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As luck would have it, the Oasis Ridge Players, our very new drama club, was scheduled to meet Tuesday morning.
So I made sure that activity was on my list of things to do when I got to work the next day.
Dexter Levine was not hard to find. A rotund man in his mid-seventies, he was the first person to embrace my idea of a drama club and had scrawled his name on the sign-up sheet the very first morning I’d set it out at the announcement table.
And today, he was in full costume, a very accurate—albeit older—representation of Teddy Roosevelt. With pince-nez glasses and a pasted on Walrus moustache, and dressed in a tweed sports coat and khaki pants, he mostly looked the part. However, Dexter’s hair was a silvery brown, and thinning on the top, with several age spots visible underneath his careful comb over.
Still, it was a valiant effort.
Dexter was standing in front of the small group of people gathered in the room, engaged in a monologue that I assumed was a speech given by the former president.
He spoke eloquently, and with an accent that made Roosevelt sound slightly British, but he received a rousing round of applause when he finished. He grabbed his walker and made his way back to his seat just as Billie took the stage. I immediately guessed who she was. With her red hair recently curled and sporting red lipstick and a polka dot dress, it was easy. Lucille Ball.
I wanted to take a seat and watch the performance, but I had much more pressing matters at hand, matters that demanded my attention.
I waved to Dexter. He gave me a questioning look, and I motioned him over. His progress was slow, especially because he kept ramming his walker into the various obstacles in his path. I made a mental note to ask the custodial staff to create some more space between the tables to accommodate the various equipment the residents required in order to stay mobile. If Dexter was having difficulty maneuvering the room with his walker, I could only imagine how hard it might be with something like a wheelchair.
Dexter eventually made his way to where I was standing and I pointed to the hall. “Can I talk to you out here for a minute?”
If he thought the request was odd, he at least didn’t show it. I stepped out of the room and waited as he pushed the walker over to where I was standing.
“Did you see my performance?” he asked. His normal voice was a little nasally, with no trace of an accent.
“I did,” I told him. “You were an excellent president.”
He puffed up like a peacock and gave a slight bow. “I’m glad you were able to see it. Next week, I think I’ll be doing a brief performance as Abraham Lincoln. He always was my favorite.”
That would be a little harder for Dexter to pull off in the looks department, but I just grinned. “I’m looking forward to it.”
Silence descended on us and I knew I needed to tell him the real reason why I was there.
“Say, Dexter, I was just curious as to what you know about Ruth Simpson.”
The color drained from his face. “What?”
“Ruth Simpson,” I repeated. “I—”
But he cut me off. “Is she here?” he asked, his eyes sweeping from side to side as he scanned the hallway.
“No, but—”
His shoulders sagged with relief, but then he immediately stiffened. “She’s supposed to keep her distance. She’s not coming up here, is she?”
His reaction took me by surprise. Dexter seemed genuinely...scared.
“She’s not coming here,” I said, doing my best to reassure him. “I promise.”
“She’s not supposed to come near me or communicate with me.” He gave me a suspicious look. “She didn’t send you with a message, did she?”
I shook my head.
“Good.”
“I understand you have a...a restraining order against her?”
He gave an emphatic nod. “Had to. To protect myself.”
I couldn’t imagine what someone like Ruth could do to a man Dexter’s size. Sure, he was a senior citizen, but he was tall and robust, and seemed to be in mostly good health. Well, if you didn’t count the walker against him.
“Protect yourself how?”
He cringed. “From her attention. Her affection. She pursued me like a lion attacking one of them gazelles.”
It wasn’t the best analogy, since I was pretty sure Ruth didn’t want to snap Dexter’s neck or take out his jugular, but I got the meaning.
“She...pursued you?”
He rolled his eyes. “Did she ever! I was fearful of my life because that woman would not take no for an answer!”
What I was gathering from this conversation was that Ruth had demonstrated some dogged behavior. Not deadly.
“Boy, was I ever glad when she shifted her attention to Arthur,” Dexter said. He’d pulled a handkerchief out of his jacket pocket and was wiping it across his forehead. “It really is a shame what happened to him.”
The hairs on my neck stood up. Did he know something I didn’t?
“What happened to him?” I asked cautiously.
He frowned. “Why, he died, Miss Sunny. Last Monday. Did you not know this?”
“Yes, I knew that,” I said.
His frown deepened. “Then what did you mean?”
I couldn’t explain it, even if I wanted to. The last thing I needed was for residents like Dexter—especially residents like him, who tended to overdramatize events and situations—to be clued in on the idea that Arthur’s death might not have been by natural causes.
“I don’t know,” I said hastily, giving him a non-answer that I hoped he wouldn’t question.
“It is a shame,” he repeated. He was still wearing the Roosevelt glasses, and his eyes widened behind the lenses. “Because now that he’s gone...” He swallowed audibly. “What if Ruth renews her interest in me?”