Whiskey For Breakfast Page 5

  “I’m Vicki Dawson. I’m glad you’re here with us,” she said, closing the door behind us. “I’m sure your grandmother is going to love it here at SEAL. Our residents enjoy an active social life, have spacious living facilities, and round the clock care if they have any health concerns or an emergency.”

  I was still trying to figure out what SEAL meant when it hit me. It was probably smarter on their part to use the acronym. Much better to think of sea mammals than feminine care products.

  “If you’ll follow me, I’ll introduce you to your tour guide.” She smiled and I was blinded again by all those teeth. “We let our seniors volunteer in our community, and the tours and customer service are just a couple of the opportunities they have. Every apartment has maid service three days a week. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner is provided daily, plus an afternoon snack. On Thursdays we do a high tea and social hour and everyone dresses in their best. We offer a church service on Sunday, and on Mondays the bus takes anyone who wants to go into town for shopping and lunch. On Wednesday the bus takes them to whatever activity we have scheduled. We have a movie theater in house as well as an indoor swimming pool and an exercise area.”

  “Wow, your grandmother is going to love this place,” Rosemarie whispered.

  I was tempted to move myself into Summer’s Eve. It had everything. Except for young people, but I was willing to overlook that.

  I had yet to see any of the residents, but a man who had a startling resemblance to Vicki came out of an area that looked like private offices. He was probably a foot taller and had the same honey blonde hair and blue eyes as his sister.

  “This is my brother, Victor,” Vicki said.

  I shook hands with Victor as Vicki introduced us and immediately felt sorry for the two of them. It must have been hell growing up with those names.

  “I’m sorry to interrupt, but we have an important conference call coming up,” he said apologetically.

  “Oh, yes,” Vicki said. “I’d forgotten. Just let me introduce Ms. Holmes to Deloris and she can take over the tour from there.”

  Victor nodded goodbye and Vickie opened a pair of heavy oak doors to reveal a giant ballroom. Music played from the speakers—big band era I recognized from my mom’s collection—and several couples danced in the open space on the far side of the room. A long bar with stools sat against the back wall and was made up to look like a soda fountain complete with a soda jerk behind the counter with a paper hat. A ping-pong table was set up in one corner and a pool table in another. There were tables for dominoes and cards as well. It was a senior citizen’s paradise.

  “Holy cow,” I whispered.

  “Isn’t it fabulous?” Vicki asked. “Let me introduce you to Deloris.”

  I remembered I was there to work and wasn’t actually scoping the place out for my grandmother who’d passed away several years ago. I did a quick scan of the room for Virginia Peterson, but I didn’t see her. Of course, I’m not sure I would’ve seen her if she’d been standing right in front of me. People after a certain age had a tendency to look an awful lot alike.

  It was obvious they all used the same stylist. The women all had short hair that varied in color from steel gray to white to peach, and they all had perfect sausage curls lined straight as soldiers.

  Vicki led us over to the ping-pong table and I watched in rapt fascination while a woman in a bright red dress that showed entirely too much loose skin talked trash to her male opponent.

  “Is that the best you got, Wilbur? I got hangnails that can swat balls better than that.”

  Wilbur didn’t look so good. He was sweating profusely and his face grew redder with every taunt. And then Deloris spiked the ball for the winning point and threw down her paddle like a rapper throws down his microphone.

  “Booyah! Take that, you old coot. No one knocks me off the throne.”

  “Maybe someone will knock you off the balcony instead,” I heard someone say from the crowd.

  “I heard that, Janice Walker. Maybe you oughta mind your own beeswax. It seems to me you should be more worried about George making time with Netta out in the garden.”

  The woman I assumed was Janice Walker narrowed her eyes and turned around in a huff, making a beeline for the double doors that led out into the back gardens. And then Deloris turned her eyes on me.

  “Are these the newbies?” she asked Vicki, and then her blue eyes narrowed on me. “You play ping-pong?”

