Chapter Nine
Friday morning Lucy was out of the house by eight and on her way to Jake’s Donut Shack for the belated Thursday breakfast gathering. She was especially eager to hear what her friends had to say about Leanne’s breakup with Zoe. As usual, she was the last to arrive and found Sue, Pam, and Rachel already seated at their usual table in the back corner. Norine, the server, was filling their mugs with coffee and, seeing Lucy enter, filled one for her, too.
“Thanks, Norine,” she said with a grateful smile as she slid onto the leatherette banquette. “You’re the best.”
“Regulars for everyone?” inquired Norine, expecting nods all round and getting them. “I’ll get your orders right in.”
Then she was gone and the group got down to the business at hand. “I’m thinking of painting my kitchen white,” said Sue, sipping the black coffee that was all she ever ordered at Jake’s. “Bunny Williams says kitchens should always be white.”
“Who’s Bunny Williams?” asked Pam.
“The grande dame of interior designers,” said Rachel. “Like Charlotte Moss.”
“Never heard of either of them,” admitted Lucy. “But don’t you think white might get kind of dingy?”
“I like yellow in a kitchen,” offered Pam. “Nice and bright.”
“The problem is that there are so many whites, I couldn’t pick one,” complained Sue.
“Really? Isn’t white white?” asked Pam.
“No.” Sue shook her head and tucked a stray lock of hair behind one ear with a perfectly manicured hand. “There are zillions of shades of white. It’s mind-boggling.”
“Well, I’m sure you’ll pick the perfect one,” said Rachel. “You have great taste.”
“Aw, thanks,” said Sue, putting on a show of false modesty. It had long been agreed that Sue was the group’s fashion and decorating trendsetter.
“Well, at least you have a kitchen to paint,” said Lucy, looking up as Norine arrived with their orders and began distributing a yogurt parfait for Rachel, a sunshine muffin for Pam, and hash and eggs for Lucy. “Zoe found a cute apartment in Portland and was planning to share it with her friend Leanne, but Leanne was poached by a couple of other girls, leaving Zoe homeless. She can’t afford it on her own.”
“That stinks,” said Norine. “What’s she gonna do?”
“Look for a smaller place, I guess,” said Lucy. “Or try to find another roommate.”
Norine nodded approvingly. “That’s the spirit. Pick yourself up and get on with your life.” Then she was off to tend to other customers.
“Is she terribly upset?” asked Rachel. “It can be devastating when a friend turns out to not be a friend.”
“The thing is,” said Lucy, “these two girls also trashed her on Twitter or Facebook or something, stuff like pretending they would have invited her to join them but didn’t want to embarrass her financially, stuff like that.”
“That is such a classic mean girl tactic!” exclaimed Sue. “Pretending to be concerned about you when all the time they’re stabbing you in the back.”
“Stealing a friend, that’s the worst,” agreed Rachel. “We look to our friends for self-affirmation and when a friend turns away and chooses another it’s very damaging to one’s self-image.” Rachel majored in psychology in college and never got over it.
“I told her that Leanne really wasn’t the friend she thought she was, but I know that didn’t help much.”
“That’s for sure. I remember when my college roommate, a girl I really thought was my best friend, stole my boyfriend,” recalled Sue. “It made for a very awkward sophomore year since I had to live with her in such close quarters, and it still rankles, just thinking about it.”
“These girls, Jenna and Lexie, claimed that Zoe hangs out with anarchists and climate change activists, and added that she couldn’t be trusted to keep secrets because I work for the paper.”
“Well, Lucy, we know you can’t be trusted, don’t we?” teased Pam. “We don’t tell you everything, now do we?”
The others all laughed and Lucy felt hurt, left out of the joke. “That’s not funny, Pam,” she said, dropping her fork. “Especially since I work for the paper you and your husband own.”
Pam’s face fell and she was quick to apologize. “I am sorry, Lucy. I didn’t mean anything, really.” She paused. “You know, I think I was a mean girl back in high school.”
The other three all looked at her. “Really?” asked Sue.
Pam nodded. “I was a cheerleader, I dated a football player, I absolutely shunned any kids who weren’t part of my circle.” She continued, “Anybody who was the least bit different.”
“But you didn’t actively try to hurt them, did you?” asked Rachel, offering Pam a lifeline.
“Actually, I did. I remember giggling and whispering with my friends when Dennis the Dork walked by, and we all knew he heard us call him that.” She paused. “And other stuff.”
“Why did you do it?” asked Rachel. “I’m asking in a purely academic sense. Research.”
“Insecurity, I guess. I was desperate to be popular, to be in the right clique, to have the right clothes and the right boyfriend, even though that quarterback I dated was actually a lot dorkier than Dennis.” She sighed. “He ditched me one night to watch the NFL draft, left me without a date for a big dance.”
