Death In Duplicate Page 5

  “Don’t tell me. They found her through some sort of Zen spiritual adviser they met on a retreat somewhere.”

  “Nope. They heard about her through a mutual friend whose daughter gave birth to a baby with some sort of serious health problem. Apparently this friend couldn’t say enough about how wonderful Shannon was and Blues got the idea of hiring her when the kids had their babies.”

  “Did they check into her background?” Kathleen asked, leaning forward.

  Susan frowned. “I don’t want Blues or anyone to know that we’re worried about Shannon. She’s not terribly discreet and Chrissy and Stephen might find out and it would upset them and-”

  “You’re telling me that you didn’t ask any direct questions about Shannon.”

  “Exactly. Fortunately Blues loves to talk so all I had to do was mention Shannon and she was off and running.”

  “And?”

  “They had only heard about Shannon when they found out that Chrissy and Stephen were going to have twins.”

  “How did they know that?”

  “Indirectly. Stephen told an old friend who also has twins and that old friend told his mother and she ran into Blues and mentioned it. I felt a bit hurt that they knew and we didn’t, but fortunately they were smart enough to see that the kids would need help when the babies were born. Blues said that she’s heard that some baby nurses won’t work with twins. Can you believe that?”

  “Every few weeks I pick up the newspaper and I read something else about the nursing shortage so I suppose nurses can pick and choose the jobs they want.”

  “Apparently that’s true. Blues said it wasn’t easy to convince Shannon to work for the kids. And not because they were twins. Blues said Shannon didn’t like the idea of moving when the babies were only a few weeks old. I can’t blame her for that. The last twenty-four hours have been mayhem, and everyone around here has been run off their feet.”

  “How did Blues convince Shannon to take the job?”

  “I have no idea. Blues said that she sent positive messages out into the universe directed at the problem and the cosmos answered in a positive manner. Frankly, I have no idea what she was talking about, but apparently whatever she did worked. Shannon ’s last job ended three days before Ethan and Rosie were born…” Susan yawned. “And she called the Canfields and said she would be happy to take the job.”

  “So she was already working in Philadelphia?” Kathleen asked.

  “No, she wasn’t. The job with the ill baby was in D.C. so she didn’t have far to travel.” Susan’s second yawn made her eyes water.

  “Where does she live? I mean, when she isn’t working?”

  “I have no idea. I didn’t even think about it. Just because she lives in on her jobs doesn’t mean she doesn’t have a home, does it?”

  “I doubt it. She must have someplace that she goes between jobs-or on her days off. She does have days off, doesn’t she?”

  “Lord, I never thought of that.” And Susan already couldn’t imagine how they would manage without her.

  “Is she a registered nurse, an RN?”

  “I think so.”

  “Was she hired through an agency? I mean are Rhythm and Blues paying her directly or are they paying an agency that then pays her?”

  “I have no idea. If she worked for an agency, they would know about her work history, wouldn’t they?” Susan asked.

  “Yes, but they might not be willing to tell just anybody. You know,” Kathleen added, “you could just ask her.”

  “I suppose, but I don’t want her to feel as though I’m interrogating her or worried about her.”

  “But you are!”

  “I know, but I didn’t hire her, and the kids-and my grandchildren-are depending on her. Kathleen, I don’t want to wait for your friend. I think we should drive up to that island and ask some questions… Although I don’t want to leave Chrissy and Shannon alone today.”

  “Look, why don’t we do some online research? Murders at a nursing home must have gotten mention in more than a few newspapers.”

  “And there’s even a Web site that rates nursing homes. I remember someone at the club, who was looking for a place for her parents, telling me about it,” Susan suggested.

  “If you can check that out, I’ll go home and see what I can find out from newspaper archives,” Kathleen said. “At least I’ll try. We had parental controls put on the computer so we wouldn’t have to worry about Alex running into something a ten-year-old shouldn’t see. Unfortunately they seem to control the oddest things. Jerry’s niece is graduating from Beaver College next month and we wanted to find out when the ceremony is-”

  “And the computer wouldn’t let you.”

  “You got it! But I’ll keep track of any dead ends and you can research them. You know, Susan, maybe you could bring these things up in casual conversation. It’s not suspicious to ask someone you don’t know where they live-or where they worked.”

  “Kathleen, don’t think I haven’t tried. But you can’t imagine how impossible it is to have a casual conversation around here! In the past…” She paused and glanced down at her watch to check the time. “In the past nineteen hours since the kids arrived, I’ve hardly managed to finish my thoughts, never mind communicating them-”

  As if to prove what she was saying the doorbell rang. Kathleen swiveled in her chair and glanced out the window at the street. “United Parcel truck,” she announced.

  “Oh, that must be the stroller I ordered. I guess I’ll have to send it back and find one for two babies,” she said, getting up and going to the door.

  “Oh, my lord!”

  “What’s wrong?” Kathleen asked, following her out into the hallway.

  The tall man in a dark brown uniform was pushing a loaded dolly up the driveway. And, from the pile next to the door, Susan got the impression that he had waited until his third or fourth trip to ring the bell.

