The Cat Sitter And The Canary

24

There are all kinds of retirement homes and assisted-living communities in Sarasota, but Bayfront Village is the queen of them all, despite the fact that its exterior is a garish, Pepto-Bismol pink and its architecture is a mishmash of styles, with beet-red terra-cotta shingles on the roof, faux-gold Gothic spires rising from all the corners, and gaudy, turquoise tiles plastered along the roofline. But at night, with its banks of windows twinkling against the dark sky, it doesn’t look much different from any of the other high-rise-condo buildings that stand in a gaggle at the edge of the bay. In front, there’s a white wrought-iron gate that leads down a cobblestone drive to a Spanish-style portico, complete with cascading fountains and a couple of chubby concrete cherubs to herald your arrival.

My friend Cora lives on the sixth floor, and whenever my life starts to veer a little off course, I find myself floating to her. It’s almost an unconscious instinct on my part, which is funny when you think about it, because she’s practically three times my age. You’d think we wouldn’t have much to talk about, but she’s sharp as a tack, full of finely tuned wisdom, and she always leaves me feeling like my batteries have been one-hundred-percent rejuvenated.

I admit going to Cora’s place wasn’t the smartest move on my part, but I was so exhausted, and I just needed to be in the presence of something good … something honest. If only for a few moments.

I couldn’t risk going in the front, though. I knew Vicki would be there, sitting at her concierge desk, and there are usually a couple of guards in the lobby and I didn’t want to risk anybody recognizing me.

I parked behind the building and snuck through the manicured grounds, avoiding the pools of light from the gas lamps along the walkway. I knew there were at least three fire-escape doors in the back, each leading to emergency stairwells, so I was hoping maybe one of them might have been left open and I could slip in.

Just as I was about to try the handle of the first door, it opened and a thin woman in a black pencil skirt and pink blouse stepped out. I must have scared her as much as she scared me, because she jumped back a foot, dropping a lighter and a pack of cigarettes. We both knelt down to pick them up at the same time, and it was only then that I recognized her. It was Vicki, the concierge from the lobby.

She said, “Oh my gosh, Dixie, you scared me to death! What are you doing out here?”

I tried to think fast. “Oh, I was just taking a late night stroll and … and then I thought I’d drop by, I mean, that’s why I don’t have a car. With me.”

“Well, you caught me red-handed. This is strictly a no-smoking establishment, but it’s been a long day, so…” She held up a cigarette and shrugged. “I didn’t think anybody’d find me back here.”

I mustered a smile. “Don’t worry. I won’t tell on you.”

“I’ll call up and let Cora know you’re here. She’s doing much better, by the way.”

I frowned. “What do you mean better?”

Her eyes widened. “Oh, no. She swore up and down she’d already told you.”

“Told me what?”

She sighed. “I shouldn’t say anything, but you’re practically family. There was an incident in the elevator on Tuesday. She fell. Luckily, one of the maintenance boys was there or it would have been much worse. She hit her head, and we were afraid she’d broken her hip, but it’s fine. They gave her some pills for the pain, but you know Cora. She hates pills.”

When I stepped off the elevator, Cora was waiting outside her apartment at the end of the hall. She’s barely five feet, with knobby little knees, skinny arms, and hair as light and wispy as raw cotton. She grinned from ear to ear when she saw me, but even from a distance I could see a dark purple bruise hovering over her left eye, and she was holding herself up with two bright pink crutches.

She said, “Now, Dixie, before you say a word, I want you to know that I’m perfectly fine. A little sore here and there, but believe me, it’s not near as bad as it looks.”

“Cora, what in the world happened?”

She gave me a kiss on the cheek. “I got old is what happened. I don’t know how, but suddenly I’m an old lady.”

I put my hands on my hips. “No offense, Cora, but you’ve been an old lady for as long as I’ve known you.”

She grinned. “I know, dammit. Come on in and have some tea, and I’ll tell you all about the great fall.” She handed me the crutches. “Carry these.”

“Wait. You don’t need them?”

“They’re supposed to take the weight off my hip, but they’re just more trouble than they’re worth. And the pills they gave me for the pain just knock me out cold.”

She shuffled in ahead, even slower than usual, and once we were inside she said, “Lock that door behind you.”

“Oh, no. I guess you saw the news, huh?”

She nodded grimly. “Three murders in one week. It’s just terrible.”

“Well, with all the staff downstairs, I think you’re safe.”

“Oh, it’s not that. It’s Reggie Anderson. He keeps dropping by unannounced.”

“Reggie Anderson? Who’s that?”

She flicked a hand in the air. “You might have seen him in the lobby. Lives on the third floor. Silver hair, handsome … once. He’s sweet on me like syrup on a pancake.”

I grinned. “You mean, he’s your beau?”

“Beau? Such an old-fashioned word. Now who’s the old lady? And no, for your information, he’s not my beau, although I imagine that’s exactly what he’s got in his stupid bonehead. He’s already stopped by two times today, and the last time he left that monstrosity.”

She pointed at a vase of pink roses on the dining table.

I said, “Oh. He means business, doesn’t he?”

“I don’t know what to do about it.”

“Well, what’s so bad about a handsome man bringing you flowers?”

“Dixie, what’s wrong is he’s ten years older than me!”

I leaned her crutches against the small bar that separated the dining area from the kitchen. “Oh, come on. I’d think it’d be nice to have a man around the house. You know, to fix things.”

Her eyes twinkled. “Dixie, trust me, what I’ve got is long past fixing.”

“Okay, that’s not what I meant!”

Just then a kettle whistled on the stove and Cora padded into the kitchen. I’d already prepared a bogus story to explain why I was showing up so late, but if Cora was curious about it, she didn’t say a word. I leaned over the bar and watched her, hoping she had a loaf of her homemade chocolate bread in the works. She usually serves it warm, and when she slices into it, little rivers of chocolate ooze out and call my name.

There was no sign of the bread, though. She filled a teacup with steaming water and handed it to me. “And anyway, this is an assisted-living community. Assisted! That means there’s a whole staff here that gets paid to fix stuff. What in the world do I need a man for?”

As I took a sip of tea, her eyes widened, almost as if she was seeing me for the first time.

“Oh, Dixie.”

“What?”

“Sweetheart, you look exhausted.”

I felt my eyes immediately well with tears. “I’m not surprised. I’ve had a…” I paused, searching for the right words.

“Bad day?”

I nodded. “More like a bad week.”

“Oh, dear, and here I’ve been babbling on about my silly problems while you … Well, you look like you’ve been rode hard and hung up to dry. Why don’t you go on in and lie down.” She nodded toward the living room. “And drink that tea right up. It’s delicious—elderberry, cinnamon, licorice root, plus a little secret ingredient of my own. It’ll make you feel better right away.”

I felt like a child being fussed over, but Cora was right. I was exhausted. And I knew if I stood there any longer, gazing into her clear blue eyes, so full of love and concern, I’d start crying like a baby. I did as I was told and ambled into the living room.

She was right about the tea too. It was delicious, with something vaguely sweet, yet spicy. I’d never tasted anything like it, but I knew right away it was exactly what the doctor ordered. I made a mental note to ask her what that secret ingredient was. I practically downed the whole cup by the time I got to the couch.

As soon as I laid down, my eyelids felt as heavy as a couple of sandbags. I could hear Cora fussing around in the kitchen, quietly talking to herself, or maybe humming some indecipherable song, one I thought maybe I’d heard before, and then I heard something low and rumbling in the background. I couldn’t tell if it was coming from the kitchen, like an electric mixer or maybe (I hoped) a bread machine, but it didn’t matter.

Within seconds, I was out like a light.