Chapter Eleven
Ten minutes later, Sam climbed into the back of Nora’s sedan with Arlo, while Precious took his usual spot in the front passenger seat, gazing out the window with what could only be described as regal bearing. The casserole dish sat secured in a carrier between Sam’s feet.
“I still think people should get precedence over dogs for the passenger seat,” Sam said mildly as she buckled her seatbelt.
“Precious has seniority. He also suffers from motion sickness in the back,” Nora replied, pulling out of Sam’s driveway. “Besides, he likes to supervise.”
Sam caught Precious’s eye in the side mirror. The pit bull looked entirely too smug about the arrangement.
The facility was a sprawling single-story building designed to look less institutional and more like a collection of connected cottages. Someone had planted cheerful mums along the walkway, though they looked a bit bedraggled from the recent rain.
Nora climbed from her vehicle with the casserole dish while Precious immediately began investigating a particularly interesting patch of grass. Sam clipped Arlo’s leash and joined them.
“Edith’s in the west wing, Room 229,” Nora announced. “The library is in the community room in the center building. That’s where Pamela will be, assuming she’s here today.”
They made their way through the automatic doors into a lobby that smelled faintly of coffee and lemon-scented cleaning products. A young woman at the reception desk looked up with a welcoming smile.
“Hi, Nora! And you brought friends?” She came around the desk to greet Precious and Arlo. “Oh, aren’t you both handsome boys? The residents are going to love seeing you.”
“Hi Kendra,” Nora said crisply. “I’m just dropping off dinner for Edith Marton. This is my neighbor, Sam Prescott.”
“Nice to meet you,” Sam said.
“Feel free to take the dogs around after you visit Edith,” Kendra said. “Just check with the nurses first to make sure the residents are up for visitors.”
They headed down the hallway, passing several residents in the common areas. A few called out greetings to Precious, who clearly was a regular visitor. In Room 229, they found Edith Martin sitting in a recliner with her leg elevated, watching a cooking show.
“Nora! You didn’t have to do this,” Edith said, though her face lit up. She was a tiny woman with snow-white hair and bright blue eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses.
“I thought you might want a little break from cafeteria food.” Nora set the casserole in a small refrigerator. “This is Sam Prescott, my neighbor. And you remember Precious.”
Precious, recognizing a friend, trotted over for ear scratches. Arlo, less confident, stayed close to Sam but wagged his tail hopefully.
“What a sweet little dog,” Edith crooned. “Come here, honey.”
Arlo needed no further invitation.
They chatted for a few minutes about Edith’s recovery and the facility’s food (which Edith insisted wasn’t terrible). Then Sam, trying to sound casual, said, “Nora mentioned one of my book club members volunteers here. Pamela Cross?”
“Oh, Pamela! Yes, she’s wonderful,” Edith said, brightening. “She helps in the library every week. She used to be a teacher, you know. She’s so patient with everyone.”
“A librarian,” Nora corrected gently. “Pamela was a librarian, not a teacher.”
Edith blinked, then her cheeks flushed pink. “Oh dear, was she? I could have sworn . . . well, goodness.” She chuckled at herself. “I’m always getting her mixed up with that other volunteer. The one who does the art classes on Thursdays. She was a teacher. An art teacher, I think.”
“That’s Evelyn Holmes,” Nora supplied. “She teaches watercolors.”
“Yes! That’s who I was thinking of.” Edith shook her head, still smiling.
“My memory isn’t what it used to be. But Pamela is lovely, whatever she used to do.
She’s been coming here for years. She always brings in new novels for our library and helps organize everything. She really knows her way around books.”
Nora glanced at her watch with theatrical precision. “Well, we shouldn’t tire you out. Doctor’s orders were short visits only, correct?”
Edith rolled her eyes good-naturedly. “Yes, Nurse Nora. Thanks for the casserole and for the company.”
Back in the hallway, Nora turned to Sam. “The library is just down this corridor and to the left. I believe I’ll take Precious to see Mr. Holloway in the east wing. He does so enjoy Precious’s company. You’re welcome to come along. Or you might want to do something else?”
“I might just take Arlo to see if anyone in the library would like a visit.”
“Excellent idea. I’ll meet you back in the lobby in twenty minutes,” said Nora.
Sam followed the signs to the community room, which housed a good-sized library along several walls.
