Muller, Marcia - [McCone 04] Games to Keep the Dark Away (v.1,shtml)

I sighed, taking the photo from
him and tucking it back in my bag. Still, while I was here, I could
try to find out something about the mysterious "unpleasantness"
at The Tidepools. When people refused to talk about something or
pretended ignorance of it—and Ann Bates had seemed to be
pretending—I became more and more curious.
    "Tell me something about The Tidepools, Dr. Keller," I
said. "Are you merely the director or do you own it?"
    "I'm part owner, along with Mrs. Bates, who is my business
manager as well as personnel director." Keller still hadn't
touched his sandwich. For a man with such a craving, his appetite had
ebbed fast—but that was probably due to the alcohol. Now he
picked it up and took a bite, then set it down quickly.
    "And the term for the place is a hospice?" I asked.
    "Yes. It's a concept that has been popular in Britain for
some time and started to catch on in America in the mid-seventies.
Basically what we do is help people who have terminal illnesses live
as fully and comfortably as they can until their deaths. The
philosophy is that death is merely another stage in human
development. It should be met with dignity, and we help our patients
to achieve that."
    "How does a hospice differ from say, a hospital or a
convalescent home?"
    "Well, as I said, our patients all have terminal illnesses.
We can't—and don't—attempt to cure them. Instead, we try
to ease their pain: physically, through special mixtures of drugs
that are effective without keeping them doped up. And emotionally, by
such policies as encouraging their families to be with them as much
as possible. Each patient is assigned a team consisting of a doctor,
a nurse, a social worker, and a trained volunteer. The staff and
patients grow very close; it's an extremely warm atmosphere."
    "It must be an expensive place. I mean, with all those staff
members giving individual attention to each patient."
    Keller shrugged. "Health care is never cheap." He picked
up the sandwich and looked dubiously at it, then took another bite,
as if he were afraid of insulting the cook.
    "Then most of your patients must be well off."
    "Not all of them. We accept insurance plans as well as
Medicare and MediCal. And special arrangements can be made."
    "Such as?"
    "You're very curious about our inner workings." He
smiled when he said it, but I sensed a wariness.
    I decided to manufacture a personal interest. "I have good
reason. My Uncle Jim is very ill. Cancer." In reality, my
mother's younger brother was a top touring player on the pro bowling
circuit. A couple of times before when I'd needed to fictionalize a
relative with a disease or handicap, Uncle Jim had popped into my
mind. I had a superstition that saying something bad might make it
so, and Jim was the least likely person in the family to succumb to
anything.
    "That's too bad." Keller gave up on the sandwich and
pushed his plate away. "How long has he?"
    "The doctors haven't said. The problem is, although he owns
his home, he doesn't have much cash. If he wanted to go to The
Tidepools, what kind of arrangement could you make with him?"
    Keller drained his beer and went to the refrigerator for another.
"You say he owns a house? Does he have any other assets?"
    "Some rental properties."
    "That's simple, then. We'd have him draw up a will, with The
Tidepools as beneficiary. At the time of his death, we would have
first claim on the estate for the amount owing for his care, plus a
carrying charge."
    "Carrying charge?"
    "To reimburse us for what we'd lost by not having immediate
payment."
    "I see." I also pushed my half-eaten sandwich away. The
conversation had killed my appetite. What Keller had just explained
made good financial sense, but it sounded somewhat cold-blooded to
me. "Well," I said, "I'll bring it up to my uncle when
it seems appropriate. The Tidepools certainly looks like a pleasant
place to, um, spend one's last days."
    "I can assure you it is."
    "I did hear something that makes me leery,