There I was in the lobby of the Sciacca Retirement Community. I had received a call from a Ms. Bridi da Costa. She told me that she had seen a spirit in the multi-purpose room and asked me to investigate.
The lobby was circular in shape that led to five hallways from the center. I looked up to see 12 stories more and at the ceiling a stained glass dome. Upon the glass was a picture of a parade of sorts, the 5 figures upon 5 floats were nude. Each one carrying something different in one hand; a fan, a platter of confections, a giant bee hive, an orange and a bottle of wine. The other arm extended and pointed to the center. A glass spiral elevator traveled top to bottom and caught the rainbow colors. Beautiful. But sightseeing don’t pay the rent.
She told me to first speak to the manager, Salvador de Bahia, and that he would help me further. It was August and not October - so it could be neighborhood kids getting in some pre-game shenanigans before the big day. But not likely.
In the lobby was a teensy desk and at the desk sat a weensy older woman. She saw me, stood beside the desk, her hands held behind herself, dressed in a pants suit. Her stern expression did not hide her beauty. She had long flowing hair done in an updated pin up girl fashion. Her make up was flawless, as if she had it done professionally. What a knock out. I’m in love. She spoke to me, “May I help you?”
“Yes, I am here to see Mr. Bahia,” I replied.
“de.”
“I thought his first name was Salvador?”
“It is.”
I was confused. I pressed on, “Oh, well, I am here to see him.”
She cocked her head toward a door. “He is in there.”
I gave the door a good rump-a-tum-tum that echoed throughout the empty foyer. I was going to thank her but when I turned back. Gone. An older man in his late fifties dressed in a tan military style suit without markings and tall boots answered with a very strong German accent as he opened the door, “Hello? Mr. Prolongo?”
“Yes,” I replied.
He motioned me to enter the office that appeared to be more like a broom closet. I shuffled into the office, our bellies pressed against each other as I passed. The office smelled of orange cleanser. Inside: another small desk, a chair. A mop in a bucket leaning against the wall behind it. There was also an altar complete with wine, candles and chicken bones, I hope. The walls, bare, except for a poster of a beautiful bikini model. Gorgeous despite her missing hands and feet. I couldn’t help but stare, she looked familiar to me.
“Mariana is beautiful, no?” Salvador asked.
“Yes, very.”
“She was my wife. She modeled in Brazil and here in the states. You might have seen the ads for a tortilla factory.”
I knew I had seen that face before.
“She was slowly eaten alive by a virus. She is dead now. Rest her soul.”
“I am very sorry,” Those ads ran a few years ago if I remember correctly.
“I am not. What a bitch. But I loved her,” He pointed to the desk chair, “Take a seat, please”
As I sat down in the chair, Salvador stepped in between my legs, closed the door behind him. I’m telling you, this was a small office.
“Mr. Prolongo, I called you here only because some of the residents insisted that I bring someone in to investigate. This is very embarrassing to say–we have a ghost,” Salvador turned away in a flash and began to shudder. He sniffed. Pulled a hanky from his pocket, blew his nose.
Staring at his hind quarters I concluded I couldn’t let a grown man weep without some comfort, “It’s okay Mr. de Bahia. Tell me what is bothering you.”
His eyes leaked liquid mourning. “In my country of Brazil. We have certain rituals and certain beliefs you probably have no experience with Mr Prolongo.”
“Believe me, I’ve seen some weird stuff, but go on.”
“I believe I’ve gone too far. I think I have awoken my beautiful Mariana from her eternal slumber. She must be the spirit that the residents have been seeing. But. I can not say for sure. Could you please investigate, Mr. Prolongo?”
“Sure,” I said as I stood.
We looked at each other longer than necessary and I motioned to the door. He dabbed his eyes and eventually took my hint and stepped away from the door and into my personal space again as I opened the door. Together we shuffled in a circle in unison, our bellies pressed together until I was outside and he remained in the doorway, his hand on the doorknob about to pull it close.
“I must warn you Mr. Prolongo. This is an alternative lifestyle retirement community.”
“How so?” I asked this just as a group of sexagenarians dressed in flip flops, microkinis and a smile walked past us. Each of them had a towel draped over their arm, holding clack fans. They greeted us and walked on. I assumed they were headed to the pool area.
