Patricia Rockwell - Essie Cobb 04 - Ghosted (7 page)

CHAPTER ELEVEN

“An idea, like a ghost, must be spoken to a little before it will explain itself.”

                                          ––Charles Dickens

Glancing down at her wristwatch, Essie realized that it was getting very late.  If she was going to get any breakfast, she’d better get going before they closed the dining hall.  She steered her walker to the right toward the dining entrance which was a large glass door, delineated by a velvet chain barrier that indicated where residents should line up when they arrived early for a meal—which was most of the time. 

At the moment, there was no one in line and not even any of the kitchen workers standing guard as they usually did to prevent pushing and fighting.  Essie recalled several times when some of the residents had actually gotten into fist fights to be first in line when Cook made one of his specialties.  This morning was not one of those times.  Essie steered her trusty metal steed expertly through the
open glass door in the center of the glass wall that marked the dining hall.  She quickly headed for a table on the far side near the kitchen entrance.

“Goodie pudding!” she said to herself when she saw that her pals were still seated.

Essie rolled over and parked her walker beside her chair and slipped into place.

“Essie!” cried Marjorie.  “Where have you been?”

“We had almost given up on you showing up for breakfast at all!” added Opal.  Both women set down their coffee cups.  Fay gave Essie a sweet little wave of greeting from across the table.  All three women had plates in front of them and it was evident that breakfast had been tasty because there wasn’t much food left on any.

“I was on an adventure,” said Essie softly, leaning over the table.

“What?” the two talkative friends asked at once.  However, before Essie could respond, Santos, the young waiter, appeared with pad in hand.

“Miss Essie!” he said
. “We almost give up to you!  You never miss the breakfast!”

“Sorry, Santos,” replied Essie sweetly, still breathing hard from her fast trek across the dining hall.  “Just bring me one scrambled egg and some toast.”

“No juice?” he asked.

Essie reflected on the last time she drank juice.  It was
this morning when she was forced to drink that despicable vitamin supplement.  The foul powder made a simple glass of orange juice taste like wet sand.

“No thanks, Santos,” she said.  “Just egg and toast.  Oh, and coffee!   Coffee first!  Right away!”

Santos jotted some notes on the pad and then zipped back to the kitchen, only to immediately return with a coffee pot.  He expertly poured the hot beverage in Essie’s cup and headed back to the kitchen.

“Thank you, Santos,” she said to his back.  Essie picked up a small creamer from a wire bowl in the center of the table and opened it, adding about half of the cream to her coffee.

“What adventure, Essie?” demanded Marjorie in an insistent whisper.

“Just a minute,” said Es
sie, finishing a sip of coffee.  She set the cup down.  “I found out the name of the mystery man!”

“You mean the new resident?” asked Marjorie.  “The one with the beautiful mustache?”

“The very one!” announced Essie proudly.

“What is it?” asked Opal, not nearly as enthusiastic as her companion.  She continued to sip from her cup.

“Edward Troy,” replied Essie. 

“Did you meet him?” asked Marjorie
excitedly.

“No,” said Essie.  “I just asked Phyllis.”

“That makes sense,” said Opal with a shrug.  “Phyllis knows everyone at Happy Haven.”

“So,” continued Marjorie, bending over to Essie.  “What else did she tell you?”

“Nothing,” said Essie.  “She wouldn’t even tell me where his apartment is or anything about him.  I guess I’m not surprised.  Remember how tight-lipped she was when Bob Weiderley was in the hospital?  They tried to get information about him and Phyllis was a rock.”

“I remember,” agreed Opal, wiping coffee from her upper lip with a cloth napkin.  “It’s really a good thing that she protects our privacy the way she does.”

“Otherwise,” added Marjorie, “we might be bombarded with all sorts of sales people.”

“Yes,” said Essie
, finger extended while she took another sip.  “But even though Phyllis wouldn’t tell me anything about this Edward Troy, it doesn’t mean that I don’t have information about him.”  Essie leaned forward in her chair, clutching her cup, her chin almost dangling in her coffee.

