Chapter Twenty-Five

How could a single flight of stairs take so long? With each step, each tap of my cane, my breath heaved and my heart pounded louder in my ears. Dad and Jen crept up the stairs behind me, their impatience pushing me. The stale smell of cigarettes grew stronger. Hospital employees must use the roof for smoke breaks, out of sight of the patients they chastised to quit.

The door had a piece of wood propping it open, more evidence of employee break use. I paused on the small landing.

You can do this. You’ve faced worse than Mendelson. Don’t think of Mom.

I breathed deeply and pushed open the door.

Sunlight blinded me. I braced the half-open door with my shoulder and shaded my eyes with my hand.

Jen’s voice came from behind me, and from my chest. “Do you see her?”

“Shh!” I’d forgotten to mute my phone. Too late now to go fumbling under my shirt.

I scanned the roof. A thigh-high wall went all the way around it. Thirty feet away from me, two people huddled together at the edge.

My heart stuttered. Mom and Mendelson. I wanted to race to them, but besides my inability to race anywhere, a sudden move might spur Mendelson into a nasty reaction. They sat on the wall, side by side, hunched forward a little. He had his arm around Mom.

Wait, she had her arm around him.

Both heads lifted to look at me, and then they turned back to each other.

I whispered, “They’re here. She looks okay.”

The door swung shut behind me as I slowly crossed the roof.

As I neared them, Mom smiled.

“Good morning, sweetie. It’s nice to see you.” Her gaze dropped to my cane and her eyes widened. “Have you hurt yourself?” She patted Mendelson on the back. “Pull a chair over for my daughter. Can’t you see she’s injured?”

Mendelson ducked his head as he rose and walked toward a cluster of chairs farther along the roof. He held nothing in his hands, and I hadn’t noticed a bulge that could be a weapon hiding in his clothing.

I took the last two steps to Mom and reached for her hand. “Come on!”

She frowned. “We’re not finished here.”

I glanced at Mendelson, who had his back to us as he dragged over a chair.

I tried to pull Mom to her feet. “We need to get away from the edge!”

With my weak leg and one hand on my cane, I wobbled. My gaze slid past the low wall to the street below. Tiny cars darted around like toys on a model track. I jerked back, clutched my cane for balance, and gulped air.

“I didn’t know you were afraid of heights.” Mom looked troubled. “Did I? Did I know that?”

“I’m not.” Not usually. Only when my mother’s safety was involved.

“Please,” I whispered, “we have to get you out of here, away from him.”

“I’m surprised at you. Didn’t you volunteer with the suicide hotline?”

“No.” I almost snapped that I was concerned with murder, not suicide, but if Mom wasn’t frightened, I didn’t want to upset her.

“Oh, that must have been your sister. In any case, we don’t leave someone in trouble.”

Before I could think of an answer, Mendelson rejoined us, and Mom directed him to place the chair facing her. He did so and then sat beside her again. I watched with my mouth opening and closing but no words coming out. I’d played many variations of the scene in my mind, but not this one.

Mom shook her head. “You’d better sit, you look worn out.”

I sank into the chair and stared at them. The November sun shone down on us, but a breeze blew mild air. My body couldn’t decide if it was too hot or too cold.

“Are you all right?” I asked.

“Yes, of course. I don’t understand all the fuss. Hospitals and tests and whatnot.” She patted Mendelson’s arm. “Norman is going to take me home, but he wanted to chat first. He’s had a hard time of things lately.”

I eyed him. “I heard your mother wasn’t doing well.”

His shoulders heaved and he blinked rapidly. “She passed away last night.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” I’d feel even more compassion back inside, maybe with Mendelson in handcuffs or a straitjacket.

He sighed. “Everyone says they’re sorry. They don’t really mean it. I know Mother wasn’t easy. Who knows it better? She could be difficult, but she could also be sweet. And I took care of her. But now . . .”

“You don’t know what to do with yourself.” In a way, I could relate. Darn it, I didn’t want to understand him.

He nodded. “She needed me. I tried to do what was best for her. Now she’s gone and I have nothing.”

Mom patted his arm and looked at me. “He wanted you to understand. You should write a story about the difficulties of finding good nursing care. Someday, you may need to do that for your father and me.”

