Premeditated Mortar Page 11

  He squeezed my hand. “He won’t come after me.”

  “I hope not, but think about it. Here’s this guy who shows up out of nowhere. We’ve never seen him before. And all we know is that he wants to burn down an important historical landmark. A landmark, by the way, that we’re all planning to be working on for the next year, at least. I would really like to know who he is and what he’s thinking.”

  “Maybe he’ll go away if we can just ignore him,” Jane said, always the optimist.

  “Ignore him?” I frowned into my wineglass. “I doubt he’ll let us do that.”

  If he had wanted to be ignored, he wouldn’t have been making trouble at the Gables earlier. And it made me wonder when he’d be coming back.

  Chapter Eight

  The next morning I arrived at the Gables ready to go to work. My shoulder pain was almost gone and I had vowed to stay out of trouble. I had added a whole slew of new items to my list of things to do and texted Carla and Wade to meet me first thing to discuss their own plans for the day.

  More than anything else, I was looking forward to checking out that pile of bricks that had almost wiped me out the night before. But I would have to wait until Niall showed up, if only to keep Jane from giving me more grief.

  And along with that, I was anxious to explore the small antechamber and find out if that door led to someplace interesting.

  After meeting with my foremen, I planned to get down to work myself. I would start in Jane’s future registration office, scraping all that ugly paint off the walls. That would keep me busy and out of harm’s way, I thought.

  I parked my truck, grabbed my toolbox, and was rounding the front corner of Building Seven when I saw a pack of at least twenty people, mostly reporters and several camera operators, hanging out right in front of Jane’s doorway. Someone had set up a lectern on the flat grass nearby. I could tell it was the same lectern, minus the raised stage, that Rachel Powers had used the day before.

  A thick cable snaked down from the microphone to the grass, then across and up the steps and through the doorway. From there it disappeared inside Building Seven, where, I assumed, it had been plugged in.

  Obviously, they were expecting someone to speak. But why here, in front of Jane’s hotel? Maybe it was far enough out of the way that it wouldn’t interrupt the work of everyone else in the complex. Just ours, I thought grumpily.

  I glanced around and realized that some of the protesters were here, too. I recognized them from the day before. Some stood alone and a few others chatted with the reporters. Happily, none of them were shouting to burn it down. Not yet, anyway.

  “Shannon,” someone called.

  I looked around and saw Palmer Tripley, owner, editor, and chief reporter for the Lighthouse Standard, our local newspaper, walking toward me. “What’s going on, Palmer?”

  “How are you, Shannon?” he asked jovially. Nudging his chin toward the front entrance of Building Seven, he said, “This is Jane’s new place, right? Maybe I can wangle a tour with you later.”

  “Absolutely,” I said. “But next week would be better, after we’ve swept away some of the cobwebs.”

  “I’ll give you a call and set it up.”

  “Sounds good.”

  “I understand I missed all the action yesterday,” he said. “I was stuck down at the Whale Watch festival.”

  “I was wondering where you were. I saw Brandi, but didn’t get a chance to talk to her.” Brandi was Palmer’s daughter and I’d known her since she was a baby.

  “Ever since she came home from college she’s been working at the paper.” He smiled fondly. “She’s turning out to be a good little reporter.”

  I winced. “You’re making me feel really old. I remember when she started first grade.”

  He chuckled. “She’s only a few years younger than you.”

  I smiled. “I’m glad to hear she’s doing well.”

  And that was enough small talk, I thought. Glancing around at the crowd, I asked, “So what’s happening out here?”

  He pulled a folded press release from his back pocket. “The Gables’ last chief physician has called a news conference.”

  “Chief physician? Really?” I hoped my expression didn’t reflect the shock I felt at the news. I grabbed the press release and skimmed it. “Lorraine Fairchild?”

  “Yeah,” Palmer said. “She was the one in charge of the place when they finally shut it down.”

  “A woman?” I murmured. “That’s interesting.”

  He took the press release back from me and checked it again. “Yeah, Dr. Lorraine Fairchild is pleased to discuss her years of work at the Gables.”

  “They shut it down over twenty years ago,” I mused. “Wonder where she’s been all this time. And I wonder what she wants to say now.”

  “Whatever she says, it’ll be news. Especially with all the protesters carrying on yesterday. Brandi interviewed a couple of those guys and they had plenty to say.”

  “So the doctor wants equal time?”

  “That’s my guess,” Palmer said.

  I told myself to remember to read Brandi’s interviews from yesterday when I got home tonight.

  At that moment, Rachel Powers walked up to the microphone followed by a sturdy-looking older woman. She wore her platinum hair in a sophisticated French twist, and her charcoal business suit matched her sensible heels. This had to be the chief physician, I thought. She appeared to be in her midsixties and attractive in a no-nonsense sort of way. She must have been awfully young when she first came to work here.

  “That’s the doctor,” Palmer whispered, after comparing the press release photo to the real-life woman.

  I happened to glance around and to my shock, Prudence Baxter appeared at the edge of the crowd.

  “Oh, Pru, there you are,” Dr. Fairchild said. “Hold my pocketbook.”

