Bingoed (7 page)

Chapter Ten

“I’m not interested in age. People who tell me their age are silly. You’re as old as you feel.”

—Elizabeth Arden

They were now all hanging around the lobby. Opal had seen to it that Fay had made it back to her room and then she returned. Then Essie made Marjorie and Opal wait while she went somewhere.

“Now, where did she go?” asked Opal.

“To check on the you-know-what of the you-know-what,” responded Marjorie.

“Oh, of course,” replied Opal, looking confused.

Within ten minutes, Essie had returned. She plopped herself back down between the women and whispered one word: “yellow.”

Then the three women rolled their walkers to the front desk. Phyllis, the front desk clerk, was speaking with an elderly gentleman. He was asking about an upcoming trip—not the infamous botanical gardens one; it sounded like he was discussing a shopping trip. Happy Haven frequently took residents out for shopping at outlet malls or grocery stores. Some residents liked to keep some of their favorite foods in their small refrigerators in their apartments. Of course, none of them needed to buy food because anything they might want was supplied to them in the dining hall.

“Yes, sir,” said Phyllis, a soft-spoken, gentle lady, to the man, “the outlet mall trip is Saturday. The grocery store trip is Wednesday. That’s the way it is every week.”

“I need to get some milk,” he demanded in a high-pitched, squeaky voice.

“I’m sure they’ll give you whatever milk you need in the dining hall,” she said, consoling.

“I need a container of milk,” he insisted. “I need it for early in the morning, before the dining hall opens.”

“I understand, sir,” repeated Phyllis. “I’m sure the dining hall staff will be happy to give you a container of milk. Just go back into the kitchen and ask them.”

“Oh, all right,” he snapped at her finally as if he’d been asked to climb Everest. He shuffled off towards the dining hall.

“Now, ladies,” said Phyllis, turning toward Essie and smiling at the women, “what can I do for you?” Essie and Marjorie moved to the far right end of the counter as the women had discussed they would do, and Opal moved discreetly towards the far left end. As Essie and Marjorie engaged Phyllis in discussion, Opal leaned over the top of the counter and scanned Phyllis’s desk for the basket of keys that she had vaguely remembered seeing.

“I was wondering if you could tell us about the field trip to the botanical gardens,” said Essie. Marjorie nodded behind her.

“Oh, yes!” said Phyllis. “It’s a very popular trip! We’ve only got three slots left.”

“How long does it take?” asked Marjorie.

“I believe the group is usually gone around three hours from the time they leave until the time they return,” said Phyllis.

Opal was leaning over the counter, her left arm dangling—supposedly inconspicuously—onto Phyllis’s desk.

“What about bathroom breaks?” asked Essie, which was the primary question as far as she was concerned.

“Oh, dear,” laughed Phyllis, “I’m sure there are plenty of restrooms at the gardens. We’ve had our residents visiting there for years and I know they always find the restrooms.”

“How would you know?” asked Essie. Opal’s arm moved around and Essie could hear a slight jingly noise coming from the other end of the counter.

“Me?” said Phyllis. “Well, I don’t know for sure. I’ve never been there myself, but I’m sure . . .”

“So you’ve never actually seen any bathrooms at this botanical gardens place,” accused Essie, her nose aiming at Phyllis’s face like an arrow.

There was more jostling of desk items from Opal. Marjorie cringed. Essie spoke up even louder.

“What if I have to use the toilet while I’m still on the bus?” demanded Essie.

“Oh, you won’t be on the bus but maybe fifteen minutes or so, Essie. The gardens are fairly close.”

“When I have to go, my bladder won’t hold for fifteen minutes!” pronounced Essie. Phyllis looked at the two women with a combination of dread and humor.

Opal surreptitiously held up a small gold key in front of her face so that Essie and Marjorie could see it, then quickly palmed it and moved closer to the women.

“I’m sure you’d be just fine!” insisted Phyllis. At that point, Sue Barber, the Social Director who had participated in Bob Weiderley’s care during his Bingo collapse, approached the group from the office wing.

“Ladies,” she said warmly, “I couldn’t help but overhear your discussion.”

“Miss Barber,” said Phyllis with some relief, “these ladies are interested in the botanical gardens field trip.”

