Bingoed (10 page)

Chapter Sixteen

“In dog years, I’m dead.”

—Author Unknown

The friends laid out their story for Phyllis, the front desk clerk, immediately after their meal. All bunched up at the counter, with Fay in her chair and hanging on the edge of the counter trying to see over, the women described Ben Jericho and his nefarious plot to Happy Haven’s sweet counter lady.

“He tried to get me to write him a check,” said Essie, “from my bank account. If it hadn’t been for my financial advisor I would have given that man most of my savings and I’d never see it again!”

The ladies nodded and made sounds of woe in the appropriate spots during Essie’s heart-rending story. Phyllis listened courteously as she always did when one of the residents had a problem. When Essie was finished Phyllis spoke.

“Essie,” she said, “this is really a serious problem. You really need to talk to Violet about it. We absolutely don’t want this man coming here and trying to bilk our residents out of their money.”

“Uh, no,” replied Essie, gulping. “I’d be . . . uh, too embarrassed to talk to Violet about this. I just don’t want to run into this fellow . . .”

“And she doesn’t want him to pester anyone else here either!” added Opal.

“
Essie will be fine, Phyllis,” said Marjorie, “but she’s really just concerned about everyone else here. This man is a real scumbag and we want to keep him from harming any of our friends.”

“Of course,” replied Phyllis. “Actually, he’s probably fairly easy to roadblock. If he should show up, I’ll ask who he wants and whoever he says, I’ll just say that no one by that name lives here.”

“That’s a great idea, Phyllis,” said Opal. “I’m sure that will scare him away.”

“What was his name again?” asked the clerk.

“Ben Jericho,” replied Essie. “Here’s his photograph.” She handed Phyllis the picture that Jericho had mailed to Bob.

“How did you get a picture of him, Essie?” asked Phyllis.

“I . . . uh . . . oh, he gave it to me when he first started talking to me about investments. Sort of a friendly gesture, I thought.”

“At the time,” added Marjorie.

“He called me and he claimed to know people I knew and he said they had invested money with him. Then he came over here one afternoon and showed me all these charts . . . I was going to write him a check, but I told him I wanted to ask my financial advisor first. Then, he seemed sort of scared and he left rather quickly,” explained Essie.

“I see,” said Phyllis, her large, soulful brown eyes looking at all three women sympathetically. “I’m sure I can handle this, girls. Don’t let it worry you anymore. If this Ben Jericho shows up, I’ll send him packing in no time. In the meantime, you really need to tell Violet about this so she can decide what, if anything, needs to be done about this man.”

“We will, we will,” agreed Essie, smiling. Opal and Marjorie smiled and nodded their agreement and then the foursome headed on their way.

“Now what?” asked Marjorie.

“Now, I say back to that computer to see what else we can find on Violet,” said Essie. “Something tells me that what Fay found may be just the tip of the iceberg.”

They rolled into the family room only to discover that both computers were in use.

“What?” exclaimed Essie. “I hardly ever see anyone at those things! Now when we need one, they’re all in use. Just like public toilets!”

“So what should we do?” asked Marjorie.

“I suggest some face-to-face sleuthing,” said Opal. “I’m scheduled for physical therapy this afternoon up in the rec room at three o’clock. I’ll ask around among the therapists to see if any of them know anything about Violet and her background.” With that, she motioned to Fay and the two women rolled over to the elevator to head up to their rooms.

“I’ll go play trivia at two here in the family room. I always like doing that,” said Marjorie.

“Good,” answered Essie, “and, you know, my hair is looking a bit disheveled. I’m going to see if Beverly can squeeze me in for a wash and set.”

“Excellent!” said Marjorie.

“We can report our findings at dinner,” replied Essie. “See you!” The two pals scooted around, each heading for their own rooms and their individual assignments.

Back in her living room, Essie called the beauty shop which was actually just a short distance down the hall and off the family room. She knew the shop would be open this afternoon. If she couldn’t get an appointment, she could always just walk down there and chat with Beverly, the chief beautician, and a really friendly woman. Luckily, however, Bev had just had a last-minute cancellation and she was more than happy to fit Essie in for a wash and set.

