Bingoed (11 page)

“I don’t know,” replied Essie, now totally befuddled.

“Anyway,” continued Bev, putting the finishing touches on Essie’s do, “if there was hanky-panky going on, it might explain why he collapsed. I mean, all that—activity—can be hard on an old guy’s heart.”

“I guess it can. Thanks, Bev. I mean, thanks for doing my hair at the last minute.”

“No problem, sweetie!” chirped Bev and, giving Essie a hug, she helped her down from the chair. “Don’t forget to say good-bye to Bruno.”

Essie grabbed her walker and rolled over to the big sleeping dog. She patted his head gently and then turned and headed out of the shop and back to her room. She had a lot to think about.

Chapter Seventeen

“I don’t know how you feel about old age . . . but in my case I didn’t even see it coming. It hit me from the rear.”

—Phyllis Diller

Essie pushed her walker slowly into the family room. She was lost in thought as she contemplated the few pieces of juicy gossip—or she hoped, genuine information—that Bev had supplied her. Violet got the Director position at Happy Haven after an apparent disagreement among several Board members. She wondered which Board members were involved and if they were still on the Board today. Violet obviously had a champion on the Board. Who was it and why?

Then there was the totally unexpected news that Bob Weiderley and Evelyn Cudahy were an item. Of course, Bev could be wrong. Evelyn could have been seen getting in the elevator with Bob for some totally innocent reason. After all, the woman was seriously ill. It hardly seemed likely that she’d be having some torrid affair (or as torrid as anyone could have at age 86) with sweet Bob Weiderley. Stranger things, Essie reminded herself.

As she glanced up towards the front desk, she noticed a man standing there talking to Phyllis. He was wearing a well-tailored brown suit. At first, she thought he was probably just one of numerous salesmen that made the rounds, trying to sell some new geriatric service or product to Violet (who was the person who dealt with these individuals, and usually, so she heard, rather curtly). However, as she looked at the man and moved her walker a bit closer so she could get a better look at his face, she realized that he was not a salesperson, but Ben Jericho. She thought she recognized him from the photograph he’d included in the envelope. Quickly, Essie plopped down on the nearest armchair and reached into the compartment under her walker’s seat and brought out the envelope she’d stolen—or rather borrowed—from Bob Weiderley’s apartment. She opened it and surreptitiously removed the photograph of Ben Jericho.

Bringing the picture close to her eyes and then peeking over the top at the man at the counter—then back again at the photograph—then back again to the man at the counter, Essie realized that it was the man that she and Marjorie and Opal had been discussing ever since finding the infamous letter. Ben Jericho, scam artist! There he was trying to bamboozle poor Phyllis. Oh, leaping Lucifer! She hoped that Phyllis remembered to divert his attention and not let him know where Bob was—or even that Bob was a resident at Happy Haven.

As Essie watched from the safety of her chair in the family room, the discussion between Phyllis and Ben Jericho appeared to be getting more heated. The man was waving a paper in front of Phyllis and pointing to something on it. Phyllis was smiling politely but shrugging. Go, Phyllis! said Essie silently to the front desk clerk. Finally, the man heaved his shoulders, turned, and headed out the front entrance.

Quickly, Essie rose and guided her walker over to the front desk.

“Phyllis,” she whispered to the clerk, who had turned back to return to the room behind her desk.

“Oh, Essie,” said Phyllis, returning to the counter. “You’ll never believe it. That man—that scam artist you warned me about—he was just here—looking for Bob Weiderley!”

“Yes,” said Essie, “I saw him! Goodness gratefulness, Phyllis, you handled him well! He seemed really mad!”

“He was,” agreed Phyllis, “and he really wanted to see Bob. He told me his name was Jericho like you said and he said he knew Bob was a resident here. I gave him the runaround and said a person had to be on an approved visitor list before we could let them in to see a resident.”

“You didn’t tell him that Bob was in the hospital, did you?” asked Essie.

“Oh, no!” she exclaimed, clutching the lapels of her pink work jacket together. “I would never do that! But, Essie, I really have to tell Violet about this. It was one thing when this Jericho’s arrival was a possibility, but now that he’s actually shown up, Violet has to be told. This could escalate, possibly into something very dangerous for Bob or some of our other residents.”

Essie clutched the handles of her walker as she thought about the wisdom of revealing any information to Phyllis about the letter, Ben Jericho, and his possible relationship to Bob. Was it best to fill her in on the truth? Or should she maintain her cover story? If Phyllis told Violet about her confrontation with Ben Jericho, things could quickly get out of hand. Of course, no one had to know about the letter, she realized. She could just return it to Bob’s apartment and no one would be the wiser (except for herself, Opal, Marjorie, and Fay). Maybe it would be better in the long run for Violet to be warned about Ben Jericho so she could protect Bob and the other residents if—probably when—he returned.

