Page 120 of The Guardian's Curse

With a smile, she gently guided his hand to her waist. His hand barely brushed her, as if he was afraid to offend. “Yes, sir,” she said. “And I truly appreciate you asking first. You are truly a gentleman.”

His eyes closed as he swayed. He was a little out of time, carefully leaning on his cane for balance. A partial stroke a few years ago had weakened Eddie’s left side, but he was as quick-witted as ever. “My Jeannie would sing to me every morning when she cooked breakfast,” he said, a wistful hint in his voice. “I used to tell her she could have sung with Duke Ellington or Glenn Miller if she’d been born a little earlier.”

“I bet that was wonderful,” she said. “What was her favorite song?”

He pondered. “She used to love Paper Moon. Sometimes she’d sing Cheek to Cheek, but then I’d try to sing like Louis Armstrong and she’d laugh so hard she cried.” His eyes glistened with tears as he said, “I wish she could be here.”

“I know,” she said, her throat clenching tight. “After book club tomorrow, would you like to go for a walk and tell me more about her?”

“Ah, you don’t want to hear an old man rambling,” he said.

“No, I don’t,” she said, squeezing his shoulder gently. “But I do want to chat with my new friend about his wonderful wife. If you have some pictures, I’d love to see them.”

Eddie laughed a little and brushed a trickle of tears against his shirt sleeve. “I think that would be nice. It’s a date.” As the song came to a halt, he kissed the back of her hand. “Thank you for the dance, Miss Pierce.”

“It was my pleasure, Mister Boyd,” she said, giving him a little curtsy before guiding him back to his seat.

The main room of the activity center at Fernbrook Commons had been transformed into a ballroom for the night, with gold tinsel streamers and silver stars decorating the beige walls.A buffet table held trays with scraps of the meat and cheese trays and finger sandwiches, while a few of the residents were laughing like teenagers in the photo booth. The elaborate photo booth had eaten up a good chunk of her budget and left her decorations looking like a half-assed high school prom. But there had been a line all night as the guests printed pictures of themselves in silly hats and glasses. Money well spent, as far as she was concerned.

Her coworker, Desmond, grabbed the karaoke microphone and tapped it lightly. “Attention to our party guests. It’s last call, so if you want a little something for the road, head over to the buffet table. We’ve got the photo booth until eleven o’clock tomorrow morning, so anyone who missed their chance can pop in at breakfast tomorrow.”

She met Desmond at the buffet table, where they’d already prepared a stack of to-go boxes and cups. After their first few parties, they’d learned to send their guests home with the leftover snacks. Olivia had nearly perfected the art of ordering just enough to keep the guests happy and not have to throw away any food. While a few stragglers were doing a respectable swing dance to “In the Mood,” she and Desmond quickly distributed finger sandwiches, sliced fruit, and mini-cupcakes into boxes for those who lined up.

Desmond laughed to himself as the song faded into “Every Time I Say Goodbye.” He elbowed her lightly and whispered, “You don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here.”

She’d been working at Fernbrook for just over two years. In her first year, she’d done Desmond’s job, assisting her predecessor. Now she was the full-time activities director at the facility, a well-regarded assisted living facility for seniors. It was not, as she gently corrected the family members of some of their guests, a nursing home. Their residents were mostly independent and lived in their own condos or cottages. Olivia, Desmond, and their part time assistant Julia, worked to plan social activities and outings for their guests.Hell, some of the octogenarians had more of a social life than Olivia did.

Maisie Jones, elegant and poised as always, approached the table. Her glittering red dress was flawless, as was her silver hair. If Olivia aged half as well, she’d be thankful. “Excuse me, Ms. Pierce and Mr. Lewis?” Maisie said, with a drawl that was sweet and thick as clover honey.

“Miss Maisie,” Desmond said. “You know you can call me Dez.”

“I can, but I won’t,” she said archly. She waved off his attempt to give her a to-go box. “I saw on the Facebook that some older folks have been disappearing from communities around the city. I’ve voiced my concerns to Mr. Talbot, but he assures me that our security is quite good.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Olivia said. The rumor of the Senior Snatcher had been circulating for a few weeks. The reality was that the elderly, particularly those with cognitive disorders, were prone to wander off. Several had returned, swearing they’d only just left, despite having lost days. “I don’t believe any have come from communities like ours.”

Maisie regarded Olivia with a stern look. “Well, I certainly don’t want us to be the first. I hope you’ll pass my concerns to Mr. Talbot. Perhaps he can increase security temporarily.”

“Yes, of course. If you’d like, I’ll walk you back to your condo tonight,” Desmond said.

Her stern look faded into a smile. “I’d like that very much. Thank you.” She nodded to Olivia. “Ms. Pierce, thank you for the lovely party. I speak for all of the Peach Club when I say that it was tremendous.”

“Well, that is certainly high praise,” Olivia said. “Please thank the ladies of the club for the wonderful desserts.”

Maisie nodded, then offered her arm to Desmond. He talked animatedly to her as they left the big room, leaving Olivia to finish straightening up. She kicked off her shoes, turned the music to quiet piano music, and called on her radio for the kitchen staff.

Four workers in scrubs entered with trays. They briskly gathered the dishes and silverware from the tables. She followed close behind, folding her tablecloths, gathering candle sticks, and depositing decorations back into a plastic tote. Once the kitchen staff finished, she sent them home with their own boxes filled with generous slices of the red velvet cake the Peach Club had provided.

Thirty minutes later, she put the last of the party supplies in a storage closet and locked up. She made a quick stop by her office to grab her purse. Her phone lay on her desk, glowing insistently. From the doorway, she could see that the screen was covered with notifications. She barely had enough friends to make a social triangle, let alone a circle, so all the messages struck her as odd.

When she grabbed the phone, her blood went cold.

Danielle: I need your help

Danielle: Are you there?

Danielle: Olivia, please answer me

There were a dozen missed calls from Danielle over the last two hours. Olivia fumbled at the phone and texted back.

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