  “You having another wedding here?” the deliveryman asked as he added to the mound of packages. Susan recognized him as being the same man who drove this route the year her daughter was married.

  “No.” Susan glanced at the label on the top package. It was addressed to Chrissy and Stephen. “My daughter and her husband and their babies are staying with us for a while though.”

  “Mr. and Mrs. Stephen Canfield?” he asked.

  “Yes. Are these all for them?”

  “All these and about twenty more in the truck. I’ll get the rest of ’em and then someone’s got a lot of signing to do.”

  A loud wail floated down the stairway.

  “I’ll sign,” Susan said. She had a feeling Chrissy was going to be busy for a while.

  SEVEN

  IT TOOK SUSAN ALMOST HALF AN HOUR TO CARRY ALL THE boxes inside and put them in place. She stacked them in the living room, up until now the only room in the house spared a lashing of baby paraphernalia. And then, after tossing another load of baby clothing into the washer, she went back to Jed’s study and turned on the computer.

  Susan found the Internet both fascinating and time consuming. She would start looking for a new recipe for chicken for dinner and end up spending hours checking out weekend rates at luxury ski lodges in the Italian Alps-before going out to dinner. Over the past few years, she had planned hundreds of vacations they had never-and would never-go on, learned how to do dozens of projects she would never even begin, and contemplated the personal musings of strangers who seemed convinced their every thought worth her time. They rarely were.

  Today she was determined to maintain her focus and in less than five minutes she had found what she was looking for: the Perry Island Care Center ’s Web site. After checking out photos of the grounds, representative resident rooms, and a highly self-congratulatory description of the services it offered, she had the name and phone number of the admissions director, the center’s street address, and a map. A few minutes more and she had discovered the ferry schedule to the island. She exited the program, turned off the c
omputer, sat back, finished the last half inch of cold coffee in her mug, reached for the phone and dialed the Perry Island Care Center ’s admitting office.

  In a few minutes, she had set up an appointment to tour the nursing home and to discuss her mother’s possible admission. She grabbed the papers she had printed and hurried into the hallway. Shannon was coming up from the basement with a basketful of clean laundry. Susan looked into the open doorway to the kitchen and saw her daughter sitting at the kitchen table, eating a cinnamon roll and thumbing through the newspaper.

  “Chrissy, I’ve got to go out for a few hours,” she said, entering the room.

  “Oh, are you going by a drugstore? We’re out of A and D ointment. I know I packed an extra tube, but Shannon and I can’t find it.”

  “No problem. I’ll stop in town on my way home. Anything else?”

  Chrissy used both hands to push her thick blond hair off her shoulders and took a deep breath. “I don’t think so,” she answered uncertainly.

  “Tell you what, I’ll get my errands done and call you before I go to the drugstore and you can let me know if you’ve thought of anything else… unless you need the ointment right away?”

  “No, we’ll be fine. We need a diaper service, but-”

  “I thought you were going to call some.”

  “I’m going to, but they’re expensive and they all want a monthlong contract and I don’t know which one is best. And Ethan has such delicate skin.”

  “Why don’t you call Kathleen and see if she has ever used a service. Or Erika. You know she and Brett have a six-month-old.”

  “Good idea,” Chrissy said without a lot of enthusiasm.

  “You’re exhausted, aren’t you?” Susan asked, instantly back in mother mode. “Having the twins and then moving… Maybe you should see a doctor. The gynecologist you used to go to is still in town and-”

  “I’m fine, Mom. Just tired. I planned on going into the city this afternoon and start looking for a place to live, but I really don’t think I’m up to it.”

  “Chrissy, you don’t want to do too much yet. You’ll make yourself ill. Take a nap today.”

  “I don’t sleep well during the day. I lie down and think I hear Ethan or Rosie crying and then I have to get up and see-”

  “Look, you have a baby nurse. Let Shannon worry about the babies and at least lie down for a bit. You really look pale.”

  Chrissy took a deep breath and sat up straight. She had never enjoyed being fussed over and Susan recognized the stubborn expression on her daughter’s face. “I’m fine.”

  Susan knew it was time to stifle her concern. “Then you might want to start opening the pile of packages in the living room.”

  “Packages? Oh, I sent baby announcements last week and gave this address. Do you think they’re presents for the babies?”

  “I’d be surprised if they were anything else. I noticed more than one from Tiffany’s.”

  Chrissy cheered up. “Really? Maybe I’ll just take a peek.”

  Susan left her daughter to check out the goodies and went upstairs to get ready for her trip to the nursing home.

  ***

  The Perry Island Care Center looked a bit less elegant than the photos on their Web site had led Susan to expect. A large brick building with an excessive amount of white wood trim, a new paint job and some tuck-pointing would have improved its appearance immensely. In the publicity photos, the building had been surrounded by blazing red azalea bushes. But today only a few crocuses, so close to the sidewalk that they had been trampled repeatedly, were blooming. Susan pulled her purse up on her shoulder and entered through the wide handicapped accessible doors.

  The interior was cheerful and well maintained. There was a wicker desk in the foyer and the young woman sitting behind it looked up from her Vogue magazine when Susan entered. “May I help you?”

