Patricia Rockwell - Essie Cobb 03 - Valentined (9 page)

As she rolled closer to her own doorway, she made a split
second decision and continued on down the hallway.  At the end of the corridor,
she rounded the corner to the left.  The corridor was empty.  Essie pushed her
walker slowly down the carpeted floor, counting and checking each doorway as
she went.  Her mind still contained a visual and mental picture of the doorway
into which Santos had gone. 
It was the fifth one on the left
, she said
to herself.  When she arrived at the doorway where she was certain that Santos
had delivered the tray earlier, she paused her walker and stood at the door so
she could read the name plate.

Grace Bloom,
she read to herself. 
I know Grace. 
I could swear that she’s not ill.  She was at supper last night, I think. 

Essie hesitated as she tried to decide whether or not to
knock.  If she knocked and Grace was home, what excuse would she give for
coming to visit?  She pondered all sorts of excuses but none came to mind.  She
knew who Grace was but the two women didn’t share in any activities at Happy
Haven so it wasn’t as if she could come calling on her about anything
specific.  Did they have anyone in common?  Anyone she could reference when she
spoke to the woman? 
No
, she thought. 
I don’t know who she knows and
I can’t even remember how I know who she is.

What the hedges!
she said to herself finally. 
Here
goes!

She knocked firmly on the door.  There was a brief commotion
sound inside and suddenly the door opened a crack and Grace Bloom’s head peeked
out.

“Yes?”
she asked.

“Grace Bloom?” asked Essie.

“That’s me!” replied the woman, hanging on the door almost
defensively.

“I…I…I’m Essie Cobb,” said Essie.  “I heard you were
ill.”

“Ill?” cried Grace, laughing.  “Where did you get that
idea?”  The woman’s lively eyes sparkled behind her horn-rimmed glasses. 

“I…I… believe I heard one of the kitchen workers mention
it,” lied Essie.

“They must have been thinking of some other Grace,” said
Grace Bloom.  “Not me!”

“So, you’re not sick?” asked Essie tentatively, stretching
her head around in an attempt to see beyond the door and into Grace Bloom’s
apartment.  It was impossible.  Grace had a tight grip on her door and was not
apparently going to open it for anyone.

“No!” replied Grace.  She closed her mouth and stared at
Essie as if to say,
so what?

“Well,” said Essie suddenly.  “That’s wonderful!”  She
turned her walker abruptly and headed back down the hallway.

Chapter Eleven

“To fear love is to fear life, and
those who fear life are already three parts dead.”

—Bertrand Russell

That was a dead-end in more ways than one
, thought
Essie as she rolled her walker into her apartment.  She couldn’t get the
picture of Grace Bloom out of her mind.  The woman had clutched her front door
as if it were a lifeboat.  Obviously she wasn’t sick, but what was going on? 
And why did Santos bring her a breakfast tray when Grace obviously wasn’t ill
or incapacitated.  Essie moved over to her rocker/recliner and slid down into
the cushion.  She stared ahead, through the blinds on her outside window that
fronted onto a small patio in the center of Happy Haven.  She could see a
squirrel zip up one of the snow-covered elm trees.  She pushed her chair back
and forth as if in rhythm with her fluctuating thoughts.

Her eyes drifted to the top of her television set in the
corner by the window.  Essie didn’t keep many items on top of her TV because
she worried that they might get too hot and catch fire.  She did have a set of
porcelain birds—each one a different type—arranged in a casual pattern.  The
cardinal and the bluebird usually were on the left and the robin and blue jay
were on the right. 
What?
  She looked again.  Somehow, the little decorative
birds had apparently changed positions.  Now, the cardinal and the robin were
on the left and the bluebird and the blue jay were on the right.  She knew that
wasn’t how she had arranged them.  Or had she?  She was ninety years old.  She
supposed it was possible that she had put her bird collection in a different
order and forgotten about it, but she truly didn’t think so.  Ceramic birds
didn’t walk about on the top of a television set all by themselves.  They
needed help. 

