Mr Wilmott Gets Old School Read online

  “I hope you’re happy in charge of the boxes,” she said to Gregory. “We’ll go ahead and check-in or whatever it is you do here.”

  He seemed relieved to be left back at the car.

  The front of the home sported a semi-circular driveway with a large oval garden in the centre. Burnished orange marigolds bobbed their heads in the mild easterly breeze, which cut through the heat of the day.

  Most of the plants were dead-headed, having already displayed their finery and retired for another year. The soil of the beds was turned and composted, reminding Emily she should do the same to her own small patch of garden out the back.

  The main building of the village was old brick while wings sprouted off in different directions, made of wood, modern brickettes with stylised discolouration, and plasterboard. Everywhere Emily turned, there seemed to be another part of the complex, all set within a woodland boundary.

  No wonder she had no neighbours over the back fence—Stoneybrook Acres must own all that land.

  As they approached the double doors of the entrance, a jackhammer started up from the side of the main building.

  “I hope that doesn’t carry on for too long,” Agnes said with a worried glance in its direction. “I’ve got enough of a headache from packing up for the last week, without machinery banging on.”

  The receptionist must have overheard the concern because she offered up a large smile as the two women approached. “It’s just due to a plumbing emergency,” she reassured Agnes. “A burst pipe that happened to be right under the barbecue patio. We only just got the concrete poured for that late last year.” She grimaced.

  “What sort of plumbing?” Agnes’s voice sounded anything but reassured. “Should I stay at home for another night to be safe?”

  “There’s no danger,” the receptionist said. “It’s just caused the water pressure to drop. Once they patch it up, you won’t notice a thing.”

  “We’re moving in a new resident.” Emily cast a look at the woman’s name badge. Margaret Tillerson. “If you could direct us to Agnes Myrtle’s room, that would be great, Margaret.”

  Emily earned herself a scowl from the woman in question.

  “I’m perfectly capable of talking for myself, thank you.” Agnes lifted her nose into the air. “I might not be able to do everything, but rest assured my mouth still works.”

  “If you follow me,” Margaret said, stopping any potential squabbles in their tracks. “I’ll take you down to the room. And who’s this?” she asked as she spotted Maude hiding behind Agnes’s legs.

  “This is Maude. Don’t worry,” Agnes hurried to say before the woman could protest, “she won’t be staying. Emily is going to take her until we find her a new permanent home.”

  “What a looker you are, Maude.” Margaret bent for a second, staring into the dog’s eyes, then straightened up and walked at a slow pace down the hall. “You’re on the east side of the building with a nice view out to the woodland.”

  It became clear as they travelled farther along the corridor, it also overlooked the burst pipe. The noise of the jackhammer increased until idle conversation was impossible. Emily clenched her teeth together to stop them vibrating in time with the machine’s blows.

  The room was small, a single bed along one wall opposite a table and chair. A recliner used up the far corner while a doorway led through to a small bathroom. The toilet, shower, and basin were in such proximity claustrophobia ate up the air in Emily’s lungs. A wardrobe only a foot wide was behind the door while a television set was mounted on a bracket in the corner above it.

  “Isn’t this nice?” Margaret said, yelling to be heard above the noise from the garden.

  Agnes cast a desultory glance around the compact space and nodded. “It’s just like the one I was shown on my tour.”

  “The view is usually better,” Margaret said, whipping the curtain to one side to uncover a man operating the jackhammer. His shorts had ridden down and Emily gave a guilty start at how much of the crack in his rear end she could see.

  “Oh!” Margaret nearly tore the curtain in her haste to pull it across the window again. “Perhaps, we’re better off leaving that where it is for the time being.”

  Agnes wrinkled her nose and caught Emily’s eye. The two of them burst into giggles at the exact same moment.

  “If you need any help to get settled in, let me know.” Margaret paused for a second, hand on her hip, then shook her head and retreated into the hallway. “The director of the home is up in Christchurch for the day at a conference, but I should be able to answer any questions you have.”