“But you’re not really a mean girl anymore, apart from occasional slips,” said Lucy. “What made you change?”
“Real life, I guess. Once I got out of high school I started working, I lived at home and took courses part-time, that’s all my folks could afford. I didn’t have the old clique anymore and had to learn how to make friends on my own.” She gave her yogurt-granola parfait a stir. “I guess I’m still learning.”
“We’re all learning as we go,” offered Sue, spreading out an array of paint chips on the table. “So which white should I pick for my kitchen?”
When Lucy was leaving Jake’s Rachel took her aside and asked her to check in with Miss Tilley over at Heritage House and see how she was settling in at the assisted living apartment. “Bob wants me to lobby with him in Augusta, he thought I was a big hit at the Chamber of Commerce,” she explained, her cheeks growing pink at the memory. “He’s trying to get them to increase the tax break for electric cars. Otherwise I’d go myself.”
“No problem,” said Lucy. “I was heading over there anyway. Chief Bresnahan wants me to cover this big fire drill he’s organized to show off these special techniques they’ve been working on for mass extractions, something like that. I was hoping to chat with Miss T and see if she’s uncovered any interesting information about Agnes Neal.”
“Give Miss T my love,” said Rachel. “Tell her I’m watering the plants for her, keeping the house ready for her to come home.”
“Will do,” promised Lucy with a wave as she headed to her car. Driving the short distance to Heritage House she wondered if Miss Tilley was adjusting to the change, or if she was still eager to get back home. She admitted to herself that she had some nagging suspicions about the senior residence, but she couldn’t exactly pin down the cause. Maybe, she decided, as she approached the double-door entrance, it was because everything was so perfect that it became unbelievable to her. It seemed phony, not quite what it seemed to be.
Maybe that revealed more about her, she realized, than Heritage House. Maybe she needed to step up her game, maybe she should be thinking about painting her kitchen, instead of dreaming about a big, expensive reno, and while she was at it, there was a long list of things she ought to do but never got around to. Cleaning out the cellar came to mind, she was pretty sure that any storage areas at Heritage House were organized and immaculate. And what about her garden? The dead plants from last summer were an unsightly mess in her garden, while the planting beds at Heritage House were freshly mulched and starting to show bright green shoots. And, she noted as she walked through the beautifully decorated lobby that boasted abundant displays of white phalaenopsis orchids in Canton bowls, there were never dirty plates and mugs, scattered newspapers, or stray shoes left behind in the inviting lounge areas at Heritage House.
“About time you made an appearance,” muttered Miss Tilley, by way of welcome when Lucy followed the instruction card pinned on her door which advised her to “knock and then enter.” She smiled, seeing Lucy, and winked. “Thanks for the sherry, Tio Pepe no less! Excellent choice. Howard brought it, very hush-hush about the whole thing.” She was seated in a recliner in a modestly sized, but very pleasant, living room. Lucy took in the small apartment in one glance: the sunny living area with a small kitchenette, and a separate bedroom with en suite bath. The windows had expensive custom curtains, the furniture was all freshly reupholstered, the wall-to-wall carpet was spotless.
“So how do you like it here?” asked Lucy, seating herself on the love seat and shrugging out of her jacket. “It’s a lot homier than the skilled nursing unit, that’s for sure.”
“It’s done very well,” admitted Miss Tilley. “You wouldn’t know it, but the bed is like a hospital bed. You can make it sit up, or raise your feet. It’s adjustable.”
“That must be nice,” said Lucy. “Especially if you like to read in bed.”
“I might get one for my house, if they’re not too expensive,” confided Miss Tilley. “Juliana told me you can get them at any furniture store.” She patted the book she was holding in her lap. “And the bathroom is fitted out for handicapped people, you could bring a wheelchair in there if you had to, and there’s a fancy walk-in tub. There’s grab bars everywhere and a red string you can yank if you fall and somebody will come.”
“That must be very reassuring,” speculated Lucy. “Do you think you might move in permanently? You could bring your own furniture and books and all, you know.”
Miss Tilley was quick to dismiss that notion. “I really don’t think it’s for me. I’d miss Rachel, you know, and I like my independence. Last night, at dinner, it caused quite a stir when Howard sat with me instead of that group of women who are always hanging around him.”
“The fan club, that’s what I call them.”
“Well, he is one of the very few men here, and I suppose he’s quite attractive, but it’s all rather juvenile if you ask me. I ran into one of them, the little one with fluffy hair. . . .”
“Bitsy?” coaxed Lucy.
“I think so. We were both checking our mailboxes and I greeted her with a pleasant ‘good morning,’ but she didn’t answer, she just turned on her heel and walked away.”
“Maybe she’s hard of hearing,” suggested Lucy.
