Chapter 16
Nikki drove the few blocks to Riverview Towers, a five-story building a block from the Savannah River. It was more modern than some of its counterparts, and the upper stories did have a view of the water.
She parked in an adjacent lot, made her way inside, and was stymied by a wide reception desk and the stark, smartly dressed woman behind it.
With a bouffant of gray hair, narrow eyeglasses connected by a gold chain that draped around her neck, and a steely smile that showed off slightly overlapping front teeth, she asked, “May I help you?” But when Nikki explained that she wanted to speak with Blanche Crawford, the gates went up.
“She’s just moving in today, as you probably know, and until we can get an updated approved list of her visitors, you’ll have to wait until I can speak with her.
So, it might be better if you would come back at another time that’s convenient for you both. ”
Nikki tried to put up an argument but access to “the private towers” was denied. She clearly needed to see Blanche before Oliver had time to change his mind about allowing her near his mother.
“You understand, I’m sure, that for privacy and security, we have to be very careful,” she was told.
Behind her slim lenses, the receptionist’s flinty eyes brooked no argument.
“We keep lists of people allowed to visit,” she pointed out and checked a computer screen, before scanning notes spread on her desk.
Spying a form, she ran her finger down the page and even upside down, Nikki read Blanche Crawford’s name on the heading.
She followed the polished fingernail that paused over several names, again upside down.
The list included Oliver Crawford, Wilda Gains, Sherry Engles, and Reverend Westin Stark.
The lobby elevator chimed, the doors opened, and Oliver appeared, his phone in his hand, his attention on the slim screen.
Nikki flagged him down. “Hi!” she said, and he looked up, his eyebrows knitting. Afraid she was about to be turned down in front of the receptionist, she said hurriedly, “You told me to come here.”
“I … did …” He seemed about to argue, but then shook his head.
“Okay, fine. Sherry’s putting her bedroom together now so Mom can rest after lunch.
He glanced toward the steely receptionist, then back to Nikki.
“I’ll take you up there.” Pocketing his phone, he filled out a quick form at the desk, then escorted Nikki to the elevators.
As they rode up to the fourth floor, Oliver said, “I just can’t believe Mavis left Mom in that rental house.
I just thought she was in a private home with round-the-clock nursing care.
I expected it to be … well, not like that. ”
It was clear he was looking to excuse himself, so Nikki said, “This place seems very nice.”
“Yeah. Yeah, it is.”
Once the elevator doors opened, he guided Nikki around a corner and knocked softly on a half-opened door before stepping inside a large, overheated apartment with floor-to-ceiling windows and a broad view of the river and Hutchinson Island.
“Isn’t it lovely?” Blanche Crawford asked as she rolled out of the bedroom in her wheelchair and came to a stop near an oversize recliner piled high with boxes and bags.
“You’re …?” she asked, then a look of consternation crossed her thin features.
“I know, I know, don’t tell me. Oh, oh, I know.
Charlene’s daughter?” She seemed to have forgotten they’d met less than an hour before.
“Yes. Nikki.”
“Not the artist …”
“I’m a reporter.”
“Ah,” Blanche said, as if she understood, but the clarity Nikki had witnessed on the walkway at the other home had faded.
“I wanted to talk to you about Mavis.”
“She’s not here now … oh, goodness. I think …” She looked suddenly confused, clutching for her son’s hand. “Norton, I think something’s happened to her.”
“Hey, Mom. I’m Oliver. Remember?” her son corrected her. “Dad’s gone. He has been for a while now.”
“Oh.” She blinked, focusing hard, her hand falling back to her lap to grip the Bible with its worn leather cover again. “That’s right.” Her smile, once strong, trembled on her lips.
“And Mavis …” Oliver placed a steadying hand on his mother’s shoulder. “She’s gone, too. Remember, I told you.”
“Oh … yes. Someone killed her?” She was uncertain. “And where am I?”
“This is your new home. Sherry’s making your bed up now and putting your things away. You remember her, don’t you? And Wilda will be back next week. She’ll be staying with you during the day.”
“Wilda?” Blanche looked from one end of the room to the other. “Where is she?”
“Home resting. She had a little surgery, remember? Nothing serious, just a mole removed, but she took the week off. She’ll be here tomorrow.”
“No!” Blanche shook her head violently.
Oliver said, “But she takes care of you.”
“She does not! She’s cheap and lazy,” Blanche declared.
“Mavis chose her.”
Blanche glared up from her wheelchair. “No Wilda! I tried to tell Mavis, but she didn’t believe me.
Because she wouldn’t pay for decent help.
Even though she saw how that lazy woman didn’t bother keeping the place up!