Essie let her eyes roam around her small apartment.  From
where she sat in her recliner against the far wall between her desk and the end
table by her two-seater sofa, she could see every part of her little living
room.   She could also see her small kitchenette if she turned her head far to
the right and looked over her shoulder.  In this position she could also see
the hallway that led to her bathroom and bedroom.

Was anything else different or just the birds?  She started
with the television set and moved around her living room.  Next to the right of
the TV was her antique desk—not the one she used every day, but a fancy one she
had brought with her from her personal furniture and that she used primarily to
store important papers and items.  The little desk with the curlicued legs had
a front that closed and locked with a key that Essie kept with her at all times
in her purse in her walker basket.  On top of the desk stood a glass-covered
golden clock that one of her grandsons had given her.  It appeared to be
slightly off-center.  Essie was always very careful to place it in the direct
center of the top of her antique desk.  Next to this desk was another
armchair.  This one was gold and it circled around on rollers.  Marjorie always
liked to sit there when she visited.  Several stuffed animals that Essie had
received as prizes from various games and contests at Happy Haven resided on
this chair—always ready to greet incoming visitors with their cheery faces. 
Essie typically had the purple bear sitting on the left and the brown bear
sitting on the right of the seat cushion.  Now they were reversed. 
Hmmm
,
she said to herself, pondering the change in her stuffies’ positions.

She continued her examination of her living room, looking
around carefully from one furniture item to the next.  Immediately to Essie’s
left was her regular desk.  On this large piece of furniture, Essie kept all
other important papers and reminders.  She had a calendar propped upright in
the back center of the desk.  The calendar was open to the month of February,
and Essie had penciled in various appointments she had scheduled during the
month.  She also had a container of pens and pencils on the top right hand
corner and a stack of papers in the lower right hand corner.  At least, that’s
where those items were supposed to be.  As she peered over her shoulder, she
could tell that all of her desk items were just slightly out of place.  The
pile of papers on the right which included many envelopes and cards that she
had received and wanted to keep was dramatically changed from the way it was as
she last remembered it.  The cards and envelopes in the pile had been
rearranged and sort of shoved back together in a haphazard fashion.

There didn’t appear to be anything different about her
recliner or the sofa.  Maybe some of the throw pillows were arranged
differently on the short couch, but Essie couldn’t tell for sure.  She was
always puffing the pillows and placing them strategically on the sofa for
maximum effect.  She had read once that pillows placed at an angle in the
corner of a sofa would make it appear larger—and as her sofa was about as small
as sofas came, she was willing to do almost anything to increase its apparent
size. 
No
, she thought,
the sofa looks the same.

Next to the far side of the sofa was a large container which
was originally intended for coal by a fireplace, but which Essie used to store
magazines.  As far as she could see, the magazines appeared to be the same as
were in the container before. 
The one on top might be different
, she
mused.  She wasn’t certain.  Next to the magazine container was another chair,
this one blue.  There was a lace crocheted doily on the back of the chair.  It
was folded up—not the way Essie would ever have left it.

The window to the outside was directly behind the blue
chair.  Essie now realized that the blinds were slightly closed, not open to
bring in the sunshine as she typically left them.  Had someone come in and
changed her blinds?  Of course, she realized, cleaning people often entered her
apartment and cleaned.  But they generally didn’t change the location or
arrangement of any of a resident’s belongings.  In fact, she couldn’t remember
any time in the past where a staff member cleaning ever did anything to affect
anything in any of her rooms at all.  This was very strange.

