Patricia Rockwell - Essie Cobb 03 - Valentined

VALENTINED

(An Essie Cobb
Senior Sleuth Mystery)

Patricia Rockwell

Chapter One

“When love is in excess it brings a
man no honor nor worthiness.”

—Euripides

Essie peered through the tiny window in her mailbox.  She
could see a hand holding a large, thick envelope heading directly towards her
face.  She pulled back as Phyllis, the front desk clerk at Happy Haven,
squeezed the large-sized envelope carefully into her small cubicle.  Essie
waited patiently as Phyllis added several additional items—probably flyers for
cemetery plots, which Essie received regularly in her mail by the bucketful. 
Not unusual for a ninety-year-old woman.  She tapped her fingers on her walker handle
bars as Phyllis continued to attempt to squeeze all of Essie’s mail into the
small compartment.  While she waited for Phyllis to finish her delivery duties,
Essie glanced above the wall of mailboxes—probably at least a hundred or more
of the little bronze squares—one for each resident at the Happy Haven Assisted
Living Facility.  Hanging above the wall of boxes was a dangling banner of sparkly
red and pink cardboard hearts.  Valentine’s Day was just a few days away and
Happy Haven always went all out to decorate for each holiday.  On the wall
beside the mailboxes, a large poster advertised the facility’s big upcoming Valentine’s
Day event—a speaker referred to on the ad as “Dr. Love–Guru of Valentine’s Day
and its History.” 
Just what a bunch of old people need,
Essie thought
,
lectures in love.
 

She looked back at her mailbox door.  Phyllis had finished
squeezing Essie’s mail into her box and had moved on to another resident’s box. 
Essie reached out and carefully twisted her box’s combination lock to the
correct code, opened the little door, and removed the pile of mail which
included the large, thick envelope she had noticed Phyllis jamming in a few
seconds ago. 
Probably some cheesy card from one of my children,
she
thought
.  Kurt, no doubt,
she guessed.  Of her three offspring, Kurt was
the only boy and the only one who didn’t live nearby.  He tended to send her
more elaborate cards on holidays than her two girls—Claudia and Prudence—who
were more likely to bring her something in person.  Of course, Essie didn’t
need cards from her children to feel appreciated, but it obviously gave them
some pleasure to do these little things for her.  Truthfully, she didn’t need
anything.  She had enough
things
.  She glanced down at her handful of
mail.  More than usual.  Typically, she’d wait until she returned to her small
apartment to go through it all, but the large envelope was beckoning to her and
she wanted to see what kind of card Kurt had selected.  It was really big. 
Maybe her son was feeling guilty because he hadn’t visited in quite a while. 
She hoped that wasn’t the case.  She knew it was difficult for him to come to
see her as regularly as her girls did.

Essie rolled her trusty red and black walker down the
mailbox hallway and into the Happy Haven front lobby.  On this cold February
day, the fireplace in the lobby was lit and a crackling fire filled the large
room with warmth.  Large red cardboard hearts were placed strategically on the
walls and a life-sized plastic Cupid that was supposed to appear to be marble
graced the front entrance—the frozen archer boy apparently ready to shoot everyone
entering with one of his trusty, love-drenched arrows.  Essie maneuvered her
vehicle over to a stuffed chair directly in front of the fire and plopped herself
down.  She placed the pieces of mail on her lap.  There were so many items that
they formed a large pile.  Phyllis had exited from the tiny hallway behind the
wall of mailboxes and had returned to her regular post behind the front desk on
the other side of the lobby.  Residents and staff moved across the lobby.  Some
were seated near Essie, apparently enjoying the fire too.  

“Good morning, Essie,” said a rotund man on a nearby sofa. 
His soft voice was barely audible, but Essie recognized it and she turned in
her seat to face him.

“Good morning, Hubert,” she replied.  “Doesn’t this fire
feel good?”

“It does,” the man said, nervously fingering his red
suspenders and glancing down.

“Red suspenders for Valentine’s Day, Hubert?” she asked.

“Yes,” he said, glancing up shyly.  “It’s my favorite
holiday, Miss Essie.”

“Really?” she asked with a smile.  “Why is that?”

