Patricia Rockwell - Essie Cobb 03 - Valentined Page 13

  She chose a valentine designed for one spouse to give another. It said “To my beloved” which was similar to the greeting on the front of the secret admirer card. Taking it with her and putting away the other cards, she brought the valentine to her desk and placed it on the blotter in the center. The first step was to sign the inside of the card, “your secret admirer” in a handwriting as similar as possible to that she remembered on the original. When that was completed, she turned to the front of the card. She realized that it would be important to convey at least a sense that this card had some thickness to it as did the original—thickness caused by the cocaine-filled heart in the center. She searched in her desk drawers looking for something that she could use to construct a heart. In a lower drawer, she found an old photograph album that had some pages comprised of gold leaf. Hmm, she thought. It’s not the pink like the original, but it does have the requisite fancy quality. She pulled apart the pages and used her scissors to cut a large segment of the foil. Then, she fashioned a three-dimensional heart out of the material. Not perfect, but at a glance, the little gold heart would do in a pinch. She then realized she would need something to provide bulk to the heart’s interior. She settled on a bunched up tissue that she glued inside the heart. Just before she glued the heart to the front of the card, however, she got another idea. She rolled over to her kitchen and rummaged through her drawers. Far in the back of one drawer, she grabbed a box of small sandwich bags, similar to those the police had used to collect the cocaine from her lap. She extracted one from the box and returned to her desk. Here, she searched through her desk drawers, eventually pulling out some small rubber bands, mending tape, glue, and a bottle of ink. Carefully, she filled one corner of the plastic bag with about a tablespoon of ink and then tightly bound the top with the tiny rubber band. Then she folded this little contraption inside the tissue paper, inside the gold foil heart on the front of the card, applying glue to the entire unit. She arranged it in such a way that anyone opening the envelope would find the heart tightly attached to the card. Any attempt to pull it off or detach it would result in the baggie breaking, and ink pouring out. At least, that was what she hoped would happen. She wasn’t going to test it on herself because she didn’t want black hands. She hoped this method would work. She hoped it would help her catch the drug dealer and keep herself safe in the process.

  Before she put the card in the envelope, she turned the envelope over and considered how to make the front look as realistic as possible. Obviously, she couldn’t supply a real postmark. She could, however, address it to herself and write in that phony return address that she clearly remembered from the original envelope. Then she contemplated the upper right hand corner where she knew a stamp would go. She reached over in her middle desk drawer where she kept a supply of postage stamps. As she held the roll of stamps in her hands, she bit her lip and shook her head. No, this wouldn’t work. An unused stamp just wouldn’t look right. She put the stamps back in the drawer and reached to the top of her desk in the upper right hand corner where she kept a pile of important mail. She peeked into the pile and extracted an envelope that had a postage stamp on it which appeared fairly loose. Using her letter opener, she pushed and prodded the stamp until it finally gave way. With the used stamp in her hand, she placed a small dab of glue on its back and gently placed it in the upper right-hand corner of her fake envelope. Then, she grabbed a liner pen with black ink. It had a felt-tip and it worked well in labeling envelopes and other things. She practiced using some blank paper first. Looking at postmarks from some of her other envelopes, she drew postmarks with Boston, MA, and the previous day’s date. She drew dozens of these marks, until she felt she was able to produce one that bore a reasonable facsimile to the one that had been on the original envelope. Then, as carefully as she was able, she drew the postmark across the old stamp on the fake envelope. When she had finished, she set down her pen and held the envelope up at a distance.

  “Now, would I fall for this?” she asked herself. “Would I believe that this was an actual piece of mail that Essie Cobb received from a secret admirer?”

  The answer to the question was a qualified ‘yes.’ There was nothing more she could do. Her trap was set. Now all she had to do was set it in motion. She carefully placed the fake envelope on the top of the pile of items in her walker basket and put down the lid. She pushed her walker into her bedroom and crawled under the covers. She always had her walker next to her bedside in case she needed to go to the bathroom but now there was another reason. She could keep her eye on it. If the Happy Haven drug dealer tried to take the card, he’d have to come in to get it, and maybe, just maybe, Essie might be awake and see him.

