“It’s probably financial abuse more than anything,” the woman said. “You see, my late father was meticulous in his financial planning. Mother has a set amount of money in her bank account, and up until now that’s been more than sufficient. But lately, we’ve noticed that her spending habits have gone through the roof. It’s only May, and she’s already run through all her money for the year.”

“Okay,” Drue said. “Do you believe she’s being coerced, or somehow blackmailed by one of the employees? Is it embezzlement? Or possibly identity fraud?”

“Nothing like that,” the woman said. “It’s the damned Home Shopping Network. I’ve asked, I’ve put it in writing, I’ve even gone to the director of the home himself, but they refuse to do anything about it.”

“About what?”

“The Home Shopping Network! I want it blocked. Or disabled. Or something. Her entire suite is full of Capodimonte porcelain shepherdesses and sets of nonstick copper cookware. Cookware! She didn’t cook when she had a kitchen. And don’t get me started on the electronic toothbrushes that arrive every month like clockwork. Mother wears dentures! Now they’re shipping the stuff to my house. My garage is full of this crap. It has to stop!”

Drue looked at the other cube rats, all of them busily typing away.

“I guess I don’t understand how that constitutes abuse. Or neglect,” she said, choosing her words carefully. “Maybe you could just have a talk with your mom? Explain that her spending has gotten out of hand? Take away her credit card? Or, I don’t know, remove the television?”

“I took Mother’s credit card away and she called her attorney and directed him to have me written out of her will,” the caller said. “And did you just say take her television away? You have no idea what you’re suggesting,” the woman said. “That television is her best friend. Her only friend. I just want them to block the damned HSN.”

Drue took a deep breath. “All right. Well, I’ve got your information, and I’ll, uh, forward that to the appropriate associates.”

She disconnected, switched her phone to Off and headed for the break room.

Jonah was standing with his back to the counter, sipping from his mug of coffee. He spotted her before she could slink silently away. They were the only ones in the room.

“How’s it going?” he asked. “Sign up any cases yet?”

“Not really. You?”

“I’ve got one really solid prospect. The caller claims his grandfather’s nursing home was negligent because they allowed the old guy to have unsupervised visits with his wife,” Jonah said.

“I know I’m going to regret asking this, but how is that negligent?”