double front doors beyond. Easy wheelchair access,
thought Dalton, but also easy for unsteady old feet to
walk off without stumbling.
The fifteen or so rocking chairs that were grouped
along the porch were worn and weather stained, but
they were a thoughtful amenity for men and women
who had grown up when porches were a place for social-
izing, for shelling beans, for watching children play, for
resting after lunch in the middle of a busy day. Indeed,
despite the cool spring morning and the pouring rain,
three of the rockers were occupied by residents swad-
dled in blankets from head to toe who watched their
approach with bright-eyed interest.
Not a lot of money to spread around on paint and
gardeners, thought Dalton, but enough money to pay
for staff who would help their patients out to the porch
and make sure they were warm enough to enjoy the
fresh air, even to tucking the blankets around their feet.
The nursing home where his grandmother had recovered
193
MARGARET MARON
from her hip replacement was beautifully landscaped
and maintained, but there had been a persistent stench
of urine on her hall and she complained that her feet
were always cold. Somehow he was not surprised to fol-
low McLamb into the building and smell nothing more
than a slight medicinal odor overlaid with the pungency
of a pine-scented floor cleaner.
Immediately in front of them was a reception area
that doubled as a nursing station. Long halls on either
side led away from the entrance lobby with a shorter hall
behind. Sam Dalton soon learned that Sunset Meadows
Rest Home was basically one long rectangle topped by a
square in back of the middle section to accommodate a
dining room, lounge, kitchen, and laundry. Each of the
forty “guest” rooms held two or three beds and there
was a waiting list.
“Does that sound like we’re careless and neglectful?”
demanded Mrs. Belinda Franks, the owner-manager. A
large black woman of late middle age, her hair had been
left natural and was clipped short. She wore red ear-
rings, black slacks, and a bright red zippered sweater
over a white turtleneck. The sweater made a cheerful
splash of color in this otherwise drab setting. She pos-
sessed a warm smile but that had been replaced by a
look of indignation as she glared up at the two deputies
from her chair behind the tall counter.
“Would people be lining up to put their loved ones
here if they thought we were going to let them come
