Chapter 23

Next on Reginald’s agenda was the trip to Sunny Manor in Louisville to meet with Fred Dickinson. As he drove at exactly the speed limit onto US-36, he checked his rearview mirror to make sure no highway patrol cars loomed in the distance ready to pounce on him for any infraction. He wondered how Fred’s facility compared to Sunny Crest. Probably more debilitated residents than in an independent living facility. Reginald’s folks had all the symptoms but probably not the extremes. The Jerry-atrics represented almost the full spectrum of ailments with Jerry’s hearing deficit, Henrietta’s macular degeneration, Al’s arthritis, Karen’s memory problems, Tom’s heart disease and Belinda’s Parkinson’s. Take each of their problems another level, and they’d end up at Sunny Manor.

He considered what Mimi had told him. Cenpolis did have an advantage here in Boulder County with the three types of care within a thirty-mile radius. If a resident at Sunny Crest declined in physical or mental acuity, Sunny Manor was right up the freeway. And from Fred’s facility, if a resident really dropped into la-la land, Sunny Home provided nursing care around-the-clock.

Then his thoughts returned to the dead scam artist. Reginald clenched his teeth. He still had three rooms to check for Colorado Rockies mini-bats. He should be doing that at this very minute, but instead he was off to visit an assisted living facility. He let out a loud sigh. It was best to follow his boss’s orders. He had to stay on Daimler’s good side and see if he could convince him to keep Sunny Crest open.

He exited the freeway, drove up a hill and over the crest where he had a view out toward Denver. The Brown Cloud, as residents affectionately called the smog, was visible in the distance, snaking its way north from Denver. He took a deep breath. Hopefully more clean air from the mountains circulated here than in the pollution spewing from the cars commuting back and forth between Denver and the myriad suburbs.

Compared to his white monster of a building, Sunny Manor was a one-story facility spread over a larger lot. He parked his Jag and sauntered up to the door. Locked. He pressed a keypad and was buzzed inside. That was one way to prevent scam artists. Keep the place locked. But it made more sense for an assisted living facility than for an independent living community like Sunny Crest.

He went through another set of doors and came to a receptionist who directed him to Fred’s office. His footsteps echoed as he strode down the linoleum hallway. Watercolors with the resident’s name and age in neat script lined the corridor. One painting showed a realistic mountain lake with snow covered peaks in the background. He half expected a moose to step up to lap the water.

When Reginald reached his destination, Fred leaped up from his chair, sending it spinning back toward a bookcase. “Reginald! At last you’ve come to visit.” He shook hands as vigorously as if Stanley had found him in the jungles of Africa.

Fred had frizzy brown hair that tried, but failed, to hide a growing bald spot on top of his head. A little overweight and probably ten years Reginald’s senior, he had rosy cheeks, a small pointy nose and eyes that darted from side to side as if taking in a ping-pong game.

Reginald wondered if he’d look like this after another decade in the retirement facility business.

Fred waved toward a chair. “Take a seat. Then we can compare notes on how to stay financially solvent.” He plopped down in his own chair behind his desk.

Reginald dropped into the one indicated. “Yes, I’m glad we have a chance to get together. As I mentioned to you, Armand Daimler wanted to make sure we met.”

Fred’s sunny demeanor turned cloudy. “Yes. . . ah. . . I’m sure you’ve had conversations with headquarters as well. They’re on a cost reduction tear. I get missives almost daily asking what I’m doing to save the corporation money. I’ve cut to the bone but can’t sacrifice services by reducing expenses further.”

Reginald nodded. “Daimler runs a no-frills organization and expects all of us to do the same.”

Fred took a sip from a water bottle on his desk and set it down. “I’ve never met him in person. Is he the tyrant he seems over the phone?”

“Worse. He’s a short pudgy man who bullies everyone working for him. He loves to stand inches from someone’s face, poke a stubby finger in the miscreant’s chest and threaten to have him chopped into goose liver.”

Fred’s eyes widened. “He can’t be that bad.”

“Nah. I’m only kidding. About the goose liver part, that is. The rest is accurate.”

