Episode Sixteen Re-Cap

Immy, Becca, and Candy ready themselves for a trip to the hospital, where Caleb is beginning to regain consciousness. Already at the hospital, Monique threatens Guillaume and then retreats when a nurse interrupts. Disappointed in her desire to torment further, she visits the ICU, where she encounters Caleb. After a security guard escorts her away, she overhears Bertie and Sugar announcing themselves on their way to visit Caleb. Intrigued by Bertie’s use of a false name and her knowledge of the stolen pearls at Sugar’s house, she makes a call. Worried by Bertie’s absence and the police claims of his criminal background, Emmy ventures out to visit Peter, who she hopes will help represent him when he returns. Peter had just been treated to Oscar’s revelation that the original accused murderer in the Pinkham case was in fact a witness who could place Monique’s unusual knife at the scene. Sam takes a call bringing him the news that the bowl Sydney had tried to get Wyatt to steal has been found amongst a load of objects sent over by the Wycliff Foundation for appraisal and its value has been tempered by an unusual patch applied to the bottom. Bobbi accepts a ride to work from Rex so that she can avoid being late and also defend her award from the Wycliff Foundation. Lyndsey and Polly discover in their back yard the strange woman who had stalked Polly, Petra, and Pug the night before. Wyatt discovers a strange, bulky package addressed to Pug is blocking his door.  Petra comforts Jamie after their patient, Mr. Tobin, dies and informs him the Wycliff family is demanding all the goods stolen from their loved one by Mr. Tobin be returned, including the ring Rex had given Raisa.

Segment 16.10

A  hard pinch to the upper arm spawned pain and fury. Monique turned on her tormenter with a snarl on her lips and relaxed in an instant, letting her best imitation of a soft, feminine charmer come to the surface. He’d be easy enough after a brief struggle but then the soft whir and click of cameras and the warped images in the corner mirrors told her there were too many witnesses.

“I’m sorry,” the guard said. “This is a restricted area. You shouldn’t have been able to get in without registering at the front.”

Monique summoned tears and nodded slowly. “I apologize. I guess I was in such a daze, I did not notice the rules. So much commotion.”

The guard steered her towards the ICU door. “That happens around here.”

Just outside the door, the guard released Monique and directed her to a reception desk, where a worker was just settling in, her attention focused on the three people in front of her, a man and woman with a young girl.  The girl croaked, “I have to see my Dad.”

“We have a policy about minors. You need to be with an approved adult.”

“I’m an old neighbor,” the man said. “I used to live in Shoals Court just down the block. Albert Garland, Jr.” The voice sounded familiar.

“Any I.D. Mr. Garland?”

“Just my aunt’s credit card.”

“How about you, Miss?”

As the woman dug around in her purse, Monique poked about in her clutch, inching up until she brushed against the man’s arm.  They exchanged looks as he accepted Monique’s apology. She knew that face, though she had never seen it in person, just in police mug shots. The name was ‘James Kelly’ and likely fake as well. He’d gone off in a hurry or he would have had a more convincing presentation. Pinkham had thought the world of him as a subcontractor, though not so Monique. What was he doing here?

The woman said her name was ‘India Daniels’ and she had a driver’s license but the address wasn’t current.  Daniels, Monique recalled, was the name of that slow-witted glob of bile who had trashed his own house in front of her. He’d seemed surprised when Monique pulled out the pearls stashed in the closet, so apparently India had some funky business going too. Now that was interesting.

India said, “I recently moved but my aunt lives next door to my old place. You can call her.”

“She’s my aunt too,” the fake Albert added. “She calls me ‘Bertie.’”

Nice touch, Monique thought. The puppy-dog look in the girl’s eye was what finally sold the rickety package. The registrar pointed to India and said, “Sign in. You wait over there, Mr. Garland.” The three conspirators burst out in sincere-sounding gratitude.

Monique drifted away from the reception area and fished her cellphone out of her clutch.

Segment 16.9

The endless images of pottery slid by on the screen.  When anything resembling the ‘shallow bowl with faint red and yellow markings’ appeared, Sam paused and read the description.  So far, his brief foray into the world of Olmec ceramics had taught him a handful of things about the Olmecs themselves (“a Pre-Columbian civilization of Central Mexico”) and a fair amount about their pottery. He’d gathered enough to know that the elusive target of Wyatt’s paid excursion into the Westcott house was either an unusual specimen or incorrectly identified as to its provenance.  Its market value could be anywhere from under a hundred dollars to nearly five thousand.  The reason for Sydney’s apparent infatuation with the bowl, enough to risk paying someone to steal it, was not yet clear.

