circle pin on her right lapel. Dark, lustrous hair was expertly fashioned into a sensible bob and tamed with a clip. Except for a trace of powder and a hint of lip gloss, her face was unadorned. The overall look was austere but not unpleasing.
“Ladies. Forgive me for not meeting you. I’m Joan Fergueson.” She glanced down at our dogs and smiled. “They’re lovely. So well mannered. Better than some of our residents, I’m sorry to say.”
Babette had finally found her voice. “Where is everyone? Did we pick the wrong day?”
Dr. F. immediately switched into soothing mode. “Not at all. Today is Tuesday and many of our residents catch the bus into town. They shop for groceries, have lunch…you know. Fun stuff.”
That made sense. It also came as a relief. These people weren’t prisoners after all, and a day away with friends was an antidote to depression. Maybe life at the Falls wasn’t so grim after all. I checked my watch. Unlike Babette, I had a business to run and bills to pay. “Charity begins at home” may be trite, but it resonated with me.
Dr. Fergueson sensed my impatience and reacted immediately. “I’m sure your time is valuable. Let’s gather the rest of your group and I can answer any questions and discuss how we operate at the Falls. This Therapy Dog program is relatively new for us. Please grab a seat.” She buzzed the restaurant and ordered tea. “Fortunately, our food service here is top-shelf. Most residents enjoy it, although they have the option of cooking their own meals.”
Kate and Rolf nodded to Dr. F. and joined us around the conference table. When the tea service arrived, Babette’s spirits surged. She spooned honey on her plate, bit into a scone, and sighed. “These are terrific! Homemade, I bet.”
That pleased the administrator. “It’s a specialty. Help yourself.”
Unlike my pal, sweets have never tempted me. I can take them or leave them. Still, good manners dictated that I sample the offerings. I nibbled a scone and went back for more. No need to feign enthusiasm. They were delicious.
Joan Fergueson sat at her desk, tapping her computer screen. “Let’s see.” For a moment she frowned but quickly recovered. “Oh yes. Mrs. Croy has Irene Wilson. A lovely woman. Former teacher and dog breeder.” She turned to Kate. “You’ve met your resident already. Clark Wingate, one of the few males at The Falls.” She bit her lip as she faced Rolf Hart. “I’m sorry to tell you, but there’s been a change to your assignment. Mrs. Whitman is no longer with us.”
A moment of silence was shattered by Babette’s question. “Did she leave just this place or the earth entirely?”
Dr. Fergueson winced. Apparently, she preferred to speak euphemistically about the recently departed. “I’m afraid she was quite elderly. Frail. A sad fact of life around here, but we try to celebrate each day.”
Rolf shrugged, as if it was immaterial to him. “I wondered when I didn’t hear from Sara. She was quite a character, you know. Stayed up on everything and everybody around here. I suppose you’ve assigned a new partner for me?”
Joan tapped the computer screen once more. “Mr. Jennings, a former developer. One of our younger residents. You’ll have much in common.”
I waited patiently for her to mention Magdalen Melmoth. Instead, she continued watching the screen and tapping those keys. Joan Fergueson was no ingénue, and her evasive manner puzzled me. After all, what was the big deal about one elderly resident? “We may have to switch your person, Ms. Morgan,” she said with a saccharine smile. “Not to worry. Our residents signed up to participate and we have a long list.”
“Really? I met Magdalen this morning and she was charming. My dogs liked her immediately. I’d love to work with her.”
The good doctor hesitated, weighing the options before her. “Well, if you’re sure. Ms. Melmoth can be difficult. Fanciful.” She obviously wanted to say more, but discretion won out. That made me probe further.
“Oh? She seemed very lively to me. I took that as a good sign.” I folded my arms, as if the issue was settled.
“It’s nothing. Just don’t believe everything she says about her lineage. Delusions of grandeur, you know. It’s this genealogy craze they advertise. So many residents have signed up. Another way to feed illusions, I suspect.” Fergueson’s dismissive manner annoyed me. Everyone needed some fantasy life, even a pensioner. I could empathize with the need to connect, even if the results were somewhat suspect. Most folks hoped for bragging rights to noble antecedents, but no one welcomed a criminal or castoff swimming in the gene pool. Many families were blessed with both.
“I’m sure you’re eager to get started,” said Dr. F. “So, if you and Mrs. Croy have the paperwork ready, we’ll be all set.” I presented our bona fides and flashed what I hoped was an engaging smile her way. Somehow, winning this small battle in the bureaucratic wars pleased me immensely. Our dogs wore badges, proof that they had graduated from basic and intermediate obedience as well as earned their CGC, or Canine Good Citizen certificates. That assured officials that they had both good manners and temperament and had received the necessary insurance. After witnessing Nurse Ross’s gruff manner, I wondered if she could meet the same standards.
Dr. Fergueson rose, indicating that our audience had ended. “Very well, then. I’ll ask Nurse Ross to introduce you.” Her handshake was stiff and unauthentic, but that was fine with me. No sense in lingering. Nurse Carole Ross lumbered into the office and tried herding us out the door at an unseemly pace. Powered by that scone sugar surge, Babette finally showed some spunk, holding her ground and strutting out in front of the pack. I patted Keats and Poe for reinforcement and meekly followed suit. Had I foreseen the danger awaiting us, I would have clutched them for support and galloped out the front door to safety. But because I lacked the gift of second sight, I dismissed Joan Fergueson’s churlish behavior and forged ahead.
Our adventure at the Falls had finally begun.
Chapter 2
Babette bonded immediately with Irene Wilson over a shared love of books and dogs. She stepped into the cozy studio apartment, sized up the tasteful furnishings, and beamed at its occupant as if they were old friends. Clara sealed the deal by approaching Irene and licking her hand.
“That’s a good sign. She’s particular. Doesn’t do that with everyone,” Babette said. “Clara likes you.”
Irene, a woman in her eighties, was a tall, imposing figure with light brown skin, neatly coiled gray hair, and large, expressive eyes. Her years in the classroom and stately bearing lent her an air of authority. She grinned at Babette and chuckled. “Kids and dogs—my specialty. For years I bred springer spaniels. Showed them too, even at Westminster. Shucks. Sometimes I had more luck with canines than my human pupils, but I loved them all. Still do.”
I excused myself after explaining that I was seeking Magdalen Melmoth. A momentary frown flashed across Irene’s face, but she quickly banished it.
“Be gentle with her. Mags is one of my best friends here. My only friend, actually. I don’t want her to get hurt.”
I was intrigued. “Anything else you can tell me?”
Babette had little patience for delay and tact was seldom her strong suit. “Come on, Irene. Spill. You can trust Perri. Don’t worry.”
Irene bit her lip as she framed her words. “We all have our illusions, even as we
