Addison and Luke slipped out of the house carefully and quietly so they wouldn’t wake her father. He had a nightly ritual of being to bed by eight and getting up before the sun rose, around four or five. She placed a quick return call to the police station using Luke’s phone, letting Detective Ross know she’d accidentally dropped her phone and that everything was all right—though she felt far from it.
“Where are we going again?” Luke asked.
“It’s called Mortimer Retirement Home. I looked it up. It’s right here in Rhinebeck.”
Luke punched the address into the GPS. “Isn’t it a bit late to be going there?”
“I need to do something—I’m about to lose my mind. I wish I knew who that man really was…he must have stolen the dress.”
“How’d he even manage to get it out of there?” Luke asked.
“I left him alone in my bedroom for about thirty seconds when you arrived,” Addison said. “He was carrying that prehistoric briefcase around. He must have shoved it in there.
“And we stood outside and watched him drive away with it.”
She thought of the car he was in, a gold sedan. It looked like a Lexus, but she couldn’t be sure.
They pulled into the parking lot at the retirement home and parked. “What’s your plan?” he asked.
“For what?”
“You can’t just walk in here and expect to talk to the guy. In some of these places you can’t even visit a person unless you’re on the naughty or nice list.”
She laughed. “What if I’m on neither?”
A plan was hatched for Luke to distract whoever was working at the front desk while Addison found Dobbs’s room. It turned out their last minute plotting wasn’t necessary. No one was manning the station at the front desk or anywhere around there—that is, until Addison rounded the corner. She quickly backpedaled. “Someone’s coming.”
Luke pushed her into the ladies room. “Wait one minute, then come out. Try to act natural,” he said in a loud whisper.
As opposed to what? She hadn’t felt “natural” for years. The seconds ticked by slower than usual, it seemed. After the minute was over, she cracked the door open, peeking out at the woman engaged in a friendly back-and-forth banter with Luke. The woman couldn’t take her eyes off of him, which is exactly what Addison thought she wanted, until the woman laid a playful hand on his arm. Addison couldn’t tear her eyes away from the woman’s sparkly green fingernails—they were like little daggers. One touch, then another. Luke played it cool, leaning over the desk and directing the woman’s attention to something on the opposite end of the room. For a brief moment he turned, his eyes enlarged as if to say: What are you waiting for?
Addison slipped out and made it around the corner, resisting the urge to back up and sneak another glance at Green Glitter Lady. She was there for one reason, she reminded herself. Nothing else mattered. Not even her. The corridor wound around in a square shape like a wraparound porch with rooms lining the left side. Addison expected name plates on each door. There was nothing. No way to discern who occupied the various apartments. Now what?
A woman with curly, silver hair that looked like it had been dipped in light purple food coloring opened her door and looked out. Addison hadn’t heard the door open. The woman said, “Psst…” Addison turned.
“Visiting hours ended at seven o’clock,” the woman said.
Addison frowned. “I didn’t know. This is my first time.”
“What are you doing here?” the woman demanded.
“Looking for someone.”
“Who?”
In that moment, Addison realized something. She didn’t know Dobbs’s first name. “My name is Addison Dobbs.”
“Patricia York. What do you want with Hector?”
“He’s my, umm, uncle.”
“You’re looking for Hector?”
“Do you know which apartment is his?”
Patricia bit her upper lip and then scratched her head with her finger. She wouldn’t give the room number up that easily.
“I’ve been told he has Alzheimer’s.”
She offered a slow nod. “It’s moderate. He can’t read or write anymore. Most times when I see him he’s staring at things like he’s trying to remember what they are.”
“Have you been here long?”
“Going on five years now. Hector was here when I arrived. Of course he wasn’t as bad back then. He had some difficulty talking, but he hadn’t been diagnosed yet.” Patricia made a swooping motion with her hand. “Come here a moment, and be quiet about it.”
As if Addison’s goal was to wake every resident on the first floor.
She moved closer.
“Keep coming,” Patricia prompted.
Addison felt like a mouse entranced by a piece of cheese. When she was within two feet of her, Patricia stepped forward. “Hector doesn’t get visitors. Not anymore. And he never said anything to me about having a niece. Not one your age. Who are you really?”
Addison panicked.
“The best thing you can do is tell the truth now,” Patricia said. “I suspect you know that. You have a sweet face, and I truly believe you don’t want to lie to me, but don’t try it again.”
