Dennis found a parking space in the visitors’ lot of St. Joan’s. For six bucks an hour the space should have been better, but bilking loved ones is the easiest money to make. Who would argue that six bucks was too steep to see grandma? And how many of those people secretly loved the fact that they could cut visits short because no one wanted to go over time and be on the hook for another six dollars?
Dennis hiked inside and found the main desk. He put his hands on the counter and tapped out the theme to The Lone Ranger while he waited for the woman behind the desk to get off the phone. The woman was in her mid-twenties and wore loose-fitting maroon scrubs. She alternated glances at Dennis’s fingers and his face. Dennis ignored her silent rebukes and listened to the end of the conversation get choppier and choppier. The woman went from full sentences to single word responses. Then she hung up the phone and sighed.
“Yes?”
“I’m looking to speak with a resident. Last name, Owen.”
“First name?”
Dennis pulled his notepad and flipped through the pages to the name one of the clerks had pulled for him. “Miranda.”
“What is this regarding?”
Her tone made Dennis grind his teeth. He wasn’t used to being hassled and he didn’t like it. “It’s regarding what I have to speak with her about,” he said without trying to conceal his annoyance.
The girl sighed again. “We don’t allow solicitors.”
Dennis swore under his breath. He knew that he didn’t look like a solicitor and he knew that she knew it too. She was playing some kind of head game with him, thinking her side of the table made her powerful. Dennis was done playing games. He dug into his pocket and pulled his badge. He slammed the shield down on the counter and gave it a 180 degree turn so that the woman could get a good look at it. Checkmate. Game over.
“I’m no solicitor, honey. Now can you tell me where I can find Miranda Owen, or do I have to talk to your supervisor?”
The woman tapped on the keyboard in front of her. Dennis could tell she was taking her sweet time. Sore loser. Finally, she said, “Room four-twelve.”
“Thanks, which way to the elevator?”
“Follow the posted arrows,” she said.
Dennis was going to make her point the way, just to be a bad winner, but the phone rang and the woman went for it like a horse out of the gate. Dennis took his badge back and oriented himself using the posted directions on a nearby wall.
When he stepped off the elevator, another woman in maroon scrubs was waiting for him. She was older than the woman at reception, and her skin was much darker. Her hair was straight and she wore a shiny crimson lipstick that gave her lips a wax fruit appearance.
“You looking for Miranda Owen?”
The question was full of attitude. The woman at the desk must have called up. Dennis nodded and showed his badge. “Detective Hamlet. I need to speak with Miranda Owen.”
The woman crossed her arms. “Regarding?”
Dennis rolled his eyes and put his badge away. “Regarding some questions I need answered.”
“She can’t help you.”
“How do you know that? You don’t know what I want to ask her.”
The nurse made a tsk sound. “I know that today she thinks it’s nineteen-eighty-five and that you probably don’t want to know about that.”
“She thinks it’s nineteen-eighty-five?”
The nurse nodded. “Her mind jumps around. Sometimes it’s today, sometimes it’s ten or twenty years ago.”
“I’d like to see her anyway,” Dennis said.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea. I don’t want her to get upset or confused.”
Dennis was getting tired of being stuck in front of the elevator. “Frankly, it doesn’t matter what you want. I need to speak with her.”
“She’s not competent. Her daughter handles all of her affairs. I think she should be here if you want to question her.”
“Well, seeing as her daughter is dead, that might be tough.”
“Oh.” The word was small and sad. It was another checkmate for Dennis.
“That’s right—oh. And her daughter was a cop. So if it’s all the same to you, I’d like to stop bullshitting in the hall and get to solving the murder.”
“I had no idea.” The nurse stood there, shamed, looking anywhere but at Dennis’s face.
“The room,” he said.
“Right. Follow me.”
Dennis went down the hall to a large common room. The centre of the room was covered with a square section of hardwood. There were three old couples dancing to music playing off an old stereo. Several men and women watched the dancing from wheelchairs. Other spectators were bound to oxygen tanks. Everyone seemed to enjoy watching. Along a large window were tables with checkerboards painted onto their surfaces. Two games were going on; the third table was just being used to hold an old woman’s cup of tea. The nurse moved around the dance floor and walked towards a hall on the left. Room 412 was behind a plain green door. Beside the door, a plastic nameplate read Owen.
