Jack decided to ask her later. He pushed the bed back, then placed the shell on the nightstand. Maybe one of the staff had dropped it. If so, they could reclaim it here. At least this way no one would step on it.

Scratching his arms, Jack said goodbye to his father and headed back to the car. He hoped his father had some calamine lotion at home.

7

Back at Gateways Jack found another car parked in the cul-de-sac. Maybe Anya had company. But when he went around to the front of his father’s place he found the front door open and heard voices inside.

He stepped into the front room and found a young woman in a jacket and skirt showing an elderly couple through the house.

“Who the hell are you?” Jack said.

The old folks jumped and the young woman clutched her looseleaf notebook defensively against her chest. Jack figured he might have had a little too much edge on his voice, but that was the kind of mood he was in.

“I-I’m with Gateways,” the woman said. “I’m showing this couple the house.” She squared her shoulders defiantly. “And just who are you?”

“The owner’s son. What are you doing here?”

The woman blinked. “Oh. I’m so sorry for your loss, but—”

“Loss? What loss? You talk as if my father’s dead.”

Another blink—a double this time. “You mean he’s not?”

“Damn right, he’s not. I just came from the hospital. He’s not too healthy at the moment, but he’s not dead.”

The old couple were looking uncomfortable now. They stared at the ceiling, at the rug, anywhere but at Jack.

“Oh, dear,” the younger woman said. “I was told he was.”

“Even if he was, so what? What are you doing here?”

“I was showing it to these—”

Fury hit him like a kick in the gut. Vultures!

“Showing it? Where do you get off showing this place to anyone? It’s his until he sells it.”

Another squaring of the shoulders, this time with a defiant lift of the chin. “Apparently you don’t know the arrangement in Gateway communities.”

“Apparently I don’t. But I’m going to find out. As for now”—he jerked a thumb over his shoulder—”out.”

“But—”

“Out!”

She strode out the door with her head high. The old couple shuffled out behind her.

“I’m sorry,” the old woman said, pausing as she passed.

“Not your fault,” Jack told her.

She put a wrinkled hand on his arm. “I hope your father gets well soon.”

“Thank you,” he said, feeling suddenly deflated.

He closed the door after them and leaned against it. He’d overreacted. He told himself it was the frustration of all these questions with no answers. Not one goddamn answer.

Bad day. And it was only noon.