Best Place to Die (13 page)

‘I hope you're right,' Lil said. ‘I can't imagine what those families must be going through. Hopefully it's what you said, and relatives took them directly from Nillewaug. Kyle, earlier you said there was no one in charge. I understand it would have been Ms Preston, and that the assistant director is out of town. You said she's on her honeymoon.'

‘She's the director of nursing and the person I report to . . .' His voice trailed into silence.

‘Kyle?'

‘Damn.' He realized how exhausted he was, his eyes burned from a combination of smoke, pollen, ash and lack of sleep.
Should you really be talking to a reporter?
But then again,
she's taking care of Grandma Alice, this total stranger is taking care of someone you love, it's OK. Just be careful. You still need a job.
A hollow pit in his belly, knowing he had so much work to do, but with the central Nillewaug complex uninhabitable –
you may not have a job.
Followed by a more painful realization, and one he'd been trying to ignore since the fire:
Grandma Alice, after all this work, has lost her home. What am I going to do? What am I going to do with Alice?

‘Kyle? What's wrong?'

‘Where to start?' Throughout his life he'd had the unswerving belief that in even the most dire situation something positive can be found. But, so far, that silver lining had been elusive. ‘Can I go off the record?'

‘Of course.'

‘Please, I don't really know you, but if you use my name here . . . I just don't know. Although, I wonder if any of us will have jobs. But I did get through to her.'

‘To who?'

‘Kayla Atwood, my boss. I'd texted her a bunch of times, and she finally called back.'

‘And?'

‘And she told me that based on what had happened, and that she'd just learned she was pregnant, she was giving notice. She has no intention of coming back to Nillewaug.' He again heard clicking. ‘Please don't use my name, but there's no one steering this ship.'

‘It sounds like you are,' she offered. ‘OK, I'm on the Nillewaug website and I'm looking at the contact page. I see Delia and this Kayla person, and a director of Human Resources – Frank Stillman – under the tab for positions.'

‘Frank's here, I saw him a while ago.'

‘Seems like he'd be next in command,' she offered.

‘Yeah, seems like, and again this has to be off the record. He's dealing with over two hundred employees who are all trying to figure out if they have jobs. He told me that with Kayla not here, I needed to take care of anything related to the residents. Mostly I think he's just scared. We all are.'

‘What about upper management? Isn't there some kind of disaster plan?'

‘Good questions. Yes, there is a disaster plan, which I'm trying to follow. But most of it is built around having an intact – or at least functioning – executive team. And right now we've got a CEO – Jim Warren – who hasn't shown his face, a CFO – Wally Doyle – who was here during the fire, but I haven't seen since. A nursing director who's sunning in Aruba . . .' He felt panic surge.
This is not helping
. ‘Lil, I don't mean to be rude. But I've got to keep plowing through this phone stuff, and the other lines are buzzing.'

‘Is there anything I can do to help?' she asked.

‘You're doing it,' he said, and a wave of relief swept over him –
this is the silver lining
. ‘I love my grandmother more than anyone in this world. Knowing she's safe makes all this other stuff manageable.' Emotion choked his throat. He bit the inside of his lip to regain control. ‘But . . . you know if you do the story, you might want to touch base with the Red Cross. They've been a huge help, and I think if people want to donate or get clothing to residents, they're the ones to contact. Talk to them, see what they need, and make sure that's in your story.'

With her fingers on the keyboard and the phone on speaker, Lil heard the fatigue in Kyle's voice.
Get some sleep
, she thought, picturing the handsome nurse, with his soulful eyes, who was so obviously devoted to Alice. ‘Kyle, if at any point – and please take this seriously – you want to crash here and get a hot meal, we've got plenty of room. Even if you just got a few hours of sleep.'

‘Lil, I might take you up on that. But I have to get back to work.'