  “No, ma’am,” I answered, taking a step back. Deloris scared the crap out of me, though she barely came up to my shoulders. Now that I saw her from the front, I really appreciated my view of the back of her a lot more. Her red dress was cut in a deep V to the middle of her chest, but there was no cleavage there to support it. From the lumps around her middle I was pretty sure there was no bra in the world available to give that dress the support it needed.

  “I’ve been known to slap balls around the table,” Rosemarie piped in.

  I closed my eyes in horror at the image of Rosemarie and Deloris doing a ping-pong fight to the death.

  “It’s a shame we don’t have time for you to play today,” I broke in before Deloris could extend the challenge. “We’ll be able to spend more time here if this is where my grandmother ends up.”

  “Right, the tour,” Deloris said. “Come on then. I’ve got this, Vicki.”

  I saw Vicki’s lips twitch as she waved us goodbye. At least she had a sense of humor.

  Rosemarie and I followed Deloris out of the activity room and back into the lobby area. “You know the one good thing about getting old?” she asked.

  “Nope.” I couldn’t think of one thing that I was looking forward to in my old age. Looks went to hell and the memory function of the brain seemed haphazard at best. Forty-two medications had to be taken daily to keep you alive and you had to wear diapers.

  “I don’t sweat anymore. It’s like all my body fluids dried up. Check out this dress. It’s red satin and dry as a bone.”

  “I’ve been admiring that dress,” Rosemarie said. “I’m thinking it’s a good cut for a woman with my attributes.”

  Deloris nodded sagely. “I used to have attributes like that. I don’t know what happened to them. Woke up one morning and I just all of a sudden had three stomachs and a flat chest.”

  I was hoping there’d be wine somewhere on this tour because I could use a bottle or two.

  “What’s your granny’s name?”

  I realized she was talking to me when no one else answered and I figured it was best to stay as close to the truth as possible.

  “Madeline,” I answered.

  “Does she like ping-pong?”

  “Not to my knowledge. She likes soap operas and bourbon.” That was pretty much all I could remember about my grandmother.

  “Sounds like good Southern stock to me. Let’s go up this way so you can see the rooms.”

  We followed Deloris up three flights of stairs and Rosemarie and I were huffing like steam engines by the time we got to the top. I guess I wasn’t at the age where all my body fluids dried up because I could feel the sweat running down my back.

  “Are there no elevators?” I asked. “I’m not sure my grandmother could take these stairs every day.”

  “Oh, sure. But I don’t like to take the elevator. Elevators are for sissies. No offense to your granny.”

  “None taken.”

  She showed me several apartments bigger than the size of my whole house, as well as a parlor, a library, and a music room. I didn’t see Virginia Peterson in any of the social rooms, and I was starting to feel that maybe Virginia was holed up in her room.

  We were on the second level and I was pooped and ready to call it a day.

  “What’s that noise?” Rosemarie asked.

  I stopped to listen and I could barely hear a slight humming sound. I hadn’t even noticed it until Rosemarie said something.

  “Huh,” Deloris said. “I’ve been hearing that for two days. I just thought my eardrum
s were about to burst or something.”

  “It sounds like it’s coming from here,” Rosemarie said. Apparently Rosemarie had ears like a bat and the determination of a pit bull.

  “That’s Martha Martin’s room.” Deloris went to the door and put her ear against it. “She was having chest pains and shortness of breath yesterday so the ambulance came and picked her up. I guess they left the TV on or something.”

  The door next to Martha’s room opened and bingo, just like that, Virginia Peterson stuck her head out the door. I’d found since I’d been working for Kate that I didn’t really have a lot of skills at finding people. I was mostly lucky, and luck was exactly what had just happened.

  “Why are y’all makin’ so much racket out here? I’m watching a Buffy marathon.”

  “There’s humming coming from Martha’s room. I think they left the TV on.”

  “Huh,” Virginia said. “I wondered what that was. Thought I was about to go deaf.” She came out of her room and closed the door behind her. It was definitely Virginia Peterson. And thank God for that because I was stick a fork in me done.

