Complicated Care Read online

  COMPLICATED CARE

  South Florida Suspense

  By Denise M. Hartman

  Complicated Care

  Blanche Binkley Book 2

  South Florida Suspense

  By Denise M. Hartman

  ISBN: 978-0-9857200-5-6

  © 2017

  First Edition

  www.DeniseMHartman.com

  Other stories by Denise M. Hartman:

  Dying to Diet

  Snow Slayer

  Killed in Kruger,

  suspense in South Africa’s largest park.

  Nosy Neighbors,

  Blanche Binkley Book 1, South Florida suspense

  Complicated Care is a work of fiction. All places, incidents and names are used fictitiously. All rights reserved.

  Copyright © 2017 Denise M. Hartman

  ISBN: 978-0-9857200-5-6

  Special thanks to beta readers and editors extraordinaire Juliet Kincaid and Julie Mills Davis.

  I have taken liberties with some locations and police processes to suit my plot. My apologies. In general, I’ve tried to be as as accurate as possible.The characters and some places in this book are from my imagination.

  Any mistakes, grammatical and otherwise, are mine and not those people who helped make this book.

  Much appreciation to Kerry Godwin who does not mind the hours and hours I dedicate to writing and the strange themes that pepper our conversations, and especially for his fantastic cover design.

  Thank YOU, dear reader, for going on this story journey with me. I enjoyed it, and I hope you do too!

  Chapter One

  Blanche marched down the condo hallway with her sheaf of papers hoping no one else stopped her before she got to the elevator. The sky outside was grim and the palm trees leaned in one direction with the hurricane’s winds announcing its soon arrival. The land fall predicted for early morning tomorrow.

  Hurricane Miguel had put a cramp in her plans. Blanche needed at the very least to get her uniform ironed before her volunteer duty tonight, instead she’d marshaled the condo board to get out copies of the hurricane preparedness plans.

  Florida had been her home since she and Harry had abandoned the Midwest after retirement. Hurricane prep sure beat the randomness of a tornado. Harry, the old grump, had gone and died almost as soon as they’d arrived 13 years ago and Blanche had gotten involved in the condo and anything else she could.

  Truth was she liked knowing what was going on and feeling productive. As long as the board behaved efficiently. Retirees could turn a trash pick up into a major event and she periodically resigned from the absurdity.

  Alice the secretary gathered and verified the keys to all the units. Lois the treasurer handed out the emergency plans and stuffed mail boxes whining all the way that she needed to get her hair done. The rest of the board made sure everyone installed their required hurricane shutters and the disabled got moved to a shelter.

  This made her worry again what had happened to Edna. She’d disappeared out of her floor one condo. Edna’s departure had put Blanche back onto the condo board in a permanent position.

  Blanche needed a breather before she went and helped her friend Al install his hurricane shutters on the second floor. The man was so cheap he wouldn’t get the new permanent ones that just slid into place. He stuck to his 20-year-old ones that had “some assembly required.”

  She had a shift at the shopping center Police kiosk tonight helping answer questions for the public. Sharon the Information Officer at Boca Raton Florida Police Department had gotten Blanche to volunteer after a few of her and Al’s accidental involvements in police cases. At least the ones the department was aware of anyway.

  Blanche enjoyed the orderly sensation of going in a uniform and being able to answer people’s questions at the police desk. She would never have imagined in her days as an executive secretary that she would like wearing a uniform. She’d given up business suits and high heeled pumps instantly with retirement and taken up polyester jogging suits by winter and elastic waist cotton shorts by summer. No looking back. Free to dictate her own days and dress code.

  She did miss the feeling of being a contributing member of society that daily work brought. She supposed that’s why she was so prone to find herself involved in situations like preventing a bomb going off in the intracoastal water way in Boca Raton or she rolled her eyes at herself involved on the condo board doing hurricane preparedness.

  She and Al weren’t into anything mysterious these days. Other than why he wouldn’t buy proper modern shutters.

  When she slid the key in the lock on her fourth floor condo door, she heard the phone ringing. Years of secretary life made her rush to it without flinching even though it was a breathless greeting she gave.

  “You gotta save me from the Dragon.”

  “Edna? Edna, where are you?”

  The line went dead. Blanche glanced at a blank caller ID and then out her still shutterless window toward the parking lot below. Trash blew past the cars on the steady wind. Edna had lived on the first floor until recently. Her daughter she nicknamed “The Dragon” had spirited her away when no one was looking. Blanche had snuck into the condo to investigate and make sure it wasn’t foul play. She saw Edna’s clothes and personal effects were gone and the bills were still being paid. She kept telling herself that Edna would let her know if she needed help. Now she had. Poor Edna.

  She settled her red phone back into the cradle wondering again where the dragon-daughter had taken Edna. Edna dubbed her The Dragon because she terrorized anyone who didn’t do exactly what she wanted, when she wanted it and sometimes even the ones that did. Blanche felt relieved her kids lived far away and didn’t watch her too closely.

