Sleep eluded me. Noelle knew about Sharp’s peanut allergy, and she could have sneaked into the shop via the back door to nab the doctored nasal spray, but so could a dozen other people. I’d positioned myself by the front door for the demonstration and after I discovered the body. More possibilities to keep me awake.
I also fretted over the conversation with Harlan Gramford. His demand for my decision fit with the pattern Logan described about other facilities. They isolated the residents who relied on their new home for social interaction, food, shelter, and medical care. Isolate, the key element. Harlan wanted Grandpa under facility control, or out, a simple decision. Before my arrival, no one questioned Grandpa’s new doctor, one employed by Happy Days, or the prescriptions he wrote. Because of my presence, Grandpa was no longer isolated, and Harlan did not want that.
Grandpa’s future depended on his permanent escape. I didn’t want him to be another Alice Hodges, dying and leaving Happy Days a tidy bundle. Grandpa’s tenure at Happy Days measured the same as the recently deceased. I needed to act, now. Happy Days locked their doors at eleven. Locked? That sounded like a prison. My phone showed ten. I could get there before they shut the place down.
When I arrived I tapped the front desk bell, and Harlan appeared. He invited me into his office for the second time that evening.
“Ladessa, this is a surprise. Have you reached a decision so quickly?”
“Yes. I want my grandfather free from your clutches, now. I know what you’re doing.”
Harlan’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”
“I had Grandpa’s meds analyzed, and I know you’re sedating him. Your medications create his confusion.”
“You had his prescriptions evaluated? Why would you do that?” Harlan leaned back in his chair.
“Just a hunch. Grandpa’s not the man I knew.” I didn’t mention Logan’s investigation into similar complexes as money-making machines.
“He wouldn’t be the man you knew. Even a year can alter an older person’s cognitive and physical abilities, and you haven’t visited him for … how long?”
His point hurt. Holiday cards and the occasional phone call didn’t make up for personal visits.
“I’m here now.” My lame protest sounded hollow.
“How do you plan to care for him? Where will you take him?” Harlan stroked one dog, then the other.
“Texas. He could live with me.”
Harlan pushed his black-rimmed glasses up on his nose. “Has your grandfather ever lived in Texas? Would he have any friends? Who would care for him while you work? We’ve created a complete support system for older individuals. You’re an impetuous young woman.”
“I’m a CPA, which means I’m not impetuous. I’m practical, organized, and efficient. Grandpa’s medication analysis compels me to act. He’ll be different off your laced prescriptions.”
“I know nothing about ‘laced’ prescriptions, but I do know that aging affects abilities.”
“I’m not leaving without him.” I lifted my chin.
“Ladessa, Happy Days exists and grows based on contented, active residents. Having someone ranting about doctored prescriptions would be damaging.” He slapped his thighs. “My dogs haven’t had their evening constitutional. Would you mind?” He riffled through a drawer and held up his find. “Treats and bags. We’ll go out front. There’s a nice area over to the side for the dogs.”
I buttoned my coat against the cold.
Harlan affixed the leashes on the dogs and hit the door buzzer.
I attempted to explain my position calmly. “The drugs I had analyzed were supposed to be for blood pressure, thyroid, and cholesterol. They were those medications, with a sedative added to each.”
“Was the authority you hired a friend or professional? Go Sunrise, Sunset.” Harlan shooed his dogs away, their leashes trailing behind them. “They like that spot under the trees.” He focused the flashlight’s small beam to a dark area outside the facility’s wreath of lights.
“Mr. Gramford—”
“Harlan. We’re informal.”
“Harlan, I want to remove my grandfather from Happy Days, and I think the life fee he deposited should be reimbursed.”
“Have you consulted other family members?” Harlan watched as the bigger dog scratched in the dirt.
“No, no. I intend to handle the paperwork for Grandpa’s move, and then I’ll explain the situation to my dad, aunt, cousins, all the family.”
“So you haven’t told anyone about the pills or your absurd rescue or, should I say, kidnapping plan?”
“I haven’t, but you can’t hold him here like a prisoner.”
“I created a home, a sanctuary for the elderly. My childhood was not idyllic, Ladessa. My macho plumber father ridiculed me for not being able to catch, throw, or kick balls, depending on the season. I was short, overweight, and near-sighted, a natural target for bullies. Because my mother was unwell, I spent most of my adult years caring for her. Now I provide a haven for people like my mother. Our residents need their Happy Days family.”
“My grandfather doesn’t.”
Harlan made clicking noises with his tongue. “Where was his loving family when he lost all his money? Where were they when he needed a place to live? Trent Sharp offered him an option. Your grandfather received a medical evaluation and was certified as competent.”
“By the same doctor who now prescribes his meds?” I pushed.
“Your grandfather needs medications.”
“This is a circular argument. I demand you produce the papers for me to sign to remove my grandfather, legally and immediately.”
