Bingoed (9 page)

Chapter Fourteen

“It’s not the years in your life that count. It’s the life in your years.”

—Abraham Lincoln

Before they left the computer station, the women (with Fay’s help) also discovered and printed information on the company where Ben Jericho worked—Medilogicos, Inc. A directory entry gave the address, phone number, and general information for the medical services provider. It appeared that Medilogicos employed over 300 individuals and that Ben Jericho was an executive director in charge of research and development. They were also able to find Jericho’s home telephone number and they discovered that his wife, Isabel, belonged to several local charitable organizations.

Essie, Marjorie, and Opal went back to Essie’s apartment, leaving Fay to finish her nap in front of the computer. Opal whispered to Fay that she would pick her up for lunch on her way back. Fay didn’t complain. Fay was still asleep.

In Essie’s living room, the three friends argued over their next step. Marjorie wanted to call Ben Jericho immediately and ask him directly what his intentions were towards Bob Weiderley. Opal thought a more discreet method might be to call Jericho’s wife and claim to be calling from some obscure charity and see what they could find out that way. Essie wasn’t sure. She worried that any attempt to contact Jericho or his wife might cause the scammer to speed up his plan (whatever that plan was) and poor Bob Weiderley might find himself penniless if and when he recovered from his coma.

In the end, Opal’s plan won out, being the least disruptive, yet still somewhat productive, of their options.

Essie made the call.

“Hello,” she said in her cheeriest, most persuasive money-collecting voice. “Is this Mrs. Jericho?”

“Yes,” replied a soft female voice. “I’m Isabel Jericho.”

“Mrs. Jericho,” continued Essie. “This is Margaret—(she used a first name because that’s what most solicitors did when they called her to get money)—from the National Heart Disease and Cancer Research Association.” She figured she’d combine two awful diseases for greater emotional impact.

Marjorie scowled and Opal’s chin dropped.

“Our records indicate,” said Essie, knowing that the only records most of these places had was a list of phone numbers for suckers.

“I’m sorry,” interrupted Isabel Jericho, “but I’m involved in so many causes right now that I simply can’t get involved in any more.” With that, she hung up, leaving Essie flabbergasted.

“I can’t believe she hung up on me!” gasped Essie.

“She obviously recognized a scam artist when she heard one,” sneered Opal.

“Maybe because she’s married to one?” queried Marjorie.

“I didn’t get a chance to ask her any questions about her husband,” wailed Essie.

“Should we call him at work?” asked Marjorie.

“Let’s try,” said Essie, lifting her finger to dial Jericho’s business number.

“Why don’t you let me try this time, Essie?” asked Opal.

“What?” squeaked Essie. “Just because that woman hung up on me doesn’t mean that I can’t talk to people persuasively.”

“Can I try?” asked Opal, sweetly.

“Oh, all right! Here!” She handed the receiver to Opal and rose from her armchair, allowing Opal to sit beside the phone. Opal sat down and Essie placed the written phone number on the notepad in front of her face.

“I’ve got it!” said Opal, pushing the paper away. She dialed the eleven digits and waited for several rings before the call was answered.

“May I speak with Mr. Jericho?” she asked, using her best administrative assistant voice. Essie and Marjorie could hear talking on the other end of the line. “Oh? When do you expect him back? Oh. Not until then. Oh, I see. I really needed to get in touch with him.” More listening. “That’s too bad. I just missed him? Not for several days? My goodness. Oh, dear. I really need to contact him. It’s very important.” Opal pushed her case assertively and Essie and Marjorie listened intently.

“No, actually, it’s not business,” continued Opal. Essie realized that this tactic was probably a good one. If Jericho wasn’t there and wasn’t due back, it wouldn’t really matter what excuse Opal gave the secretary as long as she could get some useful information. “Truthfully, it’s a personal situation. You see, Mr. Jericho is a relative of mine . . . . What?” There was a long pause as Opal listened, her eyes growing wide. “He is? Do you know when? Oh, yes. Well, yes. Thank you. No, no message.” Opal hung up.

“What?” asked Essie. “What did she say?”

“That was Jericho’s secretary. She said that he’d left town just today on . . . personal . . . business. He isn’t expected back for several days. She didn’t know where he’d gone but when I told her I was a relative, she became very flustered and tried to get me to leave my name. You heard it.”

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” questioned Marjorie.

