Free Bingoed by Patricia Rockwell

wristwatch, she rubbed her eyes and pushed herself up from her chair. “Where did the afternoon go? I thought I just closed my eyes for a second.”
    Essie knew that the evening announcements signaled the start of the supper hour. She stood and straightened out her trousers and pulled up her socks which had rolled around her ankles like little donuts. “I guess that’s enough primping,” she said to herself, and, grabbing onto her walker, she headed out her front door and down the hallway towards the dining hall. As she got closer, she could see that Fay, Marjorie, and Opal were already in line. She pushed her machine faster and joined them at the back of the line.
    “I understand you had quite a little adventure today,” said Opal with a grimace. “Marjorie tells me you’re on Violet’s blacklist now.”
    “Hoot galoot, Marjorie! Can’t you keep your mouth shut?” said Essie to her shorter friend as they waited for the line to move into the dining room. The residents dined in shifts and the four friends had the first shifts for all three meals. It was now five o’clock. As the waiter at the door opened the entrance, the line of residents piled through on their canes, walkers, and wheelchairs. Essie led the other three women across the dining hall to their regular table where they each took their regular seats. This consistency made the wait staff’s job much easier.
    “I managed to divert Violet’s suspicions,” Essie explained to Opal when they were all seated. “I was appropriately obsequious.”
    “I assume that means you apologized for trying to break into Bob’s apartment!” said Opal, who apparently had been holding in her annoyance.
    “Actually, Opal,” said Essie, “I couldn’t break in, even if Violet hadn’t caught me, because they’d put one of those security locks on his front door.”
    “They always do that when a resident is gone from the building for a day or more,” said Opal.
    “I remember once I saw one of those strange locks on someone’s door in my hallway,” offered Marjorie, excited, “and I had no idea what it was for.”
    “Now you know!” said Essie, annoyed. She returned her attention to Opal. “All we had intended to do this afternoon, Opal, was to find out where Bob’s apartment was—and we did that. He’s on the second floor on the hallway to the left as you exit the elevator. You go all the way to the end and then turn left again. Bob’s room is the first door on the left.”
    “I don’t know why you’re telling me this, Essie,” huffed Opal. “They’ve locked his door, so I’m certainly not going to join you in trying to break into Bob Weiderley’s room.”
    “No one is going to break into his place,” said Essie with a shrug.
    “Good,” said Opal. “I’m glad to hear you’ve given up on this ridiculous plan.”
    “Oh, I haven’t given up!” declared Essie. “I’m just using a different method.”
    “What method?” asked Marjorie, obviously still excited from the afternoon’s adventure.
    “Now that we know where Bob’s room is and now that we know there is a security lock on his door,” she detailed her idea to the women, “we need to find the key to the lock.”
    A waiter—not Santos—but a new (to them) older man arrived at their table and took their orders with little fanfare. The women spent little time deciding their choices from the menus as the offerings remained similar from one day to another. When he had gone, the discussion again returned to the situation with the security lock on Bob’s apartment door.
    “What I need to find out is where they keep the keys to this lock,” announced Essie.
    “Wouldn’t the cleaning people have them?” Marjorie asked.
    “If there’s only one key for each lock,” explained Essie, “then the cleaning people couldn’t keep it all the time. I mean, what if it’s on someone’s door and one of their relatives needs to get inside the apartment?”
    “But Bob doesn’t have any