“Because,” he said, “because…well…I don’t really know, Miss
Essie.  But I really like Valentine’s Day.”

“I do too,” agreed Essie with a broad smile and a pat on
Hubert’s knee.  The slight touch she gave him obviously was more than the man
was expecting and he giggled and pulled—no, snapped—his suspenders in
response.  With a grin, Essie pulled back from Hubert.  She knew he had a
serious crush on her and she didn’t want to encourage him too much.  For her,
Hubert Darby was a friend—a sweet friend—but certainly there was no romantic
future there, at least for her.  Her great love had been her late husband
John.  There wouldn’t be another.

She thumbed through her mail, ignoring the obvious bills and
advertisements.  Selecting the large envelope, she read the front.  Yes, it was
addressed to her—Essie Cobb at Happy Haven Assisted Living Facility, with the
correct street address in Reardon.  But, the return address wasn’t one she
recognized.  It certainly wasn’t Kurt’s address in a nearby state, which she
knew by heart.  She peered intently at the squiggly handwriting in the upper
left-hand corner.  She couldn’t quite make out the numbers or the name of the
street, but it appeared that the state was Massachusetts.  Boston, in fact. 
Hmm.
 
As she glanced to the right of the address, she noticed the stamp on the
envelope.  It had been postmarked yesterday in Boston, Massachusetts. 
How
strange
, she thought. 
I don’t know anyone in Boston.

Santos, her favorite waiter from the dining room, walked
purposely across the lobby bearing a food tray.  He headed down her hallway to
the far right of the family room.  Essie realized that he was probably taking a
meal to a resident in her wing.  She tried to think what person in her wing
might be ill or incapacitated enough to require a meal to be delivered, but she
couldn’t think of anyone.  She’d have to ask Santos at lunch who it was who was
getting the tray. 

Phyllis was now speaking with Violet Hendrickson, Happy
Haven’s administrator, who had just come out of her office near the front
entrance.  The two women were talking in an animated fashion at the front
desk.  Essie always stayed far away from Violet because she had had more than
her share of run-ins with the authoritarian woman.  Violet ran a tight ship at Happy
Haven and Essie had a tendency to circumvent rules when they didn’t suit her. 
She and Violet had butted heads a number of times in the past and Essie had
learned that it was probably best to just avoid the stern director.  So she did
just that.  Turning her body away from the front desk, she faced the fireplace
more directly, and refocused her attention on the elegant envelope resting on
her lap.

Normally if she were in her room, she would use her plastic
letter opener to nudge the flap up on the envelope.  But as she didn’t have
this device with her at the moment, she resorted to using her not very sharp
fingernails to scrape open the back of the envelope a bit until she was able to
grab a larger portion of the flap and pull it up and away from the back of the
envelope.  Her curiosity was really getting to her now.  She knew that she
didn’t know anyone in Boston.  Who would be sending her a card from there?  She
reached into the envelope and tugged at the card inside.  The fit was snug but
Essie carefully removed the thick card from its container and then turned it
over to view it from the front. 

What she saw amazed her.  It was definitely a valentine. 
The card was extremely elaborate—complete with a doily, ribbons, and a large,
pink, three-dimensional silk heart placed right in the center.  Gold lettering
declared, “Happy Valentine’s Day to My Beloved.” 
What? 
thought Essie. 
This is not a card from a friend or relative.
  She quickly opened the
card and read the gushy sentimental poem inside. 
Fairly standard drivel
,
she concluded.  Then the signature.  She expected this little mystery to be
solved as soon as she saw who had sent this masterpiece of mush, but the card
was signed “Your Secret Admirer.” 
What?  I don’t know anyone in Boston
,
she argued with herself. 
How could I have a secret admirer there? 

Phyllis and Violet were continuing their discussion at the
front desk.  In fact, it was becoming more heated.  Phyllis came out from
behind the desk and headed towards the mailboxes.  Violet followed her close
behind.  The two women appeared oblivious to Essie and the few other residents
who were sitting in the lobby.  As they passed, Violet glanced over and noticed
Essie and the other residents ensconced in front of the fireplace.  She stopped
abruptly; leaving Phyllis stranded in the middle of the hallway, clearly
uncertain whether to continue on or to wait for Violet.  Violet moved slowly
and purposefully over to the residents by the fireplace, smiling warmly at
them. 

