Snow Blind - Lori G. Armstrong [18]
Kate. Right. I’d forgotten my cover. “It’s not as bad out there as it looks.” I stamped the snow from my boots on the rubber floor mat. “Cold though.”
“Then I won’t offer to take your coat.”
We wound through the tables of a mostly empty common room and stopped at a metal counter that separated the kitchen from the rest of the space.
“Coffee?”
“Please. Black is fine.” This was the part I hated, making small talk. I preferred to get down to business. 58
We sipped our coffee in silence broken by the distant buzz of a TV.
I smiled. “Is this the only food service area?”
“No. The main cafeteria is in the long-term care wing. This”—she gestured around us—“is used for snacks, parties, family gatherings, and such.”
“It’s very nice. Handy.” My gaze swept the walls as I searched for polite chitchat topics. “What are those plaques for?”
“Oh. Memorial contributions.”
“From . . . deceased residents? Like a wall of death?”
She studied the configuration from afar. “I never thought of it that way. Not very appetizing, is it?”
Before I responded, three loud beeps sounded from the black box clipped to her belt. Luella unclipped it and read the tiny screen. Her lips made an O before turning into a deep frown.
“Bad news?”
Her head whipped up. “Why would you ask that?”
Talk about suspicious. “You don’t look happy.”
“I’m not. Just something I have to take care of.”
I watched her weigh the pros and cons of asking me to accompany her. “Anything I can do to help?”
“No. This’ll just take a minute. Might be best if you—”
“I’ll tag along. It’ll give me a chance to look around.”
“But—”
“No really, I don’t mind at all.”
59
She didn’t argue.
As I trudged behind her into the hive I noticed several big green signs declaring, “I’m OK,” hanging from the knob. Was that the check-in system Reva told me about?
My nose wrinkled. Man. It smelled rank. Why didn’t anyone notice? Why didn’t someone do something about it? There had to be industrial-sized air fresheners that could mask the scent.
A young male in uniform, about six feet four and severely underweight, shifted nervously at the end of the hallway. The second he caught sight of Luella, he pushed his mop of Day-Glo orange hair from his eyes and lumbered closer.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know what else to do. No one is at the front desk or answering the phone in the acute care wing and Ricky is late because his car won’t start—”
“Damon. It’s all right. Calm down.”
He swallowed and nodded.
“Tell me what happened.”
“I was doing rounds and I got to the end of the hall when I noticed there wasn’t no sign up on this apartment and the door was partially open.”
“What did you do?”
“I peeked inside and saw him lying there. Then I smelled him.”
Luella squeezed past him and pushed open the door. A sickly scent of rot, unwashed skin, urine, and shit wafted out from inside the room.
60
Someone was dead.
My fingers sought the handicapped railing behind me and I held on. Nice fucking start to my day. I looked at the room number.
“Damon? Could you come in here?”
His bulk had blocked most of the doorway and now I had a birds-eye view of the dead, if I chose to look. Don’t.
I didn’t want to, but my gaze wandered that direction anyway. An old, naked Indian man was sprawled on his side. I couldn’t tell if he was fat or just bloated from death gases. His thick neck was cranked so his bald head faced the door; his eyes were open as if he’d been waiting for someone.
I figured even if I moved closer I wouldn’t see a pool of blood anywhere, just the usual puddle of liquid from his bowels emptying. No foul play here. Only the final indignity of death.
Still made me want to throw up. I could’ve gone the rest of my life without seeing another dead body—even one from natural causes. I closed my eyes and listened to Luella calling 911 for a nonemergency situation. When she said, “Kate?” I nearly jumped from my skin. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you. Why don’t you head back to the common room? I’ll meet