“The way I see it, as long as it is the truth, it’s not speaking ill, just stating facts.”
Tucker chuckled a bit sadly. “Nicely put. You know what kleptomania is?”
“The urge to steal? I have to admit that’s the extent of what I know.”
“There’s a bit more to it, but yes, that’s the gist of it.” Tucker shook his head. “It’s a rare diagnosis, and mostly women have it. Suzie was one of them. She was in therapy and had a good handle on it, but I guess being around so many easy marks all day had switched something inside her head. She stole from the residents of the nursing home. Nothing valuable, mind you, but of course they couldn’t keep her on. The management knew about her diagnosis and decided not to charge her. They also kept it out of her dismissal.”
“That was…nice of them.” George didn’t know how he felt about this. He could understand compassion for somebody with a condition outside of the person’s control, but to him, the responsibility for the—in large part helpless—elderly people in the facility should have outweighed said compassion.
“Suzie was great at her job. The old folks liked her a lot. In the end, she just couldn’t withstand temptation.”
“I see.” George looked at Andi, who didn’t seem inclined to make any contributions to the discussion. “Had Suzie, by any chance, ever mentioned a woman named Isabelle Hopper?”
“Not that I know of. Was she a colleague at work? Suzie was close with some of the gals there, I think.”
“No. She drove the bus on the line that stops at Paradise Home. She never said anything about her?”
Tucker shook his head. “No, definitely not. Why? Should I know her?”
“No. We were just wondering because her name popped up when we investigated Suzie. Thank you, Mr. Monahan. You’ve been a great help.”
Tucker rose from his chair. “You’re welcome. I can’t see how any of my answers was of much help, but I’ll take it.” He smiled a bit crookedly. “If there was foul play involved in Suzie’s death, I want her to get justice.”
“We will see to it.” George took Tucker’s outstretched hand. Then, Andi did the same, and they left the garage, waving at a still grumpy-looking Jasper and wishing him good luck for the remainder of Dorothy’s absence.
Once they were back in the car, Andi typed the address of Paradise Home for the Elderly into the navigation system. It took them almost forty minutes to get around downtown Spartanburg to the west side, where the nursing home was located in a residential area full of grand old houses, some of which were in dire need of renovations, while others had already been returned to their full glory. The nursing home was actually three of these old houses combined through modern extensions, giving the whole complex a chunky appearance. The gardens were lovely, and in full bloom, the heavy fragrance of jasmine hanging in the air.
George found a parking spot under an old Angel Oak, and they went to the entrance. The receptionist, Daphne, a perky young woman who had Trainee printed under her name on her nametag, informed them that visits with the residents had to be approved either by the next of kin or, if there were none, by the director herself. She did agree to ask the director, Shelby Delaine, if she had time to see them. As it turned out, Shelby was in a meeting, and instead of making two separate appointments, George and Andi decided to first talk to Rosalie Byrnes about meeting her mother before setting a date with Ms. Delaine.
“Would it be okay if we took a look at the gardens? They’re lovely.” George smiled broadly at Daphne, doing his best to charm her into giving them permission. She hesitated for a moment then nodded.
“I guess that’s okay. Please leave the residents alone though. Some of them are excitable and can get confused when seeing strangers.”
“We will be careful, I promise.”
George turned left at the door leading to the gardens as Daphne indicated. Andi followed him on silent feet.
CHAPTER 16
BLOOMS AND BROTHERS
The gardens at Paradise Home for the Elderly were indeed paradisaic with small but evenly tiled pathways leading through flower borders interrupted by hydrangeas in different colors, ranging from a dark purple over pink and bluish tints to pure white as well as azaleas whose soft pink and white combined perfectly with the hydrangeas. Bigger trees like Angel Oak and red maple provided shadowy spots to rest on benches with a perfect view of the flowers. Around a pond that was almost fully overgrown with water lilies were herb spirals with thyme, sage, rosemary, and basil, attracting all kinds of wild bees while the water was home to water beetles, skimmers, and, unfortunately, thousands of mosquito larvae. If the gardener didn’t do something about them soon, the residents would be restricted to the indoors for at least two weeks, if not longer, depending on how closely together the larvae were going to hatch.
The barrage of images, above and under the water, from the air, the trees and the soil, was enough to make him dizzy. George immediately picked up on it and gently guided him to one of the benches a bit out of the way. Luckily, there weren’t many residents out and about. The heat of the afternoon had yet to disperse a bit, and the air was suffocating, promising a thunderstorm that probably wouldn’t come, at least if the weather forecast was to be trusted.
“Do you think you can pick up on anything or are there too many?” George’s hand on his shoulder was the anchor Andi needed, the reassurance that he could do this, that he was not alone. And do it he must because the chance of perhaps getting a glance at their killer—if the nursing home was the connection between their victims and not just a fluke—was too good to pass on.
“I can try.” Andi lifted his hand to put on George’s, where it lay on his shoulder. His partner weaved their fingers together, enhancing the connection Andi needed to sink into the minds of the arthropods. He closed his eyes.
In and out, waves on the beach, his breath merged with George’s, in and out, in and out, while he was sinking, sinking, not under the waves, into them, so many, a barrage of images, clashing against the walls around his mind, thundering through him, taking everything with them, like a flood, dragging and churning and all Andi could do was try to stay afloat, to get glimpses of the passing landscape, hoping to find what he was looking for.
The water, warm, cozy, the lilies providing shelter, he was sucking in air through his hind, twitching below the surface, his tiny fangs grabbing for anything that was floating by, hunger, hunger, he had to grow, soon he would leave the water and take to the skies, entering the next part of his life, what was life, he didn’t know, there, prey, hunger, he was skittering over the surface of the water, quickly, quickly, not to be seen by predators, he was climbing under, the ball of air safely between his hind legs, he was dancing around the thyme blossoms, tiny, so sweet, gobbling up the nectar, blobs were here, everywhere, their heartbeats forming a cacophony, but there was one, standing out, beckoning him, the one blob he would recognize everywhere, George, so steady, so good, he saw and felt and sensed and smelt and heard him, all his focus was on him, he was crawling over his skin on six legs, on eight, buzzing around his head, fluttering above his hair, he was so good, home, safety, in and out, the rock in his surf, he felt the warmth of George’s body with his fingers, a soft squeeze, no, wait, those were his own senses, he had something to do, it wasn’t focusing on George, he had to turn outward, he was looking for
—meanie—
yes, looking for errant thoughts, not theirs, not his, other, like they were other to him and he to them
—meanie, love you so much?—