“I’m thinking that he’s on his way here to see Bob,” said Essie. “Is that what you’re thinking?”

“It is,” agreed Opal.

“Me too,” said Marjorie. “And it sounds like his secretary knows what he’s up to or she suspects.”

“That’s what I’m thinking.” said Essie. “Ladies, if that Ben Jericho is on his way to Happy Haven to see Bob, things have just become critical. I don’t know what to do now.”

“Are you afraid he’ll find out Bob’s in a coma in the hospital and try to hurt him?” asked Marjorie.

“Like in the movies?” suggested Opal. “You know, how they inject an air bubble in the poor man’s IV.”

“We can’t let it get that far,” said Essie.

At that moment, the intercom crackled to life with the announcement of the first seating for lunch.

“Come on,” Essie said. “Let’s get Fay and go eat. We’ll need all our strength if we have to confront this Jericho fellow—and for all we know—he may get here sooner than later.”

The three women rolled out of Essie’s front door in single file, like a determined battalion of soldiers on their way to war.

Chapter Fifteen

“Age is something that doesn’t matter, unless you are a cheese.”

—Billie Burke

On their way to the battleground—or in this case, the mess hall—they stopped for Fay who was still seated at the computer terminal. She was, surprisingly enough, wide awake and plunking away at the keyboard. As the women rolled by, Opal motioned for Fay to join them. Fay hit the print button, grabbed the output and added it to several other papers in her fist, and then unlocked the wheels on her chair and pivoted expertly to the tail end position behind Opal. The foursome arrived first at the entrance to the dining hall. Santos was the Maître ‘D’ on duty for the day and he greeted the ladies with delight.

“Miss Essie, Miss Opal, Miss Marjorie!” he exclaimed. “And, Miss Fay! You ladies are first in line. You must hear that we having Cornish game hens today and that there not enough for everyone to have one!”

“Yes,” agreed Essie. “Santos, we’d better all get one of those little birds, or I will hold you personally responsible!”

Santos’s face fell. “Miss Essie, not to worry. I will see you get the bird!” He smiled encouragingly. Essie looked at him pointedly then at her friends. Was he pulling her leg? She suspected that Santos’s English was probably much better than he let on. Oh, well. It didn’t matter. The glass double doors opened from inside and Santos guided the women through the entrance and towards their regular table.

After they were all seated (except for Fay who remained in her wheelchair) and their vehicles parked nearby, the four friends continued their excited conversation while they waited for their fellow diners to be seated. Each quickly glanced at the menus, but Santos was right. The Cornish game hen was the best choice and all four women selected that as their entree when Santos arrived with his order pad.

“Tell Fay what happened,” said Opal to Essie.

“Really, Opal,” replied Essie. “I’m really not sure she understands . . . Oh, all right anyway. Fay, we called Ben Jericho’s wife but she wouldn’t talk to us. Then, we called his secretary and she said he’d left town on a ‘personal’ matter just today and wouldn’t be back for several days.”

“Essie thinks he’s coming here,” whispered Marjorie across the table to the short lady in her wheelchair.

“She doesn’t know what we’re talking about,” said Essie, smiling warmly at Fay. Fay’s eyes were wide as she turned her head from one woman to the other.

“What’s she got in her hand?” asked Marjorie.

“What?” asked Essie.

“Look,” said Marjorie, pointing across the table at Fay who was clutching several sheets of paper in her left fist.

“Here, Fay,” said Opal, gently. “Can I see what you have there?” She reached over and took the papers—pried them actually—from Fay’s hand. She straightened them and thumbed through them—three sheets in all. “My goodness. Look at this.”

“What?” asked Essie.

“Fay, you were very busy at that computer, weren’t you?” questioned Opal. “It looks like she was doing some investigating of her own.”

“You mean more dirt on Ben Jericho?” asked Marjorie.

“No,” responded Opal. “Not Jericho. Violet.”

“What?” gasped Essie.

“This is all material on Violet,” said Opal.

“Our director, Violet. Miss Hendrickson,” clarified Marjorie.

“Let me read,” said Opal with a wave of her hand. “It says here she was involved in a campus protest back in the seventies.”

“Violet was a hippy?” asked Essie. “That doesn’t seem like her at all.”

“Looks like it,” said Opal. “Here’s a photo of her holding a peace sign and giving the finger to the cameraman.”

“Violet?” both Essie and Marjorie said.

