Patricia Rockwell - Essie Cobb 03 - Valentined (16 page)

Eventually Santos returned with their dinners. 

“How lovely!” exclaimed Opal.  “Our chef always does such a
nice job with stuffed peppers!” 

“He does,” agreed Marjorie.    

“And oysters for you, Miss Essie,” said Santos as he
deposited a plate of little brown circles in a buttery sauce in front of her. 
Essie gulped and smiled politely at the young man.  The other women quickly
began consuming the peppers which were brimming with finely chopped tomatoes
and other fresh vegetables.  Essie pushed the oysters around on her plate while
she endeavored to ignore the smell of her tablemates’ meals.  She gingerly
stabbed one of the oysters with her fork and took a small bite.   After Santos
disappeared, the women continued their previous conversation in hushed voices that
did not carry to the surrounding diners.

“I hope your overacting did the trick, Essie,” noted Opal
serenely.  “I haven’t seen such an over the top performance since the days of
silent movies.”

“Yes, Essie,” added Marjorie, “you’re a regular Charlie Chaplin. 
All that eyebrow raising and arm waving.  Aren’t you afraid Santos and anyone
else watching you order and talk about your secret admirer will become
suspicious?”

“And what would they become suspicious of, Marjorie?” asked
Essie pointedly.

“That you were lying!” Marjorie replied.  “Nobody brags
about getting a card with that much gushing.  Really!”

“I just wanted to be certain that everyone heard me,” said
Essie.

“They heard you in Cleveland,” said Opal, setting down her
fork.  She had made short work of her pepper and was now patting her mouth with
her napkin.

“The more people who know that I got the secret admirer
valentine and that I still have it, the more likely that the intended
recipient—the drug dealer,” she said, only mouthing this last phrase, “will
know where the card—and the cocaine is.”

“But you don’t have it, Essie,” said Marjorie.  She too had
finished her main course and was waiting for dessert, drinking her coffee.

“Don’t remind me, Marjorie,” said Essie.  “It became
painfully evident to me today that it was a problem.”  Essie was still nibbling
on her oyster, as if she were also nibbling on her problem.

“A problem?” asked Opal.

“Yes,” said Essie.  “It’s really hard to talk about this
wonderful valentine I received and how much I love it and then not be able to
show it to anyone.”

“You can’t show it if you don’t have it,” said Marjorie,
pointing out the obvious.

“It’s at the police lab,” added Opal.

“You think I don’t know that!” cried Essie in a contained
whisper.  “Hmm, these oysters aren’t half bad.”  She finished the one on her
fork and then speared a second one.  “I really wish Detective Abbott hadn’t
felt the need to take it away.  If I had it, it would be so much easier to lure
the dealer in to trying to get it.”

“Essie!” cried Marjorie.  “That’s so unwise.”

“It’s dangerous!” added Opal.  “You know what Detective
Abbott said about not taking any chances and being discreet.  Let the police
deal with this.  You stay out of it!”

“You two,” replied Essie, “have no initiative.  The police
aren’t going to catch this scoundrel.  They don’t have any way to do it.  But I
do.  I can catch him if I can convince him that I have the card that he wants
and he tries to get it.”

“And what if he does try to take the card, Essie,” noted
Opal, “and you get in the way and he…he…”

“What can he do?” asked Essie.  “You think this guy would
hurt an old lady like me?  You think he’d kill me?”

“He might,” replied Opal.  “You’ve got his drug supply, or
he thinks you do.  He may be desperate.  He probably isn’t going to let you
stop him.”

“Yes,” said Marjorie, “I agree.  You are taking a huge
chance by flaunting all over Happy Haven that you have that valentine in your
possession.”

“I don’t care,” replied Essie.  “I’m not going to let him
continue to use Happy Haven as his home base and take advantage of my friends
here in this drug scheme of his.  But without the actual card, I’m forced to
pretend that I have it, but that I’m not willing to show it to anyone.”

“So?” asked Opal.

“If you were the drug dealer,” suggested Essie, “would you
believe that I actually had the card if I never showed it to anyone?”

“I might,” answered Marjorie.

“That’s because you’re so gullible, Marjorie,” sneered
Essie.  Marjorie fluffed her blouse and shook her shoulders in her signature
move.   “If I had the actual card, I could put it on my television just like
Betsy did hers and then lie in wait for the dealer to break in and steal it.”

“And what if he broke in while you were asleep?” asked Opal.

“I’d stay awake all night,” said Essie flippantly.

“Ha!” said Marjorie.  “You fall asleep in your chair while
watching your shows.  You’re worse than Fay!”  At the mention of her name, the
chubby lady in her wheelchair popped awake and looked around at her friends.

“What do you think, Fay?” asked Opal in a confidential
whisper.  “Should Essie keep up this silly pretense of having the secret
admirer card?  Even if she is risking her life?”

