an assurance that the oysters weren’t contaminated with anything else. You’re a trained doctor, Dr Rycroft, and too valuable now to go traipsing off searching for Lizzy yourself.’
With Albert and Maud within hearing, Quinn didn’t add the obvious. Fifteen minutes ago Maud had been clinically dead. She was likely to need all Quinn’s attention at any minute and if he was taken up with a cardiac arrest and others were dangerously ill…
‘I’ll be back at the clinic as soon as I can,’ Fern promised, taking his proffered bag. She hesitated. ‘But don’t… don’t send Sergeant Russell to find Lizzy.’
‘Why on earth not?’
‘Because I can find her fast,’ Fern told him. ‘I…Lizzy and I are the same age and we were friends as teenagers. I know where she’ll go-and if she sees police looking for her…’
She bit her lip.
‘What’s on your mind, Dr Rycroft?’
Quinn wasn’t impatient. His eyes were intent, allowing her to think things through as she spoke.
‘Lizzy’s impetuous-even maybe a little bit crazy,’ Fern told him. ‘She’ll have done this in a fit of fury and then she’ll have gone home and thought about it. And she’s not stupid. She’ll start seeing the consequences almost at once. She’s already desperately unhappy and if she sees the police looking for her…’
‘She could suicide?’
‘Yes,’ Fern said bluntly. ‘I wouldn’t be surprised.’
Quinn nodded. He turned to Fern’s uncle. ‘You know Lizzy Hurst, sir,’ he said.
Albert Rycroft nodded, his hand holding his wife’s as if he was afraid to let it go.
‘Fern’s right,’ he said heavily. ‘Lizzy Hurst’s a bit crazy but she’s not a bad kid. If she thinks she’s hurt someone as well as lost her Sam…’
‘OK.’ Quinn unclipped the telephone on his belt and handed it to Fern. ‘Take this as well. I’ll be by a phone or the car radio from now on so I don’t need it, but if I need you I’ll be able to contact you. Be fast. Check Frank Reid and Pete Harny first, though, Dr Rycroft. Even if Lizzy Hurst is intent on suicide, she’s done this herself and she has to be given a lesser priority. Move, though, Fern. I need you and I need you fast.’
I need you…
It was odd how those words rang through and through Fern’s head. They made her work speedily and they made the dreadful chaos of the day become almost bearable.
At the end of the chaos Quinn Gallagher was waiting.
So was Sam!
Poor Sam. Fern thought guiltily of her future husband as she pulled up outside Frank Reid’s place. Sam would be mortified that Fern hadn’t stayed by his side to hold his basin-but if she’d stayed with Sam, Maud would be dead by now.
Sam would just have to understand. He’d have gone home to his parents and Fern would get to him as soon as possible.
Odd that Sam’s need didn’t give Fern the same feeling in the back reaches of her heart that Quinn Gallagher’s demand for her presence gave her!
Frank Reid’s home was another farm half a mile from Fern’s uncle’s. Fern knocked twice, noting that Frank’s car was by the door but that the dogs were still tied. Usually when Frank was home his dogs were by his side. He’d come home in a hurry.
No answer.
Fern pushed the unlocked door inward and walked inside. Frank must know that she was here. The dogs were raising enough din to waken the dead.
‘Frank?’
‘I’m in here, girl…’ Frank’s voice came from down the passage, faint but distinct.
He was in his bedroom, huddled under a mountain of bedclothes. His elderly frame seemed to have shrunk and Fern felt her heart lurch in pity.
And in anger. How dare Lizzy play such a stupid trick. Frank didn’t deserve this!
‘I thought I’d better check on my favourite wedding guest,’ she smiled, swallowing her anger in an effort to reassure the farmer, and crossed to the bed. ‘How are you, Frank?’
‘I think I’ve stopped throwing up,’ he whispered. ‘Though I still feel I’m going to, and my stomach feels as if I’ve been kicked by a horse.’
‘I’m not surprised.’ Fern lifted his wrist and was reassured by his pulse rate. Blood pressure a hundred and fifty on eighty. Acceptable…
‘When were you last ill?’
‘About fifteen minutes ago.’
Fern nodded. ‘And you feel like death?’
‘St Peter’s got his book open, girl,’ Frank groaned. ‘I can almost read it from here.’
‘Well, close your eyes and roll over,’ Fern ordered and chuckled as he groaned again. ‘You know what I’m going to do, then?’
‘Stick something in my backside, at a guess,’ he growled. ‘It’s what you doctors seem to like doing most. I always knew you had a sadistic streak in you, Fern Rycroft.’
‘It’s a requisite for medical school,’ she agreed, filling a syringe from the contents of Quinn’s bag. ‘I’m just giving you some metoclopramide to stop the nausea.’
‘I’m not sure I don’t prefer a bit of vomiting.’ Frank dug his head into the pillows and swore. ‘If I could just see what’s written on them danged pages I wouldn’t be so worried.’
Fern laughed. She administered the needle with care. ‘There. Pinprick, Frank. Admit it?’
‘Not on your nelly.’ Frank rolled back to look up at her, only the smile behind his eyes admitting that it hadn’t hurt too much. ‘I don’t encourage you lot one bit.’
Fern smiled. She left him for a moment to find a towel, soaked it with warm water and came back to sponge his face and hands.
‘Better?’
‘Yeah…’ He gripped her hands suddenly and smiled. ‘You’re a good kid, Fern. One of the best. It’s a darned shame you won’t stay…’
‘Can I do a blood sugar?’
‘If you must…’ He motioned to the bureau, grimacing as another spasm of nausea washed over him. ‘My diabetic gear’s over there. I knew I ought to do it myself but I couldn’t face the thought of getting out of bed.’
‘I don’t blame you.’ Fern crossed over and fetched Frank’s kit. Deftly she pricked his finger and produced a droplet of blood, checking it quickly for sugar. What she saw made her wince.
‘Frank…’
‘I know, I know,’ he sighed. ‘I was bloody stupid-even before the oysters. I had two glasses of beer and a lamington with lunch-things my dratted diet chart tell me to avoid like the plague-so I knew I was playing with fire. And then this…’
‘Mmm.’ Fern looked down at him, considering. He couldn’t stay here on his own and Quinn said that he had a hospital…
‘Don’t start looking at me like that, girl,’ Frank growled. ‘I’m fine.’
‘Oh, yeah?’ Fern held the monitor out for him to see. ‘You need a hospital bed, Frank Reid.’
She expected him to protest. Instead, Frank just sighed and pulled the quilt tighter.
‘Yeah, well, I thought you’d say that,’ he said weakly. ‘And they do look after a man there…’
‘You’ve been there before?’ Fern asked in astonishment, and Frank nodded.
‘I had a bad hypo and a fall a few weeks ago. Doc Gallagher took me in then-and they made me right proper comfortable, I must say.’
‘Them…?’
‘Them nurses he employs and that Jess girl, whatever she is. She’s not supposed to have anything to do with the hospital but she’s a real kind-hearted lady. And Doc Gallagher looked after me a treat.’
‘That’s great,’ Fern smiled. She was a little confused but whoever all these people were it made her job here a lot easier. ‘I’ll just let Dr Gallagher know what’s going on.’
