Pushy much?

The place is laid out like a resort; gorgeous furnishings and fancy decorations adorn almost every surface. The main lobby has a tile mosaic of a beautiful Celtic cross in pale greens and terra cotta on the floor. A youngish (mid twenties at the oldest) blonde sits behind the mahogany reception desk, and is attractive enough that she almost seems an intentional part of the decor. A pair of offices line the wall to the left and resting between them is a flat panel high definition monitor displaying the temperature, time, and a list of daily activities for the residents.

The pretty blonde looks up from the book she’s reading (you note with amusement that it’s Heinlein’s Time Enough For Love and file that away for later use) and greets you. “Welcome to New Perspective Twin Ports, how can I assist you?”

As difficult as it is to not take that opening, you put on your best Irish brogue and start the hook. “Sure and hello, Justine,” - you quickly glance at her name tag - “I’m Father Lazlow Francis Xavier Black, late of the Parish Of St. Dismas in Dublin. I’m here in the capacity of Papal Emissary by direct order of Pope Francis to conduct research into the various retirement communities of the United States. This is Sister Mary Amelia of the Church of St. Nicholas in Hastings Minnesota. We have a list of various parishioners from assorted churches within the local diocese who have been absent from Mass for an extended period of time, and one of them is a resident of your fair community here.” You give the girl a wink. “Would it be possible to speak to a Mister Leland Gustafson?”

You’ve made most of this up out of whole cloth in the last thirty seconds, but your delivery is flawless and your confidence easily wins the girl over. Might have something to do with the Silver Tongue perk.

“Sure,” She smiles brightly, blushing a little, “He just finished lunch, so he should be upstairs playing cards.” She points to the broad staircase to her left.

You smile warmly, “Thank you, my child.” And start up the stairs, Beth at your elbow.

She leans in and whispers, “St. Nicholas?”

“Patron saint of thieves,” you chuckle, “Dismas was one of the criminals crucified with Christ.”

Beth giggles, “You’re going to hell Jimmy.”

“I’ll save you a seat sweetheart. Now hush, the game is afoot.”

The second floor is a wide open pattern. To your right is a full sized billiards table, on your left is what appears to be a full service pub. You instantly recognize Lee from his picture in the app. He’s playing cards with another older man and two women. Gin from the looks of it. You quietly walk up behind him and lay a hand on his shoulder, “Mr. Gustafson? Might we have a word?”

Lee looks at his companions with an arched eyebrow. After some nearly imperceptible nods, he turns back to you and replies, “Sure padre. What can I do for you?” His voice is exactly as you recall, although you can detect the quiver of age in his words.

“We’d like to ask you some questions of a... personal nature. Is there somewhere we can do so with some privacy? For your convenience of course.”

He shrugs and gets to his feet, taking an ornately carved cane and leading the way down the east hallway. He stops at one of the doors close to the end and opens it, walking into a fairly well appointed one bedroom apartment. “So what’s this all about, Padre?”

His back is still to you when you answer, your accent discarded, “I thought it was time for a family reunion, Lee.”

“Hi Dad,” Beth says, closing the door behind her.

In retrospect you really should have anticipated his reaction, as he clutches at his chest and crumples to a heap on the floor.