In the end, she decided to keep quiet about the letter and let Phyllis tell Violet about Jericho’s recent appearance. If necessary, she could return the letter. If she told Phyllis about the letter, then she’d have to explain how she got the letter and then Violet would no doubt be told that Essie Cobb was a thief. Not a reputation she wanted to cultivate at Happy Haven. She’d probably lose any friends she had because they’d worry that she’d break into their apartments the minute their backs were turned.

“Yes,” said Essie to the clerk. “You’d probably better tell Violet about this Jericho fellow. Then she can keep an eye out for him and handle him herself if he shows up again.”

“Oh, he’ll show up again,” said Phyllis, her short pony tail swinging in punctuation as she spoke, “he made that very clear when he left. And my guess is that it won’t be long. I’m going to call for Violet now.” She moved over to the intercom system against the wall.

“I’d better get going,” said Essie as she turned her walker.

“Oh, no, Essie!” cried Phyllis from the intercom. “Wait here! I’m sure Violet will want to ask you about this man. You’re the one who knows the most about him.”

Yikes and dikes, thought Essie. Just what I need. Essie could hear Violet’s voice responding to Phyllis’s call on the intercom. She said she would be right there.

Essie twitched nervously as she stood by the front counter. She hoped that Mother Nature didn’t send her a call just now because she needed to be able to concentrate on dealing with Violet—not on her bladder. Almost at once, Violet, wearing a striking black suit with a red silk blouse and sling back leather heels, appeared from the office wing off the side of the dining hall. She walked purposefully to the front desk towards Phyllis, ignoring Essie who was standing there watching her arrival.

“What is this, Phyllis?” asked the Director of Happy Haven, pen tapping on the counter.

“Miss Violet,” said Phyllis, “a man was just here demanding to visit Bob Weiderley.”

“I assume you told him that Mr. Weiderley is in the hospital?” asked Violet, head tipped expectantly.

“Uh, no,” continued Phyllis, “I didn’t. You see, Essie here . . .” She motioned towards Essie standing beside Violet. “had warned me the other day that this same man—his name is Ben Jericho—had tried to scam her out of some money. Essie was worried that he’d be back here to try the same ploy on other residents. When he showed up asking to see Bob Weiderley, I—uh—I was worried that he intended to do the same thing to Bob, so I made up something.”

“What did you make up, Phyllis?” asked Violet Hendrickson, scowling and tapping the toe of her elegant heel.

“I—uh, said he wasn’t on an approved visitors’ list, so I couldn’t let him in,” replied the clerk.

Violet scratched her ear and tucked her shiny black hair behind it. She took several intentionally deep breaths.

“I wish you’d called me,” she said to Phyllis. “Now, where is this man?”

“He left, Miss Violet,” said Phyllis, “but he was mad. I really think he’ll be back.”

“When he does come back, contact me right away,” said a curt Violet Hendrickson. Then, she turned abruptly on her high heels and walked at a fast clip out of the lobby.

“Wowsy dowsy!” whispered Essie to Phyllis when Violet had disappeared into her office. “What does that mean?”

“Who knows?” said Phyllis. “But it’s out of our hands, Essie. I have to report to Violet if this Jericho guy shows up again.”

“Sure,” agreed Essie, nodding. “I understand.” She didn’t understand. She actually had no idea what Violet intended to do if and when Ben Jericho returned. Would he be able to sweet talk Violet? Or would Violet let him have it with both barrels as she was capable of doing—and as Essie had just seen her do? Yes, Violet was cultured and sophisticated, but it was clear that Phyllis had been scolded and knew it. And Essie was the reason for the scolding. She felt really bad for Phyllis—she was only trying to help. Essie turned tail and, after waving farewell to the desk clerk, headed back to her room.

Chapter Eighteen

“The best thing about getting older is that you don’t lose all the other ages you’ve been.”

—Madeleine L’Engle

She had barely entered her apartment when the phone rang. Essie sighed, rolled over to her chair, and lowered herself into the cushion, and then reached over for her telephone.

“Hello,” she announced into the receiver.

“Essie,” said a voice at the other end, “this is Phyllis at the front desk. You need to come back to the lobby right away. Bye.” Then the frazzled-sounding clerk hung up. Essie sat there in her comfortable chair, longing to remain there for at least a brief while. Instead, she got up, zipped as quickly as she could into her bathroom for a quick emptying and then as fast as her thin legs were capable, she rolled out again and back to the front counter.

As she got closer, she saw not only Phyllis behind the counter, but Violet also there holding a folder and looking grim. Beside her, Ben Jericho stood, arms folded. As Violet and Phyllis watched Essie’s arrival, Ben Jericho also looked in her direction. Essie moved closer, hesitantly, three sets of eyes glaring at her.