She thanked him and hung up. Lil stared out her open office window, bird chatter and the soft hum of the computer the only sounds. Her thoughts on Kyle, and the Herculean task of trying to account for each of the seven hundred Nillewaug residents. This was so clearly not his job, not anyone's really. And yet, in the midst of this awful disaster, something which at the end of the day might well turn out to be arson, here was Kyle showing humanity's other face, the better face. No fanfare, no self-promotion, just one person doing everything possible to help. Batting back a tear, she began to write. It started with a couple of quick paragraphs, inserting the bits she'd gleaned from Kyle – ‘Thirty-eight residents still unaccounted for . . . Kayla Atwood, Director of Nursing, out of the country and unavailable for comment . . . over two hundred Nillewaug employees uncertain about their jobs'. And then she tracked down numbers for Jim Warren, Nillewaug's CEO, and Wallace Doyle, the CFO. Both men she knew. Actually, anyone who'd been in Grenville long enough knew them, or at least knew of them, two of the three Ravens of the Apocalypse – the small town hyperbole for the high school students who'd led the town to not one, but two state football championships over thirty years ago. Back then, Lil was a new wife and new mother. She let her thoughts drift –
you were pregnant, it must have been with Tina
– strong memories of cool Saturday mornings in the bleachers with Bradley. Like everyone else in Grenville it was exciting, and the topic of tremendous conversation and speculation. People who knew nothing about football, and she was one of them, were suddenly analyzing plays, critiquing Coach Scott Monroe's training techniques, and turning out for the Saturday games to the point that additional bleachers had to be added. Those two seasons had sparked a giddy hometown pride, with flags appearing on every lamp post the day before a game, and banners strewn across the greens in Town Plot with encouraging words for ‘our boys', or else urging residents to donate for better uniforms, or a new, and very expensive scoreboard and night lights. It was a bubble of enthusiasm and they all got caught up in it. At the center of it all were three gifted high school athletes – Jim ‘Jimbo' Warren, Dennis Trask and Wally Doyle. It was like an unexpected gift. Something you never knew you wanted, but once you had it didn't know how you ever did without it. Something mesmerizing and so exciting about huddling up in the bleachers, wool blankets on their laps in the crisp snap of fall, Thermoses of coffee, or something stronger. The feeling of camaraderie among neighbors never stronger. But it was the game itself and those three boys. Jim's sure arm, Wally with his hulking grace protecting his quarterback as he searched for his opening. And Dennis sprinting downfield, not slowing as the missile found his sure hands. It was heart-in-your-throat exciting and ephemeral. Their senior year, when they won their second championship, was the last time Grenville made it to anything past Regionals. She knew it at the time, and maybe that's what was so special, the three Ravens of the Apocalypse were lightening in a bottle. And here, decades later, their names connected to Grenville's biggest tragedy. Caught by this strange symmetry she dialed Jim Warren's law office. A secretary picked up: ‘Mr Warren is not in . . . can I take a message?' From there, on to Wally Doyle and another secretary: ‘Mr Doyle is not in today, may I take a message?'

No you may not
, she thought, hanging up, and wondering why neither man was at work on a Monday. Lil knew that if she wanted to have another serious story run, she'd need an interview with one or both of them. And time was running short. Not certain of the protocol, but certain she was stepping on somebody's toes, she called Edward Fleming. She waited, listening to a jazzy rendition of The Carpenters's ‘Close to You', and then the editor-in-chief picked up. ‘Good piece, Lil. What can I do for you?'

His words were clipped, and clear. He was a busy man, and his every second mattered. But the compliment couldn't have been clearer.
He liked it . . . of course he did, he wouldn't have run it if he didn't.
Trying to match his efficiency of speech: ‘Mr Fleming I want to do a follow-up piece on the fire.'

‘Lil, this isn't your beat.'

Not realizing she had a beat, unless that's what the fluffy antique columns were, she persisted. ‘I've got inside information.' She felt a pressure build, and had to restrain herself from rambling about how two of the residents were living with her, how she'd spoken with the nurse who appeared to be in charge and also was friends with a detective involved in the case.

‘No promises,' he said. ‘But get me one thousand to twelve-hundred words no later than two p.m.; if it's good and if it's important, I'll run it. And by the way, we've gotten numerous requests from other news services for your photographs. You'll be making some extra money off of those, not to mention the photo credit.' And without saying goodbye, he hung up.

‘Lil?' Ada's voice from the front door.

