Fatal Greed (18 page)

With a full tank of gas and a sense of purpose, I began my trip to Stillwater early Saturday morning. I’d awakened a few minutes before six a.m., poured a large cup of coffee, toasted a bagel, and gave Marisa a soft kiss on her cheek.

She’d offered to ride with me for company and even add a spice of fun to the trip. While tempting, I told her this was a business trip, a business with which I was not familiar. My sense of urgency and the desire to find answers drove me to focus on the task and not let Marisa distract me.

Before I hit the main traffic artery heading north, I was stopped by road construction—although there was zero constructing taking place. Massive concrete sewage pipes were sprawled all over the road and construction zone. Slowly, cars piled up behind me, as three construction workers scratched their asses, possibly figuring out who was to blame for the mishap, and who would go to the trouble of cleaning up the mess. Two frustrating hours later, after I’d scanned countless news and sports sites on my
smartphone
, I was released from captivity and tried to recapture my feeling of urgency and focus.

The scenery on northbound Interstate 35 became less attractive the closer I got to the border. The white lines flashing by against the grooved asphalt backdrop acted like the opening frames of a feature film, leading me to the horror picture at work.
Kamal
and his fifteen-percent layoff list would ultimately grow to fifty, possibly seventy-five percent. I tightened my lips in disgust. I knew what the numbers represented and how difficult it was for Paula and me to decide who would be included in the first round of cuts. I dreaded the day Paula and I would have to follow through on this act of betrayal—that’s how my colleagues would view it. I would forever be linked to the dark side. They might as well etch “Taliban” on my nameplate.

Finding Tiffany’s mother hadn’t been difficult. A few Internet searches and I found a Rosemary Chambers living in the Bloomfield Assisted Living Center on the outskirts of Stillwater. To make sure I had the right person, I called the facility and told the clerk I worked for Tiffany’s former employer and had some personal items to return to her mother. She gladly provided Rosemary’s suite address and phone number.

I arrived at the sprawling facility
midafternoon
, logged my name in the visitor’s registration book in the main building, and drove around looking for number 129 on the front of an apartment door. The grounds were serene, with well-manicured lawns, shrubs, and dozens of evergreen trees. I took a deep breath, grabbed my notepad, and locked my car. As I walked toward the front door, it opened. Someone, a nurse of some kind, was leaving.

“Yes, Ms. Chambers, I understand your concerns, but everything will be all right,” I overheard the nurse say. “I’ll be back just before dinner for your next set of meds. And I’ll make sure to check your blood pressure.” The nurse turned and eyed me walking up the sidewalk. I gave h1er a pleasant smile.

“Thank you again for everything you do for me, Molly. I’m not sure what I’d do without you,” shouted the elderly woman, who noticed me just as she completed her goodbye to Molly. She stood in the door opening, calm and sweet sounding.

“Hi, Ms. Chambers, Rosemary Chambers?” I asked.

“Yes,” she said rocking side to side a bit.

“My name is Michael Doyle. I’m a friend…
er
, I was a friend…of Tiffany.”

“Oh my God.” Rosemary grabbed the door, her other hand pressing against her chest. “My poor Tiffany. She suffered so much.” Her rocking increased. “I want my daughter. Can you help me get my daughter?”

Living in a facility meant she had physical, and possibly, mental problems. Was she hallucinating?

“Ms. Chambers, I didn’t mean to upset you,” I said. “Let’s go inside and talk about this. Can I get you a glass of water?”

“Yes, please.” She calmed a bit. Aided by her metal cane, she walked slowly to her chair, bent down, hesitated, then finally fell into the overstuffed rocker. She closed her eyes briefly as I gave her the water.

“Thank you. What’d you say your name was?” She looked me up and down.

“It’s Michael.” I sat on the brown, suede couch next to her chair.

“How did you know my darling Tiffany?” asked Rosemary.

“Well, Ms. Chambers—”

“Please, call me Rosemary.”