The nurse knocked twice and opened the door. Dennis guessed knocks had a different meaning at St. Joan’s. Outside the walls of the retirement home, a knock was a request. Someone knocked so that they could see if you were home. At the Arc, a knock was a warning. Tap, tap, incoming. Dennis doubted any of the residents were spry enough to get dressed if they were caught unawares by the two brief, light taps. Hell, Dennis bet most of them couldn’t even hear the knock.
Dennis followed the nurse inside and prepared for the worst, but there was no nakedness inside. Dennis walked past a bathroom to a sitting room that doubled as a bedroom. On a chair, watching the television, was a thin elderly woman with skin that looked like plastic wrap after a few minutes in the microwave. Bulky blue veins stood out on the woman’s hands, and bones were clearly visible in her arms and face. She stood to greet her visitors, and Dennis saw the dress she was wearing. It was a skimpy black thing that was cut low in the neck and high on the thigh. The dress looked old, the material faded, and it was baggy. When she turned and raised a shoulder in a horribly unsexy pin-up pose, Dennis saw that there was a large hump exposed by the backless dress. Miranda Owen, now five-foot-two, must have once been at least five-foot-six, judging from the shape her back was in.
“Miranda, this is Dennis Hamlet. He’s a detective.”
“Don’t be silly, Lucy. That’s William.”
Dennis gave the nurse a confused look and shrugged.
“You know him?”
“Of course, silly. He’s only been my neighbour for ten years.”
“Well, don’t just stand there,” Miranda said. “Sit down and visit for a while. How is your father doing, William?”
Dennis stepped forward and Lucy took his forearm. “You’re not going to tell her, are you?”
Dennis smiled wide at Miranda. “I’m just going to visit with an old friend, Lucy.”
Lucy let go, and Dennis sat down in the empty chair next to Lucy.
“Could you get us some tea?” Miranda asked Lucy. “I can’t seem to find the kettle.”
Lucy looked unhappy about it, but she said, “Sure, Miranda.”
Dennis watched her leave, and then he turned his attention to Miranda.
“To answer your question, Dad’s doing fine. Mom says he’s not around often enough, but Dad says he’s there much too often.” Dennis laughed at his own joke. It wasn’t that he thought it was funny, he was just pleased at how easily he could drop into a cover. Undercover sure missed out on him. Their loss was homicide’s gain.
Miranda put a veined hand on Dennis’s thigh and glanced at the door. “She’s gone and Julie won’t be home from school until after three. We have all afternoon together, Billy.”
“Billy?”
Miranda moved her hand up Dennis’s thigh and batted her eyelashes. “I still have that outfit you like. Do you want me to put it on?”
“Put it on?”
“You’d rather I didn’t try anything on?” The smile on Miranda’s face was as sexy to Dennis as a spider crawling on his neck.
“Why don’t we just talk for a while, Miranda?”
“Talk?” She looked disappointed, almost offended.
“Yeah, you know, there’s nothing sexier than the sound of your voice. Forget the ocean rolling in—your voice is the most romantic thing I know.”
“Oh, Billy.”
Dennis patted himself on the back. He was a natural.
“How’s Julie?”
“I told you, she’s at school. She just loves the first grade. Just yesterday, she read a whole book to me with no help. But you don’t really want to talk about her do you?”
Dennis thought about the question. If the old woman was really living out 1985 in the retirement home, was there anything he could ask her that could help? He thought about maybe just telling Miranda that Julie was dead. Maybe the news would shock her back to the here and now. Like a bucket of water would wake a sleepwalker. But what if telling her about Julie made her think the 1985 six-year-old was dead? Dennis searched hard for a question to ask, any question, but 1985 was a long way back. He couldn’t think of anything else.
“Miranda, I have some bad news.”
“Oh? Did your wife find out about us? I saw her watching us at Tom’s funeral.”
“Tom?”
“Having you there was a real comfort. I know I shouldn’t say that, but it’s true. You don’t know how hard it was for me. Our marriage wasn’t perfect—not even good—but burying him was just so difficult.”
“No, my wife didn’t say anything. How did Tom die?”
“That’s not funny,” Miranda said.
“I’m sorry. These days my mind isn’t what it used to be. I’m forgetting all kinds of things. It’s really quite scary. Please tell me again. I know if I hear you tell me with that voice of yours, I’ll never forget again.”
The compliment softened the old woman’s face, and she gave in. She leaned in close and Dennis met her halfway. “He shot himself in his squad car. Charlie, his partner, told me that someone shot him at a stoplight, but I know it isn’t true. Tom had tried before with pills; this time he made sure no one could save him. The department believed what Charlie said, and I didn’t argue. Charlie wanted to make sure I got Tom’s pension.”
