Throwback Thursday: ‘Stella Ryman and the Case of the Fallen Crusader’ by Mel Anastasiou

Replete with packet chicken noodle soup and grilled cheese, Stella Ryman paused just outside Fairmount Manor’s dining room, where she used the sleeve of her fleece warm-up suit to wipe the condensation from the streaked and fog-edged windows along the corridor. She had privately vowed to help Ollie, the care worker who took on so much janitorial work, whenever she could, but fleece on wet glass wasn’t much good. 

Nevertheless, as she scrubbed, the windows bloomed with early afternoon sunshine. There was so much springtime glory outside Fairmount — although she was not allowed out on her own to see it — and there was so much gloom inside, that she didn’t want to add to it. But she had in recent weeks developed a detective’s lynx-eyed perspective. And, while all her sleuthing to date ought to have brought peace and justice to Fairmount’s staff and residents, she couldn’t deny that trouble had resurfaced at Fairmount Manor. Farley Lamoureux had begun once more to exhibit what could only be described as highly suspicious behaviour. Stella hoped she was wrong.  But, she felt she was right.  

She rounded the corner into Corridor Park, where six empty chairs lined the walls. The three needle-sharp members of the Greek Chorus were absent, along with Thelma Hu, who generally occupied the seat next to Stella. And the sixth spot, where Farley Lamoureux parked his wheelchair, was empty, too. His wheelchair. No Fairmount Manor resident needed a wheelchair less than Farley. Her morning’s work tailing the faker had added proof to that deduction. She only wished that were the worst falsity that Farley might devise.
 
Stella lowered herself into her own frayed but comfortable institutional chair directly under the skylights. She was of course too late to catch the shower of honeyed warmth that, on days like this one, poured down on her through the skylight just before lunchtime; but she was right on time to see her favourite care worker, Cheryl, pulling on her coat as she headed through Corridor Park towards the foyer. Cheryl’s eyes showed pink-rimmed and distressed above her Mona Lisa smile. As she halted to say hello to Stella, Ollie rumbled up with his yellow cleaning trolley, tossing Stella a hearty greeting — Stella my bella!  — as he parked his trolley up against the window. He put his huge arms around Cheryl in a brief, brotherly embrace.  

“Cheryl, your hubby has got the kids to think about, too. He’s bound to come around.” 

Ollie couldn’t help rhyming, just as Cheryl couldn’t help smiling even when she cried. Now, Cheryl nodded as she buttoned up her coat. “I’m sorry to take this week off for family, Ollie, just when everything here is going sour, too.”

“Sour how?”  Stella asked.

Before anybody could reply, Reliza hurried up to them. She too greeted Stella and hugged Cheryl. Stella observed the younger care worker’s pallor and unsteady hands, but then, she knew the girl was in love with the young Dr Terry, who was smart, handsome, and what Stella in her youth would have called trouble. If any dark-haired, soft-hearted beauty ever deserved to be loved back, it was Reliza, but Stella had lived a long time, and she knew that just desserts were not always featured on the menu.