Essie made a quick pit stop before leaving. At the moment she really didn’t need to pee, but once she found herself in the chair at the beauty shop, she knew her opportunity to relieve herself would be sorely limited, so she took precautionary measures. Then she was off. In just a few moments, she entered the Happy Haven Beauty Shop. There was one sink and three stations with mirrors and chairs. Two chairs, of course, were unnecessary because Bev was the sole beautician. Two residents were already ensconced in plastic covers in the end chairs. Bev was winding permanent rods in the hair of Dolores Morales at the far end. A woman whom Essie didn’t know was in the nearest chair.

“Essie!” called out Bev, a cigarette dangling from her lips. “Center chair! Are you in luck? Yvette O’Connor just cancelled! Say ‘hi,’ Bruno!”

Essie rolled over to a basket just inside the front door of the small shop and tousled the ears of Bruno, Bev’s lazy but friendly sheepdog. Bev typically worked out of her home, but three afternoons a week, she opened up the Happy Haven Beauty Shop and did a roaring good business. The female residents of Happy Haven were obsessive about having their hair done regularly. Bruno always came with Bev because all of the Happy Haven residents enjoyed his company. Essie grabbed a plastic cover from a hat tree near the wall near Bruno’s basket, tied it around her neck, and scooted over to the center beauty chair. She climbed in.

“That’s okay, honey! Just leave your walker!” shouted Bev, cigarette still clenched between her lips. “I’ll move it in a minute.” Bev put the final curler in Dolores Morales’ hair and tied a plastic scarf neatly around her head. Then she assisted Dolores in climbing down from the movable chair and underneath the only hair dryer at the back of the shop. She flipped the switch and handed Dolores several magazines. Then stubbing out her cigarette in an ashtray on the station behind Essie, she twirled Essie around.

“Now, doll, what are we going to do with you today?” She ran her fingers through Essie’s silky white curls. “My God, I hope I have hair like yours when I’m your age!”

“You won’t want to be my age!”

“What?” teased Bev, “you mean twenty-two?”

“Ninety!” said Essie with a combination of pride and horror.

“That’s impressive, Essie!” said Bev. She got out her equipment in preparation for the haircut.

“Just the regular, Bev,” said Essie, leaning back and glancing over at the other woman in the chair next to hers. This woman had a head full of curlers and was reading a magazine. “Hi,” she said to the stranger. “I’m Essie. I’m on the first floor—C103.”

“Stella Grainger,” replied the woman, reaching out from under her long plastic cape and shaking Essie’s hand. “Second floor—D144.”

“Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too. I just moved in a week ago.”

“Okay, ladies,” interrupted Bev, “have to break this up. Essie come on, let’s get you washed.” She helped Essie down and over to the sink where she seated her, leaned her back, and then expertly wet and washed her hair with a spray nozzle.

“It’s always nice to meet new residents,” said Essie. “But it reminds me of how long I’ve been here.”

“How long is that, Essie?” asked Bev as she wrapped a towel around her head and directed her back to the middle chair.

“Ten years,” replied Essie. “Doesn’t seem that long.”

“Nope,” agreed Bev, running a large, thick-toothed comb through Essie’s curls. “Bruno and I’ve been coming here even longer than that. Let’s see. Going on fifteen years; right, Bruno?”

Bruno barked once in agreement.

“Wow!” said Essie. “You know everybody here then.”

“I know pretty much everybody who’s here and everybody who was here. If you know what I mean,” said Bev, laughing.

“Did you know the person who was the Director before Violet Hendrickson?” asked Essie.

“Hmmm,” said Bev, thinking to herself, “let’s see. That Violet’s been here a long time. But, no, if I remember correctly there was some guy here before her. Can’t remember his name. I think Violet arrived maybe some few years after I started coming here.”

“Do you know why her predecessor left?” asked Essie. “Or why they hired Violet?”

