The memory-care director stared at the plastic access card in my hand as though it were a weapon.
Her photograph was printed in one corner.
Her name, Denise Hall, ran across the bottom.
The card should have remained clipped to the retractable badge holder hanging from her belt.
That holder was empty.
Eleanor stood beside the Harley with one palm resting against the warm fuel tank.
Wade Mercer remained perfectly still, allowing her to decide how close she wanted to be.
The crowd near the abandoned motel had gone quiet.
Phones were still raised, but the people recording no longer seemed certain who the villain was.
I held up the card.
“How did this get inside Eleanor’s suitcase?”
Denise glanced toward the two employees who had arrived in the facility van.
One was the nurse who had recognized Wade’s vest.
The other was a young aide who looked terrified.
“A resident must have picked it up,” Denise said.
“That doesn’t mean anything.”
“It means Eleanor had a card that opens your secured doors.”
“She could have found it anywhere.”
Wade spoke without raising his voice.
“Not anywhere.
That card only works inside the building.”
Denise’s head snapped toward him.
“You haven’t been inside our facility in six months.”
“I spent four years there.”
There was no anger in his tone.
That made his words land harder.
Eleanor traced the edge of the purple ribbon sewn inside his vest.
“Annie liked the blue room,” she murmured.
Wade closed his eyes for a moment.
The nurse stepped closer to me.
Her name badge identified her as Carla Nguyen.
“Officer, Wade’s wife and Eleanor shared a room for almost three years,” she said.
“Annie had Alzheimer’s disease.
Wade came every night, even when Annie no longer recognized him.
Eleanor remembered the sound of his motorcycle long after she forgot his name.”
Denise interrupted.
“This has nothing to do with Eleanor leaving the building.
She is confused.
We need to get her back before she becomes more distressed.”
She reached for Eleanor’s arm.
Wade’s boots shifted on the pavement, but he did not move toward them.
“Ask permission first,” he said.
Denise glared at him.
I stepped between them.
“He’s right.”
I crouched several feet from Eleanor instead of approaching her directly.
“Eleanor, may Nurse Carla come closer?”
Eleanor looked at Carla, then at Wade.
Wade gave a small nod.
“Only Carla,” Eleanor said.
Carla approached from the side, speaking softly.
She did not touch Eleanor until Eleanor offered her hand.
Denise folded her arms.
The young aide near the van began crying.
I asked her name.
