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It was part of the vascular dementia that had come on after Benny’s recent stroke. Dementia was an insidious disease, robbing people of their memories, their personality. Their dignity. Benny would have to go to the memory ward eventually, but his disease hadn’t progressed enough for that yet. For now, he’d remain in the apartment he’d lived in for more than ten years. But without Frankie living next door.
This could be enough to speed his decline. It hurt to think about.
Sam took a moment to straighten Benny’s crooked bow tie, knowing the older man would hate it being imperfect. Benny’s yarmulke was still very straight. Sam had never seen Benny without it.
Benny shook his head, lifting a hand to fretfully rub at his temple. “I meant it.”
Okay. “What did Frankie say that you didn’t listen to?”
Benny blinked blearily. “I told him that he was jealous of me.”
Sam had to physically quell his frown. “Why was Frankie jealous of you?”
Benny’s mouth firmed in what appeared to be frustration. “He wasn’t. He was right.”
Sam drew a steadying breath, trying to piece together the puzzle of words. “Frankie was wrong, but he turned out to be right?”
“Yes,” Benny said, slumping in relief. “Yes.”
“What did he say?” Sam asked, injecting some urgency into his voice.
“That I was naive. And lonely.”
Sam couldn’t imagine Frankie telling Benny that he was naive. Benny was, actually—and had been even before the dementia—but no one mentioned it. Everyone loved him too much to ridicule him.
He’d been a scientist and a professor. An absentminded one. It was part of his charm, because even when Benny was absentminded and naive, he had the sweetest soul.
“Were you lonely?”
Benny swallowed hard. “I miss Martha.”
Sam let out a breath that hurt. “I know.” Martha had been Benny’s wife of more than fifty years, having died only a year ago. She’d been the one to make all the family decisions, leaving Benny to his books. The man loved his books and always carried one with him. Sometimes they were physics books, sometimes books about coins. Every now and then he’d have a paperback romance in his pocket. He was unapologetically a fan of love.
He didn’t have a book now, though. His hands were empty, his clenched fists relaxing as his blinks grew slower.
The sedative was kicking in.
“Benny, why did Frankie say you were naive?” Sam asked softly, because he thought Kit and Connor might need to know. That the two had argued right before Frankie’s violent death might be a critical clue.
“I believed,” Benny said, his words growing slurred. “Believed a lie. Was so stupid. Now he’s dead. My fault.”
Sam gripped Benny’s hands. “Not your fault, my friend. Not ever your fault.”
Benny’s chin dropped to his chest, but his tears continued to flow. “I’m sorry,” he wailed plaintively. “I didn’t mean to.” He lifted his head slowly and with apparent difficulty to look at Roxanne, his frustration muted by the sedative, but still there. “I didn’t listen,” he insisted.
“I know.” Roxanne gently picked up his wrist and began taking his pulse. When she was finished, she placed his hand on the arm of the chair with the same gentleness. “It wasn’t your fault, Benny,” she whispered. “I promise.”
Benny’s head lolled back and a soft snore escaped his open mouth.
“What are you going to do now?” Sam asked her quietly, rising to his feet.
She brushed a lock of Benny’s hair from his forehead, the movement both practiced and tender. “Call for someone to help me get him into the nursing ward. We’re going to want to watch his heart for a while, until we’re sure that he’s okay. What he saw today would be stressful for anyone. But with Mr. Benny’s heart condition…”
“It could kill him,” Sam said grimly, “if he gets too wound up.” It had nearly happened before, more than once.
“That’s what we have to make sure doesn’t happen. Thank you, Dr. Reeves. I’m glad it was you who came to help me. I needed someone to help me distract him.”
“Are you okay? He hit you pretty hard.”
