Dead Ringer

“Mrs. D., Mrs. D.!” Carrier was shouting, holding her other arm. “Mary is fine! That’s not where she is! Mary wasn’t on that train! You can call her cell phone right now! She’ll answer!”

“She no answer! I call, I call! She no answer! She’sa inna Washington!” Mrs. DiNunzio ranted as Bennie went to her desk for her cell, opened it, and punched in the number for Washington information. She waited for the call to connect to the National Archives and pressed her way through three levels of automated operations until she finally got through to a librarian in the Research Room.

“Could you page her please?” Bennie said into the phone. “She must have her cell turned off in the library. It’s an emergency.”

“Devil! Witch! You no care about Mary! You no care about nobody but yourself!”

In a minute, Mary’s cute little voice came on the line, and Bennie handed the cell phone to her mother, who stopped struggling long enough to put the phone to her gold earring hanging from a stretched-out earlobe, and in the next second, she erupted in joy and relief.

“Maria! Maria!” Mrs. DiNunzio shouted, with a hiccupy sob that would break even a lawyer’s heart. “Grazie, Dio! Grazie mille! Maria! Maria!” Tears sprang to her eyes and she lapsed into rapid and deliriously happy Italian, while Carrier and Murphy relaxed their grip. “Maria! Maria! Hokay, hokay, Maria! Bye-bye, Maria! Ti amo, Maria! Ti amo!” Mrs. DiNunzio closed the phone and returned it to Bennie with new, wet, and completely adoring eyes.

“All better, Mrs. D.?” Bennie asked, and Mrs. DiNunzio rushed forward and flew into Bennie’s arms.

“Benedetta, you save my Maria! You save her life!” The older woman felt soft and warm as a plump hen, and Bennie held her close. “You are angel! Angel, from God! Grazie mille! Grazie mille! Thank you so much, Benedetta!”

Bennie looked amazedly at the associates, who looked equally surprised. Then she got an idea. There was only one way to make peace with Mrs. DiNunzio, now and forever. “You’re very welcome, Mrs. DiNunzio,” she said warmly, accepting any and all credit.

Suddenly a terrifying scream came from outside the office, shattering the moment. “Help, Bennie! Help!” The shriek electrified Bennie, who released a shocked Mrs. DiNunzio and bolted for the door, with the associates right behind her.

Waiting for them in the hallway was a horrifying sight.

33

Bennie, help!” Marshall screamed. She was on the floor, doubled over and clutching her pregnant belly. Her pretty features contorted in agony. Tears poured from her eyes. Her skin blanched white as bone. Her forehead shone with perspiration.

“Marshall!” Bennie ran frantically to her side and knelt on the rug beside her. She wouldn’t let anything happen to Marshall or her baby. She couldn’t. “It’s okay, Marshall, we’re here.”

“My God it hurts! It hurts so much!” Marshall was gritting her teeth not to scream anymore. “The baby! I was in the bathroom! Something’s wrong!”

“Carrier, call 911!” Bennie shouted, but Judy had already flipped open her cell phone.

“I’m on it,” Judy called back as Murphy sprinted for the telephone on the reception desk.

“I’ll call security!”

“Then call Marshall’s husband. The number’s on the reception desk, with the emergency numbers.” Bennie squeezed Marshall’s hand to steady her as she grimaced with pain. She was having contractions so severe it made her draw up her knees. Then Bennie saw it. Fresh red blood was flowing down the inside of Marshall’s leg. Jesus, God. What the hell is wrong? “Help is on the way, Marshall. We’re calling 911 right now.”

“Okay, okay, Marsh,” Mrs. DiNunzio whispered, easing down onto Marshall’s other side and patting her hand with an Old World authority. If the older woman noticed the blood, she didn’t show it, and her features stayed calm and steady. A gold crucifix and tiny gold horn hung on a gold chain that dipped as she bent over. “It’s gonna be okay. Everything gonna be okay.”

Carrier was repeating their office address into her cell phone. “Please come quick! She was due in two weeks! No, it’s not a normal birth! She’s in pain! She’s screaming! And there’s blood, lots of blood.”

Jesus. Please. Bennie looked down. Marshall was hemorrhaging freely now, thrashing back and forth in agony. Blood coursed down both legs, staining her dress. Her blood pressure had to be dropping. She could go into shock. “We need to put her feet up! We need something for under her feet!”

“Marsh, it’sa okay, all okay.” Mrs. DiNunzio released Marshall’s hand, took off her brown wool car coat, and kneaded it into a bunchy ball, then tucked it under Marshall’s feet. “Your baby gonna be fine, Marsh, you see.”

Thank God. Bennie couldn’t let Marshall die. She couldn’t let her baby die. They needed an extra hand. David. He’d be good in an emergency. She lunged for her cell phone, dropped forgotten on the rug, then flipped the phone open, hit the speed dial, and David picked up.

“David, come now! It’s Marshall! We need help!” Bennie shouted just as Murphy and a young security guard burst into the office with a white plastic first-aid kit bearing a red cross.

“Holy shit!” the employee said at the sight of the bloodstain spreading on Marshall’s dress.

“Carrier, I wanna talk to 911!” Bennie hollered, closing her cell phone and taking Judy’s when she rushed it to her. “Help me, would you?” she yelled into the phone. “Tell me what to do, for God’s sake! We put her feet up already. There has to be something we can do. This woman is not going to die in my arms!”

“Whom am I speaking with, please? Ms. Carrier?” the dispatcher asked, with so much attitude that Bennie wanted to strangle her.

“You’re speaking to me now!” Bennie shouted, and she handed the phone back to Carrier when David bounded into the room, with two uniformed paramedics hustling in with a stainless-steel stretcher and a large black duffel bag.

“Found these guys outside,” David said quickly, going to Bennie’s side. His expression only momentarily betrayed the shock he had to be feeling at the sight of Marshall. Mrs. DiNunzio rose and edged away, praying to herself. The paramedics took over, sprinting to Marshall, unpacking their duffle, and moving expertly around her.

“Miss, we’re here and we’re gonna take care of you,” one paramedic soothed. “What’s your name?” he asked, and when Marshall managed to cry out her name, the paramedic didn’t bother trying to make further conversation. He located a vein in the crook of her arm and put in an IV shunt while the other paramedic pulled a plastic oxygen mask from the duffel and tore off the sterile plastic encasing it, then threaded it to the tank.

“Please lie still, miss,” the second one said, his tone controlled as he positioned the plastic oxygen mask over Marshall’s nose and slipped green elastic straps behind her head. Then he shifted over to unfold the stretcher and unbuckle bright orange restraints. “We’re going right to the hospital with you. No stops for pizza, so don’t even ask.”

“Which hospital are we going to?” Murphy called from the phone on the reception. “We need to tell her husband.”

“University of Penn,” the second paramedic answered, nestling the small green oxygen tank next to Marshall on the stretcher.

It was all happening so fast that in the next second the paramedics were counting “one, two, three,” lifting Marshall onto the stretcher, strapping her to it, getting her moving with oxygen, and shouting to Carrier to grab their “first-in bag” and to Bennie to hold the saline IV up high. They all hustled out of the office together with the stretcher, with David holding one end next to Bennie, and rushed into the hallway and out to the reception area. The security guard scurried ahead to the elevator bank and hit the down button, and when the cab came, Murphy held it open.

“Okay, take it easy,” a paramedic ordered as the men angled the stretcher into the cab and David hit the