Part 16 (1/2)
”Good. I'm glad to know my memory's still functioning in spite of the exhaustion.”
”Yeah, I like to vary my route. I think it's a little safer.”
”That's a good idea. Especially if you're by yourself. Hey, that's Nancy Jo Gristel's street.”
”The woman who missed her piano lesson last night?”
”Yeah. Do you mind if we run down her street?”
”No problem.”
They turned onto Bowie Street.
”Do you know the address?” said Cynthia.
”No, but I think it's at the end of the street.”
When they reached the dead end, Greg said, ”That's it.”
”Are you sure? How do you know it's not that one?” Cynthia pointed to the house across the street.
They stopped in front of her driveway.
”See that car? It's the only '59 Plymouth Fury in town. Check out those fins. Her husband kept in tip top shape for forty years. He had it completely restored back in the '80s. But since he died it's beginning to show its age. It has pushb.u.t.ton automatic transmission. Very weird, but cool.”
”I've never heard of that,” said Cynthia.
”But, wait. That's odd.”
”What?”
”She told me she always parks it in the garage at night-to protect the paint job.”
”Maybe she just forgot.”
”I'm gonna knock on her door.”
”But, Greg, it's too early.”
”Nah. She gets up by 5:00 AM at the latest. She used to practice piano when she couldn't sleep-until the neighbors complained. And her lights are on, so she must be up. I just want to make sure she's okay. She might have forgotten to take her Alzheimer's medicine. She could be disoriented.”
They walked onto the front porch and Greg knocked while Cynthia looked through the partially opened drapes.
”Greg, come here and look at this,” said Cynthia.
”What?”
”On the carpet, beside the piano-is that a pair of gla.s.ses?”
”Yeah. Looks like she dropped them. Now that'sa problem. She's blind as a bat without those gla.s.ses.”
”There's a light on in that other room too. Probably the kitchen. Maybe she's in there.”
They walked around to the side of the house and up the driveway to the little porch at the kitchen door. Greg began to knock. The curtains on the door window were made of a thin material. They tried to see through it.
”It's really hard to tell for sure, but do you see something on the floor?” said Greg.
”Like a body?”
”I'll call the police.”
Greg pulled out his cell phone and dialed 911.
As soon as he had finished and hung up, Cynthia said, ”We're being watched.”
Greg looked across the street and saw the man in his robe. He was just standing there, staring at them.
”I want to talk to that guy.” Greg walked down the stairs.
Cynthia followed him.
The forty-something year-old man had walked out to pick up his newspaper when he saw Greg and Cynthia. He must have thought they were up to no good, thought Greg.
”We think something happened to Mrs. Gristel,” said Greg.
The man said nothing, but continued to stare at them.
”Looks like she's on the floor in the kitchen. And she's not moving.”
Still no response.
”She takes piano lessons from me. That's how I know her.”
”Nurse,” said the man.
”Nurse? What do you mean?” said Greg.
”Nurse came to take care of her. I thought she must feel bad.”
”When did the nurse come?”
”Yesterday. Or today. I thought she must feel bad. I eat spaghetti. My favorite. And garlic toast. Nurse come.”
”I see.”
The man's wife walked out to meet them. A half-smoked cigarette barely clung to her lower lip. ”Don't pay him no mind. He ain't right in the head.”