Parson's Home for the Retired had looked different from the highway. Addison had expected to find caroling grandchildren, gossiping parents, and the smiling faces of the elderly. Instead, she had walked into an atmosphere that more resembled an ill-kept funeral home.
The lobby was deserted. Recessed lighting illuminated a large reception desk. On the wall behind it, a bland oil painting depicted a huge tree covered with pink flowers. A spindly ficus in a plastic pot stood near the front door, soaking up more cold than light.
"Nice place," Randall said dryly, closing the door behind them. "Let's skip the front desk."
Even as he said the words, a skinny, black-haired man with a thin mustache appeared behind the desk and looked over at them.
Pasting a smile to her face, Addison squared her shoulders and approached him.
The man offered a plastic smile. "May I help you?"
"We're here to see Al Stukins," she said with her best college student inflection.
Smiling spuriously, the man opened a notebook and began paging through it while she held her breath. "Your name?"
“Addie Fox.”
His brows went together as he flipped the page over and then back again. "You don't seem to be on the list to see Mr. Stukins."
"I don't get home very often." Addison forced another smile, hoping it didn't look as phony as it felt. She didn't like this little man, and she'd never been good at hiding her emotions. "I'm home for the holidays. He's my grandfather."
"Well, you're not on the list." He folded his arms across his chest. "I'm sorry, but I can't let you in to see Mr. Stukins without permission from his family."
"I am his family." The lie came easily, and she let it fly with the fervor of truth.
"You can have his son give me a call tomorrow to put you on the list." He closed the book. "Until then, I'm afraid I can't let you in."
She was just beginning to think they'd met another dead end when Randall leaned forward and flipped open the notebook, ripping the list in question from inside.
"We didn't drive all the way from Columbus to be told we're not on the goddamn list," he growled.
Addison's heart began to pound.
The man's mouth opened, rivaling the width of his eyes.
"Sir, you can't do that."
''When's the last time that man had a visitor?" Randall looked like an incensed bull about to maul a cowering matador.
"Uh, I don't—" The man stepped back, eyeing the notebook, not daring to reach for it. "I ... I need my register back."
''What the hell's your name?" Without waiting for an answer, Randall plucked the man's name tag from his shirt, leaving a hole the size of a dime in the fabric. "I'll need this for my lawyer."
"Sir!"
"Who owns this dump?"
"You can't do this!"
"Watch me." Turning the tag over in his palm, Randall read it aloud with great distaste." Adrian Grigsby." His eyes were black with anger when they swept to the terrified clerk. ''When's the last time the health department inspected this dirty little hellhole of yours, Adrian?"
Addison stepped back, astonished.
Adrian's Adam's apple bobbed twice in quick succession.
"I bet they'd love to get their bureaucratic hands on you, wouldn't they? You'd probably be able to keep them busy for days, wouldn't you?" Randall smiled wickedly before turning to Addison. "Let's go."
She was so caught up in the drama, she had to clamp her mouth shut against a protest. If poor old Adrian didn't fall for it, they were sunk. Praying Randall knew what he was doing, she took his hand and they started toward the door.
"Wait a moment!"
Relief bubbled through her. Next to her, Randall stopped. Simultaneously, they swung around to face Adrian.
The man was panting, his slicked-back hair falling about his forehead as he came around the desk. "I can let you see him tonight and add you to the list tomorrow," he said.
Randall stared at the clerk as if he were trying to decide whether to punch him or strangle him. "Now, why didn't I think of that?"
A skinny hand clutched the fabric where his name tag had been stripped away. "After all, it is the holiday season."
"Yeah, no need to be unreasonable." Randall tossed the name tag and wrinkled list onto the desk. "Where's his room?"
Adrian led them down a wide, tiled hall trimmed with stainless steel handrails and wheelchair ramps.
"You drive a hard bargain, Talbot," Addison whispered as they made a right and started down another hall.
"No thanks to you." He grinned. "You're a terrible liar."
"Thanks, I think."
"When we get to the room, I'll deal with Stukins," he said. "You get rid of the skinny jerk."
"Shouldn't be too hard since you've got him warmed up for me."