A.W. Hartoin - Mercy Watts 04 - Drop Dead Red (10 page)

I leaned on the cold concrete wall and said, “Hi, Dad.”
 

“Good. You’re off work. Get over to Children’s ASAP.”
 

“What is it this time?”
 

“Ameche called me. There’s a situation. Handle it and check in later.”
 

“Where are you going?”

“Quincy. I got a lead on the Abbott kid.”
 

I had no idea who the Abbott kid was, but at least Dad wouldn’t be showing up and throwing a hissy fit. “Okay. You nab the kid and I’ll go to Children’s.”
 

“On it.” Dad hung up and I heaved a sigh of relief. I couldn’t deal with Dad after the shift I’d had. I was full up on screaming.
 

“I have to go to Children’s,” I told Raymond and Jack.
 

“Chuck wants you here,” said Jack.
 

“Tell him it’s for Ameche. He’ll understand.”
 

“I doubt that.”
 

Brittany shook more violently. “Can I go with you? I don’t want to stay here alone.”
 

“You’re not alone. Raymond and Jack are here. The cops will be here in like, two minutes. You have to give them a statement.”
 

“I’m a terrible nurse,” she wailed.
 

That was out of nowhere, not that I could exactly argue with it. “You just need some seasoning.”
 

“Did you need seasoning?” she asked hopefully.
 

“My dad is Tommy Watts. I was sneaking peeks at crime scene photos when I was six. I came to nursing preseasoned.”
 

“I know who you are.”
 

“You do?” I was genuinely surprised. Brittany had shown no sign that she recognized me at all.
 

“You grew up on Hawthorne. I live on Longfellow. My parents are live-ins for the Strahans. I’ve always known about you.”

“You hid it well. Most people can’t. There’s hope for you yet.”
 

“Huh?”
 

“The key to nursing is a strong stomach and the ability to hide what you really think. You can do that.”
 

“I screamed in Mrs. Silverstein’s face,” she said with a sniff.
 

“Well, you need to work on that.”
 

“How?” Brittany looked at Raymond and Jack who shrugged in unison.

“I’ll tell you what. If you stay here and deal with the cops and the statement, I’ll help you out.”
 

Brittany threw her arms around my neck, thanking me profusely. Just like that, Brittany the dry-heaver became one of my people.

Chapter Eight

CLEM MET ME at the door of the PICU, wearing bunny ears and a cotton tail. “Glad you’re here. You’ll have to wait a minute. There are too many visitors right now.”
 

“Who’s here?” I asked.
 

“The Ameches and some little weird guy they brought in with them,” she said.
 

Little weird guy.
 

“Did he have food with him?”
 

“How’d you know?”
 

“Lucky guess.”
 

We walked by the desk and it had Aaron written all over it. There were no less than five large containers of muffins, house-made sausages, pancakes, and mouth-watering hash browns. Three nurses sat behind the desk eating in a stupor I recognized as Kronos induced. Kronos was my investigating partner’s restaurant. It was Star Trek-inspired and weird to the max, but seriously good. No one cooked like Aaron. I carried around the proof in my generous rump.
 

“I’ve died and gone to heaven,” said Kayla. “Hi, Mercy.”
 

I waved and grinned. I knew Kayla from nursing school, back in the days when she was always on a diet. Those days were over.
 

Before we got to the Berry kids’ rooms, Dr. Lydia came out of Payton Stills’ room. “Mercy. That was quick. Joey called your father only about forty minutes ago.”
 

“It sounded important, so here I am,” I said.
 

Dr. Lydia frowned. “I’m not sure if I’d call it an emergency, but the Ameches will be happy to see you.”
 

“Why?” I asked, swallowing hard. The smell of Aaron’s food was making me drool.
 

“You have a way about you.”
 

I frowned.
 

“It’s not the Marilyn thing. It’s you.”
 