“Let’s sit down,” said Violet Hendrickson to Ben Jericho and Essie, motioning the two of them to the arm chairs arranged in a square directly in front of the desk. Phyllis remained at the front desk, smiling. It was obvious that Violet no longer had need of her input. Violet positioned herself between Essie and Ben Jericho, sitting on the very edge of a paisley hard back cane chair. Essie slouched into the softest armchair in the grouping. Jericho chose the end of a rose velvet sofa. Violet held her folder like a sword, tapping it against her other palm menacingly. “Now,” began Violet, nodding from Jericho to Essie. “Let’s get to the bottom of this. Mr. Jericho, you tell me that you are here to visit Bob Weiderley.”

“Yes, I was here earlier,” said Jericho, “but your desk clerk told me I couldn’t see him because I wasn’t on an approved visitors’ list.”

“Umm,” noted Violet, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. “And your reason for visiting Mr. Weiderley?”

“Is personal,” responded Jericho succinctly.

“Hummph!” snorted Essie to the man.

“Who is this woman?” demanded Jericho.

Violet held up her palm to the visitor.

“Essie,” she said, turning to her, “you told us that this man attempted to scam you out of a lot of money recently.”

“What?” shouted Jericho.

“I . . . I . . .—” sputtered Essie.

“Did this man attempt to take your money, Essie?” asked Violet, looking unwaveringly into Essie’s eyes. Essie withdrew her eyes from Violet’s glare and peered at the face of Ben Jericho. Of course, she recognized the man as the face in the photograph inside the envelope that now was hidden in the compartment in her walker, but she obviously couldn’t reveal that.

“Essie?” pressured Violet.

“Actually . . .—” squeaked Essie in a tiny voice, “now that I look at him, I don’t think it’s the same man.”

“But, Essie, you said the man who scammed you was named Ben Jericho.”

“Uh, did I?” she waffled. “Maybe I just mentioned to Phyllis that this man looked like that scammer and Phyllis happened to say his name and maybe I happened to think that name sounded like the name of the man who scammed me . . . . I’m not really positive, Miss Violet.” She gave Violet a wistful look, trying to appear as absentminded and senile as she definitely wasn’t.

“Oh,” said Violet, continuing to tap her folder on her palm. “Mr. Jericho, I believe we may owe you an apology. We’re truly sorry. Sometimes a resident gets a—bee in her bonnet.” At this point she turned her head and glared at Essie. “Sometimes a resident comes to believe something that simply isn’t true and is able to convince our staff.” She turned her head around and raised her voice loud enough so that Phyllis standing behind the counter realized that she was being included in this group chastisement.

Ben Jericho appeared flustered and mystified by this little drama that only peripherally appeared to pertain to him.

“That’s all right,” said the man, “I understand. I had elderly parents and sometimes . . .—” He let his argument trail as he became lost in a memory. Essie watched the man’s face.

“Wonderful,” said Violet, beaming as soon as she had received what she obviously considered the appropriate response—that is, a response that would not get Happy Haven—or her—in any difficulty, particularly any legal difficulty. “Now that we have that misunderstanding cleared up, how can I help you, Mr. Jericho? Just what are you trying to sell to Mr. Weiderley?”

“I’m not trying to sell him anything,” said Jericho, his face falling in surprise. “It’s a personal matter. I sent him a letter and I was hoping I’d hear back from him. When I didn’t, I called but got no answer. So finally, I decided I’d just drive down here and try to talk to him myself.”

“I see,” said Violet, still tapping. She chewed her lower lip. Essie could see her dilemma. Should she—could she—ethically reveal to this man Bob’s whereabouts considering she didn’t know him and didn’t know whether or not Bob would want him to be made aware of his location? Even if he wasn’t a scam artist, Violet was ethically bound to protect Bob Weiderley and as Bob was presently in a coma there was no way for her to ask Bob whether or not he wanted this Ben Jericho to know where he was.

“Really, Miss . . . uh . . . Hendrickson,” continued Jericho, “I only wish to speak briefly with Mr. Weiderley. I’d be happy to talk to him here in the lobby—in your presence, if that will make you feel better. If you believe I pose some sort of threat to him, you can search me or whatever you need to do. You can run a background check. I assure you, my intentions towards Mr. Weiderley are honorable and I mean him no harm.”

“Actually,” stated Violet, “that won’t be possible.” Essie waited with baited breath to see how Violet would handle Jericho’s request.

“What?” cried out Jericho. “Just a brief conversation?”

“Mr. Jericho,” she said calmly, “it’s not that we wish to prevent you from conversing with Mr. Weiderley. It’s simply that he’s not here at the moment.”

“I can wait,” replied Jericho.

“You might have to wait quite some time,” said Violet.

Essie cringed, fearing that the Director was going to tell the man that the person he sought was two blocks down the road in the Fairview Hospital. However, she didn’t.

