Patricia Rockwell - Essie Cobb 04 - Ghosted Read online

  She didn’t need to wait long.

  A nondescript sedan slowly rolled into the driveway and stopped. Mark Twain (for that was what Essie called him in her mind) opened the passenger door and got inside. Essie was about to turn and go because she assumed the car would drive away, but as she remained to see, it soon became apparent that the driver of the car was not going to leave. She could see the back of Twain’s head in the car. He appeared to be speaking in an animated fashion to the driver. Essie couldn’t even tell if the driver was a man or a woman, but she could see that the person was responding similarly with lots of hand gestures.

  Abruptly, Mark Twain got out of the car and the driver whizzed away. Twain headed back towards the double door entrance and Essie could see him getting closer, so she quickly turned her walker and headed back down the hallway. If he saw her in the hallway, he would surely become suspicious as there was absolutely no reason to be in this hallway except to go into the kitchen or out the rear entrance, and, as a resident, Essie had no reason to go either place. Residents were expected to use the front entrance. And they were expected to sign out when they left the building—even just for a walk. Mark Twain was definitely breaking several HH rules. Of course, as long as no one saw him, he wouldn’t get in trouble. And Essie, under normal circumstances, was not one to get her fellow residents in trouble. But she was curious—and maybe a bit worried.

  Essie managed to get to the end of the hallway and out into the mailbox area before Mark Twain re-entered the building. She busied herself at her mailbox, pretending that she was collecting her mail, and waited for Twain to return. In a few seconds, the man appeared. Essie noticed through her peripheral vision (which was amazing for a woman her age, according to her ophthalmologist) that Twain was carrying a small box. As he hadn’t been carrying the box when he left the building, Essie reasoned that the driver of the car had given it to him. The box was rectangular in shape and brown cardboard. It had no markings but it did seem to have a lid that was affixed with clear tape.

  Oh, goblins to Gertrude! she thought. What if it’s a bomb? What if he’s a terrorist planning to blow up Happy Haven? Essie knew that she had a vivid imagination and she rejected this scenario almost as soon as the thought appeared in her mind. The box was surely far too small to contain any kind of bomb.

  Even so, the fact that the man was new and that he had an obvious military background (even though that background occurred during World War II), and that he was scurrying around the back ways of Happy Haven in a very secretive fashion, and—well, his rather striking good looks—made Essie think of him as some hero in an adventure movie. As she glanced sideways, she saw the man was now retreating into the lobby. He was even wearing one of those leather bomber jackets, she realized, as he strode off into the family room and around the corner. Essie moved her walker after him and when she rounded the corner, she saw that he was standing in front of the elevator.

  Using my deductive reasoning, she said to herself, I’d guess he lives on the second floor. As Happy Haven only had two floors, and most residents who lived on the second floor took the elevator to get to the second floor, it wasn’t a strained deduction. Of course, that only cut in half the possible apartments where Mark Twain might reside. Even so, she mused, it is more information than I had before. She continued to peer at the man from the far reaches of the lobby as he waited for the elevator. Soon the elevator door opened, releasing a half-dozen ladies directly into Mark’s hands. He beamed at them politely and they—to a one—all giggled. Women! thought Essie.

  After the man had disappeared into the elevator, Essie turned and started towards the dining hall where she had originally been headed. Her pals, Marjorie, Opal, and Fay would surely be wondering where she was. Essie was typically the first person at their table. Passing the front desk by the lobby entrance, she greeted Phyllis, Happy Haven’s front desk clerk.

  “Good morning, Essie,” replied the cheerful middle-aged woman with a smile. “You’re late for breakfast!” Essie was more than a little annoyed that Phyllis seemed to know her schedule so well. Of course, she reasoned, Phyllis probably knew all the residents’ schedules.

  “I am a little slow today, Phyllis,” replied Essie. “Must be the weather!”

  “I hear you, girlfriend!” said Phyllis with a jaunty wave.

