said, tipping his gray fedora to us. 'Was it a powered model?'
'Over-powered, more like it,' Sarah said, checking her hair for any other flora. 'The woman's a menace.'
'She lost her husband last year,' Henry said. As a long-time resident, he probably functioned as the place's archivist.
And, apparently, had shared the information with Sophie, who tended to be less charitable. 'That's no excuse,' Sophie said. 'My husband died, too, but I didn't turn into a kleptomaniac.'
'Kleptomaniac?' I asked. 'Doesn't that take finesse? How stealthy can a woman in a leg cast and wheelchair be?'
'Stealthy enough to ambush us at a blind corner,' Sarah said dryly.
She had me on that one. 'But where does Mrs Huseby shoplift? And how does she get there?'
I was imagining NASCAR Granny motoring across Poplar Creek Road to prey upon the drugstore down the block.
'Here at the Manor, I'm afraid,' Henry said. 'Rumor has it she glides silently into rooms when they're empty and pilfers toiletries and other sundries. Then she hides them in her lap-robe and backs right out.'
'Genius,' said Sophie, shaking her head in what seemed like reluctant appreciation.
'Sophie,' Henry warned.
'But wrong,' his main squeeze allowed. 'Very, very wrong.'
Sophie rolled herself closer to Sarah. 'Your Aunt Vi was Clara's favorite mark. Vi was certain the woman was filching her silken petals.'
'Huseby stole my aunt's fake . . . flowers?'
Since taking somebody's 'silken petals' sounded more like de -flowering to me, I just kept my mouth shut.
'No. No, even worse.' Sophie's voice dropped to a whisper. 'Her body powder, Silken Petals. I think that's just sick--don't you, Henry?'
He tugged at his collar, though he wore no necktie. 'Well, yes, I suppose so.'
That explained the blossom cloud enveloping NASCAR Granny, aka Klepto Clara. She was wearing her ill-gotten booty.
'The woman parades around, smelling of Silken Petals,' Sophie said. 'The real designer version, mind you. Not some knock-off. Clara has brass, you have to give her that.'
Again, that touch of grudging admiration in the voice.
Henry cleared his throat--theatrically so--and Sophie flushed.
I decided to change the subject. 'So you didn't explain, Sophie. What happened to you?'
'I fell out of bed,' she admitted. 'They have to make those damn things with rails if they're going to frickin' cater to the active senior.'
Four-foot-eleven Sophie had never been mistaken for Mother Teresa, but her language was bluer than her hair these days.
'The "active" senior?' I asked.
She threw back her shoulders and pushed out her breasts, which seemed to ride unnaturally high. 'Sexually, that is.'
No wonder they were the talk of the exercise class. I liked both Sophie and Henry, but I really didn't want to picture them being . . . 'active'.
Sarah, on the other hand, appeared to be perking up. She pointed at Sophie's boobs. 'Are those new?'
'Nah,' Sophie said. 'I couldn't afford that, and neither could Henry, much as I'm sure he'd enjoy them.'
She twisted around in the chair to wink at Henry, who had a pained smile on his face. 'I just shortened my bra straps.' She pulled on the straps to illustrate, making her breasts dance like roly-poly marionettes.
'Smart thinking,' Sarah said in response to Sophie's preening. 'They look great.'
Sophie turned to me.
'Perky,' I managed.
Satisfied with our reaction, she settled back. 'So, what in blazes are you two doing in the Sunrise Wing? It's like that Hotel California. You can check out, but you can never leave.'
'Heh-heh.' The sound came from Henry. We all turned to look at him.
'Sorry,' he said, holding up his hand. 'She breaks me up sometimes.'
I loved that they both knew the Eagles.
'Then why are you here? Physical therapy?' I asked. Despite the amount of time Sophie might spend at the Manor, I knew she had a home in Brookhills.
'Rehab,' she said. 'But Medicare won't pay anymore, so I have to get out of here.'
