Death In Duplicate

SEVEN

IT TOOK SUSAN ALMOST HALF AN HOUR TO CARRY ALL THE boxes inside and put them in place. She stacked them in the living room, up until now the only room in the house spared a lashing of baby paraphernalia. And then, after tossing another load of baby clothing into the washer, she went back to Jed’s study and turned on the computer.

Susan found the Internet both fascinating and time consuming. She would start looking for a new recipe for chicken for dinner and end up spending hours checking out weekend rates at luxury ski lodges in the Italian Alps-before going out to dinner. Over the past few years, she had planned hundreds of vacations they had never-and would never-go on, learned how to do dozens of projects she would never even begin, and contemplated the personal musings of strangers who seemed convinced their every thought worth her time. They rarely were.

Today she was determined to maintain her focus and in less than five minutes she had found what she was looking for: the Perry Island Care Center ’s Web site. After checking out photos of the grounds, representative resident rooms, and a highly self-congratulatory description of the services it offered, she had the name and phone number of the admissions director, the center’s street address, and a map. A few minutes more and she had discovered the ferry schedule to the island. She exited the program, turned off the computer, sat back, finished the last half inch of cold coffee in her mug, reached for the phone and dialed the Perry Island Care Center ’s admitting office.

In a few minutes, she had set up an appointment to tour the nursing home and to discuss her mother’s possible admission. She grabbed the papers she had printed and hurried into the hallway. Shannon was coming up from the basement with a basketful of clean laundry. Susan looked into the open doorway to the kitchen and saw her daughter sitting at the kitchen table, eating a cinnamon roll and thumbing through the newspaper.

“Chrissy, I’ve got to go out for a few hours,” she said, entering the room.

“Oh, are you going by a drugstore? We’re out of A and D ointment. I know I packed an extra tube, but Shannon and I can’t find it.”

“No problem. I’ll stop in town on my way home. Anything else?”

Chrissy used both hands to push her thick blond hair off her shoulders and took a deep breath. “I don’t think so,” she answered uncertainly.

“Tell you what, I’ll get my errands done and call you before I go to the drugstore and you can let me know if you’ve thought of anything else… unless you need the ointment right away?”

“No, we’ll be fine. We need a diaper service, but-”

“I thought you were going to call some.”

“I’m going to, but they’re expensive and they all want a monthlong contract and I don’t know which one is best. And Ethan has such delicate skin.”

“Why don’t you call Kathleen and see if she has ever used a service. Or Erika. You know she and Brett have a six-month-old.”

“Good idea,” Chrissy said without a lot of enthusiasm.

“You’re exhausted, aren’t you?” Susan asked, instantly back in mother mode. “Having the twins and then moving… Maybe you should see a doctor. The gynecologist you used to go to is still in town and-”

“I’m fine, Mom. Just tired. I planned on going into the city this afternoon and start looking for a place to live, but I really don’t think I’m up to it.”

“Chrissy, you don’t want to do too much yet. You’ll make yourself ill. Take a nap today.”

“I don’t sleep well during the day. I lie down and think I hear Ethan or Rosie crying and then I have to get up and see-”

“Look, you have a baby nurse. Let Shannon worry about the babies and at least lie down for a bit. You really look pale.”

Chrissy took a deep breath and sat up straight. She had never enjoyed being fussed over and Susan recognized the stubborn expression on her daughter’s face. “I’m fine.”

Susan knew it was time to stifle her concern. “Then you might want to start opening the pile of packages in the living room.”

“Packages? Oh, I sent baby announcements last week and gave this address. Do you think they’re presents for the babies?”

“I’d be surprised if they were anything else. I noticed more than one from Tiffany’s.”

Chrissy cheered up. “Really? Maybe I’ll just take a peek.”

Susan left her daughter to check out the goodies and went upstairs to get ready for her trip to the nursing home.

The Perry Island Care Center looked a bit less elegant than the photos on their Web site had led Susan to expect. A large brick building with an excessive amount of white wood trim, a new paint job and some tuck-pointing would have improved its appearance immensely. In the publicity photos, the building had been surrounded by blazing red azalea bushes. But today only a few crocuses, so close to the sidewalk that they had been trampled repeatedly, were blooming. Susan pulled her purse up on her shoulder and entered through the wide handicapped accessible doors.

The interior was cheerful and well maintained. There was a wicker desk in the foyer and the young woman sitting behind it looked up from her Vogue magazine when Susan entered. “May I help you?”

“I’m here to see Astrid Marlow,” Susan explained.