  Chapter Twenty One

  “Love is an act of endless forgiveness, a tender look which becomes a habit.”

  —Peter Ustinov

  Essie opened her eyes. Bright sunlight surrounded her. She glanced over to her bedroom window and realized that it was morning and that she had slept through the night. She hadn’t even needed a potty break. As she smiled in pride at her bladder’s achievement, the sudden realization of her intended middle of the night goal surfaced. What about her fake valentine? Had the drug dealer sneaked into her room and snatched it? Essie stretched her legs out over the edge of her bed and set her feet carefully in her bedroom slippers on the floor. Bending over, she pulled her walker closer to her and lifted the seat.

  The cream-colored envelope sat untouched on top. Essie picked it up and peeked inside. Her little heart remained intact. Her trap was still unsprung. Essie didn’t know whether to be relieved or dismayed. If the person had come in last night, she doubted she would have awakened as she obviously had slept more soundly than usual. But now she had to consider how to convey to the drug dealer that his supply of cocaine was in her walker and just waiting for him to come and retrieve it.

  She sighed and lifted herself from her bed. Every bone and joint creaked, but Essie had learned years ago to ignore their noises. She realized that her body was somewhat like a railroad train. It was slow to get moving, but once the wheels started turning, it could go at an amazing speed. She gave each knee a little in-place bending until her lower extremities were functioning satisfactorily. Now upright, she grabbed her walker and headed into her bathroom. She couldn’t remember the last time her bladder had maintained a full night’s worth of liquid. You go, little bladder, she said to herself softly. Sometimes, she felt, body parts needed their own pep talks. Bladders, especially.

  As she rolled back to her bed, DeeDee, her morning aide, knocked, called out her name, and then immediately showed up in her bedroom. Essie waited for DeeDee to bring her outfit that she had laid out the night before. Arthritis prevented Essie from dressing herself with any speed, so DeeDee made this morning ritual whiz by. In fact, she and DeeDee had such a well-practiced rhythm that Essie often thought they could enter a dressing contest if such a thing existed.

  “Happy Valentine’s Day, Miss Essie,” DeeDee said as she pulled Essie’s brown slacks on and up her thin legs. “The whole place is talking about this valentine you got from a secret admirer!”

  Essie smiled. Her efforts were obviously working. She hadn’t discussed the card with DeeDee and this was the first she’d heard her morning aide mention it. DeeDee loved gossip and she loved to tease Essie, especially about her love life, of which there wasn’t any.

  “It’s true, DeeDee,” replied Essie. “I got a lovely valentine from an admirer.” She tried to blush coyly, but her acting skills were not what she wished they would be. She was much better at figuring out mysteries than pretending feelings she didn’t have.

  “That’s romantic, Essie!” cried DeeDee, now working on tying Essie’s tennis shoes. “Do you have any idea who sent it?”

  “Not a clue,” replied Essie. Of course, this was true, but DeeDee didn’t need to know any more than that.

  “I’d love to see it,” said her aide, now standing and offering her arm to help Essie rise from her bed.<
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  “I guess it’s okay,” said Essie hesitantly. She didn’t want to let anyone inspect her makeshift card too closely or they would see how she had jerry-rigged it to include the trap. On the other hand, she did want to make sure that DeeDee saw enough that she remembered the card and would be sure to spread the story to all of her co-workers and other residents at Happy Haven. Essie bent down and lifted the lid of her walker.

  “I see you take it with you,” noted DeeDee as Essie brought out the cream-colored envelope.

  “It’s very precious to me,” replied Essie. Eeek, she thought, how corny. I wonder if DeeDee will fall for this folderol. She knows me so well. She knows that I’m not easily bamboozled. I can’t believe she’d think for one minute that I’d become all mushy over a sentimental card from someone I didn’t even know. She clutched the envelope to her chest before reaching inside and carefully bringing out the frilly valentine.