The phone rang, causing him to drop his breakfast burrito and wipe his hand on his grimy office chair just to make it easier to hang onto the handset.

“Officer Tranh,” he said, eyes still on the monitor.

“Ah, yes, officer. This is Mr. Baker at Horatio Hornsby House. You asked me to assist you in tracking down a certain antiquity and its potential worth.”

“Yeah, though I’m beginning to get the idea you won’t have much to say.”

“On the contrary. We may have acquired the very item. A piece came in for appraisal from the Wycliff Foundation.”

“The what?”

“It’s a group with which we do business sometimes. One of their many ventures is Fair Trade crafts brokered for Third World craft associations. Occasionally their lots come in mixed with older, more antique items that have been donated by local families. They seem to have the fortune of finding unique and often very valuable objects, which they then ask us to appraise. Thus, we have here a bowl quite similar to your description. It is authentically Pre-Columbian and most likely does originate from highland Central America, though not necessarily Olmec, as you specified. Our preliminary finding was for a value of two thousand dollars and then we adjusted when we discovered the mending that had been done to it.”

“Mending?”

“The bottom of the bowl is oddly shaped, unusually thick, and seems made by a different process, probably some time after the original piece. That will affect its final value.”

“Can you tell when the mending was done?”

“That would require greater analysis. We’re not prepared to go that far, Officer Tranh. Perhaps the owner or a final purchaser, if it is a museum or some such, will be motivated to go into such detail.”

“Do me a favor and hold onto that piece until I can take a look at it.”

“I had no idea you were such an enthusiast for antiquities.”

“Life’s full of surprises, isn’t it?”

Segment 16.8

A strong scent of rosewater struggled to cover some other less pleasant odors. There was a whiff of bleach and a tang of mold, along with a hint of a nameless, unwashed stench.  Peter raised his head and found that he could not summon any surprise at the sight of Emerald Garland, even though Bobbi had told him she hadn’t set foot out of her house in years. She clutched her purse like a shield in front of her abdomen and hunched around it as if ready to spring.

“Mr. Goodkind?”

“Yes, Mrs. Garland.”

He rose and offered his hand. She patted him on the palm.

“I know you are a busy man. The secretary kept saying so.”

Peter seated himself. “What she meant is that I have an appointment shortly and then I am booked for the day. Perhaps I can come by after work and discuss this matter with you then.”

“It’s an emergency. I don’t want it to wait and I don’t think you ought to see Bobbi just now. She’s too upset.”

“Over what I said to her last night?”

“I don’t know about that but she and I both….we’re just beside ourselves over Bertie. “ She wagged her finger at him. “It doesn’t help, you know, that you tried to get between them. But I can forgive you because I need a lawyer and you’re the only one I know.”

“Bertie is…I’m sorry…who now?”

“My nephew. He’s been courting Bobbi. And now he’s gone missing.”

“You’ve talked to the police?”

Emmy scoffed and flipped her hand. “They just go on about how they think he’s a burglar and a drug dealer and so on just because he was wearing all black and had a fat money belt. That’s crazy! One even claimed he’s a cross-dresser too, just because my pearls went missing and turned up next door where they caught that crazy Oscar trying to kill some lady.  They’re so confused. They keep telling me my own nephew’s name is something else, Jimmy or what have you. They say he’s mixed up with the death of some guy named Pink. You see, if they get to him, they’ll just want to question him. That’s not right to do without you have a good lawyer. I know our rights.”

Peter stood again, tapping a pen against his hand in thought. “You do know your rights, Mrs. Garland.  Very good.”

“I hope you’re looking out for the Professor too.  I’m sure he didn’t mean anything by throwing that lady cop into the backyard. “

Peter waved her towards the door and tucked his hand under her arm. “I will do my best by everyone, I promise.  Let me give you some cab fare…”

“Oh, I don’t need that, Mr. Goodkind. Bertie left me a nice present in his money belt. He wouldn’t have left it behind if he didn’t mean for me to have it, right?”

The wad of bills in her hand was enormous.

Segment 16.7

A soft chime from the living room tolled, its tone leaving the word “hurry” ringing in Wyatt’s ears as it faded. “You’ll be late,” he said, whisking the jam and cream cheese away from the table, the latter from just beneath Pug’s probing knife.

