Читать книгу Evil At Shore Haven - Alice Zogg - Страница 6

CHAPTER 3

Who would have thought that checking into a retirement community would involve so much red tape and hassle? R. A. Huber soon became familiar with the scrutiny involved. The process of applying for residency at Shore Haven took over two weeks, starting with her filling out an Application for Residency form, then signing a 40-page long contract, and many State forms. She also needed to have a seven-page State Physicians Report completed, which included a TB test. She was lucky to have had a complete physical at the beginning of the year, so that her own doctor took care of that requirement and filled out the report.

Huber tried to stick to the truth as much as possible when putting down information on the application forms, giving her own name and address, birthdate, et cetera, but some omissions and deviations from the truth could not be avoided. For instance, in the field, “previous occupation” she put “secretary.” It was correct that when starting her private investigating business a dozen years ago, she had been a retired secretary. The one outright lie she was guilty of had to do with her status. She wrote down that she was recently widowed and scared to live in her house alone. Peter would never forgive her for this shameful fib, but how else was she going to state a plausible reason for applying to the retirement facility? For “emergency contact #1” she named Andi, listing her as distant relative. As to “emergency contact #2”, good old friend Peggy had the honors. She left emergency contacts #3 and #4 blank. The last two pages of the application asked for financial information. Huber inflated her assets to numbers that would justify her stay at the upscale retirement community, hoping that nobody would bother checking the details.

She paid the required non-refundable deposit, covered by funds Kirk Ralph had deposited into her checking account. Bea Guinto, the nurse, grilled Huber on some memory questions to determine her mental capacity, which helped the executive director, Dave Beaulieu, establish what level of residency she was to be assigned to.

At the beginning of the mental testing, Ms. Guinto asked Huber to memorize three unrelated words - - i.e., peach, ball, and book - - and recall them 15 minutes later at the end of the session. The time in between was reserved for questions like, “What town are we in?” “In what state is that?” “What is today’s date?” and so forth. Then followed some math: “Please subtract from 100 backward in segments of 7.” The nurse stopped Huber when she got to 65. There was also a visual test where she was shown a sketch of a simple geometric design of a few lines. She then was given paper and pen and asked to copy the easy drawing. It was clear that the dark-haired woman from the Philippines had no time or patience for nonsense. She was not amused when Huber joked, “For how much will you sell my artwork?”

Shore Haven offered two resident categories, the independent and the assisted living. Each group was housed in separate wings of the facility and had their own dining room. In order to qualify as an independent resident, one had to be able to take care of oneself. The fire and state laws dictated that a person must be able to get out of the building in an emergency without help. And, of course, you had to be mentally fit. Assisted living residents may need medication management, help with bathing or dressing, may forget to come to meals, have problems of incontinence, a large amount of memory loss, or all of the above.

As expected, Huber was to reside with the independents. She was given the choice of a two-bedroom, one-bedroom, or studio with kitchenette apartment, each coming with its own price tag. Mr. Beaulieu mentioned the existence of a couple of three-bedroom suites on the topmost floor, but that both were being occupied at the moment. She opted for the studio, not taking needless advantage of the Ralphs’ generosity.

As for rent, there were two options. The first was the so-called buy-in, with a six-figure initial down payment, where the monthly rent was reduced to 30%, and a guarantee of care if the person’s money ran out. The alternative was a month-to-month set rent, which increased yearly, and there was no care guarantee. With both options, a non-refundable opening fee was mandatory. Logically, Huber chose the month-to-month deal.

“You can choose a meal plan,” said Mr. Beaulieu, “full three meals a day or two meals or one meal, or even no meals at all. The rent is based on how many meals you wish to eat at Shore Haven. We provide restaurant-style dining, and our meals are nutritious and tasty.”

Huber pondered this for a second, then decided to go full speed ahead. Sharing meals together was a great opportunity to get into residents’ heads. She said, “Sign me up for all meals.”

“Good choice, Regula!” And he added, “I hope you don’t mind our first name policy. At Shore Haven, we don’t bother with residents’ last names. It’s a lot easier on everybody.”

Cringing at his pronunciation, Huber replied, “My first name is a mouthful for most Americans.”

“What does your middle initial stand for?”

“Agatha, which I personally dislike. How about just calling me R. A.?”

“That works,” and he scribbled, “Wants to be called R. A.” on one of the forms.

Getting back to the former subject, he continued, “On the days you are away for meals, you must call the front desk or kitchen to cancel. You can add guests at mealtimes whenever you like but need to sign them in at the front desk and specify, ‘Add to bill or pay cash.’”

She inquired, “Do you offer furnished apartments?”

Mr. Beaulieu replied, “Not officially. Most residents like to bring their own furniture. But we can throw something together, if you like.”

“I’m not ready to sell my house yet and don’t want to move my things out in case I decide to go back, if I’m not happy here.”

He smiled at her and said, “I understand. We keep a storage room full of former residents’ furniture. Come, I’ll show you.” And as they both got up, he added, “I was planning to give you a tour of our community anyway.”

