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We don't own these characters, and no copyright infringement is intended. Thanks, Mr. Heller.
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AN: The title is taken from the classic, The September Song. The Sinatra version is a great one to check out, if you're not familiar with the song. "...these precious days, I'll spend with you."
We hope you enjoy the story.
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Alice Miller dunked her teabag a few extra times before she dropped it into the break room trash and trudged up the stairs to her second floor office. She was paying the Monday morning price for staying up too late to watch her favorite TV show last night, and she was going to need every molecule of caffeine she could scrounge to get through the day.
She shuffled in and yanked open the drapes to reveal her generously sized window, which both overlooked the glass foyer downstairs and gave her a partial view of the Pacific. The view was the biggest selling point for the facility, so why not remind potential customers? Easing down into her desk chair, she flipped the pages of her planner from Friday to Monday to see what was in store for today. Mondays were typically quiet here at Oceanside Commons. Apparently nobody wanted to start the week thinking about elderly housing. Well – almost nobody. She was surprised to see that she had an appointment bright and early this morning. Eight thirty. The Janes. Interested in a temporary unit for rehab.
People looking for temporary housing were usually the prospective residents themselves, rather than family looking for a permanent placement for a parent. Often, however, the older shoppers hadn't quite come to terms with the fact they weren't making it on their own, and dealing with them could be tricky. On the other hand, they were generally less picky than offspring looking for a long term home for a parent, because there was no guilt factor involved.
Whatever category the Janes fell into, she was confident she could handle them. After three years on the job as Assistant Director, she'd pretty much seen it all. Since the facility offered many types of housing, from self-sufficient apartments to full nursing care, most shoppers could find a unit that suited them, if they could afford it.
She rose and fetched a Rehab Unit information packet, and tidied up her desk, guzzling her tea as she worked. Things were pretty well in order by the time her phone rang at eight twenty. It was Mr. Prater, the security man down at the front door.
"Ms. Miller, the Janes are here to see you."
Since she could look down into the glass foyer through her window, she moved over to watch her potential clients enter. "Thanks Mr. Prater. I see them. Send them on up, please." Yes, it was spying, but it often gave her useful clues as to what her clients actually needed. She'd seen people barely able to hobble into the building, who would then profess to her in the interview that they were totally self-sufficient.
This couple looked to be seventyish. The petite woman had salt and pepper dark hair and walked with a marked limp. The man's hair had much less white in it, but he sported a neatly trimmed gray beard. He walked beside her on her "bad" side, an arm at the ready should she need it. She preferred to walk without help – her posture was very clear about that. Her companion was available to assist, but didn't hover. This was a couple that was still in sync, Alice decided. That would make her job easier. They disappeared from her view into the hall with the elevator, and a few moments later, appeared at her office door.
"Patrick Jane," the man introduced himself, "and my wife, Teresa." He nodded toward the neatly dressed woman beside him.
Neither of these two were Alzheimer's cases, she observed. Their eyes told her that right away. "Good morning, I'm Alice Miller, Assistant Director here at Oceanview. I understand you are interested in temporary housing in our rehab unit?"
They nodded.
"Come in, have a seat. Please tell me about what you're looking for and I'll show you what we have available."
When the couple was seated, they glanced at each other, and then the woman began to talk. Clearly this had been their agreed upon plan, and Mrs. Jane was both pleasant and to the point. She needed a left knee replacement, and since she also had a bad left shoulder, her rehab was going to be more complicated to deal with. Because her husband had some "cardiac issues" they - probably she, Alice surmised - felt they needed a temporary facility that had onsite physical therapy. Just for a couple of months until she was fully functional again on her new knee, Mrs. Jane elaborated.
The man sat silent, but Alice could tell that required considerable effort on his part. He was likely a bit wounded that his wife felt he couldn't handle things on his own. That's generally how it went. While his wife talked, however, Mr. Jane was looking at her, Alice, intently. He was studying her and her office, just as she was attempting to study them. "We're interested in a small place with an ocean view," explained Teresa. She placed a hand on her husband's knee and smiled at him with an affectionate sideways grin. "He likes the ocean."
There was no doubt that the husband had been one fine-looking specimen of a man in his day, Alice was quick to note. His intelligent blue green eyes and understated air of elegance were a killer combination, even at his advanced age. He was going to turn a lot of widow's heads in the dining hall, that was for sure. He might give them some "cardiac issues," she snickered to herself. When he smiled back at his wife, however, it was abundantly clear to Alice that the widows would be disappointed.