“No,” said Violet, smiling warmly at the man, “Mr. Weiderley is on vacation with several of his buddies.”

“But he must be 85 or 86,” noted Jericho.

“Yes,” agreed Violet, “but he’s very vital. Every year about this time, a group of his old Army buddies get together for a fishing trip. I’m not really certain where they’ve gone or exactly when they’ll return.”

“You’d let him leave just like that?” queried Jericho.

“Sir,” said Violet, now standing to indicate that she considered the meeting finished, “this is not a prison. Our residents are free to leave when they wish. All we ask is that they sign out. Mr. Weiderley signed out several days ago with a return date listed as ‘unknown’ and a destination listed as ‘fishing.’” She opened her folder and appeared to be reading from Bob’s file.

Jericho sighed audibly and shook his head. “Can I leave my number? I’d appreciate if you’d call if you hear from him before he returns.”

“Absolutely,” responded Violet, accepting the business card from the man. “Have a nice day.” With a nod, she stepped quickly out of the lobby and back into the office wing. Jericho remained standing before the chair. Essie looked up at him.

“Mr. Jericho,” she said, “I really am sorry I caused you this trouble. You really want to contact Bob, don’t you?”

“You’ll never know,” sighed Jericho, sliding back down into the chair. Essie leaned forward and spoke warmly to him.

“I really did think you were that scam artist at first,” she confided, “but now that I’ve met you, I can see that you are genuine. You do just want to talk to Bob, don’t you?”

“Do you know where he went fishing, Miss . . . Essie?” asked Jericho, reaching out and grabbing one of her hands in his.

“Are you visiting here for long, Mr. Jericho?” she asked.

“I just got here this morning. I checked into a motel nearby because I planned to spend some time . . . uh . . . talking to Bob, Mr. Weiderley.”

“Sometimes Bob contacts one of his friends here at Happy Haven when he’s . . . on one of his . . . fishing trips.”

“You mean you, Miss Essie?” he asked.

“Oh, no!” she laughed. “I’m not at his table.” Jericho looked puzzled. Essie continued. “Everyone is assigned to a table and we eat all our meals at the same table. So we really get to know our tablemates.”

“I see,” he replied. “Do you know Mr. Weiderley’s tablemates?”

She thought about revealing this information, which of course, she knew, but hesitated because she assumed that Jericho would immediately contact Hazel, Rose, or Evelyn and none of them would have a second thought about telling him Bob’s whereabouts. “Uh, no, I don’t know them. Actually, I don’t know Mr. Weiderley all that well. I believe I played cards with him once or twice.”

“Did you like him?” he asked.

“Very much,” she said. “A very sweet, gentle man. I’d hate for anything bad to happen to him.”

“I wouldn’t want anything . . . bad . . . to happen to him either. So, he plays cards and likes to go fishing?” he asked her.

“What?” she said, confused. “Oh, yes fishing.” Of course, as far as she knew, Bob Weiderley had never been fishing a day in his life.

“My Dad used to take me fishing,” said Ben Jericho wistfully.

“I’m sure that’s a wonderful way for a father and a son to bond,” she replied as he continued to reminisce.

“A father and son. Yes,” he said.

“Do you live far from here, Mr. Jericho?” she asked.

“About two hundred miles,” he said, “not too far to drive, but not a trip I can make every day.”

“You’re a busy man?”

“Yes, unfortunately,” he answered, “but I cleared a few days to come down here.”

“This trip must be very important to you, then,” she suggested.

“It’s the most important thing in my life,” he said seriously, looking at his hands.

“What hotel are you in, Mr. Jericho?” she asked at length.

“The Magnolia Hotel,” he replied, “it’s just a few miles down this street. Here, Miss Essie, let me give you my card. If you should hear from Mr. Weiderley or if you think of any way I can contact him, would you please call me? I have a cell phone and this bottom number is my direct personal line.” He handed her an embossed card with black and gold filigreed lettering noting the name of the company—Medilogicos—and underneath his name—several phone numbers and an email address.

“Of course, Mr. Jericho,” she said, taking the card and examining it. “This is a beautiful business card. What does your company do?”

“We produce computer software for various medical devices and services. Actually, we are one of the few companies in the world that is devoted to such services.”

“My, my!” she replied. “How impressive! And it says here you’re the Executive Director of Research and Development.”

“That’s just business lingo,” he replied modestly. “It should just say ‘inventor.’”

“Your family must be very proud of you.”

“Proud, I don’t know,” he said laughing. “My wife would probably just like to see more of me. My kids think I’m a geek.”

She laughed and he joined her. Finally, he rose and bent down and gave her a brief hug and then turned and exited the front entrance.

Essie followed him with her eyes and then looked back down at his business card, gleaming in her hands.