Essie pushed herself out of her recliner and rolled herself
into her bedroom.  Her bed looked pretty much the same as it had that morning. 
Yes, the bed was made.  DeeDee, her morning aide, usually did that for her. 
The coverlet looked very much like it did every day after DeeDee made it. 
Moving over to her end table, Essie sat on her bed so she could see the items
on her nightstand better.  Here she kept a lot of personal items—her phone, a
small phone book, a glowing light, some cough drops, and other things she felt
she might need in the middle of the night.  She could clearly remember how she
had left these personal items this morning.  All of the items appeared to have
been rearranged.  Oh, they still had the appearance of casual disarray, but
they were not the same as they had been this morning.  Essie rolled over to the
end table on the other side of her bed.  Here she kept some books and other
personal papers.  These items too were changed or had been moved.  She was
certain.

She looked around her bedroom attempting to see any other
obvious changes.  The top of her long, low dresser caught her attention and she
rolled over.  There were framed photographs, two decorative lamps, and some
other small china items.  Essie’s keen eye alerted her to small differences in
the arrangement of all of them.

She rolled into her tiny bathroom.  Expecting to see her
bathroom in upheaval, she saw only the same small changes here that she had
seen in her living room and in her bedroom.  The items on her sink had been
rearranged.  Her toothbrush and tube of toothpaste were still on the left of
the sink, but they were sitting at different angles than she had placed them
this morning.  She opened the cabinet doors under her sink.  Her containers of
adult diapers which she hated to use, but did rely on from time to time, were
still there but had been turned sideways.  Her package of toilet paper had also
changed position.

Essie had seen enough.  She pushed her walker slowly back
into her living room and lowered herself into her recliner.  Shaking her head,
she thought,
someone has been going through my things
.  Her mind
contemplated this invasion of her privacy.  It was definitely more than just a
cleaning crew doing their regular job.  This was someone who had come into her
apartment while she was away and rummaged through her private belongings.  It
didn’t take a genius to figure out that the person must have been looking for
the secret admirer valentine. 
The same thing probably happened to Betsy
Rollingford last year.  Only, with Betsy, the person found the card without
much searching.
 
In my case, the person had no idea where it was so they
went through everything, hoping to find it.  And, of course, they didn’t find
it because I’ve had that valentine with me ever since I received it.  Of
course, the thief doesn’t know that.

Doggone dog biscuits!
Why should one little card
cause so much trouble? 
She reached over to her walker and lifted up the
seat.  She grabbed the valentine and removed it from its envelope. 
I’m so
annoyed with you, Mr. Secret Admirer!
 
Why couldn’t you just sign your
real name?  What’s all this secrecy about anyway?  And why me?  What did I ever
do to you?

She rocked back and forth furiously in a steady rhythm,
rubbing the card with annoyance.  Suddenly, she stopped and pulled up on the
little heart in the center.  Sure enough, the original glue was still holding. 
She pulled harder.  Eventually, the heart popped up and away from the card and
into Essie’s hands.   She turned the heart over and reexamined the back—the
thick layer of glue and the fine line of stitches down the middle of it.  She
reached over to her desk and opened the top right hand drawer and brought out a
nail file.  Using the tip of the file, she began to saw and poke at the back of
the heart.  Slowly, after extensive effort, a small opening was created.  Essie
used the tip of the file to poke inside the little heart.  She could feel the
interior.

I wonder what’s inside?
she mused.  She poked
deeper.  Sue Barber had suggested that the heart might be filled with sawdust
or sachet powder.  She couldn’t tell.  Maybe it was sand.  She brought the
heart up close to her nose to see if she could smell anything now that a small
opening had been created and the material inside had access to the outside
air.  No odor emanated from the heart. 
Why had the card’s creator made it
so difficult to open the little heart?
  Essie’s imagination went wild. 
Maybe
it wasn’t just sawdust or even a sachet.  Maybe the heart contains jewels! 
Maybe a cache of diamonds! 

Essie sawed furiously with her nail file, attempting to
widen the small opening at the back of the heart so she could see what was
inside.  Eventually, with her diligent efforts, some of the small stitches gave
way along with the glue, and a tiny opening appeared, revealing the contents. 
As Essie peered inside wondering what she’d see, a puff of fine white powder
blew upwards and slowly drifted onto her lap.