“Yeah, you can help me,” Dekker said. “Somebody broke into my—-our car last night, stole the stereo and some cash. And then they keyed the door.”
The manager pointed to a typewritten sign fastened to the wall with scotch tape: NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR VANDLE OR LOSS IN CAR.
Dekker didn’t say anything for a moment before turning to me. “Was that there yesterday?”
“I didn’t see it,” I said. Regardless, this was Dekker’s fault and no one else’s.
He stormed back out the door to the Buick as he lit a cigarette, and I followed him.
“The no--refunds sign was there yesterday,” I said. “I remember it, so—-”
“Shut up! That’s not helpful.”
Why was he mad at me? I actually was trying to help.
He slumped. “I’ll pay you back. Whatever expenses for the rest of this trip, I will reimburse you.”
I shrugged. “I’m just sorry you had your money stolen. Let’s forget it.”
We drove back over to the nursing home with the chilly, dry wind blowing in through my window.
A different nurse was at the reception desk, and Dekker used a different set of names for us to sign in with. Today it was Richard and Elizabeth Burton.
I had all kinds of plans for our visit today. I’d watched hundreds of hours of interrogations on cop shows, so I felt like I knew the techniques pretty well. Obviously I wouldn’t start yelling and throwing furniture if she didn’t give the answers I wanted, but I thought I could get the job done.
We walked down the hall to Room 3B, and Dekker knocked on the open door. Mrs. Krantz was sitting in her chair, but Mrs. Davis’s bed was empty, and I got a pang of fear.
“Mrs. Krantz?” Dekker said.
She turned her head and smiled when she saw us. “Back again, eh? Come on in! Did you bring me my treat?”
She was sharp, just like she’d said.
“We sure did,” Dekker said, holding out the box to her.
She clasped her veiny old hands together and reached for the box. “Thank you, dears.” She carefully opened it, pulled out one of the candies and ate it. “Would you like some?”
Dekker and I shook our heads.
“Where’s Aunt Jeannie?” he said.
“As I predicted, she’s much better today, so she’s down in the TV room socializing.”
“How are they?” Dekker asked, pointing at the open cherry box.
“Nothing tastes as good as it used to,” Mrs. Krantz said. “But they’re still pretty good.” She looked at me. “Doesn’t this one ever talk?”
“She’s very shy,” Dekker said.
Before the last few days, I’d never been required to talk to -people other than to say “That’ll be five dollars” to dump customers, and in fact had been discouraged from it. I obviously needed to say the kinds of things I’d seen on TV and heard Dekker say to -people.
“Hi,” I said. “How are you today?”
“My arthritis is acting up. I can always tell when a change in the weather’s coming. My arthritis tells me.”
“Sorry to hear that,” Dekker said. “We’re going to go down and say hello to Aunt Jeannie, and then we’ll pop back in afterward. Do you need anything? Can I get anything for you?”
She held up one of the cherries and waved him away.
“Which way to the TV room?”
She pointed. We walked out in that direction. My heart fluttered as we walked down the hall. I heard a television up ahead and saw many old folks sitting in chairs around the large screen. I scanned the old faces and then I saw her. Today her hair was done and she was wearing makeup and a nice pink pantsuit. She stood and walked toward us, and I was afraid I would faint. It was like she was a different person altogether.
“There you are,” she said. “I’ve been waiting. Let’s get away from this loud TV so we can have a real conversation.” She strode farther down the hall. Dekker and I shrugged at each other and followed her.
She stopped at a table and hugged us both. We all sat just as she reached out to touch my hair. I drew back. Impatiently, she made a beckoning gesture with her hand. So I leaned forward again, and she touched my hair.
“What did you do different?” she said.
“I—-I don’t know what you—-”
“You know I don’t like your hair hanging in your face, but I like the new color.”
“Thank you,” I said, a flash of unreality surrounding me, as if she actually knew I’d dyed my hair two days ago.
She looked around and then leaned forward and whispered, “We need to talk about Glenn.”
“Of course we do,” Dekker said.
“Who is—-”
Dekker squeezed my leg under the table, and I knew he meant for me to shut up and go along.
“Your father’s tried. He told Glenn if he doesn’t propose soon, Michelle is going to leave him for good. But you know him. He’s the expert. So I’d like you to talk to him. Sometimes he’ll listen to you when he won’t listen to anyone else.” She turned to Dekker. “Or maybe you. Maybe he needs to hear it from a man his own age.”
“Sure,” Dekker said. “I’m happy to do it. I’ve always liked Michelle.”
She sat back, satisfied, her arms crossed, and then she sat forward again, looking around and under the table.