FOUR

Blake paced in his bathrobe as Melody lugged the suitcase from the back of the closet. “I wish you’d let me help, Mel.”

She sauntered over and laced her arms around his waist. “I know, dear. The doctor said for you to rest, though. When do you go for the debriefings?”

He pinched the bridge of his nose and sat on the edge of the bed. “They’re coming here. This afternoon.”

She slammed the luggage closed. “What? Blake, you do recall we stopped the maid service, right?”

“Yeah. In order to save up for Ellie to get a car for college next year. So?”

“I haven’t vacuumed or dusted in a week. Arggh.” She stomped from the room.

He flopped back onto their queen-sized mattress. “I am totally worthless these days. I’m in a boatload of trouble because I let my mother-in-law persuade me to play James Bond games. Now my wife is irritated with me. I feel like a wimpy punk due to those knock-out drugs. I can’t even help around the house right now. Dear Lord, am I any use to anyone at all?”

In the solitude of his master bedroom, as the vacuum cleaner hummed downstairs, Blake allowed one tear to pool in the corner of his eye.

~*~

As soon as the bell over the business office door tinkled, Mrs. Jacobs leaped to her feet. “Janie? What on earth are you doing here? You should be resting.”

Before Janie could respond, the woman ushered her into one of the chairs facing the executive desk, which, as always, contained multiple stacks of papers. Mrs. Jacobs patted her shoulder. “Sit. Let me fetch you a bottle of cold water. It’s already ninety degrees out there.”

After the manager left, mumbling to herself about the heat, Janie dug into her purse for her phone. She snapped three pictures of the board and returned to her seat before the telltale high heels clicked back in her direction.

Mrs. Jacobs appeared with her drink, wrapped in a paper napkin. “There you are.” She rounded her desk and sat in the black, mesh-backed chair, fingers tented. “Now, why are you here? Surely not to work.”

Janie took a swig and set the bottle on the floor. “I am perfectly fine. A little weak perhaps, but that will fade. They wouldn’t have released me if I wasn’t.”

The woman gave her a soft grin. “Even so, you are a volunteer. I can muddle through without you for a week or so.”

Janie shifted her weight and crossed one leg over the other. “Mrs. Jacobs, what’s happening in the aftermath of those two burglaries?”

“Ah. Now I understand why you dropped by.” She leaned further back in her seat and waggled her finger. “Not much gets past you, Janie Manson, does it?”

She shrugged. “It’s a small community filled with busybodies with nothing else to do but spread gossip. Not much gets past any of us.”

Mrs. Jacobs flipped the paper edges in one of her stacks. “True. The police are investigating. Detective Hemphill and his men are patrolling the area more than usual. He has an inkling someone’s been―how do they say it on TV?―casing the joint.”

“Obviously. Otherwise, how would they determine when each place became unoccupied?”

Mrs. Jacobs leaned forward. “Rather disconcerting. Strangers wandering around where they don’t belong. Especially here. And we have a security-coded entry gate.”

“True, but any car can slip in after another. People do it all the time. My late husband used to say, ‘Gates and locks only keep honest people out.’” Janie reached down for her water bottle and stood. “Well, if you don’t need me, perhaps I’ll take a nap.” At the threshold, she turned and gave the manager her sweet, granny smile. “Oh, by the way, Annie Schmidt is out of town visiting her daughter in Florida. She left her key with Roseanne Rodriguez. A few of us plan to take turns bopping in and out, turning on and off lights and such to make it appear as if someone is home.”

“Always a wise idea. I’m sure Annie will appreciate it. See you next week.” She slipped her readers up her nose and began to shuffle through a pile of paperwork—a passive-aggressive move Janie surmised meant the conversation had come to an end.

Strolling along the sidewalk past the clubhouse and library, Janie punched in Ethel’s speed dial number. “Got the photographs. Did Roseanne call Annie?”

“Yes. Annie’s more than tickled pink. You know how she values her stuff.”

“Then we’re a go.”

“Yep. I’m packing my overnight bag now.” The sound of a zipper closing came over the phone.

“Excellent. I’ll print this out, and tonight we’ll go over the game plan.”

“Roger that.” Ethel paused. “One thing, though. Who are you putting on interrogation duty?”

“Betsy Ann, of course. She can charm a snake out of its basket. If Mildred wants to help, or Babs, well, the more the merrier. Let’s all meet over dinner in the dining hall. I’m still too weak to cook.”

“Sounds like a plan. It’s pot roast tonight.”

Janie snickered as she hung up. Ethel could eat pot roast every day of her life.