Compared to Reginald’s anemic office decorations, Fred’s walls were lined with photographs of him shaking hands with dignitaries, several bowling and golf trophies, and the requisite picture of a wife with smiling brood. A window offered a view out toward a courtyard where two old ladies sat in the sun on a wooden bench. One of them handed something to the other one. Reginald cocked an eye to see if it was knitting, a book or a picture of a grandkid. Nope. It was a card deck. “I see two of your residents out in the courtyard.”

Fred turned toward the window. “Oh, yes. Mabel and Bernice go out there every afternoon when it’s sunny.”

“They playing cribbage or trumps?”

“Nope. Texas Hold ‘em. I have to watch those two. They’re both card sharks. They like to suck in unsuspecting people for money.” He leaned forward and whispered. “I lost twenty bucks to Mable last week. If they invite you for a game of poker, don’t be suckered in.”

“But this is an assisted living facility. I didn’t think the residents here would be that with it.”

“Don’t be fooled. They all have some medical problem that makes them unable to take care of themselves on their own. In the case of Mabel and Bernice they can’t hear much and have trouble moving, but their mental abilities are top notch.”

“But you also have a memory unit here as I understand it.”

Fred nodded vigorously. “That’s right. Some residents are in great physical shape but are suffering from Alzheimer’s. That’s why we keep the facility locked. We can’t have someone with dementia wondering off and getting lost. But back to Daimler. He’s putting pressure on me to cut my expenditures by twenty percent. Can you believe it? Twenty percent. Think what that would do to the service we provide. It would be a disaster. I have to figure out some way to keep him off my back.”

“I know what you’re going through. He sent me out here to turn around Sunny Crest, with marching orders to slash costs. I started doing that, but it backfired. Now I’m trying to focus on a balance of wise expenditures and increasing the occupancy rate. You filling your rooms here, Fred?”

“We’re at ninety percent right now.” His eyes lit up. “You wouldn’t have any residents who are ready for a little more care to send my way, would you? That would really help me.”

Reginald tried to picture the Jerry-atrics in a place like this. Nah. They were mobile, could take care of themselves and pitched in to help each other. “None comes to mind right now, but I’ll definitely refer people your way when they need the additional care.”

Fred pushed a stapler to the side of his desk. “So how do I handle Daimler? He’s always threatening that if I don’t cut costs he can have this property sold off for residential use.”

“He likes that threat. He even spoke to a Realtor and wants me to sell Sunny Crest if I can’t turn it around quickly.”

Fred lunged across the desk and grabbed Reginald’s arm. “Don’t let him do that. I’m counting on residents moving from Sunny Crest to Sunny Manor. If you disappear, it will be a disaster for me.”

“To say nothing of for my residents and staff. I’m doing everything I can to keep the place open, Fred. But it’s going to be a tough sell to Daimler. Our property in Boulder is prime real estate. Daimler has dollar signs in his eyes over what he thinks Cenpolis can get for selling the land.”

Fred settled back in his chair. “Our property values aren’t as high here in Louisville. If you can fend off Daimler, maybe he won’t try to do anything with our less valuable land. I’ll have to find a way to balance the cost-cutting pressure while keeping the place solvent.”

Reginald stared out the window again. The section of the building on the other side of the courtyard had to be less than ten years old. Solid brick and wood construction. “It would be a waste to pop and scrape this facility, Fred. I think you should keep focusing on occupancy rate as I’m doing. If I’m successful in convincing Daimler to stay with Sunny Crest, together we can keep a good thing going.” Reginald hoped that he could persuade Daimler.

“How are you increasing your occupancy?”

Reginald gave a conspiratorial smile. “I have a secret weapon. There are a group of residents at Sunny Crest who greet visitors and put on a magic show. It seems to really appeal to prospects, and we’ve started getting more signups in the last few days.”

“Will you rent them out?”

That was an interesting idea. Put the Jerry-atrics on the road to pitch for other Cenpolis facilities. “I don’t know. I think they’re pretty busy handling the demand for shows at Sunny Crest. But here’s another thought. I also have a very good marketing manager who has some excellent ideas on promotion. Maybe I could put her in touch with your marketing person.”

Fred drummed his fingers on his desk. “My marketing manager has all kinds of ideas as well, but they all cost too much. I’m having trouble reconciling his enthusiasm with Daimler’s dictate to cut cost.”

