Bad Hair Day 4 - Body Wave (5 page)

*Chapter Five*
Marla stood in the center of Miriam Pearl's bedchamber, staring at the shriveled woman lying in a queen-size canopy bed. After muttering a quick introduction, Morris had left her to her duties. The old lady peered at her with sharp black eyes, a diminutive figure among volumes of bedcovers.
Laying her purse on top of a dressing table, Marla approached the matriarch. "I'd like to get started. What shall we do first this morning?" she asked, wondering how old Miriam was and if she retained her wits.
"My glasses are on the nightstand," Miriam rasped. "Give them to me so I can see you better."
Marla complied, waiting patiently while Miriam inspected her. The collar of her suit itched in the stuffy, warm atmosphere. The heat must be turned up to eighty degrees, she thought, sucking in a dry breath of air.
"Nervous, are you? You're sweating," the old lady pointed out with a smirk.
"It's awfully hot in here. May I open the drapes and lower the thermostat? I think you'd be more comfortable."
"My body is thin. I'm always cold."
"Perhaps what you need is a hot bath. Did you have your breakfast yet?"
Miriam shook her head. "You have to call downstairs, dearie. Dial number eight on the phone, and ask for Kathleen. She'll bring it up. I take my pills with meals."
"Oh, right." Her responsibilities included administering medications. Unfortunately, the nurse had been in too much of a hurry to provide details.
A quick survey of the room revealed an absence of medicine bottles, so Marla headed for the lavatory, a spacious area nearly as big as her bedroom at home. _I'd spend hours in here if this were mine,_ she thought enviously, admiring the sunken bath and separate glass-enclosed shower. A gleaming bidet caught her eye. Although it was the first she'd seen, her mother had described the European device.
She found the medicine containers lined up like soldiers on parade atop a marble vanity. Checking the labels, Marla frowned. They made no sense to her at all. She'd have to ask Miriam which ones she took in the morning.
She reentered the bedroom just as a middle-aged woman with silver-streaked auburn hair entered bearing a laden tray. She wore a maid's uniform, so Marla assumed this was Kathleen.
"Hi, I'm Marla Shore. I'll be taking care of Mrs. Pearl on Agnes's days off."
Kathleen grinned, her face transforming into an impish expression. "Aye, and it's a blessing to get a breath of fresh air in this place." She spoke with a pleasant lilt as she placed the tray on a portable table in front of Miriam.
"Would there be anything else you'll be needing now, madam?" Kathleen asked the old woman.
Miriam grimaced at the items on her food tray. "Not in here, but I noticed the silver on the sideboard downstairs needs polishing. See that you get to it today."
"Aye, madam." The maid exchanged glances with Marla, raising her eyebrows slightly as though to commiserate.
"Speaking of fresh air," Marla said after Kathleen had left, "let's brighten up this room. It's gloomy in here."
"Don't do that!" Miriam exclaimed when Marla drew apart the curtains. "The sunlight will fade the fabrics. Besides, we're in mourning." Her hand trembled as she lifted a spoonful of oatmeal to her lips.
"Here, let me help you." Marla rushed over to tuck a napkin under the woman's chin. "Mr. Pearl said you'd had a recent death in the family. I'm so sorry."
"My granddaughter Kimberly was murdered." Miriam stated it matter-of-factly, but an expression of pain crossed her wrinkled face.
"How horrible." Marla pulled up a chair, then proceeded to spread jam on a slice of whole wheat toast. The old lady set aside her spoon as though she'd lost her appetite. "Now listen, you have to eat in order to gain strength, Miriam. Tell me about your granddaughter while you finish your cereal."
Miriam's expression hardened. "She was a beautiful girl, but foolish. I'd hoped to avoid the mistakes I made with my daughters, but it didn't work in her case. Kim didn't have a pragmatic bone in her body. If she hadn't rushed into marriage with that lawyer, she'd be alive today."
"Oh?"
Miriam squinted at her. "Talk to my daughter Stella. She'll tell you more."
"When was the last time you saw Kimberly?"
Miriam swallowed a spoonful of oatmeal Marla held to her lips. "It had been a while. We didn't get along too well."
"That's a shame."
"It's partially my fault. The girl was born with a silver spoon in her mouth, and she expected to breeze her way through life. I was afraid she'd become vapor-headed like my Stella." Glancing at the door, the old lady lowered her voice. "It's a good thing Morris has brains. He runs the family business and does a damn good job. Neither one of my girls is capable."
"I'd hoped to meet Florence today."