“Wonderful!” cried Sue Barber. “Three of you! And just three spots left! Here!” She grabbed the sign-up sheet and held out a pen towards Essie. “Essie, I know you want to go, our flower and plant expert!” She pushed the pen into Essie’s hand and pointed to the empty line on the sheet. Essie gulped and looked from Marjorie to Opal, receiving absolutely no support. With a grimace, she signed her name.

“Wonderful!” sung Sue. “I know you’ll have a wonderful time! Now, your turn, Marjorie. Surely you will want to join your friend.” Marjorie quickly grabbed the pen and added her signature below Essie’s. After that, Opal (with the gold key in her left hand) signed below Marjorie with her right hand.

“This is absolutely wonderful!” announced Sue. “We now have a busload for the field trip. I’m just delighted!”

“I’ll probably have to pee as soon as I get on the bus,” whined Essie.

“Oh, you can hold it, Essie,” said Sue. “If anyone can, you can!” She gave each of the three women a quick, imperceptible hug and then practically skipped off towards her office which was next door to Violet’s.

As soon as Sue Barber had disappeared from view, the three ladies waved goodbye to Phyllis and pushed their walkers towards the fireplace where they seated themselves in a group.

“Did you get it?” asked Essie.

“Right here,” said Opal, holding her hand low and out to Essie, then carefully pulling her fingers back so that Essie and Marjorie could see the small, yellow-marked key.

“Now what?” asked Marjorie.

“Now we break into Bob’s apartment,” said Essie with determination. She started to rise.

“Wait a minute, Essie,” said Opal, stopping her by her sleeve. “Don’t you think we should plan this through before we go off half-cocked?”

“What’s to plan? We take the lock off his door, go inside, and search around to see if there’s anything there that might explain why he was so upset last night,” said Essie.

Several residents sat down across from them and the women lowered their voices. More residents entered the lobby and placed themselves in chairs around the periphery. Some even sat on the edge of the fireplace.

“First of all,” Opal said quietly, “are all three of us going to do this?”

“Why not?” shrugged Essie. “One of us can stand watch at the door and the other two can search.”

“That sounds like a good idea,” agreed Marjorie.

Sue Barber walked by Essie’s chair, making her cringe. She’d have to get out of that field trip, she mused. Then immediately, she returned to considering the break-in at Bob’s apartment.

“What kinds of things are we looking for?” asked Opal.

“I don’t know,” said Essie, “but since whatever it was that caused Bob to be so upset happened right recently, it’s probably something that we’ll find out in plain sight. I mean, if it’s tucked away at the bottom of a closet, it probably isn’t something that just came to Bob’s attention. . .”

“Attention!” called Sue Barber.

Now what? thought Essie. They were trying to work out the particulars of this plan and here Sue Barber was again sticking her nose into the middle of things.

“Attention, residents!” called Sue. “I’m delighted to introduce to you tonight’s special guest. The world renowned ventriloquist, Geoffrey George, with his friends Ducky and Doozy!”

Applause filled the lobby as a tall, gangly clown with loud striped pants and floppy shoes entered from the office wing holding two large, weird dummies—Ducky and Doozy, obviously. Geoffrey George walked in front of the fireplace—and immediately before Essie, Marjorie, and Opal—making their exit virtually impossible. He held up the dummies. Ducky—or possibly Doozy—had the first comment.

“Welcome, boys and girls!”

The room erupted with laughter. Doozy—or possibly Ducky—interrupted his pal.

“They’re not boys and girls! They’re ladies and gentlemen!”

“I like the lady with the red hair!” noted one of the D’s and gave an audible sigh as he leaned (or rather Geoffrey George held him) towards Marjorie. Marjorie smiled sweetly at the creature and then quickly rose from her seat and planted a big kiss on its nose. The puppet flipped over and landed upside down on his back, all the while clutching his heart which was supposedly beating so hard he had to hold it inside his chest.

The crowd went wild. Great, thought Essie, now we’ll never get out of here. And she was right. A good hour later, the great Geoffrey George and Ducky and Doozy had completed their act and had thoroughly enchanted each and every resident of Happy Haven—every resident that is, except Essie Cobb. The puppets and their master were now holding court in the dining hall, having strawberry shortcake (those ultra-large berries promised in the morning by Santos) and surrounded by a bevy of delighted ladies and a few men.

Essie kept her group—Marjorie and Opal—in the lobby. It was a lot later than she had intended to get started. But the sooner they got into Bob’s apartment, Essie reasoned. the sooner they’d know what was going on.

