“Never tried. Comin’ from Texas ain’t nothin’ to be ashamed of. Where you from?”
“Alaska. Grew up in Ketchikan. Lived in other parts of Alaska later and spent time in the Lower Forty-eight as well.”
Tuck nodded. Then he sighed and said, “My name’s Tucker Malloy. I go by Tuck.”
“I know. You’re the only rabble-rouser in residence here and a main topic of conversation.”
Tuck laughed. “It don’t take much rabble-rousin’ here to get a reputation.” He arched an eyebrow. “You got a name?”
“Essie Maxwell Childers.” She glanced at his arm brace. “What on earth happened to you?”
“Fell off my porch. Busted my arm, my hip, and a couple of ribs. I’ll be right as rain in a couple more months.”
“Steep steps?”
“Hell, yes. Do I look fragile as blown glass to you?”
“As tough as saddle leather, actually.”
Tuck struggled to get back up and had to use his cane for leverage. “It’s been a pleasure, Essie. Tomorrow if you’re not too busy, maybe we can shoot the breeze a little more.”
To Tuck’s surprise she nodded and said, “I’ll look forward to it.”
As Tuck walked away, he tried not to smile. For the first time since being imprisoned in this place, he felt glad that he’d be here one more day.
Chapter Six
The next morning when Tuck went to the dining hall, he spotted Essie sitting at a corner table all alone. She had her head bent over what looked like a business ledger, and he figured that she’d probably tell him to get lost again, but he’d never been a man who was easily discouraged. And he saw no reason to change his ways.
She glanced up when he pulled out a chair. “Not now, Tuck. I work in the mornings.”
None of the residents here work, Tuck thought. They were all retired and standing over a grave with one foot on an oil spill. “Sorry. Dementia still hasn’t set in, and I can’t get lost yet.”
Around them, other residents stirred their coffee, creating a musical ping that came from all directions. A few people conversed, their voices a low drone. Essie closed the ledger and thrust it into a black leather briefcase. He got the impression that she didn’t want him to see what she’d been working on.
Elbow braced on the table, she clicked the top of her ballpoint pen. “You’re screwing up my schedule.”
For an instant, he wondered if she might have early-stage dementia. Another old gal in this place had once been an ambassador or some damned thing, and every evening she dressed up and held court at what she believed was a state dinner. She rapped on her water glass to get everybody’s attention before she gave a speech. Nobody paid her any mind. Most of the old people here were willing to live and let live, and if the woman wanted to believe she was still someone important, it was no skin off their noses. Was Essie living in the past, too? Working at a job she no longer had? The thought troubled him.
“What are you orderin’ for breakfast?” he asked. There were no menus, so it was a loaded question.
She twisted her lips. “A croissant with two pats of butter, fresh sliced strawberries sprinkled lightly with granulated sugar and drizzled with cream, a poached egg with a runny yolk, and two slices of extra-crisp bacon.”
Tuck laughed. As his mirth subsided, he said, “I’ll have what you’re havin’.”
She sighed. “Wouldn’t it be lovely? Real bacon. Real sugar.”
Tuck decided she must have been firmly rooted in reality. At least she realized the food at this facility was awful. “It sure would. I’m cravin’ real bacon, and I fantasize about a perfectly broiled steak with straight horseradish, a loaded baked potato, crusty rolls, lots of butter, and a salad—a real salad with stuff besides lettuce in it. Oh, and I can’t forget a glass of good red wine.”
Her eyes went dreamy. “The location of this place suits my purposes, but little else does. I’d love to have a small dog, but pets aren’t allowed.”
“I’d like a beer, but that ain’t allowed, either. And I have a dog, but that bitch who runs this place won’t even let him come for visits.”
“Patricia has too many rules.”
“You can say that again.”
She took a sip of her coffee. “What I wouldn’t give for real coffee with breakfast. I managed to get a cup of the caffeinated before it ran out, but it’s weak, nothing more than colored water. If I want good coffee, I make it in my apartment.”
