Chapter Forty-Two
Forty-two
I texted Mimi that I was on my way and then took off, obediently following the GPS’s directions till I reached my destination, which, as it turned out, was twenty miles away.
It was in a high-end condo complex called Maple Village that boasted a pool with a clubhouse, tennis courts, a small golf course, and really nice landscaping.
I drove through it slowly. Judging by the residents I saw, some sitting on porches overlooking manicured lawns, others walking little dogs or going on assisted walks themselves, uniformed health aides at their sides, Maple Village catered to senior citizens.
As far as quality of life went, it felt light-years beyond Leila Donnelly’s broken-down farmhouse.
It made me think, This is where her publishing earnings have been going.
Because I knew how pricey these places could be.
My parents had been looking into a few of them, just after Dad’s retirement.
But they decided to hold off until they could better afford the HOA fees—and this was just for the independent-living section.
Once you moved on to assisted living, memory care, and the nursing units, these regular charges went up exponentially.
I stopped my car in front of the pinned address—a ranch house with a neat row of pink roses in the front. There was one car in the driveway—a silver RAV4. I parked behind it and jogged up the steps and rang the bell.
The door opened quickly. Mimi Donnelly poked her head out. She looked similar to the way she did in her Instagram picture, but her hair had grown out a bit. She wore it in a ponytail. “Sunny?” she said.
I told her I was sorry for her loss.
“I’m just glad you wrote me,” she said. “The detective on Leila’s case seems to have tunnel vision.”
“He said you wouldn’t talk to him.”
“I just won’t say what he wants me to.”
“Join the club,” I said. “Full disclosure. I’m a private eye.”
“I know. I looked you up online.”
“And my client is Melanie Joan Hall.”
“The romance writer. The one Detective Droopy Dog is ready to arrest.”
“He reminded me more of Larry David,” I said. “But yes.”
She rolled her eyes. “I mean, I don’t know her personally,” Mimi said. “But I’ve seen enough of Melanie Joan Hall to know she probably can’t shoot a Glock .45.”
“I do know her personally,” I said. “She can’t shoot anything.”
Mimi managed a smile. She seemed calm, but her eyes were bloodshot and her face had a drawn look to it, as though she was using all her energy to keep from bursting into tears. She took a few steps back and opened the door wider and asked if I wanted to come in.
I could hear jingly music and hyperenthusiastic voices coming from the other room—some kids’ show playing. “Thank you,” I said.
Mimi wore white cotton slacks and pink Crocs and a pale blue T-shirt that said World’s Greatest Grandma on it.
Despite the getup, she seemed a little young for this complex—and for the house, which, if the living room/dining room was any indication, was all cream-colored carpets and heavy wood furniture and oil paintings of big-eyed children with overly complicated frames.
The sofa was beige, with a green pineapple print.
It was covered in thick plastic, the likes of which I hadn’t seen since Richie and I were newlyweds and we visited his ninety-five-year-old aunt in Dorchester.
Try not to say anything about the couch condom, Richie had said as we walked in.
It all looked clean and orderly, though—which was a lot more than I could say for Leila’s farmhouse. I thought of little Tommy, shuttling back and forth between these two vastly different homes. Then I thought of the farmhouse again. The Porsche parked outside.
“That RAV4 out front,” I said. “Is it yours?”
“Just finished paying off the loan,” Mimi said.
“Nice.”
“Thanks.”
“You own any other cars?”
“No.”
“Happen to know anybody who drives a Porsche 911 Carrera?”
She frowned. “No,” she said. “Why?”
I looked at Mimi. She seemed trustworthy enough.
But then again, we’d just met. And I made it my business not to reveal important information to witnesses before getting to know them.
“Just a potential lead,” I said. “No big deal.” Mimi offered me a seat on the plastic wrap.
I noticed two baby monitors on the coffee table, one pink and one blue.
The kids’ show piped out of the blue one.
“Nice place,” I said.
“It isn’t mine,” she said. As if on cue, an elderly woman’s voice rasped out of the pink monitor. “Mimi!”
“Yes, Mrs. Dorsey!”
“I need my bed changed.”
“Excuse me for a minute,” Mimi Donnelly said.
She stood up. A little boy came galloping into the room and started tugging furiously on Mimi’s arm. “Who’s here?” he said. “Who’s this?”
“A visitor for Grandma,” she said. “Tommy, would you like to keep Grandma’s visitor company while I go help Mrs. Dorsey?”
I smiled at the little boy. He had dark, serious eyes and fine features—a ringer for his grandmother, and his mother, too. Mimi ruffled his hair and I noticed the flower tattoo on her arm, identical to Leila’s.
“Hi, Tommy,” I said. “I’m Sunny.”
Tommy’s eyes widened in terror. He wrapped both arms around Mimi’s leg and hid behind her.
I wondered if he recognized my voice from when I’d told off his mother. I felt a tinge of guilt.
Mimi sighed. “Don’t take it personally. Tommy’s just a little shy, aren’t you, buddy?”
“I go with Grandma! Grandma!” he shouted.
“Please, keep that child quiet!” said the pink monitor.
“Yes, ma’am!” Mimi called out. “Tommy, you settle down now,” she said quietly.
He did, almost immediately. This was a kid who listened to his grandma, if not his mother.
“You work here,” I said.
Mimi nodded. “Mrs. Dorsey has late-stage emphysema and limited mobility due to severe osteoporosis,” she said.
“She needs twenty-four-hour care, and I’m a skilled nurse who needs a place to live, so we’re a match made in heaven.
” She gave me a weak smile, then turned to Tommy.
“You want to go back to Grandma’s room and watch TV? ”
He nodded, his dark eyes fixed on my face. Slowly, he disengaged himself from Mimi’s leg and backed away from me, as though I were a dangerous animal.
“That’s a good boy,” Mimi said. “You want ice cream later?”
He nodded more vigorously, then retreated down the hall.
“I assumed this place was yours,” I said. “And that Leila bought it for you.”
She shook her head. “I wouldn’t take Leila’s money,” she said.
“Why not?” I said. “She makes a lot.”
“Yeah,” Mimi said. “But I don’t know how much she owes or who she owes it to. It scares me. And I don’t want Tommy involved with that kind of money.”
My eyes widened. “What?” I said.
The pink monitor called out her name again. “I’ll be right back,” Mimi said. “Make yourself comfortable.”
Talk about an impossible request.