The electronic lock clacked shut behind me as I entered the dementia unit. Shelby sat on the couch at the far end of the dayroom, facing the window and the view of the courtyard beyond. Her head tilted to one side. I couldn’t tell with her back toward me whether she was sleeping, daydreaming, or staring into space with her mind in neutral.
Busy entering notes into the computer on the desk, Teresa didn’t look up until I approached the nurses’ station for my daily report on how Shelby fared. The information helped me understand what role I needed to play each night.
Teresa greeted me warmly, a smile replacing her studious look of concentration. The kindness in her face, though, was offset by a gentle shaking of her head letting me know the news wasn’t good. “A good morning through breakfast, but then things went south. She accused Jolene of stealing her jewelry. Things got heated.”
Throughout our marriage, Shelby had never made a big deal about wanting expensive jewelry. With money always tight, we were too busy buying groceries and keeping a roof over our heads to splurge. She contented herself with inexpensive earrings and necklaces for going to church or wearing on special occasions with only a couple of exceptions.
Her wedding ring was a simple band with a small diamond, not particularly fancy though it still cost a small fortune on my wages at the time. She treasured it, taking it off only for gardening in the yard, when she used harsh cleaning chemicals, or for any other activity that might damage it.
As our twenty-fifth wedding anniversary approached, she was despondent over Jessica’s departure. I suffered from my own guilt. I wanted to do something special to take her mind off the troubles, so I splurged on a beautiful silver pendant. It wasn’t excessively expensive, but she cried when she opened the felt box. She wore it to the restaurant that night, touching it repeatedly as if it was filled with priceless jewels.
When my mother passed, I had her old pearl necklace cleaned and restrung. I knew I could never afford to buy something like that and worried about Shelby’s reaction. I should have known better. She cherished the gift because of the memories of my mother and their relationship.
That was it. She owned nothing else of considerable monetary value. We both worked hard and watched every penny of our paychecks. Finally owning our house free and clear meant more to both of us.
Residents in a memory unit traded belongings. They swapped clothes routinely. I was careful to always compliment Shelby’s new blouse as I inquired where she bought it. She told me elaborate shopping stories while I watched her own clothes float around the room on someone else. The jewelry, even the inexpensive items, remained safely stored at home for that very reason.
I said, “She doesn’t have anything here to steal.”
Teresa snorted, an endearing trait that always made me smile. What made her such a good nurse with these patients was her appreciation for their creativity. “I know that. You know that. Unfortunately, Jolene enjoyed the battle. She confessed to the crime and swore we would never find the treasure she had hidden so well.”
Jolene was a retired schoolteacher, admired in the community for her compassionate care of so many students over the years. In the nursing home, she’d developed a colorful use of all the profanity she had learned—and forbidden—from her students over the years. She also had a fascinating ability to weave stories from her years of reading crime novels. Many evenings, she entertained me with expletive-filled tales of mischief. “Did Jolene say how she pulled off the heist?”
“A master jewel thief wanted by Interpol would never reveal the details to a copper like me.” Teresa rolled her eyes. “A person of her highly polished skills slipped past the elaborate alarm system protecting Shelby’s vault, eliminated the security guards with a secret chemical gas, and cracked the code to the safe. The biggest danger came when she had to smuggle the loot past unsuspecting customs officers to get it out of the country.”
“I assume she’s hiding out in a nursing home to avoid arrest?”
Teresa scratched her chin as she pondered the question. “We’re a Caribbean island today, I think, but I can’t keep my geography straight.”
The patients regularly wove elaborate tales. Teresa had taught me long ago to let the stories flow over me. Shelby once claimed she helped dig tunnels at night to escape from prison. I asked her what she and her fellow prisoners did with the dirt, and she said they spread it in the prison yard. She pointed at the linoleum floor. I complimented her on the beautiful flower garden she claimed grew there.
“Is she still upset by her ‘stolen’ jewelry?” I did air quotes with my hands.