“I think that always goes with the marketing world. Finding the right balance. Still it wouldn’t hurt to have our people talk. My marketing manager is Mimi Hendrix. Have your guy call her. She’d be more than willing to exchange information.” Then Reginald remembered the senior triathlon. “She has this idea of sponsoring a sporting event for old people. I don’t imagine your residents would be up for that.”

“It depends. I have several who are very active physically. Sometimes too active.”

Reginald thought how active the Jerry-atrics were. Physically and other ways. “Mimi can describe the concept to your marketing guy and see if he wants to work with her on it, provided I give her the go-ahead.”

Fred winked. “Holding the old purse strings tight, Reginald?”

“You better believe it. No way I’ll let rampant spending sink us. I’m not ready to pull the trigger on Mimi’s triathlon yet. Maybe we could share the expenses.”

Fred held up his hand. “Whoa. I’m looking for ways to cut costs not increase them.”

“I know, but remember, keeping me going, keeps you going.”

“We’ll start by having the marketing people put their heads together.” Fred jumped from his chair. “Now, let me give you a tour. There’s a lot to see in this place.”

“Good. Maybe it’ll stimulate some more ideas on how we can help each other.”

For a pudgy guy, Fred moved quickly, and Reginald had to jog to keep up with him as he shot down the hallway.

“First, let me show you a typical resident’s room.” Fred knocked on a door.

“Come in,” a faint voice answered.

He pushed the door open, and they entered a suite, smaller than the ones at Sunny Crest.

“Hello, Agnes. I have a visitor here who wants to see what a room looks like. I always like showing off your place.”

Agnes sat in a rocking chair, knitting. Her gray hair was tied up in a neat bun. She wore a yellow flowered house dress and pink bunny slippers. Her fingers moved constantly as the knitting needles clacked together. Her bed was covered with a pink and gray afghan, and a white doily rested under a lamp by the bedside.

Unlike Sunny Crest, no kitchenette. An open bathroom with hold bars visible from a walk-in shower. No Mrs. Rasputin taking down the safety railings in this place.

“How long have you lived here?” Reginald asked Agnes.

“A little over a year. My legs finally gave out. I moved here from Sunny Crest.”

“That’s where I’m from.”

She peered at him. “You look too young to be living in a retirement home.”

“I appreciate the compliment. I’m the executive director there.”

She stopped knitting for a moment, her probing eyes watching him like a cat looking at a piece of fish. “You must be new.”

“That’s right. Two weeks.”

“What happened to that jerk, Edwards?”

Reginald flinched. “He. . . uh. . . resigned suddenly. I was asked to take his place.”

“That’s good. I’m sure you’ll do a better job. He was a dipstick.”

Fred laughed. “Agnes, you never cease to amaze me. Always telling it as you see it.”

“No sense mincing words at my age. If I don’t like something, I’m going to speak my mind.”

“Thanks for letting me stop by,” Reginald said.

They exited as Agnes resumed knitting.

Fred gave him a tour of the dining room, craft room and then led him to a meeting room with folding chairs for concerts, lectures and movies.

“You’ll notice the fifty-nine inch flat screen television.” Fred pointed to one larger than at Sunny Crest. “We show a DVD movie every night there isn’t some other event going on in this room. Usually get quite a turnout.”

“Probably show Cocoon and Space Cowboys.” Reginald chuckled.

“No way. This crowd likes Rambo, The Terminator and Die Hard.”

Probably on Tom Balboa’s list of favorites as well. “What about the people who don’t hear so well?”

Fred stepped over and tapped a box sitting next to the TV. “We have earphones and a special transmitting unit here for the hearing impaired. Everyone can enjoy the show without turning up the volume too loud.”

“You’ve thought of everything.”

At that moment one of the women from out in the courtyard limped up, leaning on a cane. She held a card deck in her hand, placed it down on the empty table next to them and riffled the deck. “Anyone up for a little friendly game of cards?”

Fred wagged a finger at her. “Now, Mabel, you aren’t gambling again, are you?”

She placed a hand to her chest. “Me? I’m only looking for someone who wants a little action.” She squinted at Reginald over the top of glasses perched on the bridge of her nose. “You look like a gaming gentleman. Want to play some five card stud?” She reached over, picked up the cards and performed a perfect one-handed cut.

Reginald regarded her warily. “I’m sorry. I didn’t bring any cash with me.”