“Hey,” Pug barked. “Just because you suddenly have appointments this morning shouldn’t mean I have to panic. Breakfast is not done until the paper is read.”

“I don’t see why you bother reading that rag. It slants so badly that it’s a wonder the words don’t run right off the page when you pick it up. And in case you didn’t notice, it’s slanted away from you.”

“This is our home town now, Wyatt. We should at least pretend to care what happens around us and that’s how you know. It’s not like we’re in the gossip loop. It’d be good to know, for starters, why the police have been so busy on our street.”

“I can answer that one. Boredom drives people to do strange things.”

Pug rose from his seat, dabbing at his mouth with a napkin, and then turned to the door.

‘’I’ll get the paper,” Wyatt said. “You go brush your teeth. That’ll save at least a few minutes anyway.”

“I could just read the paper in the car,” Pug called as he traipsed towards the bathroom.

“You will not!” Wyatt called back.

“What’re you so nervous about?” Pug muttered.

Wyatt stubbed his toe hard on the outer door, which had hung up on something, rather than swinging wide open. A heavy obstacle kept it lodged at a slight angle, yielding only to a shove. The mild panic that had been plaguing him all morning spiked for a moment as a brief flashback to the previous evening set in. First it was Sydney and his mysterious and sinister errand, then that eavesdropping cop, and, lastly, Pug’s unsettled demeanor as he described the shadowy stalker trailing him and Petra back from the beach. When one couldn’t count on Pug to stay unruffled, that was a sure sign of peril.

Wyatt peered out onto the stoop and spied a rectangular box. It was the sort in which 10 reams of copier paper come tightly fitted together, its straining cover held in place by multiple lengths of packing tape. The lid was adorned with a single sheet of paper inkjet-printed with the legend “Atticus Fenton.”

Wyatt backed away and scurried to the nearest phone. Pug heard the excited tone in his voice as he reported the box and stepped out of the bathroom in response. “What’re ya doin?” he asked, talking around a mouthful of toothbrush.

“Giving the police a boredom reliever.”

Segment 16.6

Wires, not too many, snaked around on the floor. Somehow the whole mess was plugged into the wall.

“Just like in the movies,” Monique cooed, wrapping her hand around the cord that went into the wall just behind the bed. “You could pull one wire like this and ‘poof.’ Someone would die.”

Guillaume laughed deep in his chest, although his head throbbed in reply. “Pull all you like, ma puce. I believe that is only the motor of the bed. I am not needing any machines. I have only a skull fracture, most minor at that. Your hired man failed you. Let that be a lesson. You get what you pay for.”

“It’s your money, mon chien Andalou.” Monique ripped the cord from the wall and folded it in her hand. “And that job was done for free, just because you are so attractive a target.” She pulled back the sheet covering Guillaume’s feet.

“It’s a terrible shame to remind you there is a closed-circuit monitor here,” Guillaume said. “Proceed if you like. I will enjoy that in many ways.”

Monique halted and considered Guillaume’s bare feet. A nurse breezed up beside her and said, “Let me take that, honey, and don’t worry. Nothing vital’s going on there.”

“You saw on the monitor?” Monique asked, handing the cord to the nurse.

The nurse chuckled. “Oh, we don’t have monitors in the regular rooms, just the Intensive Care Unit.”

“Hmm, perhaps my brother will reside there someday.”

“Like I said, don’t worry, honey. We’ll keep an eye on this fella for you and he’ll turn out just fine.”

Monique smothered her glare and softened it into an insincere smile, batting her lashes at her brother. She excused herself and walked out into the hall with as much regal non-chalance as she could manage. Perhaps she would visit this Intensive Care Unit. There you might find a cord to pull or a button to push that would give you the greatest thrill, the power of granting life and death. Perhaps if she ever found the patience, nursing school might be a good move.

She oozed out of the elevator and drifted down the hall, dodging the dashing hospital workers, all flushed and gasping, muttering about “Code…” something.  Hands behind her back, she surveyed the dozing infants in their incubators and then cruised down a side hall. She slipped into a room and considered the tube-infested bundle there, a man named “Caleb Issacson.” Her eyes followed all the wires and cords. A genuine smile unfolded across her face.

