Jake:??I’d have to check??
Me:??Do you know if Ali left the office during work on the day that he died???
Jake:??Let me check on both points. Give me a few minutes??
I folded more clothes while waiting to hear back from Jake. On that last day, Ali had reminded me of his evening work event but hadn’t mentioned going anywhere else. The phone pinged, and I practically lunged for it.
Jake:??I couldn’t find any firm associations with any place called the Meadows. But it does look like Ali left the office for a couple of hours on July 23??
Me:??Did he say where he was going???
Jake:??The receptionist remembers Ali talking about having an appointment??
Me:??OK. Thanks for checking??
Jake:??No problem. Also, I asked around and no one at the office knows what the Meadows is??
I immediately pulled out my laptop to search the Meadows. A Meadows Ice Cream Shop popped up, along with a Meadows Condominiums. The only thing that popped up with the “The” before it was an eldercare facility in Arlington. I found the facility’s website and clicked around inside, trying to find a reason Ali would have visited the place during a workday.
The facility had an online newsletter. I clicked through the pages; some welcomed smiley new arrivals, while others featured shots of seniors in exercise class. Some residents were gray haired and weathered; others sported coiffed dyed hair and stylish outfits.
I was about to give up when a name in the birthdays section caught my attention. The posted group photo was of residents who had upcoming birthdays. I zeroed in on one name.Martha Martins.
Could it be? I went back to the old online obituary for Lizzie’s father. And there it was.Survived by his wife Martha Martins.Ali went to see Lizzie’s mother on the day he died?
Why?
There was only one way to find out.
“You’d like to see Mrs. Martins?” The receptionist greeted me with a welcoming smile. “She’ll be thrilled. Miss Martha loves to have visitors.”
I’d picked up flowers at the grocery store on the way over to the Meadows, which turned out to be a bright, airy place with pale lemon walls trimmed in white.
“Is she expecting you?” the receptionist asked.
“Not exactly.” I embellished a little. “She knew my late husband quite well. He visited her here.”
She reached for the phone and pounded a few buttons.
“Yes, Miss Martha? This is Bernice at reception. There’s a nice young lady here to visit with you. She says you knew her husband.” I could hear the muffled voice on the other line.
“I’ll check,” Bernice said into the receiver before catching my eye. “What is your husband’s name?”
“His name was Ali. Ali Abadi.”
“Ali Abadi,” Bernice repeated into the phone. More from the muffled voice. She smiled and hung up. “Go on through. Room 204. She’s excited to see you.”
My heart pounded behind my ribs. “Thank you.”
When I reached room 204, I found the door open and Mrs. Martins waiting for me on the threshold. She looked older and far frailer than I’d expected. Her curly hair was completely gray, her skin lined and colorless.
“My dear.” To my surprise, she enveloped me in a warm hug. “How nice of you to come.”
“Thank you for seeing me.” I handed her the bouquet. “These are for you.”
Her lined eyes crinkled. “They’re beautiful. Come in, please.”
I followed her into the room, a generous space with a bedroom area with a cheerful sitting area. She set the flowers on a side table and settled on an old leather lounger, gesturing for me to take the sofa. “Aren’t you as pretty as a picture? Ali is a lucky man.”
