Gin Mill Grill Read online

  “Positive. I found her in the washroom one night after someone had hit her. She was crying. I asked who hit her and she said it didn’t matter. So I said, if it doesn’t matter, then why are you crying? And she said, because she was pregnant. She said people were wrong about her and she wasn’t really a harlot. She only talked that way, but I don’t know why she’d do such a thing. Anyway, she confided to me that Horace was the father. She hadn’t told him yet, and she wasn’t sure if she would. She said she was going to be with her family somewhere in the Midwest, until after the baby was born.”

  “She went to Nebraska,” I said. “I wondered if she might have been pregnant. That would have been scandalous in those days.”

  And Estelle’s head dropped again.

  This time Stanley sighed. He glanced at his watch. “Does this happen often?”

  “It can.”

  Margaret opened the door and peeked in, grinning at us. “If you can put up with her naps, she’s quite a woman.”

  “Margaret,” I said, “come in.”

  She entered the room.

  “You said she’s been telling you stories about the old days. Does anything stick out in your mind?”

  “Yes.” There was no hesitation. “She’s talked about two brothers a lot, and she said she had the hots… Oh, sorry. I should put that differently. She had a crush on the one named Harley. She said not a soul knew about it, but they had an affair. She said it was getting serious, and then he and Loretta disappeared. Her face kind of crumbled when she told me. I thought she was going to cry, but she just looked sad.”

  “Anything else?” Stanley asked.

  “Oh, she told lots of stories, but that’s the one that stuck out in my mind.”

  “Big mouth,” Loretta said, shaking her finger at Margaret.

  She might have been napping, but somehow she didn’t miss much.

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  “I would have told them,” Estelle said. “I’m not ashamed of loving Harley, even if he was a lot older than me.”

  She was grinning, and I knew she wasn’t really bawling Margaret out.

  The nurse quietly backed out of the room, but I could hear her laughing while she walked down the hallway. I had a strong feeling these two women had a special relationship.

  “Did you ever marry?” Stanley asked.

  “I was married for a couple of years, but the hubby was too straight-laced for me. We divorced and he moved away. The funny thing is, I seemed to compare every man I dated with Harley, and none of them could compare.”

  I had a feeling she might have gotten over him in time, but he was taken away too soon. I looked at her face and realized I was wrong. She’d truly loved Harley – completely.

  “After that, I never married again. I guess I was the floozy, not Loretta. I dated a lot and got around a lot.”

  “Do you know what happened to Loretta’s child?” I asked.

  “When she came back, she said not to worry, that the child was in good hands. She’d decided not to tell Horace he was a father, and she made me promise not to tell. I was surprised she came back, to tell the truth. Somebody’d been hittin’ on her, and it wasn’t Horace.

  “I remember that ol’ Horace was fit to be tied.” I thought her head was going to drop again, but she looked up at me. “I think he would have killed someone if he’d known who the beater was. But Loretta wouldn’t even hint at who that man was.”

  “Do you have any guesses?” Stanley asked.

  “Weeell, I do, but I couldn’t prove it. If I had to take a guess, it would boil down to two people.”

  And then her head dropped.

  It reminded me of Pete when he channel surfed on the TV. A character would say something like, “…and the killer is…” and click, he’d change the channel.

  Stanley spoke softly. “I really like Estelle, but I can see you have to have patience to try to talk to her.”

  “That’s a lesson you learn quickly.”

  Our wait lasted about two minutes before she lifted her head and looked from me to Stanley.

  “What was I talking about?”

  “Who might have been beating Loretta,” I replied.

  “Oh. Oh, yes. I think I said there were two meanies who hung out around the gin mill. If I had to make a guess, I’d say it was either that rascally Rusty or that scary Water Boy.”

  “You think of Rusty as a rascal?” I asked.

  “Well, I’m trying to be nice.”

  “Hmm. Well, that rascally Rusty fell and broke his hip. He’s in the hospital.”

  “Couldn’t of happened to a badder guy. He won’t make it,” she said. “He’s too old by now. I didn’t even know he was still alive.”

  “He owns a large winery,” Stanley said. “He’s quite wealthy.”

  “Now that disappoints me,” Estelle said, “although it doesn’t surprise me. I knew he’d do something involving booze.”

  Margaret came in bearing a tray. “Time for lunch, sweetie. Are you ready?”

  “Sure. I’m not really hungry, but I know I have to keep my strength up. I need to outlast ol’ Rusty.”

  “Who’s Rusty?” Margaret asked.

  “Never you mind. Just bring me the food.”

  Margaret turned to Stanley and me. “We have a lunch room and you’re more than welcome to eat here. The food isn’t half bad.”

  “We’d probably better leave,” I said.

  “No, don’t go.” Estelle held out her hand beseechingly. “I have more to tell you. I promise it will be interesting.” She sounded like a child trying to entice a friend to stay. “I need to tell you about last night.”

  My ears perked up. “Last night?”

  “You two vamoose and come back after lunch,” she said, picking up a spoon.

  I noticed that everything on her plate was soft food.

  Margaret accompanied Stanley and me to the dining room and pulled up a chair, joining us.

