“Oh my god,” Annie whispers. “That asshole called a reporter.”
“I’m sorry, Annie,” Josephine says as one of the women from the kitchen appears with a plate of fettuccine Alfredo wrapped in plastic.
Annie can’t pull her eyes away from what she’s reading, shocked Sheehy didn’t take it a step further and tell the reporter about the text exchange he read on Annie’s phone. According to Chief of Police Franklin Sheehy, Mr. and Mrs. Statler also enjoyed a perverted sexual ritual in which Mrs. Statler pretends to be a patient named Charlie.
She stuffs the newspaper in her bag, takes the food, and exits the dining hall. Margaret is watching television in her armchair, a blank look on her face, when Annie enters.
“Here you go,” Annie says, trying to sound cheerful. “Lunch.” She puts the tray on the metal cart next to Margaret’s bed and unrolls the silverware from the napkin. “And remember, Sam’s away for a little while. I’ll be coming on his days. I have to go to class. You need anything else?”
Margaret stares silently at her plate of food and then begins to eat. Annie kisses her cheek and steps into the hall as a woman with a walker is about to knock.
“Here, give this to Margaret,” the woman says, handing Annie a purple bingo dauber. “Her son left it behind last night.”
“Her son?” Annie says, taking it from her.
“Yes. They were at my table, and he gave me this. It’s no good. Leaks everywhere.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure.” She holds up her right hand; blotches of purple dot her wrist. “Can’t get this stuff off.”
“No, I mean about her son being here.”
“Oh. Yeah, he was here. He comes every week for bingo.” She shoots Annie a look. “I’m one of the few people here who’s still with it. Trust me, it was her son.”
“Thank you,” Annie says. The woman turns and shuffles down the hall into her room. Annie heads to the lobby, dropping the dauber into a trash can she passes. There’s no one at the desk, and Annie pauses to scan the guest register, trailing her finger down the list of signatures, searching for Sam’s name. She shakes away the thought. Of course he wasn’t here yesterday, you idiot, she thinks. That woman is demented. She exits through the sliding doors, but when she gets to the parking lot, she turns around and hurries back inside, unable to stop herself. The door to Sally French’s office is slightly ajar. She knocks and peeks her head in. It’s empty.
“She’s getting lunch in the dining room,” a young woman says as she passes. “She’ll be right back. You can take a seat and wait if you want.”
“Thanks,” Annie says. The young woman enters the staff room, and Annie finds her phone in her bag.
“This is Annie Potter,” she says when John Gently answers. “Is Chief Sheehy there?”
She hears a clicking noise, and then Sheehy comes on the line. “Good morning, Mrs. Statler.”
“It’s Potter, and why the hell did you go to the newspaper about Sam’s debt?”
“I’m sorry?”
She lowers her voice. “Don’t play dumb, Franklin. Why on earth would you call a reporter and tell her—”
“First of all,” Sheehy says, cutting her off, “I didn’t tell her about the debt. She knew about it already.”
“What do you mean, she knew about it?” Annie asks.
“I mean she knew about it. ‘Hello Chief, this is blah dee blah,’” he says, apparently imitating the reporter. “‘We received a tip that Sam Statler was in significant debt at the time of his disappearance. What do you have to say?’” She can hear the springs of Sheehy’s chair squeaking under him. “What do you want me to do? Unlike some people in this country, I still believe in a free press.”
“A tip?” Annie says. “Two people know about the debt, Franklin. You and my cousin. And it wasn’t my cousin.”
“And it wasn’t me, Mrs. Statler.”
“It’s Potter,” she says. The door to the outside slides open, and a couple in their seventies enter. “I think I understand what’s behind the debt.”
“Oh? Please, go on.”
“Sam has some money coming from his father,” she says. “It’s a gift.”
“Can you be more specific?” Sheehy asks.
Annie turns her back and speaks softly. “Two million dollars.”