  “Oh, my!” exclaimed DeeDee, as she stared at the fake card that Essie held. “How beautiful!”

  DeeDee’s face looked awash with wonder. Essie bit her lip to keep from scoffing. Certainly she was proud of her own art work. When this was all over, she’d have to brag to Mindy about how she had created such a crafty card that fooled at least one person.

  “It is, isn’t it?” Essie beamed. She fluttered her eyelashes at DeeDee in her most girlish fashion.

  “Could I see it?” asked DeeDee cautiously.

  “Oh,” replied Essie, clasping the card to her bosom in mock horror. “It just…means so much to me… DeeDee. I just hate to let it out of my sight. You understand, don’t you?” She gave DeeDee her most soulful look and prayed that her friendly, daily aide wouldn’t detect the playacting.

  “Of course, sweetie!” answered DeeDee, patting Essie’s shoulder warmly. “Believe me, if I ever got something so romantic, I’d guard it like Fort Knox too!” DeeDee chuckled under her breath and headed into Essie’s bathroom where she typically cleaned up her sink and made sure Essie had enough toilet paper available each day.

  Essie sighed in relief. It wasn’t as hard to fool people as she thought it might be. She didn’t know if she’d be able to handle things around Happy Haven in a similar fashion. She needed to make sure that everyone knew she had the card and that it was in her walker seat. But, she had to be very careful not to actually let anyone get a hold of it or they’d run the risk of spoiling her art work and the little trap she had set for the drug dealer.

  “You think it’s one of your beaux here at HH?” called out DeeDee from the bathroom. Essie rolled into the living room and pushed her walker over to her recliner. DeeDee eventually joined her and began to prepare Essie’s morning pills.

  “I don’t have any beaux,” said Essie curtly.

  “Oh, I don’t know about that!” shot back DeeDee, pouring water into her glass at Essie’s sink. “That Hubert Darby follows you around like a puppy dog, Essie. You know that.”

  “Maybe,” she replied. “But he’s just one and he’s not very aggressive.”

  “Aggressive!” said DeeDee, laughing. “You want your men to be more aggressive? Why, Essie I never would have guessed!”

  “No,” said Essie, shaking her head and scowling as she took her pills and water from DeeDee. “I mean I like that he’s not aggressive. He’s less bother that way.”

  “Bother!” said DeeDee with a twinkle. “Since when is having a male admirer a bother?”

  “When you’re ninety!” answered Essie. “I have enough to worry about without some fellow prancing around behind me like some sort of lovesick teenager.”

  “Lovesick teenager?” DeeDee asked. “Is that what Hubert does?”

  “Him and that Dave Esperti,” noted Essie, handing the glass back to DeeDee.

  “Oh! Now, see, there are two of them!” said DeeDee, pointing at Essie in victory. “I knew you had more than one guy chasing after you. Since when has Dave been added to the list?”

  “Not my list,” replied Essie. “The only man on my list is my late husband John.”

  “I note your loyalty, Miss Essie,” said DeeDee, squatting down beside her patient. “But surely your husband wouldn’t begrudge you a little love in your… now that he’s no longer here.”

  “He wouldn’t,” said Essie definitively, “but, DeeDee, I would begrudge it. John is the only man I ever loved and ever will love. That’s all there is to it.” Essie had not intended to get into such a personal discussion with her aide, but DeeDee was always a good listener and always so sympathetic. Essie had spoken many times to her about her late husband and DeeDee knew the special bond they’d shared.

  “You’re a wonderful lady, Miss Essie,” said DeeDee, standing and giving Essie a brief hug. “If you ever do decide to give your heart away again, believe me, that will be some lucky man!” She headed over to the sink and replaced the glass. She straightened up Essie’s small kitchen and then headed for the door.