  She walked to the spare room and pulled the metal shutters down in their railings and lowered the window back in place. What if Edna had been moved to a nursing home? Blanche shivered. That would be a low blow. Edna at 89 was doing fine if someone took her to the grocery store. Maybe the news wasn’t so bad? Maybe it would be a assisted living where Edna would have some autonomy some choices.

  Still. Blanche cringed at a shadow walking over her grave. Or maybe her future. She valued her independence.

  She yanked more shutters into place in the other rooms. She left the one by the phone open in the front room. She’d close it at bedtime when she got back. It didn’t feel so suffocating if she could see out somewhere.

  She hoped and prayed Hurricane Miguel would take a track north or south of their Boca Raton Seaside Flats condo. She had no idea what the old building could take. She hoped to high heaven she’d be back before dark.

  Chapter Two

  Jeopardy gave the answer: “Obituary subjects are real people, but this Belgian detective created by Agatha Christie merited a Page 1 obit in 1975.”

  Al waved one of his two canes at the screen and hollered, “Clouseau”

  Blanche counter answered. “Who is Hercule Poirot?”

  The announcer confirmed Blanche’s answer.

  “Oh, pooh,” said Al. He reached up and let a little air in under his ever present fishing hat. “What makes you so smart?”

  “I read every word of the newspaper every day.”

  “You’re just looking for your name. You know?” Al laughed at his joke and Blanche raised an eyebrow at him and smirked. He adjusted the volume down on the television and took up their earlier conversation.

  “If I come up to your floor and the power goes out, I gotta get down four flights of stairs to get out in an emergency.”

  “But what if a storm surge comes as high as the second floor?”

  “Ahh, half the time the weatherman’s wrong anyway. It’s only a class 2.”

  Blanche snapped the last of Al�
��s piece-together shutters together. He pushed himself up from the La-Z-Boy with his body imprint in it and balanced with his two canes.

  They pushed, shoved and lifted until all the pieces were snapped into the window frames. Blanche brushed dust off her fresh uniform. She should have done this earlier. She hoped she wouldn’t look rumpled.

  “If they ask me to stay at the shelter and help with check in, will you go up and close my last window? The one by the phone table.”

  Al snorted. “Sure. I can help out. Just so the power doesn’t go.”

  “Hurricane Miguel isn’t really suppose to hit until morning anyway.”

  “Good for you to have a man around.”

  It was Blanche’s turn to snort.

  “How are you going to find Edna? Make sure she’s okay, you know?”

  “I don’t know.” Blanche bit her lip and realized she was rubbing off her lipstick. “Edna’s very capable now that she’s found a way to reach me. We’ll hear more.”

  “Well, she had that concussion.”

  “But she was okay in the end after her fall.” Blanche didn’t want to admit how much Edna’s call bothered her.

  “What about the daughter?”

  Blanche had been racking her brain trying to remember The Dragon’s real name. “I don’t know how to get ahold of her. We’ll have to count on Edna to call again. Don’t underestimate old ladies.” Blanche prayed Edna would call soon. It was haunting even though she didn’t believe the daughter would put Edna in real danger. “You want to go hang around the mall during my shift tonight, old man?”

  “Why on earth would I want to do that? You know?”

  “Alright Mr. I-hate-shopping. Just thought I’d offer in case you wanted to get out.”

  “When did you start doing the night shifts anyways?” Al asked.

  “It’s summer and it’s light later. I thought I’d give it a try. It might have more action.”

  Al snorted as she gathered her pocketbook. “You just like to nose around.”

  Blanche swatted him. “No, I like to help.”

  Chapter Three

  Sharon the department Public Information Officer for Boca police, didn’t usually come to the kiosk, but tonight was scheduled for a special information set up but the hurricane had complicated that. The voluptuous Sharon made her uniform look good. She gave instructions to all the extra volunteers they’d pulled in tonight.

  “Here’s a list of locations of shelters in the area and especially which ones are equipped for people with disabilities. Also the original purpose of our info night - you’ve got hand outs on where you can renew your driver’s license, car registrations, inspections etc. Thanks for coming to the Boca Raton police kiosk.” Blanche loved the feel of efficiency.

  Blanche knew all the information pamphlets in the booth and rarely could be stumped by a question. Since she’d bought a computer and started overcoming her aversion, okay fear, of technology, she’d started trying to learn the computer in the booth as well. She probably should have stayed working when the new computer system came in at her executive secretary job, but it was just too much. She’d mastered one in house system but she was too afraid to fail at her age especially in front of the younger workers.

  “Blanche, I want you to focus on the Senior driver’s safety course and verifying their emergency plans for the hurricane,” Sharon said.

  “Couldn’t I do the driver’s license points?” Truth be told she’d rather do something that involved talking to young people.

  “You have had time to know the information cold even though it’s a new safety course.” Sharon gave her a wink and handed her a clipboard with a sign-up sheet and brochures. “Make sure they all have a hurricane plan too. They might be newcomers.”

  Blanche’s job was to roam the mall talking to seniors. Clearly elder stereotyping was going on with Blanche’s assignment, but orders were orders.

