Wall-To-Wall Dead (26 page)

“We were a few years apart in age, so we went to school together,” Dr. Ben said. “Of course, that was a lifetime ago. She wasn’t one of my patients, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“I guess she probably went to an allergy specialist?”

Dr. Ben nodded. “Someone in Portland, or maybe Boston. I hadn’t seen her for years. And I don’t remember her well from when we were children.”

“You didn’t miss much,” Derek grunted, still scowling at the pictures. The rest of the family were no better: Cora, Beatrice, and Steve were trading pictures and clippings back and forth, muttering darkly.

“She had this kind of information about everyone,” I said. “Including Candy, the girl who’s in the hospital.”

I turned to Dr. Ben. “Any chance that what happened to her was self-inflicted?”

“You mean, she took something herself, to cause what happened? On purpose?”

I nodded.

“Anything’s possible,” Dr. Ben said. “When I left the hospital this afternoon, they still had no idea what had caused the shutdown, just that something had. The jury was still out on whether it was natural or induced. If she did it herself, it was a big, stupid chance to take, though. She came very close to dying.”

“Do you think she was trying to?”

Dr. Ben tilted his head. “Depends on what Hilda Shaw had on her, I guess. Whether it was worth taking her own life over.”

“She was sleeping with her boss,” Derek said, not pulling any punches. “He’s married.”

“They had an argument Friday night,” I added. “I saw them. He might have broken up with her, I suppose.”

With the extra attention after Miss Shaw’s death, that
might make sense. To cool things down for a bit, wait for the added interest to die down before they picked things up again.

Dr. Ben shrugged. “She’s how old? Twenty-two? Twenty-three? Hurting herself sounds like something a teenager might do to get back at a boyfriend who jilted her. I’d expect someone that age to be more mature. But of course it depends.”

Of course it did. And although I didn’t know Candy well, I thought she just might be more immature than her real age, judging from the pink bubble gum and all. And the fact that she’d been sleeping with a man almost twice her age.

Maybe she had a daddy complex.

“Can we run up to the hospital tonight?” I asked Derek. “Maybe they’ll have come up with some new information by now.”

“We could call,” Derek suggested.

We could. But—“I’d like to stop in and see how she’s doing, since I didn’t get a chance to go with you earlier. Maybe she’s conscious.”

“That’s optimistic,” Derek began, and then added, at a glance from his dad, “but sure. We can run up to the hospital after dinner. It’s only—what?—eight miles?”

“No more than four. But I can drop you off at home first, if you want.”

“No,” Derek said. “If you’re going, I’m going. You’ve gotten into enough trouble. From now on until we’re married, I’m not letting you out of my sight.”

“On that note,” Cora said and got to her feet, “I think it’s time for dessert. And then we’ll talk about the wedding. Who wants cannoli?”

Everyone wanted cannoli, and five minutes later we were munching happily as the conversation drifted from blackmail and murder to wedding dresses and centerpieces. Cora informed me that she’d be doing my wedding flowers, and she’d also volunteered to help Kate with the food.

“What about the dress, Avery?” Beatrice wanted to know. “Have you decided?”

I swallowed. “I’m thinking of getting married in the blue dress I bought for Kate and Wayne’s wedding. All I need is a veil and some sort of headdress. That way Derek can wear his gray suit and blue shirt, and we’ll match.”

“You don’t want to wear white?”

“I don’t have a white dress,” I said, “and no time to make one. And I can’t get married in an off-the-rack dress. I just can’t.”

Cora and her daughter shared an amused look. I added, “Besides, what am I going to do with a wedding dress after the wedding? It’s not like I’ll ever need it again.”

“That’s true,” Cora admitted.

“And it isn’t like it’s the wedding that’s important. It’s what happens afterwards.”

“The wedding night?” Derek said with a glint in his eyes.

I blushed even as I shook my head. “The marriage. It’s getting married that matters. Not the wedding. Do you care if I get married in a blue dress?”

“You could show up in what you’re wearing,” Derek said, looking at my jeans and T-shirt, “and I’d marry you in a heartbeat.”

Likewise.

“See?” I said. “The ceremony and the dresses and the flowers and the food, those are for everyone else. We just want to get married.”

There was a beat of silence.

“In that case,” Cora said, “I’m sure the blue dress will be just fine. It’s practically white anyway.”

“You can borrow my veil,” Beatrice added. “And my gown, too, if you like. I still have it in storage. And you’re right, I’ve never worn it again. Probably never will.” She took Steve’s hand. He smiled at her.

“They’re cute,” I told Derek an hour later as we made our way out of the house on Chandler and toward the Beetle.

He glanced down at me. “Who? Beatrice and Steve? I suppose.”

“It’s good to see that they’ve worked everything out. Things were touch and go there for a while.”

“Once she got kidnapped and almost died,” Derek said, “Steve came around in a hurry. Nothing like mortal danger befalling the woman you love to bring a guy in line.” He put an arm around my shoulders.

“You’ve had more than your fair share of that, haven’t you?”

The arm tightened. “I have. And that’s why, from here on out, I don’t want you to be alone with anyone. Not even Amelia Easton or Robin. You wanna confront someone you think is dangerous, you call me first.”

“Deal,” I said, and unlocked the car.

Waterfield is a small town. Small enough that we don’t have our own medical center. Instead, we share with the rest of the county. However, since we’re the biggest town in that county, the hospital is located just outside the city limits. As Derek had said, in a roundabout way, it’s roughly four miles there, and four miles back.