“This community does things differently, Mr. Prolongo. I hope this won’t deter you from completing your task.”
“No, No problem at all. Mr. de Bahia, where is the ghost last seen? Or usually seen?”
“Rarely is Mariana seen in the hallways. Most of her activity is in one of either five activity zones we have for our residents. You can find entrances to them from each hallway or you may take the trail that circles the building.”
Mr. de Bahia closed the door to his broom closet office. I turned to face the receptionist who appeared to have been hidden behind the office door.
“How may I help you, sir?”
“Sal wants me to poke around and give the place a once over.” Her expression did not change. “My name is Stan, Stan Prolongo, I’m a private detective. I don’t think I caught your name?”
I put my hand out to shake hers but she did not return the favor.
She stood like a drill sergeant, “You may call me Ms. Bridi da Costa. Follow me.”
“Hold on there little lady,” My playfulness bought me nothing, “You called me regarding the spirit activity. Is there more you can share?”
“Nein! I call you because you are needed. You will do what is needed and then you will leave. Follow me, Mr Prolongo.”
We proceeded to check this place out. I then heard a crowd coming down the hallway. It was teams of men and women carrying pickle ball rackets in flesh colored jumpsuits. I prayed it was a flesh colored jumpsuit. 10 men and women in their wrinkled birthday suits reached us and I got an over abundant eyeful from one couple and quickly looked away intently at the painting of two African women, one dressed in gold and could easily be a resident here and the other young and dressed in white. Behind them a grove of trees and other faceless people bowing down offering the very same items from the ceiling painting. At bottom was a small plaque that read Aphrodite Oshun: First Ascension.
One of the elderly men stopped and poked me in the chest, “You eye balling my baby, punk?”
“Chester, leave the lad alone. He can’t help being attracted to me.” She was still a looker.
“I’m not here for any trouble, old timer. I am here to investigate a mystery. The painting is very well done.”
“Is that so? Don’t get any wild ideas. You’ll never be one of us. You better git while you have time,” the old gent poked me again,”I’ll keep my eye out for you and keep that love stick of yours, zipped.”
“Oh, Chester, You can’t blame the man, can you?” the older woman cooed.
Smack dab in the middle of the foyer those two started kissing and hugging. That's when me, my tour guide and the pickleball enthusiasts left. The others called Chester and his wife to meet them at the courts when they finished.
Ms. Bridi da Costa explained to me that Chester is a hot head and always looking for a fight. He doesn’t think he should go along to get along. I told her no harm and I was happy to help facilitate sweet loving even though it didn’t include me. She explained that Chester and his old lady, Ma Lester, have a very volatile relationship that is fueled by jealousy and rage. She said despite their age they could still experience love. That true love can never be stopped. That lovers will always find a way to be with each other.
What an odd thing to bring up, I thought.
We continued on with our tour. The vocal expression of passion from Chester and Ma Lester slowly faded in the background as I walked deeper into the complex. We stopped at a map on the wall and Ms. Bridi da Costa showed me how the building extended outward from the center foyer in five directions like a giant star. Between those extended points held the community’s activity areas such as the pickleball courts, the swimming pool, a picnic area, a floral garden and small building without description or name. I had to know. In retrospect, I should have minded my own business. But I was on the clock. I had to check everything out.
“What is this room here? It has no description.”
“That is our multi-purpose room,” she said, “If you have any more questions. I’ll be around.”
“I do have a question. That painting in the hallway. Is she a resident or donor?”
“Yes, Mr. Prolongo.” She looked like she wanted to keep this short but I had one more question.
“There are two of them. Who are they? Both of them.”
“Aphrodite Oshun and her niece.” She gave all she could and promptly left.
I was closest to the pickleball courts and I started my investigation there. The sweet scent of oranges filled me with joy. It was not orange season but that smell was still there. I walked into the room. Dwarf potted orange trees lined the perimeter and the space between courts. Way in the back against the wall–an altar. The altar of oranges or to oranges. No clue. The pickleball courts were filled with running, bouncing, seniors. Their toned muscles were far too evident. Pickleball does a body good. Their shoes made light scratching sounds on the clay. In eerie unison they made a woofing sound when they struck a ball. I made my way to a group of the youngest looking people there to do some inquiries.