The Rampant Reaper by Marlys Millhiser Read Free Book Online Page A

when they took off their sunglasses around strangers—their eyes were dark, almost black. Like Marlys Dittberner’s.

CHAPTER 7

    â€œ D O YOU ALWAYS call the coroner when someone dies at Gentle Oaks?” Charlie asked the marshal. They were driving around looking for Marlys again. “I mean, isn’t a nursing home where people go to die?”
    â€œFirst time since I been marshal, I’ve called the coroner for anything. But you have to understand that the Oaks is not your regular nursing home. And it’s the only place in town that’s got more business than it can handle. They’ve had to send people to Mason City because there just weren’t any more beds.”
    â€œFrankly, with the diet and exercise regime around here, I’m surprised anyone lives long enough to get to Gentle Oaks.”
    â€œIt’s a mystery, for sure. People go in there at death’s door but don’t die. For years and years, they don’t die. Lose a lot of weight. Had the water tested. Didn’t show anything.”
    â€œDo they get better?”
    â€œNo, they just stay at death’s door.”
    â€œFor years and years. Doesn’t make sense. People like Mrs. Lansky and her daughter can’t—”
    â€œThey’re from Floyd.”
    â€œOh.”
    â€œAnyway, at the Oaks, we got more people over a hundred than anyone wants to admit. Bad for business, you know. And thirty or so of them—we got at least one of their children there, too. People just don’t die there—until lately. Abigail Staudt isn’t the only one wondering what’s going on. We’ve
gone eight years without a death up there, and in the last month there’s been five, counting old Annie last night.”
    â€œAny similarity in the infirmities of those who died?” Charlie couldn’t quite believe his story, but was worried enough about her own aging and dreading her mother’s to not want to contemplate later generations.
    â€œOh, yeah. Vegetables, every one. Course we got a lot of those at the Oaks.”
    â€œMy mother’s Uncle Elmo says he doesn’t doubt there’s murder happening up there.”
    â€œEight years without a death in a nursing home is unheard of, impossible. But follow that with five in a month is suspicious. According to insurance companies wanting to sell people like my folks long-term health-care policies, two years in a nursing home is usually it. Tell that to somebody in Myrtle. You have to understand, Charlie, most people in this town are in their mid-sixties to late seventies and most of them have folks at the Oaks, some more than one generation. Touchy subject here.”
    â€œHow are they dying?”
    â€œSuffocation, or what looks like it—which can be of natural causes or not. And yes, we’ve called for an investigation into every member of the staff. Not unknown for someone dealing with that situation every day to feel sorry for those who suffer.”
    â€œThe pillow-over-the-face technique. My writers have worked that old saw to death. So, how about your folks?”
    â€œThey both look like Mrs. Lansky and her daughter. Live from one meal to the next and butter better be butter and milk better be cream. My brother and his wife are the same way. Drove my wife nuts, but I don’t worry about it. When they go to the Oaks, they’ll slim down a lot and they’ll never die.”
    â€œUnless Marshal Brunsvold fails to solve the sudden primordial death-syndrome caper. Wow, who lives there?”
    â€œHarvey Rochester himself. Quite a man, our Harvey. Except
he talks funny. And right next door is where I live. Not as fancy, but a lot less maintenance.”
    Both houses sat on lots like you’d put apartment buildings on in Long Beach. Del’s house was small, square, one-story smack in the center of the lot, plus flagpole with flag waving, some trees, and a few sheds at the back. Two