“Maybe I will write about it.” I glared at Mendelson. “But threatening my mother is no way to get my sympathy.”

His eyes widened. “I would never hurt your mother. I would never hurt anyone, and certainly, not the patients in my care.”

“You said you would.”

“I didn’t mean it!”

Well then, clearly it was on me for believing he might say what he meant.

I rubbed my forehead. “You wouldn’t hurt them, but you’d steal from them?”

He avoided my gaze. “They had it so easy. Big families, plenty of money, lots of people to help. I only wanted enough to take Mother out once in a while, to give her a few little luxuries.”

“Not everyone at Sunshine Haven comes from a rich family. I met Brit Egland’s daughter, Lisa Delacruz. She and her son don’t have much.”

“I only took from the ones who could afford it. A few hundred dollars, now and then, for my mother. It made me so angry, seeing how she suffered. And Sunshine Haven wouldn’t help.”

“That doesn’t excuse your actions.” He was no Robin Hood in my book.

“I know. I came up here, thinking I would tell you my story and then end it all.” He twisted to peer down toward the ground and jerked back with a shudder. Mom took his hand and his shoulders relaxed. “But your mother helped me. She listened. I feel better.”

“Everything will work out,” Mom said. “You’ll see.”

I wasn’t sure about that. “What about the drugs?”

Mendelson’s brows drew together. “What drugs?”

“You gave patients the wrong doses.”

“I don’t have access to the prescription medicine.” He shifted uncomfortably. “I may have given patients painkillers when they were in a lot of pain, or sleep aids when they couldn’t sleep. But only over-the-counter stuff. I hate to see them in pain.”

He might have been lying. We’d never prove it. Zinnia might have been mistaken, or the symptoms she’d seen could have been the combo of prescription medicine and over-the-counter drugs, or Hicks experimenting with poisons.

“You shouldn’t give patients anything without the nurse’s knowledge,” I said. “There could be interactions.”

“It’s better than letting them suffer.” He sighed. “It doesn’t matter now. I won’t work there anymore.”

“Did you call me pretending to be Henry Wilson? And did you try to run me down in the street?”

He cringed and glanced at Mom.

“What’s that?” she asked. “What are you talking about? Norman, what did you do?”

“I wasn’t trying to hit her. I only wanted to scare her, get her to stop asking questions.”

“Oh, you’ll never do that.” She gestured to my cane. “Is that how you got hurt?”

“No, that was—” It was too much to explain. “Never mind. Norman, did you pretend to be Wilson?”

He nodded. “I wanted you to stop.”

“My actions at that point had nothing to do with you. What about the shots through my window?”

“I don’t give shots. Wait, your window—you mean gunshots? No! I don’t like guns.”

I gave him my most intimidating scowl, but he didn’t buckle. The gunshots must have been Hicks. “You been in a white truck lately?”

He shook his head, looking confused. At least we’d cleared up a lot of points: fake Henry Wilson and car that almost knocked me down, Mendelson. White truck and shots through the window, Hicks.

“Anything else we should know?”

He thought for a minute. “I guess not.”

I gave Mendelson another stern look. “All right. I won’t promise you’ll get off scot-free. But I know Sunshine Haven wants to avoid more controversy. If you let my mother go down safely now . . .” I wasn’t sure what I had the right to offer, or what I was willing to offer.

Mendelson stood. “It’s all right. I’m willing to pay for my crimes.” He smiled at Mom. “Ursula, may I assist you back inside?”

“I’ll do it.” I tried to jump to my feet, but my feet tangled with my cane, and by the time I straightened myself out, Mom had taken Mendelson’s arm. I edged close and watched carefully as he led her away from the wall. He was on her right side, which put me on her left. The doctors insisted that with a left leg injury, the cane went in the right hand. I made an exception so I had a free hand close to Mom in case he turned maniacal. So what if I lurched across the rooftop like an orangutan learning to walk?

We neared the door. I imagined Dad and Jen spilling out as the door opened. Things might still go badly if Mendelson got startled and upset—or if Mom did.

I raised my voice to make sure it would carry through the phone. “Once we get back downstairs, my father and sister will be waiting near the elevators.”

