like to go in first and assess the situation, greet the family if there’s anyone around, maybe give them time to say goodbye while I make a trip back to get the gurney.”
Wesley digested the info, nodding. His stomach was pitching now.
When they walked into the facility, the first thing that Wesley noticed was the smell—old building, old paint, old people. Mothballs, mold and Metamucil. They stopped at the front desk where a woman in a nurse’s uniform stood at attention and smiled wide.
“Good mornin’, Dr. Craft.” She arched her back so that her boobs stuck out.
“Good morning, Sarah. Meet Wesley, my new sidekick.”
Wesley exchanged greetings with the woman, but she quickly turned back to Coop, her eyes alight with interest that seemed to extend beyond gladness that they were there to take a body off her hands. “That jacket looks nice on you, Dr. Craft,” she gushed.
Coop smiled. “Thanks, Sarah. I figured we’d have an audience.”
“That you do.” She handed him a folder. “Gentry Dunbar, third floor, room eighteen. The spectators are lined up in the hallway.”
“Any family?”
“A sister, Ilse Dunbar—she has a room here, too.”
“Thanks.”
Wesley followed Coop down a long hall of gleaming green linoleum tile and white walls, past a dining room full of old people, some in their pajamas, some dressed up for breakfast as if they were going to church. The scent of scorched coffee and prunes nauseated him further. They passed a few residents in the hall, shuffling toward their destinations, bent from bone disease and sheer weariness, he assumed. God, he hoped he never grew old.
He frowned. Of course, that meant dying young…
Coop walked past the elevator, pushed open the door leading to the stairwell and began the climb to the third floor.
“That nurse digs you,” Wesley said.
“You think?” Coop asked, looking amused.
“She called you doctor.”
“Yeah,” Coop said. “Sarah’s a good girl. It takes special people to work with old folks and kids. But I don’t mix business and pleasure, if you know what I mean.”
All Wesley knew was that if he had a busty girl throwing herself at him, he’d go for it, screw business.
When they reached the third floor, Coop opened the door onto a hall where the green linoleum floor was dull and gray, the scarred walls a grubby off-white. Dozens of old people lined the hallway, some sitting in chairs that they had pulled out of their rooms, some leaning against the walls, some sitting in wheelchairs.
“Here’s the body man,” a woman announced loudly, probably in deference to those who were hard of hearing or had dozed off. Everyone perked up, calling greetings to Coop and making sorrowful noises about “poor Mr. Dunbar.”
“He’s in there,” several people said, pointing to the only door on the floor that was closed.
“Thank you kindly,” Coop said, stopping to pat arms and shake hands.
“Ilse is in there with him,” a woman said sadly. “Poor thing has been sittin’ by his bed, holding his cold, dead hand all mornin’.”
Wesley suppressed a shudder as he waded through the spectators and followed Coop to the door. Coop knocked, then waited a few seconds before going in.
Wesley steeled himself for the sight of a cold corpse, then blinked at the empty bed. His gaze went to the man reclined in a ratty yellow La-Z-Boy chair, fully dressed in suit, tie and hat, as if he were going on a trip, his hands crossed over his lap, his eyes permanently closed. If the man in the recliner was ninety, the woman sitting next to him, her veined hand over his, had to be one hundred.
She looked up and smiled sadly at Coop. “How are you, Doc?”
“Fine, Miss Dunbar,” Coop said, walking closer. “I see that Gentry here is in a better place.”
She nodded, her eyes tearing up. “He told me he was going to die soon, but I didn’t believe him. This is his burying suit, so he must have known before he went to sleep last night that he wouldn’t make it ’til morning.”
Wesley hung back, feeling weird and tingly. The dead guy didn’t look real, more like a wax figure. Uneasily, Wesley looked to the ceiling and the corners of the room—he’d read something once about the spirit lingering for a while after leaving the body. Was the old man hanging around, watching them from the light fixture? He began to shake.
“You all right, Wesley?” Coop asked.
Wesley nodded curtly, put his hand over his mouth and inhaled deeply. He had to stop thinking about the dead guy. He was freaking himself out.
“God, how he loved that old chair,” the old woman said, smiling, giving the ancient yellow tweed chair a thump that dislodged dust motes into the air. “I can’t believe he’s gone. I used to take care of him when he was a little tyke. Our parents died when he was young, so we’ve always been close. Neither of us married, and the rest of the family has died off.” She gave them a watery smile. “We always looked out for each other. Now it’s just me.”
Coop touched her rounded shoulder. “You’re in a nice place, Miss Dunbar. There are a lot of people here who care about you.”
Wesley listened as Coop comforted the old woman, but he realized with the impact of hitting pavement that he could be looking at a future picture of himself and Carlotta—growing old alone, winding up in the same nursing home, for Christ’s sake. Until this moment, he’d never considered the possibility that their parents wouldn’t come back. The thought made him feel sick…and even more appreciative of Carlotta. Although, if he continued to get in trouble, how much longer would his sister stick by him? All the more reason to fix things, the sooner, the better.
“Has Mr. Gentry seen a physician recently?” Coop asked the woman.
“This morning, when Dr. Tessler came and pronounced him dead.”
“Before that.”
“About six weeks ago.”
“If the person hasn’t seen a physician within thirty days, an autopsy is automatic.”
Her mouth twitched. “Can we still have an open-casket viewing?”
“Of course—the medical examiner will be respectful, I promise.”
She nodded.
“Have you selected a funeral home, Miss Dunbar?”
The woman smiled. “Everyone here speaks highly of your family funeral home, Dr. Craft. I thought we’d have Gentry’s service there.”
Coop smiled. “Thank you. My uncle will take good care of him. We’re going to give you time to say goodbye. We’ll be back in a few minutes.”
She