  Essie smiled, although she never really thought of Phyllis as her girlfriend. She was certainly a nice person, but Opal, Marjorie, and Fay were her girlfriends. She’d heard Phyllis use this term with other residents and wondered if she was just trying to be extremely welcoming. She was definitely one of Happy Haven’s most outgoing and pleasant—Wait a minute! thought Essie. She stopped her walker and rolled around back to the front desk. Parking her walker to the side, she ambled up to the counter and plopped her arms on top.

  “Phyllis,” she said sweetly.

  “Yes, Essie,” said the clerk, stopping her paperwork and giving Essie her undivided attention.

  “I was wondering…” began Essie. She wasn’t quite certain how to go about extracting information from Phyllis about Mark Twain, the new resident. Maybe she knew something that might explain his strange behavior this morning.

  “Oh, Essie,” interrupted Phyllis, grabbing a clipboard from down the counter. “I bet you want to sign up for the Haunted House, don’t you?”

  “What?” mumbled Essie. “I…I…I hadn’t really thought about it. I…uh, might, but I will have to talk to Opal and Marjorie first.”

  “Oh, all right,” said Phyllis, seemingly disappointed, although Essie couldn’t understand why she would care one way or another whether or not Essie—or any of the residents—went on a field trip. “But there are only a few slots left and if you and your friends don’t sign up soon you’ll miss out on all the fun!”

  Right, thought Essie. Fun. Getting your pants scared off and your pee scared out. That was not Essie’s idea of fun. Oh, well. She knew she’d be talking to Opal and Marjorie about the Haunted House because they would be talking to her about the Haunted House. That seemed to be a major topic of conversation recently and she’d probably be bombarded again at breakfast with more requests to join them on the field trip. Ick! How she hated field trips. Essie shook her head. She had apparently been daydreaming while she was standing at the front desk and Phyllis was trying to get her attention.

  “Essie!” whispered Phyllis, giving her a gentle poke. “Essie, are you there?”

  Essie focused on Phyllis’s sweet but plump face.

  “What? Oh, yes. Phyllis, I wanted to ask you something.”

  “What, dear?” Again, Essie found Phyllis’s manner of constantly using terms of endearment off-putting. She was not her “dear.” But then, she reminded herself that Phyllis did that with all the residents. Indeed, Phyllis did that with all the staff and all of the visitors too.

  “Do you know that new resident?” she asked.

  “What new resident, Essie?” replied the clerk. “We have lots of new residents. Maybe twenty or more in just the last few months!”

  “Believe me, Phyllis,” continued Essie, reaching her small body up and over the counter so she could speak more confidentially, “you’d remember this one. He’s a man—”

  “That helps a lot,” said Phyllis seriously, nodding. “After all, women outnumber men at Happy Haven eight to one—”

  “I know that, Phyllis!” cried Essie. “Everyone knows that! But this man is special…”

  “How?”

  “He looks like…well, he looks like Mark Twain,” said Essie conspiratorially, pulling on Phyllis’s arm so she could draw her down and whisper directly in her ear.

  “Who?”

  “You know, Mark Twain, the author,” continued Essie, whispering, almost hissing in the clerk’s ear. “A big full head of white hair. A beautiful bushy white mustache. Very lean and muscular—”

  “Oh!” said Phyllis, standing upright suddenly, “you mean Edward! Edward Troy!”

  “You know who I’m talk
ing about?”

  “Of course,” replied Phyllis. “He always wears that leather bomber jacket around. All the ladies drool over him. Truth be told, I might drool a little too.” She blushed and looked down at the papers on her clipboard as if she realized she had just said something inappropriate.

  Essie ignored the woman’s admission.

  “Edward Troy,” she said, mulling over the name. “Edward Troy. Hmmm. What do you know about him, Phyllis?”

  “Oh, dear,” said Phyllis. “Why don’t you just ask him? He seems very open.”

  “Really?” asked Essie. “Not a little bit secretive?”

  “What are you getting at, Essie?” asked the clerk, now placing her hands on the counter and eyeballing Essie with more than curiosity.

  “I mean, you don’t notice any sort of unusual behavior?”