'To where, though?' I asked. 'Can you get
'Over-powered, more like it,' Sarah said, checking her hair for any other flora. 'The woman's a menace.'
'She lost her husband last year,' Henry said. As a long-time resident, he probably functioned as the place's archivist.
And, apparently, had shared the information with Sophie, who tended to be less charitable. 'That's no excuse,' Sophie said. 'My husband died, too, but I didn't turn into a kleptomaniac.'
'Kleptomaniac?' I asked. 'Doesn't that take finesse? How stealthy can a woman in a leg cast and wheelchair be?'
'Stealthy enough to ambush us at a blind corner,' Sarah said dryly.
She had me on that one. 'But where does Mrs Huseby shoplift? And how does she get there?'
I was imagining NASCAR Granny motoring across Poplar Creek Road to prey upon the drugstore down the block.
'Here at the Manor, I'm afraid,' Henry said. 'Rumor has it she glides silently into rooms when they're empty and pilfers toiletries and other sundries. Then she hides them in her lap-robe and backs right out.'
'Genius,' said Sophie, shaking her head in what seemed like reluctant appreciation.
'Sophie,' Henry warned.
'But wrong,' his main squeeze allowed. 'Very, very wrong.'
Sophie rolled herself closer to Sarah. 'Your Aunt Vi was Clara's favorite mark. Vi was certain the woman was filching her silken petals.'
'Huseby stole my aunt's fake . . . flowers?'
Since taking somebody's 'silken petals' sounded more like de -flowering to me, I just kept my mouth shut.
'No. No, even worse.' Sophie's voice dropped to a whisper. 'Her body powder, Silken Petals. I think that's just sick--don't you, Henry?'
He tugged at his collar, though he wore no necktie. 'Well, yes, I suppose so.'
That explained the blossom cloud enveloping NASCAR Granny, aka Klepto Clara. She was wearing her ill-gotten booty.
'The woman parades around, smelling of Silken Petals,' Sophie said. 'The real designer version, mind you. Not some knock-off. Clara has brass, you have to give her that.'
Again, that touch of grudging admiration in the voice.
Henry cleared his throat--theatrically so--and Sophie flushed.
I decided to change the subject. 'So you didn't explain, Sophie. What happened to you?'
'I fell out of bed,' she admitted. 'They have to make those damn things with rails if they're going to frickin' cater to the active senior.'
Four-foot-eleven Sophie had never been mistaken for Mother Teresa, but her language was bluer than her hair these days.
'The "active" senior?' I asked.
She threw back her shoulders and pushed out her breasts, which seemed to ride unnaturally high. 'Sexually, that is.'
No wonder they were the talk of the exercise class. I liked both Sophie and Henry, but I really didn't want to picture them being . . . 'active'.
Sarah, on the other hand, appeared to be perking up. She pointed at Sophie's boobs. 'Are those new?'
'Nah,' Sophie said. 'I couldn't afford that, and neither could Henry, much as I'm sure he'd enjoy them.'
She twisted around in the chair to wink at Henry, who had a pained smile on his face. 'I just shortened my bra straps.' She pulled on the straps to illustrate, making her breasts dance like roly-poly marionettes.
'Smart thinking,' Sarah said in response to Sophie's preening. 'They look great.'
Sophie turned to me.
'Perky,' I managed.
Satisfied with our reaction, she settled back. 'So, what in blazes are you two doing in the Sunrise Wing? It's like that Hotel California. You can check out, but you can never leave.'
'Heh-heh.' The sound came from Henry. We all turned to look at him.
'Sorry,' he said, holding up his hand. 'She breaks me up sometimes.'
I loved that they both knew the Eagles.
'Then why are you here? Physical therapy?' I asked. Despite the amount of time Sophie might spend at the Manor, I knew she had a home in Brookhills.
'Rehab,' she said. 'But Medicare won't pay anymore, so I have to get out of here.'
'To where, though?' I asked. 'Can you get
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