"She went to Stan's house to ask about getting back some family albums."
"Stan was Kimberly's husband?" Marla asked in an offhand manner.
Miriam nodded, taking a sip of tea. "Kim was excited about writing up our family genealogy. If only she could have put the same devotion into training for a career. I've insisted my grandchildren learn how to support themselves, because I won't have them ending up useless parasites like Stella and her sister. Kim wasn't too happy with me the last time I saw her alive." The old lady sniffied and pushed her tray away.
"You didn't eat enough," Marla chided, rising.
"I lost my appetite. Get me my pills. I take a diuretic, heart medicine, and blood thinner in the morning."
Marla entered the bathroom. Her confused glance surveyed the collection of containers. "Do you know the names of each medicine?" she called out.
"Bring them here." Miriam glared at her when she returned. "I thought you were a nurse even though you're not in proper uniform."
"I'm just an aide."
"Well, I can tell by the colors which ones I need. Open them up, and we'll see."
Marla struggled to twist open the childproof cap. When her first attempt failed, she squeezed harder. "Is it always this difficult?" she mumbled, feeling like a klutz.
"Oh, for God's sake. Don't you know anything? Morris!"
"Wait, I'll do it. Please don't summon your son." Gritting her teeth, she pushed down on the cap and jiggled the top until it loosened. A breath of relief escaped her lips. She managed to open the other containers, and they sorted out which pills Miriam had to take.
"Run my shower, dearie. There's a stool inside that I sit on. You'll have to scrub the parts I can't reach."
Bathing hour stretched into two while Marla fumbled to follow Miriam's instructions. At last the matriarch was dried and powdered. Escorting her into the adjacent room, Marla wiped a trickle of sweat from her neck. She could use a shower herself. Although she'd suggested giving Miriam a hair wash, the old lady had declined. Instead, she'd ordered Marla to use a pumice stone on her feet. Marla hadn't done a pedicure since training, and wearing a suit while leaning over in the steamy shower had been an ordeal she'd rather not repeat. Now she had a backache from the effort.
"Get me a clean nightshirt from my drawer," Miriam demanded, panting as she sat on the edge of her bed in a terry robe. Exertion had left her short of breath, and Marla feared harming her delicate state of health any further. Nonetheless, it wouldn't do the woman any good to lie in bed all day.
"How about putting on a slacks set? It should have warmed up outside by now. I'd like to take you out for some fresh air." Maybe she'd meet the other family members. One thing was certain: her investigation wouldn't get anywhere if they were confined to quarters.
"It's freezing out!" Miriam exclaimed. "Agnes said I'd catch pneumonia if I go outside in this weather."
"Oh, come on, we'll bundle you up. A change of scenery will be good for you."
"Who says? You can read to me until the news comes on TV."
"Listen, I'm in charge of you today, and we're at least going downstairs."
After dressing Miriam in warm clothing despite her protests, Marla fingered her thin hair. "You could use a soft perm, honey. Next time I come, we'll spruce you up. A couple of weeks later, we'll add a tint of color. It'll make you look ten years younger! Don't you ever visit with friends?"
Miriam gazed at her as though she were loony. "What friends? They're all gone. I'm just waiting to join them."
"No, you're not. You have spirit, Miriam. I'm surprised you're stuck in this room so much of the time."
"I may have my hearing, but I don't see so well. My bones ache, and it's only going to get worse. Agnes says I have to preserve my strength."
"Nonsense. You shouldn't stop living until you're dead."
"Like Kimberly?" The old woman's shoulders slumped.
"I'm sorry, that was a thoughtless remark." Remembering she'd seen a wheelchair in the hallway, Marla retrieved it. "Let's go. You can tell me where Kim grew up. Was she raised in this house?"
After easing herself into the chair with Marla's help, Miriam slouched back. "No, Stella lived in Palm Beach while her husband was alive. After he died, she sold their house and moved back here. Kimberly was already grown. She had an apartment and worked in various jobs instead of going to college like I urged her. She wanted the easy way out."
"Like a rich husband?" Marla wheeled the old lady into the hallway and toward an elevator at one end.
Miriam grunted. "Kim was hoping to hold out until she was thirty, when she became eligible for a percentage of her trust fund. She found a way out, all right: it just wasn't the one she'd expected."
"Wasn't she happy with Stan? He must have provided the kind of life she wanted."
"Why, did you know him?"
_Whoops._ "Er, no, I just assumed he was a wealthy man."