  “I hope you don’t mind,” she said.

  “Of course not,” I said. “Maybe you can tell us more about Estelle’s stories.”

  A man brought us each a plate of food. It smelled good, and I hoped it was.

  “I have a question,” the nurse said. “What’s so important about solving these murders? From what I gather, they happened back in the thirties. Why is that important now?”

  “We have a client who’d like to see them solved. It’s a family matter,” I said.

  “It appears there’s someone who doesn’t want them solved, too,” Stanley added.

  I’d have to remind him to keep those kinds of facts to himself. Yes, they were old murders, but someone was taking an unexpected interest. Some things were better left unsaid.

  “I see,” Margaret said. “It must be all this talk, but Estelle seems to have started seeing things since you first spoke to her.”

  “Seeing things? What do you mean?” I asked.

  She took a bite of chicken and chewed slowly, while I scooted forward on my chair, waiting for an answer.

  She glanced across the table at me, looking thoughtful, and picked up her fork again. “I think I’d better let Estelle tell you what she told me this morning. Just ask her about her visitor from yesterday afternoon.”

  I wanted to push her for an answer, but quickly decided it would be better to hear it from the horse’s mouth. I didn’t want someone else’s version of the visitor. Visitor? How could this involve us or the old murders?

  Stanley started to ask about it, but I gave him a gentle kick on the shin under the table.

  “Let’s finish our lunch and get back to Estelle.” I ate hurriedly, thankful that the food was palatable.

  A little old lady at another table glanced up shyly before waving.

  I waved back.

  “That’s Lucy,” Margaret said. “She’s a friend to Estelle and she saw you here the first time you came. Her curiosity’s got the best of her. She wants to know who you are and why she hasn’t seen you here befor
e. She’s quite a gossip, so it’s best you keep it to yourself.”

  She proceeded to point out a few seniors to us and explain who they were and what they were like. Speaking of gossips…

  One man was sitting in the far corner talking to himself.

  “That’s Sherman. He has an imaginary friend who sits with him.” Margaret glanced at him and smiled. “He’s a good guy. Now watch him. He’ll tell a joke and laugh, patting the tabletop. Then he’ll listen closely and laugh at his imaginary friend’s joke. He’s quite entertaining, and really quite sweet. If I’m standing near him and I don’t laugh, he’ll ask if I thought his friend’s joke was too corny.”

  “And what do you tell him?” Stanley asked.

  “I just say I didn’t get it.”

  I glanced around and noticed other nurses hovering over patients. They appeared to be patient and loving toward people. I’d heard horror stories about other places, but this one must be an exception. I could picture my mother and Aunt Martha staying here in their later years.

  No, I couldn’t. They’d have the nurses in tears.

  “Is Estelle the only patient you take care of?” Stanley asked.

  “Oh, no. She just happens to be my favorite. To be so sharp at her age is phenomenal, isn’t it? And she still has a sense of humor. Her attitude is so positive, and she never seems to give up, no matter how she feels physically. She just keeps on tickin’, as the saying goes.”

  I glanced at my watch. “Well, we’d better go back to her room. I’ve got a few things to take care of, and we’ll need to get back to the office.”

  “I wish you could stay longer,” Margaret said. “You’ve stirred something up in Estelle. I can’t explain it, but she’s really perked up since your other visit.” She frowned. “Except for her visitor yesterday. That disturbed her.”

  “Man or woman?” I asked.

  “It was a man.”

  “Did she say what he looked like? Or what he wanted?”

  “Talk to her.” The nurse turned and walked over to help another patient who was having trouble getting up from the table.

  “What do you think that’s all about?” Stanley asked.

  “I have no idea, but apparently it made quite an impression on Margaret. Let’s go find out.”

  We found Estelle sitting in her chair, sound asleep and with her food barely touched.

  We sat down to wait, and Stanley moved his chair which made a loud creaking sound on the floor.

  Estelle’s eyes popped open and she looked confused for a moment. “Oh, it’s you. Did you have lunch?”

  “We did,” I said. “I understand you have something to tell us about a visitor yesterday.”

  Interestingly, she sucked in her cheeks before puckering her lips and narrowing her eyes at us.

  “You know, my vision isn’t all that good anymore. I mean, I can see both of you, but if someone asked what you look like, all I could tell them is, well, not much. Getting old is for the birds, but I’m not giving up yet. I pray a lot now. I asked God to forgive my old ways.”

  I waited, feeling she was leading up to something.

  She nodded, apparently making up her mind. “I think God protected me yesterday. A man came into my room and stood by the door and stared at me. I could tell he was staring because the back of my neck prickled. I pretended I didn’t see him. Hell, at my age… Oops. Heck, at my age, most people figure I can’t see at all.

  “And then he spoke to me.”

  “Who? God?” Stanley asked.

  “No, silly. The man at the door.”

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  “What did the man say?” I asked.

  “He came closer and said something about letting the past stay hurried,” Estelle said.

  “Could he have said to let the past stay buried?” I asked.

  “Now that makes a lot more sense than what I thought he said.”

  I glanced at Stanley. “Reminiscent of the note left for Eloise, wouldn’t you say?”

  He nodded.

