Sorrow Road (Bell Elkins #5) - Julia Keller Page 0,46

you answer one of mine?”

“Sure.”

“Why did you come here today?”

“I told you. Darlene asked me to.”

“It’s more than that, though. Isn’t it?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“I mean,” said Layman, who by now had decided to rise, too, putting herself at Bell’s level, “that it wasn’t easy for you to get way out here. I know what those roads are like. You could have just called. And I also know that county prosecutors don’t have a lot of spare time. I don’t think you would have gone to all this trouble just to hear about a death from natural causes. And anyway, it’s old news now. It’s history.”

Bell let a few seconds go by. “Are you from the area?”

Layman hesitated. Her face indicated that she wondered if this was some kind of trap.

“No,” she finally said. “Born and raised in Indianapolis.”

“I’m not surprised. If you were from these parts, you’d understand that there’s no such thing as history.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“There’s no such thing as history,” Bell went on, “because it’s all still right here. The past never goes away. It’s in the air. It’s all around you, every second. It’s just another name for the present.”

“Still don’t understand.”

“Stick around long enough,” Bell said, “and you will. Thanks for your cooperation.” At the doorway, she turned. “Mind if I give myself a quick tour?”

“Not at all. I’d be happy to escort you, but I have a conference call with corporate coming up. Can’t miss it.” Layman gave her the code for the keypad.

For the next twenty minutes, Bell walked through the corridors of Thornapple Terrace. She did not doubt that Layman really did have a conference call scheduled. But she also knew that letting a visitor nose around without a chaperone made a compelling point: The staff here had nothing to hide.

A muted calm pervaded the place like an odorless scent. The carpet was a light plum shade. The ceiling was creamy white. A waist-high wooden rail ran the length of both sides of the hall, broken only by the doors to the residents’ rooms. Most of the doors were open, and most of the rooms were occupied. The person inside either sat in a straight-backed chair next to the single bed, or stood by the window, looking out at the gray-and-white world of deep winter. Sometimes they noticed Bell, and offered her a face devoid of curiosity. Mostly, though, they did not notice her.

In one room, a lanky man in overalls and work boots was balanced on a stepladder. He was reaching up with a screwdriver to make an adjustment to the sprinkler head, which extended from the ceiling in a small silver ring. He appeared to be in his late forties or early fifties, hence Bell speculated that he was most likely an employee and not a resident. His movements were fluid and assured, and there was a seriousness of purpose in those movements, the kind of focus that was, Bell knew from her reading about Alzheimer’s, generally no longer possible for the people who lived here. He looked down at her and nodded. He had the kind of face she liked—weathered, resolute. No fake smile. She gave a slight wave. She moved on.

She passed an emaciated woman of perhaps eighty or so who had stopped in the hall, feet spread, body bent and tense. She clutched the wooden rail with both hands, as if she were stranded on a high bridge and afraid of falling. Those hands were as twisted as tree roots. She called out to Bell. Bell turned.

“Yes?”

“I have to go home,” the woman said. She wore a black turtleneck, black sweatpants with a white stripe down the side, and white tennis shoes. Her short white hair was combed straight back from her forehead. Her face had collapsed in on itself, the features receding into a conical basket of wrinkles. Her eyes were startlingly blue. But it was an empty blue, the blue of endless sky.

“I’m sorry,” Bell said. “I can’t help you.”

“I have to go home,” the woman repeated. “I’m late.”

“I’m afraid I can’t—”

“I said I have to go home! I have to go home!” And just like that, the old woman’s agitation clicked in, and she reached out to claw at Bell’s arm while she screamed. “Now! Now! Now! Now! Now!”

A woman in a pink smock and white polyester slacks swiftly appeared; she had been in one of the resident’s rooms. She artfully wrangled the old woman, securing an