“What information?” asked Marjorie.  Opal merely looked quizzically at her friend.

“I followed him this morning,” whispered Essie, looking around to be certain that no one was listening in.  All of the other residents appeared to be engaged in conversations at their own tables.  “I was at my mailbox when he walked by towards the kitchen entrance, and when he went through it and headed down the back hallway towards the back entrance, I followed him.”  She sat upright and set her cup down and nodded triumphantly to one friend after another.

“Why would he go out the back entrance?” asked Opal, scrunching her forehead.

“Maybe he wanted to go for a walk behind the building,” argued Marjorie.

“Nopie
slopie!” replied Essie.  “Almost as soon as he got outside, a car drove up and he got in.”

“Wait a minute, Essie,” said Opal.  “That isn’t right.  If a resident leaves, they’re supposed to sign
out and say where they’re going.”

“Maybe no one told him the rule, Opal,” said Marjorie
, fuming.  “He is a new resident.  I mean, Happy Haven has a lot of regulations!  They’re always reminding us of them over the intercom or in those daily newsletters they leave on our doorsteps.  He probably just didn’t realize that he was supposed to go out the front entrance.”

“He didn’t go anywhere,” said Essie.  She looked around the table and the three women responded with puzzled expressions
—even Fay.

“What do you mean, he didn’t go anywhere?” asked Marjorie.  “You just said he got in a car.”

“I know what I said, Marjorie,” replied Essie.  “He got in, but he just sat there and talked to the driver for a while and then after a few minutes, he got out and came back inside.”

“Why would he do that?” asked Opal.

“Opal, if I knew that, I’d tell you!” cried Essie, and then realizing that she was talking a bit too loud and that some of the other residents had glanced over at her, she continued in a softer voice.  “I don’t know why he went outside and got in that car, but I do know that when he came back inside, he had a package with him.”

“What was it?” asked Marjorie.

“If I knew that, Marjorie, I’d tell you!” said Essie in her loud voice again.  Several residents turned and looked at her.  Essie smiled apologetically at them and whispered.  “I don’t know what was in the package.  It was just a cardboard box of some sort with a lid.  There were no markings or anything on it so I can’t even speculate as to its contents.”

Santos returned with Essie’s breakfast.  The aroma was invigorating and Essie dug in, downing the meal in record time.  In between bites, her table mates plied her with questions and comments about new resident Edward Troy and his foray out the back door to get a small package.

“Why didn’t this person just leave the package for him at the front desk?” asked Opal.

“Why, indeed,” replied Essie, wiping away a
bit of egg from her chin.  “As soon as he got the package, he left the car and the driver drove away.  Mr. Troy came back inside and went directly through the lobby and onto the elevator.  I was lucky that I managed to get back to the lobby before he saw me.”

“So, he lives on the second floor,” said Marjorie, her eyes indicating how fast her brain was calculating the provided information.  “Have you seen him up there, Opal?”

“No, I haven’t,” replied Opal. 

“I think you should keep your eyes open, Opal,” suggested Essie.  “Maybe you can find out where his apartment is.  If you see him heading down a particular hall, it would make it easier to track him down.”

“And why would we track him down, Essie?” asked Opal, shaking her head as if she were talking to a child with a wild scheme.

“Because I’m concerned about what might be in that package!” cried Essie in a dramatic whisper.

“Such as?” said Marjorie.

“A bomb!” replied Essie.

“Essie, wherever did you get such a ridiculous idea?” snorted Opal. 

“He sneaks out the back way so he won’t be seen.  He picks up a strange package from a driver in a car there rather than having the person deliver the package in the normal way to the front desk.  He’s a new resident and nobody knows very much about him.  He is a retired military
officer—or says he is.  Those are just some possible reasons!” explained Essie.

“But, Essie,” argued Marjorie, “he does
n’t look even a little bit like a terrorist.”

“Muffins to Mulberries!” cried Essie
. “Haven’t you heard of disguises, Marjorie?”

“If he wins the Halloween costume contest,” noted Opal, shaking her head, “I guess that will be the clincher.”

