Page 38 of Chasing Creed

Though the attendant looked surprised, it didn’t last. Of course, it didn’t last. No one was allowed back here without approval from the front desk.

“Oh, look. You have company.” Then to Maggie, she said, “I’ve just finished.” And she gathered up her iPad and the tray with labeled containers of meds. She smiled at Maggie and even closed the door on her way out.

Eleanor Dunn squinted at her. “Do I know you?”

“My name’s Maggie O’Dell.”

“O’Dell. Maggie. O. Dell.” She broke it up into three parts.

As the woman processed her name, Maggie found a chair across the room and pulled it up close to the bed. She preferred to stand, but she wanted the woman to feel comfortable with her. Eye-level created a friendly, more intimate connection.

“I just want to talk to you. Would that be okay, Eleanor? May I call you Eleanor?”

The woman shrugged; an exaggerated shrug with her bony shoulder blade bouncing the thin nightgown up almost to her earlobe. Then she looked back up at the television. Maggie thought the volume was muted. She glanced up. Did a double-take. The screen was black. Yet the woman stared at it as if watching a favorite show.

Maybe this was a waste of time. Years ago, Maggie had to tease out details from a witness with Alzheimer’s disease. Luc Racine was the only person who’d come face-to-face with a killer. Only Luc couldn’t remember what the man looked like. Some days he had no idea what the television remote control was or why it was in his refrigerator.

Maggie studied Eleanor Dunn. She looked absolutely nothing like her daughter, Iris Malone. Eleanor was small and petite with delicate features. Crinkles at her eyes and upturned lines at the corners of her mouth suggested a life of smiles and laughter.

This was not an interrogation. She reminded herself as she shifted in the hardback chair and took in a long, quiet breath. She definitely needed to channel that softer side that Pakula believed she had.

“I was hoping to talk to you about your daughter, Iris.”

Not a flinch. Not even a glimmer of recognition. Was it the dementia? Or perhaps she was hard of hearing? The woman focused intently on the black screen as if she’d already forgotten Maggie’s presence.

Should she leave the poor woman alone? Pakula had warned Maggie that the old woman was unresponsive. Wouldn’t even look at him. It was hard to ignore Pakula. No matter what room he entered, all heads turned. Whether it was good or bad, he had a presence that drew attention.

“They lost my glasses.”

Her voice startled Maggie. Eleanor hadn’t moved. Hands stayed tucked under the covers. Head still turned up. Eyes stared at the television screen. Her lips remained pursed as if she hadn’t spoken. She simply made the statement like she expected no response in turn.

Maybe she didn’t even wear glasses.

Maggie stood. Looked around the room. The belongings were sparse. Nothing personal. Not even a picture frame with family. Lotion, Kleenex, a box of latex gloves. A nightstand with a lamp and no drawers occupied the space next to the bed. On the other side was an overbed table tray pushed aside with a discarded breakfast. A folded-up walker leaned against the wall. A door across the room was presumably a bathroom. The closed blinds shut off the only window.

“Do you think they’re still here in the room?” Maggie asked without disturbing any of the items.

Another shrug.

“I like to read at night,” she said, paying no attention to Maggie as she walked and scanned all the surfaces.

“If I had a good book, I could read all night,” Eleanor continued. “They won’t let me go home. I used to ask all the time then I gave up. So, I read.”

Still, without looking at Maggie, she said, “But they’d see the light under my door. And they’d knock. Mrs. Dunn,” she called out, mimicking the voice on the other side of her door, “Lights out. Time to go to sleep.

“Why couldn’t I keep reading? I don’t have anywhere to go. I can just sleep in, but no, Mrs. Dunn, breakfast is at 7:30. You don't want to miss breakfast, do you? I never ate breakfast at 7:30 in the morning. Then suddenly, I can’t find my glasses. I asked and asked.”

Finally, she glanced over at Maggie and whispered, “I think they took them.”

She looked back at the television, a blank expression now, and added, “I asked over and over, and then I just gave up.”

Maggie knew there was a good chance the glasses were simply misplaced. But she felt bad for Eleanor. The woman looked defeated, lying in bed with her hands clasped together. Long fingers kneaded the thin bedspread. Maggie couldn’t help thinking they looked like hands that still wanted to do something more than lie in bed.

She decided she'd mention the glasses to the attendant on the way out. And maybe that was exactly what she needed to do. Just leave this poor old woman alone. Her daughter’s problems were no longer hers.

But when Maggie turned to leave, the woman asked, “Maggie short for Margaret?”

Now, Maggie didn’t feel right deceiving the woman into believing she might know her but had forgotten. Instead of explaining, Maggie simply answered, “Yes.”