We arrived minutes later. Entering the restaurant, I saw a woman waving in my direction from the far side of the room. I nodded at her, but I stopped off at the counter long enough to pick up my own cup of coffee. I had swilled enough coffee at Zig’s Place that I really didn’t need any more caffeine right then, but I wanted this conversation to seem more like a casual visit than an interrogation, and a steaming paper cup of coffee functioned as a suitable prop.
When I got to Betsy’s table, I put my cup down and then presented her with both a look at my ID and a business card before taking the opposite seat. I noticed that Betsy Norman, Penny Olmstead, and Shelley Adams were all of an age, but it occurred to me that of the three Shelley was the only one whose good looks were being helped along by professional augmentation.
“It says here you’re from Seattle,” Betsy said, frowning at my card.
That’s another prop, by the way. Mel and I still have the condo in Seattle, and from a business standpoint using Seattle as a base of operations has more cachet to it than Bellingham. Also, people know where it is.
“What’s this all about?” she added.
“I was friends with Danitza’s son’s father,” I replied.
“Back before Chris disappeared into the woodwork, you mean?” she asked.
“Yes,” I said. “That was an unfortunate situation all the way around.”
Betsy nodded in agreement.
“So I’m working on behalf of Danitza and her son. She’s considering attempting to reconcile with her father, and I’m trying to smooth the way.”
“That would be wonderful,” Betsy said. “The rift with her daughter broke Eileen’s heart, but Roger was absolutely adamant about it, and Eileen went with the flow.”
“I understand that growing up you were friends with both Eileen Phillips and Shelley Hollander?” I asked.
Betsy nodded. “Shelley and I go way back,” she said. “I knew who Eileen was, of course, because I was also friends with her younger sister, Penny, but I didn’t really get acquainted with her until I met her as a patient when she started showing up at the hospital for chemo. She was such a fighter as far as the cancer was concerned, and it surprised me that she didn’t go to war with her husband about burying the hatchet with their daughter. I sure as hell would have.”
“You knew Roger had forbidden Danitza to visit her mother in the hospital?”
Betsy nodded. “Yes, everyone at the hospital was aware of that, and we all went along with it. Roger was in the state legislature at the time. He was a big deal statewide, not just here in Homer, and what he said went. Had Danitza tried to visit, she wouldn’t have been allowed to enter her mother’s room.”
“But Shelley was.”
“Of course she was,” Betsy said. “She and her husband and Roger and Eileen had all been great friends—up until Jack died. After he was gone, Shelley was lost. I think being there for Eileen and Roger was one way she helped herself deal with losing Jack. She was a constant visitor in Eileen’s room, especially when the legislature was in session and Roger was off in Juneau. During that last round of chemo, when Eileen was so sick, Shelley was at the hospital every single day. Eileen considered her a godsend, and so did I.”
“Were you surprised that Roger and Shelley married so soon after Eileen died?” I asked.
Betsy shook her head. “Not really,” she answered. “Widows and widowers who come from happy marriages tend to remarry sooner than those whose marital lives were troubled. Besides, the two of them had a lot in common—not only that long history of the four of them being friends together but also having lived through the devastating loss of a beloved spouse.”
Betsy’s response made me think that even now she still had no inkling that her good friend Shelley and Roger Adams had been involved in an affair long before either one of their spouses was out of the picture.
“So as far as you knew, Jack and Shelley had a solid marriage?”
Betsy gave a small shrug. “For the most part,” she said finally. “Jack was a little rough around the edges, and there was a big age difference. He was a homebody, and she was more of a good-time girl. He kept her reined in.”
“Socially or financially?” I asked.
“Both,” she said. “Jack had a reputation for being something of a tightwad.”
“Are you and Shelley still good friends?” I asked.
“Not as close as we used to be,” Betsy admitted.
“What happened?”
“Nothing really,” she said. “Once she married Roger, she started moving in a different social circle, and we drifted apart. I still see her around town occasionally, but we’re not that close. In fact, the last time I saw her, sometime last fall, she mentioned Roger was having health issues.”
“Did she give any specifics?” I asked.
Betsy frowned. “I believe she said something about Alzheimer’s, although Roger’s pretty young to be dealing with that.”
The word “Alzheimer’s” grabbed my attention. Shelley had told me Roger was suffering from some form of dementia. My understanding is that those two ailments are two distinctly different propositions.
“Naturally I didn’t ask for any more details.”
“Why not?”
“Religion,” Betsy replied. “That was a big part of why Shelley and I fell out. I’m a nurse—an RN. Sometime after Eileen died, Shelley and Roger walked away from regular medicine and turned to Christian Science instead. I took it personally. People are free to believe whatever they believe, and I should probably have just let it go. But what’s this all about, Mr. Beaumont? I’d hate to think Shelley is in some kind of trouble.”
The Christian Science lie again, with slightly different twist—Alzheimer’s instead of dementia—but I didn’t want to alarm Betsy for fear she might warn her former good friend that I was going around asking questions.
“Not at all,” I fibbed. “I was just wondering if you thought Shelley would have any problem if Danitza showed back up in her father’s life.”
Betsy shook her head. “I can’t imagine why she would.” At that point she paused long enough to check her watch. “Oops,” she said, “I have to go. I’m due at my next patient’s home in ten minutes.”
“Home?” I inquired. “I was under the impression that you worked at a hospice.”
“I do hospice care,” she corrected, “but I do it in my patients’ homes. We don’t have a brick-and-mortar hospice facility here in Homer.” She stood up and gathered her purse. “I hope this was a help.”
“It certainly was,” I told her. “Thank you.”
Once she was gone, I noticed that while I’d been talking to Betsy, Twink had entered the restaurant. I walked over and sat down at her table.
“Do any good?” she asked.
“Not really,” I said. The truth is, I was discouraged. Neither interview had been particularly fruitful, and I felt as though I was just spinning my wheels. And the fact that I was functioning on less than five hours of sleep didn’t help.
“Look,” I said. “How about if you take me back to the hotel and then give yourself some time off and maybe hang out with your friend. If I need you later today, I’ll call. Tonight I’ll treat you to dinner at AJ’s.”