by Jan O'Hara
The suite was large and clearly occupied on a long-term basis, with homey touches you wouldn’t otherwise see in a hotel room. One of them—a small white Shih Tzu—yawned from her cushion in a wicker basket. She padded over to greet her owner with a woof.
To the left, a bathroom with a tub was visible past the bedroom area. Oliver struggled to his feet, the woman still in his arms, and headed in that direction.
The nurse’s military-grade voice lashed out. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“To put her in the bath,” Oliver said.
“So you want to kill her then?” She tossed a capacious handbag into an armchair. Both hands set to removing her scarf and bulky coat, which were likewise discarded. At a wordless gesture from her, the blond twin began to follow the nurse’s example.
Oliver froze. “That wasn’t the plan, no.”
“Just checking. Because if you warm up her extremities too quickly, you’ll send all that cold blood straight to her heart and blam!” She clapped her hands with grim satisfaction. “Cardiac arrest.”
Right. Though Oliver never had cause to worry about treating hypothermia in his life, it was starting to come back to him. Along with the usual remedy…
“You’re going to use body heat to revive her?” he asked, in case he was mistaken.
The nurse nodded brusquely.
“Don’t worry.” The blond twin was seated at the edge of the bed, working off a boot. “Mavis might have a ghoulish sense of humor, but she worked up north for years and handled oodles of hypothermia.” She paused thoughtfully. “Why, one time she was the only nurse on duty—not even a doctor around, can you imagine?—when two snowmobiles of teenagers went through the ice on Lesser Slave Lake—”
“He doesn’t care about that,” Mavis said. “He’s too upset about our blue beauty to want to hear my war stories. You,” she said to the fur-coated lady. “Strip back the covers so Oliver can set our girl down. He’s getting tired.”
The woman, who had been murmuring something to the bellman, handed Gill a pink leash and moved to obey. “My name is Mrs. Arbuckle, not You,” she said indignantly.
“Pleased to meet you.” To get out of Mrs. Arbuckle’s way, the blond twin shifted to the armchair and attacked her second boot.
Mrs. Arbuckle pulled back the covers on the king-sized bed to reveal snowy white sheets.
To the stowaway, Mavis cooed, “Poor dear. So cold. At least you’re shivering. If not, we’d have no choice but to send you to the hospital.”
Oliver was dimly aware of the bellman leaving, the dog preceding him at the end of her leash like a small, shaggy mop.
He set the stowaway down and resisted the urge to check his vision. That could wait for another few minutes.
Meanwhile, there was all this surplus clothing to remove. At least the layering proved she wasn’t a total ninny. He removed three pairs of mittens and counted four layers of clothing under her puffy jacket, three of which he doubted belonged to her. Between the colors and styles, they looked like relics of the eighties.
He reached what was likely the bottom level—a long tunic made of sweater fabric in gunmetal gray, with leggings to match.
The blond twin had come closer to watch and now stood in her blouse and panties. She spoke to the stowaway. “I’m not one to criticize another person’s color choices, but do you realize, dear, that you look like a bruise?”
Until now, the stowaway had lain passively as Oliver removed her clothing. But as he reached under the tunic to find her waistband, she stirred and swatted his hands.
“I’ve got this, Oliver,” Mavis said. To Mrs. Arbuckle she said, “If you aren’t getting naked, it’s time to leave.” As if that wasn’t sufficiently presumptuous, she added, “We’ll let you know when we’re done with your room.”
Mavis crossed her arms and seized the lower front edge of her sweater. “Now, unless you want to get an eyeful of something that needs ironing, I suggest you run for the hallway.” She threw back her head and laughed.
Oliver was chased out of the room by the blond’s answering cackle.
Chapter 2
In the hallway, away from the bold chatter of the twins, Oliver found it easier to think, and he wasn’t impressed with his vigilance on behalf of his brother. Shawn was counting on Oliver to safeguard his livelihood. Mavis seemed to know what she was doing but she looked to be in her late sixties. How many years had it been since she treated patients?