Obviously the retirement home had a neighborhood watch in the form of this sprightly, curious woman. Addison confessed, telling Patricia only what she thought she needed to know. She explained Detective Dobbs had once worked a case involving a missing woman, and Addison had reason to believe after all this time, that the case might be able to be solved. She left out the part about the spirit of Roxanne Rafferty. The woman didn’t seem to remember who Roxanne was, but she knew all about the career of Hector Dobbs, saying she’d spent many hours when they first met listening to his exciting stories. Something in Patricia’s voice led Addison to believe she had wanted more than just friendship with him at one time, so naturally she’d be protective of Hector. Even now.
After Addison explained her reason for being there, Patricia said something unexpected. “If I tell you where he is, will you come back?”
“When I’ve finished talking to him?” Addison asked. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea. I’m already not supposed to be—”
“Another day. You’re good at telling stories. I could use more entertainment in my life.” Without waiting for Addison to respond, she added, “Room 77A, around the corner, third room on your left.” She walked out into the hall and looked left and then right as if she was part of Addison’s covert operation. “What are you waiting for? You better get going.”
Thinking Patricia had intentions on accompanying her, Addison said, “Aren’t you supposed to be in your apartment?”
The woman giggled. “No dear, I’m not a resident. I work here.”
***
Former Detective Hector Dobbs stared out his bedroom window and into the dark blackness of night. He had a few patches of stringy hair left on his nearly bald head, and even though he was seated, Addison could tell he was a lot shorter than she imagined he’d be. A rancid smell permeated the room, compelling her to cup a hand over her nose when she breathed.
She had never been around anyone with Alzheimer’s before and had no idea what to expect. She uttered a barely audible “hello” when she walked in, doing her best not to startle him. He glanced back, gave her a look like he had little to no interest in why she was there, and then gazed back out the window again.
Does he think I’m the help?
If he did, maybe it was a good thing. The last thing she wanted was for him to make enough noise to summon the real help.
She walked over and knelt in front of him so her face was eye level with his. “Hi Mr. Dobbs. I’m new here. Can I get you anything?”
Hector shriveled his face up in such a way that she got the message—he considered her a nuisance. He didn’t want her there. He crossed his arms over his body, wrapping his hands around them like he was trying to protect himself.
“Are you cold—do you need a blanket?” she asked.
He grunted. She couldn’t decipher the intention of the grunt. She grabbed a blanket from the bed and laid it over him. It fell to a puddle on the floor. Hector tilted his head to the side, his eyes glazed over. It hung there like he didn’t have the will or the energy to prop it back up again. This man was probably a formidable detective in his day, and the image of him now saddened her.
“I heard you used to be a great detective.”
What was she thinking? Clearly his lights upstairs had been off for a long time. She slumped to the floor, muttering to herself. “I wish you could talk to me. You might be the only one who can help me. You worked on a case a long time ago. A young actress, Roxanne Rafferty, disappeared in the fifties. No one ever found out what happened to her. I thought you might know something. That’s why I came here tonight. I think someone killed her. Someone right here in this town or in this city. And I don’t know why. All I know is I can’t prove it, and I don’t know where else to turn.” She glanced up at him. There was no change. “I’m sorry I bothered you, Mr. Dobbs, and I’m even sorrier for what’s become of you. You don’t deserve this. No one does.”
With one swoop of his hand, he reached forward, narrowly missing Addison, and toppled over in the process. His body smacked on the ground with a large thud. Shocked, Addison bent to her knees, clutching onto him with the one good arm she had left. It took several attempts to help him off the floor. When she got him to his feet, she slung her uninjured arm around him. Together, they walked over to the bed. She lifted the covers and he dropped down like an oversized sack of flour.
“I never meant for this to happen. I shouldn’t have come. I’ll leave now.” She didn’t know why, but she bent down and hugged him. Somehow she knew he needed it.
Hector reached out again. He placed both hands on her arms and squeezed. “Gray…Gray…Grayson Manor,” he stammered.
Addison nodded. “Yes, Grayson Manor. That’s where I live.”
An intense look of trepidation showed in his eyes. His head swiveled back and forth uncontrollably.
“What is it? What’s wrong?” she asked.
“She.”
“She who? Roxanne?”
“She…murdered.”