She searched her computer briefly. "It looks like we have two units on the rehab floor that might interest you. 503B is an efficiency, and 512B is a one bedroom. The prices are listed in your brochure. Both units have a small kitchen, but meals served in the dining room are included in the rates, as well as twice-a-week housekeeping. There are two 'A' units available across the hall which are less expensive, but they have a garden view rather than an ocean view."
The Janes peered at the price list.
"Would you like to go take a look at the units?"
They nodded. Mr. Jane rose quickly and pulled his chair back out of his wife's way. She accepted the arm he offered to help her rise, but then dropped it when she was upright and steady. A practical woman, Alice observed. Proud, but not to the point of refusing help when she needed it.
They caught the elevator to the 5th floor. As they exited, Mr. Jane held the door so that Mrs. Gardner, a resident recovering from a hip fracture, could navigate into the elevator with her walker.
"Good morning, Mrs. Gardner," Alice greeted her, but the woman's eyes were trained on Mr. Jane.
"Why, yes, now it is!" the woman smiled, winking at Alice as she passed. If the Janes ended up renting here, this was going to be fun to watch, she mused.
They entered the smaller unit first. "As you can see," Alice explained, "this unit has a partition, with the sitting area here next to the efficiency kitchen, and a bedroom area that opens out to the balcony. All of our bathrooms are equipped with easy access showers."
"Nice view, but it's a bit cramped," Mrs. Jane said, frowning. "I suppose we could point the bed this way, " she motioned to her husband, "so we'd be looking out toward the ocean."
"Coffin with a view," he muttered.
"Shush."
Alice heard the sound of fabric whishing against fabric and then an "Owww!" from Mr. Jane. "No wonder you need a new knee m'dear – that one is worn out from kicking me."
"Behave," she scolded him good-naturedly, and turned to Alice. "I do think it's a bit small, even for just two months."
"Agreed," added her husband immediately.
"Could we see the larger unit?"
The couple appeared more positive about the one bedroom unit. They seemed to like that there were Pacific views from the large bedroom window as well as the balcony, which Mr. Jane stepped out to examine. "Why all the glass?" The balcony was actually a small sunroom – totally enclosed in panes of Plexiglas. "Part of the appeal of the ocean is the sound and the smell," he noted.
"We can replace the upper panels with screens if you prefer. A lot of our residents enjoy the warmth that the glass offers. The breeze can get chilly."
"Screens would be much better, but why not just open the…" He paused and peered intently at Alice. "Oh, of course. Security. Falls. Jumpers, even. That would be bad for business. I can see that."
"That's not…" she began to protest, but he cocked his head and squinted at her with a look that fairly screamed don't bother to lie to me. She was not going to fool this fellow, so she repeated her offer. "We can put screens in the upper panels for you – no problem at all."
He appeared pleased that she'd decided against patronizing him, and said, "I'd like that."
"There's an exit on the first floor that leads to a walkway to the beach, if you'd like to walk out there," Alice suggested.
The couple glanced at each other, and Mrs. Jane shook her head. "That may be a bit much for me on this knee."
"How about if I get Margaret from Physical Therapy to give you a tour of that facility, Mrs. Jane? And I'll take Mr. Jane down and show him the beach access."
Alice suspected she had already sold the place to the missus. The mister, she wasn't so sure about. He clearly liked the ocean, and Alice thought if she could focus solely on him for a few minutes, maybe she could win him over as well.
Their walk to the beach proved illuminating. Firstly, once his wife had been spirited off to PT, Mr. Jane practically sprinted to the elevator. She had trouble keeping up with him. Was he showing her he wasn't disabled, or was he simply trying to escape?
As they stepped out of the elevator on the first floor, Alice broached the subject. She doubted this man could be distracted by the usual lines she used to pacify reluctant residents, so she got straight to the point.
"I sense you are not excited about taking temporary rehab housing, Mr. Jane."
"You could say that," he said with a raised eyebrow. He made a beeline for the "Beach Access" door and she scurried along beside him. They were across the bridge walkway and strolling along the beach park sidewalk in no time.
"What issues could we address that might make it more palatable for you, sir? We're pretty flexible, and we want our residents to have a positive experience. Can we sit here," she pointed to a bench they were passing, " and discuss it?"
He slowed, and then reluctantly stopped, giving a curt nod, and they took a seat on the bench, looking out toward the ocean.
"Ms. Miller, I can see that you have a real affection for the elderly, which is commendable and refreshing. Reared by a grandparent, I suspect, and you were quite close."