Wouldn’t wash a dish. Wouldn’t dust a table.
Wouldn’t mop a floor. Just sat on the patio with her phone, playing games and texting and whatever it is they do now.
Sat there and chain-smoked. Didn’t care a lick about the house nor the filth. Just look at it!”
“Look at what, Mom?” Oliver asked, bewildered.
“The house!”
“We’re in your new apartment now. Remember?”
Blanche turned her head from side to side.
“You’ve moved now. So Wilda will come here and—”
“No, no, no!” Blanche actually moved her foot from the pedal it had been resting on and stomped on the carpet. “No Wilda. You tell Mavis, I will not have her,” Blanche insisted stubbornly, rubbing the frayed edges of her small Bible in agitation.
“Mom.” Oliver was obviously trying to hang on to his patience. “Mavis is gone. I told you.”
“Well, where the hell is she?”
“I told you. She passed.” When Blanche’s upturned face registered no emotion, he added, “She passed away.”
“Passed away?”
“We discussed this earlier.”
“But.”
“Knock-knock,” a voice called from the open door, and Nikki looked over her shoulder to see Westin Stark, dressed all in black, a clerical collar around his neck.
It seemed as ill-fitting as a dog harness on a fish, but she kept her thoughts to herself.
He was tall and fit, his still-blond hair neatly combed, his smile gentle, but, she felt, practiced.
“Oh!” Blanche was suddenly beaming and turning her chair to meet him.
“I heard you moved,” he said. Then, his eyes meeting Nikki’s, he said, “Nicole.”
“Hi, Westin.”
“It’s been a while.”
Not long enough, Nikki thought, even as she tried to banish her bad attitude about the man. They had a long history, none of it pleasant. He was a minister now, a man of the cloth, a person who had vowed to give his life to God.
Maybe.
If he remembered how he’d traumatized her in elementary school, he didn’t show it. In fact, he’d never acknowledged all the pain he’d caused as a belligerent and violent youth.
“Come in, come in,” Blanche said, waving him from the hallway into her unit. “Don’t mind the mess. That Wilda, I tell you, she won’t lift a finger.”
“Mother,” Oliver said in a gentle, but warning tone.
“I just came to pay my respects,” Westin explained. “And to offer some support.”
“Support?” Blanche asked. “Do I need support?”
“He’s talking about Mavis, Mom.”
“But she’s not here.”
“I know, and I’m so sorry,” Westin said, kneeling next to Blanche’s chair and taking her hand. “My condolences to you and all of your family. I thought maybe we could pray together and read a few healing passages.” He lifted his Bible.
“Mavis should be here,” Blanche said a bit petulantly, hugging her own Bible close. “It might help her. She could use some Bible-studying.”
Westin’s smile didn’t waver. “I see.” He cast a knowing glance up at Oliver. “Let’s pray, shall we?”
“A little prayer would be nice,” Blanche agreed, but Nikki wasn’t sure the older woman understood, as she seemed to be falling in and out of reality. Sometimes Blanche seemed sharp as a tack; at other times, she seemed completely at sea.
But based on the attitude of the receptionist/sergeant at arms manning the desk downstairs, it was likely this would be Nikki’s only chance to get information.
So she stayed, bowing her head as well and listening as they read several Bible verses before Westin said a prayer, then made his excuses to leave.
With a pat on Blanche’s shoulder and a smile that was meant to be beatific but merely looked condescending, he said, “Good to see you again, Nicole. Perhaps we’ll see you on Sunday. ”
Not on your life.
“Probably not,” she said and held his gaze until Oliver showed him the door.
Once the pastor was gone, Nikki motioned Oliver to one side and asked in a low voice, “Do you know if your sister knew a man named Billy Huber?”
“Who?” Blanche called sharply. She’d been staring out the window at the watercraft on the river, but now she eyed Nikki suspiciously. “Billy who?” When Nikki repeated the name, Blanche frowned, struggling. “Never heard of him.”
“Mom, it was on the news. He was—”
“I said I don’t know him,” Blanche cut in. “And Mavis? You’ll have to ask her. Barely see her, you know. She doesn’t come and visit. And neither do you.” She pointed a gnarled finger at her son and let out a snort.
Nikki turned to Oliver. “Do you know anyone who would want to harm Mavis? Did she have any enemies?”
“Her husband!” Blanche said clearly and whipped her wheelchair around to face Nikki. “He’s having an affair.”
“Mom! You don’t know,” Oliver snapped, holding up his hands, as if to fend off an attack.
“It’s true!” Blanche seemed certain, her eyes clear again. “I’ve seen him at the club, ogling the girls. The young ones!”
“Mom, you’re talking about Radley, and that was years ago.”