“Doesn’t matter. I take checks or credit cards.” She reached in her purse and whipped out a manual credit card imprinter and set it on the table next to the deck of cards. “Visa or Mastercard?”

Fred grabbed Reginald’s arm and dragged him out into the hallway. Once safely out of Mabel’s grasp, the tour continued to an exercise room.

“We have our cane fu class going on this afternoon.” Fred pointed to half a dozen women and one scrawny man in the middle of a large room. An instructor in what looked like a white karate karategi, stood in front of the group. They all held canes in their hands.

“What’s cane fu?” Reginald asked.

Fred chuckled. “It’s the latest craze. It’s a martial art also referred to as cane fighting. It provides excellent exercise and is a means of self-defense that can come in handy if an older person is ever attacked. You should see some of the moves these people can make with a cane in their hands.”

Reginald recalled having to dodge a few canes at Sunny Crest when people weren’t sure where to place the darn things. He had never considered a cane as a means of self-defense, but now thinking about it, he realized you could whack someone pretty good with a large solid piece of wood or aluminum. Think what a little mini-bat had done to Willie Pettigrew.

They stepped into the room and stood beside a table covered with half a dozen polished wooden canes. Blue padded mats covered the floor.

“How’s the class going, Jason?” Fred called out.

“Great, Mr. Dickinson. Of all the assisted living facilities I visit, this group is the best.”

“I’m sure you say that to all your students,” an old lady in a long saggy green sweat suit said.

“No, ma’am. I tell everyone they’re doing good, but only Sunny Manor is the best. You all rock.”

“I didn’t hear you, sonny,” another wrinkled woman in gray sweat pants and a long white T-shirt said leaning on her cane. “What about rocks?”

“Something about us being solid as rocks,” the geezer added, waving his cane in the air. He looked frail enough to fall over from lifting the cane above his head.

“Let’s pair up for some sparring,” Jason announced. “Find a partner.”

They all scrambled into pairs. The woman in the long white T-shirt stood by herself. “How come no one wants to spar with me?” she shouted.

“You knocked me down the last time,” the green sweat suit woman replied. “You’re too rough.”

“You sprained my wrist last week,” the geezer added. “I’m not sparring with you again.”

“You’re all a bunch of wimps.” She pointed toward Reginald and Fred. “How about one of you two? I need some competition here.”

Fred shook his head vigorously. “Not me. I have a bad back.”

Using her cane, the woman in the white T-shirt limped over. She peered at Reginald out of the corner of her eye. “You’ll do.” She wrapped the crook of her cane around his leg and pulled him out onto one of the blue mats. The lettering on her T-shirt read, “Getting To 100 Isn’t for Wusses.”

“Wait a minute,” Reginald protested. “I’ve never done this before.”

“You’ll learn quick, sonny. Do what you’re told.” She jabbed the bottom end of her cane into his stomach for emphasis.

Reginald let out a burst of air and bent over in pain.

She whacked him on his shin with her cane. “Suck it up and stand tall, sonny. Tough it out.”

He stood the best he could before any more bodily harm could be done.

Jason handed him a cane. Reginald turned it over in his hand. It wasn’t your typical walking cane. It was solid wood with serrated edges on part of the handle. The crook came to a point. “This thing looks pretty lethal.” He hefted it in the air.

Reginald’s sparring partner whacked her cane into his. “Keep it down, sonny. Someone could get hurt if you wave that thing around carelessly. Show some control.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She wrinkled her nose at him. “Don’t ma’am me. My name is Maude. You’re not going to give me any trouble, are you, sonny?” She stabbed her cane at him, stopping inches from his chest.

His stomach ached, and his shin hurt. “I wouldn’t think of it, Maude.”

“Good. Otherwise I’ll have to kick your butt.”

On that happy note Jason told everyone to face his or her sparring partners. “Now bow.”

Maude and Reginald bowed toward each other.

“Now I want one of you in each pair to assume a defensive position like this.” He held up his cane with a hand on the handle and the other toward the bottom. “Place it at an angle in front of your face, and when a blow comes from your partner, push upwards.”

“You can do defense, sonny.”

Reginald copied Jason’s move.

Jason stepped over and adjusted Reginald’s hands. “You want it so your opponent can’t strike your wrists.”

