Chapter Two

	The next day when I entered Mrs. Izato’s room she was in the same position as when I left her. “Did you sleep?”
	She looked away from the television, “And a good morning to you too.”
	I chuckled, “Good morning, did you sleep?”
	“I did, and Gertrude brought me up breakfast this morning.” She pointed to the empty food container on the dresser.
	I picked it up and held it my hand so I wouldn’t forget to throw it out. “I saw a man just about your height with dark pants and a light grey hoodie, before I left yesterday afternoon. He was walking a King Charles Spaniel on a red leash in the back courtyard. Any idea who that is?”
	Mrs. Izato shook her head no slowly, “I’m not a dog person. I don’t like dogs. If you ask me dogs are stupid animals. I always had cats. Cat’s are the cultured man’s pet. Independent, self sufficient, and they don’t care what you think.”
	“But you wouldn’t have noticed a man walking a little brown and black dog on a red leash?” I questioned.
	“I don’t look at dogs.” Dorthy shrugged and looked back at the t.v.
	I find that highly unlikely, so I pushed the subject some more. “Is it that you don’t look at dogs, or you just don’t want to get involved in something in case of retaliation?”
	The side eye Mrs. Izato gave me let me know it was definitely the latter.
	“So you do know who it is but you’re not going to tell me.” I walked out of the room and threw out the container. When I returned she had turned off the television and was sitting there waiting for me.
	She stated plainly, “His name is John Smith.”
	“You gotta be kidding me…” she cut me off.
	“No. and it gets worse.” she raised her eyebrows. “Nobody knows anything about John Smith. He keeps to himself. All he has in this whole world is that dog. No next of kin, no visitors. If you sit beside him and ask him anything he just gets up and moves. No response. He lives on the fifth floor, why was he on the third floor near the mail elevators?” you could see the gears firing up behind Mrs. Izato’s eyes.
	Color slowly started to return her skin, a light flush of pink arose across her lips, eyelids, and cheeks. Her eyes began to sparkle. Then she muttered under her breath, “I need to get mobile again.”
	“Is there anything I can do?” I offered to help.
	The light bulb above Dorthy’s head turned on the second the words left my mouth. It was as if I had just given her the answer to her problem. She sat up straighter in the bead, “Yes. I think this calls for a pot of hot black tea in pink porcelain cups.” She looked me dead in the eye. “Do you know how to steep loose tea?”
	“Yes.” I replied quickly.
	“Good.” she reached over for a pad of paper on the end table and a pencil. “I’m going to need you to run to the store and get a few items.” She began scribbling a list. “We’re hosting a Tea Party.”