Shadows in the Night [Hawkman--Book 12] (3 page)

"Sure, I can be there within thirty minutes."

"Whew, what a relief. See you soon."

Hawkman grinned as he hung up. What will Maggie think of a private investigator with an eye-patch, who wears a cowboy hat, jeans and boots to work? Too bad he didn't live closer. He'd drop by and pick up Pretty Girl, then walk into her room with the falcon perched on his arm. He chuckled as he stood, placed the file in his briefcase, slipped the recorder into his pocket, and headed out the door.

When Hawkman arrived at Morning Glory Haven, he realized he didn't know Maggie's room number. He was very impressed with the outside appearance as he strolled into a large open foyer that looked like an elegant living room. A woman was working at an oak desk, her head bent over a bulky ledger. He stopped and observed a nurse pushing a man in a wheelchair toward an elevator.

After several moments, he crossed the room toward the person at the desk. She wore a suit, instead of a white uniform, and looked more business oriented. When he stopped in front of her, she glanced up and her eyes widened.

"Uh, may I help you?"

"Yes, I'm looking for Maggie Hampton's room."

She started to thumb through the papers on her desk, then laughed. “I'm sorry, she's not in this section. This is the assisted living group. Maggie is in the independent building.” She pulled another book toward her. “Mrs. Hampton was just moved into a one bedroom unit on the second floor, room 202. She pointed toward a double glass door. “Go through there to the next building. The elevator is on your right. Is she expecting you?"

"Yes.” Hawkman touched the brim of his hat. “Thank you.” He walked briskly through the doors into a beautiful area lined with river rocks, a large fish pond and a waterfall splashing down a stepping stone structure. Luscious green plants surrounded the border. He couldn't help but stop and admire the sight before him.

Going through the next set of swinging doors, he walked into a lovely alcove furnished with overstuffed couches and an oak coffee table. A large fireplace and high hearth took up one wall. Straight ahead and facing him was a huge comfortable living area with a colorful jukebox in the corner. Several round tables with white iron cushioned chairs filled the right side of the room. To the left, a large couch and a couple of leather mini sofas separated by another oak coffee table, also faced a fireplace. The walls were lined with colorful paintings, and vessels filled with real flowers of different hues were scattered throughout the room. It surprised him to see the space empty; then it dawned on him it was near dinner time. More than likely, everyone had gathered in the dining room.

He quickly located the elevator and took it to the second floor. Stepping out on the carpet, he glanced at the door numbers and soon found Mrs. Hampton's quarters. He flipped on the voice activated recorder in his pocket and softly knocked. George opened the door and ushered him inside.

"Maggie, this is Tom Casey, the private investigator I told you about."

She held a vase of flowers in one hand as she maneuvered her walker toward the table in front of the large window overlooking the fishpond. She glanced his way. “I'll be right with you. I just moved into this smaller unit and it's taking me a while to get things the way I want them."

"It's very pleasant,” Hawkman said, as he glanced around the interior. The doors were open where he could see into a large bathroom, and a bedroom big enough for a king size bed along with two bedside tables on each side.

Maggie moved toward him and stopped within a foot of his body and glared up into his face. “So you're a private investigator. Bet you scare the hell out of anyone who approaches you."

Hawkman stared down at the frail woman. She wore a dark green pantsuit which emphasized her sparkling hazel eyes. Her short, thin silver hair clung softly to her head, but separated over small ears adorned with tiny emerald earrings. Artfully applied make-up with a touch of soft pink lipstick gave her a delicate appearance. She raised her hand.

"A pleasure meeting you, Mr. Casey. May I call you Hawkman, like George does?"

He took hold of the small fingers. “Of course."

She gestured toward the chair. “Please take this seat. I have many questions."

"I hope I have all the answers,” he said, sitting down.

She plopped on the couch, folded and pushed her walker to the side, then pointed to his eye-patch. “Is that for show or for real?"

He smiled. “It's for real. Due to an old injury, I have difficulty processing light in the eye."

