CHAPTER TEN
The offices at Life Fulfilled did a good job of camouflaging the sort of business they did. The place gave off the feel of a travel agency rather than a foundation that worked with the sick and dying. It started with the colorful yet simple logo on the door and continued with the cheerful woman sitting at the front desk. Behind her, large pictures of people engaging in a variety of activities hung on the wall: playing chess, lounging on the beach, sitting on a ski lift.
“Can I help you?” the woman at the desk asked.
“Maybe,” Jack said, again showing his badge. “We’re Agents Rivers and Gift, with the FBI. We’re looking into a pair of murders and have recently discovered that both victims have applied for assistance here.”
“Oh my goodness,” the woman said, shocked. Rachel noticed that she was at a legitimate loss for words as she tried to think of what to say next. “Were they…they had gotten in contact with us?”
“Yes, and we believe one of them applied recently,” Rachel said. “Would the manager happen to be in?”
“No, I’m sorry. He’s at a conference in New York. He should be back tomorrow, though. I’m sure we can set up a meeting.”
“We may need to do that,” Jack said.
“Is there anything I can help you with?”
“Could you confirm for us that you’ve received applications from Benjamin Wells and Polly Warren?”
The woman seemed torn over this and, after a handful of seconds, shook her head in deep regret. “I’m so sorry. I really can’t do that. But my boss, the foundation chairman and manager Wes Dalton, can. Really, I think you’d need to speak with him.”
“Totally understood,” Jack said. “Would you mind if we had a look around?”
“Oh, help yourself.” She stood up from her chair, all too eager to please after having to deny them the client information. “If you want, I can give you a quick tour—though it isn’t much, really.”
She was right. Beyond the lobby at the entrance, there was only a small hallway with three rooms—two on the left and one larger one on the right. It was all very minimalist in nature, with glossy wood floors and beige walls with large framed pictures similar to the ones behind the front desk.
“I assume you’re aware of the assistance and services we provide?” the receptionist asked.
“To an extent,” Jack said. “Would you say the majority of your clients fall into the wish-list category or the financial assistance and help category?”
“Oh, the assistance, by far. It’s odd, but it almost seems as if the loved ones that typically call us and do most of the paperwork are almost embarrassed to ask for help. So far, already eight months into the year, we’ve only had three clients request something special; one of those was for help in planning and paying for a three-day trip to Disney World for their sick daughter.”
She had lowered her voice a bit near the end of her answer. As they passed by one of the rooms, Rachel could see that a meeting was taking place. There were doors to the little meeting rooms, but they were all open. In the room she was looking into, a Life Fulfilled employee was sitting on one side of the table while an older gentleman and a young woman sat on the other side.
The receptionist pulled them quickly into another room, the next one down on the left side. “So, for instance,” she said, “the meeting taking place that you just saw is for a man suffering from heart disease. His daughter has expressed to us that one of his longtime dreams is to go to a Baltimore Ravens game. We’ve told her that we can get her pretty much any seats she wants. A single call and he’s sitting on the fifty-yard line. But she’s hesitant because she feels that she should be able to afford it herself. Even when people are on the brink of death, most find it very hard to ask for help.”
“How many clients do you typically have at one time?” Rachel asked. She was aware that hearing about the services was almost like having someone talk about her behind her back while she was in another room. Hearing about people close to death due to terminal illnesses while she was dealing with her own was surreal and a little painful.
“Well, right now, we are working with eleven. And we do our best not to ever have more than twelve. With the small staff here, it’s a bit difficult to manage more than that. We have a waiting list of about eight or nine people at the moment and when Mr. Dalton gets back, we’ll be discussing who we can bring on from that waiting list now that we have that one single opening.”
Rachel was already sensing that their time here was coming to an end. There was nothing to help them here currently—not until Wes Dalton returned from his trip to New York.
“When will Mr. Dalton be returning?” she asked.
“We don’t know, actually. It may be tomorrow afternoon, but it could be as late as lunchtime or so the following day.”
Jack dug out his wallet and plucked out a business card. He handed it over to her and said, “Would you please have him call us when he returns. We’d really like to see if we can get more information on our two victims.”
“Of course. And again…I’m very sorry I couldn’t help. We have very specific instructions not to hand over client information.”
“It’s okay,” Jack said. “We understand. Thanks for your time.”
They made their way out of the office, stepping back out onto the street. When they were back in the car, Jack started the engine but didn’t pull off right away. “Is this weird for you?” he asked. “Having to hear about these people planning for the end when you…well, when you…you know…”
“It’s a little strange, yeah. But it’s also making me want to do what I can to catch this creep.”
“I figured. Seems you may have asked Anderson for your leave of absence a little early, huh?”