The moon hid its face behind a lonely cloud, leaving the sky an inky black.
“Ladessa, perhaps you’re the one agitating your grandfather.”
“Mr. Gramford, I mean Harlan, I did not add sedatives to his meds. I didn’t create a scheme to have senior citizens forfeit their life savings for room and board.”
“But I didn’t do that,” Harlan protested.
“If not you, then who? Was Trent Sharp responsible? Was he the kingpin in the swindle?”
Harlan gasped. “Did that man use my facility for personal gain? Did Betty? Were they defrauding my residents? My friends?” His voice quivered. “I trusted them with recruitment of clients and the day-to-day operations.”
“You honestly didn’t know that prescriptions were being altered?”
“No! Do you think I’m a monster?” Harlan’s earnest denial reverberated in the stillness.
Perhaps Detective Hardy nailed it. He pegged Betty as Trent’s killer and her subsequent death as a natural heart attack. I sought a conspiracy theory when the simple truth made more sense. Harlan deserved an apology.
“I don’t think you’re a monster. But I’d still like to move my grandfather.”
“Terminating the agreement is complicated. We offer sanctuary to those in their sunset years using the facility’s lifetime investment model.”
Lifetime investment model? I gulped. Harlan’s use of the term set off flashing red lights in my brain. “You did partner with Trent Sharp in this fraud, but then Sharp gave his life to God. He must’ve threatened to end the scam and make amends to those wronged.”
“My dear, you should be a fantasy writer instead of a CPA.”
Everything fell into place. Sharp’s charm lured the residents to Happy Days. Betty’s computer skills checked the prospect’s background and net worth. Harlan’s facility provided the setting. Stir in a doctor willing to write bogus scripts, and the arrangement hemorrhaged money to participants who didn’t concern themselves with larceny or the occasional death. Happy Days was not an isolated facility operating under nefarious guidelines, but one of many.
Harlan sidled next to me. “Figure it out?”
I nodded, as the horror of being in a secluded area with a murderer washed over me. Harlan Gramford was a small man, one who loved dogs, an innocuous-looking fellow who generated trust. “Sharp threatened to expose you?”
“He did.” Harlan moved closer.
“Why kill Betty?” If he bragged about his accomplishment, I might buy some time to come up with an escape plan.
“When Sharp’s lawyer told her she would get a sizable distribution from his estate, she announced she was through with our lucrative enterprise. I couldn’t allow her to destroy what I’d built. We had tea, hers with a powerful sedative. Then, when she slept, I injected a high dose of insulin in her ear. No medical examiner looks there. Betty was prediabetic and had high blood pressure. The doctor never questioned the heart attack.”
“You can’t keep killing people. What about Mrs. Hodges?”
“She died peacefully. Isn’t that what everyone wants? She was happier here than she’d been in years.” Harlan laughed. “Actually, the food Mrs. Hodges ate was intended for your dear grandfather. He gallantly switched places with Alice because she complained of a draft before the poisoned food arrived.”
Despite the dark, I saw the rock when he raised his hand. I ducked before he could crash it into my skull. He shoved me against a tree with a strength that shocked me.
“Help! Help!” I yelled.
“No one can hear you.” Harlan’s left arm pinned me as he prepared to strike again.
I swiped with my foot and cut his legs out from under him. He toppled to the ground, and Sunrise and Sunset raced to their master, weaving their leashes around his arms while covering his face with wet doggy kisses. I unclipped the leashes and tied Harlan’s legs and arms behind him. Then I wriggled my phone from my back pocket and called 911.
Ignoring Harlan’s entreaties to release him, I relived my powerful swipe kick that dropped him to the ground. If I’d faced this danger two months ago, I might have died. In only a month and a half, my biking, walking miles as a waitress, and performing yoga poses had transformed my body from chubby couch potato to a lean fighting machine. That might be an exaggeration, but I survived to tell the story. And I could tell that story any way I wished.
I welcomed the blaring siren and waved my phone’s flashlight beam to guide the car to our location.
Harlan started yelling before Detective Hardy stopped the car. “Detective, over here. This woman is mad. She attacked me. She’s as crazy as her grandfather, and you know we have to keep him locked up.”
Detective Hardy extended a hand to me, then Harlan.
I voiced my own accusations. “That is not true, Detective. He tried to kill me.”
“In the car. Both of you,” Detective Hardy commanded.
“My dogs,” Harlan wailed. “I can’t leave my dogs.”
“We’ll take care of them.”
Harlan clicked his tongue. “Well, I can tell you what happened, but who can explain a broken mind like hers? Like her grandfather’s?”
“I do not have a broken mind. That man is a serial killer. He killed Trent, Betty, and Mrs. Hodges, and he almost killed me.”
Detective Hardy instructed his junior officer to cordon off the site with crime scene tape, photograph the area, and round up the two fluffy bichons.