Vultures at Twilight by Charles Atkins Page A

every few steps to uproot weeds that had grown through cracks in the cement sidewalk. ‘You would think,’ she commented, ‘with the fees we pay, they could take better care of the grounds.’
    â€˜They used to. Things have slipped.’
    â€˜True,’ she agreed. ‘I wonder why? I mean yes, the economy tanked, but it’s not like our fees have gone down. They raised them again last year. So what gives?’
    â€˜Priorities,’ I offered as I clicked the button for the car locks. ‘Let’s face it; we’re two of the youngest residents. This place is getting more and more geriatric. At the last homeowner’s association everyone was focused on funding the ambulance and more ramps and handrails on the walking paths. Something has to give, like weeding the grounds.’
    Aaron opened the car door and looked around. ‘It is kind of weird that this is just a place for old people . . . like a ghetto.’
    Ada sighed. ‘It is, our own little Twilight Town.’
    I slid behind the wheel and looked at her. ‘You’re really thinking of moving back to the city.’
    â€˜I don’t know,’ she replied, meeting my gaze.
    I had the distinct sense she wanted to say more and didn’t. I assumed because Aaron was there. And for the same reason I kept my thoughts hidden, like: what would I do if Ada left? And why did the topic make me so sad?
    It was a quick ride to Pilgrim’s Mall, the retail hub of Pilgrim’s Progress. It houses several excellent restaurants and shops, a three-screen movie theatre and a series of elegant courtyards where venders peddle everything from sunglasses to vitamins. The design, which includes faux pushcarts, was lifted from Boston’s Faneuil Hall Marketplace. It was scenic and safe and made it possible to take care of your shopping without ever leaving the community.
    Tonight we headed toward Bayberries, an old Grenville restaurant that had relocated to the mall. It was one of my favorites.
    â€˜Let’s look in the bookstore first,’ Ada suggested. ‘Our reservations aren’t for another fifteen and I want to see the papers.’
    As we meandered toward the Nutmeg Bookshop, Aaron spotted something dangling on a yew hedge. He went to investigate.
    â€˜Look at this!’ he shouted, bringing over what appeared to be a piece of jewelry that glittered in the late-afternoon sun.
    I looked over Ada’s shoulder as she examined his find. It was a gold locket with a blue-enameled dove surrounded by concentric rays of diamond chips.
    â€˜Oh my,’ Ada commented, ‘someone will be missing this.’
    â€˜It’s lovely,’ I agreed. ‘But what was it doing in the hedge? If it fell off its chain, it would be more out in the open.’
    Aaron retraced his steps looking for the chain. We watched as he pushed into the tangle of sculpted yews.
    â€˜Watch out for your jacket,’ Ada cautioned as he ferreted in the greenery.
    When he emerged, he held two ladies’ pocket watches.
    Ada and I looked at each other as he handled the exquisite Victorian timepieces.
    â€˜Something’s wrong,’ I commented as I took one of the watches and opened the engraved case. I grabbed my reading glasses and saw that it was clearly stamped fourteen carat.
    â€˜Did you see anything else?’ Ada asked, her expression worried.
    â€˜No, but it’s really tight in there.’
    Ada reached up and smoothed back her grandson’s bangs, picking out small twigs and bits of leaf. ‘We need to bring these to the security desk,’ she commented. ‘I have a sick feeling about this.’
    â€˜You think someone was robbed?’ I asked.
    â€˜What else could it be? How sad. I hope no one was hurt.’
    With Aaron’s eyes peeled on the underbrush, we shifted directions from the bookstore and headed to the business office.
    As we neared, I could see that the usually