“Caffeine can speed up our heart rates.” Tuck knew for a fact that an increased pulse wouldn’t kill him. His heart was racing right now from making eye contact with his breakfast companion. “How old are you, Essie?”
“Never ask a woman her age unless you want her to lie.” Then with a slight shrug, she said, “Seventy-eight. A young seventy-eight. I’ve worked hard to stay in shape. Why in the hell don’t they have a gym in this dump?”
“A gym? I kept in shape doin’ physical work. If I’m gonna dream, why in hell don’t they have a bar?”
Essie chuckled. “I’m with you there, only it should be a cocktail lounge. I like a little class with my highballs.” She panned the area with her dark gaze. “I should buy this place and expand it. Turn it into a swank community for retirees.”
Tuck expected her to add, “Just kidding,” but she didn’t. He was back to worrying about her mental state again. “Essie, improvements like that would cost a bloody fortune.”
“I know, but what the hell? I’m loaded. And I like the isolated location here. If I lived closer to a hub, my kids would bug me all the time. Since I’m staying, I may as well jazz it up.”
A kitchen assistant rolled a cart into the dining room and began slapping down bowls of oatmeal and small pitchers of skim milk. Another person followed with a second cart, laden with bowls of canned fruit swimming in sugarless juice, stacks of sawdust toast, and bottles of spray butter, which had zero calories in one squirt. Tuck still had an image of crisp bacon at the forefront of his mind.
Essie dimpled a cheek at him. “I’m definitely looking into buying this place,” she told him. “Imagine a huge indoor pool. A gym with Jacuzzis to loosen up in after a workout. A steam room would be fabulous. And this place definitely needs a therapy pool.”
Tuck couldn’t stop himself from asking, “Essie, are you firin’ on all your cylinders?”
She chortled with laughter. “What do you think?”
Hearing her talk about spending millions of dollars she probably didn’t have, Tuck wasn’t sure how to answer that question. So he said nothing.
After they ate, they went their separate ways, Tuck to a physical therapy session, followed by watching television programs that bored him while he wondered what Essie was doing. Working, she’d tell him, but at what? Seventy-eight-year-old women in assisted living centers didn’t normally still have jobs.
At lunch hour, Tuck returned to the dining room. Again Essie sat at a table alone, this time near the windows that overlooked Mystic Creek. In Tuck’s opinion, the view was one of the finest features of the whole place. She beckoned him over to join her. He hesitated. As much as he liked the lady, he was starting to worry that she was a few cards shy of having a full deck, and he couldn’t have a romantic relationship with a woman who lived in a fantasy world.
“Hi,” she said as he sat across from her. “What color of gelatin do you think they’ll serve today? I’ll bet ten on green. We had red yesterday, and I think I’m seeing a pattern emerge.”
Tuck wondered if she could afford to lose ten bucks. Changing the subject, he asked, “How long you been here?”
“Just over six months.”
When their meal arrived, Tuck nearly groaned. Sloppy joes again, and they were always the sorriest he’d ever eaten. The meat goop was served over the same sawdust bread they’d had for breakfast, with canned green beans as the vegetable. “Ca
n’t they afford buns?”
Amusement sparkled in her dark eyes. “Let’s duck out of here and go to my place. For lunch, I’ll serve you one of the best Black Angus steaks you’ve ever eaten.”
His stomach clenched. No question about it, she was off her rocker. “What about your work?”
“I got it wrapped up this morning. For today, at least.”
Tuck preferred going hungry over eating the crap on his plate, so he struggled up from his chair, offered Essie his uninjured arm, and walked with her to her suite, which was off a hallway at the other end of the building from his. At her door, she plucked a key from her blazer pocket to let them in.
Tuck stopped in the kitchen to stare. Half of her living room area, no larger than his own, had been converted into an office. The other side had a cozy arrangement of furniture: a cushiony pinkish sofa and one recliner.
“What the hell? You’ve even got a printer and a landline.”
