Evil At Shore Haven. Alice Zogg
of character.
Peter looked at his spouse of many decades and remarked, “Did I ever tell you that I’m relieved you quit the investigating business?”
“A few times!”
“I can’t help it. After one of your murderers tried to silence you and I watched for days as you lay in the hospital unconscious, not knowing if you’d ever come out of the coma, you can’t blame me for being thrilled that you gave it up.”
“Yeah, I guess it was time. I do miss the action, though. Andi is holding her own, which I knew she would.” With a sigh, she added, “She consults me less and less; good for her yet bittersweet for me.”
They kept silent, each lost in their own musings. The lady thought back to that first day Andi had blown into her office like a whirlwind. The 18-year-old’s mischievous green eyes had peered at her, asking “Can y’all use any help ‘round here?” When bidden to share a bit of her background, Huber learned that the young woman’s mother had died while giving birth to her and that she had been brought up by her daddy in New Orleans, where he owned a bar in the French Quarter. He had taught her how to play the fiddle, dance the Cajun Waltz, fish, ride the Harley, load - shoot - and take care of a gun, as well as cook gumbo and jambalaya. Prior to showing up at Huber’s private investigating business, Andi’s daddy had passed away, and she had ridden to California on her Harley-Davidson. In addition to the motorcycle, Daddy had also left her three pieces; a hunting rifle, which she had sold to a pawn shop, a Derringer and a Stinger pen pistol, which were still in her possession.
A few months later, she had sent the spunky young woman from New Orleans undercover to Optimum House, where she had proved herself worthy to become Huber’s assistant. That was nearly eight years ago. Meanwhile, Andi had earned her bachelor degree at UCLA and was running the investigating business now.
Peter’s thoughts had reverted to his current manuscript and he almost jumped when the phone rang on the end table next to him. He glanced at it and, as he checked caller-ID, announced, “Speak of the devil,” handing the phone over to his spouse.
“How’re y’all doin’, Mrs. Huber?”
“Hello Andi! What’s up?”
“Do you have time to talk?”
“All the time in the world; I’m retired!”
“Well, boss - -”
“I’m no longer your boss!”
“I keep forgettin’. Anyhow, are you up to tackle some active detecting? I’d like to send you on an undercover job.”
Huber snickered and said, “Sounds like our roles are truly reversed now, but go ahead and clue me in.”
So Andi related what she had learned from the Ralph couple that morning, ending with, “I know that we don’t have much to go on, but I’d like to give it a try. I asked them who inherits old Mrs. Ralph’s money. They were offended by the question but answered it. There are some minor legacies, but the bulk of her fortune goes to them.” And she added, “I got the feelin’ that the pair is not starving as is. He’s a CEO for a major electronics company, and she’s a professor, lecturing at USC.”
“Looks like you asked all the right questions. I taught you well. Did you believe their claim that some of the old folks had been killed rather than died naturally?”
“There is no doubt in their minds, but I don’t know what to believe. The authorities seemed satisfied that the residents died of illness or old age when signing the death certificates. There was one accident, besides Kitty Ralph’s drowning. The couple didn’t know any details, but apparently one old lady fell down a flight of stairs and died of her injuries. I reckon you’ll get at the truth if you agree to the assignment.”
“Are you trying to butter me up?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And you said the Ralphs will pick up the tab if I check myself in as a boarder?”
“Yes, ma’am, but I believe the term is ‘resident.’”
“This retirement community is in Ventura, you said?”
“That’s right. By the beach, about a mile north of the pier.”
R. A. Huber thought aloud, “Only a little more than an hour’s drive from my house.” And she asked, “The place is posh?”
“You bet! Privately owned, and I believe a corporation. Has its own tennis court, beach access, and indoor swimming pool. It obviously houses seniors who can afford luxury in their golden years.”
“Peter isn’t going to be happy if I accept the job.”
“Tell Mr. Huber that I’ll check with you daily, and if there’s any trouble, I’ll show up with my Derringer in a flash.”
Her ex-boss laughed and said, “That would make him worry even more!”
After some consideration she announced, “Okay, I’ll do it, under the condition that I will not accept payment for the job.”
Andi protested, “I can’t let you work for free.”
“I won’t be hurting. You, on the other hand, have to make a living from the investigating business. So do we have an agreement?”
“Yes, ma’am. And thank you kindly.”
“If it turns out to be nothing but a wild goose chase, at least I’ll have a pleasant retirement experience near the ocean.”
“Thank you again for accepting the job. Come by the office tomorrow morning and we’ll figure out the details.”
As predicted, Peter was irritated when he learned of his wife’s decision.
“Dammit Regula!” he shouted, “Isn’t it a fact that you gave up active duty for good? Why expose yourself to danger again?”
“Give me some credit. I ought to be capable of handling an old folks place without much damage to myself,” she replied with a chuckle.
He shot her an angry look and stated, “It’s not funny. I hate the idea!”
CHAPTER 3
Who would have thought that checking into a retirement community would involve so much red tape and hassle? R. A. Huber soon became familiar with the scrutiny involved. The process of applying for residency at Shore Haven took over two weeks, starting with her filling out an Application for Residency form, then signing a 40-page long contract, and many State forms. She also needed to have a seven-page State Physicians Report completed, which included a TB test. She was lucky to have had a complete physical at the beginning of the year, so that her own doctor took care of that requirement and filled out the report.
Huber tried to stick to the truth as much as possible when putting down information on the application forms, giving her own name and address, birthdate, et cetera, but some omissions and deviations from the truth could not be avoided. For instance, in the field, “previous occupation” she put “secretary.” It was correct that when starting her private investigating business a dozen years ago, she had been a retired secretary. The one outright lie she was guilty of had to do with her status. She wrote down that she was recently widowed and scared to live in her house alone. Peter would never forgive her for this shameful fib, but how else was she going to state a plausible reason for applying to the retirement facility? For “emergency contact #1” she named Andi, listing her as distant relative. As to “emergency contact #2”, good old friend Peggy had the honors. She left emergency contacts #3 and #4 blank. The last two pages of the application asked for financial information. Huber inflated her assets to numbers that would justify her stay at the upscale retirement community, hoping that nobody would bother checking the details.
She paid the required non-refundable deposit, covered by funds Kirk Ralph had deposited into her checking account. Bea Guinto, the nurse, grilled Huber on some memory questions to determine