Snow Blind-J Collins 4 (2 page)

We’d decided to check out the facility by pretending to be looking for a place for our Aunt Rose.

Hopefully we could wander around and ask the residents questions after the official tour ended, or else the idea was a total bust.

I smiled, thrusting out my hand. “Hi, Dee. I’m Kate Sawyer, Jack’s sister.”

Dee, a dowdy office drone with gooey eyes, wasn’t the type of hard sell closer I’d expected. After she released my hand I withheld a shudder at her wimpy handshake.

“Nice to meet you, Kate. We’re all set, so why don’t you follow me?”

We stopped at a set of double steel doors. Dee ran her key card through an electronic reading mechanism bolted beside the door handle. The green light flashed and the locks clicked. A mechanical hum sounded.

Very high tech.

Also very much like Martinez’s various security setups.

Dee opened the metal doors and bustled down the long, empty hallway. She didn’t bother to double check if the doors even latched behind us, say nothing 5

of if they’d locked securely. Huh. Martinez had me so paranoid about security measures that I almost double checked the damn thing myself.

Kevin whispered in my ear, “Kate Sawyer? You’ve been watching way too many episodes of
Lost
, babe.”

“Yeah? You started it,
Jack
.”

“Your fantasy of becoming a Jack and Sawyer sandwich doesn’t bother Martinez?”

“Nope. As a matter of fact he—”

“I thought we’d start in the wing with the private entrances.” Dee spiraled around and walked backward while she lectured us. She pointed to the metal doors with a decent amount of blank wall space between each one. “These units are like condos. Residents have separate access to the outside and enjoy more autonomy than residents in the other wings.”

“I’m assuming these residents aren’t in need of daily assistance?”

“No. Actually, the residents must pass a physical to prove they’re in decent health when they initially buy in.”

My brain stumbled on the words
buy in
.

But Kevin’s brain worked differently and he asked,

“What do you mean by
initially
?”

“We are in the business of providing long-term care. If a healthy seventy-year-old man buys a private residence, but at some point needs to change to a unit where he’s monitored either part-time or full-time, we can accommodate him almost immediately without a 6

huge upheaval in the tenant’s life.”

Kevin flashed his teeth. “Kate and I are both hope-lessly undereducated about the differences in the types of units Prairie Gardens offers. Would it be too much trouble to ask you to clarify them for us, please?”

Nice going, Kev.

“I’d be happy to,” Dee trilled. “Our purpose here at Prairie Gardens is to provide the type of housing to suit anyone’s needs. We have private residences like these.” She made a sweeping Vanna White gesture.

“However, the majority of our living spaces are devoted to individual apartments, the one bedroom/one bath, kitchen, and living room type efficiency units, with call buttons and twice daily check-ins.

“In the far south wing are the full-time care units for residents with terminal problems, and those are a basic hospital room with round-the-clock care from a twenty-four-hour nursing staff. And lastly, we have a wing devoted to temporary care, such as recovery from strokes or accidents, where the spouse or caretaker may live on the premises with the recovering party if he or she chooses to, and work in conjunction with the healthcare professionals. Some folks stay as little as four days, some as long as four weeks, but beyond that, they’ll have to move to terminal care.”

“Are all these buildings connected?”

“Yes, but only for selected staff. Residents cannot freely float from one unit to the next.”

“And the ‘buy in’ factor? What exactly is that?”

7

Kevin asked.

“Somewhat like purchasing a house. The resident buys a unit, which includes all utilities and amenities of the facility—use of the pool, spa, weight room, activities, professional services, transportation, meals, medical staff—and they can live here in any of the three housing sections. Let’s say health circumstances change, requiring a move from a private residence unit to a general care unit, or even to the acute care unit. That resident can stay until he or she passes on. If there’s a surviving spouse, the same applies. Then the contract is fulfilled.”

“And in the case of the private residences? Is own-ership passed on to the surviving secondary family members?”

“No. Then the residence reverts back to us.”