What if she was overreaching?
What if the blue-haired girl died?
“Screw this,” he said to the woman who had introduced herself as Mrs. Arbuckle, and who had wisely chosen exile from her own suite rather than a panty party with the twins. “I’m calling an ambulance. I don’t know why I listened to her in the first place.”
He unzipped his Canada Goose parka and began to pat it. Dang. This coat was so new to him he hadn’t yet worked out a system. Where had he stowed his phone?
“Well, dear, she does have an authoritative way about her,” Mrs. Arbuckle put in mildly. “But the manager of the Thurston would agree with you.” She put her hand over his as he extracted his cell from the hidden breast pocket. “Which is why you might wait to see if that’s necessary. I just ran into Dr. Sheridan at Whimsy, buying My Spicy Valentines. I took the liberty of having Gill telephone for him.”
Oliver blinked at her. “Whimsy?”
“The bakery down the street. It’s so close, the doctor should be here any second.”
Oliver’s thumb hovered over the nine. That was less time than it would take for an ambulance to arrive. Plus, it would be easier to monitor both the stowaway and seniors if they could be kept in the same building. “Is he any good?”
“The best.”
She looked like she wouldn’t settle for anything less than top-drawer. He relaxed a little. “My Spicy Valentines?”
She smiled. “Cupcake of the month. A must-eat if you stay in Harmony.”
Oliver shrugged. He was no snob, but he’d eaten pastries in Paris and strudel in Prague. It was unlikely a small town bakery could top those.
Besides, the tour group’s tight schedule had been put in a vice. He had a limited time period to ensure the stowaway was going to be okay, notify her next of kin, and reload his seniors. There would be no opportunity to meander or explore.
Instead of pressing 911, he opened his browser and did a quick search for the treatment of hypothermia. He winced at the images of frostbite that flooded his screen and scrolled quickly down. It wasn’t nice to think of anybody suffering from that kind of deformity, and the stowaway was reasonably attractive. It would be a shame to see her beauty altered, alternative though it might be.
It didn’t take long to confirm Avis had been right to dissuade him from the bath.
Oliver looked at Mrs. Arbuckle. “I should call for tea.”
Her smile was one of pure delight. “Oh, dear. You’ll think me extraordinarily bossy, but—”
“You took the liberty of sending for a tray,” he guessed. “And Gill will be back at any moment.”
She lifted one shoulder and smiled broadly.
Oliver shook his head in amazement and put his phone away to offer thanks that were long-overdue. The way Mrs. Arbuckle took things in stride, you’d think hypothermic people were an everyday occurrence in her world. “You’re incredible. When this is over, I’ll owe you big time.”
“Hush. None of that.”
He offered his hand. “Oliver Pike.”
While one hand slipped into his, the other played with a black gemstone necklace at her throat. “Madeline Arbuckle. And I’ll let you in on a little secret.” She leaned closer, her voice a near whisper. “There are times I don’t have enough to do. Today was one of them. You’ve made me feel useful.”
Oliver squeezed her hand. The vulnerability in her pronouncement created an answering tightness in his chest. He might have betrayed himself by saying something sappy, but the elevator dinged and the doors
opened.
A tall black man exited, holding a leather satchel and pastry box.
Gill followed, bearing a tray laden with a steaming teapot, silverware, a tiny jar of honey, and a porcelain cup and saucer.
“You sent for me, Mrs. A?” The satchel-bearing man scanned the senior up and down.
Madeline gave a girlish giggle and tugged the box from his hands. “Not for me, Isaac. The injured party is in my room.” She handed him her keycard and tilted her head to the side. “I hope you’re not easily scandalized.”
“After all my years in emergency, removing unmentionable implements from unmentionable places?” The doctor chuckled as if the idea was preposterous. “Shall we see what’s behind door number one? Come along, Gill. You can set the tray inside and leave me to my ministrations.”
The door buzzed and swung inward. The doctor’s smile faded as he glimpsed something in the suite. “Oh,” he said. “Oh, my.” Then he disappeared through the door as if his boots were on fire.
