Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 95264 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 476(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 318(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95264 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 476(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 318(@300wpm)
Shirley opens her mouth but stalls when Harper’s finger comes up.
“I got the scoop from Gladys. Between you fussing about the chicken and this mess with Saul, you were busy over lunch with your pot and your stir stick, weren’t you?”
“You can’t blame me about the food. You take away our salt, sugar, red meat, caffeine … May as well give us shovels and let us start digging our own holes out back.”
“If I fed residents based on what you wanted, they’d all be dead from heart attacks and diabetic comas. And don’t think I don’t know about all those sweets Justine’s been sneaking in here for you.” Harper saunters off, leaving my card partner’s lips twisted in a smile.
“What kind of trouble did you stir up now?” I ask.
“Nothing, I just shared the truth. I heard Saul sneaking out of Gertie’s room last night. Late.” She flashes me a knowing look.
My mouth drops with a gasp. “Doesn’t Saul have a thing with Shelly Ann?” They take their daily walks together, holding hands the entire way. It’s heartwarming to see, given the two of them moved to Bonny Acres after losing their spouses.
“They did, and Gertie and Shelly Ann are supposed to be friends.” For a woman who hates everyone, Shirley still makes it her business to know all.
“What did Shelly Ann say?”
“She’s out of the picture. Moved to the manor last week.”
“Oh.” My shoulders slump. “Oh.” Bonny Acres is perfect for those who need a little help—with medications, putting on shoes, washing—but are mostly independent. Once there are any signs of real decline that raise safety concerns, such as confusion or falling, the residents are required to move to Hampton Manor, a posh name for a nursing home that Shirley claims she’d rather die than step foot in. “So, what happened at lunch?”
“Liz and Charmaine had it out with Gertie for stabbing their friend in the back.” She nods toward one corner where Gertie sits alone, her chin held high, pretending to ignore the two white-haired ladies glaring at her from a few tables over. “But turns out Saul also asked Susan out to a movie the other day.”
“I can’t keep up. Susan who?”
“A woman from the third floor. She’s new. Always bragging about her knees and hips being her own. Nobody likes Susan.” Shirley waves a dismissive hand. “When she heard about Gertie and Saul’s little romp, she confronted Saul. That’s how Gertie heard about the date and got mad. She and Saul have been visiting each other’s rooms for months.”
My jaw drops. “They were going behind Shelly Ann’s back all this time?” I know all too well how a discovery like that feels. “I hope she’s handling it.”
“Saul says it was never exclusive. Anyway, I’m surprised he had the nerve to show his face after that.” She nods to where Saul sits pretending to be engrossed in the newspaper while he steals furtive glances around. “It’s never this busy on a Monday night, but everyone came down hoping for round two. Most excitement we’ve seen here since Frank Stucato took a bunch of Viagra and passed out in the common room with a teepee in his pants.”
I snort-laugh. “Hey, you may not have sugar or salt or caffeine, but at least they haven’t taken dick away yet.”
“I’d rather have cake.” Shirley’s head tips back with a boisterous, smoky cackle that turns nearly every head in the common room. “Now, why don’t you show me how to use that Facebook thing.”
Chapter Eight
I note the strange yellow smear on the front window of Dieter’s Meat Shop as I push through the door. I haven’t stepped inside in two weeks, instead slowing in front of the shop every day at lunch hour, long enough to make eye contact with a wary Todd through the window before turning my nose up and storming past.
But today I’m caving, mainly because the fridge at home was empty, but also because my curiosity trumps my resolve.
Inside smells of the usual delicious medley—garlic, meat, and a warm, spice-infused broth. Does that scent waft upstairs to the apartments above? Which apartment has Garrett claimed as his dirty crash pad when he’s too tired to drive home? I’ve only seen a sleek black SUV parked out back once since this fiasco began, but I haven’t had the displeasure of running into him. I think he’s avoiding me, a thought that makes me smile.
Todd looks up from the counter, the sparse blond hair on top of his head standing on end as if statically charged. When he sees me, his face falls.
“Well, that’s not a friendly greeting.” Today’s Tommy Bahama shirt is in a burnt orange. Normally I’d make a teasing comment.
“Are you here for soup or to give me more grief?”
I check the chalkboard: chicken noodle. “How about a little of both?”