“Rosemary, I work at a company that does business with Greenberg & Associates, and Tiffany’s pleasant smile greeted me every time I walked through the front door.”

Rosemary’s grin accentuated her high cheekbones, and I instantly saw Tiffany’s face.

“I’m here because all of us who knew Tiffany didn’t know enough about her, and we thought you could give us more insight into her life.”

She gave me another once-over. Marisa had always said I could charm anyone. This was putting her theory to test.

“I suppose. If you were a friend of Tiffany’s, then I’m sure you’d want to know more about her when she was younger.” Rosemary relaxed, and her feet started pushing the floor to sway the rocker.

“Yes ma’am.”

“Tiffany, as you know, is, was a very pretty young lady. I know I’m biased, but she was not just cute, but lovely, from the moment I set eyes on her.”

I nodded.

“Tiffany has always been very goal-oriented. It seemed like she had something to prove. And she really enjoyed taking it to the boys. She was pretty athletic, and she would run home from school to tell me she beat so-and-so in a race.”

“Did she have any brothers or sisters?” I asked.

“No, it was just Tiffany and me. We were a team from Day One. Her biological father left us a few weeks after she was born. Good riddance, I said. He never called or wrote. Yep, we were quite a team.”

Rosemary rocked more in her blue-striped chair, staring, either thinking about old memories or losing focus on our conversation, I couldn’t tell.

“Tiffany was quite a softball player. They called her The Natural, you know, like the movie,” she said.

“Yes, that was a good one. Do you have any old pictures or trophies still around?”

She seemed pleased I asked and told me to look on the second shelf of the hallway closet. I opened the box, which led to more stories. I documented key facts on my notepad, without drawing attention to what I was doing.

“Now here’s a photograph. Isn’t she beautiful?” Rosemary held up a framed picture of Tiffany in a formal dress standing next to curly-haired boy in a blue tuxedo. “She was only a freshman in high school and this senior boy—the quarterback of the football team—asked her to the Homecoming dance. She was so excited. But afterwards she told me he tried to make a move on her, which really upset her.”

I wanted to ask questions about the story, but I didn’t want to interrupt her momentum.

“After that, she always had boys chasing her, and she’d date here and there, but nothing real serious,” Rosemary recalled. “In high school her main focus, besides softball, was showing everyone how well she could do in school. Her competitiveness really came out. She wanted to show she was the smartest at everything she tried.”

Now Tiffany was beginning to sound like the girl I knew.

“Tiffany was sharp as a tack. She understood aspects of the business I’m not sure her boss knew,” I said, overstating slightly.

“Yes, yes.” Rosemary’s voice faded a bit, then more staring off into space.

While I refreshed Rosemary’s water, she said she needed to use the restroom. I had a chance to take in the ambiance of the small apartment. It was simple but well kept. Tan carpeting in the living room and patterned beige vinyl in the kitchen. She had a few pictures on the pale-white walls. I saw one that looked like Tiffany’s graduation portrait.

A scent of peaches emanated from the bathroom. I figured it was Rosemary’s bath powder. That reminded me of when I was ten years old and we visited my great aunt. Her home always had a fruity smell of some kind.

Prescription bottles took up half the kitchen table. All of the labels faced one direction. The other half of the table was covered with papers and folders, four stacks, each about a foot high. A breathing machine and two other medical devices were in the corner.
This lady must be real sick
, I thought.

Rosemary returned, once again moving at a snail’s pace. She took a quick drink of water then wiped her mouth as she raised a crooked finger.

“Tiffany really wanted to be valedictorian of her class,” Rosemary said. “Her last two years in high school, she studied constantly when she wasn’t on the softball field. She had a couple of girlfriends she hung out with, but mostly it was softball and school work. Boys were a distant fourth.”

She cackled. I could tell she enjoyed watching her daughter grow up with such a strong will to succeed and not be dependent on a boyfriend.

“Funny thing is, the boy who took her to the senior prom…he’s the one who beat her as valedictorian. Tiffany settled for being number two. She acted like she was okay with it, but I think it made her upset.”

