Denial: A Lew Fonesca Mystery (Lew Fonesca Novels) Read Online Free PDF

said, “It’s your signature … . Will do.”
    She hung up and looked at Ames and me.
    An old woman, white-haired, wearing a light blue suit moved next to us at the desk. She leaned on a cane and looked straight ahead at the big nurse.
    “We’re here to see Dorothy Cgnozic,” I said.
    “You were here a few months ago,” said the large woman with the chart.
    “I served some papers,” I said.
    “And you’re going to serve papers on Dorothy?” she asked protectively.
    “No. Just want to see her. She called me. My name is Lewis Fonesca. This is Ames McKinney.”
    “Pleased,” said Ames.
    If he had a ten-gallon hat, I’m sure he would have taken it off and said, “Ma’am.”
    Ames is hard to resist. I’m not.
    “May I ask what she wants to see you about?” asked the large woman.
    I looked at the pin above her left breast. It said she was Gladys Sprague.
    “Yes,” I said.
    “Well, I’m asking.”
    “My pills,” said the woman with the cane.
    “Not for an hour, Lois,” said the large nurse patiently. “One of us will come to your room.”
    “It’s lunchtime,” the woman with the cane said.
    “When lunch is over, come back here or someone will come to your room,” said the redhead.
    “You won’t forget?” said the woman with the cane.
    “It’s all on the charts,” said Gladys the nurse with a smile. “We won’t forget.”
    “My tissues,” said the woman with the cane.
    “We understand,” said the large nurse.
    The old woman started up the long corridor.
    “Mr … .” Gladys said.
    “Fonesca. And this is Mr. McKinney.”
    “Right. I’m guessing,” said Gladys with a sigh. “Dorothy told you she saw someone murdered here last night.”
    “Yes,” I said.
    “No one was murdered here last night,” said the redhead. “And no one died. We get about a death a month, sometimes more, but not yesterday and no murder.”
    “I’d still like to see her,” I said.
    “Sure,” said Gladys. “She almost never gets visitors. She goes to lunch in forty-five minutes. Her room number is one eleven. We like Dorothy. So does everyone else. She helps with the bingo numbers on Tuesday and Thursday, never complains. I don’t know what’s with this murder business. We have a social worker on call. Dorothy will get a visit from her later this afternoon.”
    “Our residents sometimes …” the redhead started and then went on, “sometimes exercise their imaginations. They want attention, a sense that they are still a part of things.”
    “It’s not necessarily an unhealthy sign,” said Gladys.
    “Remember Carmine Forest?” asked the redhead.
    Gladys shook her head and said to us, “Carmine, what was it, three, four years ago?”
    “Three,” said the redhead.
    “Carmine,” Gladys went on, “claimed vampires were stalking the halls at night, turning the residents into vampires.”
    “Said he could prove it,” Gladys continued. “Said the residents were getting pale, losing blood. Even claimed he had seen fang marks on their necks.”
    “Which closed almost immediately after they were bitten,” said the redhead. “He started painting crosses on the doors with Magic Marker.”
    “Permanent black marker,” said the redhead.
    “Got ugly,” said Gladys. “Mrs. Schwartz and Mr. Wallstein complained that it was an attack by anti-Semites. They called a rabbi. Carmine called a priest. Rabbi and priest got together and calmed things down.”
    “Carmine demanded an exorcism,” said the redhead. “Priest said the Church didn’t recognize the existence of vampires.”
    “Carmine wrote to the pope,” said Gladys. “No answer.”
    “Then he sent in a letter of resignation from the Catholic Church and said he was going to become a Hindu because they believed in vampires and would send someone to deal with it.”
    “Did they?” I asked.
    “We’re still waiting,” said Gladys.
    “Oh,” said the redhead, suddenly remembering. “What about Carla Martin?”
    “One one one,” I