Segment 16.5

Dazzling sun soaked into the surface of the patio, the light slanting warmly from the top of the fence down to the tidy patch of green that constituted the back lawn. Lyndsey, dressed in his silk pajamas and robe, wriggled his naked toes in anticipation of the pleasure of taking in the sensation of the stored heat that lay in the cement and even in the grass. He sauntered over to the patio doors and drew them open.

A muttering voice caught his ear as he stepped onto the patio. “Nell…who is Nell? How am I anyone called Nell? What does she know about any of this stuff anyway? How does she know about Omar? What if she knows everything? Maybe she’s a witch or a gypsy…”

Lyn drifted to the corner of the yard, tucked away behind a set of raised flower beds. A woman in camo fatigues crouched there, her head in her hands.

“Hello? Can I help you?” Lyndsey asked.

The woman raised cold eyes to him and said, “The witch sent you?”

“Um, no. The Cowardly Lion did. Are you Dorothy?”

“How much do you know?” As she unfurled herself, Lyn caught his breath at her unexpected height, powerful limbs and hands, and the sight of her knife and brass knuckles.

He crossed his arms in what felt like an inadequate attempt to match her assured strength. “Well…I have a Ph.D. in Mathematics and I’m widely read in several areas. You could say I know a good deal about many things, not much about others.”

“You’re toying with me. You know about Omar and his woman, Petra, and the man she’s cheating with.”

“I don’t consider any of that my business.  Believe me, I have troubles of my own to concern me. I came very close to getting myself arrested again yesterday. I don’t feel like going there again today. Eventually, the university will lose its patience and cut me loose. As long as you aren’t going to make matters worse, I don’t care who you are, what you want, and what the devil you have to do with Omar and his woman, whoever they are.”

“Petra is our neighbor across the Court,” Polly yawned from behind him. “And the man…I’m afraid he’s a friend of Peter’s. He’s called ‘Atticus.’ I remember him vaguely from college or law school, a long time ago.”

“What? Is Peter mixed up in all this…whatever it is?”

“Peter…all roads seem to go back to him, don’t they? There are a lot of skeletons in that young man’s closet that I have willfully ignored over the years.” She stared into Lyndsey’s eyes, catching the brief flicker of confirmation.  “No surprise to you, it seems. Well, come in for breakfast the both of you. There’s no point in secrets any longer. I want to hear all your stories so at least I will leave this world with the truth.”

Segment 16.4

Engines rumbled in driveways throughout the Court, folding into the familiar morning blend of sound that greeted every resident in a constant stream of which one hardly took notice. Even the slow creep of the car behind her did not register to Bobbi, whose mind devoted itself instead to voicing all the nagging doubts and fears arising out of the previous day as she strode towards campus. It took a pair of blaring beeps from the car to turn her head. She knew from both the rough idle of the engine and the strained tweet of the horn that it would not be the Lexus.

As she stalled and readjusted her backpack, the car squeaked to a stop beside her and the driver slapped his door on the outside. “Hey, Miss Big Shot!” He bellowed.

Bobbi bent to glimpse the driver but he squirmed out of her sight, twisting up out of the door. “How about a ride to school?” Rex called to her. “Your feet should not touch the ground, now that you’re a big shot.”

“Big shot? Where do you get that?”

“Front page of the school website, front and center. The big news! Graphic arts teacher gets a truckload of money to make yet another junky, overrated piece of public art.”

“And you mean to prevent said artistic travesty by lecturing me?”

“I just want to know what you have to do to have a bunch of money fall on you, supposedly out of the blue, and then get the web master, who’s in your department, of course, to make a star out of you. Get in. I don’t know about you, but I have work to do and you’re making us both late, Your Highness.”

Bobbi groaned and pulled open the passenger side door. She was still fumbling with the seatbelt when the car careened away from the curb.

“It’s only news,” she told him. “When the next thing comes along, I’ll be pushed right off the page and into oblivion. Maybe you can do something to get yourself out there and replace me.”

“The irony is, your little bit of news is going to mean a lot less to the school in the long run than the news you bumped off the page. You’re just making some art with money given to you by some unknown donor, whereas you bumped a story about how the governor honored our Health Professions faculty for their contribution to the state’s future. At least we didn’t throw ourselves out there for money. It was pure public service.”

Bobbi grunted. “I didn’t ask for the Wycliff Foundation to give me a grant. I never even heard of them before.”

“Really?” Rex sneered. “They happen to make fine jewelry. That’s why you never heard of them. I got my fiancée a Wycliff ring for our wedding. Only the best.”