They emerged on the first floor, and further explanation became unnecessary as a woman bustled forward. She was an attractive lady in her mid-fifties who wore her hair in a short, layered style with a reddish brown tint. Her slacks set in royal blue and black gave her matronly figure a sleek look.
"Stella, this is Marla Shore. She's filling in for Agnes," Miriam said.
"Nice to meet you." Stella's cocoa eyes flickered briefly in Marla's direction. "I'm on my way to the club," she said to her mother. "We're adding the finishing touches to our centerpieces for today's luncheon."
"Your girl isn't in the ground for a week yet, and you're on your way out the door! How can you be so heartless?"
Stella's eyes misted. "I sat shivah for three days. Kimberly would want me to continue my work."
"Work!" Miriam shrilled. "You're a grown woman, and you still play at arts and crafts. If you want to work, go help Morris at the company."
"I'm not interested in confining myself to an office," Stella said, enunciating each word.
"You don't have the brains!"
"And you don't understand what I like to do! You never have, and you never will!"
Marla shifted uncomfortably, feeling like an unseen observer to an old argument. Was this how servants were regarded, as inanimate pieces of furniture?
"Focusing on other things will take my mind off Kimberly," Stella went on, standing ramrod stiff. "Until that man is behind bars again, there's little else I can do!"
"Do you believe Kim's husband is guilty?" Marla blurted.
Stella glared at her. "Have you been listening to our conversation?"
_No, I'm just a doorpost._ "Miriam is getting agitated. I'm in charge of her health while I'm here."
"Then tend to your duties and keep out of our family affairs. Bye, Mother. I'll be back in time for dinner." Whirling on her heel, she marched out the door.
Marla noticed the butler, who swung the door wide for her, had stood by like a statue during their dialogue.
"Idiots, all of them," Miriam muttered.
"What's that?" Marla asked, wheeling Miriam toward the front door. She nodded at the butler as they breezed past. A car was just turning into the circular driveway. Marla wouldn't mind calling that shiny red Mercedes her own.
"There's Florence." Miriam leaned forward, waving.
"Would you like to walk over?" Marla assisted the old lady up from the chair and supported her as they staggered toward the elegantly dressed blonde who'd emerged from the car. Stella, midway to the garage, did an about-face and headed toward them.
"Well? Did Stanley give you the albums?" Stella asked her older sister. Seeing them side by side, Marla noted Florence was a couple inches taller and more svelte than her sibling. She wore an expensive ivory silk suit with matching heels. Pearl accessories completed her ensemble.
"No, he insisted on keeping them. I told you he wouldn't be agreeable." She turned a wary glance on Marla. "Who is this?"
"This is Miss Shore," Miriam said, leaning heavily on Marla's arm. "She's taking over for Agnes on Sundays."
"Mother, you shouldn't be outside. It's too cold for you."
"I felt she needed some fresh air," Marla cut in. "Maybe a trip to the mall would appeal to her. It would be less windy."
Both women looked horrified at the idea, making Marla wonder if either of them ever took their mother anywhere.
"How are we going to get those albums from Stan?" Stella asked her sister. "I'd hoped to start working on them tomorrow."
"Give it up, pie-face. Stan won't give us the time of day now that Kimberly is gone."
Miriam swayed. Marla threw an arm around her waist, but not before Stella shrieked, "She's falling!"
"I've got her," Marla said reassuringly, guiding Miriam to the wheelchair. Perhaps it was a mistake to push the old lady too soon. Her leg muscles must be weak from inactivity. Either that, or the conversation was disturbing her.
"I think Mrs. Pearl is upset by the recent tragedy," Marla said, hoping to gain information. "Losing a granddaughter is heartbreaking."

"Yeah? Mother wasn't so broken up when she screamed at Kimberly to leave the house and never to return," Stella snapped.
Florence sniffed. "That's because your daughter was so greedy. She couldn't wait for her share of Daddy's fortune. Not even Mother's allowance could satisfy her expensive tastes."
"She wanted a change from that neighborhood with all the _goyim._ You can't blame her for wanting to move up." "Not at the expense of her marriage."
Marla tried to fathom the dynamics of their conversation. Florence seemed to be attacking Kimberly's values while Stella was defending them. Why was the elderly aunt coming down so hard on the dead girl? Did it have anything to do with Florence having been in love with Kim's father?
She wheeled Miriam away to a discrete distance, on a slight rise where the driveway curved toward a tree-lined avenue leading to the obscured entrance beyond the woods. It was far enough that she wouldn't appear to be eavesdropping yet could still hear their faint voices.
