Chapter Fourteen

It took another ten minutes to get all the information from Zinnia. She tended to ramble and go in circles, but she seemed observant and clever. When I glanced back over my notes and put stars next to the main points, I went light-headed. Mrs. Gregorian, who had gotten sick but recovered, and Brit Egland, the most recent death, were among the patients Zinnia thought had been affected. I reminded myself to breathe and to think logically. I didn’t want to make assumptions.

Zinnia mostly worked with the Alzheimer’s patients. About half of them, in her opinion, had shown signs of oversedation in the last three months. Zinnia confirmed that Penelope Valentine had been in the Alzheimer’s unit, which meant both dead women and the one who recovered were in the same wing. That definitely suggested something wrong.

However, Zinnia hadn’t noticed any problems with Penelope Valentine’s sedation level. So far, my mother hadn’t been affected either, but she was the most recent addition.

Alzheimer’s patients could be difficult. They got confused and tried to wander. Sometimes, they got violent. Giving such patients extra sedatives could simply be a nurse’s way of making their job easier. That might be unethical, or even illegal—Jen had said something about that—but it didn’t necessarily mean someone wanted to kill patients. Had the deaths been accidental overdoses?

But it was weird that the extra medication seemed to affect one patient at a time, according to Zinnia. If a nurse had been overdosing patients to keep them calm, why not overdose all the patients on their shift? Maybe they couldn’t get enough medicine? Maybe they targeted the one who seemed most difficult that day?

Zinnia had estimated the dates she’d noticed problems, and each episode seemed to be about two weeks apart. Was that significant, and if so, why? The overmedicating didn’t seem timed to the deaths, but it wasn’t like the girl had been keeping a record. She was basing her recollections on things such as “the week after school started” or “the day they had Halloween cupcakes with lunch.”

“Did you tell anyone about this?” I tried to keep the censure out of my voice, but questions about patient care should be reported.

“Uh-huh. I told Mr. Mendelson a while ago. He said he’d look into it, and I shouldn’t tell anyone else.”

“He’s the one who doesn’t like gossip?”

She rolled her eyes. “I guess I understand, but he acts like I can’t keep my mouth shut because I’m a girl. I’m glad you’re here today, because he doesn’t work weekends. If he saw us talking . . .” She scrunched up her face. “And maybe I’m not keeping my mouth shut right now, but Grandpa said I should talk to you.”

“I’m glad you did. This could be important.” I’d have to take a closer look at Norman Mendelson. Had he ignored Zinnia’s complaint, assuming she was wrong because she was young and female? Had he actually investigated? If so, wouldn’t he have told Heather?

Or was he involved?

“It’s not gossip if you’re investigating, right?” Zinnia asked. “But you don’t really think this has anything to do with those women who died, do you?”

“What do you mean?”

She and I hadn’t talked about the deaths, other than acknowledging that Brit Egland and Penelope Valentine were no longer with us.

She shrugged and glanced around. After a family passed through the room, she turned back to me and lowered her voice. “Grandpa said you were investigating and that’s why it was so important to tell you what I saw. But no one would want to hurt these people!”

“You’re probably right. Either way, it’s definitely something you shouldn’t gossip about. Your grandfather told you I was investigating the patient deaths?”

She frowned. “Not exactly. He asked about Mrs. Valentine and Mrs. Egland. They both passed away recently. Then he told me you were looking into some things here and I should help you if I could.”

“I see.” Except I hadn’t told Henry Wilson about the deaths. I’d only told him I was suspicious because of the phone call warning me to mind my own business. As a board member who didn’t work at the home, I doubted he’d even hear about every death.

As far as I knew, the only other person who knew the deaths were suspicious was Heather Garcia—and possibly a murderer.

My mind whirled, but Zinnia was starting to fidget and I needed to finish my questioning. “Can you tell me anything about Mrs. Valentine or Mrs. Egland, or their families? Did you get to meet any family members?”

“I saw Mrs. Valentine’s daughter a few times, but I didn’t hang around. Mainly, I spend time with patients when their families aren’t here.”

“And Mrs. Egland?”

Zinnia’s cheeks went pink. “I know her grandson, Ryan, from school.”