“Actually,” said Essie to her two friends, “this ventriloquist might work to our advantage. It looks like most of the residents are in the dining hall talking to him. Hopefully, that means they won’t be roaming the halls on the second floor.”

“Are we really going through with this, Essie?” asked Marjorie.

“Why not?” replied Essie.

“Did we ever decide exactly how we’re going about this?” asked Opal. “Personally, I’d rather be the look-out. I just don’t feel right snooping in somebody’s personal effects.”

“I don’t mind looking around,” said Marjorie, “but I don’t want to go through his underwear drawer or his personal man-type items in his bathroom.”

“Like what?” queried Essie.

“You know, Essie. Things that men have that are embarrassing,” she said.

“Like razors and shaving cream?” asked Essie.

“No, you know, things he might have in a drawer for—you know—sex,” whispered Marjorie with a squeamish look on her face.

“Oh, Joan’s bones!” exclaimed Essie, “you had a husband, Marjorie. It’s not like you never saw . . .”

“Enough!” said Opal, “Marjorie, if you run across something distasteful just call Essie! Nothing bothers her!”

“That’s fine. Do that,” agreed Essie, “but I hardly think that Bob collapsed at Bingo and is now lying in the hospital in a coma because someone found his condoms! Let’s be sensible. This is serious and we need to conduct a serious search.”

“All right,” said Marjorie. “I’m ready.”

“I’m ready too,” said Opal.

“Then let’s get going before it’s past our bedtimes,” said Essie, with a look of grim determination on her tanned, wrinkled and very determined face.

Chapter Eleven

“I refuse to admit I’m more than fifty-two, even if that does make my sons illegitimate.”

—Lady Nancy Astor

The far end of the left second floor hallway was quiet, really quiet for eight o’clock on a week night. It was as if all the residents were downstairs in the dining hall talking to a ventriloquist and his dummies. Three heads peeked around the corner. Nothing stirred in the far end of the back hallway.

“Give me the key, Opal,” said Essie. Opal reached out her left hand and dropped the tiny gold key into Essie’s palm.

Essie moved cautiously towards Bob’s apartment door. Marjorie followed. Opal remained at the corner, continuing to keep watch down the main hallway in case anyone should arrive by the elevator at the other end and begin the long trek down the corridor and the back hallway that ran perpendicular to the main one. Essie and Marjorie moved towards Bob’s door. The large security lock remained attached to the doorknob. Essie took the key and moved the security lock around until she found the keyhole. Then she inserted the key and twisted until the lock popped audibly, causing the device to separate into two parts in her hands. Essie handed the separated security lock parts to Marjorie while she turned the door handle.

The door to Bob Weiderley’s apartment opened easily but with some noise. Essie entered cautiously into the darkened room that had a floor plan much like her own. Marjorie followed behind, giving Opal a nod just before she closed the door behind herself.

Inside, Essie ran her hand over the right hand wall until she found the light switch. She hit one of the buttons and immediately there was light from several lamps in the small living room. Bob had laid out his living room much like Essie’s except he had a much larger desk directly across from the door underneath his living room window. His bedroom and bathroom were off to the right as they were in Essie’s (and probably Marjorie’s apartment) too.

“Marjorie,” said Essie, “I’m going to go through his kitchen and living room. You work on the bedroom and bathroom.”

“Okay, Essie,” agreed Marjorie, “but if I find anything disgusting, I’m coming out here to get you.”

“Fine!”

Marjorie deposited the security lock and key on the sink and then headed off to the right and Essie went immediately to work on the small kitchen or nook. She opened the cabinet doors and all the drawers. Inside, all she found were garbage bags, dishwashing detergent, a few plates, cups, and some silverware. Inside of Bob’s small refrigerator were some staples, but nothing unusual.

She then moved into the living room. She checked underneath the cushions of the chairs and the long sofa. There was a TV Guide on the sofa but that was all. There was no telephone in the living room. Bob must be one of those individuals who had one of those cell phones, she thought. Maybe Marjorie would find a telephone in the bedroom. There was a magazine rack beside the sofa. In it were some sporting magazines and a few political magazines, but nothing of a personal nature.

