Chapter Fifteen

Mendelson started toward us.

I put a hand on Tommy’s wheelchair and leaned down. “I’ll tell you all about it sometime, if I can. But for now, please pretend we’ve only been chatting about times long past.”

Mendelson joined us, his hands on his hips. “Miss Tessler, I see you’re here again. I hope you aren’t bothering the residents with your questions.”

“I prefer Ms. Tessler, and I was having a lovely chat with a very interesting man.”

My new friend beamed at Mendelson. “Not many people want to listen to my war stories, but this young lady has been humoring me.”

I nodded. “It’s wonderful to see how excited everyone is about the dogs.”

He gave a harrumph. “Waste of money.”

“You pay the handlers to bring in the dogs?”

“Well, they’re volunteers, but there are expenses. In any case, look at this, this disorder.” He gestured around the room as if people were shooting paintballs and Silly String instead of petting dogs.

“I see people having a good time. Don’t you want that?”

“We want people to be satisfied quietly and calmly.”

I wasn’t sure whether to laugh, be annoyed, or feel sorry for the guy, forced to deal with actual human beings in all their complexity and messiness. Maybe he should get a job restocking the shelves at a container store instead. But why did he come in on the weekends if he didn’t enjoy it? Did it bother him more to be at home, knowing the chaos here?

If I’d been feeling generous, I might have tried to placate Mendelson. But where was the fun in that? I could confront him about the pain medication, but I’d have more ammo after I talked to Heather. Besides, I didn’t want to get Zinnia in trouble, or make my new friend Tommy more suspicious.

I spotted Mrs. Gregorian and her family. I’d probably learned all I could from them about Mrs. Gregorian’s illness and recovery, but Zinnia had named Mrs. Gregorian as one of the overmedicated patients. The girl thought that episode had been at least six weeks earlier, so not related to the illness, but it opened up a new line of questioning.

And another thing: Mom had gotten worried about money shortly after seeing Mrs. Gregorian. Could that have been the neighbor she meant, the one who claimed she’d been asked for more money? Could “Mr. Brown—no, Mr. Rogers” actually be Mendelson? He’d been wearing a brown button-up sweater, so maybe that triggered Mom’s memory but sent it in the wrong direction.

I turned to Tommy. “It was lovely talking to you. I hope we’ll meet again when I’m here visiting my mother. I need to speak to some other new friends now.”

Mendelson scowled and shuffled his feet.

I grinned. “Have a great day.”

I felt his gaze on me as I turned to cross the room.

Between the residents, visiting family members, dogs, and their handlers, the spacious room was a swirl of activity. I waited for a woman using a walker to cross in front of me. My leg ached, so I shifted more of my weight onto my good leg and the cane. A man to my right half turned, gesturing wildly with his arms while he told a story. I flinched back to avoid being hit.

Something slammed into my left leg. I grunted in pain as my leg collapsed. My cane swung upward, goosing the gesturing man and tangling in his legs.

The next thing I knew, I was sitting on the floor in a heap. I looked up at the wheelchair that had hit me, and into Tommy’s distressed face.

“Oh, Kate, I’m sorry. I don’t know what happened.” He twisted in an attempt to look over his shoulder, but he didn’t have much range of motion. “Someone pushed me forward.”

People circled us, watching. Nobody stood behind Tommy’s wheelchair at the moment.

I said softly, “Did you notice anyone behind you?”

He glanced around at the crowd and murmured, “I didn’t look back. I’m really sorry.”

Had Mendelson, or someone else, intentionally pushed Tommy’s wheelchair at me? Or was it merely an accident from the crowd?

“It’s not your fault.” I straightened my leg and massaged my thigh.

The woman with the walker asked if I was hurt, and a voice behind me said, “Do you need help?”

I shifted to look at the person, but Mendelson pushed in front of them. “Don’t move,” he said.

“Excuse me?”

“Stay right there until the ambulance arrives.”

“I don’t need an ambulance.” I needed people to stop staring at me. “I’m fine.” Except for being stuck on the floor.

“If you are injured, you must go to the hospital to be checked. Otherwise you will have to fill out a form absolving Sunshine Haven of all liability.” The light reflected off his glasses, hiding his eyes, but his mouth twitched like he was trying not to smile.