“Do you have an appointment?”

“Yes. For noon.” Susan looked at the clock hanging on the wall behind the desk. “I’m a bit early.”

“You must have come over on the ten-thirty ferry.”

“Yes, I did.”

“There isn’t a lot of traffic off-season so it doesn’t take any time to unload. During the summer, our noon appointments are always late. Astrid’s office is right down the hallway on the left. I think she’s in.”

“Thank you.” Susan started off in the direction indicated. An elderly man slowly making his way toward her leaned on his walker with an expression of intense concentration. Susan smiled in what she hoped was an encouraging manner, but as he got closer, a loud bell startled her and caused her to jump back. “What was that?”

A short heavyset woman popped out of the doorway Susan was making for and gently took hold of the man’s arm. “Mr. O’Neill, you know you’re not supposed to be off the ward alone.” She glanced over at Susan. “If you’re Mrs. Henshaw, why don’t you go on into my office? You don’t mind waiting while I sort out Mr. O’Neill, do you?”

“Of course not.” In fact, she would welcome the opportunity to look around a bit. Susan walked in the doorway.

Astrid Marlow’s office was large and well organized. One wall was dedicated to photographs taken at the care center. Birthday parties, Christmas parties, anniversaries… all were apparently celebrated with enthusiasm by staff and residents alike. Susan looked carefully, hoping to identify Shannon in the pictures. It was impossible to date the events; the residents, mostly women, had apparently preferred wash-and-wear clothing in floral prints for many decades. The staff, dressed in brightly printed scrubs, was always smiling. Failing to pick out a familiar face, Susan turned her attention to the rest of the room.

Two chairs faced a large walnut desk, where a multipaged application form was laid out. There were also piles of slick brochures. Susan picked one up and was perusing it when Astrid Marlow returned.

“I’m sorry about that. We must keep careful track of some of our memory-impaired residents. They do tend to wander. Mr. O’Neill has been with us for some time but, unfortunately, he has become more and more confused in the past six months or so.

“So, tell me about your mother,” Astrid Marlow continued.

Susan was unprepared for the change of topic. She had assumed that this woman would start out by telling her about the nursing home, not ask questions about her mother, who was, thankfully, healthy and vital and would almost certainly be angered by the idea that her daughter thought she was ready for this particular change of residence. “Ah…”

“Perhaps I misunderstood you on the phone. Is it your mother-in-law whom you’re looking to place somewhere?”

“Oh, no… I… It’s my mother. She’s getting old, you see.” Susan realized the inadequacy of her explanation.

“Is she mobile?”

Susan thought of the large, silver Lexus sedan her mother used to zip around town and nodded yes. “But she doesn’t get out as much as she used to,” Susan lied. As she spoke, her mother and father were on a monthlong walking tour of the British Isles.

“Does she have memory issues?”

Susan’s mother was unfortunately inclined to mention things she considered mistakes in Susan’s life that dated back over forty years. “No, her memory is just fine. She just needs help. You know, she’s getting old,” Susan repeated.

“Well, you understand that we can’t accept new residents without medical records.”

“Of course, I understand. Tell me about the Perry Island Care Center,” Susan said. “This is such an unusual location for a nursing home, isn’t it?”

Astrid passed a pile of papers across the desk to Susan. “We have an interesting history. We’re a full-care nursing facility, one of the oldest in the state. We’ve been around since the turn of the century. Of course, things were quite different then. The care center was started by the Perrys, descendants of the family the island was named after. They were an unusual couple. Childless and wealthy enough not to have to earn a living. Mary Perry had some limited training as a nurse and her husband, a Methodist minister, felt a need to be of service in the community on days other than Sunday. They owned much of the island as well as the largest house. They took in some of the older residents on the island, or relatives of residents, and cared for them as best as they could. Of course, the new addition hadn’t been built then and they could only accommodate about twelve people. But they did an excellent job. When they retired, a distant relative inherited the care center and everyone was relieved that they would continue the center and its services.”

“It was lucky that there was someone available who wanted to do this sort of thing.” Susan felt obliged to say something. Astrid Martin had obviously repeated this story many times.

“Well, there is a black spot in the story of the care center,” Astrid Martin admitted, but smiling to show that it wasn’t very important. “The young man who inherited was, perhaps, more interested in the land included in the inheritance than in running a nursing facility-or ‘old folks home’ as some people called them in those days. He moved here from New York City, bringing along a wife and infant son. They cared for the residents for a while, but then, discovering that terms of the will mandated that the inheritance had to be kept intact and he couldn’t sell off any of the land, that young man left for an extended visit to Europe, planning to write the Great American Novel. He didn’t write it nor did he ever return. His wife picked up the reins and added residents by the simple expedient of putting ads on the walls of nearby Connecticut hospitals.