“Forgotten by lunch, when we attempted to poison her with lime Jell-O. She warned everyone—quite loudly—not to eat it. Fortunately, I had cherry in the cart, and a trade solved the problem. Then this afternoon, she became upset about Dallas.”
As strange as the stories get, that one had me puzzled. “We’ve never been there.”
The nurse’s eyes twinkled with merriment. “Not the city. The TV show.”
“Ah! She used to love that show. I never much cared for it.” At least, I pretended not to care because it was a nighttime soap opera, but I didn’t resist too hard when she made me sit down and watch every episode. About killed me the months we had to wait to find out who shot J.R.
With Shelby gone, though, I wouldn’t have a TV in the house if Wyatt weren’t living there. The only reason I ever watched anything was to do something with her.
I said, “I didn’t know anyone was showing the reruns.”
“I don’t think anyone is, but even if they did, we wouldn’t have it on. All that conflict agitates the patients.” She tilted her head toward where my wife sat. “For some reason, though, she thinks she’s missing the show. She’s been yelling for us to turn it on.”
Fixations weren’t uncommon in dementia patients. Checking and rechecking to ensure lights were turned off to save electricity costs. Fear that retirement savings had dried up. Paranoia that government agents were going to show up with arrest warrants. I had learned not to try to convince Shelby they weren’t true but rather to participate enough to tell a white lie and resolve the issue. “I’ll find one of her favorite shows on another channel.”
Teresa tsked. “I wish we could, but the TV’s broken, remember?”
Nothing quite like being reminded of something you forgot while visiting a dementia unit. I was paranoid of winding up in a place like this just like my wife, so every forgotten detail freaked me out.
But the reminder about the TV not working did suggest that part of Shelby’s restlessness could be attributed to a lack of entertainment. Any parent of a small child knew the hypnotic power of the flickering lights and sound from the television. Without it here, more than the usual number of patients milled about the room. Sitting night after night with Shelby, I knew how hard the nurses worked and how much easier their jobs were if at least some of the patients were distracted with something. The TV wasn’t a luxury but a necessity. Budgets were tight, but why was something simple like this not solved? “No word yet on a new one?”
Teresa’s laugh sounded less like amusement and more like exasperation. “Unless someone plants a money tree soon, I don’t think it’s happening. Let us know if you win the lottery or find some buried treasure.”
In a way, I had found buried treasure, not in a hole but behind my spare tire. Whether from selling poison or stealing from people, that money had come from evil. Would it be wrong to use a little of it to give some sick people a little comfort? To offer some help to overworked nurses handling difficult tasks? Not to help just my wife but the rest of the staff and patients here. I had the ability to help, didn’t I? Maybe I was meant to find that money. I’d just take a little, a couple bundles of bills.
When I turned the rest of it in to the police, they wouldn’t know any was missing. Only C.J. and I knew how much was in that bag.
And the tattooed man, of course. Maybe. Maybe he didn’t know exactly how much was there. If he came to claim his money before I gave it to the police, I’d just give him the bag. Maybe even act like I didn’t know it was in the trunk, so he couldn’t suspect me.
Standing there in the midst of that chaos, I made my decision. It was worth the risk.
“I left my phone in my car. I’ll be right back.”
Teresa looked startled and glanced across the room at Shelby’s back. “I don’t think she knows you’re here yet, so you’re good. Dinner will be served in thirty minutes.”
My decision might have been made, but that didn’t mean doubts didn’t plague me. I hurried out of the building, debating with myself the whole way. Was it theft to steal stolen money? Could I get away with it without raising suspicions? Could I convince a friend to go along with my crazy idea?
That last one was the biggest wild card, but first I had to retrieve the money from the trunk of my car. Hours remained before sunset, so the parking lot offered no camouflage. No shadows cast by overhead lights would hide my deed. And, being dinnertime, visitors walked to and from their cars. I nodded at the ones I knew, which was most of them in the usual curse of a small town. Fortunately, no one came over to chat, so I got to my car without anyone nearby. With a final, furtive glance, I opened the trunk and reached for the bag. I yanked it from its hiding place without thinking of what else was hidden. I dislodged the pistol, and it bounced noisily across the metal floor.