“Are you friends?”

She bit her lip as her blush blossomed. “Not really.”

“But he’s cute?”

She nodded. “I’m sorry his grandma died. He must be really sad. I wanted to say something when I saw him in school, but I didn’t know what.”

“Just try to be nice, I guess.”

“He’s really shy. His mom seems sweet, but his stepfather is kind of a jerk.”

“He has a stepfather?” Ryan’s mother, Lisa Delacruz, had said she and Ryan lived in that house alone.

“I guess, or maybe it’s his mom’s boyfriend. He came here to visit Mrs. Egland with them a couple of times.” Her expressive face showed her dislike of the man.

“Did he do something that bothered you?”

“He asked me a lot of questions, all jolly like. It was weird. Like he was flirting. And he must be at least forty!”

“What kind of questions?”

“About what I do here, how things are run, stuff like that. Nothing too personal, but why would he talk to me at all if he didn’t want something?”

Why indeed? Was he simply a perv creeping on a pretty teenager? Or was he trying to learn more about the home’s operations? Maybe it wasn’t yet time to give up on investigating the patients’ family members. My head throbbed with all the possibilities.

Zinnia sat up straight and clapped her hands. “They’re here.”

“Ryan and his family?” I glanced toward the door.

“No, the dogs.” She bounced to her feet but turned back to me. “If you want people to talk, do it while the dogs are here. It’s like they wake up.”

I assumed she meant the patients woke up in the presence of the dogs, rather than the other way around.

“Thanks for the tip. And for all the other information. You’ve been a big help.” I gave her my card. “Please call if you think of anything else, or if you see anything suspicious.”

She flashed me a bright smile and dashed after the group of humans and dogs passing through the room. I took a minute to finish my coffee and stretch my leg before crossing to Carla.

“Zinnia seems like a nice girl,” I said.

“She is. A real natural with the patients. We get teenage volunteers in here fairly often, but few of them are as friendly and outgoing as Zinnia.”

“Sundays seem chaotic. Church service, lots of visitors, and then the dogs. I’m surprised you don’t spread out the activities more.”

“They have activities during the week, crafts and games and things like that. Some of the therapy dog handlers visit during the week as well and stop by patient rooms one at a time. But several of the handlers work during the week, so they can only come in on weekends.” Carla studied me for several seconds. “Also, they schedule extra activities on the weekend because so many family members are here.”

“You mean so visitors can enjoy them as well . . .” I paused. “No, you mean because visitors get to see the patients having a good time.”

She nodded. “I’m being honest, since Ms. Garcia said I should help you. You must know that Sunshine Haven is struggling to rebuild its reputation. It’s important that people see the positive things.”

“That makes sense. There’s nothing wrong with a little good marketing, as long as it’s not trying to cover up nasty secrets.”

Carla shook her head and chuckled. “There’s nothing like that here. It’s a nice place to work, and Ms. Garcia is good. Sure, some of the employees are annoying, but you get that anywhere.”

“Like Mr. Mendelson?”

“Mm. Fortunately, I don’t have to deal with him very often, since I mainly work weekends.”

“Lucky you. He sounds . . .”

“Uptight? He’s one of those petty tyrants who acts like the whole place belongs to him. He even stops in on the weekends to check up on us.”

“Really? So he might be here on a Sunday?”

“In theory, he works eight to five, Monday through Friday. I’ve seen his time cards. But I’ve also seen him here on Saturdays and Sundays. He doesn’t stay long, just bustles in, asks questions, like he’s sure you’ve been up to something scandalous, pokes around for an hour checking on everyone, and leaves again.”

“And he’s afraid of gossip.”

Her cool, professional demeanor slipped back on, and she eyed me for a moment. “He’s right about that. Gossip can be dangerous to a place like this. I trust you won’t repeat what I’ve said.”

“Of course not. I understand the importance of protecting the business’s reputation. But it seems like Mr. Mendelson has an obsession.”

“I suppose you could call it that. In my opinion, he’s a control freak.”

Did Mr. Mendelson get an ego boost from throwing his weight around? Or was he terrified of gossip because he had secrets? One more question that needed answering, especially since he was now on the list of people who might be there on a Sunday afternoon.