Reginald looked over to see Maude tapping her cane on the mat. “Makes sense.” He adjusted his hold so Maude wouldn’t be able to whack his hands.

“Now I want the other person to assume an attacking position like this.” Jason held his cane up to his right with hands placed close together. “Strike with a downward slashing motion.” He demonstrated. “Okay, assume positions.”

Reginald held his cane in the defensive position, and Maude raised her cane as Jason had shown.

“Now strike.”

Maude brought her cane forward, and Reginald thrust upward to fend it off.

Pow. Her cane struck his, and his hands vibrated. He could feel the contact all the way to his teeth.

“Again.”

Bam. Reginald stumbled as Maude practically knocked him over.

“Once more.”

Wham. Reginald lost his footing and fell. His cane flew into the air, and his head hit the mat.

Maude followed through downward and placed the pointed end of the crook right on his throat. “Gotcha good, sonny. You’d be dead if I wanted you out of the way.”

The room was spinning, and Reginald saw two Maudes. One was threatening enough. He could understand why no one wanted to spar with her.

She removed the point from his throat, and he slowly sat up. The room and Maude came into focus. At that moment he heard a familiar voice. “What are you doing to my mother?”

Reginald pulled himself up from the mat and who should be standing there in his orange Bermuda shorts and wizard T-shirt but Jerry Rhine.

“Your mother?”

“Yeah. You were just sparring with my mother.” He turned toward Maude. “Hi, Mom.”

“Good to see you here, kiddo. Do you know this dufus who can’t defend himself?”

“Yeah, Reggie and I are old buddies.” Jerry patted him on the back. “You’re lucky you didn’t end up with more than the wind knocked out of you, Reggie.”

“Maybe you should spar with your mom.” He handed the cane to Jerry.

Jerry thrust out his index fingers to form a cross. “No way. I’m not getting near her when she has a fighting cane in her hand. You have to be an idiot to do that.”

Then the discussion from the night of the family dinner came back to Reginald. “You told me your mother was a hundred-and-one.”

“That’s right, Reggie. You’ve just been whupped by a centenarian.”

Reginald took stock of all his pains and bruises and decided he would survive. “You come here often, Jerry?”

“Once a week. I visit Mom and we have a cup of java in the dining room. They serve better coffee than at Sunny Crest.”

“I’ll remember to tell Maurice that he has an opportunity for improvement.”

“You do that. Want to join us, Reggie?”

“Thanks, but I think I better stay out of striking range of your mother.”

Reginald joined Fred in his office to wrap up for the afternoon.

“Quite a place you have here,” Reginald said, rubbing his hip where he had fallen after Maude’s attack.

“Yeah, I never know what to expect from one day to the next. Say, Reginald, I heard that you had a strange death at Sunny Crest recently.”

Uh-oh. Reginald decided to keep the explanation short and to the point. “A man who had been scamming some of my residents turned up dead in the loading dock area.”

“Accident or someone whack him?”

“The police haven’t determined the cause of death for sure yet. They’re still investigating.” He chose not to mention that Maude’s son and his friends might somehow be implicated in a murder.

“Fortunately, we don’t have that kind of excitement around here. One of the benefits of having the place locked.”

“I’d hate to have to resort to that. I’m hoping that we won’t have any more scam artists prowling our corridors. I’ve increased security and that should help keep the wrong types of people out.” Reginald looked at his watch. “I better get out of your hair. I appreciate the tour.”

Fred stood up and grasped his hand. “Let’s keep in touch. We need to team up to ward off the threats from Cenpolis headquarters.”

How true. Reginald had three days to save Sunny Crest or the place would disappear in the dust of a wrecking ball, and he’d be holding a tin cup for donations on the Boulder downtown pedestrian mall.

As Reginald exited the building he saw Jerry and Maude standing next to his Jaguar. Maude rested on her cane. Jerry was waving his hands in the air doing his Italian act.

“What trouble are you two causing?” Reginald asked.

“I was showing Mom that you have one of these fancy cars, but it’s missing the thing-a-ma-jig on the hood.”

Reginald stared at them both suspiciously. “Yeah, strange how it disappeared.”

Maude wrinkled her nose and poked her cane at Reginald. “Stop by any time, and I’ll be happy to knock you flat on your tush again, sonny.”