“Necessary. I still run all my businesses. If I decide to buy this place, I’ll take the apartment next to this one, knock out some walls, and have much nicer and roomier accommodations. I may do that throughout the building and add on to each wing. Did you know they have sixty acres here? All along the creek, over four miles of water frontage. This could be a first-class operation if somebody invested some money in it.”
Tuck studied her, trying to decide whether she was tracking or off somewhere in la-la land. “Essie, pardon the hell out of me for sayin’ this, but in order to change this place to that degree, a person would have to have millions.”
“Your point being?” She arched an eyebrow. Then she started to giggle, holding a slender, veiny hand over her heart. “Oh, dear God, you think I’m like our ambassador. The lady who gives speeches at dinner.”
Tuck felt heat rise up his neck. “Well, from my perspective, Essie, nobody rollin’ in dough would choose to live here.”
She shook her head as she walked to the refrigerator, which Tuck noticed was close to full-size, unlike his tiny one. The cupboards above it had been removed to make room for it. How in the hell, with Patricia the Horrible governing the place, had Essie gotten away with that? Her posterior poked up as she collected cartons from a bottom drawer. She had a very nice backside. “Long story, Tuck. I’m the mother of two grown children who are selfish, lazy, and greedy. Mystic Creek is off the beaten path. They can’t take a direct flight into Crystal Falls. They have to fly in from Portland on a puddle jumper. Then they have to rent a car and drive here to see me. When I found this place, I knew their laziness would limit their visits.” She straightened with her hands full and bumped the fridge door closed with her hip. “Enough about me. I’ll get our gourmet lunch heated up.”
“Gourmet? For real?”
She laughed again. “Haven’t you noticed? I don’t often dine with everyone else. Like you, I can’t stomach the food. So I order special things. Otherwise I’d go nuts staying here.”
“I thought you just had a tray brought to your rooms.”
“Nope.” She put something in the microwave on low and turned to smile at him. “Since it’s only lunch, and the steaks are large, I hope you don’t mind sharing. Potatoes au gratin come with it.” She indicated a cushion on the sofa. “Have a seat. Mine is a long story, and it may go down better with a snifter of brandy.” She stepped over to a drawer in her office, felt under the small desk for something, and her hand reappeared holding a key. She said, “Get something that locks, Tuck. A piece of furniture, preferably, not a little box. Patricia thinks she has absolute control here, but she can’t lawfully pry open a locked drawer and ruin your furniture.”
Tuck stared at the bottle of brandy she lifted out. Good stuff. She stepped into the kitchen and withdrew two snifters from a cupboard. After pouring a generous measure into each glass, she capped the bottle and walked to the sofa, offering him his drink before she sat beside him. Tuck admired the graceful way she moved. She cupped her hands around the bowl of crystal to warm the liquor.
“Don’t you wanna lock your door?”
She huffed. “If anyone enters this apartment without knocking and getting my permission, I call my team of lawyers. Patricia and I have gone a few rounds in the boxing ring already, and she knows not to mess with me anymore. It looks bad when the facility attorneys get called in, discover that the administrator doesn’t have a leg to stand on, and then still charge the corporation for their services. I think Patricia is afraid she’ll lose her position if it happens again. She’d have to feel very confident to cross me.”
A team of lawyers. Tuck mentally circled that and realized he was starting to believe she wasn’t fantasizing. He sipped the brandy. “Nice and smooth.”
“I grew up poor, Tuck, and I clawed my way up to a better life. A much better life, and I enjoy my little pleasures.” The timer went off. She swirled her brandy, smiling slightly. “And since our lunch is ready and we don’t know each other well yet, I’ll leave it at that for now.”
Tuck wanted to hear more. This woman fascinated him. She went to divide their meal into two servings, returned to hand him his plate along with eating implements and a napkin, then returned to the kitchen for her own portion.
Tuck moaned when he tasted the steak. She smiled and said, “You see? You can choose a loaded baked potato if you like. It comes ready for the oven or microwave, and the toppings come in separate containers. Patricia doesn’t rule the world here after all.”
Tuck ate every morsel of his meal. After rinsing their plates, Essie walked him to the door, put one hand on the knob, and lifted her other to touch his cheek. “I tried my best to run you off last night. I’m glad now that you didn’t let me.”