  “So, maybe this secret admirer is a possibility?” she asked. “I mean, if you don’t think he’s someone here at Happy Haven. Who could he be?”

  “I don’t know,” replied Essie. “That’s the romance of it, actually. If I knew who he was, then I’d have to deal with him. As long as I don’t know, it remains a magical mystery.”

  “It certainly does,” agreed DeeDee. She opened the door. “Hey, you’ll have to ask that love guru! You know, the one who’s speaking today!”

  “Oh, DeeDee, I don’t hold much stock in those types of individuals,” said Essie, realizing that she hadn’t actually used this morning’s opportunity to pick DeeDee’s brain regarding what her fellow workers knew about Essie’s card. “I don’t suppose that anyone has said anything about my secret admirer, have they?”

  “Miss Essie,” replied DeeDee, carefully closing the door but still holding it, “I told you, your secret admirer is the talk of the place!”

  “Oh, you say that!” chided Essie, “but I can’t believe people are actually interested in some greeting card I got.”

  “Oh, believe me, they are,” replied DeeDee.

  “What are they saying?” Essie asked.

  “I don’t know, just that you got a valentine from a secret admirer,” said DeeDee. “The ladies are all jealous.”

  “You mean the residents,” said Essie.

  “And the staff,” answered DeeDee. “Most women don’t get flowery cards like that from their regular boyfriends or husbands, let alone someone they don’t even know!”

  “Are the men saying anything?” she prodded.

  “Yeah,” replied DeeDee, “some are. Mostly they’re annoyed that your admirer makes all men look bad!” She laughed. “All men need to look bad once in a while. They should treat women better like your admirer does, Essie.”

  “Have you heard anything else?” Essie asked.

  “I don’t know what you mean,” scowled DeeDee, furrowing her brow.

  “I don’t know,” said Essie. “Just any questions or comments. I’m just curious, DeeDee.” She smiled her fake smile again, hoping DeeDee wouldn’t be put off by her probing.

  “I believe I did hear someone say that one of the other residents had received a valentine from a secret admirer, but I don’t remember who it was.”

  “Was it Betsy Rollingford?” asked Essie.

  “I don’t know her. It could be. I don’t remember,” replied DeeDee. “Do you want me to find out?”

  “Oh, no!” said Essie quickly. The last thing she needed was to arouse suspicion by having DeeDee go on some fact-finding mission for her. That would be just the thing to call attention to herself and to her attempt to track down her secret admirer. Yes, just the thing. DeeDee waved good-bye and Essie was left alone to plan her next step.

  Chapter Twenty Two

  “All love that has not friendship for its base, is like a mansion built upon sand.”

  —Ella Wheeler Wilcox

  Breakfast proved to be quite special. The chef had prepared a Valentine’s Day treat for all the
residents—heart-shaped pancakes covered with strawberries. A sprinkling of powdered sugar garnished the top. The whole dish was enchantingly pretty, thought Essie. It was a nice break from the usual fare.

  “Happy Valentine’s Day,” Santos had greeted them. The juice was even themed for the day—pomegranate—a bright red. It was something Essie had never tasted before. She decided after a few sips that she preferred orange juice, but she was always willing to try something new.

  “So, Essie,” whispered Marjorie when the meals had all been delivered. “Anything new to report on… you know what?” Marjorie bent low and looked around suspiciously.

  “There’s no faulting your spy credentials, Marjorie,” said Essie with a sneer. “Let’s try not to call attention to ourselves. All right?”

  “No one is doing that, Essie,” replied Opal, in defense of Marjorie. “You can’t expect us not to be curious about what’s going on after…everything that occurred yesterday.” She covered her mouth discreetly with her napkin when she said this last part.

  “No one is looking at us or paying us the least attention,” replied Essie as she glanced around the dining hall. Indeed, all the residents seemed far more interested in their festive pancakes than they were in overhearing the conversations at any nearby tables.