“So, how are you adjusting to your new home at our fine facility?” The balding, pasty man in the fancy collared dress shirt smiled at Hattie as he shoved a paperback novel into his desk drawer. 

The shorter woman barely managed to catch a glimpse of the title, Clues of Corpse River, written in blood red on a black cover. Figures Chapman would be into gore. 

“Mrs. Hatfield? I asked how you are enjoying your stay at our little home?” 

“The Berkshire? Oh, well enough.” She had never liked fake smiles. They mask real emotions.

“Don’t do that." The director's smile immediately turned upside down. 

“Do what?”

“Call this facility The Berkshire. Not to be menial, but that’s my pet peeve. It’s not The Berkshire. It’s Berkshire Elderly Center. That’s what the facility is called. Berkshire Elderly Center.” Harold Chapman wrung his hands. “Can you call it that for me, Mrs. Hatfield?”

Director Harold Chapman had been running The Berkshire’s for the past eleven years. He had much bigger ambitions for himself, but did not have the mental capacity to rise above his current station in life.  

“I can call it whatever you like, Mr. Chapman. I had no idea it was an issue.” Hattie smiled at the agitated man. 

“Of course you wouldn’t.” His fake smile crawled back into place, reminiscent of a lazy cat climbing onto its favorite pillow. “Now that we have that settled, back to my original question. You have been here for a couple of weeks. Are you settling in nicely?”

“Yes, of course, Mr. Chapman.”

“Good. Good. Have you made any friends?”

He may be a bureaucrat, but he certainly has a one-track mind.. “Yes. Nelly and Joy have befriended me.”

“Oh yes, fine residents. Very fine.” His smile flatlined. “I have heard rumors though.”

“Rumors?” This is taking an interesting turn. 

“Yes. Rumors that you three ladies have been asking questions about the passing of Mr. Howell up on the Fourth Floor.” The man could drop the smile as quickly as he could raise it. “Why?”

“Just curious, I guess.” Her answer did not seem to appease the man. “Any other rumors?”

“Well, yes actually.” He continued to frown. “Rumors of secret meetings late into the night. Are you snooping? Because that would make you a Snoopy Snooperton, Mrs. Hatfield. And nobody likes a Snoopy Snooperton.” 

What in tarnation is he talking about? A snoopy snooperwhat? “Secret meetings?” 

“Yes. The walls at Berkshire Elderly Center have ears, Mrs. Hatfield. Nobody hoodwinks my staff.” He literally smirked. 

“There were no secret meetings. It was just a few old ladies with insomnia getting together to chat. That isn’t against any of the rules is it?” Hattie matched his snooty smirk. “We're all adults here, aren’t we?” The bureaucrats never like it when we elderly play the ‘adult card’ in any situation.

“Of course, but I highly doubt Nelly has insomnia.” Now Chapman’s frown returned. There was nothing fake about it. “Let’s go back to your earlier comment about why you ladies are interested in Mr. Howell and his . . . unfortunate departure.”

Persistent little bugger. “Yes. As I said, we were merely curious.”

“Curious?” He rubbed his forehead, although his hairline had receded far enough to call it a fivehead. “We certainly don’t like it when our schedule rosters disappear and we have to reprint them. But I’m sure you don’t know anything about that do you, Mrs. Hatfield?”

Hattie ignored that dangerous topic. “Just why was Mr. Howell up there on the Fourth Floor? I heard it was for the incapacitated residents.”

“Ah, Mrs. Hatfield, how cute, but I'm not here to argue semantics with you.” 

Condescending twerp. Does he even know what semantics means? “Why was Edward Howell on the fourth floor, Mr. Chapman?”

“He had a bad case of pneumonia, Mrs. Hatfield. Now how about we just let the dead rest in peace?” Mr. Chapman sighed. “We certainly don't use the Fourth Floor as punishment for food complaints.”

Odd, I didn't mention anything about our suspicions concerning Mr. Howell’s alleged issues with the facilities menu. But of course he would know about the complaints. “Is that what killed him, pneumonia?”

“Umm . . . unfortunately, yes. Now, I must insist that you let this issue go.” Another fake smile, albeit weaker. 

“As you wish, Mr. Chapman. Like you said, the dead should rest in peace.” Hattie feigned a smile of her own. 

“Yes. Yes I did, didn’t I.”

“So, why exactly did you want to see me, Mr. Chapman? I’m sure it wasn’t concerning this silly Mr. Howell matter.” Hattie knew it was exactly why he wanted to see her, but was curious as to any other motives. “Why the chit-chat?”

“Well, Mrs. Hatfield, I like to check on all of my new residents, just to make sure that everybody settles in nicely. Plus, your lovely daughter asked me to check up on you. She wanted me to make sure that you are being treated just like everyone else.” The director’s smile never wavered. “Is she . . .ah . . . single by any chance?”

Ewww. Hattie ignored the skin crawling question, now fixated on the man’s lips. Botox? Those lips look frozen. “Of course, Mr. Chapman. Everyone is treating me well.”

“Great! That’s exactly what we like to hear at Berkshire Elderly Center.” Chapman rose uncomfortably, signaling that the impromptu meeting had ended. “And I don’t expect to hear anymore about your unnecessary detective work on poor Mr. Howell.”

“Of course not.”

Hattie quickly rose, and as she reached the door, turned back to ask one more question. She pointed at a shiny object on his desk. “Where did you get such a lovely earring?” 

Chapman picked up the gold and silver encased pearl earpiece and studied it. “Oh, this? I’m holding it for Mrs. Hazel. I run the ‘Lost and Found’ cubby. Seems she lost the other one and wanted me to keep an eye out for it. Why do you ask?”

“It’s beautiful.” Hattie excitedly exited the office without looking back. That was her first real conversation with the facility director. The other time they had met, her daughter Sarah had done most of the talking. Now she only had one impression of the man. What a suspicious wierdee.