Fay’s eyes bulged out as Opal described the situation.  Fay
nodded as she listened to Essie’s dilemma presented clearly by the group’s best
analyst.   Then she reached across the table and grabbed Essie’s hand and
squeezed it tightly. 

“What does that mean?” asked Marjorie.  “Is she giving you
her blessing?”

“Of course she is,” replied Essie.  “Fay is always one for
more action and less talk. Right, Fay?”

Fay nodded.

“Really, Fay?” asked Opal.  “You think Essie should risk her
life by this ridiculous plot that Detective Abbott specifically prohibited?”

Fay stared at Opal and waited for a moment as she appeared
to think about the question.  She looked at Opal and then over at Essie.  All
three women focused on their smaller, quieter friend, still clutching Essie’s
hand.  With a final squeeze of Essie’s fingers, Fay nodded once.

“See!” said Essie.  “Fay agrees with me.  You two may be
scaredy cats, but I’m not, and neither is Fay.  She knows how important this is
and she knows that we, or at least I, have a chance to solve this mystery and
rid Happy Haven of this drug dealer scourge.”

“Oh, all right!” said Marjorie.  “I support you!  I just
hope I don’t end up going to your funeral because of this!”

“Me too!” added Opal.  “I guess if you’re going ahead with
this foolish plan, Essie, the least the rest of us can do is have your back.”

Santos arrived at that moment with their desserts.

“Ooo!” declared Marjorie, “apple cobbler!  I love apple
cobbler!”

“Me too!” added Opal.  The women suddenly were silent as
they dug into the little bowls of fruity, rich goodness.

“Santos,” said Essie, as she bit into a large chunk of crispy
apple, “I believe I saw you delivering another food tray down my hallway this
afternoon.  That wouldn’t be to Grace Bloom, would it?”

Santos finished placing the last apple cobbler in front of
Fay.

“Not remember, Miss Essie.  Sorry,” he replied and then
hastily retreated to the kitchen with their dirty plates.

“What was that about, Essie?” asked Opal.  “You asked Santos
about delivering food trays earlier.  What’s going on?  Why do you care who he
takes a tray to?”

“I know Grace Bloom,” added Marjorie.  “She’s not sick.  She
was at knitting club this morning.”

“She was?” asked Essie, ignoring Opal and focusing on
Marjorie. 

“Yes,” replied Marjorie.  “She seemed fine to me.  She
didn’t say anything about needing a food tray.  Of course, she didn’t stay long
either.  She only showed up to pick up her knitting project from the last
meeting and take it back to her room.  I thought that was a bit odd.”

“Yes,” said Essie.  “It was.”

“You don’t think Grace is involved in this drug dealer scam,
do you?” asked Opal suddenly.

“I don’t,” replied Essie, “but something strange is going
on, and I’m not sure what it is.  But Santos is usually so open about residents
who are having problems.  If Grace were ill you’d think he’d let us know so we
could help her.  Besides, I stopped by her room and she seemed fine, but she
surely didn’t want me to come in.”

“Maybe she’s the drug dealer!” offered Marjorie.

“Oh, no!” said Essie.  “I can’t believe that.”  And she
didn’t, but yet she couldn’t come up with a reason for the strange goings on
between Santos and Grace Bloom.

Chapter Twenty

“I will wear my heart upon my sleeve
for daws to peck at.”

—Shakespeare

Later that night, as Essie sat in her recliner, waiting for
bedtime, she couldn’t help but reflect on the events of the day.  Now as she
sat in her thin pajamas, she felt vulnerable—more vulnerable than she had felt
earlier.  Then she had been all bravado as she implemented her strategy
throughout Happy Haven.  By now, surely the entire building was aware of her
secret admirer and believed that she had the card in her possession.  So far,
no one had attempted to take it from her directly, but there was the unknown
individual who searched her apartment when she was out.  They must have been
looking for the card.

Had she done the right thing?  She had flagrantly disobeyed
the directions of the police who had told her to lay low and be discreet—not
something she was known for doing.  As she looked around her little apartment,
she realized that if the drug dealer was going to come searching for the card,
it would very possibly be tonight.  Her friends were right.  No matter how
motivated she was, it would probably be impossible for her to remain awake all
night.  And when she fell asleep, the culprit would probably sneak into her room,
look in her walker basket for the card, and seeing it not there, leave
undetected.  How would that help to catch him?

There must be a better solution.  Essie put on her thinking
cap.  Her imaginary thinking cap.  It matched her pajamas well because she
often wore it at this time of night.  Logically, she didn’t think there was any
reason to fear for her safety because the drug dealer didn’t want to reveal his
identity to her and he certainly didn’t want to do anything to upset his little
business at Happy Haven.  She assumed that would mean not hurting or
frightening any of the residents, such that the authorities would be called. 
Of course, the dealer probably wasn’t aware that the authorities had been
called and Essie intended to keep it that way—at least until she could catch
him.