"Maybe one of these days you can tell me the story."

"Sure."

Maggie glared at her husband. “Right now, I have a problem with George hiring a private investigator without my knowledge. We both have reservations about the causes of death of our friends, but we're not sure if they were murdered or died of old age."

"I understand. All I can promise, is we'll look into all possibilities."

"George says you have a man who will watch over me when he's not here."

"Yes, I've hired him already."

She let out a sigh. “I really don't like the idea of strange men hanging around my place. No telling what kind of scuttlebutt will soar through these halls."

"I don't think any rumors that emerge will hurt your reputation. You can always squish them with the rebuttal that you've had threats on your life and we're your bodyguards."

Her face lit up with a big smile. “Oh, you're good. I like the thought.” She rose and took hold of her walker. “Don't mind me. I have to stroll around occasionally or else my hip aches."

George moved to her side.

She gave him a gentle shove. “I don't need any help. Just get out of my way."

After Maggie scooted around the perimeter of the room a couple of times, she flopped down on an overstuffed chair and chuckled. “Gives me a bit of exercise too."

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Maggie glanced at the watch pendant hanging around her neck. “George, don't let me forget to take my medicine."

"You want me to get it now? he asked, starting to stand.

"Of course not, we have a guest,” she grumbled. “It just makes me sleepy and I'd prefer to be alert."

He frowned. “If you don't take your medications regularly, it throws you off schedule."

"I doubt thirty minutes is going to make a hoot of a difference,” she replied curtly.

George nodded.

Hawkman watched the two with interest, then turned his attention to Maggie. “Do you take medication every night?"

"Oh, yes,” she said. “I've missed the ending of many movies because of it. I should change my schedule. I mean, who cares what time I go to sleep or wake up. It's not like I've got an appointment. I can eat anytime because the dining room opens at seven in the morning and serves anything you want all day. I really like this place. It's clean, orderly and the staff's efficient."

"It certainly has lovely grounds.” Hawkman said.

"The next time you're here, I'll take you on a tour. There's a billiard room, a place to watch movies on a big screen, puzzles to work and events happening all the time. They even have bingo."

"Interesting. I'd like to walk around the area.” He pointed out the window to the structure across the way. “I didn't realize I'd come in the wrong way. The woman told me that first building houses the assisted living group, and you lived over here in the independent wing. So what's the difference between the two?"

"The people living in the assisted quarters need twenty-four hour care, so there is staff available night and day. In the independent living group, we've just gotten to the point in our lives where we don't want all the responsibilities of trimming lawns and the upkeep of a home, but are very capable of taking care of ourselves.” She gestured toward a door. “However, there's an emergency pull cord in the bathroom if we need help. It's the one I pulled when I couldn't wake Sybil. The staff rushed up here and called 911. We don't have any medical assistance on this side, so none of the personnel touch us if we fall for fear they might do more damage. They'll cover us with a blanket and stay until the paramedics get here. Which usually only takes minutes."

"At least there's help available to call in case you need it.” Hawkman glanced at Maggie, then again pointed out the window. “I noticed even another extension on the other side. What's that building?"

"It houses people with Alzheimer's. There's no way they can leave without the staff knowing. Each patient has a wristwatch they always wear. It's rigged so it sends a message if they pass through one of the doors they're not supposed to. Then employees can also keep track of them in case they get past the line.” She threw up her hands. “A real state of the art contraption if you ask me."

"Very interesting,” Hawkman said, and then changed the subject. “I don't want to tire you out, but there's a couple of questions I'd like to ask you about your friend, Sybil."

"I'm doing fine. Go ahead."

"How well did you know her?"