Her tour guide was in his forties, clean-shaven, with short, straight brown hair in a neat cut. He wore a suit and tie and polished dress shoes. R. A. did not detect a single stray stubble at the back of his neck as she followed him out of his office. The man seemed to live and breathe efficiency.

Pointing right and left, he stated, “These are the staff offices and you’ve already met Caitlyn Novark, one of our receptionists at the front desk. She directs residents to the proper staff person with their problems and requests. The front desk is the hub of our community. State laws require residents to sign themselves and possible guests in and out as they come and go.”

R. A. nodded.

“I assume you parked in the underground garage, so you already know that residents and visitors alike need to record their license plate numbers at the front desk?”

She nodded again.

As they stepped past Ms. Novark’s domain, R. A. noticed an elderly couple with golf gear signing themselves out at her desk. She heard the cute young receptionist say to them, “Don’t kill all the birdies!”

They bypassed the loading dock, and as Mr. Beaulieu opened the door to the storage room, he said, “You don’t have to decide now, but pick whatever furniture you wish and then let one of our maintenance people know and they’ll move the items to your studio. The only thing we don’t have available is beds. You’ll need to bring your own, as there is a law that does not allow used beds.”

They walked on and stopped at the lounge, which was a large room decked out with couches, chairs, game card tables, and a long desk with several desktop computers next to one wall. Against another stood shelf cases housing board games like chess, checkers, backgammon, and monopoly, as well as dominos, pick-up-sticks, playing cards and some hi-tech toys. There was a woman hovering over a desktop PC. Huber was unsure if she was doing research on the internet or playing a computer game. A couple of other residents were watching the news on a big screen T.V.

Her guide said, “Our lounge is where all residents mingle and socialize or just relax. This is where our activity coordinator, Hailey Sparks, organizes entertainment, such as BINGO, concerts, and talent shows. There isn’t much going on in here at this time of the day, but before and after dinner the lounge gets jumping.” And he added, “If you have any special expertise or talent, talk to Ms. Sparks. She’s always looking for new forms of entertainment.”

Next door was the library, and adjacent to that, an elegant little room serving as café and tea room, named Tiki Bar. The Polynesian décor with its bamboo plants, indoor fountain, and murals of palm trees, sandy beaches, and hula girls gave the place a romantic touch. There were several old folks sipping their mid-morning tea or coffee. Some looked up and smiled, while others did not seem to notice the Executive Director with the new resident.

An open passage from the Tiki Bar led to the playroom, which had game tables, like ping pong and foosball, but without a doubt, the main attraction was a standard-size pool table. R. A. was impressed.

Mr. Beaulieu gave her a quick peek into the chapel, which stood as a separate small structure between the independent residential and the assisted living buildings. The modest house of worship was flanked by rows of fragrant white gardenia shrubs. About 20 yards behind the chapel was the fenced-in tennis court and next to it the indoor swimming pool. After passing the chapel once more, they walked straight to the large building that housed the independent residents.

Before they entered it, he pointed across a covered connecting passageway and said, “That leads to the assisted living wing, which you most likely will not get to experience. They have their separate dining room.”

As he guided her through the ground floor of the independents building - - showing her the laundry room, a spa and hair salon, a gym with workout equipment, and the pleasant-looking dining room - - Huber felt confident that she would enjoy her stay.

“And now,” he said, “let me show you the studio we have available for you.”

On the elevator ride up to the fourth floor, he informed her that there were five stories, housing up to 50 independent residents, whereas the building across the walkway had only two floors with 20 assisted living folks. He added, “Naturally, residents confined to a wheelchair or the ones needing multiple assistance reside on the ground floor. We have a staff of compassionate caregivers in the assisted living wing. Should you at some time in the future need special care, we’ll make sure that the transition and relocation to those living quarters will be made easy and smooth for you.”

Huber’s soon-to-be studio was a corner room with a view of the beach. The kitchenette appeared to be minuscule, but then she only planned to brew coffee or tea in it. She surveyed the empty space and tried to visualize a few pieces of furniture she had spotted in the storeroom as a possible fit. A glance into the bathroom met with her approval. Tub, sink, and toilet all looked squeaky clean. Then she went out onto the balcony and looked down to the ocean. She saw a yacht gliding over the calm sea in the distance. On shore, she observed a jogger parallel to the water’s edge and a couple of figures ambling slowly along the walkway between her building and the stretch of sand leading to the ocean. She thought of poor Mrs. Ralph and almost jumped, when the man standing behind her said, “The beach is our most sought-after asset!”

Later, as R. A. drove out of the facility’s underground garage, she thought, I’m in, and so far, no one has singled me out as an imposter.

At the same time Dave Beaulieu sat in his office and rehashed the orientation meeting he had just completed. The woman had been straightforward enough, yet, there was something about her that suggested a red flag. He couldn’t put his finger on it, though, and decided he was probably mistaken.