That would be nice if I believed it. People had feelings about Marilyn Monroe. If they were good feelings, they felt good about me. It wasn’t the same thing as liking me, not the same thing at all.
 

“So what’s up?” I asked.
 

“The lab results are back. Both Abrielle and Colton were infected with a strain of listeriosis meningitis that was previously unknown before this case,” said Dr. Lydia.
 

“New strains develop,” I said.
 

“Not out of the blue in a completely isolated incident,” said Clem.
 

“You’re suspicious?”
 

“We are,” said Dr. Lydia.
 

“How are the kids?” I asked.
 

“Improving daily. They’re both having migraines. Abrielle can barely function. Clem and I made statements and the cops have cleared Donatella of any involvement.”
 

“That’s excellent news.
What’s the problem?” I asked.
 

“How’d they get it?” asked Dr. Lydia.

I looked down the hall at Abrielle’s door. How indeed?

“What did the CDC say?”
 

“Not much. It doesn’t look like an outbreak, so I don’t think they’re all that interested. They called it a singular aberration or something like that. They’re going to follow-up, but, let’s face it, between the West Nile virus, all the measles and mumps outbreaks, and Ebola, they have their hands full.”
 

“What do you want me to do? I’m no infectious disease expert,” I said.
 

“You are a nurse and an expert in figuring things out.”
 

Abrielle’s door opened and an older couple came out. They looked to be in their late sixties or early seventies. Like Blankenship’s parents at Hunt they held each other’s hands as they came down the hall and silently passed us.
 

“You can go in now,” said Dr. Lydia.
 

I didn’t want to go in that room, like so many others I would rather have avoided. But Ameche was my people and you take care of your people. I opened the door and walked into the fabulous smell of Bananas Foster.
 

Abrielle lay in the bed under dim lighting with her eyes closed. She was older than I’d imagined, about fourteen. A thin headband held back her straight brown hair and accentuated her heart-shaped face. Next to her stood Aaron with a bowl and a spoon. Abrielle gave a slight nod and Aaron gave her a little bite of Bananas Foster.

On the other side of the bed sat Ameche with his arm around a woman who I assumed was Donatella. She looked up at our approach and my mouth formed an “O.” Donatella was stunning. She had pale flawless skin and masses of dark red curls that went down past her elbows. When she looked at me I saw no recognition or expectation in her eyes. They were dull and lifeless. No spark and she should’ve had a spark with that hair. I would never have expected her to be Ameche’s sister. It’s not that he or their parents were unattractive. They were a normal amount of attractive. Donatella was something else and I suddenly knew why Oz was so interested in her.
 

Ameche saw me a second after his sister and jumped to his feet. “Mercy.” He dashed past Abrielle’s bed and flung his arms around me.
 

I hugged him as little as possible. There’s a small truth about me. I don’t like people touching me, not even my people. It could be because I get touched plenty and it was rarely welcome.
 

“I’m here. Of course, I’m here,” I said.
 

Ameche gave me one more fierce hug and backed up. “Sorry. I don’t know why I did that.”
 

“It’s okay.”
 

Donatella edged out of her seat like she was in severe physical pain and Ameche took her arm. “This is Mercy. She’s going to help.”
 

Donatella held out her hand, but looked like she had no real interest in whether I took it or not. I did because I couldn’t leave the pale limp thing hanging out there. Her hand was freezing. I mean seriously cold.
 

“Has anyone taken your temperature lately?”
 

She blinked. “Temperature?”
 

Abrielle opened her eyes to slits and watched us.
 

Dr. Lydia took Donatella’s hand and then her pulse. “Let’s go out to the family area, so you and Mercy can chat.”

“But Abrielle…”
 

“I’m sure Joey and…”

“Aaron,” I filled in.

“Would be happy to stay.”
 

Ameche assured Donatella that he wouldn’t leave her side. That he’d pee in a pitcher, if he had to. That got the tiniest smile out of her and we went out into the hall.
 