  “Thank you,” Emily said, closing the door when it seemed Margaret might linger. When she turned to Agnes, she raised her eyebrows. “About that view.”

  The woman laughed and pulled the curtain back, fixing it with a tie at the side. “If the man wants to display what God gave him, I’m not going to put impediments in his path.”

  Maude nosed the door open into the bathroom, took a long glance around, then backed up and leapt for the bed. She didn’t quite make it the first time, her forward legs hitting the spread just before gravity took her back to ground level. When she tried again, with Agnes’s help this time, she made it. With her back legs splayed out to either side, she laid her head on her front paws.

  “I’m not sure that’s a look of approval,” Agnes said, rubbing the dog along her backbone. “She’s used to a much bigger space.”

  “It’s a pity they don’t let you have dogs here,” Emily commented, glancing past the machine operator at the landscaped forest running along the side. “There seems to be enough room out there for Maude to enjoy herself.”

  But that was the wrong thing to say and Agnes’s lip wobbled. Emily excused herself, retreating out of the room on the excuse of chasing up Gregory.

  The young man sat in the reception room, the two main boxes on either side of his chair. He rose at glacial speed when Emily walked into the room. “I wasn’t sure if you wanted me to bowl on in there while she was getting settled.”

  “Good call.” Emily waved him back into his seat and took the leather chair beside him. “It might be a good idea to give her a few minutes.” She sighed and glanced around the space, feeling a slow sadness creeping up the back of her throat.

  It’ll be you, next.

  “I think this place must take some getting used to.” Gregory tapped his fingers in a dreamy rhythm on the arm of his chair. “No wonder they call it God’s waiting room. I can’t imagine how awful it would be to live here.”

  After unpacking her treasures, Agnes’s room appeared lived-in but also a great deal smaller. Emily stood near the door, afraid to move in case she knocked something with her leg or elbow.

  “I’ll take these back out to the car.” Gregory picked up the empty cardboard boxes and whistled as he walked out of the place.

  Emily hovered in the doorway, unsure of how to leave without upsetting Agnes, not wanting to stay.

  Maude solved that problem. She dismounted the bed with a huff of effort then belted out the door. Emily felt her brush by before her brain engaged enough to think to stop her. The dog was a few metres down the corridor before she turned and gave chase.

  “Come back,” she said in a loud whisper. Emily didn’t want to draw attention to the illegal dog being here by shouting. Unfortunately, Maude ignored the order and barrelled farther along the hall.

  “Maude!” Agnes stood in the doorway, a frown creasing her forehead while a smile of pleasure danced across her lips. “Don’t be a bad dog.”

  Emily reached out for the bulldog as she slowed, turning back towards her mistress’s voice. Just as she snagged her collar, Maude took off again. Emily’s fingers slipped on the leather and she gave a cry of frustration.

  “What the—” another resident said, clutching at the neck of her dressing gown as Maude ran past her open door. “No dogs allowed.”

  “I’m sorry,” Emily called out as she hobbled by. “We’re trying to
get her out of here.”

  Maude stopped at the corner, growling in the back of her throat at something or someone Emily couldn’t see. She edged out to the side, trying to glance around the junction in the corridor while tensing herself to make another dive.

  “Bad dog!” a sharp voice called out.

  Maude whined and backed up a step, then recommenced her growl. The hairs on Emily’s forearms raised, signalling their displeasure. She ignored her trepidation and snagged the dog’s collar, this time holding it tight.

  Around the bend, another dog sat on its haunches, eyeing Maude with a stern frown. The German Shepherd didn’t appear to enjoy the sight of its English counterpart. Its silken brown eyes narrowed as Emily picked up the bulldog and cradled her close to her chest.

  “No dogs allowed,” the woman standing beside the other dog said. “Didn’t you read the rule book before you came inside?”

  Emily took a step back, affronted that someone so obviously breaking the rules herself had the temerity to quote them.

  As if hearing her thoughts, the woman reached down to pat her dog on the head. “I’ve been granted permission, but the director would’ve told me if anyone else met the brief.”