With my head under the lid, the clattering sounded uncannily like a gunshot. I jumped, almost banging my head. My pulse raced, and my muscles tensed. I was sure it was so loud that someone would come over to see what I was up to. In this age of mass shootings, people might easily reach the wrong conclusion about an exposed weapon.
If someone asked why I had a loose gun, what was my defense? Saying “I wasn’t going for the gun, just the stolen drug money” wouldn’t cast my actions in a better light.
Fortunately, I didn’t have to find out. No one seemed to notice. I covered the gun with the plastic bag. After making sure no one was racing over to tackle me, I grabbed two random bundles of cash without looking and shoved them in my pocket. Checking one last time that nobody was watching, I slid the gun back into the bag so I wouldn’t make that mistake again. I tied the bag closed, placed it behind the spare, and closed the trunk. I leaned against the car and breathed a sigh of relief. People continued to come in and out of the building, but no one seemed to be concerned about me.
Wiping my palms on my jeans, I reentered the nursing home and moved quickly down the corridors, but this time beyond the dementia unit. I had been through the door marked with a small Staff Only sign several times, but always with an employee. Staff members had used a badge to swipe the security lock. Without an accomplice, I didn’t have any way through. I thought about calling the friend I intended to visit, but what if he came to the hall to talk rather than letting me in? I didn’t want to hand him the money in the open where anyone could see.
As I debated with myself, the door burst open. A young woman pushed a rolling food cart taller than herself through the opening. I instinctively grabbed the door and held it. She smiled and thanked me. As she pushed her goods toward the resident wings, she never looked back. I slipped into the employee section unauthorized.
Getting in was one thing, but I needed to work my way through the entire section. The glass-enclosed administrative offices came first. I had been a frequent visitor because there was always a bill to settle or paperwork requiring i’s to be dotted and t’s crossed. Would anyone stop me? I inched down the hallway until I had a clear view. The lights were already off. The office staff had left for the day.
Bright light flooded out of the next open door, the entrance to the staff lounge. I knew from previous visits that the room held all the usual accoutrements of an employee break room—vending machines, microwave, refrigerator, sink, tables, and chairs. Normally, several people sat around eating, drinking, or just chatting, so passing by the door unnoticed was unlikely. I tried my best to walk confidently, to look as though I belonged, and hoped no one challenged me as I passed. To my surprise, the room was empty. Mealtime in the residential areas was one of the busiest times in the facility, so no one was on break.
The remainder of the hallway consisted of a few more doors, all closed, until I finally arrived at my destination—the maintenance area. The door was shut, but I guessed Bobby Jenkins would be working. He was one of the few guys my age still putting in a regular workday, and I had seen his truck in the parking lot. I stuck my head through the door and spied my target in the back corner of the room. He was soldering a broken joint in a wheelchair.
Before I could speak, he must’ve sensed my presence. He flipped open his welder’s helmet and smiled. “Purvis. Haven’t seen you in a dog’s age. What brings you to my dungeon? Pull up a chair.”
“I can’t stay. Have to get back to have dinner with Shelby, but I’ve got a favor to ask.”
“Anything for you, and anything for Shelby. You know that.”
“Hear me out before you agree.” I pushed the hallway door shut and leaned against the workbench. “I understand from Teresa Peters that money’s real tight. No way to get a new TV for the dementia unit.”
Bobby nodded, his eyes downcast. “I work all the miracles I can keeping things humming around here, but I couldn’t get that thing working again. Amazing it lasted as long as it has. Been telling the suits for three years we better start replacing TVs before they go, but you know how bean counters are. They tell you they have to wait until they absolutely have to replace something, and then when it breaks, they act surprised.”