She continued across the room to what appeared to be the center of attention—a large desk. This was more a businessman’s desk than a home desk. On the top was a blotter, a small calendar, several in- and out-files, and boxes full of papers. The long drawer in the front of the desk held paraphernalia such as erasers, glue, scotch tape, paper clips, etc. The side desk drawers held hanging files all neatly labeled and alphabetized. Everything on the desk was neat and everything appeared to be put away. This was certainly Bob’s desk because it was as neat and organized as he was—at least it seemed that way to Essie.

On the desk blotter laid an envelope addressed to Bob. It was postmarked yesterday. The return address was from a Ben Jericho at 1224 Waterford Way in a small town not at all close to Reardon. There was a letter inside. The envelope had been opened. Essie guessed that the letter inside had probably been read and then returned to the envelope by Bob. Essie wondered about the meaning of that.

As she removed the letter, Marjorie came back into the living room, her walker scraping against the carpet.

“Essie, there just isn’t anything anywhere,” she claimed. “I looked through his bath items—nothing there. Not very much in his medicine cabinet above the sink either—just some vitamins and some bottles of herbal supplements. A few bottles of prescription drugs, but I don’t know what they’re for. There’s nothing in his bed stand—not even anything sex-related. I even looked under the bed—and the mattress! Bob just isn’t very interesting.” She stood in the middle of the living room, tapping her fingers on the handles of her walker.

“Hang on, Marjorie,” said Essie. “There’s a letter here I want to read.”

“Is it important?” asked Marjorie, inching closer to the desk.

“I don’t know,” said Essie. “I just found it lying here on the desk. It appears he just got it yesterday.”

“Oh, that sounds weird,” said Marjorie.

“Maybe yes, maybe no,” agreed Essie. “It might just be a coincidence. I need to read it first.”

At that moment, the front door opened and Opal rolled quickly inside and just as quickly turned and shut the door behind her.

“There’s a woman I don’t know coming down the main hallway,” she announced.

“Where’s the lock?” asked Essie.

“Here,” said Marjorie rolling back and grabbing the item from the sink.

“Let’s all go into the bedroom, just in case,” she whispered.

They all rolled their walkers, twisting their vehicles expertly around the bedroom doorframe (something they had learned to do in their own apartments which were identical to this one) until they were all in Bob’s bedroom. Essie shut the bedroom door.

Almost immediately there was a knock on Bob’s main door.

“Bob?” called out a female voice from the hallway. “Bob, are you back? Are you back from the hospital?”

The women remained frozen as the unknown woman continued knocking and calling to Bob. After a few moments, they heard the front doorknob turn and the front door open.

Sounds of footsteps indicated that the woman, whoever she was, had moved slightly inside the door.

“Bob, are you home?” she called out. “Bob, did they release you from the hospital? I was just checking on you.”

The unknown woman stood there a while and waited. The three women hiding in the bedroom were frozen in silence. Finally, the woman in the living room gave an audible sigh and turned and left, closing the front door behind her. After a few minutes, when they were fairly certain she was gone for good, the three friends returned to the living room from the bedroom.

“What was that?” asked Marjorie, hanging over her walker and panting.

“I’m guessing she was a friend of Bob’s—maybe Hazel or Rose or Evelyn, one of his tablemates--who for some reason thought that he was home from the hospital,” suggested Opal, as she nervously rolled her walker back and forth.

“She evidently didn’t hear that he’s in a COMA!” shrieked Essie in a whispered scream.

“I know,” said Marjorie. “She must have seen that the lock wasn’t on his door! She walks by this door all the time and had seen the lock here when she knew he’d been taken to the hospital. Then tonight, she walks by and there’s no security lock! So, all of a sudden, she assumes that he’s better and that he’s returned home and back in his apartment.”

“That’s it!” agreed Essie. “What a close call! I don’t know how we’d explain ourselves if she’d found us.”

“Much more easily than we would explain ourselves if Violet found us!” noted Opal, shaking her head.

“You’re right,” said Marjorie, “Can we get out of here, Essie?”

“Yes, let’s get going,” agreed Essie. “I’ll read this letter when I get back to my place.”

