Trouble In Bloom

  If my mother had resorted to calling Ana, then she was really avoiding me. "I'll never figure my mother out."

  "Your mother?" Roxie piped in. "She's worried you're mad about the construction being delayed because of the picketers." At my stunned look, she added, "I spoke with her this morning when we couldn't find you."

  "Who's that?" Ana asked.

  "Roxie," I said.

  "What?" Roxie answered.

  "Not you," I said to her. "Ana."

  "What?" Ana said.

  "Stop!" I cried. "I'm getting a headache." Not only that, but I was starting to ache all over from my morning with Duke. And I had it to look forward to again tomorrow morning.

  "Ana, Roxie says Mom's avoiding me because of the construction guys not being able to work."

  "Oh! I forgot about Roxie and Nels. Tell them I said hi!"

  I rolled my eyes. "Ana says hi."

  "She's nice," Roxie said, pulling out a Sudoko puzzle book.

  "Is she single?" Nels asked.

  "No," I lied. There was no way I was going there.

  "Ana, just tell my mom that I need to talk to her about Tam."

  "Is Tam okay?"

  I looked at the camera perched on Nels's shoulder. I'd yet to determine how he decided what to film. "She's good. Any word from, um . . . " The camera whirred. "You know."

  "No. We still have plans for tonight, though. I've got a late court case, so I'll meet you down there."

  "Do you really? Or do you just want your own car so you can leave separately?"

  She laughed—but didn't answer.

  "Oh, your mother is in love with your new look," she said. "I told her all about Perry, and I think she wants you to marry him."

  "Did you tell her about Mario?"

  "She didn't care. Oh! Look at the time. I've got to get to court—'bye!"

  As soon as I hung up, Roxie leaned forward on her seat. "I've noticed Bobby never calls. Is that normal? Don't you two talk during the day? Actually, he hasn't been around either. How do you maintain a relationship?"

  I looked into the camera, then glanced down into the murky coffee mug and focused on the flecks of cinnamon stuck to the ceramic. "We, ah, have a special relationship."

  "True love that doesn't need to be validated every two seconds?" Roxie asked.

  Forcing a smile, the coffee churning in my upset stomach, I said, "Exactly."

  Nine

  "Where are we? Oz?" Roxie asked.

  I'd taken 63 east off 75 north. After the correctional facility, farmland bordered the road on both sides. Looked like most everything had been harvested already, the soil freshly turned, dark and rich.

  "Don't get up here much, huh?"

  She shook her head.

  "You're missing out."

  "On what? Life?" she muttered.

  I smiled. If she grew up in the city, then this would seem like another world to her. Rolling meadows, dairy farms, houses set miles apart.

  If we continued straight, we'd hit civilization again in downtown Lebanon, famous for its old-fashioned charm, but I turned left onto a gravel driveway and drove it for a good mile.

  Ash trees in golden glory lined the main drive, and Lowther House finally came into view.

  "Wow," Roxie said.

  I agreed.

  It was stunning. A two story Georgian-style colonial mansion complete with pillars out front, Lowther House was a residential facility for the retired set. Almost innlike, it offered its residents amenities other facilities could only dream of. A concierge, for one. In-house doctors. Private chefs. It was the best of the best, as the quarter-million per year price tag suggested.

  From the front the house didn't seem so elaborate, but I knew from an earlier tour that four additions had been added to the main house. The lower level's fl oor plan looked like the Pentagon's, complete with a courtyard in the center of it all.

  We parked near the elaborate fountain, a bronze fl eur de lis, and passed under beautiful stone columns as we walked up the front steps of the main entrance. I'd called ahead to inform Pippi about the cameras, and she'd been thrilled. She was a closet reality TV junkie and a huge fan of Hitched or Ditched.

  Though I knew the code for the front door, I spoke into an intercom and was buzzed in.

  Pippi met us in the grand foyer. Such a quaint term, foyer. This foyer was two stories of square white panels. Beautiful impressionist artwork splashed the walls with color, breaking the monotony of the white. A wide walnut staircase rose up and branched left and right, curving up to the second floor. It was nothing short of spectacular and looked like something out of Gone with the Wind.

  I half expected to see Scarlet come running down, dressed in velvet drapes. The evil part of me had always wanted to see her fall down those stairs. I never could stand that Scarlet O'Hara.

  Pippi kissed my cheeks. A little thing, she stood about five feet tall. She had a slender build, most of her weight probably coming from her hair, which was gray and pulled into a full bun atop her head.

  She looked like a doppelganger for the grandma from the Tweety Bird cartoons, only a tad bit younger.

  Pippi pinched Nels's cheeks, told Roxie she loved her glasses. "Please, please tell me Thad Cochran is just as adorable in real life as he is on TV." Her voice was whiskey rough with a hint of southern charm.

  "You sound like my mother," I said.

  Pippi looped her arm through mine. "Obviously a woman of impeccable taste."