I groaned. “I’ll sign the form.”

I probably had new bruises on my old bruises, but I wasn’t about to go to the hospital for that. Any strained muscles could be dealt with at my PT appointment the next day.

“Get a form from Carla at the front desk,” Mendelson snapped at a woman in an aide’s uniform. He looked down at me, his hands on his hips. “You’ll have to stay there until you sign it.”

Dad pushed his way through the crowd. “Don’t be ridiculous. She can get into a chair.”

We ignored Mendelson’s protests as Dad and another man helped me up. Someone vacated a nearby seat, and I limped to it. Mendelson walked away. I was willing to bet he had pushed Tommy’s wheelchair at me in order to distract me or prevent me from talking to the Gregorians. But with everyone’s attention focused elsewhere, no one witnessed the event. Now, Mendelson was with the Gregorians, probably warning them about the dangers of gossiping with me. I hoped he could feel my glare, because I couldn’t do anything else at the moment.

The aide came back and I signed the paperwork. I rested for a few more minutes, largely because I didn’t want to walk through the crowd. Finally, the dog handlers headed out. Some patients drifted toward their rooms, while others settled in with family members. I hadn’t noticed Mendelson leaving, but I didn’t see him anywhere.

I heaved myself to my feet and headed toward the Gregorians, trying not to limp more than necessary. When I got close to the family, the son-in-law I’d spoken to before blocked my way, his arms crossed. He didn’t look friendly.

I smiled anyway. “Nice to see you again.”

“We don’t have anything to say to you.”

Mentally, I sighed, but I kept my smile in place. “I’m not sure I understand.”

“We know you’re a journalist trying to dig up dirt on this place. You won’t get any from us.”

“I’m not here as a journalist.”

“Yeah, right.” He leaned closer. “Do you know how hard it was to find a good place? We can’t afford to start over.”

“I think there’s been a misunderstanding. Mr. Mendelson obviously warned you about me, but I’m honestly not here for a story. What did he say I’m trying to do?”

“He said shocking stories sell papers, and you’d turn any little problem into a big deal to get a good story. But if this place gets closed down, all these patients are out of luck.” He lowered his voice. “Including my mother-in-law, and I cannot have her living with us again.”

I gestured toward my parents. “My mother is here. Do you think I don’t know how hard it is to find a good place? Do you think I’d want to start over?”

He looked more confused than angry. “Then why are you asking questions about Mom’s sickness?”

It was hard to explain without explaining everything, but it wasn’t yet time to reveal the potential danger. In any case, I didn’t have more questions about the illness. I had questions about whether someone had been overmedicating patients, and whether someone was pressuring them for money. It would be hard to get proof of any drugging that might have happened six weeks before, but extortion could leave a paper trail.

“I am a journalist, but my mother is more important to me than any story. I don’t want anything to be wrong here. I’d love to prove that this is the best, safest place ever, for her sake. But I need evidence. I’m not going to believe everything is great merely because I want it to be true.”

“That makes sense. But our experience here has been as good as you could expect.”

“I’m glad to hear that. I promise I don’t want to shut down Sunshine Haven. I want to make sure no one is taking advantage of the patients, though.”

“What do you mean?”

“Something I’ve learned suggests patients are being asked for money. It could be a misunderstanding, but I’d like to check. Do you know if anyone here, perhaps a staff member or even another patient, has pressured your mother-in-law for money?”

“No. At least, I don’t think so.” He glanced back at his mother-in-law. His wife chatted with her but watched us. The guy gave her a smile before turning back to me. “My wife has power of attorney for her mother’s bank account. We don’t use it very often, though.”

“Please ask your wife to check the account. See if anyone has withdrawn money. It might be a check or even an ATM withdrawal. It sounds like a couple hundred dollars here and there might not be missed.”

He studied me, clearly still wary, but nodded. “I’ll take a look. I guess that can’t hurt.”

“Thanks. If you find anything suspicious, you can tell Ms. Garcia, Sunshine Haven’s director.” I figured he’d feel more comfortable with that than with trusting me. “We all want the same thing, to make sure this place is safe and comfortable and the patients are happy.”

He studied his wife and mother-in-law. “Yeah. Nobody should have to see someone go through Alzheimer’s. If someone is stealing from these people, that’s sick.”