“Well, I guess I’ll check out the fun. Thanks for your help.”

By the time I got to the sunroom, the dogs and their handlers had spread out with different clusters of patients and visitors. Happy chatter and laughter filled the room as elderly residents and young grandchildren bonded over the dogs. The room smelled a bit doggy, a nice change from medicinal cleaning products and air freshener. I spent a few minutes with Mom and Dad as she stroked the ears of a panting beagle and spoke to it in baby talk. Then I wandered around the room, listening in on other conversations. Good thing Jen wasn’t there to scold me for neglecting my daughterly duties.

The male PT was chatting with a group of people I didn’t know. Not a great time to talk to him. In a far corner of the room, I lingered by a skinny man in a wheelchair. His scalp showed splotchy age spots through his sparse hair. He didn’t seem to have any family visiting. The only people nearby were a gray-haired woman with her eyes closed, and the burly, forty something man crouched beside the dog. The man in the wheelchair hunched forward, his hand on the dog’s head. The beautiful Irish setter rested her chin on his knee, looking up adoringly. I moved closer so I could hear the elderly man’s hoarse voice over the background murmur. He was telling war stories, remembering the military dogs.

A minute later, he glanced at my cane, then up at me. “Well hello, young lady.”

I grinned. “Don’t mind me. I’m just enjoying your stories.”

“Oh, no one wants to listen to my rambling. Except Sasha here.” He stroked the dog’s ears.

“She seems like a good listener.”

The dog handler said, “He’s one of her favorite patients. But I should spread the love around, if you’re going to keep him company.”

“Oh, uh, sure.” I glanced across the room at my parents. Jen’s voice in my head scolded that I should be spending time with them, not a random stranger. But Mom had Dad, plus a circle of chattering patients and visitors. Besides, I was trying to learn more about Sunshine Haven, and this patient looked like he could have lived there for years.

We introduced ourselves. His name was Tommy, and we chatted for several minutes about his life and mine. I guessed he wasn’t an Alzheimer’s patient, because he seemed mentally sharp, if physically frail. I pointed out my mother and asked questions about the home. I finally got one interesting nugget of information.

“I had a friend in your mother’s hallway. Penelope Valentine. Beautiful lady.” Tommy sighed.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I know she passed away two weeks ago.”

“Nearly everyone I know has died.”

“I gather she went suddenly.” I wanted to get information but not make him suspicious or upset. “Did you notice anything unusual in the day or two before she died?”

“Unusual?”

I shrugged. “Anything to suggest she was unwell? Any . . . extra attention from the staff?”

“I did notice a strange man come out of her room as I was on my way to visit her. Not one of the staff, because he wasn’t in uniform. At least, I’m pretty sure it was her room. I had barely turned into that hallway so I could have been mistaken. When I asked her about her visitor, she seemed confused, but poor Penny was often confused about things that had just happened. We mainly talked about the past.”

“When was that?”

“The evening before she died. I don’t remember the date.”

The perfect time for a poisoner, if the poison took several hours to work. “Could it have been Mr. Mendelson? He works here, but I don’t think he wears a uniform.”

“No, I know him. This was a big guy.”

“What else do you remember about him?”

“My eyes aren’t so good anymore. He had short hair, light-colored, gray or maybe blond.”

“Any idea how old he was?”

“Younger than me.” He chuckled. “Maybe forty or fifty? I can’t recall his face. Now, why is that?” He thought for moment. “Oh right, he put his hand up, kind of rubbed his face and turned away. Not friendly at all. But some people are nervous around us old folks in wheelchairs. They’d rather ignore us than have to interact.”

My heart pounded, but I smiled and kept my tone mild. “You said he was big. Tall?”

“Hmm. It’s harder for me to judge from down here.” He gestured at the wheelchair. “But he didn’t strike me as especially tall. More bulky, you know? Like someone who does physical work. Maybe average height or a bit more.” His shrewd eyes studied me. “What’s this about?”

I glanced around. My gaze met that of Mr. Mendelson across the room. The gossip-hater was here, and he was glaring at me.