Nursing a Grudge: An Earl Walker Mystery

Chapter 18

“I need to speak to you, Nelson.” Earl did his best to show a face of strength. It helped that Jenny, Gloria, and Mark Conroy were with him. “Now.”

They had found the managing director in the back part of the outer office, feeding sheets of paper into a shredder. He stopped. Glaring at Earl’s entourage, the man locked his eyes on Gloria. “Ms. Logan, what is the meaning of this?”

Gloria put a hand on Earl’s shoulder. She cleared her throat. “This gentleman has some very important information regarding the deceased.”

Nelson raised an eyebrow, a smirk creeping across his face. “The ‘deceased’?”

“Yes sir. George Kent.” She nodded at Earl, who was sitting resolute in his wheelchair. “Earl—Mr. Walker—has information that needs to be brought to your attention immediately.”

Nelson waved the papers in his hand. “I’m busy. I can’t have people barging in and out of here all day.”

Earl grunted. “You may be surprised to hear an attempt was just made on my life.” He regarded Nelson, narrowing his eyes. “That is, if you are surprised at all.”

“Another delusion, Mr. Walker? Perhaps you should consider professional help. We can direct you to some excellent facilities that can—”

“We were all there!” Jenny looked around at their group. “Well, I was there. And Mr. Conroy was there.”

Conroy nodded. “Yep. I was.”

Earl grumbled, “The hole in the wall in the rec room is hardly my imagination. I’m sure it will be of interest to the sheriff. And once he gets here, I may have some other interesting evidence to share—but you know all about that.”

Nelson’s smirk wavered then fell altogether. He turned to the shredder and then back to the group in front of him, undecided. Finally he turned for his private office. “Fine. Maybe Mr. Walker and I can speak in here. Privately.”

Nelson went into his office. Earl thought for a second then said in a low voice to Jenny, “After we go in, grab as much of those shredded files as you can.” He snatched a random sheet of paper off the nearby receptionist’s desk and folded it, slipping it under his afghan.

He wheeled himself into Nelson’s private office. The other man came back to the door, gave a dark look at the others, and closed the door.

As Nelson made his way around his desk, Earl glanced around the room. The man had been packing up: All the frames were off the walls and stacked in a box. Papers were stuffed into another box.

The stack of papers Nelson was holding before—the ones he had been in the process of shredding—were now on the desk. Earl tried to get a better look, but Nelson snatched them up, sticking them under his desk blotter. He sat behind the desk. “Now, what is this all about?”

Earl folded his hands, choosing his words. “When a man dies under questionable circumstances right before my eyes, I take an interest. But when management tries to perpetrate some sort of cover-up, that just does it.”

Nelson snorted. “If you’re not careful, you’ll be talking to our lawyer.”

“Fine with me.” Earl tilted his head. “Maybe he can explain how Kent got away with running a gambling operation with impunity here at Candlewick Retirement Community.”

Nelson’s mouth opened, but nothing came out. He straightened his tie. Finally he sputtered, “Why would you say that?”

“At first I thought Kent had been a blackmailer. Which, of course, would have offered an excellent motive for his murder.”