Gill’s eyes widened. With an inscrutable glance at Oliver, Gill straightened his shoulders and followed, the door swinging shut behind him.
Oliver stalked to the door. “That doesn’t sound good.”
Madeline’s eyes twinkled. “On the other hand, nobody’s run screaming from the suite.”
“Set the bar high, do you?” Oliver winked at the senior. “Listen, I hate to ask more when you’ve already been so generous, but I have to check on my tour group. Can you make sure the doc doesn’t leave until I talk to him?”
At her nod, he strolled a little way down the corridor, to where he could watch the door but have privacy for his call.
Buck answered on the first ring and his anxiety was palpable. “Is the girl going to be okay?”
“I should know soon. What’s happening at your end?” Out of the corner of his eye, Oliver saw Gill leave the suite. He didn’t seem ruffled. Then again, that could be the professional mindset.
“I don’t mind saying it’s like Lord of the Flies down here, but with walkers, Mr. P. That girl made a right mess in the hold.”
Oliver closed his eyes. “Did she ruin anything?”
“Not so far as I can tell. But the clothes are dusty and rumpled. Hope you don’t mind, but I promised the company would make it right. Hope your brother has a dry-cleaning budget.”
Small chance, Oliver thought, beginning to pace. “We’ll figure it out,” he said, because what alternative did he have? Inaugural trips set the tone for an entire business.
“Meanwhile,” Buck said, “I asked the rest of them to stay put while I tidied up. But once they knew their luggage was okay, they dispersed, quick as you please. I’ve been combing through the hotel’s restaurants and shops, and I can’t find half of them. We’re supposed to leave in another hour.”
“About that schedule…” Oliver said, earning a commiserating glance from Mrs. Arbuckle, who was shamelessly eavesdropping but somehow made it seem classy and noble.
“Don’t say that, Mr. P. Your brother swore I’d be able to switch off in Golden. I’ve got to be in Edmonton tomorrow night.”
“And you will be.” Oliver hoped. A good deal would depend on the doctor’s edict. He hung up and addressed Mrs. Arbuckle. “I have another huge favor to ask.”
“You want to deputize me?” she said.
“No, I want to hire you for the entire trip.” He smiled at her expression, which was a mixture of flattery and shock. “But since you’re about to refuse, I’ll take whatever you can give me.”
He pulled out his wallet and peeled off a wad of the cash that still appeared like Monopoly money to his American eyes. “My driver could use help with the tour group. If you need it, there’s more where that came from.”
“You’re at the Thurston,” Mrs. Arbuckle said, as she reluctantly took a few bills. “The managers and staff will do it for free.”
If true, Oliver thought, it would be his first break of the day.
* * *
✽
After an eternity, the doctor emerged. He seemed to be avoiding Oliver’s eyes. He tucked his winter coat between his knees and rolled down his shirt cuffs in movements that were unnecessarily brusque. Unless Oliver missed his guess, though the man was trying to hold onto his professional reserve, someone in that room had left him feeling affronted.
“How is she, doc?”
Dr. Sheridan huffed out a breath. “The young lady holds a number of strong opinions about doctors. And hospitals.” He shouldered on his jacket. “That is to say, despite my advice, Ms. Maddux won’t go in for a more thorough assessment.”
Oliver’s hands tightened into fists and he took an involuntary step toward the door. “I’ll just have to make her.”
Dr. Sheridan cleared his throat. “Strictly speaking, you can’t. Her choices might be imprudent, but she’s competent. And frankly, the hospital isn’t essential. Her vitals are fine, there are no signs of frostbite, and Mavis is an experienced nurse.” He pulled a pair of winter gloves from his pocket and worked them over his fingers. “If she goes downhill, call an ambulance. Otherwise, I’ll be back at eight.” He accepted his pastry box from Mrs. Arbuckle with a nod of thanks.
“In the morning?” Oliver exclaimed.
“Yes,” the doctor said, drawing out the word. “You didn’t think she’d make an instant recovery, did you? She’s young and strong, but generally speaking, the human body doesn’t like to be frozen.”
