tell you this, though. Harmon was blessed—blessed to have a loyal friend like that, as well as a devoted daughter. Harmon was one of the lucky ones.”
“And the cause of death?”
“Same as the others. Natural causes. Harmon just didn’t wake up one morning.” Layman paused. “You would think we’d be ready for it,” she said. “I mean, our residents are in their eighties and nineties, for the most part. And in the final stages of Alzheimer’s. Their lives are basically over. But Harmon’s death hit us hard.”
“How did Darlene take it?”
“Not well. I was concerned about her. She seemed so—so torn apart, really. The news just destroyed her. She was definitely having trouble accepting it. Asked me a million questions. Demanded to talk with the staff. She told me she’d been a federal prosecutor—and wow, did it ever show! She could argue like nobody’s business. It was her way of coping, I suppose—charging around, getting all the facts. But you know what? I’m going to miss her.”
“Doesn’t sound like it.”
“Oh, don’t misunderstand. She was tough on me, sure. But I’d rather deal with irate family members all day long than have to think about the residents who are truly alone. The ones nobody makes a fuss over. The ones nobody ever comes to see. The ones nobody cares about.”
“I can understand that.”
Layman laughed a quiet, soon-concluded laugh. “Well, I’m not sure my staff understands it. They get pretty weary of being screamed at by children or grandchildren or spouses who stop by once in a blue moon and want to know why Daddy’s shirt is on backward. Or why Grandma’s trying to flush the forks and spoons down the toilet. They don’t understand. They’re not here often enough to know how much their family member has deteriorated. And so when they do come by, and they see someone who looks an awful lot like their father or their husband or their great aunt—but who is acting like a demented stranger, they’re shocked. And then they feel guilty. Guilty people have to find somebody else to blame. Lashing out is a pretty typical response.”
I like this woman, Bell thought. And I admire the way she handles her job.
Liking and admiring, however, did not automatically equate to trusting.
“So you had a few run-ins with Darlene,” Bell said.
“Nothing serious. We always worked it out. Everything she did was in her father’s best interest—and it’s hard to argue with that.” Layman looked as if she was trying to find a way to describe the Darlene Strayer she had known. “I think what impressed me most was how she let Harmon have his dignity. She refused to treat him like a child. No matter how much he’d declined.”
“How so?”
“Well, a few months ago, she found out that one of her father’s best friends had been killed. A hit-and-run accident in Bluefield. A man named Victor Plumley. They’d all grown up together in a little town called Norbitt—Harmon, Reverend Sherrill, and Plumley. As teenagers they’d joined the service together. They were all on that ship on D-Day. After the war, they settled back in their hometown. Anyway, Darlene came to me with the news about Plumley. Asked if I thought she should tell her father. I told her not to. All it would do at that point was upset him. See, the thing about Alzheimer’s is—he was likely to forget about his friend’s death in about two minutes, anyway. So why tell him? Why put him through all that grief for nothing?
“But Darlene didn’t agree. She thought about it a little while, and then she said, ‘I have to tell him. Vic was his friend. Even if he forgets it a few seconds after I break the news, he deserves to know.’ She wanted to honor her father with the truth. For Darlene, it was always about the truth.”
Hardly, Bell thought. She pictured the small blue chip Deputy Oakes had found in her friend’s pocket, revealing the secret of her alcoholism.
The phone on the desk rang. Layman held up an index finger. “Just a sec,” she said to Bell. “Yes. Yes. No,” she said into the phone. “I’ll have to get back to you on that one.” Pause. “Okay, then—if you have to know right now, then no.” She hung up. “This job has toughened me up considerably. My new motto is, ‘She who hesitates is ignored.’”
Bell rose. “I’d better let you get back to work.”
“One thing.” Layman kept her seat. “I’ve answered your questions. Will