“North California?” Now I was intrigued. Maybe this was the mother he’d brought to live closer.
“She was from Oregon, according to Judy. She’s the social worker who has me come visit.” The phone rang and Esmeralda reached for it, interrupting our conversation. She wrote on a piece of paper and shoved it at me as she listened to the caller. She put her hand over the mouthpiece and whispered, “The name of the nursing home.”
As I walked out, I put the piece of paper in my pocket. It was time to make a trip into town. Emma needed treats, I needed to go to the grocery store, and while I was there, I would talk to Judy at Resting Acres Nursing Home. Or at least I’d try.
I pulled my cell out of my pocket and dialed a number as I walked home. When the line was answered, I asked, “Want to go visit a nursing home?”
“Making plans for my retirement?” Aunt Jackie answered. “Do you know something I don’t?”
“No, I’m not looking for a place to stick you. Although it might be a good idea to start.” I probably shouldn’t have said the last bit out loud. “Anyway, I need to talk to someone, and I thought if I brought you, we could pretend we were looking for someone else.”
“You mean like an imaginary husband I’m tired of taking care of?” She chuckled. “I could play that role easily. I’ll just pretend it’s Josh. I wonder if they do bariatric placements.”
“Maybe you could pretend he wasn’t that large.” I’d hate to have them turn us away without finding out who this mystery woman was. “So, do you want to come or not?”
“You’ll owe me lunch. And not some fast-food bag of grease. I want a real, sit-down meal.” She paused and I heard the television shut off in the background. “Give me twenty minutes and I’ll be ready.”
I heard the phone click in my ear. Twenty minutes would be perfect. I’d have time to start researching Austin and his mysterious past. Maybe Aunt Jackie knew something about the era as well. She had been active in political campaigns during that time, she could have knowledge about the anti-war protests. I sped up my walking so I could get busy on the computer.
Thirty minutes later, Aunt Jackie and I were in the Jeep, heading toward Bakerstown. I filled her in on what I’d found. “I think this was the incident that sent Austin and Mary Jane underground.” I handed her a page I’d printed off just before I’d shut down my laptop.
“I remember this. The ROTC building was bombed on campus. They never found out who planted the bomb, but they assumed it was an anti-war group.” Aunt Jackie looked at me. “You think this was Austin?”
“Look at the next page. There’s a picture of the protesters who marched the weekend before. Doesn’t that look like him, third one from the left?” I focused on the road as she looked at the grainy black-and-white picture.
“It could be. I’ve only known him with his gray dreadlocks. This guy must be young, maybe not even eighteen. There’s something familiar about his eyes, though.” She looked at me. “You think it’s him.”
“I do. And there’s a young woman next to him with her arm in his. I bet that’s Mary Jane.” I turned off the air. “Sadie said he ran because of what she did. Maybe she set the bomb off. Austin could have just been in the wrong place and felt protective of his girlfriend.”
“Not very smart if it was him.” She put the papers back into the folder and sighed. “The whole thing seems too cloak-and-dagger for the guy. He’ll sit on the beach for hours, working on his tan and ignore the customers who are lining up at his rental booth.”
“Maybe he’s really good at hiding his true self.” But I was beginning to wonder if this was another wild goose chase. It was a good thing I hadn’t mentioned my suspicions to Greg, he would have laughed at me. Well, after I got the lecture about staying out of the investigation, I was 90 percent sure he would have laughed. Okay, maybe 75.
I really had to stop testing his level of commitment like this. And I would—right after we visited the nursing home.
CHAPTER 12
“We have an excellent locked ward for our more challenged residents.” We were being given the grand tour by the marketing manager, Tess. I kind of felt bad for the woman since there wasn’t a real “Uncle Ted” for us to place. She continued with her sales pitch. “The facility is set up for the varying needs of your loved one. Depending on the progression of the disease, they could be in the open ward with little supervision, the medium ward, where we have an increased level of staffing, or finally, the locked ward, where they are limited on their ability to roam the grounds.”