“Apparently. This is over thirty years ago. She was just a young teenager here. She looks a lot different with that long straggly hair and the band around her forehead. And, of course, her name is different—probably a maiden name, but it’s her all right.”

“I’d say,” agreed Essie. “If she was involved in political protests, who knows what else she might have done . . .”

“You mean, like poison a resident who’s left five million dollars to Happy Haven?” asked Marjorie.

“Exactly,” said Essie.

“Ladies,” said Opal, holding up her hands to quiet them. “Just because she was a rabble rouser in her youth does not mean she’s a murderer—or attempting to commit a murder.”

“It sure makes me more suspicious,” said Marjorie.

“Me too,” said Essie.

“We’re getting way off track,” argued Opal. “Even if, on the very off chance that Violet somehow did something to cause Bob’s collapse, it’s unlikely that she’s going to attempt anything else while he’s hospitalized. Right now, we have bigger worries. This Ben Jericho appears to be headed this way. When he gets here, what will he do? Will he show up here at Happy Haven?”

“He’ll have to,” said Marjorie. “He sent the letter here. He has no way of knowing that Bob is in the hospital. But as soon as he arrives and says he’s looking for Bob, some staff member will direct him to the hospital—and that isn’t good. What can we do if he gets to Bob in the hospital?”

“Right,” agreed Essie, “we can’t protect Bob from here.”

“Do we really think this Jericho fellow will attempt something at the hospital? We don’t have any evidence that he’s trying to do anything physically harmful to Bob. All he did was write him a letter—hardly a huge lethal threat,” said Opal.

Santos arrived with four lovely little hens, each garnished with creamy cheese sauce, a crab apple, cole slaw, and a potato flan.

“Ooo! Santos! How beautiful!” squealed Marjorie.

“And it smells divine,” added Opal.

“I give you the bird, Miss Essie,” said Santos, placing the plate before her with a polite bow.

“Lovely, Santos!” smirked Essie. Santos took his leave and the women began cutting and eating their poultry meals.

“Fay,” said Essie, “I really wish I knew what was going on in that brain of yours. You obviously know something. You knew about Bob getting that letter that led to his collapse. Now, you find all this information on Violet that suggests she has secrets in her past. Why did you suspect her? Why did you go searching for information on Violet?”

Fay looked wide-eyed as Essie stared at her.

“I don’t think she understands what you’re saying,” said Marjorie.

“She must,” countered Essie.

“Essie,” explained Opal. “Fay understands a lot, but in her own way. You can’t force her. She’ll tell us what she wants us to know in her own time. Until then, we have to be patient.”

“You’re right, Opal. I’m sorry for pressuring you, Fay,” said Essie. She patted Fay’s hand. Fay took another bite of her hen and smiled.

“I suggest,” offered Opal, “that we try to find out what we can about Violet from the staff—but discreetly.”

“Yes,” agreed Marjorie. “Maybe someone on the staff knows something about where she was before coming here.”’

“When did she come here?” asked Opal. “I’ve been here eight years and she was here when I arrived.”

“She was here when I got here too,” added Essie, “ten years ago.”

“Ten years for me too, Essie,” added Marjorie. “Remember, we came the same year. I don’t think we know much about Violet because she keeps herself so removed from the residents. When I saw her when Bob collapsed the other night I hardly recognized her.”

“I agree. She’s a mystery,” said Essie. “And while we’re looking into Violet’s background, we must keep our eyes open for Ben Jericho. I don’t suppose it’s possible for one of us to station ourselves near the front desk at all times.”

“We wouldn’t need to be there at night, because they lock the main door at nine,” noted Marjorie.

“That’s right,” said Essie. “I know. Phyllis is at the desk most of the day. After five, there’s usually one of the aides there. Maybe we can cue Phyllis that we’re expecting this Ben Jericho and we need her to let us know when he gets here.”

“But what are we going to tell her?” asked Marjorie. “We have no connection to him.”

“I know,” said Opal. “We can tell her that Jericho has been trying to scam one of us and we need to know as soon as he shows up!”

“That’s a great idea! And it’s close to the truth!” said Essie, “except that he’s trying to scam Bob not us! Do you think Phyllis will go for it?”

“I don’t see why not,” said Marjorie.

“All we can do is try. The most important thing is that we don’t let Jericho get to Bob,” said Essie. “Let’s see if we can find Phyllis right after lunch.”