“The story is that she had been a socialite in New York City. I don’t know about that, but this place is the result of her excellent business sense and her dedication to the center. Her insistence on high standards of care built our reputation and, by the time she died, we were as well known off the island as on.”

“And her son?” Susan asked.

“He graduated from Yale Medical School where he specialized in geriatric medicine. He became the head of our Board of Directors and married a nurse. And ever since then, we have continued to have family members on staff and involved in our future. We are quite proud of our history.”

“I can see why you would be,” Susan said.

“You see, we are unique. We remain-and hope to remain-unconnected with any of the many large, impersonal for-profit companies that are building nursing homes faster than they can staff them. We are very proud of our staff-to-resident ratio. It is the highest in the state.”

Susan noticed the reference to the future, but decided to wait to bring it up. “How do you find staff here on the island?” she asked.

“Oh, most of our staff lives on the mainland and commutes by ferry.” Astrid Martin glanced down at her watch. “Perhaps I can show you around as we chat,” she suggested, standing.

Susan got up immediately. “Of course!”

“You might want to take along our admission forms as well as the rest of our information. You might not know it but we are the only nursing facility of which I’m aware that gives its prospective residents and their families the Medicare comparison form.”

Susan looked down at the pile of papers she had just grabbed from the desk. “Thank you,” she muttered. She had no idea what a Medicare comparison form was. “I’ll study them when I get home.”

“Then we had better get going if you’re going to catch the early afternoon ferry. We’re a fifty-bed facility, not counting our small Memory Impaired Unit-and obviously your mother has no need for that-so there’s quite a bit to see.”

Susan, who had made no plans of any sort, merely smiled and followed the other woman from the room.

The Perry Island Care Center was bright and clean. Nice smells emanated from its stainless steel clad kitchen. There were flowers (plastic, but it was early in the season, Susan realized) on the tables in the spacious dining room. Attractive paintings lined the walls of the hallways. Bulletin boards announced upcoming events, trips to the Museum of British Art at Yale, and shopping expeditions to the Once in a Blue Moon Outlet Mall right outside of Hancock as well as weekly Friday afternoon musicales in the Art Therapy Room. The nursing stations were staffed by cheerful young people who seemed to be working rather than chatting among themselves. The residents looked well cared for and, those who weren’t asleep, appeared happy and content.

There was no mention of the murders.

Perhaps she would have learned more if she had been allowed to wander about on her own, talking with both employees and residents, but Astrid Martin was not about to let that happen. She led Susan from place to place, drawing her attention to the many advantages of the Perry Island Care Center and comparing it to other unnamed institutions that placed profit before resident care.

Forty-five minutes later, Susan thanked Astrid Martin for the tour and walked out of the front door into the chilly daylight feeling discouraged. She had learned nothing and wasted time that would have been better spent helping her daughter take care of the twins. Thinking of Ethan and Rosie, she perked up immediately. She would catch the next ferry and, after stopping at the drugstore, head home. She’d pull some of the cilantro-spiked chicken chili-Chrissy’s favorite-from the freezer, bake a pan of cornbread, and then help out with the twins. The relaxing family evening she had hoped for last night might only have been delayed. Stuffing the papers Astrid Martin had given her in her purse, she hurried back to the car.

She was surprised to find a young man leaning on her trunk and smoking a cigarette as he studied the macadam with the sullen expression that so many young people seemed to adopt these days.

“Pardon me,” Susan started.

He raised his eyes from the ground, but his expression didn’t change.

“You’re leaning on my car,” she explained.

“I wasn’t hurting it,” he said.

“But I’m afraid I might hurt you when I back up. I want to make the next ferry,” she explained, wondering why he didn’t just move.

“Oh.” He looked over his shoulder at her car and then back at her. “I’m waiting for someone.”

“Well, if you could just wait someplace else,” she suggested, concerned about how long this might take.

“I…Yeah, there she is.” A smile transformed him. “My girl,” he said, looking over Susan’s shoulder as he moved away. “She works here.”

Susan turned and realized that the young woman who had been sitting at the desk in the entrance was walking toward them. “Do you need a ride?” she offered, seeing another opportunity to learn about the care center.

“No. We’re fine,” the young man assured her, without turning around.

Well, she had tried her best, Susan thought, getting into her car.