Lies that Bind by Penelope Williams

Author:Penelope Williams [Williams, Penelope]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Dundurn Press
Published: 2019-04-20T00:00:00+00:00

TWENTY-EIGHT

ROSALIE MET TULLA and Mikhail in the reception area of the Manor. “I’m so sorry. I have no words about what happened to Miss Deaver.”

Tulla nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

“You’re meeting Uncle Arn? I saw the note in the appointment book.” She handed Tulla a clipboard and pen. “Rock says all visitors have to sign in now. New procedure.” She sounded apologetic. “Mikhail, you don’t have to because you’re considered staff.” She smiled at him. “Dr. Mikhail, that’s what the residents call him.”

Mikhail peered over Tulla’s shoulder at the clipboard. “Leo’s been in?”

Rosie nodded. “Arn wouldn’t talk to him. Neither would my mother. So I bought him a coffee to cheer him up. Although he didn’t seem to need much cheering.”

Tulla dropped her head low over the clipboard, her cheeks glowing.

“He’s in the small interview room,” Rosalie said.

Tulla glanced up in alarm. “Leo is?”

“Arn. At least I think he’s still there. Half the time we don’t know where he is.”

“It’s the old sewing room on the second floor, Tulla,” Mikhail said. “You won’t recognize it.”

She didn’t. Tastefully decorated in maple furniture upholstered in beige on beige, it bore an unfortunate resemblance to a tiny visitation room in a funeral home. A box of tissues sat on the coffee table beside a bouquet of beige flowers. Beige roses and beige freesia and beige lilies. They needed dusting.

Arn, swathed in a purple velour bathrobe, sat hunched forward on a straight-backed chair. His rheumy eyes locked on Tulla like target lasers.

“Hello,” she said, struggling to keep her eyes on his face.

“Harriet’s dead.” He wore a bib that caught the drool as he spoke. His eyes leaked tears; his face devoid of expression. His once-huge shoulders had slipped into folds of flesh like a rumpled shawl. He stretched out a hand, and Tulla forced herself to take it. Lumpy and twisted with arthritis now, those hands were still strong, could still hurt.

“We have coffee at ten thirty. She visits sometimes. And doctors. They visit. Doctors make house calls.” He winked. “I have my coffee upstairs.”

His hand smoothed the velour back and forth, making it stand up like fur on the back of a cat. He started to hum. The hair on the back of Tulla’s neck rose.

“You had coffee with Miss Deaver upstairs?” Mikhail asked.

“With Jaysus.” He broke into the cadences of an Alabama preacher. “Jaysus sees the little sparrows fall.” His rheumy eyes, narrowed to slits, fixed on Tulla’s face. “You were a pretty little thing,” he crooned.

Tulla felt her stomach heave.

Arn placed a gnarled finger beside his nose and dipped his head toward her, eyes slyly peeking over his hand, imparting a secret. “I saw him. I told Miss Harriet. Jaysus sees everything. He sees the sparrow fall. He saw Bobby fall.” He faltered, losing his place.

Is he for real? Is this just a big fat act? Why am I sitting here listening to this horror, anyway?

“Why are you here?” he asked in a normal tone, as if reading her thoughts.

Tulla jumped.

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