Whoa. That was just plain weird. I couldn’t imagine shelling out a hundred grand and ending up with . . . nothing. Then again, the tenants were dead, so what did they care? And probably if their surviving children shoved them in a place like this in the first place, they shouldn’t expect a windfall when Granny and Gramps kicked it anyway.

Cynical, Julie Ann.

“However, we understand that kind of cash outlay isn’t possible for everyone, so we do rent the general units by the year, or by the month, or in the case of the temporary wing, by the week.” Dee smiled at me. “Any idea of which type of unit your aunt would prefer?”

“Oh, our Aunt Rose is a social butterfly, so I imagine 8

she’d want an apartment right in the thick of things.”

Dee’s smile dimmed and the dollar signs in her eyes dulled. “Well, then, let’s head over to that section of the complex, known around here as ‘the hive.’” We exited the way we came in.

We hung a left at the front desk, passed through a set of double doors, and ended up at an unmanned kiosk. Eight long hallways spread out like a spider’s legs. My gaze swung to the end of the first corridor.

A single glass door marked the exit. It appeared to be a barred door, but I’d have to double check it to see if it was attached to some kind of alarm system, or if it was even locked. If not, that might be the reason Mr.

Sloane was sneaking out so easily.

I squinted at the ceiling. Plenty of sprinkler heads but not a single security camera. Odd. Why wouldn’t they monitor the hallways? Because people were paying to be here and didn’t want to escape? Well, with the exception of Vernon Sloane.

It bothered me that the higher priced living area had better security.

Dee chatted amiably at Kevin. “Here’s one of the efficiency units.” She slid off a stretchy fuchsia plastic armband from around her wrist and rammed a big silver key in the lock. The door swung inward. A Renuzit air freshener couldn’t mask the musty scent assaulting my nostrils.

The room was bare, save for the hideous orange plaid curtains covering the windows, and a frosted 9

light fixture hanging from the ceiling. The kitchen was galley-style, located in a tiny alcove off to the left.

A miniature breakfast bar separated the kitchen from the miniscule living room.

“Most of our residents are singles, widows or wid-owers. The bedroom and bathroom are through here.”

Dee took three steps and we followed her.

With no windows in the bedroom, the heavy floral wallpaper, the cloying scent of fake roses, and the low ceiling, I felt trapped inside an old-fashioned hat-box. To calm my nerves, I focused on the dusty ceiling fan while Kevin inspected the bathroom.

“As you can see, everything—the shower, the toilet, and the sink—are all handicapped accessible. Does your aunt have special needs?” Dee asked politely.

“No. She isn’t as spry as she used to be. She relies pretty heavily on a cane. She’s still too proud to admit she could use a walker.”

“Understandable. But I do feel the need to warn you that we are a large facility, and fairly spread out, so she might need that walker.”

“Thank you. We will need to take that into consideration before we make a decision.”

“Any other questions about these units?”

Kevin shook his head. “We’d like to see the common rooms, if that’s possible.”

“I’ll be happy to show you any place you like.”

I bolted from the claustrophobic unit and started down the hallway at a good clip.

10

Kevin snagged my arm. “What is your problem?”

“The same one I had when we walked in,” I hissed. “What the hell are we doing here? I don’t want a fucking three-hour tour, Skipper. And if the empty hallways are any indication, chances are pretty high the Geritol set is napping and no one will talk to us anyway. This is pointless. Can we go now?”

“No. Amery paid the retainer up front, and near as I can figure, we still owe her two hours, so buck up,
sis
.”

“I fucking hate you right now,
bro
.”

Footsteps halted behind us and we spun in tandem toward Dee.

“Is there a problem?”

Kevin said, “No,” the same time I said, “Yes.”

Dee kept a polite mask as she waited for us to clarify.

“Could you point me to the nearest bathroom?”

“Certainly. Return to the main reception area and it’s down the short corridor to your left. Can’t miss it.”

“Thanks.”

“Would you like us to wait for you?”

“Not necessary. You two go on. I’ll catch up.”

Kevin glared at me; I resisted the urge to flip him off before I meandered away.

Might’ve been petty, but I took my own sweet time reaching the bathroom. I checked my makeup and my cell phone messages. When I couldn’t justify hiding out in the crapper any longer, I sauntered to the receptionist’s desk.

