front lip and let it drop down. A bit of dust rose up in a cloud.
Satisfied, Janet climbed down, rinsed her hands in the sink, then emerged into the hall. If anybody had wondered what she’d been up to, they didn’t give any indication. One of the other nurses passed her and smiled cheerfully.
Returning to the nurses’ station, Janet threw herself into her work. After five minutes she began to calm down. After ten minutes even her pulse had returned to normal. When Marjorie appeared a few minutes later, Janet was calm enough to inquire about Helen Cabot’s coded medication.
“I’ve been going over each of the patients’ treatments,” Janet said. “I want to familiarize myself with their medications so I’ll be prepared for whomever I’m assigned to for the day. I saw reference to MB300C and MB303C. What are they, and where would I find them?”
Marjorie straightened up from bending over the desk. She grasped a key strung around her neck on a silver- colored chain and pulled it out in front of her. “MB medicine you get from me,” she said. “We keep it in a refrigerated lockup right here in the nursing station.” She pulled open a cabinet to expose a small refrigerator. “It’s up to the head nurse on each shift to dispense it. We control the MBs somewhat like narcotics only a bit stricter.”
“Well that explains why I couldn’t find it in the pharmacy,” Janet said, forcing a smile. All at once she realized that getting samples of the medicine was going to be a hundred times more difficult than she’d envisioned. In fact, she wondered if it was possible at all.
TOM WIDDICOMB was trying to calm down. He’d never felt so wired in his life. Usually his mother was able to calm him down, but now she wouldn’t even talk to him.
He’d made it a point to arrive extra early that morning. He’d kept an eye on that new nurse, Janet Reardon, from the moment she’d arrived. He’d trailed her carefully, watching her every move. After tracking her for an hour, he’d decided his concerns had been unjustified. She’d acted like any other nurse so Tom had felt relieved.
But then she’d ended up in Gloria’s room again! Tom could not believe it. Just when he’d let his guard down, she’d reappeared. That the same woman would thwart his attempt to relieve Gloria’s suffering not once but twice went past coincidence. “Two days in a row!” Tom had hissed in the solitude of his housekeeping closet. “She’s gotta be a spy!”
His only consolation was that this time he’d walked in on her rather than vice versa. Actually, it was even better than that. He’d almost walked in on her. He didn’t know whether she’d seen him or not, although she probably had.
From then on he’d followed her again. With her every step he became more and more convinced she was there to get him. She was not acting like a regular nurse, no way. Not with the sneaking around she was doing. The worst was when she’d sneaked into his housekeeping closet and started opening cabinets. He could hear her from the hall. He knew what she had been looking for, and he’d been sick with worry that she’d find his stuff. As soon as she’d left, he’d stepped inside. Climbing up on the counter, he’d blindly reached up on top of the wall cabinet at the very far end in the corner to feel for his succinylcholine and syringes. Thankfully they were there and hadn’t been disturbed.
After climbing down from the cabinet, Tom struggled to calm himself. He kept telling himself he was safe since the succinylcholine was still there. At least he was safe for the moment. But there was no doubt that he would have to deal with Janet Reardon, just as he’d had to deal with Sheila Arnold. He couldn’t let her stop his crusade. If he did, he might risk losing Alice.
“Don’t worry, Mother,” Tom said aloud. “Everything will be all right.”
But Alice wouldn’t listen. She was scared.
After fifteen minutes, Tom felt calm enough to face the world. Taking a fortifying breath, he pulled open the door and stepped into the hall. His housekeeping cart was to his right pushed against the wall. He grabbed it and started pushing.
He kept his eyes directed at the floor as he headed toward the elevators. As he passed the nurses’ station he heard Marjorie yell to him about cleaning a room.
“I’ve been called to administration,” Tom said without looking up. Every so often if there’d been an accident, like spilled coffee, he’d be called up there to clean it up. Regular cleaning of the administration floor was handled by the night crew.
“Well, get back here on the double,” Marjorie yelled.
Tom swore under his breath.
When he got to the administration floor, Tom pushed his cleaning cart directly into the main secretarial area. It was always busy there, no one ever looking at him twice. He parked his cart directly in front of the wall chart of the floor plan of the Forbes residence in southeast Miami.
There were ten apartments on each floor, and each had a little slot for a name. Tom quickly found Janet Reardon’s name in the slot marked 207. Even more handy was a key box attached to the wall just below the chart. Inside were multiple sets of keys, all carefully labeled. The box was supposed to be locked, but the key to open it was always in the lock. Since the box was obscured by his cart, Tom calmly helped himself to a set for apartment 207.
To justify his presence Tom emptied a few wastebaskets before pushing his cart back to the elevators.
As he waited for an elevator to arrive he felt a wave of relief. Even Alice was willing to talk to him now. She told him how proud of him she was now that he would be able to take care of things. She told him that she’d been worried about this new nurse, Janet Reardon.
“I told you that you didn’t have to worry,” Tom said. “Nobody will ever bother us.”
_______
STERLING ROMBAUER had always liked the adage that his schoolteacher mother had espoused:
This was a felicitous turn of events. Thanks to his frequent stays at Boston’s Ritz Carlton, Sterling’s contacts in the hotel were simply sterling. A few discreet inquiries revealed some helpful information. First, Tanaka had hired the same livery company Sterling himself used, which wasn’t surprising since it was by far the best. Second, he was scheduled to remain in the hotel at least another night. Finally, he’d made a lunch reservation in the Ritz Cafe for two people.
Sterling went right to work. A call to the maitre d’ in the cafe, a rather crowded, intimate environment, produced a promise that Mr. Yamaguchi’s party would be seated at the far banquette. The neighboring corner table, literally inches away, would be reserved for Mr. Sterling Rombauer. A call to the owner of the livery company resulted in a promise of the name of Mr. Yamaguchi’s driver as well as a transcript of his stops.
“This Jap is well connected,” the owner of the livery company said when Sterling phoned him. “We picked him up from general aviation. He came in on a private jet, and it wasn’t one of those dinky ones either.”
A call to the airport confirmed the presence of the Sushita Gulfstream III and gave Sterling its call number. Phoning his contact at the FAA in Washington and providing the call numbers, Sterling obtained a promise to keep him informed of the jet’s movements.
With so much accomplished without even leaving his hotel room and a bit of time to spare before the luncheon rendezvous, Sterling walked across Newbury Street to Burberry’s to treat himself to several new shirts.
_______
WITH HIS legs crossed and stretched out in front of him, Sean sat in one of the molded plastic chairs in the hospital cafeteria. His left elbow was resting on the table, cradling his chin; his right arm dangled over the back of the chair. Mood-wise, he was in approximately the same state of mind as he’d been the night before when Janet