“He might be in deep cover,” continued Essie.  “That’s what those terrorists do.  I know one of his behaviors is not enough to indict the man, but put them all together and they do seem a little suspicious, don’t they?”

“To you, maybe,” said Opal, giving Essie a condescending glare.

“I don’t care if you don’t believe me, Opal,” replied Essie.  “I think that there’s something strange going on with this new resident Edward Troy and I’m going to find out what.”

“You do that!” said Opal, standing and setting her napkin beside her plate.  “I need to get going.”

“Me too, Essie,” added Marjorie.  “I’d love to hear what you find out about Edward Troy, though, Essie.  Can you find out if he’s married?  Or has a girlfriend?”

“Really, Marjorie!” said Essie, her shoulders drooping.  Marjorie also got up from the table and prepared to leave.

“Ready, Fay?” asked Opal.  Fay smiled and pressed a button on her wheelchair which rolled it out and back from the table.

“Oh, Essie!” said Opal.  “Before we leave, we must decide what we’re going to do about the Haunted House field trip.”

“Yes!” added Marjorie.  “Please come with us, Essie.  I know!  Maybe this Edward Troy will be on the field trip and we can find out more information about him on the bus!”

“Hmm,” replied Essie
.  The thought of being trapped on the HH bus for an ungodly amount of time with no bathroom facilities—even if it allowed her to get closer to the strange man—was a difficult one.  “I’ll have to think about it!” said Essie finally, smiling at her three pals and giving them a wave with her napkin.  The trio turned and rolled single file out of the dining hall.

Essie stared at her coffee cup, giving a few sweet smiles to the residents who, like herself, were still in the hall savoring their coffee.  As she stared at the brown liquid in
the cup, the swirling waves seemed to create images.  Essie stared at the changing patterns.  At one point, the face of her husband John seemed to appear in the bottom of the cup.  She smiled.  He seemed to smile back.  He seemed to be speaking to her.  She strained to hear what he was saying. 

“Essie, Essie,” his voice called to her so tenderly.  It almost felt as if he was touching her, his big hand gently on her shoulder.

She sat up abruptly and turned her head to the side where Santos was bending over her, his hand on her shoulder.

“Miss Essie,” he whispered softly.  “You fall asleep, Miss Essie.  We need to have vacuum the carpet, Miss Essie.  I give you coffee in paper cup to take to your room?”

Essie glanced around.  All of the other residents had left the dining hall.   She was the only person left.  Now how did that happen?  She was just sitting here sipping her coffee.  She’d just glanced down for a second when she seemed to see her husband’s face in the coffee.  And now, Santos was waking her up.  She must have fallen asleep.  She gave Santos a sheepish smile.

“No, thank you, Santos.  I’m fine.”  Then she grabbed her walker and headed out of the dining hall as fast as she could.

CHAPTER TWELVE

“When I see ghosts they look perfectly real and solid—like a living human being.”

                           
—
Chris Woodyard

She could see a group of men standing around her door as she headed down her hallway.  Who could they be?  As she rolled closer she recognized Ned, his brother Bo, and Bo’s buddy Dugan.  Now what did they want?

“Gram!” greeted Ned warmly when he spied Essie coming toward them.  Bo and Dugan mumbled a similar greeting in true teenage boy style.  “We’ve been knocking and were just about to give up!”

“I…I was at breakfast, boys,” replied Essie.  Of course, she’d been more than just at breakfast but these youngsters didn’t need to know that.  “Why are you all here?”

“Oh, Mom is worried about the answering machine, Gram,” explained Ned.  “Bo and Dugan just tagged along.  Mom wants me to check the device.  She says she and Aunt Pru have been sending you messages but you haven’t returned their calls.”

“Is something wrong?” asked Essie, leaning on her handlebars, suddenly out of breath. 

“Oh, no, Gram,” said Ned, in a calm, assuring voice.  “You know Mom; she just gets hyper.”

