Read Online Polly Dent Loses Grip (A LaTisha Barnhart Mystery) by S. Dionne Moore - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: S. Dionne Moore
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Bridgeton Towers, where residents live who require higher levels of care. A few nurses were clearly visible, but I knew I wasn’t getting into that section no way, no how.
I retraced my steps, noticing a hallway just before the exercise room and turned into it, surprised to find an elevator straight ahead, a large room off to my left and a door on the right, adjacent to the elevator.
I stabbed at the button on the elevator a few times .It was locked. Probably a service elevator. The other door was locked too. It would have led somewhere behind the exercise room was my best guess.
The other door opened into a large room, the scent of fabric softener and the hum of machines clued me in to what the room was used for. A home wouldn’t be a home if there wasn’t dirty laundry to be done.
I heard a dryer door being open and the hum stopped. I pushed the door wider to get a better look inside. A middle-aged man stood in front of the dryer, pulling out clothes and tossing them on a nearby table. He left the door open a crack and started sorting his white clothes. I noticed his gnarled and bent hands as he struggled to fold a T-shirt.
“Hello there,” I greeted.
His head snapped up. “Hi,” he responded, returning his attention to the T-shirt.
A tad shy perhaps. Perhaps embarrassed.
I advanced a step and debated whether to offer my help. Despite his disability, he seemed fully capable of taking care of himself, and I didn’t want to offend that sense of self-reliance. I aimed for something basic. I beamed my brightest . “I’m touring around trying to figure out where everything is. My mother-in-law just moved in.”
His lopsided grin came slow but was warm and welcoming. “I saw you moving her stuff in yesterday. I’m across the hall. Name’s Darren.”
Ah. It clicked then. The door peeker.
“You been here a long time, Darren?”
His hand tremored, spilling the top T-shirt he was folding into a heap. He stared down at the jumble and blew out a breath. “It takes me a little longer to get things folded sometimes.” He picked up the shirt, shook it out and began again.
“I had seven children. Folding became a specialty of mine, if you want some help.”
“Been here seven years,” he offered.
“Mr. Payne seems like a good director.”
He finally got the T-shirt wrestled into form and started on another. I suspected his non-answer to my offer of help was his way of saying thanks, but I’m capable. His non-answer on Mr. Payne just made me plain curious. “I’ve met Gertrude Hermann, Thomas Philcher , and Mitzi Mullins. Polly Dent too.”
He’d tackled another T-shirt by then and added it to his pile. “It’s really sad about Polly. Some people didn’t like her.”
“Did you?”
He didn’t answer. “Gertrude didn’t like her much.”
“What can you tell me about Mitzi Mullins. Has she been here a long time?”
His head bobbed and the lopsided smile slid back into place. And something else I couldn’t quite finger right then.
“She used to live down the hall from me. We’d get together and play cards. Since I’m so shaky, she made this thing for me to set my cards in.” He lowered his face, and I sensed some form of despair as his expression wilted. “But she moved to a different hallway since she’s been having a harder time concentrating.”
My heart smiled at his choice of words. What a kind way to say it. I knew, too, that he missed her company, and I wondered if anyone bothered to visit him to play cards anymore. I’d have to introduce him to Matilda. They’d be quite the pair.
“Did you know Polly Dent?”
His hand tremored and his face pulled into a frown. “Everyone knew her. She always talked real loud to me.”
“She talked loud to us, too, so don’t feel bad. Maybe she was hard of hearing. My mother-in-law sometimes ignores people, but her hearing is fine.”
His answer could have been a sigh it was such a soft, “Yeah.”
Silence reigned supreme as I
I retraced my steps, noticing a hallway just before the exercise room and turned into it, surprised to find an elevator straight ahead, a large room off to my left and a door on the right, adjacent to the elevator.
I stabbed at the button on the elevator a few times .It was locked. Probably a service elevator. The other door was locked too. It would have led somewhere behind the exercise room was my best guess.
The other door opened into a large room, the scent of fabric softener and the hum of machines clued me in to what the room was used for. A home wouldn’t be a home if there wasn’t dirty laundry to be done.
I heard a dryer door being open and the hum stopped. I pushed the door wider to get a better look inside. A middle-aged man stood in front of the dryer, pulling out clothes and tossing them on a nearby table. He left the door open a crack and started sorting his white clothes. I noticed his gnarled and bent hands as he struggled to fold a T-shirt.
“Hello there,” I greeted.
His head snapped up. “Hi,” he responded, returning his attention to the T-shirt.
A tad shy perhaps. Perhaps embarrassed.
I advanced a step and debated whether to offer my help. Despite his disability, he seemed fully capable of taking care of himself, and I didn’t want to offend that sense of self-reliance. I aimed for something basic. I beamed my brightest . “I’m touring around trying to figure out where everything is. My mother-in-law just moved in.”
His lopsided grin came slow but was warm and welcoming. “I saw you moving her stuff in yesterday. I’m across the hall. Name’s Darren.”
Ah. It clicked then. The door peeker.
“You been here a long time, Darren?”
His hand tremored, spilling the top T-shirt he was folding into a heap. He stared down at the jumble and blew out a breath. “It takes me a little longer to get things folded sometimes.” He picked up the shirt, shook it out and began again.
“I had seven children. Folding became a specialty of mine, if you want some help.”
“Been here seven years,” he offered.
“Mr. Payne seems like a good director.”
He finally got the T-shirt wrestled into form and started on another. I suspected his non-answer to my offer of help was his way of saying thanks, but I’m capable. His non-answer on Mr. Payne just made me plain curious. “I’ve met Gertrude Hermann, Thomas Philcher , and Mitzi Mullins. Polly Dent too.”
He’d tackled another T-shirt by then and added it to his pile. “It’s really sad about Polly. Some people didn’t like her.”
“Did you?”
He didn’t answer. “Gertrude didn’t like her much.”
“What can you tell me about Mitzi Mullins. Has she been here a long time?”
His head bobbed and the lopsided smile slid back into place. And something else I couldn’t quite finger right then.
“She used to live down the hall from me. We’d get together and play cards. Since I’m so shaky, she made this thing for me to set my cards in.” He lowered his face, and I sensed some form of despair as his expression wilted. “But she moved to a different hallway since she’s been having a harder time concentrating.”
My heart smiled at his choice of words. What a kind way to say it. I knew, too, that he missed her company, and I wondered if anyone bothered to visit him to play cards anymore. I’d have to introduce him to Matilda. They’d be quite the pair.
“Did you know Polly Dent?”
His hand tremored and his face pulled into a frown. “Everyone knew her. She always talked real loud to me.”
“She talked loud to us, too, so don’t feel bad. Maybe she was hard of hearing. My mother-in-law sometimes ignores people, but her hearing is fine.”
His answer could have been a sigh it was such a soft, “Yeah.”
Silence reigned supreme as I
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