Patricia Rockwell - Essie Cobb 03 - Valentined (6 page)

“Why didn’t you tell us this sooner, Marjorie?” asked Essie,
annoyed.

“I’m sorry, but it slipped my mind,” said Marjorie.

“Slip! Slide! Marjorie!” exclaimed Essie.  “Betsy
Rollingford?  I don’t think I know her.  What floor is she on?”

“I don’t know,” said Marjorie, “but I know she plays Bingo. 
You can probably catch her there tonight!”

“I hope for your sake, I do,” snorted Essie as she grabbed
her walker and headed out of the family room, leaving her three friends sitting
at the computer.

Chapter Seven

“One’s first love is always perfect
until one meets one’s second love.”

—Elizabeth Aston

Essie was waiting in the dining hall long before the
scheduled start of Bingo that night.  She wanted to make certain that she was
able to find Betsy Rollingford and have a chat with her about her secret
admirer valentine before the Bingo action commenced.  Breathing heavily, she
tapped her fingers rhythmically on her walker handlebars.

A tall man with grey and black hair entered the room and
smiled when he saw Essie sitting alone at one of the tables.

“Essie!” he cried.  “You’re really early for Bingo!”

“Hello, Dave,” she replied politely.  Dave was one of the
more gregarious men at Happy Haven.  That was a polite way to put it. 
Flirtatious would be another way.  Essie might have been flattered with his
constant compliments if she hadn’t noticed that Dave Esperti tended to pour on
the flowery remarks to just about all the female residents.

“My, Essie, you’re looking especially stunning tonight,”
Dave said as he approached.

Essie grimaced.  She was not moved by this type of
silliness.

“I’m here because I’m trying to track down Betsy
Rollingford,” she replied, all business.

“Betsy?” asked Dave.  “No!  And I thought you were waiting
for me!”  He smiled and laughed flirtatiously as he moved over and took a seat
next to her. 

“She does play Bingo, doesn’t she?”

“Oh, yes,” replied Dave, bending in.  “She’s a regular. 
You’ve played Bingo a lot, I thought.  You’ve seen her here.”

“Actually, I’m not sure I know who she is,” replied Essie
uncertainly.

“I’ll point her out to you,” said Dave, “for a kiss.”  He
wiggled his bushy mustache lasciviously.  Essie tried not to gag. 

“My kissing days are over, Dave,” she said breezily.  “I
would appreciate it if you’d point her out, though.”

As she spoke, residents began to enter the dining hall. 
Dave moved away from Essie to a more proper distance.  He glanced over to the
entrance apparently looking for Betsy.

“Hey, Essie,” he said while keeping his eyes on the
newcomers.  “I hear you’ve got a secret admirer.  Is that why I’m getting the
brush-off?”

“You’re not getting the brush-off, Dave,” explained Essie. 
“No one is getting the brush-off.  I treat you as I treat all the men here at
Happy Haven.  As for the secret admirer, that’s what I want to talk to Betsy
about.   So, please, if you will, continue to be on the lookout.”

“Ooops!” he said suddenly.  “There she is!”  He pointed at a
slight woman entering the dining hall.  Betsy Rollingford was a small, but
regal-looking woman, moving slowly through the use of a three-prong cane.  She
wore a simple linen dress with a long, bulky white sweater that looked much too
big for her tiny frame.

“Thanks, Dave,” said Essie.  “Here’s your kiss.”  She blew
him a discreet kiss from the side of her mouth and headed over towards Betsy
Rollingford.

“Betsy,” she said.  “Are you Betsy Rollingford?”

“Yes,” replied the woman cautiously.  “That’s me.”

“Hello,” said Essie holding out her hand in greeting.  “I’m
Essie Cobb.  I’m wondering if I might have a word with you before Bingo
begins.”

“Essie Cobb?” asked the woman.  “Oh my!  Of course!  I know
all about you and your adventures!  Let’s sit over here, shall we?”  She
motioned to a table near the door and far away from the Bingo set up at the far
end of the dining hall.  The women sat down at the table.  Essie parked her
walker nearby.

“Betsy,” began Essie, “my friend Marjorie tells me she was
playing cards with you today and she mentioned the card I received from a
secret admirer.”

“Yes, she did!” replied Betsy, smiling.  “The way she
described your card, Essie, it reminded me of a card I got from a secret
admirer last year around Valentine’s Day.”

“Really?” asked Essie.  “What was your card like?”

“Very elaborate, flowery,” said Betsy.  “It had a little red
heart in the center.  I’d never seen anything like it since I was a child.”