“Of course not.” Oliver ran his hands through his hair. He hadn’t been thinking at all, that was the problem, and the blue-haired…flake in that room could jeopardize everything.
Better pull his act together and play defense, beginning with a series of phone calls.
Chapter 3
For a long time, the only thing that mattered was drawing as close as possible to the twin sources of heat—one in front and one behind—and enduring the shivers racking her body. Her goosebumps were so prominent, it felt like her skin had been scoured with a barbecue brush, and an enduring fatigue threatened to suck her under.
Even so, Page gradually became conscious of the conversation wafting over her, and that her heat sources—both older female—were dissecting her life.
“Did you see the expression on that boy’s face when you shoved him out of the room?”
The voice coming from behind Page’s left ear was vaguely familiar. Was that the woman from the drugstore in Edmonton? Avis, if Page remembered correctly.
“Oliver?” said the woman in front. “Whatever he did before now, the poor man isn’t used to being bossed around.”
Both bodies heaved in laughter, a restrained chuckle coming from the woman in front, cackling laughter from Avis.
“You can say that again, though I swear it was more,” Avis said.
“Oh?” came from in front.
“He was hoping to stick around for the great reveal. If there had been a great reveal, that is.”
Avis had a way of infusing certain words with import, as if they should be capitalized.
“After all,” Avis said, “when people dye their hair unusual colors, they don’t always stop at the neck.”
“We’re not checking if the collars and cuffs match,” the woman in front said, in a dry tone of voice.
Page’s eyes popped open. Were they discussing what she thought they were discussing?
“I wasn’t proposing that,” Avis said.
“Of course you weren’t,” said the front woman, in a voice that said she believed otherwise.
“You have to admit it would be interesting if she dyed it in blue stripes, too.”
“Not enough to ignore my ethics.”
There was silence for a while. Then Avis said, “Did you ever see interesting shapes? Green trees for Christmas, or hearts for Valentine’s Day?”
“Would this be a good time to mention I’m awake?” Page asked politely.
At least that was the attempt. Being half-frozen took a lot out of a person. The chills wracking
Page’s body made her feel like she was being wrenched in half, and her tongue and mouth weren’t cooperating. She sounded like she’d undergone a root canal.
The bed churned as the woman in front rolled over. Page’s view of short, orangish-red hair yielded to intelligent eyes and a full smile.
“Oh, look, she’s alert. How are you feeling, dear?” the woman asked, even as her hand found Page’s wrist and began to take a pulse.
What followed was a period of weirdness that might have spanned hours, or mere minutes, for all Page knew.
The two women fussed over her. They plied her with sweetened tea. When Page couldn’t hold the cup and dumped half the contents all over herself, they said nothing remotely critical.
When the orange-haired one deemed her ready, they dressed Page in fleece pajamas that came from her own giant handbag. They helped Page to an armchair and wrapped her in miles of soft blankets. In short, they crammed more kindness and nurturing into that time than she had been given in years.
And gradually, as Page’s brain caught up to her circumstances, their wash of generosity divided into two very different streams.
In a testament to the Hofstadter parents’ lunacy, the redhead’s name turned out to be Mavis. Compared to her fraternal twin, Mavis was trimmer, shorter, and more efficient in both her movements and speech. She was a nurse, and the person directly responsible for Page being in a hotel suite instead of a hospital.
Page mumbled her gratitude as best she could, and Mavis beamed, then went back to changing the bed.
Avis, the blond, maintained the same batty energy that had attracted Page to her in Edmonton. “My parents always said I’m the one you wouldn’t want driving your car,” she said on a laugh, when explaining how Page could keep their names straight.
While Mavis was on the phone to chase down the tour operator, Avis chattered away about her former drama student, Danielle. Danielle had taken Mavis’s teaching position upon her retirement.
“Did I tell you about Danielle’s dyslexic student?” Avis asked Mavis, who shot a conspiratorial glance at Page and rolled her eyes.
