Jeanette, the attendant behind the desk at Aunt Kezzie’s nursing home, smiled at Chris and me. “Miss Val! How are you? I miss seeing you, you were such a regular visitor to Miss Kezzie. I miss her too.”
I introduced Chris and told Jeanette we were wondering if Aunt Kezzie talked to her much, perhaps about her belongings or her will or things that were special to her, specifically, her purse.
Jeanette shook her head. “No, not really. She may have talked to people here more when she first entered the home. She hadn’t much to say lately, except that she looked forward to your visits and wondered how her children were. I do remember that precious purse that she never let out of her sight.”
“Is there anyone here that sort of befriended her or that she might have taken into her confidence?” I asked.
Jeanette frowned then said, slowly, “I’m not sure what you might be thinking of, but Miss Covington, our director, has been here for years. She may remember something. She’s in her office now. I’ll buzz her.” She shook her head. “No, I’ll just trot down there. Be right back.”
Val nudged me. “Jeanette is getting suspicious and I don’t blame her. Are you thinking your aunt may have told someone what the key unlocks?”
“Maybe.” I sighed. “I don’t know why she would have told somebody about the key and not told me, but Aunt Kezzie was getting forgetful, sort of living in the past. At times, she forgot my name, but she would remember after we’d talk for a bit.”
Anna Covington was a small, trim woman, her gray hair back in a tidy bun. She came toward us with a smile.
After shaking hands with her and introducing Chris, I asked her the same thing I’d asked Jeanette.
Mrs. Covington’s direct gaze made me feel like she could read my very soul. “Come back to my office,” she said, and Chris and I obediently followed.
We sat in comfortable chairs in the small office. Mrs. Covington sat facing us. “You know, I’ve been meaning to call you since Miss Kezzie passed away. I’d promised her I would talk to you and, I’ve simply been so busy it slipped my mind.”
My aunt had asked the director to talk to me? I had no idea. Leaning toward her, I asked, “Talk to me about what?”
She drew a deep breath. “She appreciated your care of her and made sure I knew that purse of hers belonged to you. You do have it, don’t you?”
I nodded.
Mrs. Covington gazed past me and spoke softly. “Many of our residents bring a few cherished belongings with them. We try to find space for them all, but sometimes we just can’t. Your aunt brought an old-fashioned pump organ, but, goodness me, we already had two pump organs in the family room and there certainly wasn’t a place for it in her small room. She made sure I knew that it would be yours after she passed on. So, I stored it in the basement, where many other residents’ belongings are stored.”
I was stunned. “An organ? Why hadn’t Aunt Kezzie told me? Why didn’t she mention it in her will? I don’t think her children knew she had it.”
Mrs. Covington shook her head. “They must have forgotten about it. Or, maybe they thought one of the other two organs in the family room was hers. No, Miss Kezzie said that you could play the piano and none of her children could. In fact,” Mrs. Covington raised her eyebrows, “that sweet little lady told me if her children ever asked about it, to tell them I had never heard of it and didn’t know one thing about it.”
“Wow!” Chris muttered. “She asked you to lie.” Then, she grinned.
My head was spinning. I swallowed. “I’d love to see it.”
Mrs. Covington smiled. “You’ll not only see it, but I hope you take it home with you. Those were Miss Kezzie’s wishes and I have them in black and white in a note she gave me, a signed note that was notarized, by the way.”
She went to her desk, opened a drawer, and took out a ring of keys. “I keep that basement locked because many valuable things are stored there. Come along, and we’ll take a look.”
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