“Where’d you get this special ring of yours and how’d you afford it on a community college salary?”

“That’s my secret.”

Segment 16.3

His hand shook so badly that coffee washed over the sides of the cup and plopped onto the counter. In another moment, a hand swept along and sopped up the mess.

“My first dead body,” he quavered.

“Won’t be the last,” someone chirped. Closer by, Petra James wrung out the saturated dish cloth and said, “That’s always a profound moment, Jamie, or it should be. You shouldn’t be working here if you can’t feel something when a patient dies.”

“Nursing homes have changed over the years,” observed the other staff member. “The residents are sicker and older and need more care. There are more intermediate facilities where people can go, assisted living and the like, and meanwhile we’re all living longer, though not necessarily better. Death is much more part of our work now than ever. Get used to it, college boy.” With a quick swish of the garbage can cover and another of the door, the commentator was gone.

“How do I do that, Petra?” Jamie asked. He steadied his hand enough to get a gulp of his coffee.

Petra draped the cloth over the faucet and leaned back against the counter. “Pay death its due and let it go. What were Mr. Tobin’s last words?”

“He called for Saint Anthony…that was me, what I called myself once. I held his hand and he asked me to be good to his wife. I think he meant that poor lady in the basement, the full-care wing. Is she even his wife?”

“Not that I know of. Something about her must have reminded him of his actual wife or maybe she just appealed to some mangled sense of chivalry that made him want to bring her gifts all the time and hide her precious items, the wedding ring and such.”

“Other staff say they caught him in bed with her before, just lying there. Her family must be freaked out.”

“Angry, actually. They want all her things back, especially the wedding ring, or they plan to sue us.”

“Good luck on that one. I searched the beach thoroughly with my metal detector. I was told by the beach authority that the only other person who might know anything is a guy named Rex Magotti, who’s been doing community service as a beach cleaner. He lives up at Shoals Court.”

“Hmmm, my neighborhood. I can check on it later.”

Jamie set his half-drunk coffee down and hugged Petra. “Thanks for talking me down, Petra. You’re a saint yourself.”

Segment 16.2

Apricot essence blocked out the faint scent of apple oatmeal cooking in the microwave. Imelda stopped rubbing the abrasive scrub across her cheekbones and stared into the bathroom mirror. A melodic tone announced the oatmeal was cooked. Low voices murmured in the room outside the bathroom, too indistinct to understand but the tone was sober and subdued. Immy rinsed her face and blotted it with a towel.

A timid knock sounded on the bathroom door and then Becca squeaked, “Immy? Which oatmeal did you want?”

“Peach,” Immy grunted.

“Huh? Can’t…sorry…can’t hear you.”

Immy opened the door and took in Becca’s pouting shrug. “Peach. Hope we can get something else at the hospital.”

“I just wanted us to be quick this morning,” Candy said. “We have a meeting with the doctor, pretty early.” She readied the next batch of oatmeal and slid it into the microwave, starting it back up again.

Becca took up her bowl and trudged towards the bathroom. “Done Immy?”

“Yeah. Strange being by yourself in there.” Immy settled on the nearest bed. “Thanks for getting us this hotel room, Candy. It was nice to have someone else around after all that happened and know we’re not too far from Dad.”

“It’s just as much for me as for you. When your father comes out of the coma, I’ll have to explain why Shauna Rae is not with us. I can use the support.”

Becca stepped out of the bathroom, the hand holding her round brush falling slack. “What are we even going to say? I hope you guys don’t plan on mentioning that you think you saw her walking away with two strangers?”

Candy settled back and poked at the coffee maker, checking the remaining amount. “I’d better finish this. I agree with you, Rebecca. That would only make it worse.”

“Not in my opinion,” Immy said. “At least we…you and I…think she’s still alive and someone seems to be caring for her.”

Candy shook her head. “We can’t tell your father any of that. The best we can say now, if we are cornered, is that the police are looking for her.”

“I hope it doesn’t have to be me,” Becca said.

“And…” Immy said. “This is a mean thing to say, but I hope it’s not soon. I’m not ready.”

Candy sighed and pulled out the coffee carafe and emptied it into her cup. “Best of all possible worlds, Caleb wakes up after we find Shauna Rae, safe and sound, and it will be our little secret for some time to come.”

A few blocks away, under a tangle of sheets and wires, Caleb’s hand twitched.