“Oh, isn’t that nice,” Mom said. “I haven’t seen them in ages.”

I spoke over the scuffling sound that came from my shirt. “They’ll take Mom back to Sunshine Haven, and you and I can figure out what to do next . . . Norman.” Using his first name felt odd, but I wanted to maintain the friendly connection he felt with my mother.

I went down the stairs first, stretching my arms to hold the railings on each side, even if that meant one hand had to awkwardly hold both the railing and my cane. Mendelson seemed calm and agreeable now, but what if he pushed Mom down the stairs? This way, I’d block her fall with my body.

We made it to the next level. Jen and Dad waited in the hallway a few paces down. I stepped aside to let Mom and Mendelson pass, so I could get behind them. We had them surrounded.

Mom brightened. “Isaac! Have you met my friend Norman?”

“We’ve met.” He eased between Mom and Mendelson and ushered Mom toward the elevator.

Jen blocked Mendelson from following.

Detective Padilla stepped around the corner from the elevators. “I’ll take over now.”

I squeezed past as she addressed Mendelson. Mom and Dad embraced next to the elevators. If Mom didn’t quite understand why Dad was so affectionate, she certainly didn’t mind.

I told Jen, “Get them out of here and back to Sunshine Haven. Otherwise, we could be stuck here all day. I’ll deal with things here.”

She nodded, gave me a quick hug with hands that trembled, and nudged our parents into an elevator the moment it arrived. I slumped against the wall and waited while Padilla cuffed Mendelson and led him over to wait for another elevator.

I asked Padilla, “You get Hicks yet?”

She grimaced. “He’s in the wind. Didn’t go home, dumped his cell so we can’t track it. Left his truck behind, but he might have borrowed something from the shop. His dad and brother aren’t talking.”

Damn. One criminal down but not the worst one. We got in the elevator. Mendelson stood with his head bowed, a plain, ordinary man, flawed and crushed by circumstances. With Mom safely away, I had room to pity him.

I’d have said anything to get them off the roof safely, including promising to do a story on whatever he wanted. Now that the daughter in me could breathe easily, the reporter came to life. His experience, and his reaction to it, was extreme. Yet taking care of aging relatives was a big challenge, and only likely to get worse as the population aged.

The average newspaper wouldn’t give much coverage to tedious policy issues. Even in war zone coverage, my editors always wanted the “flash-bang” excitement, not the gritty details of how and why these problems seemed so hard to solve. But the story of Sunshine Haven had extortion, kidnapping, and murder by poison. Maybe I could find a home for a long magazine piece, with plenty of time to get into the issues, and enough action to keep the readers’ interest.

Some stories were perennial, always green because the problem never went away. I had minimal savings and no children to take care of me, so in another twenty-five years or so, I’d be seeing this problem from the other end. It would be nice to imagine we’d have solutions by then, but I knew better than to think I might write the story that suddenly made politicians and bureaucrats take notice. Talking about problems wasn’t enough. Still, it was a start. At least we could make sure people paid attention and tried to come up with answers.

I was already writing the story in my mind as I rode down the elevator with the detective and Norman Mendelson.

My phone slipped down in my bra, so I turned my back on Padilla and Mendelson, fished it out, and stopped the recording. I could offer it to Padilla. The courts would have to decide if it could be admitted as evidence, but it was legal by what I knew of state law. However, I doubted Mom would want us to pursue the kidnapping charge. I had mixed feelings. Mendelson needed counseling, and I wanted him punished, but prison? That wouldn’t help him or us. He could still be a productive member of society, even without his job at Sunshine Haven.

Mom had charmed Mendelson, relieving some of his grief and anger, or he might have done something worse. Mendelson was the kind of person Mom could charm. Hicks wasn’t. He was the real villain, and this would have gone much worse if he’d been involved.

Hicks was still out there. The police were looking, but they had too much to do. If Hicks kept a low profile, or if he’d already fled the state, they might not find him until he committed another crime, and only then if someone could catch him. That might take years. What damage could he do in the meantime?

His plan to kill my mother and implicate me had failed. He hadn’t shown himself sensible enough to give up and get out while the getting was good. Would he come after us again? Would he target Lisa and Ryan?

It was time to stop waiting for him to act.

We needed to set a trap.