“So why do you think she went to the prom with him?”

“I’ve always wondered. She never told me.”

Someone knocked on the door. It caught me by surprise.

“That’s just Molly. Must be time for my five o’clock meds.”

Molly measured the doses and administered Rosemary’s thirteen medications, then charted her blood pressure, pulse, temperature, and oxygen levels, all in twenty minutes. Rosemary was in a talkative mood, asking about members of Molly’s family.

“Is your nephew still scoring all those points for his basketball team?” Rosemary stepped toward her chair. “Michael, he’s been All-Star the last two years.”

“Thank you for asking. Yes, our little Tony is averaging twenty points a game, and we’re so excited to—”

“Tony. That’s the name!” Rosemary dropped her cane and screamed like she was being stabbed the heart. Her arms flailing, she lost her balance. Molly and I each took hold of a swinging limb and guided Rosemary to her chair. Molly quickly checked her pulse again.

“Why would he do this to my little girl?” Rosemary started to sob. “She didn’t deserve to be treated like a piece of trash. Oh God, take me. Please bring back my little girl.”

“I’ll ring the on-call doctor to get permission for a sedative.” Molly pulled out her cell phone. “Please try to calm her down.”

“Rosemary, hey, it’s Michael. Can you hear me?” She continued to moan and weep. “I’m really interested in hearing more about your fun times with Tiffany.”

Rosemary was in another world, apparently unable to hear me. Molly disconnected the phone and started assembling a shot.

“Michael, she’s not fond of these. I need you to keep her still.”

I grabbed both arms and held them. Her saggy skin squeezed between my fingers. Not wanting to bruise her or break her frail bones, I loosened my grip. She shook free, knocking Molly’s arm and nearly sticking me with the needle.

“Hold her down. She’s feisty. Don’t be afraid.” Beads of sweat formed on Molly’s forehead.

Rosemary’s moans grew louder as I restrained her. I held my breath and tried to ignore the feeling of cruelty, because I knew the shot was necessary.

Molly finished the injection. Within seconds, Rosemary became tranquil. I released her and took two steps back. My shirt was wet from perspiration.

“Do you want to stay with her for a bit?” Molly asked.

“Sure, I can do that. If there’s a problem, just call you?”

“Yes, here’s my number. If I don’t pick up, it’ll roll to our on-call nurse in the main office area. If it’s an emergency, you can pull the cord by the phone in the kitchen.” Molly packed her medical bag. “You don’t need to stay long. She’s had these episodes before, and she’s typically normal after a brief nap. I gave her a mild dose, so she’ll probably wake up soon.”

“Molly, is Rosemary doing okay overall? I know she’s older, but she takes a lot of meds, and I see the machines.”

“She’s really not old. She’s only sixty-three, but her health has her looking and acting like she’s ninety-three.”

At sixty-seven, Pop was older than Rosemary, and he’s out working a farm.

“She’s lost the function of one of her kidneys, and the other one isn’t in good shape. The doctors are concerned about some of her other organs as well,” Molly said. “She’s just been diagnosed with leukemia, and she has the early stages of Alzheimer’s.”

Molly left me alone with Rosemary in the small apartment. Rosemary tilted her head to the side and began to snore lightly.

Assisted living doesn’t mean one foot in the grave, but Rosemary was in a bad way. She should be celebrating her senior years, traveling, visiting friends, and living life to its fullest. That’s the time of life we expect to cherish.

I’d been forced to hold her down against her will. It felt so inhumane. Rosemary’s condition was heartbreaking, and I wondered how Tiffany dealt with being the only family caretaker.

Now knowing Rosemary has Alzheimer’s, Tony could have been no one, or anyone, maybe Tiffany’s prom date, the paper boy, or someone with whom Rosemary personally interacted. I thought more…Jeanne said Rosemary had shouted a name during their phone conversation, and Tony was one of the names she thought she heard.

More questions started popping into my head. Financial questions.

I lost my train of thought and my eyes grew heavy.