I thanked him and joined my parents.

“Your mother is ready to go to her room for a rest,” Dad said. “You look like you could use a nap too.”

“Yeah, but . . . I’ll stick around.”

Dad helped Mom to her feet. “She only has one chair in her room. No need for both of us to stay.”

Dad wouldn’t feel comfortable unless he could keep Mom under his gaze. But what about the other patients in the Alzheimer’s unit?

“I’ll move one of the lobby chairs so I can see the hallway entrance.”

I didn’t want to say too much in front of Mom, but Dad nodded, so he understood. We couldn’t watch every patient individually, but I could see who went into that unit and have a good idea of what room they visited. Knowing they were watched should discourage the killer. If the murderer did strike, at least I’d know who had been there. It wasn’t the best way to solve the mystery, but I couldn’t think of a better one. Even if we decided it was time to tell the police, that would involve long, complicated explanations. Who knew if they’d take us seriously? We had some odd coincidences but no proof.

I hugged Mom and headed for the lobby. The front desk had a good view down the hallway of the Alzheimer’s unit. A waist-high gate blocked off that hallway, and the person at the front desk had to press the buzzer to unlock the gate. No doubt it was meant to keep the Alzheimer’s patients from leaving the building without anyone noticing. It would also help me make sure I didn’t miss anyone pretending to go toward the solarium and darting into the Alzheimer’s unit instead.

None of the lobby chairs were situated to see the hallway, so I asked Carla to move one for me. She blinked a few times but complied. She even brought me another cup of coffee.

I settled into the chair, rubbing my thigh and thinking about everything that had happened. I now had three threads to follow. First, an illness or death on three consecutive Sunday nights. Second, the possibility that someone had been drugging patients. And third, the question of money. Had Mom’s worry been a misunderstanding, or was somebody extorting money from the patients?

Were all these things related? Was someone drugging patients in order to get their money? Had that person turned to murder in recent weeks? If so, why? To get rid of witnesses? Maybe the person was a power-hungry psychotic who was increasing their level of evil. Maybe the deaths had been accidental overdoses, which would suggest someone not that familiar with the medicine. Zinnia’s memories of when patients had seemed drugged didn’t match with the deaths, but she wasn’t always here, and the extortionist could have targeted the same patients more than once.

I sighed and ran a hand over my face. We’d gathered so much circumstantial evidence, but it only led to more questions. And the biggest one remained.

What should I do next?

I dug through my shoulder bag for my notebook so I could write down my thoughts. I also retrieved my phone and checked for missed calls or texts. I wouldn’t have heard them in the noisy sunroom.

Mackenzie had texted: We’re in Florence.

Italy? Unlikely. Wait, Arizona had a town called Florence. I could recall exactly nothing about it, so I switched to an internet search. Florence was about sixty miles from Phoenix. Its main claim to fame seemed to be multiple federal, state, and private prisons. Hopefully Mackenzie wasn’t in one.

I texted back: ?

Greek restaurant good food Pls explain Know this guy?

A few seconds later, a picture came through. It was a bit fuzzy from the indoor lighting, but it clearly showed Heather Garcia sitting at a cozy table across from a man.

I texted: Board member Henry Wilson 2 far 2 hear but looks romantic So Heather, director of Sunshine Haven, had a personal relationship with a board member. Specifically, the one she insisted was a great guy and unlikely to be involved in anything nasty. She hadn’t seen fit to mention their relationship to me, and they were meeting at a miles-out-of-the-way restaurant. However good the Greek food might be, I found it hard to believe they drove sixty miles for a business lunch.

Heather and Henry. I turned this over in my mind. Heather was a couple of years behind me in school, so she was about forty-seven. Henry looked about seventy and seemed fit, mentally sharp, and attractive. It wasn’t an unreasonable romance, though his children might disagree. Mackenzie had done background on Wilson, so I asked: Is he married?

Divorced 10 years I’d gotten the impression Heather wasn’t married, but I’d never actually asked her. Since Mackenzie had been researching her as well, I asked: Heather married?

Never Good. The situation was complicated enough without one of them cheating on a spouse. Yet apparently, they wanted to keep their relationship secret, or at least Heather did. Would it be considered a conflict of interest professionally? Probably. Did it hide anything worse?

As usual, I had no idea.