Essie slipped the letter in the envelope under the seat of her walker which contained a nice compartment for carrying things. Then the threesome carefully checked outside the doorway before entering the hallway. Essie slipped the security lock back on Bob’s front doorknob and, using the small gold key, locked it back in place. Opal then took the key and the three ladies rolled quietly to the corner of the main hallway. Carefully checking around the corner and seeing no one in sight, they turned onto the main second floor corridor and headed to the elevator. When they reached the elevator, the door was just opening. They passed several residents exiting who had obviously just returned from visiting with Geoffrey George because they were still talking about Ducky and Doozie. Essie and Marjorie and Opal entered the elevator. When they were alone inside the compartment, they all breathed a sigh of relief. On the main floor, Essie led her two friends to her apartment (after a quick stop at the front desk where Opal discreetly returned the gold key).

Inside Essie’s apartment, the women sat in Essie’s living room and Essie removed the envelope that she had taken from Bob Weiderley’s desk from under her walker seat.

“It’s from a Ben Jericho and it was postmarked yesterday” explained Essie.

“And the postman delivers the mail in the afternoon,” said Marjorie.

“Yes, mail is usually put in our boxes mid-afternoon,” said Essie. Then, she slapped her forehead with her hand.

“What?” asked Opal.

“When I asked Fay what she thought Bob was upset about. . .”

“You asked Fay, Essie?” queried Marjorie.

“She probably doesn’t even know Bob is in the hospital,” added Opal.

“Yes,” continued Essie, “but when I asked her, she said ‘box’ and she said it twice. Don’t you find that strange? Maybe she does know something. Maybe she knows he got a letter in his mail box that upset him.”

“I doubt it,” argued Marjorie. “What could she know? She sleeps through the day.”

“But she did beat us at Canasta this morning!” noted Essie.

“That was a fluke!” said Opal.

“Never mind,” said Essie, “let’s just figure out what to do about this letter.”

“If Bob read this letter yesterday afternoon,” suggested Opal, “then it’s quite likely the reason he was so upset at supper.”

“Yes!” said Marjorie, “it must be the reason!”

“Let’s find out, shall we?” said Essie. She opened the letter. Inside were two pages of handwritten prose and a photograph of a man. There was nothing on the back of the picture.

“Read it!” ordered Marjorie.

“Okay,” said Essie. “It’s addressed ‘Dear Mr. Weiderley.’” Essie began to read. “This letter may come as a shock to you. . .”

“Oh, no!” said Marjorie. “A shock!”

“This letter may come as a shock to you, or it may not. You may not even believe it, but I assure you everything I tell you is true.”

“No wonder poor Bob was so upset at supper. Just the opening petrifies me,” said Opal.

“My name is Ben Jericho. I have a good life—a wife and three wonderful children. My father died over ten years ago. He was a wonderful man and I miss him terribly. I was lucky that my mother was in good health until just recently. Last year, my mother became quite ill. She realized that she didn’t have much time left. Several weeks before she died, she called me to her home to discuss something with me. I thought it would be about burial arrangements or something she wanted done at her funeral. I was totally surprised when she told me that she’d been keeping a secret from me my entire life. She realized that now that she was about to die, she owed it to me to tell me the truth. I had absolutely no idea what she meant. My mother then told me that the man I had considered to be my father all these years was actually not my father.

“She told me that when she was very young, right before World War II, she met a young soldier who was about to be shipped off. She felt sorry for him and was concerned about him and she decided to spend his last few days of freedom with him, trying to provide him with something to remember. She never intended for their time together to become intimate—but it did. And by the end of their three days together, she told me she had fallen deeply in love with this man—and, she believed, he with her. But, it didn’t matter. He was shipped off to war—and she never heard from him again.

“A few months later, she met my father and they started dating. They became serious and when my mother realized that she was pregnant, she told my father what had happened with the soldier several months previous. Being the wonderful, gracious gentleman that he was, it didn’t matter to my father. They were married and he raised me as his own son—which I was for all intents and purposes. They had a wonderful marriage. There was not only me, but eventually they had children of their own—my sister, and two other brothers.

“I miss my father and mother terribly. I was quite happy to let matters stand where they were. Unfortunately, my mother was not content to do that. When she realized that she was dying, she insisted that I try to find my biological father—the soldier she had fallen in love with before he left for war. She asked me to find him FOR her. She knew she would never live to see him. She didn’t want to cause him any distress and she certainly didn’t want me to cause him any distress, but she truly believed that I should know my real father.

“She told me his name. She said he would remember her. She said to tell him that she was the girl with the smiling eyes. Her maiden name was Julia Warren and she married Andrew Jericho. She said my real father’s name was Bob Weiderley.”