Essie wasn’t exactly certain what Ned meant by “hyper” but it was probably the perfect description of Claudia.  She smiled at the young men, scooted in between them, and opened her doorway.  “Come in, boys.”  She rolled into her apartment and over to her recliner where she gratefully collapsed in its soft cushions.  The three boys removed jackets and flung them on one of Essie’s arm chairs.  Ned immediately came over to the end table and knelt down beside the answering machine.  As before, Bo and his friend remained standing in slouched positions staring either at each other or out Essie’s small window.

“The light’s blinking,” said Ned.  “So, it’s recording.  Let’s just see how many messages you have.”  He punched some buttons.  “See, Gram, this button is for ‘play’ and now we’ll he
ar what messages you have.”  He pressed the button.

“You have 14 messages
,” intoned a lifeless male voice. 

“Oh, my!” cried Essie.  “Why would I have so many messages?”

“Was the light blinking when you left for breakfast?” Ned asked.

“I don’t think so.  But I’m not sure.  I guess I really didn’t notice,” she said slowly.  “But I don’t think so, now that I think about it.”  Essie remembered the two calls she had received where the caller had left no message. 

“Let’s just see who these messages are from,” said Ned, efficiently pushing another button.  “See, Gram, just press this button to listen to your messages one by one.”  He pushed another button.  Essie’s eyes were blurring and her mind was reeling with the list of buttons and all their duties. 

“Mom, this is a test,” rang out Claudia’s voice.  “I’m checking to see if the answering machine is working and if you’re able to work it.  Call me back.”

“Gabe’s babes!” Essie declared.  “I guess she doesn’t trust me.”

“She just wants to be sure you can work the machine, Gram,” said Ned
reassuringly, a hand on Essie’s shoulder.  “Come on!  We’ll work on it together as many times as you want until you feel comfortable with it.  I probably just dumped it on you yesterday without really having you practice it enough.  That’s my fault, Gram!” 

“It’s not your fault, Ned,” assured Essie.  “I’m just a stupid, old woman!”  She stared at the machine and its array of buttons, a bewildered look on her face.

“You’re definitely not a stupid, old woman,” replied Ned, giving her a warm hug.  “I know I couldn’t have solved all those mysteries like you did!  You’re a star in my eyes, Gram!  Let me be a star in yours and help you learn how to work this machine.  It is, after all, something I do all the time, so I should understand it.”

“All right, Ned,” said Essie, smiling.  Her grandson was obviously more than just a technological wizard; he was a tender soul too.  “Show me again.”

“Okay,” he said, pushing the button again.  “This button is for listening to your messages.”

“Mom,” Claudia’s voice said again on the recording, “Mom, please call me back when you get this message.  I want to be sure you are getting your messages and understand how to work your answering machine.”

“It’s her again,” said Essie.  “She really doesn’t trust me.”

“She’s just concerned,” noted Ned
a little sheepishly.  He played the next message which was also from Claudia reiterating the same demand.  He continued playing all fourteen messages.  Most were from Claudia, but a few were from Pru, backing up her sister in her concern.  Eventually, Ned finished playing all fourteen messages which turned out to be all from Essie’s daughters.  Ned showed Essie how to delete the messages after she heard them. 

“Now, Gram, do you want to call Mom and let her know you got the messages?” he asked.

“Not really,” said Essie.  “Ned, all those messages made me feel as if something was terribly wrong and someone needed to get in touch with me right away.  And it turned out that Claudia was just checking.  All that agony and all for nothing.  She could have just waited until I returned from breakfast and called me like a regular daughter.”  Essie pouted and stuck out her chin.

“Right, Gram,” agreed Ned.  “I know Mom can get a little demanding at times.  But she means well.  She’s just concerned about you.  Really.”  Essie looked at her grandson and realized that indeed he probably experienced his mother’s sometimes overbearing ways.  Essie sighed.  “Here,” he continued.  “I’ll just give her a quick call to let her know you’re okay.”  Essie rested her eyes
in relief while Ned made the call to Claudia.  She could hear the annoyance—or worry—in her daughter’s voice over the phone because Ned was still kneeling beside her.  She felt sorry that Ned had to take the wrath or whatever Claudia was dishing out that was really meant for her. 

