Waiting sucked.
Even with her face half-buried in Pete’s coat, she noticed the doors to the exam area swing open. Dr. Fuller strolled out, looked around, and approached them. She turned to call to Wayne and Seth, but they’d already spotted the doctor and were headed his way.
“How’s my sister?” Wayne asked.
“We’re getting her stabilized.”
“What the hell does that mean?” Seth’s voice was stretched so tight it squeaked.
Dr. Fuller had decades of practice dealing with stressed family and friends, and offered a smile meant to comfort. “We’re supporting her vitals while we try to diagnose what’s causing her symptoms.” His gaze passed to each of them, settling on Zoe. “You were with her when she collapsed?”
“Yes.”
“Had she eaten recently?”
“She told me she’d had lunch at the new fast food place in Phillipsburg,” Zoe said. “She had a drink with her. It looked like iced tea.”
The doctor turned to Wayne. “Does she have a history of diabetes?”
“No,” he replied. “Zoe asked me the same thing. What’s going on?”
“Is there any history of diabetes in your family?” Dr. Fuller asked.
“None.”
The look Dr. Fuller gave Zoe raised the hairs on the back of her neck. She knew what he was going to say before he said it.
“Miss Baronick’s bloodwork results reveal she’s severely hypoglycemic.”
At Wayne’s puzzled expression, Zoe said, “Her blood sugar’s low.” Just like Franklin’s.
“Dangerously low,” the doctor said.
Seth stepped forward. “I thought diabetics had high blood sugar.”
“For which they take carefully monitored doses of insulin. If they take their medication but don’t eat, they can go into hypoglycemia. Insulin shock.”
“That’s what’s going on with my sister?” Wayne asked. “But she’s not on insulin.”
Dr. Fuller crossed his arms. “We’re treating her with a dextrose IV, which should bring her glucose levels up. Once she regains consciousness, we can offer her some sugary foods and beverages as well. Then we’ll start running tests to find out what’s causing her symptoms.”
“Tests?” Wayne mirrored the doctor’s crossed arms. “Tests for what?”
“There are any number of issues that could be behind this. Kidneys. Hormone deficiencies. A tumor on the pancreas.”
“A tumor?” Seth’s voice cracked. “As in cancer?”
The doctor placed a hand on the young officer’s shoulder. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. I’m sure we’ll find out this is something much less serious. First things first. Let’s get the young lady stable and awake and go from there.”
“When can I see her, Doc?” Wayne asked.
“You can go in now.” At Seth’s sharp intake of breath, Dr. Fuller added, “Two of you can sit with her.” He glanced at each of them. “I’ll let you fight it out as to which two.” With another comforting smile, he strode away.
As much as Zoe wanted to see Abby, she knew who the second visitor should be. She looked at Pete, trying to read his eyes.
He gave her a quick nod before facing Seth. “You two go.”
Zoe wanted to hug Pete.
Instead, Seth grabbed his hand. “Thank you.”
She watched the men hurry away from them and disappear through the automatic doors into the exam area. In spite of everything—or because of it—there might yet be hope for Seth and Abby.
If she survived.
Pete draped an arm over Zoe’s shoulder. “We need to talk.”
She looked up at him and wished she could read his face. “Okay.”
He guided her to a quiet corner in the waiting room, away from the TV tuned to a twenty-four-hour news network and a worried couple with a squalling infant. “Tell me about John Doe.”
How had he found out? How much did he know? Not that either of those things mattered. She lowered into an uncomfortable chair just as her phone rang. County EOC filled the screen. “Uh-oh.” She held up a finger to Pete and answered.
The operator reported a vehicular accident with a fatality on the Interstate, about five minutes away.
“I’ll be right there,” Zoe said and ended the call. She looked at Pete sitting next to her. “Duty calls. I have to go.”
He put a hand on her arm to keep her from rising. “Not until you tell me about John Doe.”
“I have a call.”
“You’re not on the ambulance anymore. Your DOA will still be dead when you get there.”
His words stung. But he was right. A few more minutes wouldn’t save the fatality’s life. Saving lives was no longer in her job description. She eased back into the chair. “There isn’t really anything to tell.”
“It’s the case Abby was working on and didn’t want to talk about.” Not a question.
“Yes. She asked for my help.”
“And?”
Zoe related their findings—or lack thereof.
Pete gazed into the distance. “Another dead end.”
“Afraid so.”
“What made Abby—and you—look into his death?”
“I told you. She had a hunch. I was helping out a friend by digging up more information. It all felt too…coincidental. But apparently sometimes a coincidence is just a coincidence.”
“I hate coincidences,” he muttered.
Zoe remembered her and Abby saying the same thing. “I know.” She climbed to her feet. “I really have to go.”
Pete stood as well and drew her to him. She inhaled his scent, a mingling of soap and coffee, and wished she could close her eyes and be alone with him, anywhere but here. One week, she thought. In one week, they’d be headed to Florida.
She backed out of Pete’s arms and stood on her toes to give him a quick kiss. “Keep me posted on Abby’s progress.”
“Promise.”
Sitting in a waiting room and doing nothing wasn’t Pete’s strong suit. Once Baronick came out to update him—Abby was stable but still unresponsive—Pete headed back to Vance Township on a mission.
Zoe had insisted the John Doe investigation had gone nowhere. Yet Abby’d had a hunch about him, and Pete had come to trust Abby’s hunches.
He’d last seen the folder containing Franklin Marshall’s report on his antique washstand yesterday morning. John Doe’s file and the second folder with Elizabeth’s autopsy notes had vanished at some