“Was it because he knew about us?” Dennis asked.
“No. He’d been unhappy for a long time. He hid it well, but he couldn’t hide it from me. Sometimes he’d be laughing and dancing, and other days he’d refuse to get out of bed. He had been drinking more and more the past few years. There was less dancing and more anger. He was in so much pain. I think he just needed it to stop. To tell you the truth, so did I.”
“I’m sorry,” Dennis said. “Truly.”
“So what was your bad news?”
Dennis opened his mouth, unsure about how he was going to say it. He got out, “It’s about Julie,” when there was a brief double tap at the door. The nurse was inside the room before Dennis had finished turning his head.
“Tea time,” she said.
“Lucy, William has bad news about Julie. I hope Julie hasn’t been getting into trouble.”
Lucy gave Dennis a look that conveyed nothing but severe disapproval. “I’m sure she’s fine, Miranda. Julie is a good little girl. Right, William?”
Dennis thought about the benefits breaking this woman’s heart, and maybe mind, would yield. He wasn’t worried about hurting Miranda, he was a good cop and good cops asked the tough questions. But in this instance, there were no answers. That was why he decided to keep his mouth shut: there was nothing to gain—definitely not because it would have been too hard.
“The bad news is I’m going to be out of town for a while, and I won’t be able to take Julie for ice cream like I promised. Not now, anyway.”
“Oh, Billy, no. Julie loves your visits. I love your visits. I need them.” The hungry look in Miranda’s eyes made Dennis’s skin crawl.
“I’m sorry, Miranda, but work is hectic right now.”
“Well, then maybe Lucy should step out for a moment so that we can say our goodbyes in private.”
Dennis looked at Lucy and saw a smug smile on her face. She was enjoying this.
“Oh, that would be great, really great, especially with the outfit and all, but I have a . . .” What did people travel on in ’85? “I have a train to catch. I’m sorry, Miranda.”
Miranda teared up as Dennis backed out of the room. He waved from five feet away and then walked out with Lucy on his tail.
“I can’t believe you were going to tell her!”
“Relax, I didn’t.”
“But you would have if I wasn’t there.”
“Maybe,” Dennis said.
“That would have shattered her.”
“I didn’t tell her, alright? How long does she usually hang around in nineteen eighty-five for?”
“There’s no time limits on Alzheimer’s. She can wake up in eighty-five, eat lunch in ninety-five, and be sharp enough to beat everyone at Jeopardy after dinner.”
Dennis pulled free a business card. “I need you to call me the next time she’s ready to give Trebek a beating.”
Lucy put a hand on her hip, stuck out her lower lip, and raised an eyebrow. Dennis got the message loud and clear. Lucy was pissed off that he had almost told the old woman the truth, and now it was time for a little payback. What the hell was wrong with the women who worked here? Lucy wanted Dennis to beg her to help him. Fuck that. Dennis didn’t beg a woman for anything. She just needed a science lesson on the food chain.
“Listen close, Lucy. What I do in that room has nothing to do with what you want. I could tell her Julie is dead, Santa doesn’t exist, and that the Easter Bunny has rabies. I don’t need you to like it or approve. Now, I think I can trust you. You seem like you’re smart. So, if in the next day I get a call telling me that I have a window to talk to a lucid Miranda Owen, I’ll take it and I’ll be gentle. Any longer than that, and I’ll tell her no matter what. She’ll fall to pieces, and I’ll sift through the rubble for anything I can get.”
Dennis was proud of his speech. He couldn’t believe he rattled all that off without rehearsing it first. He was a mean cop who took no shit. He belonged back in the eighties, not with Miranda and her dress but with his dad and his friends.
Lucy looked away and balled her fists. They didn’t unclench when she looked back.
“I’ll call you when she’s in a better frame of mind, but not because you told me to. I’ll call because it will be better for Miranda to hear it with a clear head.”
“Whatever gets you on the phone,” Dennis said.
Lucy walked away leaving Dennis in front of 412. The door opened a second later. Miranda Owen was visible in the small crack of space between the frame and the door. Dennis saw the door slowly inch open and a lace teddy reveal itself. Miranda turned to the side and arched her right leg up on its tip toes. The pose was meant to show off her legs, but it just emphasized the bizarre hump on her back.
“You sure you don’t have a minute?”
Dennis looked at the ceiling. He took a deep breath and then looked Miranda in the eyes. “Sorry, baby, but I got a train to catch.”
He strode down the hallway acutely aware of how great he could have been if he had ever been given a chance to go undercover.