  “I’ve got a key,” Virginia said. “We’ll just shut it off for her. I heard she was supposed to be back from the hospital tomorrow.”

  Virginia unlocked the door and we all trooped into Martha Martin’s apartment. It looked like every other apartment. Martha liked Queen Anne furniture, lace doilies, and teapots. There were teapots everywhere.

  But the TV wasn’t on. We all looked around, listening at the vents and other electronic devices, but the humming wasn’t coming from there. It was coming from the bed. The four of us stood on one side, and I watched with horror as Deloris picked the mattress up like it weighed nothing more than a pillow.

  “Well I’ll be,” Virginia muttered.

  Rosemarie was squeezing my hand so hard I was surprised I didn’t hear the bones crunch. Martha Martin’s giant purple vibrator sat on the box springs, bouncing slightly, since it was turned to the highest setting.

  “I guess we know why she was having those heart palpitations,” Deloris said. “It’s a nice size too, but mine’s bigger.”

  “Mine is too,” Virginia piped in. “I’ve got one of those Dr. Thunderhorse models and you’ve gotta be careful or it’ll knock your fillings loose.”

  Deloris matter of factly reached over and switched off the vibrator and then dropped the mattress. “I don’t know about you ladies, but I could use some wine.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Friday

  My tongue felt like sandpaper when I woke up the next morning, but I forced myself to get out of bed. There was no way I was going to exercise before a cup of coffee this morning, so I downed a quick cup and didn’t even care that my taste buds were mostly singed off.

  I changed into neon pink spandex shorts and a sports bra and stretched before I tortured myself with sit-ups. My mind was still in a wine fog from the night before, so I barely winced as I saw it took me twice as long as normal to complete the routine. If my brain hadn’t still been in a wine fog, I would have remembered to check the neighborhood for Savage before I started my run.

  I was just past Spock’s house when I saw Savage coming from the opposite direction. It looked like he was finishing up his run. He was shirtless, his muscled chest slicked with sweat, and his athletic shorts hung low on his hips. I watched with amusement as screen doors opened and women from the neighborhood stuck their heads out to watch him go by. His body was a beautiful sight to see.

  He cut across the street headed right toward me and I realized I had nowhere to hide. Not that I could in hot pink spandex. I kept running and hoped he would get the hint, but he fell into step right beside me.

  “How’s your head?” he finally asked when I didn’t say anything. Mostly because I was concentrating on breathing, not because I was being rude.

  “It feels like I drank too much wine with old ladies last night.”

  I saw his lips twitch from the corner of my eye. “I meant from where you bumped it on the car door.”

  “Oh, that.” I already had a stitch in my side and we weren’t even halfway around the block. “My head is pretty hard. I hardly notice the bumps anymore. Aren’t you done running for the day?”

  “I can always get another couple of miles in. It’s no big deal.”

  “Must be nice,” I wheezed. The spandex was already soaked through with sweat and I knew my face was probably the color of a tomato.

  “I can help you with your workouts and get you in shape before you have to take the physical fitness part of the test, you know. You’re doing better than you were, and people in the neighborhood are no longer complaining about you throwing up in their yards.”

  “Aren’t you supposed to be getting ready for work?”

  “Nah, I took a long weekend. I just had a case close yesterday so it was good timing. Why don’t you want me to help you? Do I make you nervous?”

  “Like a prisoner who just dropped the soap. I’m thinking having you as a personal trainer is not in my best interests at the moment.”

  We were coming up on the home stretch and my house was in sight, but I didn’t know if I was going to make it. I was thinking it would probably be okay to just lie down in Mr. Sandusky’s yard and crawl into the fetal position.

  Talking was no longer an option as I was trying to focus on breathing and the horrible stitch in my side. I noticed briefly that Savage wasn’t even breathing hard, and the competitive part of me wanted to see if I could make him bend just a little. So I kicked it into high gear and sprinted the rest of the way down the street to my house.

  As soon as I hit my driveway a charley horse gripped the muscles in my calf like a vice and I went down with a scream.

