Mr. Cleveland shook his head, slipped his glasses off so he could rub at them with his fingers, his attention completely focused on his precise movements. "I told them no," he protested in a very small voice.
Leary leaned forward just a little more. Murphy didn't dare break the fragile silence to prompt her. He didn't have to. "But first," she said even more quietly, her empathy a tangible thing, "you told them yes."
When Mr. Cleveland looked up at her, there were tears in his eyes. "How could I?" he demanded. "He was my father. I loved him. I really did."
Leary's smile was sadder than those tears. "I know."
Again, for just that second, the two of them shared that odd bond of guilty children. And Murphy, wondering what mementos they'd put in that old man's memory case, sat outside, watching.
"I think you want to tell us what happened," Leary said, a hand out to that pressed and creased knee. "Who made the offer, Mr. Cleveland?"
Mr. Cleveland kept looking at his glasses, a safe place to focus his anguish. "I don't know," he admitted. "It was a phone call. Early one morning. Just an anonymous voice in the dark giving me a way out. Father was so sick and I was so stretched financially. And I wasn't even paying as much as I would be now. He was one of the last of the old ones left."
The old ones? Murphy thought, itching. He held still and waited for Leary to ask the question.
"What did the person say?" she asked instead.
"Just... didn't it hurt to see my father that way? Wouldn't it be better if he were at rest."
"A man or a woman?"
For the first time since he'd started confessing, Mr. Cleveland looked up. "I don't know. Isn't that odd? I never even thought about it until later, after I'd tried to... you know. I just assumed it was him. I mean, he is Restcrest, do you see? I'm not so sure anymore. The voice on the phone whispered, and Dr. Raymond really did seem more upset than I did when father died."
"How did they make the offer?"
"They... they asked if I wouldn't want my father at peace. I said... I said yes."
"How did you let them know you'd changed your mind?"
"They called back. I was frantic by then, realizing what I'd said. What I'd told them to do. I told them to stop, just to forget it. I wouldn't tell anybody, but don't hurt my father... but they'd just called to say it was okay now. Father was... um, at peace. I guess I went a little crazy after that."
"Did they ask for money?" Leary asked, surprising Murphy all over again. He hadn't even thought of that.
"No," Mr. Cleveland said, his hold on those poor glasses warping the frames.
"Do you think anybody else might have had a call like yours?"
For the first time, the precise, quiet man smiled. "Oh, yes. I know they did. I ran into a couple of other families in town, and they obviously thought I was as relieved as they were that it was all over. You might want to ask them if they donated money."
"Did you?" she asked. "Donate?"
A flush. A tic. A tiny nod. "A thousand dollars."
He got another pat of understanding. "What other families, Mr. Cleveland?"
He told her. One of the couples had told Murphy and Leary not an hour ago how surprised they'd been by Mother's untimely demise. Murphy could see from the tight cast of Leary's mouth that she was disappointed.
Murphy envied her those last vestiges of idealism and wondered how much longer they'd last.
"Have you heard from them again?" Leary asked, her hand still out on the middle-aged man's knee.
Mr. Cleveland shook his head, re-slung his glasses around his neck, as if putting himself back together again. "Are you going to the police?" he asked. "If you are, would you mind giving me the time to tell Betty? She doesn't know."
Leary spared Murphy a quick look. Murphy lifted his hands. Her call. She shook her head. "I don't think so, Mr. Cleveland. Would you be willing to help us investigate these deaths?"
"If you want."
Leary's smile this time was purely feminine, and Murphy was impressed. Mr. Cleveland beamed back like she'd offered him sex.
"Thank you," Leary said. "That would help a lot. You said something about your father being one of the last of the old ones. Can you tell me what you meant?"
Cleveland wagged a finger at her. "I bet you're paying through the nose to keep your father in that place, aren't you?"
Murphy saw a flush creep up Leary's neck. Even so, she smiled. "In a word, Mr. Cleveland."
He nodded, satisfied. "Father was a patient at Restcrest in the old days, before all this new rehabbing business happened. We had a lifetime contract locked in at a much lower rate. That new guy, Landry, tried to break the contract, but he couldn't. So they had to put Father right alongside the people who were paying fancy prices for all that high-tech care."
"Landry tried to break the contract," Murphy echoed quietly.
Mr. Cleveland laughed the way all people do who outsmart the big guys. "Did everything but threaten our pensions. Lucky for us, the lawyers from the original Restcrest were old socialists and sharp as tacks. Didn't stand for old folks being taken advantage of. We paid a flat fee of eighty-five dollars a day, no matter what, till Father died. Drove that Landry guy bats."
Murphy was itching again. "I'll just bet it did."
While Murphy was still taking that one in, Leary slung her purse over her shoulder and got to her feet. "Thank you again, Mr. Cleveland. We really do appreciate the help."
She held out her hand and Mr. Cleveland took it in both of his. "Thank you," he said, his soft face disheveled with relief.
Murphy was getting to his feet, too, when Leary blindsided him yet again.
"And thank you for the phone call," she said, hand still wrapped in Cleveland's. "It helped quite a bit."
Murphy made it to his feet just in time to catch the confusion on Air. Cleveland's face. "Phone call?"
Now Leary looked tentative. "To warn us about what was happening at Restcrest?" she said. "I thought it might have been you."
Mr. Cleveland shook his gently graying head. "No. I didn't even know who you were. How could I?"
She beamed. "Of course. I'm sorry. I guess we might have another family who wasn't as relieved as they might have been. Thank you again. I hope we can visit under better circumstances."
"You give your father a hug tonight, young lady," he admonished, and Murphy saw those tears glitter briefly again.
Leary smiled, nodded, and fled.
* * *
"Landry," Leary mused, gingerly climbing back into Murphy's car fifteen minutes later with her bag of doughnuts. "That wouldn't be a huge surprise. Not if those people were costing him money."
"I don't see it," Murphy argued, slamming his own door shut and handing off a cup of coffee.
It was almost noon, and the streets around the Donut Hole were fairly crowded with traffic headed toward real food farther out toward the highway. The Hole sat in the middle zone, where used car dealerships and strip malls dominated. Almost developed, never quite successful, usually crime free, since the local constabulary didn't see fit to break the stereotype and opt for popcorn over doughnuts.
As for Leary, she was twitching like a gigged frog. Probably too much forced inactivity at the Cleveland house. Too many revelations she hadn't wanted to share with that sad, middle-aged man. Murphy watched her bounce around as she juggled coffee, doughnuts, and painkillers, and wondered if she knew how damn brittle she looked.