  “We were just leaving,” Emily said, giving Maude a last reassuring pat before restoring her back to the ground. “Her mummy moved in today and wanted to say one last goodbye.”

  The woman sniffed. “Doesn’t she own a lead?”

  “What brief did you meet to be allowed to keep your dog here?” Emily asked, ignoring the woman’s impertinence to ask a pressing question of her own. “Are there a set of guidelines we could check?”

  “The director will’ve talked over all of that with your—?” The woman stopped talking and raised her eyebrows.

  “My friend.”

  Emily was about to press for a better answer when the German Shepherd gave a large bark and took off at a sprint along the corridor. Maude struggled free of Emily’s grip to give chase.

  “Conker! Come back here at once,” the woman shouted.

  To Emily’s delight, the dog ignored the command. If anything, his race down the hallway grew more enthusiastic. The two dogs disappeared around the corner, into the reception room. Agnes shuffled along the hallway, having switched direction when Maude ran past her.

  “Your dog must have done something to upset Conker,” the woman said with such utter certainty that Emily found herself nodding along with the preposterous idea. Rather than stay and argue the toss, she followed in Maude’s footsteps, giving Agnes a wink as she passed.

  “Oh, no,” she said as the dogs used the opportunity presented by a new arrival to slip out the entrance doors.

  A man in a dark grey suit stood there, nonplussed, as the two animals raced past him. “We don’t allow dogs,” he said in a confused voice and Emily laughed as she passed by him.

  “It appears someone relaxed the policy,” she called out in a merry tone, before chasing the dogs outside, into the retirement home grounds.

  Maude gave up the game well before Conker. The German Shepherd was furiously barking at the man operating the jackhammer, while the bulldog had stopped a few metres away from the entrance, choosing to collapse in the shade of a gigantic oak tree.

  “Good dog,” Emily cooed as she approached, although the dog hadn’t been anything of the sort. “Don’t start running again, okay. My knees are already yelling.”

  Your dogs are barking her mind helpfully provided, the thought earning a smile.

  It seemed Maude agreed with her as she let Emily grab hold of her collar without any further attempt to run away. She gave a small bark, of welcome more than in warning. The other dog echoed her, not settling for just one.

  “That woman in the hall was right,” Emily said to the dog, keeping her voice nice and light—a memory from someone who’d gone through dog-training. The advice had stuck though she couldn’t for the life of her remember where it originated. “I should have you on a lead.”

  She cast her eye around, as though there’d be a handy piece of leather to snap onto the dog’s collar lying nearby. The trunk of the oak caught her eye. Not because there was anything useful to hand but for the network of deep wounds entwining the base of the tree.

  It appeared someone or something had injured it badly when it was smaller. Now, the bark swelled out like balloons on either side of the cut, while bare wood still winked out, the lighter colour reminiscent of old bones.

  Fresher marks, similar in nature, were scored further up the trunk. An attacker coming back much later for another go.

  But that wasn’t finding her a leash.

  “You’ll just have to put up with me dragging you,” Emily said after a few minutes. “And if you try that again, I’ll lock you in the car alone.”

  A dire warning sounded in her head at that speech. Don’t leave your dog in a hot car. Even saying it as a joke to the dog felt wrong.

  Speaking of the car, Gregory lounged nearby the vehicle, his attention once again glued to his phone. If she wasn’t handling the dog, Emily might have texted him a message to come inside the home. Not because she needed him for anything but just for the reluctance that would cross his face.

  “Don’t bring the dog back inside,” the grey-suited man said as Emily walked Maude through the entrance. “He shouldn’t be here.”

  “There was another dog roaming the premises who started the trouble,” Emily said, ignoring him the same way she ignored the nagging pain in her hip. “If you allow one, it’s hypocritical to deny another.”

  Agnes waited anxiously near the reception counter and took a few tentative steps towards her dog, her hands once again clenched together. “Maude was just visiting to see where I lived,” she said in an apologetic tone.