  Though Pippi looked grandmotherly, she reeked of cigarette smoke. I also spotted a tiny heart tattoo at the nape of her neck, peeking out from under a lace collar.

  I couldn't help but like her.

  "So, Thad?" she asked.

  "He's cute."

  "And married," Roxie piped in.

  Like that mattered, I thought. I wondered if Sherry knew about his behind-the-scenes action with Genevieve Hidalgo Sala. Or if Willie knew, for that matter. Could that have been what propelled Willie and Sherry into each other's arms?

  "I'm so sorry to hear about your resident who passed on," I said.

  "Yes, me too. Poor Gaye Goldwin passed away after a long battle with colon cancer. Awful, awful disease."

  "I'm sorry," I said again, though I'd never met Mrs. Goldwin.

  "The doctors here at Lowther House made her last days as comfortable as possible. She was at peace. But enough of the drear and gloom. I'm very excited for the makeover. This place needs a little perking up. Come, let's go upstairs to the atrium."

  She led us up the stairs, down a lushly carpeted hallway, and into a large gathering room flanked on one end by a large stone fireplace. The other end held floor to ceiling windows that overlooked the courtyard below. Above our heads, a glass dome showered light down upon us.

  "Wow," I heard Roxie say.

  Three seating areas split the room into different groupings. Leather sofas, chunky wooden coffee tables, and Oriental rugs helped to define each space. No expense was spared.

  "I've closed off this area," Pippi said, "until work is done. I really want everyone to be surprised. They think the room is being painted." She laughed. "I can't wait to see their faces."

  "You're doing the makeover in here?" Nels asked. "Inside?"

  "An indoor sanctuary." Pippi's bun wobbled as she turned to face Nels. "With a waterfall and lush tropical plants, bromeliads, palms, and even a tree! A little bit of outdoors inside."

  "How?" Roxie asked.

  I pointed upward, to the atrium. "There will more than enough light for the plants to thrive. I brought the final plans, Pippi."

  She motioned to a heavy oak table nearby, and I set out my design board.

  Pippi studied it a good three minutes, even though she'd seen it before. "It's lovely, Nina. Just lovely. Everyone's going to adore it."

  "Then we're all set. We'll be arriving here tomorrow at eight."

  "That will be wonderful. I've planned a day trip to Columbus for everyone, so they'll be out of the house. I'll be in and
out all day. I've many interviews set up this week to fill our vacancy." Her light blue eyes filled with tears. "It's always hard to bring in someone new."

  "So soon?" Roxie asked.

  Pippi folded her hands. "It seems harsh, doesn't it?"

  Roxie nodded.

  "There's a waiting list three pages long. The sooner I do interviews, the sooner another deserving soul can move in, and start living an enriched life—it's what I strive for here at Lowther House."

  "Interviews, though?" Roxie asked.

  "Absolutely, dear." She pulled a hankie from her sleeve, dabbed her eyes. "It's not just about money here. You have to fit in." To me, she said, "For you, Nina, I did make an exception to interview someone not on the waiting list."

  Confused, I asked, "Me?"

  "Yes." Her brows knit. "A gentleman called this morning inquiring about the vacancy. He gave you as a reference. He'll be along in a little bit."

  "What's his name?"

  "Oh my. I can't recall. I have it in my office. Did you not recommend him?"

  "I don't remember telling anyone . . . "

  "I'll be sure to clear the matter up before allowing him a tour."

  Recommended by me? Odd.

  "About tomorrow," Pippi continued. "Except for the east and north wings, you may have free reign of the place."

  Roxie adjusted her glasses. "What's in the east and north wings?"

  "Bedroom suites," Pippi said. "They're off-limits to respect our residents' privacy."

  She led us out of the atrium, back toward the stairs. At the top of the stairs, laughter floated down the hallway. Pippi smiled. "Oh, do come meet Mr. William Umberry and his lovely wife Monique. I believe they're ensconced in a heated game of poker."

  "Poker?" I couldn't help but think of Riley.

  "High-stakes," she said.

  She was sprightly, that Pippi. I had to fast-walk to keep up with her. We followed her into a large game room. A poker table sat in the center, and a handsome man and two women were seated there, mounds of peanut M&Ms piled in front of them.

  Now those were my kind of stakes.

  Pippi made introductions while Nels filmed. Monique Umberry was seventy, if a day, and must have been a heartbreaker when younger since she was still gorgeous, with healthy blonde hair, fair skin, brilliant green eyes. Mr. Um berry looked every inch of Clark Gable and fit the role to a T, complete with red satin ascot.

  Next to him sat Minnie Baker, her big blue eyes somewhat blank, but her full cheeks rosy with health. Her wheelchair was barely noticeable beyond the fl owing silk robe I noticed she wore after I tore my gaze from her turban, complete with giant ruby. A huge square cut diamond sparkled from her right hand. It had to be ten carats at least.

