Polly Dent Loses Grip (A LaTisha Barnhart Mystery) by S. Dionne Moore Page B
Authors: S. Dionne Moore
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out toward that boy, trying to rouse him from his reading stupor.
“Darren! Get yourself over here quick-like.”
I was grateful when Darren sprang to his feet like a Jack-in-the-box.
“Coming,” he acknowledged my plea for help, two long steps putting him at my side.
The gentleman didn’t move an inch, seeming unaffected by the sounds of our voices.
“Is this man’s zoning normal?”
Darren moved in front of the man and tapped his cheek with his hand. “Mr. Wilkins? Mr. Wilkins.”
“He always acts like this?” I asked Darren.
Darren took the man’s elbow on the other side and together we nudged Mr. Wilkins. He managed to put one foot in front of the other without any problem. We made it to the check-out counter and I realized Darren’s intentions. The phone squatted on the counter. Darren swooped it up, requesting a nurse in the library.
The nurse came in red hair first. Ane Hooligan her name tag read, and with that fire on her head I imagined she must have the personality to match.
“Mr. Wilkins,” she cooed. “You come with me, honey, and we’ll get you to your room and have the doctor look at you.”
And again, I asked, “He always do this?”
She squinted over her glasses at our patient. “First that I know of. Did something scare him?”
I rehearsed the story of him bouncing to his feet, wondering if he’d read something strange in the scrapbook he was clutching so tightly. Ane just listened, her head nodding in rhythm to my words.
“Thank you for calling me.” She pried the book from his fingers and stuck it under her arm, capturing his arm with her free hand and talking to him in a loud voice that captured and held his attention. “You follow me now, okay? We’ll take good care of you, Manny.”
Darren followed the departing figure of Manny Wilkins with deep sadness in his eyes.
“You know Mr. Wilkins, Darren?”
He shrugged and stared over my left shoulder. “I know everyone, Mrs. Barnhart.”
“I told you none of that Barnhart stuff, it’s LaTisha or don’t talk to me.”
A smile twitched on his lips. “Okay, LaTisha.”
“Good boy . ” I directed my finger at the book he’d abandoned on the floor. “What are you reading that’s got you in such a grip?”
This boy practically dove for the book, trotting back to me as he shuffled pages. “It’s a history of crime from the nineteen hundreds to present. It’s a two book series. The other is from eighteen hundred to the nineteen hundreds.”
That was more than I’d heard Darren say since we met. He was warming to his subject like a soup boiling on high.
“I thought maybe it would prove the rumor around here about Thomas Philcher.”
I quirked a brow at him. Was he insinuating Thomas might have a criminal past. “Rumor?”
His eyes trawled the room and he leaned in close to me. “Some think Thomas Philcher is none other than Frank Billings, the guy who worked with Stanley Phipps back in the 1940s. They robbed a bank together and made off with almost a million dollars.”
Chapter Sixteen
I finally got around to making use of Chester’s precious vacuum in Matilda’s room. As I pushed and pulled the thing around the living area, I rolled the idea around that Thomas Philcher could be a reformed bank robber. Sure, he dressed nice and all, and he had an air of formality that made me want to release a belch in his presence just to see how he’d react, but a bank robber? I realized how vague he’d been when describing his youth, really giving us nothing more than what he’d done before moving to Bridgeton Towers, and his reference to not marrying because he moved around so much. Made sense if he was running from the law.
I snapped off the vacuum cleaner and coiled the cord, all the while wondering if old Chester had burst a valve because I didn’t return it in his allotted thirty minutes. Made me feel downright ornery. I stood the vacuum in the corner. It had waited this long. . .
Glancing
“Darren! Get yourself over here quick-like.”
I was grateful when Darren sprang to his feet like a Jack-in-the-box.
“Coming,” he acknowledged my plea for help, two long steps putting him at my side.
The gentleman didn’t move an inch, seeming unaffected by the sounds of our voices.
“Is this man’s zoning normal?”
Darren moved in front of the man and tapped his cheek with his hand. “Mr. Wilkins? Mr. Wilkins.”
“He always acts like this?” I asked Darren.
Darren took the man’s elbow on the other side and together we nudged Mr. Wilkins. He managed to put one foot in front of the other without any problem. We made it to the check-out counter and I realized Darren’s intentions. The phone squatted on the counter. Darren swooped it up, requesting a nurse in the library.
The nurse came in red hair first. Ane Hooligan her name tag read, and with that fire on her head I imagined she must have the personality to match.
“Mr. Wilkins,” she cooed. “You come with me, honey, and we’ll get you to your room and have the doctor look at you.”
And again, I asked, “He always do this?”
She squinted over her glasses at our patient. “First that I know of. Did something scare him?”
I rehearsed the story of him bouncing to his feet, wondering if he’d read something strange in the scrapbook he was clutching so tightly. Ane just listened, her head nodding in rhythm to my words.
“Thank you for calling me.” She pried the book from his fingers and stuck it under her arm, capturing his arm with her free hand and talking to him in a loud voice that captured and held his attention. “You follow me now, okay? We’ll take good care of you, Manny.”
Darren followed the departing figure of Manny Wilkins with deep sadness in his eyes.
“You know Mr. Wilkins, Darren?”
He shrugged and stared over my left shoulder. “I know everyone, Mrs. Barnhart.”
“I told you none of that Barnhart stuff, it’s LaTisha or don’t talk to me.”
A smile twitched on his lips. “Okay, LaTisha.”
“Good boy . ” I directed my finger at the book he’d abandoned on the floor. “What are you reading that’s got you in such a grip?”
This boy practically dove for the book, trotting back to me as he shuffled pages. “It’s a history of crime from the nineteen hundreds to present. It’s a two book series. The other is from eighteen hundred to the nineteen hundreds.”
That was more than I’d heard Darren say since we met. He was warming to his subject like a soup boiling on high.
“I thought maybe it would prove the rumor around here about Thomas Philcher.”
I quirked a brow at him. Was he insinuating Thomas might have a criminal past. “Rumor?”
His eyes trawled the room and he leaned in close to me. “Some think Thomas Philcher is none other than Frank Billings, the guy who worked with Stanley Phipps back in the 1940s. They robbed a bank together and made off with almost a million dollars.”
Chapter Sixteen
I finally got around to making use of Chester’s precious vacuum in Matilda’s room. As I pushed and pulled the thing around the living area, I rolled the idea around that Thomas Philcher could be a reformed bank robber. Sure, he dressed nice and all, and he had an air of formality that made me want to release a belch in his presence just to see how he’d react, but a bank robber? I realized how vague he’d been when describing his youth, really giving us nothing more than what he’d done before moving to Bridgeton Towers, and his reference to not marrying because he moved around so much. Made sense if he was running from the law.
I snapped off the vacuum cleaner and coiled the cord, all the while wondering if old Chester had burst a valve because I didn’t return it in his allotted thirty minutes. Made me feel downright ornery. I stood the vacuum in the corner. It had waited this long. . .
Glancing
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