  “I pulled the emergency cord because he didn’t belong here, but by the time someone came he was gone. They thought I was imagining things.”

  “I’m going to talk to Margaret about security,” I said. “I guess it wouldn’t be too difficult to sneak by the staff at an assisted living facility, especially with visitors coming and going.”

  “I’d say you’re right.” Estelle had a funny look on her face. “Because he was here again while you were eating lunch.”

  “Are you sure you didn’t dream he was back?” Stanley studied the woman while he spoke.

  “Oh, I’m sure. I’d just taken a bite of this mush they feed me so I know I was awake. This time he just stood and watched me.”

  “Are you sure it was the same man?” I asked.

  “Oh, yes. I may not see well, but I can get a definite impression of people. I think he was old, too.”

  “Stan, stay with Estelle.”

  I jumped out of my chair and went in search of Margaret. Twice in two days was two visits too many.

  The nurse was sitting at the front desk. Before speaking to her, I headed outside to take a good look around, just in case the man was watching the building. I didn’t see anything unusual so I returned to Margaret’s desk.

  “I believe Estelle’s story about her visitor, and the man was back today while we were eating lunch. Is there any way for someone to keep a closer eye on her?”

  “Is she okay?” Margaret stood and hurriedly headed for the old woman’s room.

  I followed in her footsteps.

  “She’s fine, and I want to keep it that way.”

  “I’ll put the other nurses and the orderlies on alert. We can put the place on lockdown for a few days.”

  “Won’t that scare the residents and their families?” I asked.

  “No, we’ve had to do this before, but it’s always because we’ve taken in a patient who’s a runner.”

  We stopped outside the door. I opened it and motioned to Stanley to join us in the hallway.

  “A runner?” I thought I knew what she meant, but…

  “A patient who wanders off. Someone who’s either confused or doesn’t want to be here, or both. We’ve had a couple of women who thought they were in a hotel and couldn’t understand why they weren’t allowed to just walk out.”

  We discussed the situation just outside Estelle’s room, with Stanley joining in.

  “I could spend the night here,” he suggested. “I’m sure my wife would enjoy these people.”

  “Thank you, but that won’t be necessary,” Margaret replied.

  “In case you change your mind, I’ll leave my number.”

  Margaret smiled at him. “There are a couple of rather large orderlies I’ll call in. They won’t mind earning a little overtime. But thank you for the offer.”

  Before we left, I had one more question for Estelle.

  “Do you know why the speakeasy was closed up without anyone cleaning out the storeroom? That’s where Loretta’s body was found. You’d think someone should have found her way back when.”

  “Yes, dear, I can answer that. Everyone was so upset about Horace’s death that they didn’t want anything else to do with the place. Where was her body found? I mean, what part of the room?”

  “She was in the back storeroom, off to the side. Why?”

  “Horace’s relatives were so upset that they just closed the door and sealed the room. They had a new wall built so the backroom wasn’t even visible. Then they boarded up the building and it just sat. To be honest, I’m surprised it’s still there.”

  “Do you remember Archie Glosser? He was a cousin of the brothers. Well, his daughter kept the building and they turned it into the Gin Mill Grill, a place that specialized in barbeque dishes.”

  Estelle laughed, which sounded more like a cackle. “The Gin Mill Grill? I love that name. It seems so appropriate.”

  And her head dropped, once again.

  Stanl
ey and I left the room.

  Margaret was back at the desk and I asked her to tell Estelle good-bye for us.

  “You will come back, won’t you?” she asked.

  “I will, or at least one of us will. I want to check in on Estelle every so often. She’s quite a character. I’ve known a lot of seniors, but she’s really quite unique.”

  “She can’t get over that you’re a private detective, and she said she wishes she’d gone into that line of work when she was young. She can’t read anymore, but she listens to mystery stories on CDs. You remind her of the characters in the stories.”

  ~ * ~

  We drove back to the office so I could pick up Felicity and take her to the hospital with me to visit Rusty. Poor guy. At ninety-nine, I doubted he’d recover from a broken hip.

  During the drive, Stanley talked about our visit at the assisted living facility.

  “Did you notice that while we ate lunch most of the people ate their dessert before they ate their meal? I wonder why.”

  “Oh, I can answer that,” I said. “This came up once before, although I can’t remember where I was. Anyway, someone said seniors eat dessert first because they don’t know if they’ll make it through lunch or not.”

  He looked shocked. “They think they’ll die?”

  “No, it’s just a joke to them – an excuse to eat the good stuff first.”

  Back at the office we found Felicity laughing at something she was reading in a diary. “Greta Humin had quite a sense of humor. Oh, by the way, someone called while you were out. I let the answering machine take the call because I didn’t know if you’d want me to talk to clients. Actually, there were a couple of calls.”

  “You can answer the phone,” I said. “Just take good notes.”

  “Why do you have a landline? Couldn’t people just call you on your cell phone?”

  “I’m not always in a position to answer the cell phone, and I want people to be able to reach me one way or another.”

  Felicity smiled at me. “But your cell phone can take messages.”

  “It’s a matter of privacy, in a way. The landline is open to the public for calls. My cell phone isn’t.”