Oh, stop that, Essie
, she mused. 
Your daughters mean well.  They got you an answering machine for your safety and to make your life easier.
  She repeated this mantra to herself several times but was unable to truly believe it.  But whether she believed it or not, it really wasn’t fair of her to put poor Ned in the middle.  She opened her eyes.

“What was the listen button again?” she asked. 
Ned smiled and patted her shoulder.  He took her once more through the routine of the features of the answering machine and how to make it work.  Essie tried to follow his explanation as he pointed out each button on the device.  She was finding it very difficult to follow along as the machine had somehow become very blurry.  “Oh, Ned, I’m sorry I’m having so much trouble.  I guess I’m tired.”  She gave him a pleading look.

“Oh, sorry, Gram,” said Ned, pulling back.  “We should probably be going.  I can come over any time you like and help you practice your answering machine again
if you want me to.”  He smiled. Essie couldn’t help but close her eyes.  She was so tired.  She heard Ned mumbling to his brother and his friend. The three boys were chatting softly, apparently discussing where they were going next or what they were going to do now that they’d done their answering machine teaching duty. 

Essie listened to their voices in the distance, like a movie playing in another room.  When she opened her eyes, the boys were gone and she was a little less tired.  She stared at her outside window which morphed a bit in shape.  She squeezed her eyelids open and shut a few times and the blurriness subsided.

“Hairy Mary, do I need to see my eye doctor?” she mumbled to herself.  She resolutely pushed herself out of her recliner and rolled her walker into her bedroom.  Looking around, she felt a bit forlorn.  The closet door was open and was virtually empty.  Only a few of Essie’s favorite pants and tops remained hanging on the racks like pieces of laundry left out to dry.  All of the cardboard boxes were gone and had been replaced by some stylish two-tone plastic containers.  Several of these lined the floor and some smaller ones were piled up on the shelves above.  She had to admit that her daughters had done a superb job of cleaning and clearing out her closet.  It looked immaculate.  As she moved over to her dresser and opened a few drawers, those too were sparser and neater.  She was grateful that the girls had left her favorite underwear items.   There was her favorite beige bra and the black one for special occasions.  Her daughters were right.  She didn’t need dozens of brassieres.  She didn’t need dozens of panties.  She didn’t have unlimited drawer space.  Both jewelry boxes remained.  One on top of the dresser and one in the second drawer.

Essie moved over to her bedroom window and glanced outside.  This window afforded a perfect view of a chestnut tree that attracted many local squirrels.  At the moment, one small brown one was high-tailing his way up the trunk with a large nut in his jaws.  Essie smiled as she watched his efforts.  As she focused in on the little creature, the squirrel seemed to blur and change shape.  Essie blinked and shook her head.  She refocused on the squirrel, but he was
now no longer a squirrel; he was much bigger—more like a muskrat or a beaver.  Wait a minute!  A beaver couldn’t climb a chestnut tree, she thought, as she watched the large mammal shimmy his way up the base of the tree.  She squeezed her eyes tighter.  Surely, her eyes were playing tricks on her.  As she stared, the beaver got bigger and bigger.  The higher he climbed, the bigger he got.  Essie’s breathing increased.  She felt a horrible sense of panic but she couldn’t take her eyes off of the climbing beaver.  Still focused on the animal, she rolled herself back from the window, reaching out for her bed behind her.  She inched herself down onto her mattress, while still holding onto her walker.  When she was finally seated, she carefully moved her eyes away from the window and into her bedroom.  Everything was the same.  Her furniture.  Her bed.  Her newly cleaned closet.  She sat on her flowered duvet, both hands on her walker’s handlebars, and looked at the rug beneath her feet.  Her shoes were the same sneakers she always wore.  Carefully, she lifted her head up and stared into the mirror on her dresser.

Instead of her own face, the face of a giant beaver was smiling back at her.

Essie cried out a little scream and fell backwards onto her bed.