  “I hate this,” I said through gritted teeth as I rubbed at the knotted muscle. “I hate running and exercise and sweating and yoga, and most of all I hate fucking sit-ups.”

  Savage kneeled down beside me and took over massaging the charley horse, and I scowled as I realized the sprint was for naught. He still wasn’t breathing hard.

  “Why are women expected to put our bodies through this? Doesn’t society know that we’re supposed to be soft and round and bake pies all day?”

  “I’m guessing you don’t get a lot of calls from feminist organizations.”

  “I need a donut.”

  “I don’t mean to change the subject during your time of need or anything, but your driveway is strangely vacant. I’m surprised your car lasted as long as it did though. It was a deathtrap on wheels.”

  “Someone stole it from in front of the agency yesterday.”

  “I hate to break it to you, babe, but there’s no way someone stole that car. Are you sure it wasn’t mistaken for trash?”

  “It was a perfectly good car. It ran. Mostly. And now that it’s not so hot outside the smell isn’t as bad.”

  The muscle was beginning to unknot and my brain functions were starting to return. Savage’s hands were hot against my skin and I realized he was no longer rubbing my leg, but gliding his fingers up and down my calf in a way that had heat gathering in places best left unmentioned and my eyes rolling back in my head.

  “What’s all the racket out here?” Mr. Walner was my neighbor on my other side. He lived on his pension and drove a 1952 boat of a Cadillac that never fit completely in his driveway.

  “No worries, Mr. Walner,” Savage answered. “Just a muscle spasm.”

  “Why is everyone screamin’ out here? I’m trying to watch my soaps.” I groaned as I recognized Jemimah Blaze’s voice. She didn’t really fit in with the rest of the neighborhood. Mostly my street was filled with newly married couples just starting out and old people who lived on fixed incomes. Savage and I were kind of the anomaly. Jemimah Blaze was just a freak show waiting to happen.

  She’d been a carnie before she’d retired to the suburbs, guessing people’s ages and weights. She had tiny hands like a raccoon, a lot of body hair, and a mouth like a sailor. She scared
the hell out of me.

  “It’s all good,” I told her. “I just fell.”

  “Next time you fall like that you gotta make sure you trip him a little so he falls on top of you. That’s how I lost my virginity. Of course, we were in a circus tent and he only had one leg, so it was hard for him to get up once I hooked on.”

  “Sweet Jesus,” I said, meeting Savage’s laughing gaze.

  “I got some horse liniment in the house,” Mr. Walner said. “Smells like bear piss and graveyard dirt, but I’m told it gets the job done.”

  “No, thank you,” I called out before Savage could answer. “I’m fine now.” I rolled over to my hands and knees and took the hand Savage held out to so I could stand. I sucked in a breath as I put weight on my leg and I walked around in a circle for a couple of seconds with a limp.

  “Nothing good ever happens in this neighborhood,” Jemimah said. “I was hoping for some full frontal.”

  “Not today,” Savage said.

  “Hmph.” She slammed her screen door and went back to her soaps.

  “The neighborhood was a lot quieter before you moved in,” Mr. Walner said before going back inside his own home.

  I sighed and headed toward my front door and I didn’t realize Savage had followed me until I tried to close the door behind me and heard a thump.

  “Thanks for your help,” I said, heading to the shower. “You can go home now so I can die in peace.”

  “You’ll feel better after a good breakfast.”

  “And yet no donuts have magically appeared on my counter.”

  “Go get in the shower, Grumpy, and I’ll handle breakfast. We’re going to get you in top shape for that test. You don’t have a lot of time left.”

  I’d stopped listening by this point and barely noticed as I heard the front door close. I stripped out of sweaty spandex and stared at myself in the bathroom mirror.

  “Good, God.” My hair had grass and leaves stuck in it and my skin was flushed with big red blotches from head to toe. The good news was that my body itself looked pretty damned good. I could button all my pants every day and my stomach was mostly flat. My breasts had always been pretty good, but I was past thirty now so I didn’t know how much longer they’d be upright and perky. I expected them to collapse under my armpits at any time.