Solitary - 2. Chapter 2

Before they got into the kitchen, Elena and Don glanced around what seemed to be a large general room. A wide, ten foot table near the entrance was covered with what looked like art projects, a much larger sitting area, diagonally opposite, had arm chairs arched around a TV, and a third area facing that was filled with a dozen small, square dining tables, each with two chairs. Off the TV area was the still unseen kitchen. The general room was well-lit, with ceiling-high undraped windows on three sides, looking out on a well-tended garden. The place was obviously for people with money, though at the moment, none of the residents were around.

“Are they in their rooms?” Elena asked one of the aides.

“Yes,” she was told. “We either didn’t bring them in for breakfast or helped them go back, and they made their choices off the menu from the main kitchen.”

“That dining room opens at seven rather than eight, and stays open till nine-thirty.”

“Our breakfast starts later, but it’s not to let everyone sleep. It takes a while to get people showered and dressed.”

“Is this a special area?” Don asked.

“Yes, the memory care unit – we only have twenty-or-so residents, depending on who’s sharing rooms, though most people don’t. They like their privacy even if they no longer really know what that means. We have our own kitchen, though it’s small compared to the main one – tiny. That’s why we only need one cook and waiter – server.”

“When this all happened, the big kitchen was starting to clean up, so they shifted to making our breakfasts, and people ate in their rooms. Some even thought it was a treat.”

“It must be hard to work here,” Elena complimented, and the aides smiled.

“Some days,” they admitted. “It depends on who can remember what.” And they laughed.

When Elena and Don finally got to the kitchen, they stayed in the doorway. The room was as small as described, probably no more than ten by ten, though it had a six-burner gas stove and wide oven, a double sink, a large, double-door refrigerator, and a separate, as tall, freezer. A stainless steel work island with cabinets underneath filled the center of the room, but instead of being spotless, as they imagined it normally might be, the floor around the island was covered with blood overlaid by footprints.

“We’d better call Owen,” Don suggested. “He’ll contact Boston, and they’ll send a crew from Springfield. This is out of our range.”

Elena was busy looking for the knife but finally had to ask, “Was it still in her? Were the paramedics afraid to move it?”

“It’s in the sink,” the first aide replied. “Someone must’ve picked it up and dropped it there.”

“Without gloves,” Don guessed.

“Well, we have two witnesses,” Elena assured him. “We know who was holding the knife.”

Don nodded. “We’ll have to close the kitchen,” he soon told the aides. “Possibly for a couple of days.”

“Will we be able to use the main room?” he was asked. “We don’t have many other place for these residents. They get lost in the main area. It’s too confusing.”

Don and Elena agreed. “If it won’t bother them.”

The first aide smiled again. “Unfortunately, some of them won’t even notice – or remember what they’ve seen. And when they hear the story – and they will, because around here everyone talks – they’re think it’s something they watched on TV.”

Elena half-smiled and once more Don nodded, though it certainly wasn’t funny. “Can you tell us anything about the cook and the waiter?” Elena went on.

One of the aides looked at the other, maybe as if wondering if that were wise.

“Just what you told the fire department,” Don assured them.

The aides were still silent.

“The thing is,” one of them finally explained, “we didn’t tell anyone anything – not about that. We’re trained to be very careful.”

“Almost paranoid – you never know who you’re talking to. Or who you’re talking about.”

“Just because someone can’t remember who she is now doesn’t mean she once wasn’t important.”

“Even famous.”

“And they often have lots of money. Or their families do.”

“They could get us fired,”

“Along with our bosses.”

“And no one’d back us up.”

Elena and Don glanced at each other.

“Does that include the cook and the waiter?” Elena asked. “As people with money?”

The two aides laughed. “If they did, they wouldn’t be working here.”

“Not that anything’s wrong with it,” the second aide added, almost looking around.

“Who’d be able to give us information?” Elena continued. “Someone must have spoken with the fire department. Your friends couldn’t be admitted to the hospital without it.”

“Sheila?” the first aide asked the other.

“Is she your supervisor?” Don questioned.

“She’s head of the memory care unit – this unit. But Peter Velardi’s the director.”

“Would he have the most information?”

“Probably not. That would be Deb in Human Resources.”

“But Peter’d have to give her permission to talk with you. So you may as well speak with him first.”

“This is like the Army,” Don said laughing.

“His office is off the front lobby,” they were told. “By the main desk.”

They thanked the aides then needed the push pad code to get out of the private area. The double doors had been propped open when they’d arrived.

“It’s St. Patrick’s Day – 0317,” they were informed. “The same code works for every locked door in the building.”

“Everyone’s always using it, so it’s easier to remember.”

Don wrote it down. Elena put it in her phone. Once they were in the main hallway, she asked, “Do you want to talk with the director? Then call the families? Or would you rather follow the ambulances to Northampton?”

“I’ll follow, if you don’t mind. I’ll call Owen on the way.”

“Fine. I’ll see the director then contact the station if I need a ride. But it’s a nice enough day to walk, and it isn’t far.”

“I’ll be in touch when I know more,” Don promised, then he hesitated. “It’s not like either of them can press charges,” he considered. “They’re both pretty much at fault.”

“First, let’s make sure they’re alive.”