Chapters (38)
- one
- two
- three
- four
- five
- six
- seven
- eight
- nine
- ten
- eleven
- twelve
- thirteen
- fourteen
- fifteen
- sixteen
- seventeen
- eighteen
- nineteen
- twenty
- twenty-one
- twenty-two
- twenty-three
- twenty-four
- twenty-five
- twenty-six
- twenty-seven
- twenty-eight
- twenty-nine
- thirty
- thirty-one
- thirty-two
- thirty-three
- thirty-four
- thirty-five
- thirty-six
- thirty-seven
- epilogue
“No, of course not, ma’am. We have to ask.” White Mustache looked apologetic. “I’m so sorry we had to tell you this. We’ll wait here while you get your purse.”
thirty-one
RONNI
Kait’s eyes were wide as a horse’s in a barn fire. “She left you all that money, and you gave it away. She set you up to write a book about her, and you’ve given up because it’s too short? You exasperate me, Ronni. How many people get a chance like that?”
“There’s nothing else to add, Kait,” I said. “I’m out of information about Violet’s life. I don’t have an interesting ending. It’s a mess. A mess I worked on for a year. I’m over it.” I shrugged and turned to chart meds.
“Wait a minute,” she grabbed my arm, “you’re missing the obvious solution, Ronni. This journey has been yours as much as Violet’s. You’re not the same woman I knew a year ago, and it’s not only because of Rick.”
My stomach clenched at the mention of his name. I couldn’t bring myself to open up to Kait or anyone about my situation with Rick.
“What do you mean, Kait? I should write a book about the life and times of Veronica Jean Johnson? For the New York Times Best Boring List?”
She bit her lower lip in excitement, eyes blazing. “You could alternate chapters between your life and Violet’s. You’d start where you found out the way her will was set up. I mean, you’re the only person I’ve ever heard of in that situation, Ronni. It’s a neat story.”
I considered for a minute. “It does have possibilities.” I shook my head. “The problem is, even if I do that I don’t know enough about Violet to fill out her part. No one who’s familiar with her past is still around to help me. Except Herb, maybe, and I can’t interview him for obvious reasons.”
“Are you sure there’s no one else?” Kait studied my face like a kindergarten teacher coaxing the next letter in the alphabet.
“I need someone who knew Chet. Certainly not his wife.” I watched Audrey Ledbetter grab the hand of our newest resident, the tiny and taciturn Mrs. Gates. She looked like a terrified urchin being dragged down the hall by Audrey’s wheelchair, a bedraggled five-year-old in a much older body. A lot, I realized, like Violet’s description of a young CeeCee Wilson. “Oh my gosh. His sister might be able to help, if I can find her. Have I told you lately that I love you?” I hugged Kait and turned back to work, just in time to avoid Donna’s hourly spy stroll down the hall.