could have been the sun.
“Why don’t you want to get used to it?”
Jake got out his notebook and pen. He started writing it down.
“It’s good to stay nervous. It keeps you on top of your game.”
“That’s great.”
The driver said something to the kid. Jake waited and the kid buckled his seatbelt.
“We have to go. Call at the Palmstead. Nothing urgent.”
“Sometimes you just drive a loop from here to there, I bet.”
“Sometimes.”
“So is there anything else?”
“Just make sure he stays off his feet for a bit. And don’t let him exert himself again. He needs rest. But otherwise he should be fine.”
The ambulance drove away slowly. They didn’t have to turn on the siren.
As soon as the man in the red-brimmed hat told him about room 112, Jake had started running. He couldn’t stand outside any longer. He’d run into the hallway and looked left as the numbers slipped down. 118, 116, 114. When he got to 112, he stopped-the old woman was outside the door, leaning over her walker.
“If you’re here,” he asked, “who’s in there?”
“A gentleman showed up at my door. He was wheezing. And he had a heavy case around his neck, a type of case with a strap.”
“And what happened?”
“Well, the case seemed to have shifted while he was walking. I think the strap was strangling him. His face was almost purple.”
“The strap was strangling him?” He looked inside but couldn’t see past the half-shut door.
“The case was too heavy, with the strap wrapped around his neck like that. He fainted right in front of me.”
Jake pushed past the door and saw the kid and the ambulance driver crowded around a large recliner. The camera case was on the floor and Gary Novak was passed out in the chair with an attendant on each arm.
He was still sitting there when Jake came back in the building after the ambulance left. Now that he knew everyone was OK, he could look for details. None of the doors in the hall had welcome mats. But Charlotte’s condo looked like he’d expected. The living room had pictures of family members on the walls and the whole space smelled like cinnamon. It was a little dark because the blinds were closed. Charlotte was slowly wheeling her walker over to Gary’s chair while she tried to balance a glass of water on a tray. She needed help.
“Charlotte, let me get that.”
She turned and stopped.
“How did you know my name?”
“Sorry. A man outside told me.”
He stopped for a moment.
“You see, I thought the ambulance was here for you.”
She started wheeling closer to Gary. Jake pointed at him.
“Let me introduce the man passed out on your chair. That gentleman is Gary Novak.”
“You know this man?”
She handed Gary the water. He took it and rested it on the arm of the chair. He stared down at his stomach and glared angrily at the camera case. Jake shrugged.
“He’s my photographer. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry. I’m glad he survived.”
Suddenly, Gary looked up. His white hair fluffed around his ears like ripped cotton balls, and the top of his bald head was shining with sweat.
“Jacob! I saw the white light, I am thinking! I saw that big flash bulb in the sky. The bright light!”
Charlotte eyed the water as Gary waved around his arms. With each move the water almost spilled. He reached his hand out to Jake, spreading his fingers wide.
“I saw it for a second, I think. It was after I fainted. I felt death pulling at me. It was gripping at my neck.”
“Gary, I think that was the strap on your camera case.”
“Death was gripping also. And then a tiny pin prickling of light. Then I woke up. This woman, she was slapping me in the face.”
Charlotte sat down in a wooden chair next to Gary. She leaned forward as she sat and looked like she was about to pick up a penny off the floor.
“I had to slap him,” she whispered. “That’s how we woke him up.”
“I wasn’t complaining. You saved my life!” He looked at the camera case angrily another time.