  “From Mr. Troy?” asked Phyllis. “Such as what?”

  “You know,” continued Essie. “Such as going places he shouldn’t…”

  “Like where?” demanded Phyllis, her cheeks reddening.

  “Oh, I don’t know,” replied Essie.

  “Essie,” said Phyllis, “Mr. Troy seems to me like a very nice man. I haven’t noticed anything unusual about him at all. I think maybe, Essie, that you’re just getting in one of your…uh, detective modes. What do you think?”

  “Oh, maybe,” replied Essie. She realized that she had pushed the clerk too far. One of Phyllis’s jobs was to protect each resident’s privacy. Indeed, she had done just that in the past, and Essie had personally witnessed how seriously Phyllis took her duties when it came to protecting the residents. She decided to back off. “That’s okay, Phyllis. I was just curious. Just as you said, he is very attractive!” She smiled pitifully at the clerk.

  “Oh, Essie,” said Phyllis, giving Essie a hug. “We’re never too old to appreciate an attractive man, are we?” Essie smiled up at Phyllis as the clerk continued to squeeze her affectionately.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  “An idea, like a ghost, must be spoken to a little before it will explain itself.”

  ––Charles Dickens

  Glancing down at her wristwatch, Essie realized that it was getting very late. If she was going to get any breakfast, she’d better get going before they closed the dining hall. She steered her walker to the right toward the dining entrance which was a large glass door, delineated by a velvet chain barrier that indicated where residents should line up when they arrived early for a meal—which was most of the time.

  At the moment, there was no one in line and not even any of the kitchen workers standing guard as they usually did to prevent pushing and fighting. Essie recalled several times when some of the residents had actually gotten into fist fights to be first in line when Cook made one of his specialties. This morning was not one of those times. Essie steered her trusty metal steed expertly through the open glass door in the center of the glass wall that marked the dining hall. She quickly headed for a table on the far side near the kitchen entrance.

  “Goodie pudding!” she said to herself when she saw that her pals were still seated.

  Essie rolled over and parked her walker beside her chair and slipped into place.

  “Essie!” cried Marjorie. “Where have you been?”

  “We had almost given up on you showing up for breakfast at all!” added Opal. Both women set down their coffee cups. Fay gave Essie a sweet little wave of greeting from across the table. All three women had plates in front of them and it was evident that breakfast had been tasty because there wasn’t much food left on any.

  “I was on an adventure,” said Essie softly, leaning over the table.

  “What?” the two talkative friends asked at once. However, before Essie could respond, Santos, the young waiter, appeared with pad in hand.

  “Miss Essie!” he said. “We almost give up to you! You never miss the breakfast!”

  “Sorry, Santos,” replied Essie sweetly, still breathing hard from her fast trek across the dining hall. “Just bring me one scrambled egg and some toast.”

  “No juice?” he asked.

  Essie reflected on the last time she drank juice. It was this morning when she was forced to drink that despicable vitamin supplement. The foul powder made a simple glass of orange juice taste like wet sand.

  “No thanks, Santos,” she said. “Just egg and toast. Oh, and coffee! Coffee first! Right away!”

  Santos jotted some notes on the pad and then zipped back to the kitchen, only to immediately return with a coffee pot. He expertly poured the hot beverage in Essie’s cup and headed back to the kitchen.

  “Thank you, Santos,” she said to his back. Essie picked up a small creamer from a wire bowl in the center of the table and opened it, adding about half of the cream to her coffee.

  “What adventure, Essie?” demanded Marjorie in an insistent whisper.

  “Just a minute,” said Essie, finishing a sip of coffee. She set the cup down. “I found out the name of the mystery man!”

  “You mean the new resident?” asked Marjorie. “The one with the beautiful mustache?”

  “The very one!” announced Essie proudly.

  “What is it?” asked Opal, not nearly as enthusiastic as her companion. She continued to sip from her cup.

  “Edward Troy,” replied Essie.

  “Did you meet him?” asked Marjorie excitedly.

  “No,” said Essie. “I just asked Phyllis.”

