Last Licks

“Not really,” Elsa shook her head. “Several therapists have left already. We’re all independent contractors, you know.”

“No, actually, I didn’t know that. You aren’t in the union?”

“Sometimes I wish we were,” Elsa said. “It might give us a little more bargaining power. As it is, we find ourselves working longer hours for less pay and fewer benefits. As do a lot of people these days. I guess that’s why Dr. Reese feels so free to press us—so far he’s pushed one person into retirement, and two others to new facilities.”

“And you were ready to vote with your feet, too,” Sunny said.

“I like this place, my colleagues, and most of my clients, but it’s not enough.”

I guess I can see why, Sunny thought.

“To go back to the evening in question, did you see anything unusual?” she asked.

Elsa shrugged. “I was working in our office. We’re sort of in our own little world, between the clients’ rooms and our facilities.”

“You were here after lights-out for the patients.”

The therapist nodded. “But I didn’t see . . . Oh, wait. I went to the nurses’ station in hopes of getting a cup of coffee or tea, and bumped into Luke Daconto, who was there for the same reason. He’s a very sweet young man. The residents love him.”

She started to smile, but that faded away. “I’m sure a lot of people thought highly of Gardner Scatterwell, too. So many were shocked and saddened when he died.”

Elsa’s face was almost blank as she turned to Sunny. “But I was just . . . relieved.”

10

“One more question I have to ask,” Sunny said as she absorbed what Elsa had to say. “I spoke to Luke Daconto as well. He mentioned being warned about Reese and the need for reports. Did that happen with you, too?”

Elsa nodded.

“Where did it come from? The head of therapy?”

She shook her head. “We don’t report to the same person—different kinds of therapy. I got the word from Rafe Warner. Guess the union has a mole in the administrative offices. The word went out that there was going to be a crackdown on overdue reports, so I made sure that everything I did was up to date.”

That sounded like the Rafe Warner whom Sunny knew. He rescued kittens; no doubt he’d warn people who stood to catch grief from the administrator, even if they weren’t in the union. It even made tactical sense—worker solidarity against Dr. Reese and so forth.

Elsa glanced at her wristwatch, and Sunny took the hint. “Thanks for talking to me. I know those memories can’t have been pleasant.”

“It’s okay now,” Elsa said. “Mr. Scatterwell can’t do anything else to me.”

They got off the bench they’d been sitting on and went back into the building, which was cooler. But after the heat and humidity, Sunny felt as if her hair had frizzed to about three times its normal size. That was annoying enough, but the tape holding the gauze pad over Shadow’s scratches was beginning to come loose. She used her left hand to hold it in place as she made her way to Ollie’s room, where she found Ollie had a new roommate, a pale-faced older man with crew-cut white hair. He lay very still in his bed, his breathing shallow and his eyes closed. But they opened as soon as Sunny came inside.

“Sunny Coolidge,” Ollie said with excessive courtesy, “meet Charlie Vernon. He’s having some breathing as well as walking issues.”

“You’re not going to talk too loudly, are you?” Vernon had an odd voice, hoarse yet breathy. “If I can just lie and take it easy, I’ll be all right. I need to sleep.”

Sunny and her boss exchanged glances. She knew Ollie wanted to talk, but that didn’t seem likely with Vernon there. She leaned over Ollie’s bed. “What do you say you get back in your wheelchair, and I take you for a spin?”

“Good idea,” he replied, reaching for the call buzzer. Camille appeared to help Ollie into his chair while Vernon pleaded that she do it with less noise.

The girl rolled her eyes. “I’m trying to be as quiet as possible,” she told him.

“I just want to rest,” Vernon whined. “It was a tiring trip from the hospital.”

As soon as she had Ollie settled, Camille left and Sunny rolled along right after her. Hope these wheels are quiet enough for Charlie-boy.

Out in the corridor, Sunny asked Ollie, “Any particular direction you want to go?”

“Just get me as far from that moaner as possible,” Ollie directed. “They moved him in while my back was turned. Came in from therapy to find him lying there. The first thing he asked me was if I played the TV too loud. Honest to God, Sunny, I have to wonder if they stuck him in with me as a punishment—or maybe to drive me crazy.”

“I’m sure they’re just trying to fill the beds, not advancing some master plan by Dr. Reese.” She soothed him with a laugh, but Ollie was in a fussy mood.

He turned his pique on her. “Did you have to go questioning Elsa?”

“In a word, yes,” Sunny told him. “And I think she was glad to have someone to talk to, in a way. If you ask me, sounds like good old Gardner was a letch with a lot to answer for.”