Chapter 29
Beatrice clicked through the pop-up ads on the computer screen. What a pain. When she finally got to the Google search screen, she keyed in Emma Drummond, which brought up a whole slew of Emma Drummonds, none of whom was the one she was interested in. She knew that Emma lived over at Mountain View Assisted Living, but she wondered if there was any clue on the computer what her physical or mental state was. Bea didn’t want to go in for the visit unprepared. It would help to know what Emma’s condition was.
But she was going to have to wing it. Elsie had enlisted Jon in helping pick out a new paint color for the dining room at the B and B (thank the Lord for small favors). Bea had been asked to go but told them she’d rather not.
So she was off to Mountain View, which was about six blocks away. She walked through her town toward the mountains—the ones that her daughter had always prayed to, the ones that she looked at every day of her life. They were a comfort to her.
She walked past where she used to get her hair done, now closed because Flo couldn’t compete with the new Hair Cuttery. She walked past the fountain and nodded to several of the old people who were congregating there. A group of people walked out of DeeAnn’s Bakery, which appeared to be hopping even though DeeAnn wasn’t there to oversee. It was so lovely with its pink and brown color scheme. Then she walked by Vera’s dance studio and across the street where Emily McGlashen’s studio was—and where her body had been found when she was killed. Such a shame.
Beatrice walked down another block, wondering what the world was coming to. She crossed the bridge and hummed a tune that she made up right then and there. She paused after she crossed the bridge, caught her breath a bit, and turned to look at her town. She saw graffiti on the bridge. It was a weird squiggle painted in red. She’d seen that squiggle somewhere before. She reached into her pocketbook and took a photo with her cell phone. That was the only thing the damn thing was good for. That, and letting Vera know she was still alive—and apparently at her beck and call.
From where she was standing, she had a partial view of the park built along the river. She remembered the day it was dedicated as if it were yesterday. But yesterday she wasn’t too sure about. She smiled to herself and kept moving.
Mountain View Assisted Living looks like a nice place, she mused as she came up over the hill. It sat tucked in a bit of a valley, but she was certain the place did have a mountain view, as the name promised.
Several old men sat outside smoking cigarettes and chatting among themselves. They completely ignored her, as she did them. At this point in life, one didn’t like to mess around with trivial conversation.
She walked up to the counter and hit the desk bell, which stood next to a wooden black cat with its back arched. A sign hung around its neck that said HAVE A BOO-TIFUL DAY. Beatrice tried not to roll her eyes.
“Yes? Can I help you?” The woman behind the desk was small and bird-like.
“I’d like to see Emma Drummond. That okay?” Beatrice said.
“Is she expecting you?” The woman pushed her glasses higher on her nose. Her hair was completely white—but Beatrice didn’t think she was a day over fifty.
Beatrice shook her head. “No. I wanted to surprise her. I’m an old friend,”
“Name?”
“Beatrice Matthews.”
“Just a minute. Please have a seat, Ms. Matthews,” the receptionist said and left the area.
The place looked clean and was furnished simply. It was run by the Mennonites so there were no fancy chandeliers or plush carpets like in some other places she’d been to visit. A group of women came around the corner. One held a cane, another was in a wheelchair and had an oxygen tank. The other two appeared to be fine.
“Are you the bus driver?” one of them said to Bea.
“No, I’m just here to see someone,” she replied.
An attendant came into the lobby and said for Bea to follow her to Emma’s room.
Beatrice followed her down a plain but cheerful and well-lit hallway. Rails ran along either side of them. Floral prints were set off by ornate frames and lined the walls.
“Right in there,” the attendant said and pointed.
Beatrice’s heart raced. How strange was this going to be? She probably hadn’t seen Emma in thirty-five or forty years.
Emma poked her head around the corner. “Well, don’t just stand there, Beatrice Matthews. Come on in.”
Before Beatrice knew it, Emma had her by the hand and pulled her in for one of the longest hugs she’d ever had. “Beatrice,” she said when she finally pulled away as if to get a good look at her. Then came another hug.
“Please sit down,” Emma said. “I’ve got some iced tea. Can I get you some?”
“Surely. And thanks.” Beatrice was gobsmacked at how wonderful Emma appeared to be doing. She looked good—same bright blue eyes, lively smile, and she still moved around like a bird flitting from pillar to post.
Emma set the glass of iced tea down on the table next to Bea and then sat down. “I’m so happy to see you, Bea.” She beamed.
“It’s been a long time,” answered Bea. “I’m sorry about that.”
“Oh, you know”—Emma waved her off—“life gets in the way sometimes. What brings you here?”
Beatrice paused a beat. “Memories. Good ones.”
“Hear, hear,” Emma said and tilted her glass.
“I was over by your place the other day,” Beatrice went on. “Had my new husband over there.”
“Married? Again?”
“Yes, I’ll bring him by sometime. But we were over there and went to the clearing where you and I used to take the girls. Remember?”
Emma nodded.
“And you’ll never believe what I saw.”
“What?”
“A fairy tree,” Beatrice said. “It reminded me of your fairy trees. How lovely they were. But I thought it odd since nobody’s living at the house.”
“You’re wrong about that. My daughter lives there.”
“What? Didn’t look like anybody lived there.”
“Well, I haven’t been there in a while. I don’t leave this room.” Emma said it with a strange tone in her voice. “I never do. But I know that my daughter lives there. I imagine the place is run down. She doesn’t have much help in tending to it. Just one woman who’s a housekeeper and nurse.”
Beatrice sorted through her memory of the place. Could someone actually be living there? She didn’t think so. Emma must be mistaken.
Bea wondered if Emma knew about the apartments. Had anybody told her?
“Well, you know there’s apartments over there,” Beatrice said carefully.
Emma nodded. “We sold part of the land and they’d like to buy the rest of it. Ain’t happening,” she said with finality.
That answered a few questions. But Beatrice still couldn’t fathom someone living in that old dilapidated house. It didn’t look safe.
Beatrice took a look around Emma’s room, filled with lace tablecloths, antique glassware, and photos of her family. Everything seemed normal. Yet Emma said she didn’t leave her room.
Maybe she was mistaken about the house.
“You know, after your husband died, I thought about coming over and seeing you. I don’t know why I didn’t,” Emma suddenly said. “Your Ed was a good man.” She paused. “I suppose sometimes it was hard for me to see you two together.”
An uncomfortable silence ensued before Bea spoke.
“Well, he wasn’t perfect,” Bea said. “But we were very happy. Come to think of it, I don’t remember reading anything about Paul’s death. What happened?”
Emma sighed, then smiled, resembling the twenty-two-year-old woman that Beatrice knew so well. “I killed him.”
“Come again,” Beatrice said and leaned in closer.
“You heard that right. I’d never admit that to anyone but you. After his first massive heart attack, they gave him dietary restrictions. None of which I adhered to. One morning, he had another heart attack. It was as simple as that.”
Beatrice’s mouth dropped open.
“In fact, he asked me to get help,” Emma said and looked off into her own distance. “And I told him to go to hell.” She sat back in her chair and placed her hands demurely on her lap. “And then I watched him die.”
Beatrice’s hand clutched her chest. He had been terrible to Emma, had beaten her and berated her in public, but to kill the man? “Surely not.”
“Well, I had to make sure he was good and dead,” Emma said, lifting up her iced tea and taking a long drink.