“No.”
“All right, but you need some help. You’re still shaking and you’re as pale as a ghost. I’d better call Doc Knight.”
“No, call Mike,” Delores insisted. And then she began to slide downward on the wall, as if her legs were no longer capable of supporting her.
Hannah couldn’t hold her up, even though she tried. Delores was close to fainting and she was slumping like a rag doll. All Hannah could do was help her sit down on the linoleum floor with her back against the wall. Hannah crouched next to her and patted her mother’s shoulder. “It’s okay, Mother. You’ve going to be okay. I’m going to call Doc Knight to take a look at you.”
“No! Call Mike!”
“But ... why should I call Mike?”
Delores took a deep breath and visibly struggled to compose herself. A little color came back to her complexion, and she turned to give Hannah a glare. “I told you why. He’s dead!”
Hannah was thoroughly mystified by her mother’s words. Mike was a detective with the sheriff’s department. She didn’t think it was standard hospital procedure to call the sheriff’s department every time one of the patients died.
“Do it! Call Mike!” Delores insisted again.
It was fairly clear that her mother’s mind had slipped a cog or two from the shock of discovering the dead patient. Perhaps, if Hannah could encourage Delores to talk about her traumatic experience, the shock would fade and her mother would calm down and think clearly again.
“All right, Mother,” Hannah said in her most reassuring tone. “I’ll call Mike, but first I need some information from you. Do you know the patient’s name?”
“Of course I do. I looked at his chart the moment I came in. We’re supposed to do that. It’s more personal if we call the patients by name. And then I looked at
“Buddy Neiman?! Are you sure?” Hannah was so shocked, it took a moment for it to sink.
“That’s what it said on his chart.”
“But I brought Buddy a cinnamon roll just a couple of minutes ago! The technician was wheeling him out of X-ray, and he said it was just a bad sprain. He was going to take Buddy to a treatment room to wait for someone to put a splint on his wrist. They wanted him to keep it immobile for a day or two. Once the splint was on, he could leave the hospital.” Hannah began to frown. “Are you absolutely sure the patient was Buddy Neiman?”
“I’m sure. I remember thinking it was strange that he didn’t use his full name. Usually Buddy is a nickname. He’s dead, Hannah. I told you that.”
“But the only thing wrong with him was a sprained wrist. Nobody dies from a sprained wrist!”
“That’s true,” Delores said, “but he didn’t die from a sprained wrist. He died from the pair of surgical scissiors somebody buried in his chest. Call Mike!”
Chapter Six
Hannah sat at the round table in the hospital kitchen, the one the cooks used for their coffee breaks, waiting for her mother and sisters to join her. It was almost ten at night, and everyone who’d been admitted to the hospital was resting comfortably. Those who’d been treated and discharged were on their way home. Dick Laughlin had driven in with the Lake Eden Inn van to pick up the surviving members of the Cinnamon Roll Six and their entourage and Hannah had no doubt that Sally had given them a hot meal and shown them to their rooms.
It was snowing again, and Hannah stared out at the scene outside the kitchen window. Doc Knight had built his hospital in a lovely wooded area of Eden Lake’s shore. Every one of the rooms for patients had a view of the pines and the lake because Doc believed that hospitals should be designed to make the patients comfortable and relaxed.
The outside of the hospital was illuminated by what the farmers in the area called yard lights. They were bright lights on tall poles that lit up the surrounding countryside. Doc’s lights didn’t seem to bother the wildlife around the lake. Patients who didn’t draw their drapes could catch glimpses of deer browsing in the woods, raccoons scurrying across the snow, and an occasional porcupine waddling between the trees. Birds of every color and size flitted here and there, and others perched on the tree branches. If you had to be in the hospital, this was the nicest one Hannah had ever seen. It was no wonder that Freddy Sawyer was so happy living and working here.
Hannah caught sight of her reflection and frowned. She really ought to get her hair trimmed. It was a mass of unruly red curls that could not be tamed, and usually sent hairdressers running for the hills. Her face looked fuller and she knew that wasn’t due to an imperfection in the glass windowpane. She’d gained a little weight after losing so much last year when she’d gone undercover at the spa in the mall to investigate a murder case. She was five feet eight inches tall, and that meant she could carry more weight than her shorter sisters. But her jeans were starting to feel tight around the waist and she knew she was doing what Delores lived in fear of doing. She was letting herself go.
She really should pay more attention to her personal appearance. It would help to wear clothes that were slimming, rather than shapeless and comfortable. She could get a new, flattering hairstyle, and while she was there at the beauty salon, she could learn the basics of makeup. But when could she find time do all this? She rarely got more than five or six hours sleep, and she didn’t want to give up an hour of sleep time just to look more attractive. Her customers in her coffee shop and bakery were used to her just the way she was.
The wind whipped up loose snow and pelted it against the windowpane. Hannah jumped and immediately felt a little foolish, but it was an eerie sound made even more chilling by coming at the heels of murder right here in the hospital.
It was a big relief when the kitchen doors opened to admit Delores, Michelle, and Andrea. Hannah got them settled with cups of fresh coffee and motioned for Michelle to get the box of special cookies they’d stashed in a cupboard.
“Here, Mother. Have one of these,” Michelle said, opening the box of Sinco de Cocoa Cookies.
“Thank you, but no. I’m not hungry.”
“Come on, Mother,” Hannah urged, pushing the cookie box closer so that her mother could catch a whiff of the tantalizing scent. “It’ll help, I promise. Just try one, okay?”
“Chocolate?” Delores asked. And when Hannah nodded, she reached for a cookie.
“They’re double chocolate,” Hannah told her. “These cookies have chocolate chips and more chocolate in the dough. Down the hatch, Mother. I have three dozen in the box and they’re going to go fast.”
“You’re right,” Andrea said, reaching for a cookie. As usual, the third Swensen sister was dressed fashionably and oh-so-appropriately for a night helping her siblings at the hospital. Her light blond hair was fashioned in an intricate braid that was formed into a circle very like a chignon, and her makeup was flawless. She wore a soft pink sweater, grey tailored slacks, gray leather shoes that matched them perfectly, and the string of pearls her husband Bill had given her for Christmas two years ago.
“What do you think, Mother?” Michelle asked, noticing that Delores had finished her cookie.
“I think they’re just what I need. And I think I’ll have another. Please hand me one, will you, dear?”
“Ready?” Michelle asked, inserting the key in the lock on Hannah’s condo door, but not opening it.
“I’m ready.” Hannah stood several feet in front of the door, her legs spread out a bit for balance.
“How about Cuddles? Does she do it, too?”
“Not yet. I’m hoping she doesn’t learn it from Moishe. I don’t know if I can handle two cats at once.”
“Here goes.” Michelle opened the door and stood to the side to make room for the orange and white blur that leaped out and hurtled into Hannah’s waiting arms.