  “That makes sense,” said Opal with a shrug. “Phyllis knows everyone at Happy Haven.”

  “So,” continued Marjorie, bending over to Essie. “What else did she tell you?”

  “Nothing,” said Essie. “She wouldn’t even tell me where his apartment is or anything about him. I guess I’m not surprised. Remember how tight-lipped she was when Bob Weiderley was in the hospital? They tried to get information about him and Phyllis was a rock.”

  “I remember,” agreed Opal, wiping coffee from her upper lip with a cloth napkin. “It’s really a good thing that she protects our privacy the way she does.”

  “Otherwise,” added Marjorie, “we might be bombarded with all sorts of sales people.”

  “Yes,” said Essie, finger extended while she took another sip. “But even though Phyllis wouldn’t tell me anything about this Edward Troy, it doesn’t mean that I don’t have information about him.” Essie leaned forward in her chair, clutching her cup, her chin almost dangling in her coffee.

  “What information?” asked Marjorie. Opal merely looked quizzically at her friend.

  “I followed him this morning,” whispered Essie, looking around to be certain that no one was listening in. All of the other residents appeared to be engaged in conversations at their own tables. “I was at my mailbox when he walked by towards the kitchen entrance, and when he went through it and headed down the back hallway towards the back entrance, I followed him.” She sat upright and set her cup down and nodded triumphantly to one friend after another.

  “Why would he go out the back entrance?” asked Opal, scrunching her forehead.

  “Maybe he wanted to go for a walk behind the building,” argued Marjorie.

  “Nopie slopie!” replied Essie. “Almost as soon as he got outside, a car drove up and he got in.”

  “Wait a minute, Essie,” said Opal. “That isn’t right. If a resident leaves, they’re supposed to sign out and say where they’re going.”

  “Maybe no one told him the rule, Opal,” said Marjorie, fuming. “He is a new resident. I mean, Happy Haven has a lot of regulations! They’re always reminding us of them over the intercom or in those daily newsletters they leave on our doorsteps. He probably just didn’t realize that he was supposed to go out the front entrance.”

  “He didn’t go anywhere,” said Essie. She looked around the table and the three women responded with puzzled expressions—even Fay.

  “What do you mean, he didn’t go anywhere?” asked Marjorie. “You just said he got in a car.”

  “I know what I s
aid, Marjorie,” replied Essie. “He got in, but he just sat there and talked to the driver for a while and then after a few minutes, he got out and came back inside.”

  “Why would he do that?” asked Opal.

  “Opal, if I knew that, I’d tell you!” cried Essie, and then realizing that she was talking a bit too loud and that some of the other residents had glanced over at her, she continued in a softer voice. “I don’t know why he went outside and got in that car, but I do know that when he came back inside, he had a package with him.”

  “What was it?” asked Marjorie.

  “If I knew that, Marjorie, I’d tell you!” said Essie in her loud voice again. Several residents turned and looked at her. Essie smiled apologetically at them and whispered. “I don’t know what was in the package. It was just a cardboard box of some sort with a lid. There were no markings or anything on it so I can’t even speculate as to its contents.”

  Santos returned with Essie’s breakfast. The aroma was invigorating and Essie dug in, downing the meal in record time. In between bites, her table mates plied her with questions and comments about new resident Edward Troy and his foray out the back door to get a small package.

  “Why didn’t this person just leave the package for him at the front desk?” asked Opal.

  “Why, indeed,” replied Essie, wiping away a bit of egg from her chin. “As soon as he got the package, he left the car and the driver drove away. Mr. Troy came back inside and went directly through the lobby and onto the elevator. I was lucky that I managed to get back to the lobby before he saw me.”

  “So, he lives on the second floor,” said Marjorie, her eyes indicating how fast her brain was calculating the provided information. “Have you seen him up there, Opal?”

  “No, I haven’t,” replied Opal.

  “I think you should keep your eyes open, Opal,” suggested Essie. “Maybe you can find out where his apartment is. If you see him heading down a particular hall, it would make it easier to track him down.”