  “I’m here to see Astrid Marlow,” Susan explained.

  “Do you have an appointment?”

  “Yes. For noon.” Susan looked at the clock hanging on the wall behind the desk. “I’m a bit early.”

  “You must have come over on the ten-thirty ferry.”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “There isn’t a lot of traffic off-season so it doesn’t take any time to unload. During the summer, our noon appointments are always late. Astrid’s office is right down the hallway on the left. I think she’s in.”

  “Thank you.” Susan started off in the direction indicated. An elderly man slowly making his way toward her leaned on his walker with an expression of intense concentration. Susan smiled in what she hoped was an encouraging manner, but as he got closer, a loud bell startled her and caused her to jump back. “What was that?”

  A short heavyset woman popped out of the doorway Susan was making for and gently took hold of the man’s arm. “Mr. O’Neill, you know you’re not supposed to be off the ward alone.” She glanced over at Susan. “If you’re Mrs. Henshaw, why don’t you go on into my office? You don’t mind waiting while I sort out Mr. O’Neill, do you?”

  “Of course not.” In fact, she would welcome the opportunity to look around a bit. Susan walked in the doorway.

  Astrid Marlow’s office was large and well organized. One wall was dedicated to photographs taken at the care center. Birthday parties, Christmas parties, anniversaries… all were apparently celebrated with enthusiasm by staff and residents alike. Susan looked carefully, hoping to identify Shannon in the pictures. It was impossible to date the events; the residents, mostly women, had apparently preferred wash-and-wear clothing in floral prints for many decades. The staff, dressed in brightly printed scrubs, was always smiling. Failing to pick out a familiar face, Susan turned her attention to the rest of the room.

  Two chairs faced a large walnut desk, where a multipaged application form was laid out. There were also piles of slick brochures. Susan picked one up and was perusing it when Astrid Marlow returned.

  “I’m sorry about that. We must keep careful track of some of our memory-impaired residents. They do tend to wander. Mr. O’Neill has been with us for some time but, unfortunately, he has become more and more confused in the past six months or so.

  “So, tell me about your mother,” Astrid Marlow continued.

  Susan was unprepared for the change of topic. She had assumed that this woman would start out by telling her about the nursing home, not ask questions about her mother, who was, thankfully, healthy and vital and would almost certainly be angered by the idea that her daughter thought she was ready for this particular change of residence. “Ah…”

  “Perhaps I misunderstood you on the phone. Is it your mother-in-law whom you’re looking to place somewhere?”

  “Oh, no… I… It’s my mother. She’s getting old, you see.” Susan realized the inadequacy of her explanation.

  “Is she mobile?”

  Susan thought of the large, silver Lexus sedan her mother used to zip around town and nodded yes. “But she doesn’t get out as much as she used to,” Susan lied. As she spoke, her mother and father were on a monthlong walking tour of the British Isles.

  “Does she have memory issues?”

  Susan’s mother was unfortunately inclined to mention things she considered mistakes in Susan’s life that dated back over forty years. “No, her memory is just fine. She just needs help. You know, she’s getting old,” Susan repeated.

  “Well, you understand that we can’t accept new residents without medical records.”

  “Of course, I understand. Tell me about the Perry Island Care Center,” Susan said. “This is such an unusual location for a nursing home, isn’t it?”

  Astrid passed a pile of papers across the desk to Susan. “We have an interesting history. We’re a full-care nursing facility, one of the oldest in the state. We’ve been around since the turn of the century. Of course, things were quite different then. The care center was started by the Perrys, descendants of the family the island was named after. They were an unusual couple. Childless an
d wealthy enough not to have to earn a living. Mary Perry had some limited training as a nurse and her husband, a Methodist minister, felt a need to be of service in the community on days other than Sunday. They owned much of the island as well as the largest house. They took in some of the older residents on the island, or relatives of residents, and cared for them as best as they could. Of course, the new addition hadn’t been built then and they could only accommodate about twelve people. But they did an excellent job. When they retired, a distant relative inherited the care center and everyone was relieved that they would continue the center and its services.”

  “It was lucky that there was someone available who wanted to do this sort of thing.” Susan felt obliged to say something. Astrid Martin had obviously repeated this story many times.

  “Well, there is a black spot in the story of the care center,” Astrid Martin admitted, but smiling to show that it wasn’t very important. “The young man who inherited was, perhaps, more interested in the land included in the inheritance than in running a nursing facility-or ‘old folks home’ as some people called them in those days. He moved here from New York City, bringing along a wife and infant son. They cared for the residents for a while, but then, discovering that terms of the will mandated that the inheritance had to be kept intact and he couldn’t sell off any of the land, that young man left for an extended visit to Europe, planning to write the Great American Novel. He didn’t write it nor did he ever return. His wife picked up the reins and added residents by the simple expedient of putting ads on the walls of nearby Connecticut hospitals.

  “The story is that she had been a socialite in New York City. I don’t know about that, but this place is the result of her excellent business sense and her dedication to the center. Her insistence on high standards of care built our reputation and, by the time she died, we were as well known off the island as on.”

  “And her son?” Susan asked.