“Good morning, everyone,” she said to the few people
gathered around the fireplace.  “I see you’re all enjoying the warmth of the
fire on this cold day.”  Some of the residents mumbled a response, but
most—including Essie—were dumbstruck that their illustrious leader had deigned to
make an appearance in the lobby, let alone speak to any of them.  They were far
more used to having her spend her days in her office and allow her surrogates
such as Phyllis and Sue Barber, the activities director, do all of the
interacting with residents.  Of course, Essie had had a few direct interactions
with Violet Hendrickson and none of them had been pleasant.  Violet was quite
capable of making the Happy Haven residents feel more like misbehaving
teenagers than responsible adults.

Violet looked around at the residents sitting in front of
the fireplace.  Her eyes focused on Essie.  Essie cringed, although there was
no reason for her to feel guilty—at least, this time.  She wasn’t doing
anything wrong. 
Oh, horrors of Henry!
  she cried to herself.  
Why
does this woman always make me feel like a criminal?
 
Stop this, Essie!
You live here.  Happy Haven is your home.

“Good morning, Miss Hendrickson,” she said to Violet, giving
her a big, cheesy smile and fluttering her sparse eyelashes. 

“Good morning, Essie,” replied Violet.  She stood tall, her
beautiful posture enhanced by the trim blue designer suit she wore.  She tapped
her long, elegantly polished fingernails along the edge of her ever present
clipboard.  Phyllis edged in closer behind her.

“Miss Hendrickson,” whispered Phyllis in Violet’s ear, “you
wanted to check on that—problem—in the back.”

Violet continued staring at Essie—ignoring Phyllis—as Essie
and the other residents returned her glare with frozen, smiling faces. 
Suddenly, Violet broke her eyes away from Essie, turned abruptly, and headed
out the back with Phyllis following rapidly behind her.  Essie looked around at
the other residents sitting in front of the fireplace and shrugged.  The
residents scowled and returned to their reverie.  One woman said, “She’s a
strange bird.”  Hubert Darby nodded and sighed.  Essie couldn’t have agreed
more.

Her opinion of Violet Hendrickson did not weigh on her mind
for long, however.  She was soon drawn back into contemplation about the
elegant, romantic valentine that rested on her lap.  She had a secret admirer. 
In Boston, no less! 
Now who would be sending me a valentine all the way
from across the country?  So beautiful!  And in secret!
  She picked up the
card and turned it over and over, examining it.  She glanced over at Hubert who
still had his head down.  She knew he would be able and willing to send her a
valentine—maybe even one he’d signed as a secret admirer.  But she couldn’t
imagine how he’d manage to have it sent from Boston.  She didn’t see Hubert as
that clever or designing.  Indeed, as she looked over at him, he seemed
oblivious of the card she was reading and more just shy in her presence—which
was the way he always seemed.

No
, she reasoned. 
There is another story to this
card.  A secret admirer.  Hmm.  Who could it be?  Who would have a crush on a
ninety-year-old widow in an assisted living facility?  Like me?

Chapter Two

“The first duty of love is to listen.”

—Paul Tillich

Much later, she was still sitting in the lobby staring at
the beautiful valentine when she looked up and realized that the residents in
the first lunch seating were lining up at the dining hall door waiting to be
allowed to enter.  She was in the group of residents who ate their meals
first.  She could see her tablemates already in line, so she gathered her
belongings, placed her mail and her secret admirer valentine in the little
basket directly beneath the seat of her walker, and headed over to join them. 
Just as she arrived, Santos opened the doors to the dining hall and the
residents began pouring into the large room.  Essie often thought that
sometimes the residents (and she included herself) acted like school children
waiting to get into a circus rather than mature adults simply waiting for their
dinners.  For many residents, however, meals were the highlight of their days
at Happy Haven.  It was the time when they got out of their rooms and had a
chance to socialize with other residents.  A chance to find out what was
happening in their little community. 
A chance to gossip
, Essie admitted
to herself.  She pushed her walker through the dining hall entrance and towards
her table.