Tuck recognized an invitation when he got one. He bent his head and lightly pressed his lips to hers. Holy shit. He felt as if he’d just touched a bare wire with two-twenty surging through it. When he drew back, her sooty lashes rested on her cheeks and a smile curved her mouth. She fluttered her eyes open to gaze up at him.
“I’ve always thought Texans were sexy. Now I know why. Dinner in tonight? I’ve got chicken Parmesan and chicken cordon bleu—your choice.”
“I don’t want to eat all your special food.”
Her dimple flashed. “There’s more where that came from. I just order online, and it comes in a day.”
Tuck wanted to kiss her again. He hadn’t felt that kind of zap from a woman since Marge died. “We’re on. I’ll go for the cordon bleu.”
* * *
Crystal timed her arrival at the facility for after three, when Marsha would be manning the front desk. She trusted the older woman to keep her mouth shut. Lugging in loaded plastic grocery bags, she winked at her friend.
“Just some special treats for Tuck,” she chirped. To herself, she thought, And if Patricia finds them, I now have an attorney on retainer.
She knocked on Tuck’s door, then pushed it open. “You decent? It’s just me.”
“Come on in,” he said. “Been tryin’ to call you. Is your phone broke?”
Crystal gulped down her anxiety. This might be her last chance to set things right with her grandfather. At least he was speaking in a normal tone of voice today. “Nope. I didn’t want to talk on the phone. Sometimes, Tuck, my words fail me, so I think I need to show you how sorry I am.”
She plopped the bags on his kitchen counter, and the half-gallon glass bottle of bourbon clinked. She retraced her footsteps to lock the door just in case Patricia’s minions tried to invade Tuck’s inner sanctum again. Then she began unloading the sacks.
“Only saying I was sorry—well, that didn’t work. Today I’m going to make up for what I did. It shouldn’t have been Tanner who brought you the items you were missing. It should have been me. And in case Patricia discovers this and tries to kick you out before I’m ready to take care of you, I’ve hired an attorney who’s prepared to take her on.”
Crystal nearly parted company with her skin when she turned to find her grandfather standing right behind her. He had tears in his eyes. “Yesterday mornin’ I didn’t try to call you back so I could yell at you again. I wanted to apologize and accept your apology to me. I shouldn’t’ve said all that stuff.”
Crystal felt frozen. She loved this man so deeply she couldn’t begin to tell him how much. And she was afraid to try. But then his strong arms were around her, his cast poking against her shoulder blade, and her world came right again. She felt happy. So happy.
“I’m sorry I said such nasty things,” he mumbled. “I didn’t mean a word of it. You just hurt my pride, grabbin’ my phone like that. I realized how old and helpless I really am. That don’t sit well.”
Crystal clung to him. “Oh, Tuck, I was so wrong to do that. I’ll never do anything like that again, I swear. Please forgive me.”
“Already done, sweet girl. I should have accepted your apology right away.”
Tuck wasn’t into prolonged displays of affection, so he relaxed his embrace and stepped back to look at her purchases on the counter. He said, “Booze? Be still, my heart. But what the freakin’ hell is the tea for?”
Crystal wiped tears from her cheeks, and they were quickly replaced by more. “Camouflage. Iced tea isn’t illegal. I also got real sugar, so you can try your best to kill yourself with a carb rush.”
Tuck laughed. Then he looped his good arm around her shoulders and gave her a jostle. “Tea as a mixer? Yuck. But damned if I won’t take it and say howdy. Only how’ll I hide the whiskey bottle?”
“I’m sorry it’s not beer, Tuck.” Crystal reached into another bag and withdrew a gallon pitcher, a clear plastic one with a pink drop-in lid. “And here is your whiskey container. The color of straight whiskey is a lot like the color of iced tea. If the facility police look in your fridge, all they’ll see is that. Put a few tea bags in to make it look real. When I leave, I’ll take the evidence with me.”
Tuck started to laugh. “You’re right. Who can object to tea?”