Alice reacted in surprise. It was a good guess, she told herself. Made sense. Maybe this guy was a retired psychologist or something.
He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "You are aware of the problems with the incarceration and marginalization of older people, and you do what you can to thwart the negatives. But you are also a realist. A lot of your residents would be dead if they tried to live on their own."
Wow. This was…frank, Alice thought.
"You think it is my male pride or ego that makes me reluctant to do this." He sat up and motioned back toward the facility with a wave of his hand. "There is, perhaps, an element of that. I could take care of her at home, you know." Said with a smile, but a thin one.
Alice could sense she was doing the right thing by listening, so she kept her mouth shut.
"I have what they call 'stable angina.' If I do too much – exert myself too much – I get a tightness in my chest and a tad short of breath. So I sit down and take one of these little nitroglycerine pills." He patted his jacket pocket. "And I'm fine in a couple of minutes.
Because of that, however, Teresa refuses to get her knee fixed if we don't come here after her surgery. She's afraid that I'll overexert and kick the bucket. She wants me to go in and have a procedure to clear the arteries in my heart, you see. I have refused to do that to this point, because if the doctors make a mess of it and kill me off in the process, Teresa would never get her knee fixed."
He crossed his arms and settled back against the backrest of the bench. "I know her. She would put off a new knee until she was too frail to have the procedure, and then where would she be? She's an independent woman, my wife, and I want her to stay that way. Because it makes her happy.
So, we've made a deal," he continued. "She gets her knee fixed, and after that, I've agreed to consider the cardiac procedure. And please don't take this personally. Either way, I don't want us to end up in a place like this."
Alice's hackles rose defensively – she couldn't help it. "A lot of seniors love living here, Mr. Jane. It prevents isolation and lets them live as independently as possible. They make new friends here and enjoy the activities," she added with pride.
"I'm confident that is true for some. Mae Minelli loves it here – we got your name from her. And Virgil – her husband - would be happy anywhere as long as she takes him fishing once a week. But why should I make friends here, Ms. Miller? Before I really got to know someone, they'd have a fair chance of dying. What's the average length of time someone lives here? Truthfully."
This was not a question she particularly wanted to answer, but her client barged on, not expected a response.
"I prefer to make younger friends. Friends who will outlive me. Selfish or self preservation – you can judge me if you like," he said wryly. A hint of a smile passed across his face as he continued. "At home we have new next door neighbors – a young couple who have an eight year old daughter, Caroline. She's delightful, and Teresa and I babysit her sometimes. I would much rather do that than play bingo." He looked wistfully out at the water, and paused a beat before continuing. "A lot of older people tend to sit around and reminisce." He shook his head. "I prefer, madam…" he turned to look her straight in the eye "…to look forward."
Clearly this was a complicated man with a history, and Alice wasn't sure what she should say next. She was running out of ideas to make Oceanside palatable to him.
"Don't worry," he read her thoughts perfectly. "We're going to sign up for your rehab housing. Teresa seems pleased and I will have the ocean. I trust you'll make sure that Virgil and Mae get their discount for referring new customers?"
"Yes, of course." Alice knew the Minellis. Mae was an officer on the resident's council and Virgil was amazingly spry for a man in his nineties.
"You've been kind, and you've done your job well," he pronounced, placing his hands on his knees. Then he flashed a grin that would light up the darkest night and said, "Now shall we go in and find my wife?"
Three Weeks Later
The Janes moved in on Alice's day off, and it was nearly a week before she ran into them. Reports from her staff said they were adjusting without problems. The wife's knee replacement had gone well, but she couldn't roll her wheelchair herself due to an old shoulder injury. Consequently, her husband insisted on pushing her around all over the facility. During her rehab sessions, however, the staff said that he disappeared out to the beach, returning promptly to "pick her up" the moment she was finished.
Mr. Jane had already charmed the dining room staff into making him special eggs in the mornings, and apparently he was an accomplished magician. This intrigued Alice, and today, when she saw the couple in the dining room for lunch, she decided to stop and chat.
"Mr. and Mrs. Jane!" she greeted them. "How are things going?"
"Ah, Ms. Miller," the husband piped up. "Teresa is progressing very well – the physical therapy staff is amazed at her progress. I'm not, of course. I know how determined she can be when she sets her mind to something."
His wife almost blushed. "Oh, he's exaggerating," she waved it off. "But the therapists have been very helpful. And thank you for having those windows changed to screens on the balcony. We're enjoying the ocean breeze."