“Heck,” said Bev, “I don’t pay much attention to that kind of stuff. As long as they let me keep my beauty parlor and let me open it on the days that are convenient to me, nothing else really matters. You know, I do remember some weird stuff going on back then.”

“Like what?” asked Essie.

“It’s so long ago,” said Bev. “I think there might have been some flack about hiring Violet. I think one of the members of the Board was opposed or something, but I guess in the final count, the Board approved her because—well—she’s here and she’s been here for almost as long as I’ve been here.”

“What was the Board member worried about?”

“Gee, Essie,” said Bev, contorting her face, obviously trying to remember. “I can’t remember anything specific. It all blew over anyway. I think one of the Board members was very supportive of her and may have convinced the other Board member that she was the right person for the position.”

“Do you think she’s a good Director, Bev?” asked Essie.

“I don’t know,” said Bev. “Personally, I have no real interaction with the woman. I will admit though that I do hear some residents talk about her from time to time in here. Sometimes, what they say isn’t very flattering.”

“Such as?”

“Oh, you know,” said Bev, with a shrug, “she’s a tough bird. She’s a drill sergeant.”

“And the staff?”

“Probably more complaints from them,” said Bev, under her breath. “With the exception of the Social Director, that Sue Barber.”

“You mean, Sue doesn’t complain about Violet as much as the other staff members.”

“I mean Sue Barber doesn’t complain about her at all. In fact, she’s usually singing her praises. Seems a little strange given that most of the rest of the staff are not that complimentary about Violet.”

By this point, Bev had managed to whip about a dozen pink foam rollers into Essie’s hair.

“Ready for the dryer!” she announced. Leading Essie down from the chair, she had her exchange places with Dolores who apparently was now dry. She placed Essie under the dryer and hit the button. Immediately, all Essie could hear was the blasting of hot air. She hoped that Bev wasn’t producing other wonderful tidbits of information about the nefarious Violet Hendrickson. She looked over and noticed that Bev had removed the rollers from Stella Grainger’s hair and had combed out her chin-length, grayish-blonde hair into a flattering style that made her new friend Stella look like she had stepped out of the pages of Vogue. She’s much too glamorous for Happy Haven, thought Essie. Oh well, she’s new. Give her a few years here and she’ll become frumpy just like me. Oh, stop it, Essie! She scolded herself for such self-pity. She had a mystery to solve and she had to get back to work.

After Bev finished the comb-out on Stella Grainger, she took Stella’s payment, handed her a receipt, and the new resident of Happy Haven left the shop with a friendly wave to her new buddies. Bev then turned her attention to Dolores Morales, removing her rollers and styling Dolores’ thick, pitch black hair in a way that brought out Dolores’ magenta-colored eyes. Bev is truly a miracle worker, thought Essie. After she finished with Dolores, and she and Bev were alone in the shop, Bev brought Essie back to her chair, removed her rollers, and fluffed out her hair.

“Such gorgeous curls!” she sighed. “You must have all the gentlemen swooning.”

“Hardly,” laughed Essie. “My swoon-producing days are over.”

“Now, Essie,” said Bev, “you’re never too old for romance. My goodness, there are couples here older than you!”

“Really, who?” asked Essie, incredulous.

Bev bent close to Essie’s ear and whispered, “Jasper Pettridge and Molly McMasters.”

“No!” cried Essie. “He must be 86 if he’s a day!”

“I know,” agreed Bev, “and that Clarence Bellows is always flirting with little Emily Simpson and her friend Gertrude Jeter. And you know, Bob Weiderley was wining and dining Evelyn Cudahy—before he got sick.”

“What?”

“I saw them together all the time. I think they used to meet in the chapel. I believe she’s been getting chemotherapy for breast cancer,” added Bev.

“You mean Bob and Evelyn were more than just—friends?” asked Essie.

“Of course, I can’t prove anything, but I’d see them get on the elevator together. He’s on the second floor and I believe she’s on the first floor, isn’t she?”