Heads You Lose - Lisa Lutz [81]
“I’ve always considered myself a formidable raconteur. I accept your challenge,” Sook said, slurring his words.
While Lacey circled the building, Sook entered through the front door and rang the bell at reception. Lacey watched Big Marv hoist himself out of his chair and lumber into the front office.
Lacey raised the window to Marv’s office halfway and vaguely overheard the conversation in the front room.
“Sook. You get lost or something?” Big Marv asked.
“No, sir. I am exactly where I am supposed to be.”
“Something I can do for you?”
“I assume you’ve heard about my difficulties at Mapleshade,” Sook said.
“I heard you were accused of stealing from the petty-cash box. Third time in a row.”
“A man is innocent until proven guilty.”
“Maybe in a court of law. Not in these parts,” Marv replied.
Lacey quietly somersaulted through the window. She gingerly paged through the paperwork on Marv’s desk. All patient-related, mostly Medicare billing. She tried the file drawer on the bottom left side of the desk and it was locked. She checked for a key in the center drawer, but found only pens and a variety bag of mini Hershey’s chocolate bars.
“I’ve been thinking of finding a new home,” Sook said, just on the other side of the wall.
“Well, good luck with that. Thanks for dropping by.”
Lacey froze, thinking their conversation might be coming to an end. She’d either have to throw herself out the window or slip into the closet, but Sook’s raconteuring gave her a short reprieve.
“I got two options,” Sook said, “We Care Gardens, or find another town. I’m liking the first choice better.”
“You want to become a resident of We Care?” Marv asked.
“I’d consider it,” Sook replied.
“No offense, Sook, but we like our residents to be a bit more . . . how do I put it.”
“Comatose?” Sook suggested.
“Cooperative,” Marv replied.
Next to the desk was a three-drawer file cabinet labeled “active.” The top drawer was slightly ajar. Lacey opened it, hoping the noise wouldn’t disturb Marv. Inside was a collection of resident files. Lacey didn’t know what she was looking for, but it wasn’t that. She closed the top drawer and tried the second one.
Sook continued to hold his own in the front room, but Lacey knew she was running out of time.
“I’d be willing to provide a security retainer if you thought that was necessary,” said Sook.
“Interesting proposition,” Marv replied.
“Now how about the official tour,” Sook said.
“Let me check my calendar in the office and we can schedule one.”
Lacey ducked behind the file cabinet, holding her breath.
“Who am I kidding,” Sook said. “I know this property like the back of my hand. How about you and me take a little stroll and hammer out the details.”
“I’m kind of busy right now, Sook.”
“Just give me five minutes to plead my case.”
“Five minutes.”
Lacey opened the second drawer in the file cabinet as she heard Sook’s and Marv’s voices fade as they left the building.
“Marv, did I ever tell you about the time I was shot in the ass during the Korean War?”
“No, Sook, I don’t believe you have,” Big Marv wearily replied.
“Shot in the ass. It was friendly fire, too. I always hated that phrase. Friendly fire. There’s nothing friendly about it.”
Lacey opened the second drawer and found more patient files. She was about to close it when a name on one file caught her eye: “Moakler, Eldridge.” A glaucoma patient, among other things. The Hansens used to sell to him—Lacey remembered bringing him brownies around Christmastime—but then he had a stroke and could barely feed himself. He’d died sometime in the spring. This presumably relevant medical fact appeared nowhere in the file. And it wasn’t that the file was out of date—in fact, it contained a Medicare claim from just last week.
Just then she heard Sook’s voice booming in the office. He was warning her that her time was up.
“You can’t sit down. That’s the worst part,” Sook said.
“You don’t say,” Marv replied.
“I tell you, we take sitting for granted.”
“Sook, we’ll be in touch,” Big Marv said.
“Try not sitting for a whole day. I challenge