Dorothea Puentes's Arc

Chapter 5 of 9

The social worker's voicemail came through at nine in the morning. His tone was friendly, almost warm. He thanked Dorothea for her cooperation and said her records had been very helpful. He wanted to schedule another visit, but this time just to observe her daily routine with the tenants. No more questions about the accounts. No more requests for documentation. Just a chance to see how smoothly things ran. Dorothea played the message three times, listening for any hint of doubt or suspicion. She found none. Her chest felt lighter than it had in weeks. The ledger had worked. The proper systems had proven themselves. She set her phone down and smiled at the kitchen wall. Progress. Real, solid progress. She called him back and scheduled the visit for Thursday afternoon. After she hung up, she walked outside to check the front entrance. The curved stone planter seating she'd placed near the office door last week looked perfect—smooth edges, potted plants on each side. The social worker would see it when he arrived. He'd notice she cared about making her tenants comfortable, about giving them a peaceful spot to sit. She brushed a few dried leaves off the stone surface and adjusted one of the planters. Everything was falling into place. The records were clean. The house was organized. The social worker's voice had sounded pleased, almost satisfied. She straightened her glasses and headed back inside. Thursday would prove what she'd known all along—that her boarding house ran better than any other place in Killead. By Wednesday afternoon, Dorothea had decided to add one more piece to her strategy. She drove to the church with the large community room and spoke to the coordinator about their senior activities program. They needed volunteers for their weekly card games and meal service. Dorothea signed up for both. The coordinator thanked her and wrote her name on the schedule board. When the social worker asked about her dedication to elderly welfare, she would have this to show him. Real volunteer work at a real community building. She walked back to her car and felt the weight of the past weeks lifting. The suspicion was ending. The trust was building. Thursday afternoon would be the final step, and everything was ready. On her drive home, she passed the town square and spotted the monument she'd seen months ago but never really noticed. The stone memorial stood tall, its surface carved with names of people who had helped others. Rain and weather had worn the stone smooth over the years. She slowed the car and read the inscription at the base—dedicated to those who cared for the vulnerable. Her name wasn't there, but it could be someday. The social worker would learn what kind of person she was. He would see past the complaints and recognize her true work. She pulled away from the square and headed home. Twenty-three years of running the boarding house had led to this moment. Thursday would show him everything.