“Yeah, I understand.” I tried not to watch the door, but I wondered how long I had until someone else came in. “If someone gave you a cash donation, you could replace it then, right?”
“Depends.” Bobby took off his helmet and placed it gently on the workbench. “Let’s say a relative, like you, brought in an old TV and left it in that ward. Odds are pretty good it would stay there. But cash donations go to the office. You’d have to ask them if you could be specific about what they spent it on. I’d worry they’d tell you it would go into the general fund. Around here, that means it generally won’t go where you need it.”
“Not quite the question I’m asking.” I wrapped my hand around the two bundles in my pocket. I hadn’t even looked to see what bills I had grabbed. What if it was two bundles of hundreds—twenty thousand dollars? How would I explain that? “What if you were handed the cash. Could you get the things needed without the suits getting involved?”
Bobby’s chair squeaked in protest as he leaned back. He stared at the ceiling for a moment and asked, “Hypothetically?”
After I nodded, he kept his eyes fixed on the fluorescent light. He let an uncomfortable silence settle before speaking. “My experience here says that the suits only care about money going out the door. They don’t ask a lot of questions about things that come in. We get things donated all the time, and no one asks a thing. So, yeah, I could probably figure out a way for a TV to work its way into Shelby’s unit.”
I looked down at my hand resting on the workbench and was surprised to see it trembling. I had expected getting a single TV into a single unit wouldn’t be a big deal. As he said, if I brought in an old TV and placed it in the dementia unit, no one would think a thing about it. Giving him the cash to buy a TV wasn’t much different.
But that felt selfish. I would be using the money to solve my problem but not helping anyone outside that unit. What if I could do more? “What about the other TVs? And the computers?”
He hesitated. “That’d take a lot of money.”
“But they wouldn’t ask?”
He studied that overhead light more. “I don’t think so.”
I shoved my shaking hands into my pockets as I edged the conversation to the point of no return. “And you?”
“Some people, I would have to ask where the money came from.”
“And me?”
His eyes finally dropped from the ceiling and focused on me. “I would figure a guy like you probably just had it stuffed in a Mason jar or something. If you—er, a guy like you—trusted me to handle things the right way, then I would owe him the trust that he came by it honestly.”
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. Too late to back out now. I had crossed the line. My hands shook as I pulled the two bundles out of my pocket and placed the cash on the workbench in front of us. To my relief, they were both twenty-dollar bills, but I cringed at the sight of the bright-purple band loudly announcing that each bundle held two thousand dollars. Why hadn’t I thought to remove that?
Bobby’s eyes grew wide. He loosed a low whistle. “That’s some Mason jar.”
Now that I was committed, I might as well go all the way. I could retrieve more cash from the car if needed. “Is it a big enough jar?”
I held my breath as the clock on the wall ticked through a dozen seconds. Finally, Bobby slowly nodded. “Here’s what I’m thinking. If I went down to the Walmart and bought a bunch of new televisions, that would set all the tongues wagging around here. Somebody would end up getting suspicious and start asking questions I couldn’t answer.”
My chest tightened as I lowered my head. I had pushed too far and asked too much. I reached for the money. “Sorry for asking. I don’t want to put you in a bad place.”
Bobby raised his hand. “Hear me out. New stuff would be like sparkly baubles for crows. But old stuff scuffed up with some scratch marks but still working? Pawn shops, consignment stores, places like that—I could probably find what you’re talking about without raising too many eyebrows. The suits would think we got the broken stuff unbroken.”
A glimmer of hope. “No one would notice?”
“The nurses will know because nurses know everything, but they’d never say anything.” Bobby pursed his lips in thought but then nodded as he reached out and slid the money into a drawer like a Las Vegas dealer clearing a table. He extracted a key from the ring dangling from his belt and locked it up. “I’ll make sure it’s taken care of.”
I stood and had my hand on the doorknob when Bobby stopped me. “The dementia unit’s TV will be the first one I ‘fix.’” He made quotes in the air with his fingers.