T is for Trespass (Kinsey Millhone 20)

“How soon would you need to know?”

“Soon. For the next five days, she’s agreed to work an eight-hour shift. After that, assuming all goes well, we’ll tinker with the schedule until we figure out what suits. For now, she starts at three and leaves at eleven, which will take Gus through the supper hour, medications, and preparation for bed. As frail as he is, I know he needs more than that, but it’s the best I could do. Before she leaves at night, she’ll set up his breakfast for the following day. I’ve arranged for Meals on Wheels to deliver a hot noon meal and something simple for his supper. She offered to cook for him, but I thought it was too much to ask. I didn’t want to take advantage.”

“It sounds like you’ve got it covered.”

“Let’s hope. I’m a wee bit concerned about leaving on such short notice. She seems honest and conscientious, but I never laid eyes on her before Friday, so I probably shouldn’t take anything for granted.”

“I don’t think you have anything to worry about. If she was referred by an agency, she’ll be fine. Any home health care service would make sure her references were good. She’d have to be licensed and bonded before they sent her out.”

“That’s just it. She works with an agency, but she called on her own in response to the ad. Matter of fact, hers was the only call I got, so I should count myself fortunate in that respect.”

“What’s the agency?”

“I have the business card right here. Senior Health Care Management. It’s not listed in the phone book and when I tried the number, it turned out to be a disconnect.”

“Did she have an explanation?”

“When I asked, she was completely apologetic. She said the number on the card was an old one. The company has since moved and she hadn’t had a chance to have new cards made up. She gave me the new number, but all I get is an answering machine. I left two messages and I’m hoping someone will call me back.”

“Did she fill out an application?”

“I have it right here.” She opened her handbag and took out the pages, which she’d folded in thirds. “This is a generic form I found in a legal kit. I hire people all the time at work, but the head of personnel has usually vetted them first. I’m a good judge of character when it comes to my field, but I don’t have a clue about nursing care. She’s an LVN, not an RN, but she’s worked with geriatric patients and it doesn’t bother her. Naturally, Uncle Gus was crabby and impossible, but she took it all in stride. She’s a better man than I am. The way he behaved, I was tempted to pop him one.”

I ran an eye down the page, which had been filled out by hand with a ballpoint pen. The information was rendered in tidy block letters, all caps, with no cross-outs. I checked the statement at the bottom of the page where the woman had signed her name, certifying that all the information she’d given was accurate and true. Built into the paragraph was a release, authorizing a prospective employer to verify her qualifications and employment history. “I understand and agree that any misstatement or omission of material facts will cause forfeiture on my part of all rights of employment.”

“This should cover it. I’ll handle some of it by phone, but many interviews are better done in person, especially when it comes to character issues. Most past employers are reluctant to put anything derogatory in writing for fear of being sued. Face-to-face, they’re more likely to offer up the salient details. How far back do you want me to go?”

“Honestly, a spot-check is fine-her degree, the last place she worked, and a couple of references. I hope you don’t think I’m being paranoid.”

“Hey, I do this for a living. You don’t have to justify the job to me.”

“Mostly, I want to know she’s not a killer on the lam,” she said, ruefully. “Even that’s not so bad if she can get along with him.”

I refolded the application. “I’ll run a duplicate at the office in the morning and get this back to you.”

“Thanks. I’m heading back down to Los Angeles at nine for a noon flight out. I’ll call you on Wednesday.”

“It’s probably better if I call you when I have something to report.”

I pulled a boilerplate contract from my top desk drawer and took a few minutes to fill in the blanks, detailing the nature and substance of our agreement. I jotted my home and office numbers at the top of the page. Once we’d both signed, she took out her wallet and gave me a business card and five hundred bucks in cash. “Will that suffice?”