"We were friends before we came to this place. After her husband passed away, her health declined to the point she was afraid to drive, and it became too much for her to take care of their huge two story house. Sybil's children wanted to share their homes throughout the year, but she didn't want to be traveling all over the country every six months. She and I talked about this place after I'd broken my hip.” Maggie scowled, “The break wasn't so bad, but the pneumonia and having this horrible arthritis about did me in. No way could I ask George to drive me all over the place. Here they have a bus that will take you wherever you want to go, plus they have all the arts and crafts I love to do. So Sybil and I examined different places, but fell in love with this one; decided to check in together and be roommates. Then she ups and dies on me after almost three years. The doctors said her heart gave out. I miss her so much.” She peered into Hawkman's face with moist eyes. “Sybil never mentioned a heart problem."

"Are any of her children nearby?” Hawkman asked.

Maggie pulled a tissue from the box on the coffee table and dabbed her cheeks. “One son lives in Klamath Falls. The other children live out of state."

"What's the boy's name?"

She pointed across the room to a small desk built into the wall. “George, look in the first drawer and hand me my address book.” She tapped her temple. “I think his name is Jason, but let me check for sure."

George handed her the small tome and sat back down. Maggie thumbed through the pages.

"Yes, here it is.” She read off the name, address and phone number. Then she lowered her lids into a questioning gaze. “Don't you want to write this down? Surely you can't remember all this stuff."

"I have a confession,” Hawkman said, pulling the recorder from his pocket. “I don't like to take notes."

She shut the book and broke into laughter. “George, you've hired the right man. I like him, and if any one can find the truth, I think he can do it.” She reached over and patted Hawkman on the knee. “You're my kind of cowboy."

"Thank you, Mrs. Hampton. I can't promise we'll find a killer, but will do my best to put your minds at ease."

She waved a hand. “Please drop the ‘Mrs. Hampton’ bit; I'm not that old. Just call me Maggie."

Hawkman stood. “Maggie, I think I've overstayed my visit, but I plan returning tomorrow evening with the man I've hired for your approval. What's a good time for us to come?"

"Around six thirty. I'll make sure I've had my dinner by then."

He turned toward George. “I hope you'll have had a talk with the management, so we can start the surveillance no later than Friday."

"I have an appointment at ten in the morning."

"If they don't agree with the plan, we might find it a bit difficult to move around without their permission."

George made a face and waved a hand. “Don't worry. It's in the bag."

Hawkman headed for the door. “I'll see you tomorrow evening.” Stopping, he turned and pointed at Maggie. “Don't forget to take your medicine."

She flitted her fingers in the air and chuckled. “Oh, my, you sound like George."

When Hawkman passed the recreation room, several people had gathered and a few were playing a game of cards. He paused and decided to cross over to the front door, to see where he should park next time. Cars in the parking lot were in special slots, each with a reserved sign in front. He spotted a two year old Cadillac and figured that it just might be George's. Strolling across the parking lot, he meandered over to the rear of the car and could see the writing on the placard which read, ‘Reserved for Hampton'. He smiled as he went back through the building and across the open alcove displaying the fish pond. The lights glistened off the waterfall, but it felt too chilly for anyone to be outside. He walked through the assisted living area and out the door where he'd parked his SUV.

Once inside his vehicle, he gave Jennifer a call and let her know he'd be late. She sounded exhilarated, as she knew he'd started a new case, and wanted to know the details. He hadn't enlightened her previously, so promised to tell her all about it when he arrived home.

Driving toward Copco Lake, Hawkman's mind drifted to Maggie Hampton. Quite a live wire mentally, but he could see her body had deteriorated and understood why she felt George couldn't take care of her needs. She had the freedom to come and go as she pleased, but Hawkman felt she had no desire to leave the Morning Glory Haven comforts. He'd come to the conclusion that both the Hamptons’ minds were sharp and he doubted their fears were false. It made him eager to dig into the lives of those now deceased. He'd need medical histories and hoped he could acquire them through their children, instead of having to go though Detective Williams to legally obtain the records.

He planned to spend time at the facility so he could meet the staff and other residents. It might make it a little easier to find out about individuals and eliminate certain ones as being suspects.

He came to the bridge over the Klamath River and could see the lights shining through the windows of the house. His wife seldom turned in before eleven, which meant he had a good hour of being questioned before bedtime.