  I blinked at her command. But sure enough, Prudence rushed right over to the doctor and proudly took hold of her purse. Then she backed away, clutching the purse strap with both hands.

  Rachel spoke first. “With so much attention focused on the Gables transformation project, I would like to ask you not to forget the contributions of the many doctors, nurses, and staff of our Gables family who worked for years giving comfort and care to our friends and loved ones.

  “Dr. Lorraine Fairchild is one of those special people. She was chief physician and head psychiatrist of the Gables for ten years, and today we are honored to have her say a few words and then take your questions. Please welcome Dr. Lorraine Fairchild.”

  There was polite applause. Rachel moved quickly away from the lectern as Dr. Fairchild walked up and tapped the microphone. She glanced around at the faces in the audience, taking her time, making eye contact. It almost felt like a power play. You WILL pay attention to me.

  I wanted to admire her for that ability, but instead I thought she was kind of scary. Some doctors could really carry off the “God complex” vibe. She seemed to be one of them.

  Once she had scanned the entire audience, she spoke in a clear, commanding voice. “Good morning, everyone, and thank you for being here. As Ms. Powers said, my name is Lorraine Fairchild. For ten years I was head physician and chief of psychiatry at the Gables until it was closed down in 2002. I’ve come here today to answer your questions, but first I will make a brief personal statement.”

  There was a respectful silence in the crowd but I could hear the distant hum and buzz of power drills and sanders at work inside the nearby buildings.

  She had to hate that, I thought.

  “I started as a staff psychiatrist and quickly rose in the ranks until I became chief physician. My psychiatric practice continued concurrently. I consider those ten years to be the most rewarding and enjoyable time of my professional career. I’m very proud of the work I did and the breakthroughs we made.

 
“After ten years, sadly, the Gables was closed. It was not a choice I would have made. I wanted my work to continue. It was important work. Lifesaving work. I wanted my patients to thrive. But alas, that was not to be.

  “I can recall the faces of every single one of my patients and I am proud to say, in all modesty, that they loved me. I helped them. I was responsible for their safety and welfare. In many cases, I literally brought them back to life. They are leading active and healthy lives now and it’s all because of the time they spent with me and my staff at the Gables.”

  Wow.

  I hated to be cynical, but I really had to wonder whether those same patients would agree with her. She seemed so full of herself, but maybe it was just a “doctor thing.”

  Dr. Fairchild straightened her shoulders imperiously. “Now I will be happy to take your questions.”

  “Doctor! Dr. Fairchild! Over here!” A half dozen reporters shouted her name.

  I gazed at the faces in the crowd. Most of the reporters were in a frenzy to get their questions asked, but I noticed that some of the protesters had also gathered to hear the doctor speak. I recognized one or two of them from the day before. One of the older women looked slightly dazed and not in a good way. I watched one man shake his head and then turn and walk away. He stopped to talk to another woman whose hands covered her face. After a few words, he wrapped his arm around her.

  It made me sad and I chalked up my emotional reaction to my being a little fragile from last night’s mishap. I really needed to get to work. But I wanted to hear some of the questions first.

  The reporter said, “I imagine you’re here because you’ve heard that the Gables is being renovated and will soon house an art gallery, shops, and a hotel. How do you feel about that?”

  Dr. Fairchild sniffed. “I think it’s frankly pathetic that a fine institution, one dedicated to health and wellness, is being replaced by crass commercial enterprises. It’s sickening, but I suppose it all comes down to money. Doesn’t everything?” She tossed her hair back. “That’s why I’ve come back. I’m here to remind you people that when I was in charge, some very important work was taking place.” She held her arms out. “You are all standing on hallowed ground because of me. Because of my work. My methods. My vision.”

  Whew. Was she completely self-absorbed? Or just a whiny old crab? Both seemed to apply. Maybe I was being harsh, but the woman’s ego was exhausting to me.

  I managed to lean over to Palmer and whisper, “I have to go, but give me a call next week about the tour.”

  “Thanks, Shannon. See you later.”

  I walked quickly toward the entryway to Building Seven, stomping on Dr. Fairchild’s hallowed ground all the way. I had a sudden thought that she must have considered Dr. Jones ridiculous with his notions of safety and caring and his use of architecture as an essential tool in the treatment of mental illness.

  I doubted she would be impressed with anyone’s notions but her own. I mentally shook myself. I had to stop thinking about Fairchild and get to work.

  I reached the steps of Jane’s building but stopped when I saw Rachel standing on the top step. She was staring out at the audience, looking as if she’d swallowed a big, nasty potato bug. I couldn’t blame her after hearing the doctor’s scathing critique of our renovations.

  “Are you okay?” I asked.

  “What? Oh. Hi. It’s Shannon, right?”

  “Yeah. Is everything all right?”

  She exhaled heavily, then flashed me a big, bright, fake smile. “I’m fine. Just thought I saw someone I knew.”

  I glanced back at the audience, but everyone was facing away from where we stood. Except for Dr. Fairchild and Prudence. They were both looking this way.

  “Okay, then. Have a good day.” I brushed past her and walked inside.