“Was it anything like this?” asked Essie as she opened her
walker seat and brought out the card.

“Oh, my!” exclaimed Betsy.  “It was just like that!  I mean,
it was very similar to this.  It may have been a different color.  I’m not
sure.  But I do remember all the lace and ribbons and a little puffed up heart
just like this one in the center.”  Essie handed her the card and Betsy
examined it carefully.

“And yours was signed ‘secret admirer’ too?” asked Essie.

“Yes,” said Betsy.  “I was so excited and curious by the
whole thing.  It just made my Valentine’s Day last year.  Probably the best one
ever—even better than any with my late husband Donald.”

“It is mysterious, isn’t it?” said Essie. “Betsy, now that
you see my card, do you think there’s any possibility that the cards are the
same?  I mean that maybe they were sent by the same secret admirer?”

“You mean someone we both know here at Happy Haven?” asked
Betsy.

“That’s a possibility, I guess,” agreed Essie.  “But my card
is postmarked Boston, Massachusetts.  Do you remember where your card came
from?”

“No, Essie, I’m sorry I don’t. I guess I just assumed it
came from someone here at Happy Haven.”

“Yes, but mine is postmarked Boston.  I don’t see how anyone
here at Happy Haven could send a card from there,” said Essie.

“Maybe he could mail it to someone he knows in Boston and
the person in Boston mails it from there,” suggested the other woman.

“It’s possible,” agreed Essie.  “But why?  Why would any man
here at Happy Haven go to all the trouble to do that?  You’re sure you don’t
remember where your card came from?”

“I really don’t remember,” said Betsy.

“I don’t suppose you kept the card, did you?” asked Essie
gingerly.

“I certainly would have.  It was so beautiful and so
mysterious.  I was proud that I had a secret admirer out there even if I
couldn’t figure out who he was.  I definitely planned to keep that card
forever.”

“But you didn’t?” questioned Essie.

“I would have,” said Betsy, “but soon after I got it, I put
it on the top of my television set.  You know, to display it.  I really wanted
everyone to see it and see that some unknown man somewhere had sent it to me. 
It was exciting!”  She blushed and smiled.

“You displayed it in your apartment,” prompted Essie.

“Yes,” she said, “I don’t remember when it happened, but I
remember returning to my room at one point and discovering it missing.  I
looked everywhere for it.  At first, I thought I misplaced it.  Then I thought
one of the cleaning people took it.  But, Essie, that just made no sense.  I
keep a beautiful diamond and pearl necklace that Donald gave me for our
sixtieth wedding anniversary in the top drawer of my dresser.  I know the
cleaning people have all seen me put it there.  They all know it’s there.  If
they wanted to steal something from me, you’d think they’d take that—not a
greeting card—no matter how pretty it was.”

“So, you never found it?”

“No, I really looked for it too.  I asked my aides and the
cleaning people.  I reported it to Lost and Found and Phyllis tried to help me
track it down.  But we never found it.  I guess I just gave up on it finally. 
Really, when you think about it, it wasn’t worth that much money.  It was more
the thrill of it, the secret admirer part.  I knew I’d never know who he was. 
He’ll always remain a mystery to me.  Then, when Marjorie mentioned today about
you receiving a valentine from a secret admirer, and told us what it looked
like, it got me thinking that your secret admirer card sounded a lot like the one
I had received.”

“Betsy, how soon after you received the card did it go
missing?” asked Essie.

“Oh, very soon.  The next day or maybe two days at the
most.”

“Do you remember receiving the card in your mailbox?” asked
Essie.

“I must have received it in my mailbox,” answered Betsy. 
“That’s the only place I get mail.”

“I mean,” said Essie, “did you take the card out of your
mailbox yourself?  Did someone bring it to you?”

“Oh, I’m sure I got it from my mailbox myself,” said Betsy. 
“I always get my own mail.  It’s one of my favorite things to do.  That sounds
pitiful, doesn’t it?  That picking up my mail every day is one of my favorite
activities.”

“You aren’t saying that you wait at the mailboxes for
Phyllis to deliver your mail?”

“No,” said Betsy, “I’m not that bad.  Besides, she delivers
it at different times every day.  It always depends when the postman comes. 
But she’s very good about getting the mail into our boxes as soon as it
arrives.   I’ve noticed that and I appreciate her efforts.”

“Yes,” said Essie.  “Phyllis is very good about prompt mail
delivery.”  She was contemplating Betsy’s observation and wondering how or if
it fit into the secret admirer valentine puzzle.

