Devil's Plaything

or doesn’t mind it. I break our gaze, almost imperceptibly bowing my head.

“What do you suggest?”

“Let’s get her on some Aricept,” he says. He pauses. “She lives where?” he asks.

“Magnolia Manor.”

He nods. “Can you give her a break from there for a few days? Can she get some time to change her environment? She could use the stimulation of activity. She certainly seems curious and physically able.” He turns to her. “Don’t you Lane?”

“I don’t know anything about that,” she responds.

I decide it’s not the time to tell doc I’m already on the change-of-venue case.

I’m not sure he’s offering us better advice than I could’ve gotten on the Internet. He’s prescribing pills and a change to her environment. Still, at least now I have justification for keeping Lane with me. Doctor’s orders.

Pete looks at his watch. He says he should get to his next appointment. In parting, he tells me he’d like to see my grandmother again in a week.

“But call me tomorrow and give me an update.” He hands me a card with his cell phone number.

* * *

At a modest dining room in the basement, I ask Grandma what kind of sandwich she wants. Before she can answer, a woman behind the counter wearing her pink dyed hair in a tight bun informs me that she doesn’t have sandwiches but, rather, panini or flatbread.

“Can’t I just call it a sandwich?” I ask. “She was born before the advance of the panini.”

“Don’t talk about me when I’m standing right here,” Grandma says.

I order a flatbread with tuna for Grandma and, for me, panini with chicken and pesto sauce — the chief difference between these items and sandwiches being price. Sixteen dollars later, I help Grandma into the car. We have ninety minutes to kill before our meeting with the mystery stick sender. In the meantime, I want to drive Grandma by her dentist — at least to follow up on yesterday’s missed appointment. Maybe she saw a man in blue when we were sitting in the parking lot outside. Maybe I’m pulling at wild strings.

I snap in Grandma’s seat belt and start the car. As I start to pull away, I see a car inching around the corner behind us. It’s a Prius. Like the one from the park.

Chapter 16

“Flume,” Grandma says.

“What?”

“It’s a narrow opening,” she says. “I used to be an English teacher and sometimes I use big words even though it can be impolite.”

She’s either looking at the traffic scenario or I’m giving her too much credit. We’ve slid between a red flatbed truck carrying lumber and a beautifully reconditioned classic Jaguar. The Prius is five cars back. I can’t make out the driver but he appears to wear a hooded sweatshirt. I can’t see the license plate.

“You’re on edge, grandson.”

“Not at all. Everything’s under control.” Not exactly.

My thinking: If I take three quick rights, I can get behind him, or I could pretend I don’t see him and let him get close.

“Be careful, Irving,” Lane says.

I look forward and realize I’ve almost hit the truck in front of us. I slam the brakes to avoid collision.

When I look in the rearview mirror again, the Prius has disappeared.

* * *

Twenty minutes later, I pull into the parking lot of Brown & Morrow. They’re located in a modest two- story complex that includes a dentist, a dermatology clinic, and an imaging center with an MRI machine. At the entrance to the small parking lot stands a weather-worn statue of a woman I think is supposed to be Hygieia, the goddess of health. Weeds grow at the base of the deity’s cheap plaster seat.

We were here yesterday, when Grandma refused to exit the car to go to the dental appointment.

“Does this look familiar?” I ask.

Grandma doesn’t say anything. She’s looking down at her game device, turning it over in her hand.

“Do you want to go inside?”

“Harry will look out for me,” she says, absently.

“Did you see Adrianna here?”

No response.

“The man in blue?”

There are a dozen parked cars in the lot with us. A woman in a long skirt helps a frail man, presumably her father, climb from a minivan into a wheelchair. The office doors all face the lot — even the ones on the second floor, which are accessible through an open balcony. So I can see Grandma at all times.

She’s safe here.

“Want to play a game?”

No answer.

I power up her phone. I click the icon for Tetris. Grandma seems transfixed by the falling blocks, though she’s not playing.

“Will you wait a few minutes? I’ll be right back.”

“Be careful,” she says, without looking up.

“Right back,” I repeat.

I lock the car doors.

* * *

The dental office is on the second floor, above the imaging center. I look down at my car. Lane sits quietly.

As I approach the dental office, the door opens. Out walks a Napoleon complex: ninety-eight pounds of hair and bar fight. He wears a jeans jacket with a patch that reads: “Khe Sahn Survivor.” He glowers and closes the door behind him rather than holding it open for me. The product of another festive dental visit.

The door is friendlier. A sign says: “We welcome Medicare, MediCal, and Medicaid.” There is a picture of a cartoon horse, smiling, with a carrot sticking out of its mouth like a cigar.

Inside, I’m met with more attitude.

“We’re closed,” says a blazing black-haired woman with the hollow cheeks of an eating disorder sitting behind the reception desk.

“I just saw someone walk out.”

“Last patient.”

I looked at the clock on the wall. 2:15 p.m.

“Dentists keep odd hours.”

“It’s our lunch. Some people can only come in during their lunch hour, so we eat later.”

“What if I just have a question — about my grandmother? She’s a patient here and I’m worried about her.”

She shakes her head.

“Patient confidentiality. Call if you want to make an appointment. I should warn you that our next opening for a new patient is in January.”

I step toward the desk. “What’s for lunch today—panini?”

“Sir, I told you that we’re closed.”

“I’m just getting a card, so I can schedule an appointment.”

She stares at me as I take a card.

“When I make an appointment, is it possible I could make one with Adrianna? I’ve heard good things about