Murder Is Binding

'No problem. I can handle just about anything that crops up.'

Tricia closed the register, remembering something she'd meant to ask Ginny before this. 'You worked for Doris Gleason at one time. Did she always have that ugly jet-black hair?'

Ginny laughed. 'No. She only started dying it in the past year.'

'Do you remember when she started?'

Ginny let out a breath, frowning. 'It must've been just before I came to work for you. I thought she looked downright stupid.'

'What about that pageboy hairdo?'

'She used to have long white hair pinned up in a bun. I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing the day she showed up with it cut short and dyed coal black.'

'Tricia!' came the sound of Angelica's voice from the stairwell to the loft apartment.

Tricia snatched her jacket and struggled into the sleeves. 'My sister thinks she might like to help out around the store. But I want to make it clear that you are in charge. And whatever you do, don't let her bully you. In fact, if she insists on helping, start her out stocking shelves. Hauling around heavy boxes ought to discourage her from volunteering in the future.'

Ginny's grin was positively evil. 'This could be an awful lot of fun.'

Tricia grabbed the photo album she'd rescued from Grace's trash can, stuffed it into a plastic bag, snagged her purse, and hurried for the door. 'Make it so-and thanks.'

'Tricia!' Angelica called again.

The door closed on Tricia's back with the jingling of little bells. She headed down the sidewalk at a brisk pace, but made sure to look through the Cookery's plate-glass window, where she could see Deirdre already bullying Mr. Everett. A big first-week bonus was definitely in store for the patient little man.

Tricia parked her car, huddled in her jacket, and headed up the long concrete walk toward St. Godelive's main entrance. Just since the day before, a riot of yellow and magenta chrysanthemums had been planted around the entryway, giving the somber brick entrance a badly needed splash of color on this gray day. She walked through the entrance and was surprised that the foyer's drab, institutional gray paint had been replaced by a sunny yellow. New original art, beautifully framed, adorned the walls. A small plaque gave the names of the residents who had made the paintings.

'What happened?' Tricia inquired at the reception desk, taking in the entryway with the wave of her hand.

The receptionist grinned. 'New management. The official takeover was almost two weeks ago. So far the changes have been invisible-mainly new client procedures, that sort of thing. I'm hoping we see a lot more physical changes to the building and grounds. It'll make life a lot more comfortable and cheerful for our residents and staff.'

'And your visitors, too. I'm here to see Mrs. Grace Harris.'

The woman pushed the guest book and pen in front of Tricia with one hand and a visitor's badge with the other.

The elevator doors opened to the same depressing sight Tricia had witnessed on the previous day. It would no doubt take weeks-maybe longer-before the whole building saw a cosmetic makeover. Could the new patient procedures be responsible for Grace's return to her senses?

Tricia made a point to stop at the nurses' station. Martha was once again on duty.

'Hi, Martha. I'm here to see Mrs. Harris again.'

'Welcome back. She's either in her room or the community room where you found her yesterday. Would you like me to take you there?'

'No need. I was thinking it might be nice to bring Grace a gift. Maybe some fruit, or candy, or-'

Martha shook her head. 'I'm afraid we can't allow that.'

'Is that one of your new rules?'

She nodded. 'Well-meaning family and friends were bringing in outside food and desserts that played havoc with our clients' medical problems. For instance, there are a number of medications that interact with grapefruit. And a box of chocolates given to a diabetic can mean hospitalization.'

'I understand Grace's son often brought her special gourmet cocoa. Do you still have it?'

Martha shook her head. 'When St. Godelive's was sold, the staff was given strict instructions to dispose of any contraband that could compromise a client's well-being. That means everything not provided by the parent company was immediately trashed.'

And days later Grace's personality emerged from a drugged state.

'Well, I can certainly understand your banning such things. Perhaps I could bring her some flowers or a plant instead?'

'I'm sure she'd love that. And it would sure brighten up her room.'

Tricia leaned in closer, lowered her voice. 'What would it take for Mrs. Harris to leave St. Godelive's?'

'She'd have to have somewhere to go where someone could watch over her. Although she's made splendid progress, she might even be able to live alone once more, but that would be up to her doctors and her family.'

And perhaps the help of a good attorney.

'What do the doctors think caused Grace's remarkable recovery?'

'We're not allowed to talk about our clients' conditions.'

'But surely her son was notified when she started to get better.'

'Of course. But I can't-'

'-talk about it,' Tricia finished for her. 'I understand. Thank you.' She gave Martha a sweet smile before starting down the hallway.

Once again she found Grace in the community room, in the same chair, staring out the same window, her expression blank. She still clasped the book Tricia had given her the day before, and for a moment Tricia's heart sank. Had Grace's recovery been only temporary? In a scant eighteen hours had she descended back into the maelstrom of fog that had held her captive for months?

'Grace?'

The light blue eyes flashed with recognition as Grace looked up. 'Tricia! You came back. Did you bring me another book? Look, I've already finished Deadly Honeymoon.' She held up the book, opening it to the last page.

'Did you enjoy it?'

'Just as much as the first time I read it. I'd love to reread all of Block's Bernie Rhodenbarr books again. Do you have any of them?'

'I'm sure I do. And I'd be glad to give them to you.'

'Oh no. I can pay.' She patted the chair next to her, inviting Tricia to sit. 'I could barely sleep last night. So many thoughts circled through my head. First of all, were you able to go to my house?'

Tricia moistened her dry lips before answering. 'Yes.'

As Grace studied Tricia's face, her expression began to sag. 'It's gone, isn't it? All my jewelry. All Jason's coins. Everything.'

'I'm afraid so,' Tricia said, sadly.

Grace's hand flew to the little gold scatter pin Tricia had given her the day before. 'Then this is all I have left from my grandmother.' Her bottom lip trembled. 'Jason would've been so disappointed in Michael. I can barely think his name without getting angry.'

'You need to use that anger to get you out of here.'

But Grace wasn't listening. 'That boy has been the major disappointment of my life. We tried giving him pets when he was small, but he'd only torment them. A week didn't go by that we weren't called by the principal's office during his school years. In desperation, we sent him to boarding school for his last two years of high school. That seemed to straighten him out for a while. He flunked out of three colleges before he finally managed to graduate. He stayed away for a number of years after that. After Jason died, Michael came back to Stoneham, but it didn't take long before I'd found him helping himself to his father's possessions.'

'The coin collection?'

Grace nodded. 'And more.'