Terminal Island

Chapter Twelve

CATCH-22



“Mr. Cadmus?”

Henry looks up from the tourism magazine to see a trim woman in a tan uniform emerging from the Sheriff’s office. Gold lettering on the door reads, P. THADDEUS JR, TOWN SHERIFF. She has the square jawline and corded neck of a bodybuilder. Her long black hair hangs down in a ponytail.

“I’m Deputy Tina Myrtessa,” she says, offering her hand. “What can I do for you?”

“Hi, Deputy,” Henry says. “Well, we’re having a bit of problem. I actually wrote you about it a couple of months ago: It was about my mother moving to the island? And my not hearing from her?”

The deputy looks at him blankly, shrugging.

“You wrote me back that there was nothing to worry about.”

“Did you file a police report?”

“No—from your letter I didn’t think it was necessary.”

A little impatiently, she asks, “Do you have the letter?”

“No, I’m sorry, I didn’t save it.” Henry now wishes he had brought Ruby to back him up, but both had agreed that it would be better to keep Moxie busy than to have her fussing disrupt the conversation. Ruby had taken her for ice cream.

“What was this in regards to again?” the deputy asks, taking out pen and paper.

Henry resigns himself to rehashing the whole thing: “Well, uh, it sounds kind of weird, but we still can’t seem to reach my mother, and it’s starting to worry us. She moved here three or four months ago, and since then I haven’t heard a word from her.”

“Four months? How often did you communicate with her before that?”

“It…varied. We live quite a ways apart. But at least once a month. By mail.”

“I see. So would you say you have a cordial relationship with your mother?”

“I don’t know. Is that important? I just want to know she’s all right.”

The deputy reclines back in her seat. “What would lead you to believe she’s not all right?”

“It’s not that I don’t think she’s all right—I just want to know what’s going on. It’s not like her to move without telling me, and to ignore my letters. We’ve stayed in touch by mail for the last twenty years, and she’s always been very quick to respond.”

“Have you tried calling her?”

“She’s never had a phone, or e-mail, or anything else. She lives very simply, on a small fixed income, which is why it’s so odd for her to suddenly move to a luxury condo here.”

“Where was she living before this?”

“In an efficiency apartment in Long Beach. She was on HUD.”

“Well, perhaps she has more money than she lets on, and has finally decided to start enjoying her twilight years. That’s not unusual.”

“If you knew her like I do, you’d think it was pretty unusual. But it really doesn’t matter to me why she’s here, as long as she’s okay. The problem is, my wife and daughter and I came all this way from Chicago, and we can’t seem to look her up.”

“But you have her address?”

“Yes. She lives up at that Shady Isle development, but we can’t seem to reach anyone who can let us in there.”

Henry describes the frustrating series of events—how they had hiked up there two nights before only to find the gate locked. How they had returned the next morning and stewed for an hour waiting for someone to show up who could let them in, but had seen no one, either resident or staff. How they had fruitlessly tried to look it up in the phone book, and finally went to the Chamber of Commerce seeking assistance.

“They had no information,” Henry explains, “except to helpfully inform us that Shady Isle is an exclusive, high-security community, and that our best bet is to have my mother admit us!”

Not appreciating the sarcasm, Deputy Myrtessa says, “Then that’s what I would advise you to do, too.”

“That’s what I’m trying to do! It’s a Catch-22!”

“Mr. Cadmus, has it occurred to you that your mother might not want to talk to you?”

“Yes, it has occurred to me, and I can respect that as long as I am sure that’s the situation. I’m worried it’s not as simple as that.”

“Worried about what?”

“I don’t know. She could be in ill health, or not in her right mind. She’s an elderly woman all alone; maybe she’s being…manipulated by somebody? I don’t know—anything! The point is I just want some reassurance she’s all right. That’s why we came all this way.”

“So you’re suggesting your mother might have been kidnapped and is being held captive in a luxury condominium?”

“No—I just want to talk to her.”

“She has a legally-protected right to privacy.”

“No, I know. We know that. All we want to do is confirm for ourselves that she’s okay.”

“Your mother is an adult, Mr. Cadmus, and presumed to have the capacity for determining for herself if she’s okay. And I can tell you that if she is living here in retirement, that is pretty much the definition of okay.”

“But—”

“No. Listen to me, please. I’ve heard you out, and I understand your feelings, but I would suggest to you that your mother is dropping you a big hint. Just from talking to you for a few minutes it is obvious to me that something is going on here having to do with issues of control—yours. It doesn’t sound like you’ve taken much of an interest in your mother’s well-being until it came to your attention that she might have some money stashed away—”

“Now wait a second—”

“—and now you’re going around suggesting that she might be incompetent, so you can swoop in and take charge of her affairs. Just hear me out. Now, maybe I’m totally off-base. Maybe it’s not that way at all. But it sounds to me as if your mother has been more than polite—she could have sought a restraining order, which is exactly what I will advise her to do if it comes to my attention that you are harassing her or intruding upon her privacy in any way.”

Henry listens to this with growing astonishment. “Harassing? Are you kidding me? Jesus Christ—”

“I don’t accept people taking the Lord’s name in vain, sir, not in this office, not on this island. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m afraid I have work to do.” She brusquely shows him to the door. “Enjoy the rest of your stay.”