Free Bingoed by Patricia Rockwell Page B

counter!” said Marjorie. “Keep up, Opal!”
    “Quiet!” said Essie calmly.
    The old waiter arrived with their main courses and they curtailed their discussion until he left.
    “What?” whispered Opal. “What wild caper do you have planned now, Essie? Something to jeopardize my residence here at Happy Haven?”
    “No,” said Essie, “you can’t just go up to the front desk and grab all the security lock keys.”
    “Thank God!” said Opal, taking a deep breath. “For a minute I thought you were going to appoint me your hit man.”
    “I think you mean front man,” suggested Marjorie.
    “Oh, you will be the most important part of this plot, Opal,” said Essie, “but not quite yet. First, I need to do some reconnaissance.”
    “What?” replied both Opal and Marjorie.
    “You said the keys are color coded? Right?” Essie asked Opal.
    “Yes, if I remember correctly,” said Opal.
    “Then, what I need to do is sneak back up to Bob’s apartment and check to see what the matching color is on the security lock. Surely if the keys are color coded to the locks, the locks must have the matching color marked on them somewhere. Once we know the appropriate color of Bob’s lock, then Opal, you can go grab the correct colored key from Phyllis’s desk.”
    “Essie, are you crazy?” said Opal. “She’ll see me!”
    “Not if Marjorie and I are right there to distract her,” said Essie. She smiled with her hands stretched out palms up, and a look on her face that said it was obvious.
    “How about dessert?” asked the old waiter as he stumbled around their table picking up their plates. Where was Santos? Essie wondered.
    “None for me,” said Essie, “but I would like some more coffee. I need to be wide awake tonight.”
    “Oh, yes,” said the old man, smiling. “The ventriloquist! Ducky and Doozy! Everyone says he’s quite marvelous.”
    “Yes,” agreed Essie with a small smirk. “Ducky and Doozy.”
    “Ducky and Doozy,” said Marjorie and Opal, both nodding knowingly at each other.
    “Coffee all around!” Essie said.
    “Yes, ma’am,” said the waiter as all four women nodded in his direction.
    “Ducky and Doozy!” shouted Fay several beats after the coffee had been poured.
    The old waiter gave a skeptical shrug and carted the four dinner plates back to the kitchen.
     
     

Chapter Ten
     
    “I’m not interested in age. People who tell me their age are silly. You’re as old as you feel.”
    —Elizabeth Arden
     
    They were now all hanging around the lobby. Opal had seen to it that Fay had made it back to her room and then she returned. Then Essie made Marjorie and Opal wait while she went somewhere.
    “Now, where did she go?” asked Opal.
    “To check on the you-know-what of the you-know-what,” responded Marjorie.
    “Oh, of course,” replied Opal, looking confused.
    Within ten minutes, Essie had returned. She plopped herself back down between the women and whispered one word: “yellow.”
    Then the three women rolled their walkers to the front desk. Phyllis, the front desk clerk, was speaking with an elderly gentleman. He was asking about an upcoming trip—not the infamous botanical gardens one; it sounded like he was discussing a shopping trip. Happy Haven frequently took residents out for shopping at outlet malls or grocery stores. Some residents liked to keep some of their favorite foods in their small refrigerators in their apartments. Of course, none of them needed to buy food because anything they might want was supplied to them in the dining hall.
    “Yes, sir,” said Phyllis, a soft-spoken, gentle lady, to the man, “the outlet mall trip is Saturday. The grocery store trip is Wednesday. That’s the way it is every week.”
    “I need to get some milk,” he demanded in a high-pitched, squeaky voice.
    “I’m sure they’ll give you whatever milk you need in the dining hall,” she said, consoling.
    “I need a container of milk,” he insisted. “I need it for early