Page 66 of The Happy Month

We finished our lunch and decided we’d try to get in to see Rocky Havoc at her nursing home. As it turned out, there are two nursing homes on 4th Street. We found the one that was down near Temple first, but when we checked at the door they had no idea who we were talking about. I asked Junior if he was sure she was in a home on 4th in front of the receptionist and she sent us back down the street to a nursing home that was two blocks east of The Coffee Cup. That was where Rocky Havoc was recovering from her broken hip; and had been for months.

Oceanview Rehabilitation Center was a modest building of one story about three hundred feet wide. Aside from the absurdity of its name—it did not have anything resembling an ocean view—from the street it didn’t look like it could house more than six patients at a time.

Walking through the glass double doors, we stopped at an ultra-mod reception desk and asked for Rocky. Without asking who we were the girl said, “She spends most of the day in the courtyard.”

That’s when I realized the interior glass wall faced out onto a large courtyard overgrown with tropical plants. I could see that the building was actually quite large and probably went through to 5th Street. Junior and I walked through another set of glass doors and followed the winding path until it brought us to a grizzled, overweight woman in her late seventies sitting in a wheelchair. In one hand sheheld a cigarette; in the other a plastic-coated paper cup she used as an ashtray. It was full.

I introduced myself, leaving Junior something of a mystery. “I want to ask you what you remember about Vera Korenko.”

“You say you’re investigating her murder? You’re not police though. You would have said.”

“No, I’m not.”

“So, who’s paying you?”

It’s not always a good idea to tell people who your client is, but in this case I decided it was. “I’m working for the family of Patrick Gill. Did Vera ever talk to you about him?”

“He’s still alive, then?”

“Yes, he is. You knew that they were engaged?”

She chuckled. “I’m not sure that’s what you should call it.”

“What would you call it?”

“A lie. A fantasy. A cover story. I doubt they planned to go through with it.”

“How long were you friends with Vera?”

“The last couple years of her life.”

“I’ve heard she liked straight girls. Do you remember any of them?”

“I remember all of them.”

“There were a lot of them?”

“Four or five while I knew her. She didn’t get to bed them all.” She crushed her cigarette in the cup and immediately lit another.

“I’m told you think you know who killed Vera. Can you share that with me?”

She smiled. “You talked to Jo.”

“I did, yes.”

“Sometimes I drink too much.”

“Does that mean you don’t know who killed Vera?”

“At the end she was running around with a girl named Gigi. I don’t know her last name. She was married. Although you wouldn’t know it if everything Vera said was true. They spent a lot of time together. They double dated with Patrick and his lover, Ivan.”

“Did you ever meet Gigi?”

“I never met any of them. I would see Vera at The Sisters of Artemis meetings. We’d have a few drinks afterward. That’s how we became friends. Eventually, she didn’t come to the meetings much, but we still talked on the phone for hours. Every few days.”

“Can you tell me anything about Gigi?”

“I don’t remember much. Honestly, I don’t think I wanted to know much about Gigi. She was married. Her husband was awful. He’d push her around sometimes. She told Vera she was going to leave him.”