Manorville III

By Sally Hart

Manorville III follows the story of Paula Davis, the fresh faced, bright eyed social worker, who is thrust into the chaos of the mental patients at the Manor Nursing Homes. In the first Manorville book, a devastating flood is survived with the help of the Amish community. Paula is smitten by a hunky Amish man, but escapes being thrust back into the seventh century by running off to college to get a Master’s Degree. In book II, the ever intrepid Paula, returns to the nursing home and finds true love (almost) with the new town dentist. The shenanigans of the crazy Professor shake up the small town's ideas when he declares, Religion is a Fraud. As usual, Paula escapes this mess by running off to college to get her PhD. In book III, Paula has had enough of little town crazies and with her new PhD gets a job with the Medicaid Fraud Unit. Of course, she must return to the Manor Nursing Homes when reports of abuse surface. The owner, founder, of the homes has died, and an impersonal Corporation has taken over. The patients revolt against management. Bertie the cook, poisons the director's stew with rhubarb leaves, peanut butter is put in the clothes dryers, cement in the washers. Of course, Paula has a new love... together they force the corporation to sell the homes to an Amish entrepreneur. All ends well... Look for more fun and games in the upcoming Manorville IV.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sally Hart
• Release date: May 23, 2015
• ISBN: 9781311269560

Sally Hart

.Sally Hart is a native of Ohio and currently makes the quaint college town of Wooster, Ohio her home. Many of the experiences described in the book were inspired by her lifelong work in rehabilitation.Ms. Hart graduated from Akron University with a Bachelor of Social Work and later obtained a Masters of Public Administration from Nova University. Certifications include, Certified Rehabilitation Counselor, Certified Vocational Evaluator, Vocational Expert, and Certified Case Manager

Book preview

BACK COVER

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Well, exactly how did Barbara die? Harvey asked.

That good-for-nothing sheriff said it was an accidental death. Nothing accidental about it. Poor thing. All red, like a boiled lobster, hanging from her lanyard, like she just fell off her bed.

Fell out of bed and hung herself? I was incredulous.

Ya, ya, said it was an accident, but Barbara knew what she was doing... they drove her to it.

You think it was suicide? I pushed.

Ya, did it with her name tag from where she worked before getting sick. Always had the ID badge hanging around her neck telling anyone she would meet, 'I'm a doctor, you know.'

I remember, it was her prized possession. But was it strong enough to choke her.

Ya, just got a new cord for the lanyard made of braided leather. Hooked it in the bed springs and then rolled out of bed.

That's terrible, I grimaced.

What we really need to know, is what drove her to it? Harvey interrupted.

It was that Bippy bath... heard those convicts laughing about it, Theresa could hardly control the anger in her voice. That's when I was fired – complained to Dr. Sinclair about the rowdy inmates and he just politely told me my services would no longer be needed and to leave the premises. It was the next morning they found poor Barbara.

Oh dear, what did you do.

First, I complained to that good-for-nothing sheriff who said I should mind my own business, then I proceeded to get a job here in Wooster at the local hospital.

Harvey smiled, You're very resilient. But what can you tell me about this Bippy bath.

Bippy? I interrupted, is that the chlorinated scouring powder they use to clean the toilets in the nursing homes.

Ya,

Well ladies, I'm sorry to be crude, but I've heard about these Bippy baths or parties, as they are usually called, happening in our prisons. It's when a bunch of inmates gang up on some poor slob. Hose him down, douse him with the scouring powder, spray the powder making a big white cloud, yell Bippy Party! Bippy Party! Then go to town with their shitter brushes.

You mean the toilet bowl brushes?

Yep, but the inmates are not that polite.

Oh my God. Did they really do that to Barbara, I felt my eyes tear.

MANORVILLE III

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Death, Deep pockets, and Right over might

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By

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Sally ♥ Hart

MANORVILLE III

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Published by S.J.UPPERMAN

Wooster, Ohio

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Copyright © 2015 by SALLY HART. All rights reserved.

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This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

MANORVILLE III

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Death, Deep pockets, and Right over might

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CHAPTER ONE

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The sun was just too damn bright. I pushed the dark glasses higher on my nose, doesn't everyone know it's supposed to rain, I muttered under my breath. Flanked by Ron on one side and Lou on the other my high heels sank slowly into the soft earth. Damn.

Yesterday's rain was busy feeding the dandelions whose little yellow heads could be seen dotting the green lawns of the cemetery. It should have rained today, visions of old movies popped into my head – black clad mourners crowded under dripping umbrellas huddled around a lowering casket. Instead I squinted at the silvery box glinting in the bright morning light.

Mom would be proud, Ron nodded toward the crowd engulfing the grave site – all shapes and sizes – all manner of dress. It didn't surprise me, I squeezed his hand in acknowledgment. The Amish almost outnumbering us Englishers, as they called us non-Amish people. Lines of cars, all sporting little American flags choked the small lane and dozens of horse and buggies pulled off into the grass were tethered to trees.

Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, the black clad minister droned on.

Mom always hated that part of the service, Ron's jaw clinched. And I do too.

Slowly Ron's words sunk in and I thought, And, now me too, and I couldn't help but think of the hundreds of services that Ron and his mother had attended to pay their respects whenever a nursing home patient had died at the nursing home. Then finally the task had been passed on to me. Now it was her service we attended – how was it possible that Ron was burying his mother and the rest of us saying goodbye to the founder of the Manor Nursing Homes, wishing we were anyplace else except listening to those dreaded words.

I don't know why we all expected her to live forever, Victoria as she was known by all, the four foot eleven inch dynamo who owned most of the town of Manorville and ran the nursing homes with compassion, grace, and an iron fist. We all loved her.

Lou, my boyfriend, and the town's only dentist, steadied me as I tried to pry my heels from the sod only to find another spot to slowly sink into the soil. Even some of the patients are here, Lou nodded to the crowd.

I saw several, Barbara, the schizophrenic psychologist who had a fear of bathing, Mark, the yuppie who was felled by a mosquito bite, Mable, who had been displaced by urban renewal and liked to fish at Lazy Creek Manor, Helen, who was the proud owner of thirty seven parakeets, and many more of the high functioning patients too numerous to mention.

I wondered if all these mourners crowded around the grave site grasped they were witnessing an end of an era and could anything like Victoria and the rise of a truly compassionate nursing home ever happen again. Everyone knew the story of Victoria and how she came looking for a new life finding the little town of Manorville. Recently widowed, with a toddler, and a blind mother-in-law in tow, she bought a rambling old house on the top of a hill that Ronnie, as he was known then, like to call his castle.

Soon she found several oldsters