But how?  If this fellow sneaked into her apartment and
searched her things and her basket, how would she know unless she was awake? 
And, if she was awake, the man probably wouldn’t come in.  He’d probably be
very careful not to enter if he had any suspicion that Essie even might be
awake.

Of course
, she reasoned,
if he found the
valentine, he’d exit and be satisfied and not bother me anymore. 
But then
she wouldn’t know who he was.  He certainly wasn’t going to stop her in the
hallway and thank her for the valentine.  Oh, how she wished she still had that
card!  The possibilities for catching the dealer just seemed greater when she
possessed the card.  She could show it around.  She could hide it and see who
came looking for it.  Without the card, she was forced to act.  That is, she
was forced to become an actress and pretend that she had the card when she
didn’t.  That was really hard for her to do.  She’d rather face the danger of
the drug dealer breaking in and stealing the card from her walker than be
constantly pressed to pretend something that didn’t exist.

A light bulb went off.  Essie felt it as if a little pop
exploded right inside her head.  It dawned on her that the drug dealer at Happy
Haven was expecting a card, probably a valentine, and probably addressed to
Essie.  What he probably wasn’t expecting or didn’t know was what that
valentine would actually look like.  She had been running on the assumption
that she had to refrain from showing this unseen card because she didn’t have
it.  How carefully would this drug dealer look to see if a card in Essie’s
walker basket was the actual card she had received or a substitute?

She quickly got busy.  Her first thought was the sack full
of greeting cards in the lower left-hand drawer of her desk.  She pulled it
out.  There were some cards in her sack that she never used—mostly because they
seemed inappropriate for any of her children or grandchildren.  She now
selected several of these and pondered them.  One was long, thin, and black. 
Essie didn’t know why she even kept it in her sack.  She couldn’t imagine
giving anyone a black birthday card, even though the sentiment on the card was
appropriate.  Another card was a get well card.  It was flowery, but the
message was obviously one designed for a sick person.  There were actually two
valentines in the sack.  Why she had never sent either of these was abundantly
clear to Essie as she stared at them.  Both were excessively gushy with ribbons
and bows and little birds flying around the edges on one.  As she tried to
choose which one was the best choice for her purposes, she contemplated
primarily the size, shape, and color of the envelopes.  She realized that the
crook would see the envelope first.  Indeed, the crook might not even look
inside when he was swiping the card from her basket.

She chose a valentine designed for one spouse to give
another.  It said “To my beloved” which was similar to the greeting on the
front of the secret admirer card.  Taking it with her and putting away the
other cards, she brought the valentine to her desk and placed it on the blotter
in the center.  The first step was to sign the inside of the card, “your secret
admirer” in a handwriting as similar as possible to that she remembered on the
original.  When that was completed, she turned to the front of the card.  She
realized that it would be important to convey at least a sense that this card
had some thickness to it as did the original—thickness caused by the
cocaine-filled heart in the center.  She searched in her desk drawers looking
for something that she could use to construct a heart.  In a lower drawer, she
found an old photograph album that had some pages comprised of gold leaf. 
Hmm
,
she thought. 
It’s not the pink like the original, but it does have the
requisite fancy quality.
  She pulled apart the pages and used her scissors
to cut a large segment of the foil.  Then, she fashioned a three-dimensional
heart out of the material.  Not perfect, but at a glance, the little gold heart
would do in a pinch.  She then realized she would need something to provide
bulk to the heart’s interior.  She settled on a bunched up tissue that she
glued inside the heart.  Just before she glued the heart to the front of the
card, however, she got another idea.  She rolled over to her kitchen and
rummaged through her drawers.  Far in the back of one drawer, she grabbed a box
of small sandwich bags, similar to those the police had used to collect the
cocaine from her lap.  She extracted one from the box and returned to her
desk.  Here, she searched through her desk drawers, eventually pulling out some
small rubber bands, mending tape, glue, and a bottle of ink.  Carefully, she
filled one corner of the plastic bag with about a tablespoon of ink and then
tightly bound the top with the tiny rubber band.  Then she folded this little
contraption inside the tissue paper, inside the gold foil heart on the front of
the card, applying glue to the entire unit.  She arranged it in such a way that
anyone opening the envelope would find the heart tightly attached to the card. 
Any attempt to pull it off or detach it would result in the baggie breaking,
and ink pouring out.  At least, that was what she hoped would happen.  She
wasn’t going to test it on herself because she didn’t want black hands.  She
hoped this method would work.  She hoped it would help her catch the drug
dealer and keep herself safe in the process.