“Is there any other information I can give you, Essie?”
asked Betsy.  “I’d love to be able to help you solve one of your mysteries. “

“You’ve helped a huge amount already, Betsy!” cried Essie. 
“I really think that my secret admirer is or was your secret admirer too.  That
seems to imply that he’s someone we both know.  Now I have to figure out how
that piece of information fits into the puzzle.”

“Well, if you need any more information or if I can help
you, just let me know,” said Betsy with a smile, patting Essie’s hand.

A voice called out, “Ready to start our first round of
Bingo!  Do you all have your cards?”  Essie looked up to see that Sue Barber
was standing at the far end of the room with her Bingo paraphernalia ready to
call.  Essie and Betsy gathered their belongings and headed to the Bingo
tables, grabbing several Bingo cards on the way. 

Chapter Eight

“Before I met my husband, I’d never
fallen in love, though I’d stepped in it a few times.”

—Rita Rudner

Essie won fifty cents at Bingo.  But other than that
financial windfall and her brief discussion with Betsy Rollingford about her
stolen valentine, she acquired no additional information that would lead her to
identifying her secret admirer.

“Oh, you mysterious little piece of fluff!” she said to the
valentine resting in her lap as she sat in her recliner.  She idly ran her fingertips
over the delicate doily.  She could feel the soft, silk ribbon intertwining
throughout the little nooks and crannies of the thin lace.  Whoever had done
this weaving had gone to so much trouble.  It was as if the artist had woven or
crocheted the ribbon into the doily with the skill of an expert knitter.  The
filigrees were so thin and the ribbon was so fine, it was truly an art simply
to line the edges of the card in this fashion.  And yet, despite the delicacy
of the work, the card was sturdy.  It was well constructed and didn’t appear
that it would come apart easily.

Essie examined the items on the front of the card more
carefully.  Her curiosity was in full force.  She kept thinking about Betsy and
her valentine.  If Betsy had received a similar valentine from a secret
admirer, and if that valentine was made by the same person, then that implied
that she and Betsy had the same secret admirer.  Now, what were the odds that
some man in Boston would be smitten with two little old ladies in an assisted
living facility hundreds of miles away?  Who could he possibly be?  She thought
about Betsy and what she had in common with the woman.  Was there some obvious
reason that this unknown admirer would be infatuated with both of them?  What
was it about the two women that might have engaged this unknown man?  Essie
thought and thought.  The only conclusion she came to was that she and Betsy
both lived at Happy Haven.  That wasn’t much of a common bond.  Did some man
living on the east coast have a thing for old ladies in facilities in the
middle of the country?  And if so, how did he find them?  Why had he selected
her and Betsy?  None of it made any sense.

She continued touching the card, running her index finger
over the little pink heart in the center.  She lifted it to her nose and
sniffed.  She wondered if the heart was a sachet as Sue Barber had suggested. 
It didn’t appear to have any odor, so as far as she could tell, that wasn’t its
purpose.  Even so, she peered at how it was attached.  If it was intended as a
sachet, surely the maker expected the recipient to be able to remove it from
the card.  Essie tried to lift up the edges of the heart from the center of the
doily.

She drifted off into thought again. 
What,
she
thought,
of Fay’s attempts to locate the return address and the company?
 
Obviously, these unsuccessful efforts pointed strongly in the direction of her
admirer intending to maintain his anonymity.  But why?  Why send such a card
and sign it ‘secret admirer’?  Was he really so shy that he wanted to convey
his affection without revealing his name?  And if he was the same person who’d
sent Betsy’s valentine, just how many women did he secretly admire?  Maybe he
had dozens, hundreds even, of women in facilities all over the country whom he
tantalized with these valentines without ever revealing his actual identity?

Oh my,
thought Essie suddenly,
maybe it’s one of
those senior scams I’ve heard so much about.
  Where unsuspecting senior
citizens are coerced into buying some ridiculous product or real estate scheme
by devious crooks.  But Betsy hadn’t mentioned any such occurrence happening to
her last year, although Essie hadn’t asked her.  Essie thought that if Betsy
had been approached by someone who connected himself to her secret admirer or claimed
to be her secret admirer in order to fleece her, Betsy surely would have made
that connection and would have mentioned the fact to Essie.  No, if this secret
admirer card was the beginning of some sort of ruse to get her money, it was
certainly one of the most convoluted approaches that Essie could possibly
imagine.  She put that thought on a very back burner.