style="font-size:15px;"> “I saw signs for the Wakeman Home for the Blind on our way in,” Mackenzie said. “It’s only six miles from here, is that correct?”
“On the money,” Clarke said. “I was just talking to Randall Jones, the manager over there. That’s who I was on the phone with when you came in. He’s over there right now to answer any questions you have. And the sooner the better. He’s got the press and some county bigwigs calling him and bugging the shit out of him.”
“Well, let’s head over there,” Mackenzie said. “Will you be coming with us?”
“No way, sweetie. I’m swamped as it is here. But please do come back by when you’re done with Randall. I’ll help you however I can but really…I’d love for you two to take this ball and run with it.”
“No problem,” Mackenzie said. She wasn’t quite sure how to handle Clarke. He was up front and bluntly honest, which was good. He also seemed to really love dropping curse words. She also thought that when he called her sweetie, he wasn’t being insulting. It was that weird sort of southern charm.
Also, the man was stressed beyond his means.
“We’ll come right back here when we’re done at the home,” Mackenzie said. “Please call us if you hear anything new between now and then.”
“Of course,” Clarke said.
In the corner, still texting on his phone, Officer Lambert grunted in agreement.
Having spent less than three minutes in Sheriff Clarke’s office, Mackenzie and Ellington walked back down the corridor and exited through the lobby. The older woman, whom Mackenzie assumed was the Frances that Clarke had mentioned, waved at them briskly as they made their exit.
“Well, that was…interesting,” Ellington said.
“The man is in over his head,” she said. “Give him a break.”
“You just like him because he calls you sweetie,” Ellington said.
“And?” she said with a smile.
“Hey, I can start calling you sweetie.”
“Please don’t,” she said as they got into the car.
Ellington drove them half a mile down Highway 47 and then took a left onto a back road. Right away, they saw a sign for the Wakeman Home for the Blind. As they got closer to the property, Mackenzie started to wonder why someone would have chosen such a random and isolated location for a home for the blind. Surely there was some sort of psychological meaning behind it. Perhaps being located in the middle of nowhere helped them to relax, removed from the constant droning noises of a larger city.
All she knew for sure was that as the trees grew thicker around them, she started to feel more choked off from the rest of the world. And for the first time in a very long time, she almost yearned for the familiar sights of those cornfields of her youth.
CHAPTER THREE
The Wakeman Home for the Blind did not look at all like Mackenzie was expecting. In contrast to the Staunton County Police Department and Correctional Facility, the Wakeman Home for the Blind looked like a marvel of modern design and construction – and that was a view Mackenzie arrived at before they even stepped foot inside.
The front of the place was made of large glass windows that seemed to make up the majority of the walls. Halfway down the sidewalk toward the entrance, Mackenzie could already see inside. She saw a large lobby that looked like something straight out of some sort of spa. It was friendly looking and inviting.
It was a feeling that only intensified once they stepped inside. Everything was very clean and looked new. In the research she had done on the way to Stateton, she’d discovered that the Wakeman Home for the Blind had only just been built in 2007. When it had been built, there had been a slight hurrah within Staunton County, as it brought in new jobs and commerce. Now, however, while it was still one of the more prominent buildings in the county, the excitement had died down and the home seemed to have gotten swallowed up by its rural surroundings.
A young woman sat behind a curved counter along the back wall. She greeted them with a smile, though it was clear that she was troubled. Mackenzie and Ellington approached her, introduced themselves, and were promptly asked to take a seat in the waiting area while Randall Jones came out to meet them.
As it turned out, Randall Jones was very anxious to meet with them. Mackenzie had been sitting for no more than ten seconds before a set of double doors leading to the back of the building opened up on the other side of the waiting room. A tall man wearing a button-down shirt and khakis stepped through. He tried on a smile as he introduced himself, but, just like the receptionist, he could not hide the fact that he was tired and very troubled.
“I’m glad you’re here so soon,” Jones said. “The sooner we can get this wrapped up, the better. The small-town grapevine is on fire with this one.”
“We’d like to get it knocked out as soon as possible as well,” Mackenzie said. “Do you know exactly where the body was found?”
“Yes. It’s a rose garden about half a mile from here. It was originally going to be the site for Wakeman but some weird county zoning regulations messed it all up.”
“Could you take us there?” Mackenzie asked.
“Of course. Anything you need. Come with me.”
Jones led them through the double doors he had come through. On the other side, there was a very small alcove that led directly into the home. The first few doors they passed were offices and storage spaces. These were separated from the residents’ rooms by an open office area where one man and one woman sat behind a counter space much like a hospital wing.
As they passed by the rooms, Mackenzie peeked inside one that was open. The rooms were quite spacious and decked out with nice furniture. She also saw laptops and smartpads in a few of the rooms.
Despite being located in the middle of nowhere, there apparently isn’t a shortage of funds to keep the placing going, she thought.
“How many residents live here?” Mackenzie asked.
“Twenty-six,” he said. “And they come from all over. We have one older man who came all the way from California because of the exceptional service and quality of life we can offer.”
“Forgive me if it’s an ignorant question,” Mackenzie said, “but what sort of things do they do?”
“Well, we have classes that cover a wide variety of interests. Most have to be specialized to cater to their needs, of course. We have cooking classes, exercise programs, a board game club, trivia clubs, gardening classes, crafts, things like that. Also, a few times out of the year, we organize outings to allow them to hike or swim. We even have two brave souls who have taken to canoeing whenever we go out.”
Hearing all of this made Mackenzie feel both insensitive, yet happy as well. She had no idea that people who were completely blind could become adept at things like canoeing or swimming.
Near the end of the hallway, Jones brought them to an elevator. When they stepped inside and headed down, Jones leaned against the wall, clearly exhausted.
“Mr. Jones,” Mackenzie said, “do you have any idea how the local papers