  She walked around and signed up a few people for the safety course. Blanche talked with a couple from New Jersey who recently relocated and gave them the rundown on hurricane shelters and when to go. It reminded her of her and Harry. She couldn’t believe she’d been in Florida so long now and it felt like home. She loved the mix match of nationalities and food, even languages.

  While she was answering questions for the couple about changing license plates and hurricanes, she noticed an older lady with a cane looking in the window of the lingerie store across the way, but the little gray headed woman wasn’t really looking. She kept shifting her gaze around watching for someone. Then she’d look over at Blanche or the other police volunteers and bite her lip.

  Blanche directed the newcomers to the kiosk for some other information and glanced again in the little woman’s direction. She seemed fixated by a middle aged man who was using the Buy Gold ATM machine. Only in Boca Raton, Blanche thought would some tycoon get the idea to sell gold out of a vending machine. Some people just had too much money and she was not one of them. She’d meant to balance her checkbook today. Hurricane Miguel got her time though.

  The old woman glanced at the man again and then went into the lingerie store. This was a teddies and thongs type store. Not where Blanche and her set normally would shop for granny girdles. Blanche watched the little gray headed lady go into the store where she turned and stared a hole in Blanche. She started waving a frantic wrinkled hand.

  Blanche glanced around then pointed her manicured nail at her own chest asking a silent, me? The woman nodded and kept flapping her hand.

  Blanche used her clipboard to appear official and kept it up in case the woman became violent. Certainly she exhibited odd behavior. “Can I help you?” Blanche asked.

  Now, the woman seemed tongue tied. She was pale as though she didn’t go outside much in the sunny land of Florida sunshine.

  “I. I.” She glanced at the door and ducked into an aisle between rows of red and black undies in various shapes. “I need, uh, information.” She looked down at her age spotted hands and pulled at the loose skin with nervous fingers.

  “Okay, for a hurricane shelter?” Blanche’s sympathies arose as she sensed a soul in need but couldn’t read the problem. She hoped she could help.

  “I think someone is robbing me.”

  “Robbing you how? Defrauding you or a banking problem?” Blanche leaned into her.

  The woman turned gray like her hair. “I think it’s my care giver. Things in my house are missing and my bank book...” she shrugged helplessly.

  “I’ll get you some phone numbers. Wait here.”

  Blanche speed walked to the kiosk and found the brochure on cons of the elderly, a care giving resources brochure, and a hotline number for elder abuse. The hair on her arms stood on end. As she entered the lingerie store again, she saw the man turn away from the ATM gold machine studying the receipts. Blanche wasn’t sure if he was the culprit, but she rushed anyway. She shoved the papers at the woman. “You need to call the hotline as soon as possible.”

  “I don’t want to get anyone in trouble, but...” she bit her chapped lip.

  “Don’t let it continue. Whatever it is. You deserve better. Are you hurt physically?” Blanche looked her over from top to bottom and other than being poorly dressed she seemed okay.

  “No, I’m fine.” She tucked the brochures in a pocket of her skirt. She looked up with fear in her eyes. “I should go.”

  “Tell me your name? Your address?” Blanche would report the situation herself. She readied her pen on her clipboard.

  “I gotta go.” The gray lady scurried to the front of the store just as the man from the gold ATM passed. Blanche shrunk back behind the rack so as not to be seen.

  The man took the gray lady by the elbow roughly and marched off without looking back.

  Blanche tried not to think about elder abuse. She knew it was real. A qualm of conscious washed over her at the thought of Edna in need. Blanche tried to read all she could about scams and be smart about all her own business interactions. Sti
ll you never knew who was going to be crooked or how they’d sneak up on you. What had Edna’s daughter done with her?

  She walked back to the booth and told Sharon what had happened. The gray woman was gone though.

  Sharon was sympathetic. “If they won’t complain or speak to the police, there’s not much we can do.”

  They both looked down the mall a moment. “That lady you were talking to tonight could file a complaint herself if her family have hired a registered care giver. We have systems in place.”

  “Those aren’t fast answers though, are they?” Blanche asked.

  Sharon shook her head.

  Blanche drove back home through the dim twilight haunted by the encounter with the gray woman. She’d been working hard for several months to overcome her own intense anxiety of darkness that had started when Harry died. She’d taken this evening shift as a volunteer at the mall in an effort to be braver. Therapy. She knew she felt less anxious lately, but tonight with that poor woman’s face in her mind the blowing darkening sky promising a hurricane oppressed her.

  She pushed harder on the accelerator. She had done all she could for the woman under the circumstances. Hadn’t she?

  Chapter Four

  Hurricane Miguel veered off and luckily didn’t make a direct landfall at Boca Raton according to the news. Had anyone told Blanche it wasn’t a direct hit during the long night listening to the wind jet-stream the condo she would not have believed it. It sounded frightening. Now, looking at the parking lot full of palm branches, uprooted bushes, and the dumpster on top of her 12 year old yellow Lincoln she didn’t feel lucky. She knew of course it could be much worse.