“So Billy murdered the man and shoved his body in a closet?”
“Maybe.” Randal pulled into a parking lot. “This is it. You can ask him everything. He dearly loves to talk.”
“Maybe he can give Jack and Kate lessons,” she mumbled as she got out.
If there is one thing Florida knows, it’s how to take care of aging people. Some retirement communities were whole villages. There were beautiful, manicured landscapes with residents walking about in tennis outfits. Swimming pools were full of residents and instructors. The houses were well-kept. The doctors were busy dealing with the rampant STDs.
The outside of the Shadow Palms building was very pretty, but once they were inside, they could see that it wasn’t what they’d thought. It appeared to be more of a hospice, a place to die rather than to live. The woman who greeted them was nice.
“Billy doesn’t get many visitors,” she said. “I’m sure he’ll be glad to see you.”
“He’s cognizant?” Randal asked.
“Oh yes. Billy’s mind works well. It’s his body that isn’t behaving.” Her cheerfulness was a good contrast to the solemn feeling that ran through the place.
She led them down a long hall where they passed pretty rooms with private baths. At the end, they went through double doors and the space changed. Vinyl tiles replaced carpet and the walls were plain. The rooms were smaller and had shared baths.
Sara glanced back at Kate and Jack and they nodded in understanding. They were now in the cheap part.
The woman leading them seemed to understand what they were thinking. “All our residents get the same medical attention, but we do cut charges on the decor.” She opened a door to show a man sitting in a wheelchair. It didn’t take a doctor’s certificate to see that the thin man didn’t have much longer to live. His skin hung off him and it didn’t look like he could walk—but his blue eyes were bright and excited.
“Randal!” he said. “You’re as handsome as ever.” Surprisingly, his voice was strong. He looked at the four solemn faces, then stopped at Kate. “Dear little Kate. You have grown into a beautiful young woman. But then, you were the cutest child with your red-gold locks and green eyes. And you were insatiably curious. Do you remember any of the week you spent at my house?”
Kate moved forward and took his old, frail hands in hers. “It seems that I remember a great deal of it. I know you used to read books to me and tell me stories. You said the house was haunted. There was a lord?”
Billy was smiling deeply. “A laird. It was a story I made up. The Lonely Laird. It was great dinner table entertainment. The candles were lit and it was raining outside.”
“And there was a fire in the big fireplace. I remember it well.”
He gave a dry laugh. “You should have been in bed that late.”
“And miss any of your glorious stories? Never!”
There were tears in Billy’s old eyes. “Oh! I have missed this. Please sit down. I’d offer you food and drink but...” He waved his hand to indicate the barren room, all gray steel and rough white sheets on the bed.
Jack placed four metal chairs in a half circle around him.
“So!” Billy said when they were seated. “Can I assume you found Derek?”
Randal was the first to recover from shock. “We did. So you do know about him?”
Billy again smiled at Kate. “I knew that if I gave you the listing, you’d find him right away. You so loved the old nursery. Is it intact? Just the way it was when you were there?”
“Exactly the same,” she said. “My toy dog’s string was caught under the closet door. It was sealed shut but Jack got it loose.”
For the first time, Billy really looked at Jack. “My goodness. You are even more handsome than your father.” He turned to Randal. “Remember how dashing Roy was on his big motorcycle? I thought Barbara was going to pass out from lust.”
“Barbara?” Sara asked.
Billy turned to her. “You’re the famous author.”
“Not famous, but I have written a few novels.”
As often happened, Billy immediately proposed a plot idea. “You should write about James Lachlan. Now there’s arealstory. Utterly true. All in one horrible year, 1944, his nephew was executed for murder, his son ran away forever, and his wife plowed her car into a tree. It was believed to be a suicide.”
Sara was used to this.I’ll tell you a story, you write it, then we’ll split the money.She’d heard it many times. “I see,” she said. “The Lonely Laird. He never married again? Spent the rest of his life grieving alone in his movie room?”
Billy blinked at her. “Yes. How did you know? Who told you? Did—?”