Comfortable chairs were scattered around, and afternoon sunlight streamed through large windows.
A few residents sat reading, and at the far end, a woman was organizing books on a rolling cart. It was Pamela Cross.
She wore slacks and a cardigan, her gray hair pulled back into a neat bun. Reading glasses hung from a chain around her neck. She was methodically sorting books, checking the spines and arranging them with the careful attention of someone who genuinely loved what she was doing.
Sam hadn’t planned exactly what she’d say. Taking a breath, she walked into the room with Arlo, who immediately drew attention from the two residents in the reading room.
Pamela glanced up. Her eyes met Sam’s, and for just a moment, something flickered across her face. Surprise? Wariness? Then, her expression smoothed into polite pleasantness.
“Sam, isn’t it?” she asked. “I’m surprised to see you here.”
Sam smiled at her. “I’m here with my neighbor, Nora. But I stepped away to take a little tour of the facility.”
Pamela said, “Oh, a reconnaissance mission? Are you thinking about having a parent move in?”
Sam quickly shook her head and then changed the subject. “No. But the library here is amazing. How long have you been volunteering?”
Pamela visibly relaxed as she talked for a few minutes about how the retirement home acquired books, how she managed the donations and organized the shelves, and other aspects of volunteering.
She paused as an elderly man walked up, greeting Pamela by name and asking for a book recommendation.
“Hi, Adam. Actually, there was a book that just came in that made me think of you.”
Sam watched as Pamela and Adam chatted about John Grisham books as Pamela found a novel for him to check out.
Once the old man had left the library, Pamela walked back over to Sam. “It looks like a busy place,” said Sam with a smile.
“It is. And often residents just like sitting in here, surrounded by books. It’s one of my favorite rooms.”
Sam said, “I’m not surprised. After all, I met you at a book club, and I know you were formerly a librarian for the county.”
“That’s right.” Pamela’s face darkened. “It looks like you joined book club at something of a tough time. Poor Margaret.”
Pamela’s body suddenly seemed much tenser. Sam said, “I’m sorry. I know you must have known her pretty well.”
“What makes you say that?”
Sam said, “Just considering that you were in the same book club together. And I understand neither of you were new members.”
“I see. Well, you’re both correct and wrong. Correct in that she and I were long-standing members. However no one could say they knew Margaret well. Least of all me.”
Sam asked, “She was a complex person?”
“Complex, yes. And a difficult individual.” Pamela sighed. “Margaret was very critical of others, I’m afraid. I really shouldn’t speak ill of her, considering what’s happened, but it’s the truth. Her absence will likely make club meetings easier for everyone.”
“I see. I’ve known a few people like that. It sounded like she might have been hard on budding writers, too, from what I’ve heard. Maybe that’s natural, considering her background as a professor.”
Pamela pressed her lips together. “Is it natural? I think an English professor should be encouraging of his or her students instead of castigating them for the quality of their writing. Margaret seemed to think she herself was an excellent writer. I didn’t see anything that made me believe that was the case. ”
“Oh, was Margaret working on something?”
Pamela’s expression flickered. “She mentioned a memoir project. I don’t know how far along she was with it.” She paused, then added with what seemed like forced casualness, “Though knowing Margaret, she probably had strong opinions in it about everyone she’d ever met.”
“That sounds about right,” Sam said. “Did she talk about it at book club?”
“She just mentioned it once or twice, but she never went into the details. I try not to think about what Margaret might have been writing about the book club. I’m sure she wasn’t complimentary.
” Pamela shrugged. “But the rest of the club talked about her memoir when Margaret wasn’t around.
We thought she’d be even more insufferable if she became a published author.
Can you imagine? She was already impossible to deal with.
” She sighed. “I left book club meetings so completely stressed out. It’s the opposite of the way discussing books should be. ”
“Relaxing and stimulating.”
“Right,” said Pamela. “Not stressful. You know, I’m not a young woman. I have a lot of heart-related issues that I’m treating with blood pressure medication and blood thinners. The stress from those meetings could have driven me into an early grave. I’m not exaggerating.”
Sam nodded sympathetically. “I’d imagine that would be the case.” She paused, choosing her words carefully. “Charlotte mentioned seeing you at the public library recently. She said she wanted to say hi, but you seemed preoccupied and hurried out. She was worried about you.”