  I thought about it for a few seconds, then stopped, turned around, and took another look through the half-open door, just to be sure. The doctor had been distracted by another question, but good old Prudence was still staring in this direction.

  Was Dr. Fairchild or Prudence the one who’d put that look on Rachel’s face? Did Rachel know these people? Her glowing introduction of the doctor and her reference to “our Gables family” had made it sound as if there might be a connection there. Did they know her? All I knew was that she wasn’t glowing now. She looked really unhappy and a little bit fearful.

  Who could blame her? I thought. Dr. Fairchild was scary! And Prudence was just odd.

  I shook my head, closed the front door, and walked down the hallway, away from that totally weird scene. It was time to go bury myself in work.

  * * *

  * * *

  I spent the first hour inside with Wade and Carla, checking out the rooms on the second and third floors. Because of all the flaky old paint and cracked plaster on every surface, we all wore lightweight surgical masks. But the mask couldn’t hide the grimace on Wade’s face as he looked around. “These upper floors are in even worse shape than the first floor.”

  “They might’ve been closed off for years,” I guessed. “Even longer than the rest of the place.”

  “I wonder if all the other buildings are in the same condition,” Carla said.

  Wade took some photos with his tablet. “At some point it would be interesting to go around and check out those other buildings.”

  “Mac went through the main building and this one when he went on the tour. He didn’t say there was much of a difference between them, but I’ll ask him what he thought.” I made a note on my tablet.

  Wade frowned. “Don’t you think it would’ve made more sense to close down some of these outer buildings and concentrate the patient population in just one or two buildings?”

  “That’s what I was thinking,” Carla said. “Seems more practical, but then, I freely admit that I don’t think like a doctor.”

  I shrugged. “Maybe they felt that the closer they were to the ground, the better it would be for the patients’ well-being. So they moved everyone to the first floors of all the buildings and sealed off the upper floors.”

  Wade nodded. “That goes along with your theory about airflow and stuff.”

  I shook my head. “It’s not exactly my theory, and it has to do with a lot more than just airflow.”

  Wade grinned. “You know what I mean.”

  “Yeah, I know.” Clearly everyone involved in this project had received an earful of what I’d learned in my research.

  None of us were willing to say out loud that maybe the people in charge had just stopped caring about the patients’ environment. Federal funding was drying up and they might’ve been expecting to be shut down at any minute anyway. And the place had been shut up for twenty years, after all. Abandoning these buildings for that long a period could’ve easily caused plenty of this deterioration.

  “And let’s not forget,” Carla added. “Being so close to the ocean can cause a lot of damage as well. The aforementioned mold, for one thing.”

  “Humidity is a killer,” Wade agreed.

  With all of those depressing possibilities to think about, we headed downstairs and went our separate ways. I was standing on the landing between the first and second floors when my cell phone rang. It was almost ten o’clock and I saw Niall’s name pop up on my screen.

  “Hi. What’s up?” I sat right there on the top stair and gazed down the long hallway toward the foyer. Even in its present shabby condition I could see that it was really going to be fabulous someday.

  “I’m sorry, Shannon,” Niall said, “but I won’t make it back there before noon.”

  That was two hours away. I was disappointed but didn’t want to make him feel bad. “That’s okay. I’ve got plenty to do until you get here.”

  “Is everything going well?”

  “Yes,” I said. “The work is coming along fine. But the big news is that o
ne of the original doctors from the Gables actually showed up and held a news conference.”

  “A news conference, you say. He must be quite old.”

  “It’s a woman and she’s probably in her sixties, I’d guess. There were also some protesters here, but they weren’t yelling, thank goodness. Maybe the police were able to discourage them.”

  “I hope you’ve the right of it.”

  After another minute, we ended the call and I pulled up my schedule to see what I needed to deal with next. I sat on the stairs for ten minutes adding to my ongoing list. Now that we’d gotten a good look at the problems of the upper floors and that back hallway, I had a lot more items that would require attention.

  I made a note to have a couple of guys carry utility tables up to the second and third floors. We would need to set out some more bleach, vinegar, and spray bottles because the three of us had come across more stubborn pockets of mildew in the upstairs bathrooms that had been closed off for so many years.

  “Shannon, do you have another minute?”

  I glanced up and saw Carla walking up the stairs. “Sure.”

  She sat down next to me. “I know I always mention this on other job sites, but I’m concerned that with this project stretching out for a year, some of the guys might get stuck doing the same jobs for a long period of time. We know how that goes. A few of them will get bored and start goofing off, and others could develop some sort of repetitive motion injury. So we should think about shaking things up every few weeks or so.”

  This was a regular concern of Carla’s since her husband had been treated for carpal tunnel syndrome a few years ago. I nodded. “You’re right. We’ve had that issue come up on other jobs so it’s worth discussing.”

  “What are you two up to?” Wade stood at the bottom of the stairs looking up at us.

  “We’re discussing repetitive motion injuries,” I said.

  “We need to switch up jobs and workers,” Carla said. “This hotel project is going to go on for a full year, so we don’t want to take a chance that any of our guys will burn out.”