We were pulling into the parking lot, looking around for a space, when a pale blue minivan came screeching around the corner and darned near clipped the bumper of the Beetle before it straightened up and careened on, in the direction of the emergency room entrance.

“Stop the car!” Derek said, fumbling for the door latch.

“What? Why?”

“That’s Jill’s car.” He had his door open and swung his legs out while we were still moving. “Just do your thing. I’ll come find you.”

He slammed the door and ran hell for leather across the parking lot, following the minivan. I sat there, in the middle of the lot, engine running, gaping after him.

After a moment, I pulled myself together and continued the hunt for a parking space, while my mind now worried over two different people and two widely different scenarios. Candy and her coma and recovery; Jill and her baby.
Candy hadn’t looked good when they hauled her out of the basement earlier, and if Peter came barreling in here on two wheels, maybe something was wrong with Jill or the baby as well.

Or maybe not, I tried to reassure myself. Maybe she was just one of those quick birthers. Once she went into labor, it was all over in under an hour. Must be nice. If I ever had children, that’s how I wanted my experience to be.

Once I got to the reception desk, I asked for Jill first, and was told she was in the process of being admitted. Yes, the desk nurse confirmed, she was in labor. No, I couldn’t see her; it was family only.

“That’s fine. I just saw her car in the parking lot and wanted to check. I’m really here to check on Candy…um…” What the heck was Candy’s last name? I’d known her—or known about her—for more than a year; how could I not know her last name?

“Morrison?” the nurse suggested. “The girl who was brought in this afternoon?”

“That’s her.”

“Another neighbor?”

I nodded. “Has she had a lot of visitors?”

“She’s still unconscious,” the nurse said, “but yes, there’s been a lot of people looking in on her. Friends, neighbors. Good thing she got here when she did. Her body was shutting down. I heard Dr. Brewer say that in another few minutes it might not have been possible to save her.”

“Good thing.” I swallowed at the thought of finding Candy just a few minutes after we did. If we hadn’t thought to look in the community room, she would have died there, on the floor. “Can I go up and see her? Just for a minute?”

“Room 304.” The nurse went back to work.

“Thank you,” I told her bent head, and headed for the elevator.

Room 304 was on the third floor, and Candy must have been upgraded from critical to stable, because it wasn’t part of the intensive care unit. Or maybe they’d just done everything they could for her for now, and the rest was up
to Candy herself. Either way it was just a regular room, shadowed and still except for the low beeping and whirring of the machines that kept track of Candy’s breaths and heartbeats. The room was empty now, but the nurse hadn’t been kidding about the visitors: The windowsill was one after another of flower bouquets and potted plants, while the table next to the bed held a small stack of boxes. Chocolates and other candies, with a white teddy bear on top.

I stepped inside quietly and made my way over to the bed, peering down at her.

She was pale, her skin almost as white as the sheets. The staff had taken down her ponytail, and all that sunny yellow hair framing her face looked healthy, out of place, against the pallor of her skin and her sunken eyes and colorless lips. Her breathing was so shallow I could barely see her chest move, and the tubes and needles going into her arms and her nose and everywhere else were disturbing, but the steady
beep-beep-beep
of the machines was reassuring in a strange, sort of unreal way.

A sound from behind startled me, and when I looked up, I saw that Jamie had come into the room. She looked almost as bad as earlier, and to top it off, now her eyes were red and swollen from weeping.

“Oh,” she said when she saw me, her voice tired and the words slurred. “It’s you.”

“Sorry. Didn’t realize you were still here.” The way she looked and acted, it seemed like she’d be better off in bed. Maybe I should just ask the staff nurse to wheel in another bed so Jamie could lie down there.

“I went to get another cup of coffee.” She was clutching an oversized cup in a shaking hand, and her steps were unsteady.

“How is she?” I looked back at Candy.

“The same.” Jamie settled into the chair beside the bed with a sound halfway between a relieved sigh and a painful groan.

“How are you feeling? Any better?”

“Weird,” Jamie said. “Sort of hungover and drunk at the
same time. My head’s a little fuzzy. My stomach’s upset. Maybe I have the flu.”

Maybe. Although the flu didn’t explain what had happened to Candy. The flu doesn’t throw someone into a full systemic shutdown. And besides, Jamie was stumbling over her sibilants, almost as if she were still drunk.

Maybe she had spiked her coffee with more alcohol. She sure was acting strange, and seemed to have lost a few of her inhibitions along the way, too. Then again, maybe this was the real Jamie. The one who was OK with taking her clothes off in front of strangers.

“Stupid David,” she added. “This is all his fault.”

“Candy’s boyfriend? Has he been here?” I glanced around the room.

“The carnations are from him.” Jamie gestured limply. “No card. Too chicken to put anything in writing. He didn’t yesterday, either.” Her voice was disgusted.

“What do you mean, yesterday?” I couldn’t keep my own nose from wrinkling, although for a different reason. I don’t like carnations. They’re funeral flowers.

Or maybe that’s just my own preconceptions. There had been carnations at my dad’s funeral when I was thirteen. The smell of them still brings to mind death, almost twenty years later. That sickly sweet smell…

Meanwhile, Jamie must have realized I’d said something surprising. She blinked owlishly at me. “How d’you know about that?”

“David Rossini and Candy? I’ve seen them together a couple of times. At Guido’s.” And outside in the parking lot.