“No, I think she’s just rude, because later in the day, when I was sitting in the lounge area, working on a crossword puzzle, I heard the three of them talking about me.” She giggled. “They called me an intellectual snob.”
“I’d take it as a compliment,” said Lucy, grinning. “I don’t think those three together have half your smarts.”
“I don’t know, Lucy. I don’t think I’m as quick as I used to be,” she said with a rueful shake of her head. “I couldn’t finish that puzzle, first time ever that I couldn’t complete the Sunday Times.”
“I’ve never been able to do it,” confessed Lucy. “Have you heard anything about Agnes Neal? What are people saying?”
Miss Tilley raised her large, clawlike hands in a gesture of emptiness. “Nothing. Not a word. Isn’t that odd?”
“I don’t know,” admitted Lucy with a shrug. “One of the nurse’s aides told me that there’s a lot of turnover here and folks don’t like to think about it. She said something about the grim reaper lurking around the corner, something like that.”
Miss Tilley fell quiet and Lucy wondered if she’d misspoken, if perhaps Miss Tilley didn’t like to think about death either. She was about to apologize when Miss Tilley broke into a big smile. “You can run but you can’t hide, isn’t that what they say? As for me, when he comes for me, I’m going to give him a fight. Like the poet says, I’m not going gentle into that good night. I’ve got a lot of living yet to do. And besides, I’m endlessly curious. I want to see what happens next.”
“Good,” said Lucy, checking her watch and realizing the fire drill was about to begin. She was about to mention it to Miss T, advising her to be ready, but remembered just in time that surprise was an important part of the exercise. Instead, she stood up and planted a kiss on the top of her old friend’s head. “We need you to keep us all on the straight and narrow.”
When Lucy made her way back to the lobby she was met by Felicity Corcoran, equipped with a clipboard and a walkie-talkie. “Thanks for coming, Lucy. I think you’ll be impressed. My team has been working with Chief Bresnahan and other members of his department to develop an evacuation model that takes into account the various abilities of our residents.” She handed Lucy an information packet and continued, “As you’ll see, we strive to offer an exceptional level of care here at Heritage House, and we’re aware that despite the most strenuous precautions, the unforeseen can happen. That’s why we’ve developed this plan to go into effect in case of fire, flood, or any emergency situation.” She looked up and smiled as the fire chief’s red pickup truck was seen turning into the drive. “Well, we’re off and running. I’d suggest you pick a spot in the circle outside.”
“Will do,” said Lucy.
“And be sure to take plenty of photos of our residents,” added Felicity, spotting Chief Bresnahan entering the lobby, kitted out in boots, heavy coat, and white chief’s helmet.
Lucy snapped a photo of the two of them, then took up the suggested position in the grassy circle outside. Minutes later she heard the fire alarm ringing inside the building and watched as the department’s full complement of trucks began to arrive: the hook and ladder, two engines and the newly acquired special Bull Dog Extreme 4x4 off-road truck equipped to handle brush and forest fires, as well as the ambulance. Soon the entire crew of firefighters took up positions, some running inside the building, others unloading hoses and other equipment.
The first to leave the building were the patients from the skilled nursing unit, who were transported on gurneys and wheelchairs. Each patient was tended by at least one caregiver and was wrapped in warm blankets. They were greeted by firefighters and EMTs who quickly assessed their condition before moving them to a designated section of the parking lot.
Next to be evacuated, Lucy noted from the information packet, would be the assisted-living and senior-living residents without mobility issues. Because the elevators would be too dangerous in a fire they would be guided, the packet informed her, to the emergency staircases, which would be opened to facilitate “a prompt and well-supervised exit for all, with assistance for those residents who require support.”
Lucy stood with her phone in hand, ready to capture the stream of residents she expected to begin issuing from the entrance, but as the minutes passed, nobody came. This was not the plan, she realized, as the EMTs and firefighters began looking around and conferring with one another. Spotting Police Chief Jim Kirwan, she approached him. “What’s up?” she asked.
“Dunno, they’re at least ten minutes behind schedule.”
“Ten minutes, that’s plenty of time for a fire to get out of control.”
“You said it. Something’s wrong.” Then he was off, running inside to see what was happening.
Lucy moved closer, trying to peek through the doors, but was stopped by a petite firefighter, dwarfed by her coat and helmet. “Sorry, ma’am, but you can’t go any closer.”
“What’s going on?” she asked.
“Beats me,” she answered. “But this is definitely not going according to plan.”
Left with no choice except to wait, Lucy waited, hoping that whatever was wrong was a minor glitch. She couldn’t help worrying, however. What if the residents panicked, or one of them had stumbled and fallen down the stairs? What if it was Miss Tilley? She took a deep breath and sent up a little prayer: Please, please let everyone be okay. Please. Then, all of a sudden, the doors began to open.