  Pippi said, "This is Nina Quinn, the designer I told you about. She'll be working on the atrium tomorrow."

  "Painting, correct?" Monique asked me.

  I was a great liar. "A mural."

  "I swear I've heard your name before," William said.

  "Because I told it to you the other day, silly," Pippi said quickly. "When I explained about the camera crew being here."

  "Ah yes. Hitched or Ditched," Monique said. "We watch it all the time. It's one of Pippi's favorites. Missed it last night, though—the cable went out." She popped an M&M into her mouth.

  I noticed Pippi's sly smile. She'd told me all about her plan for the cable to "happen" to go out around 10:55 every night—so the residents wouldn't learn of my profession via HoD.

  Monique set her chin in the palm of her hand as her elbow rested on the table. "Is that Thad Cochran as handsome in per—"

  "Yes," Nels, Roxie, and I said at once.

  Pippi laughed, color rising to her cheeks. "I'd love to have one steamy night with that man." She sighed. "The dreams of a lonely old woman."

  "Oh stop now," William said dryly. "You're making me blush."

  They all laughed. If they only knew that Thad might be up for Pippi's proposition.

  The lot of them didn't appear to be too grief-stricken by the death of a fellow resident. Since I lived in the Mill, which was highly comprised of a geriatric demographic, I wasn't alarmed. There apparently was a strange phenomenon in the older set where death was concerned. It became everyday. Commonplace. It was . . . accepted, I supposed. Certainly not something to fear, and certainly not something to dwell on. Life went on, and most of the older people I knew loved living it to the fullest.

  Minnie studied us. "Who are you?" she asked, her voice hesitant.

  Pippi bent down next to her chair, took Minnie's hand in her own. The huge diamond ring glinted from Minnie's ring finger. Pippi introduced us again, and I caught the fl ash of sadness in her eyes.

  Minnie said, "Oh. Oh yes."

  Alzheimer's?

  "We should go," I said, checking my watch. "We'll let you get back to your game."

  Blinking, Minnie twisted her ring. She looked up at me, caught my eye. "Who are you?"

  "I'm Nina," I said. "But I really need to get going." I patted her hand. "Enjoy your game, Minnie."

  As we left the room, I heard William and Monique explaining to Minnie that they were playing poker.

  Pippi led us down the stairs, and I admired how she didn't apologize for Minnie. That kind of respect was hard to come by.

  My phone rang and Pippi laughed aloud, apparently recognizing the song. I was going to kill Ana.

  "Sorry," I said to Pippi after seeing the TBS number. "I need to get this."

  "Go on," she said, waving a hand.

  I stepped to the side and answered. "This is Nina."

  I heard clucking. "What's wrong with Tam?" Brickhouse asked.

  "Nothing's wrong with Tam," I said.

  "What's this about needing to talk to your mother about her?"

  I ran my hand along the walnut banister. "Did my mother call you?"

  "Ach, why would she do that?"

  Her voice was too high, too innocent.

  "Because she's avoiding me."

  "Why?"

  "Something about construction workers and picketers."

  Over my shoulder I heard Roxie ask, "How many people live here?"

  Pippi said, "Seven, and we have a full-time staff of ten."

  "Look," I told Brickhouse, "tell my mother to call me. I've got to go."

  "But—"

  I hung up. "Sorry," I said again.

  Pippi led us down the stairs, telling us all about the original artwork on the walls, works she'd collected over the years.

  On the ground floor we spotted a young woman in a tight-fitting business suit and three-inch heels hurrying away from us, down the long hallway leading to the kitchen at the west end of the house. Long red hair streamed out behind her.

  Pippi watched her go but didn't explain who she was.

  "Who was that?" Roxie asked.

  I was beginning to like Roxie a lot.

  "Just one of our . . . therapists. Perhaps you'll meet her tomorrow."

  A buzzer sounded—the front door. Pippi crossed to the door. "This would be the gentleman I told you about earlier," she said to me. "The one who used your name as a recommendation." She pulled open the door.

  I froze.

  "Nina?" he said.

  "Bobby? What are you doing here?"

  Roxie motioned furiously to Nels, who hefted the camera onto his shoulder.

  Bobby, I finally noticed, wasn't alone. "You remember Nina, Mac?"

  Mac was tall like Bobby, but time had put a hunch in his back, and his injury had put a limp in his step. His bright blue Irish eyes shone with intelligence.

  "I'm not senile," Mac griped, leaning in to kiss me. He grabbed my arm to steady himself.

  He aimed for my lips, but I moved just in time so his kiss landed on my cheek.

  "So you do know each other?" Pippi asked.

  "Yes. Pippi Lowther, meet Bobby MacKenna and his grandfather, Patrick MacKenna."

  "Call me Mac," he said, kissing Pippi's hand. "I hope you don't m
ind me using your name as a recommendation, Nina."

  "You did what?" Bobby's gaze shot to mine. He hadn't known anything about it.