I parked in the visitor lot, and we shuffled into the lobby. The walls were a pleasant pale peach, and the floor was covered in dove gray industrial pile carpet. It was a relatively small area, large enough to accommodate the reception desk manned by two green-?smocked women, a uniformed security guard old enough to be a resident, and a couple wingback chairs for tired guests.
I asked for Lydia Munch and was directed to a lounge in her wing. I‘d already done this drill twice before, but no one seemed to remember me, and the rules and directions were precisely repeated. They would tell Lydia she had a visitor, and Lydia would meet us in the lounge. Diesel and I moved toward the corridor leading to the lounge, and one of the green-?smocked women called after us.
“Excuse me,” she said. “There‘s a monkey following you.”
We turned and looked down at Carl. We‘d forgotten he was with us.
“Go back to the car,” I said to Carl.
Carl looked at me with his bright monkey eyes. The eyes dimmed down a notch, and he blinked.
“Don‘t play dumb,” I said to him. “I know you understand.”
Another blink.
“We don‘t allow monkeys,” the woman said.
Carl flipped her the finger and took off down the corridor toward the lounge.
“Security!” the woman shouted, waving her hand at the old man at the door. “Expel that monkey.”
The security guard looked around. “What monkey? I don‘t see no monkey.”
Carl scampered down the length of the hall and swung through the door to the lounge. A murmur went up from the room when Carl entered, a woman screamed, and something crashed to the floor.
Diesel and I followed Carl into the lounge and found a little old lady who looked like Mother Goose pressing herself into a corner. A little old man with his pants hiked up to his armpits was scrabbling after Carl. The little old man was trying to smack Carl with his cane, but Carl was too fast. Carl was scurrying around, avoiding the cane, jumping on tables, knocking lamps to the floor, climbing up the drapes. He jumped onto Mother Goose‘s head, leaned over into her face, and gave her a kiss on the lips.
“He frenched me!” Mother Goose said. “I‘ve been Frenched by a monkey.”
Diesel grabbed Carl by the tail, lifted him off Mother Goose, and held him at arm‘s length, where Carl meekly dangled like a dead opossum. The old man took a swipe at Carl with the cane but missed and tagged Diesel. Diesel held Carl with one hand, and with the other, he snatched the cane away from the man and snapped it in half.
“I need mouthwash,” Mother Goose said. “I need a tetanus shot. I need a Tic Tac.”
“I‘m looking for Lydia Munch,” Diesel said.
“Two doors down on the right,” the man told him. “Apartment 103.”
Diesel thanked him, and we trooped out of the lounge with Carl riding on Diesel‘s shoulder. Several residents were in the hall. Lydia Munch was among them. Easy to recognize Lydia. She was five-?foot-?nothing and had the same curly strawberry blond hair and freckled skin as her grandson.
“What‘s the ruckus in the lounge?” she asked. Her eyes focused on Carl. “Is that a real monkey?”
“Yep, it‘s a real monkey,” I told her. “And this big guy is Diesel. He‘d like to talk to you about your grandson.”
“Martin? I don‘t know what to say about him. I haven‘t seen him since Christmas. I know he‘s accused of stealing something where he worked, but it‘s hard to believe. He‘s such a nice young man.”
“I need to find him,” Diesel said. “Do you have any idea where he might be staying?”
“He has a house in Trenton. Other than that, I don‘t know. There‘s not a lot of family left. His mother and father were killed in a car wreck five years ago. He doesn‘t have any brothers or sisters. The rest of the family is in Wisconsin. He was never close to any of them.”
“Friends?” Diesel asked.
“He never mentioned any. It was always hard for him, being so smart. He didn‘t go through school with kids his own age. And then he had that whole Star Trek thing where he dressed up like Mr. Spock. I told my daughter to get him help, but she said it was just a phase. And when he took the job at the research center, he was working on something secret that he couldn‘t talk about. He was real excited about it. He worked all the time on it. Weekends and nights. I thought he should be going out with girls, making some friends, but he said everyone he met was boring.”
“Did he ever mention someone named Wulf?” Diesel asked.
“No,” she said. “I would have remembered.”
Diesel gave Lydia a business card. “I‘d appreciate a call if you hear from Martin.”