“Clem, can you get some blankets out of the warmer?” asked Dr. Lydia.
 

“I’ll do it,” I said. Better for Clem to stay. She was an expert in parental support in a crisis. I dashed off to the staff room and grabbed three toasty blankets out of the warmer, and then went to the desk. The nurses were still there, gorging.
 

“Did he happen to bring any thermoses?” I asked.
 

They didn’t speak, only chewed and pointed to a trio of thermoses next to a pile of charts. The first one had a fruity coffee blend and the second had hot chocolate. I snagged it and headed for the family room. Dr. Lydia had Donatella curled up on an over-stuffed blue couch. I tucked the blankets in around her and poured her a cup of Aaron’s best French hot chocolate. I could tell it was French by the whiff of bittersweet chocolate when I poured it. I was getting better at Name That Chocolate.
 

“Drink this,” I said.
 

“I’m not hungry.”
 

“I know, but this will help.”
 

We all three waited until she agreed and took few sips. Drinking hot chocolate almost looked like it was too much for her. Clem had to help her bring the cup to her lips. The full light of the family room showed what shape Donatella was really in and I had to agree with Dr. Lydia’s opinion. This was not a woman who risked her children to kill her husband. She looked worse than terrible. I’d looked after my mom’s best friend Dixie after her husband, Gavin, was murdered and Donatella made Dixie look put together. Her glorious mass of red hair was matted and greasy. She probably hadn’t bathed since it happened and she’d chewed her lower lip bloody. Her fingernails had traces of a top end manicure, but she bit them past the quick and the tips were red and swollen. It would take a pretty high level of commitment to do that to yourself. I couldn’t. Fingertips have a lot of nerves in them. Even if it weren’t for Ameche, I would help her. I’d never seen such a picture of need. I was in it for the long haul, so I pulled up a beanbag. Besides, how often do you get the chance to sit in a beanbag?
 

“I’m happy to help in any way I can. Since the police dropped the investigation, I’m not sure what you’re looking for.” I squished down and got instantly sleepy.
 

 
Clem took Donatella’s temperature with a temporal scanner rolled across her pale forehead. She didn’t seem to notice the touch of the metal ball or Clem’s frown after.
 

“I’m going to buzz Dr. Bergamo,” said Clem and she left.
 

Donatella spoke, her voice was whisper soft. “They’re suing me.”
 

“Your husband’s family?” I asked.
 

She scoffed. “Family. Those people aren’t family. They’re vultures. They’re the ones that recommended Tulio to Rob’s mom in the first place and they want to blame me for what happened. Rob hadn’t talked to any of them in years. Now they’re acting like they knew him, like they were close. Rob was my best friend in the world. He was my world. It’s disgusting.”
 

“They’re suing you for what? Wrongful death?” I asked.

“That and custody of my children. None of them have even seen Abrielle or Colton in their whole lives. They’re saying that I’m unfit. Me. Their mother. They don’t believe the police. They have the man that did it. I don’t know him.” Donatella began hyperventilating and tears streamed down her cheeks. Dr. Lydia produced a paper bag and she had Donatella breath into it. The bag puffed out and collapsed with each breath and I took the time to absorb the information. This must be what Dad was worked up about. He wouldn’t care about strains of listeriosis.
 

Ameche came in, looking nearly as bad as his sister. He wasn’t a big guy, but he’d lost ten pounds at least. “Mom came back,” he told Donatella and then turned to me. “So I take it she told you.”
 

“She did, but you shouldn’t get too upset about it. The courts will see this for what it is, a money grab. The cops have cleared Donatella. This’ll barely get off the ground.”
 

Donatella rammed the bag into her lap. “But it will get off the ground. You know how people are. They’ll talk. There will be stain on my character. My kids will hear the rumors. Their father is dead and then they get to hear whispers about how maybe their mom did it. Do you know how much that will hurt them?”