‘What's up?' She got up from the computer, while thinking through strategies to track down the ex-Ravens. She had less than two hours to get the story, write it up and send it in –
not much time
.

Ada was standing outside, holding the screen open. Behind her she could see Rose and Alice, both in long-sleeve shirts and sweat pants that they'd pieced together from their wardrobes. Alice had on her bedroom slippers and Rose had a pair of Ada's walking shoes.

‘We're going out,' Ada said. ‘Do you need anything?'

Lil felt a pang of guilt. ‘Are you taking a cab?'

‘No, Aaron offered to stay home from school.' She gave a wry smile. ‘So considerate.'

‘He is.' Lil laughed.

‘We're taking his car. Figured we'd hit the post office and track down their mail, then off to Costco and get some clothes and groceries – they have nothing.' Conscious of the two women behind her, she whispered. ‘Did you find out when and if they're going to be allowed to go into their apartments?'

‘No, but I'm sure Kyle will know. But from the sounds of things it's not going to be today. You sure you don't want me to come?' Feeling horribly torn.
You're not really a reporter, Lil, what are you thinking? Your duty is to them; family always comes first
. ‘My car's bigger,' she added, thinking of Aaron's partially restored and much-beloved 1968 Mercedes diesel.

‘You got your column done?' Sounding like she was asking Aaron if he'd finished his homework.

‘Yes, emailed in, and no word back from my editor, so I think it's good to go.'

‘And now you're doing another piece on the fire?'

‘Yes.'

She smiled.

‘What?' Lil asked, unable to read her expression.

‘Lil, I'm so proud of you. But if you want this story you're going to have to fight for it. It's national news, you need to stay here and figure out how your story is the one Edward Fleming will run.'

‘You're sure?' Wondering if she'd somehow eavesdropped on the conversation with Mr Fleming. And realizing once again just how prescient she was.

‘Yes, plus you know how I love Costco.'

‘I do,' she said, wondering exactly how much stuff from the buy-in-bulk store she'd be able to cram into Aaron's trunk.

Ada glanced over her shoulders at Rose. ‘Mom, I'll be with you in two seconds,' she said, and she closed the door behind.

‘What?'

Ada wrapped her arms around Lil's waist.

Their lips met, and conscious of the closed door and her mother on the other side, there was a hurried excitement in their embrace. Ada giggled.

‘I know,' Lil said, looking into her eyes and feeling the thrill of their still-young relationship. ‘What if our parents find out?'

‘I think she suspects,' Ada said.

‘Are you going to tell her?'

‘I don't know. I do know that I don't like this sneaking around, although . . .'

Lil felt Ada's fingers tickle her in a particularly sensitive spot at the bottom of her ribs. ‘Stop that,' she gasped.

She reached up on her toes and they kissed. ‘It is exciting.' And letting go she headed down the hall toward the front door.

Lil followed her out, savoring the feel of Ada's lips. She waved at Rose and Alice, as Aaron shouted up from the base of the goat path, ‘You guys coming, or what?'

She watched as Rose took Alice's hand. The redhead looked back at Lil standing in the door and then at Ada who was heading toward the car. ‘Which one's the boy?' she asked loudly, and then added: ‘Are we going home?'

Stunned, Lil followed their progress to the waiting car. After years of caring for her mother, June, as she'd descended into Alzheimer's, Lil was used to strange moments of clarity and weird utterances.
But what the hell was that?

They drove off, and Lil knew that she had to kick her ass into gear if she had a prayer of getting another piece into
The Register
. Ada was right, this was a massive story, and she'd gotten lucky – right place at the right time. Now it was a matter of making her own luck. Thus far neither Jim Warren nor Wally Doyle – at least that she was aware of – had commented on the fire. This was the angle she needed. She knew them both, knew where they lived – the ultra high-end Eagle's Cairn development. Grabbing her keys, she threw on a favorite navy blazer with patch pockets that kind of went with her jeans and sweats. At the door she hoisted her brown leather satchel, checking to make sure she had the camera, extra batteries, cell and paper and pen; and thinking of Fleming's words – ‘
If it's good and if it's important . . .
' – felt the clock ticking
.