"Wonderful," Alice said. "Mr. Jane, I hear you are quite the magician."
"I know a few tricks," he shrugged. "I enjoy making people smile."
"Were you a professional magician?" Normally she didn't ask residents about what they had done for a living, at least not publically. If they wanted to share, that was fine, but more than once a retired doctor or lawyer had bemoaned the fact that once the residents knew their profession, they were badgered with questions they didn't want. She couldn't see how asking this would hurt, however, because Mr. Jane had already done his tricks publically.
"Oh, no," he replied. "Not really. I travelled with a carnival when I was a boy," he explained with a twinkle in his eye, and Alice wasn't sure whether he was having her on or not. Mrs. Jane didn't correct him, however, so maybe it was true.
Just then her phone buzzed – she was needed at the office. "Please excuse me. Great to talk to you, and I'm glad this place is working out for you." She had a feeling that the Janes could tell some stories, and promised herself she would make a point of talking with them again soon.
Three Days Later
It was right after lunch on Friday when Alice got a call from Sabrina, a newly hired nursing assistant. "Ms. Miller, we've have a departure in the east sitting room. It's Mr. Edwards."
"Departure" was the term they used at Oceanside to report that a resident – a Do Not Resuscitate resident – had died. While she wasn't overly religious, she liked to think that their residents headed off to some better place when they expired. That's how she coped with the fact that deaths were inevitable when you dealt with all these frail, elderly people. As long as they had been happy during their time at Oceanside, Alice tried her best not to be too sad when they departed.
She was surprised at the news about Mr. Edwards, though. He'd been diagnosed with cancer a couple of years ago, but was considered a cure after his surgery. The only reason he lived here now was because he was nearly deaf. But his mind was as clear as hers and Alice certainly hadn't expected this.
"I'll be right down." The sitting room was right next to the dining hall, and a lot of residents would be walking directly by there after lunch – very soon. "Why don't you position someone at the door to route the residents in the other direction so they can't see into that room?" she suggested to the young staff member.
Alice ducked into housekeeping to grab a clean sheet, and made it down to the sitting room in a flash. Poor Mr. Edwards was sprawled in the middle of the floor, most surely dead. He was cool to the touch.
"Sabrina, you go out and route everybody away from here," Alice instructed her green employee.
"Oh, right," the girl said, a bit flustered. She had only worked here for a week or so, and this was her first "death." As Sabrina exited the right half of the double door into the hall, Patrick Jane waltzed in through the left half.
"Mr. Jane!" Alice said sternly. "You need to get out of here."
He gave no indication that he had heard her, but rather, walked to the corpse and studied it intensely.
"Mr. Jane!" she insisted. "Mr. Edwards has passed. Please go on back to your lunch with your wife."
"Oh, we're done," he said absently as he walked around the body slowly and carefully, sometimes tilting his head in odd ways. Then he looked around the room just as intently. "He hasn't been moved, has he?" Jane asked.
"No," Alice replied. "Now please, go. I need to cover the body." She pulled out the sheet she had fetched for this purpose.
"No!" he cautioned her. "Don't touch anything!" And then he drew in a breath and called out loudly, "Lissssss – bonnnnnn!"
Wheeling her chair awkwardly with one arm, Mrs. Jane appeared in the doorway. "What the hell, Jane?"
"We have a murder, m'dear," he said to her. And then he smiled.
"Oh for goodness sake," Mrs. Jane replied. "Ma'am," she addressed Sabrina. "Would you wheel me in here please?" Poor bug eyed Sabrina did as she asked. "That's good, thank you. Not too close," she cautioned the girl. Mr. Jane pointed down at something, and Mrs. Jane nodded. "Ms. Miller, you need to call the police."
"Huh? Why should I do that?" Alice was incredulous.
"Because if he says this was a murder, it was," Mrs. Jane stated matter-of-factly, dipping her head toward her husband.
"But…" Alice hesitated.
Mr. Jane spoke up. "Let me help you with this. Teresa and I are retired law enforcement. We've worked hundreds of homicides over the years. Trust me, m'dear. This was murder." He turned to his wife. "See there," he pointed toward some additional something.
"Ah. Definitely. You're right." She turned to Alice. "Ms. Miller, you need to keep everyone out of here, and don't touch anything. This is a crime scene." Despite her diminutive stature, her voice had the ring of authority.
Alice shrugged, let out a huge sigh, and dialed the police.
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AN: Donna is up next! You can look for the rest of the story to be mostly from Jane and/or Lisbon's POV. Alice was just getting things started.