Anastasia lived at the Silicon Valley Skilled Nursing Facility. It looked like a hospital with its imposing concrete structure. Sliding glass doors opened onto a world of white walls. The fierce air conditioning made Winston shiver, and he wondered if they used the cold air to decrease the odor of stale urine. The place would require nose plugs if the smell was left to ripen in warm stuffiness.
He stepped up to the nurse at the front station. “I’m looking for the Russian princess who stays here.” He had no doubt Anastasia had already impressed the workers with her royal lineage, but the woman gave her bushy head a shake. Her black curls flew out like Medusa’s snakes, even hissing in the air. “No such person. I need her name, please.”
“Anastasia. She recently transferred here from Sweet Breeze.”
The nurse pulled out a roster sheet. “Let me look at the admittance dates. Found it. Now, sign here.” She stuck a clipboard in his face, and he filled out the visitor info sheet.
“Where do I go?”
“Down that corridor.” She jerked her thumb to the right. “101C.”
He wandered around the hallway and then circled back before finding Room 101. He wasn’t sure what the “C” part meant until he entered the cramped space. Apparently, Anastasia’s room was split into three sections, one for each of its inhabitants. The resident closest to the door, slot “A,” was not in her space. The second roommate, stuck in the middle “B” position, slept deeply. A high-pitched snoring hung in the air like a siren.
He found Anastasia, resident C, tucked near the back wall. She occupied a rusted hospital bed, which looked like it would splinter into pieces. A crooked over-the-bed table held a glass of water, which threatened to spill from its precarious position. He tried to steady the drink.
“Forget about it, Winston. It’ll be fine,” Anastasia said. “Thanks for visiting.”
“How are you doing, Anastasia?” Winston eyed the room. Its smallness felt claustrophobic compared to Sweet Breeze. He couldn’t believe her princess personality was reduced to this lowly place. And perhaps all for nothing, if he’d pointed the finger at the wrong man.
“Want to hear something funny?” Anastasia said. “You know the residents’ nickname for this place?” He shook his head. “House for Survivors, they call it,” she said. “First, I thought it was because all of us are so old. Then I realized we weren’t surviving life, but this place.” Now he felt even worse about the whole thing.
“I’m sorry you couldn’t stay at Sweet Breeze—it was so spacious there,” Winston said. “It had a real sense of community. When I asked the nurse up front to lead me to the Russian princess, she had no idea whom I was talking about.”
“The nurses often forget our names, but that’s not why she didn’t know.” Anastasia flipped one hand in the air, like she was swatting at a fly. “I don’t use that line about my fake heritage anymore.”
“Really?” Winston eyed the glittering entourage of jewels lined up on her fingers.
She followed his gaze. “That doesn’t mean I don’t still dress with flair. I just don’t need to lie about my birth origin. Being an orphan is A-okay with folks in these parts.” She snorted. “Half the residents don’t even remember my background anyway.”
Anastasia smoothed the buttery chiffon shawl wrapped around her shoulders. “So is this purely a social call, Winston? You should have told me earlier… I would’ve put on more makeup.” She patted her face, which already held a heavy layer of pale powder.
“I’m afraid not, Anastasia. I’m still investigating Joe’s death.”
She stopped preening before him. “What do you mean? Isn’t Rob behind bars awaiting a trial?” She licked her lips, as though tasting something delicious. “Wait a minute. Did he escape?”
“No, it’s nothing like that. I think Joe’s death might have been more complicated than I first thought.” Winston told her about how the police didn’t find any poison in the vial from Rob’s mini fridge. “Can you go over the day of Joe’s death once more, Anastasia? Tell me about who was gathered there to celebrate your birthday.”
She tapped her hand against the slanted table. Her costume rings clinked against its plastic surface. “Nobody unusual. Rob, Kristy, the other residents.”
She stopped drumming her fingers. “Oh, Carmen was there, too. She always wants to be center of attention, but you can’t upstage the birthday girl.”
Carmen was at Sweet Breeze the day Joe had died, which meant she’d had the opportunity to take his life. “I need to go, Anastasia,” Winston said.
As he exited the nursing facility, Winston saw a giant US flag waving from across the street. Two letters popped into sight: VA. He double-checked the address. Perfect. Looked like it was time to visit Pete Russell.