  “What are the requirements to let a dog live with a resident?” Emily straightened up as she sent Maude on her way over to Agnes. “I don’t believe you let Ms Myrtle know there was an option to keep her pet.”

  The woman from the corridor came to greet them, her cheeks flushed with blood. “I told her,” she said to the man. “I said this bulldog wouldn’t meet the conditions. She brought that dog in here without any regard to the rules.”

  “Mrs Wilberforce’s dog is a therapy animal.” The man spoke slowly and enunciated every word with care.

  Emily felt the heat rising, warming the skin of her neck before rushing up to colour her cheeks. He thought she was feeble-minded, that’s what the pedantic tones told her. “So is Maude.” She put her hands on her hips, glaring. “What right do you have to turn down her placement here?”

  “My name is Allain Homeaway and I’m the director of operations for Stoneybrook Acres. I make the rules and apply them, that’s what rights I have.”

  “If you have experience, then it should be patently obvious that Maude can be nothing but good for Ms Myrtle. Just look at them.”

  She pointed, but Allain didn’t even turn his head to follow her direction. “There are guidelines. The dog must be licensed as a therapy animal before we can even consider such a thing.”

  Mrs Wilberforce’s gaze jerked away from the conversation and she stared intently at a rubber plant in the corner, her hands lacing together. Emily narrowed her eyes as she assessed the woman quickly. Her cheeks had already been flushed but now a bright blush stained all the way down to the top button in her blouse.

  Emily had always been a blusher. She knew exactly what the rush of colour meant. “Conker isn’t a therapy animal.”

  She addressed the words to Allain but kept her eyes fixed on Mrs Wilberforce. Oh, yes. She’d hit the nail on the head. The woman’s eyes now ping-ponged around the room in nervous glances, left and right.

  Shifty. That’s how she looked.

  “If Conker was approved without the official documentation, then you should extend the same courtesy to Maude. I’m certain that Agnes’s doctor will attest to the necessity of keeping her beloved animal close to her side.”

  “I can assure you th
at Mrs Wilberforce’s dog passed all—”

  “He’s a cadaver dog,” Mrs Wilberforce suddenly yelled.

  Allain shot a concerned glance in her direction, then shook his head and returned his attention to Emily. “As I was saying—”

  “No! You don’t understand.” Mrs Wilberforce ran forward a few steps, tugging on Allain’s sleeve and pointing towards the entrance door. Her face had drained of its blushes. Now her skin was pale and cold. “He used to work for the police until he retired. Conker is a cadaver dog!”

  Emily traced the invisible line where Mrs Wilberforce’s finger pointed and felt her heart drop down into her stomach.

  Conker sat outside the entrance door, ears pricked up in an alert stance.

  At his feet was a large bone.

  Chapter Three

  Agnes held back, cuddling Maude close as Emily followed the director out the front door and around the side of the building. Gregory kept pace with her, finally discovering an interest that sped him up to normal.

  “Keep back,” Allain yelled as he spotted the jackhammer operator—the machine now blessedly silent—picking out chunks of concrete from the barbeque area.

  For a second, Emily thought he was yelling at the man, but Allain turned and with a large arm-gesture waved them back.

  “Sod that for a joke,” Gregory said, continuing onward, and Emily smiled as she walked briskly by his side.

  “Call the police,” the machine operator called out as they approached. His face was ruddy with heat and his hair dripped with sweat. When he shook his head, a fine spray of droplets flew out to either side. “There’s somebody buried here.”

  “Let me see,” Allain insisted, crowding the man until he stepped back, a piece of chipped concrete in his hands. “Why, this could be anything. The body of a pet or a wild animal or a… a…” He turned back to where Conker sat, on alert, at the corner of the retirement home complex. “Or a dog!”

  “It’s not a dog, mate.” The jackhammer operator wiped his gloved hand over his forehead, soaking up the sweat but leaving behind a streak of grease and dirt. His eyes moved from Allain to Emily, then Gregory. “It’s a body. A human body.”