11

One plus-sized woman a decade older than me sat behind a gigantic monitor. Since she’d left the sliding glass partition open, she didn’t bother to get up and acknowledge me; rather, she said loudly, “Something I can help you with?”

“My brother and I are taking a tour with Dee, and I wondered if you had a map of the facility?”

“They should be on the counter.” She squinted and sighed. “Hang on. I see the clipboard. Looks like Dee moved them to her desk again.” She rolled her chair back.

“No, I don’t want to be a bother. I think I can reach it if you don’t mind me hanging over the ledge.”

“Go for it.” She disappeared behind the monitor and I heard pecking noises from her keyboard again.

As I leaned across the counter, I noticed two manila folders on Dee’s desk right beside the clipboard.

One marked
PTF Schedules
; the other marked
Monthly
Activity Sign-up Sheets.

I shot a quick glance at the office worker. She wasn’t paying attention to me.
Tsk-tsk
. I lifted the edge of the clipboard with my left hand, slid the folders underneath it with my right, and scooped up the whole pile.

A tiny shot of adrenaline worked free. Now this was the part I liked: snooping. Standing at the counter opening the files wasn’t an option, so I moved to the seating area, keeping my back to the desk.

I flipped open the cover on the
Activity
file. My gaze 12

zeroed in on the volunteers’ names. Five total. Millie Stephens. Bunny Jones. Margie Lessle. Dottie Rich.

Luella Spotted Tail. Millie was listed as the bus driver/

volunteer for the trip to the Rushmore Mall with Margie assisting. Bunny was conducting a memoir writing class in the common room with Dottie assisting.

More of the same. Busy. Busy.

Were these women on crack? Or just bored out of their freakin’ minds?

Odd. Nothing listed for Luella Spotted Tail on the activity list.

I turned the map to the blank side and jotted down the info. After making sure no one was watching me, I switched to the
PTF
folder. The time sheets were organized by pod and room number; eight pods, ten rooms in each pod. Inside the individual hour boxes, from 9:00 to 3:00, Monday through Friday, were the volunteer’s initials. I skimmed the sheet for Luella Spotted Tail. Luella was a busy woman. Her dance card was filled five out of five days, as she brightened elderly folks’ lives.

But the majority of her time was blocked off for room 208 from 10:00 to 2:00 three days a week.

From a WTF standpoint, Luella only spent an hour with the other occupants of the room numbers on her list? One hour, once every two weeks? But lucky number 208 received twelve hours per week?

Didn’t someone in Administration find that strange and question her about it?

13

I scanned the time sheet for the previous month and found the identical schedule and no notation from Luella’s supervisor—B. Boner—just a scrawled signa-ture as final approval.

Although the name wasn’t listed I knew who lived in room 208. I also realized that no other volunteer’s initials were in any of the time boxes attributed to room 208. I thumbed through the remaining paperwork in the folder. On the last page marked
Extra
, at the top of the list, in roughly an hour, two full hours were blocked off as personal time for Luella Spotted Tail and Mr. Room 208—Vernon Sloane.

Guilt assailed me for my earlier dismissal of Amery’s concerns. As far as I could tell, no other resident spent time away from Prairie Gardens with Luella on a regular basis.

A door slammed, startling me. I returned to the reception desk and poked my head through the partition.

“Thanks. I think I have a better handle on this place now. I’ll just put this back”—and I purposely knocked the clipboard, the folders, and all the papers off Dee’s desk right onto the floor. “Oh jeez. I’m so sorry; I’m such a klutz; let me come on back there and help you clean it up—”

“No unauthorized people in the office; it’s against company policy,” she snapped.

“I’m sorry.”

She angrily hefted her girth out of the overtaxed office chair and lumbered to the jumbled mess.

14

Using the map, I trudged down the main hallway to the common rooms. I’d made it about ten steps when I heard a raspy voice behind me that sent chills up my spine.

“You’d be dangerous if you were half as sneaky as you think you are. I saw what you were doing. Give me a reason why I shouldn’t turn you in, young lady.”