"Morons," Miriam muttered. "The poor thing is gone. Why won't they let her rest in peace?"
Marla didn't respond, too intent on listening. Her hands placed lightly on the wheelchair handlebars, she inclined her head.
"I don't know how I'm going to get those albums if Stanley won't cooperate," Stella said, wringing her hands. "I should have gone myself. Maybe he'd have listened to me."
"You tried at the funeral, and he ignored you," her sister sneered. "Can you blame him, when you came right out and accused him of murdering his wife?"
"He knew what Kim was planning! You, of all people, should understand how it would cause him to react the way he did."
"By killing her?" Florence said in an incredulous tone.
"Who else could have done it? You?"
"Don't be absurd."
"You always resented my daughter. I know how jealous you were that she wasn't your child."
"Stop it! You're screaming. I hate it when you get hysterical."
"Did you do it?"
"Hell, no." Florence shook her elegant head. "If you want to know, Kimberly was messing in things she didn't understand. She should have minded her own business." Leaning forward, she spoke in such a low voice that Marla couldn't catch what she was saying.
Damn, she needed to be closer! Frustrated, Marla took a few steps forward. Suddenly, she heard a shriek. Whipping around, she let a cry erupt from her lips at the sight that greeted her.
Miriam's wheelchair coasted down the hill at an increasingly perilous speed.
_Bless my bones, I forgot to apply the brakes!_ Taking off at a run, she charged after the errant wheelchair.
"Help!" wailed Miriam.
"Oh my God!" screeched the sisters in unison.
"I'm coming!" Marla shouted, flying down the driveway.
The wheelchair hit a bump and came to a crashing halt on the grass about two feet from a tree. Miriam slid to the ground in a crumpled heap.
"Dear Lord, are you all right?" Moisture sprang into Marla's eyes as she crouched to help the old lady to her feet.
"Wait, she might have broken something!" cried Florence, brushing forward to assist her mother.
"Oh dear! Oh dear!" howled Stella. "Should we call an ambulance?"
The front door opened, and Raoul peered out. "Heavens, madam!" He rushed over to assist them.
Marla grasped Miriam by the arm. The old lady glared at her but appeared to be moving all parts. "I don't think she's damaged anything."
"How can you tell?" Stella snapped. "What kind of nurse are you? You're not even in uniform!"
Florence gave her sister a quelling glance. "Don't just stand there; give us a hand."
"I'm so sorry," Marla intoned as she settled the matriarch onto the padded seat while Raoul steadied the chair. "Are you hurt? Any hip pain?" She knew that elderly women had a propensity for breaking their bones due to osteoporosis. Her mother told her to drink milk often enough, not that she'd reached the age where she needed to be concerned with such things. Hopefully, Miriam didn't have any minute fractures on her wrists, either. "How did you break your fall?" she asked anxiously.
"I landed on my butt, dearie."
Marla felt the old woman's probing eyes on her face, and she hung her head. "I suppose you won't want me to return on Thursday." "What's that? Find my glasses, will you?" Marla retrieved them on the ground, cleaned them off on her suit jacket, and handed them over. She was aware that both sisters and the butler were staring at her with malevolence. Miriam's gaze focused sharply.
"I said, you probably don't want me to come back," Marla murmured, her face flushing hotly. Her heart finally slowed its racing tempo as she faced the consequences of her negligence.
"You're right, missy," Stella said. "I've never seen someone so incompetent. First you force my mother out into the cold morning air, and then you walk away from her without wedging her wheelchair. I don't know where Morris found you, but you can go back there! We'll find someone else to cover for Agnes's days off."
Florence compressed her lips in agreement. As though in silent compliance, the butler took charge of the wheelchair and steered Miriam toward the house.
A strange noise bubbled from the old woman's throat, and Marla's breath caught. Was the old lady choking? Had she been damaged in a manner no one had noticed, like a rib puncturing her lungs? The matriarch waved an imperious arm, signaling Raoul to turn her around. When Marla faced her, she widened her eyes in disbelief. Miriam's face wore a broad grin!
"Come on, dearie, don't listen to them," Miriam said, cackling with glee. "I haven't had this much excitement in ages. Nor have my daughters paid me so much attention. I can tell being with you is going to be as good as taking a tonic." She giggled. "Hee, hee. Maybe I'll call one of my cronies after all. I've got to share this with someone."
Inside the house, Marla took charge. She stopped for a moment to brush debris off Miriam's pants and to straighten her sweater. Then she wheeled the old lady into a sunny parlor as directed, ignoring the feeling that hostile eyes followed her every movement.