Death by the Dozen

by Jenn McKinlay

  “Do you really think it’s wise to be drinking before the competition today?” a male voice asked.

  “Oh, please,” Jordan’s voice sounded irritated. “My nerves are shot. If a mimosa will get me through the next hellish few hours, than I’ll drink one. Shoot, I’ll drink three if I have to.”

  “There are other ways to work out your tension,” the man said.

  Mel recognized the voice. It oozed charm like an oil slick on water. Dutch was in there with Jordan. She remembered overhearing his fierce defense of her to Johnny Pepper and how Johnny seemed to think there was something going on there.

  “Don’t be pushy,” Jordan whined. “No one likes a pushy male.”

  “You used to like it when I pushed,” he said. His double meaning made Mel want to gag, and he sounded petulant, like a child denied his favorite plaything.

  “Oh, don’t be like that,” Jordan said. Her voice had changed from whiny to soothing. “It’s going to be good between us again, baby, I promise. I just can’t get Vic’s death out of my mind.”

  Mel froze. Was Jordan actually choked up about Vic’s death? It seemed unlikely, but she couldn’t deny the note of distress in Jordan’s voice.

  “What if someone finds out—” she began, but Dutch interrupted.

  “Don’t go there, Jordan. We promised we wouldn’t talk about it.”

  “But I can’t help thinking about it,” Jordan protested. “Look at me. I can’t sleep. I can’t eat. I’ve got circles under my eyes, and I think I’m getting dehydrated. My skin is a mess.”

  “You always look beautiful to me,” he said.

  Mel heard a shuffling noise and the distinct sound of two people kissing. She felt her face grow warm. Okay, now would be the time to announce herself, but she really wanted to hear if they’d say more. She had a feeling there was much left unsaid in their conversation, and maybe a part of it had something to do with Vic’s murder.

  After all, if Jordan and Dutch were involved, that gave them a real motive to have killed Vic. Or did it?

  Maybe Jordan had broken up with Vic the morning before he died like she said, and now she had the guilts.

  “Listen, baby, as long as we play it cool, no one is going to find out about what we did,” Dutch whispered, and Mel felt a chill ripple down her spine.

  That was it! They had done something. She made to step out of her hiding spot and confront them, but just then, she heard her name being shouted.

  “Mel, is that you?”

  She whipped her head around to see Grace heading toward her. Oh, no! Mel did not want to be found eavesdropping by Jordan and Dutch. She scuttled out of her hiding spot and rushed across the pool area, heading Grace off before she got any closer.

  “Hi, Grace,” she said in a low voice. “Angie and I were just having breakfast at the café. Care to join us?”

  “Well, I—” Grace started to refuse, but Mel ignored her and looped an arm through hers and dragged her out of the pool area toward the outside dining tables.

  “Angie, look who I’ve invited to join us,” Mel called.

  Angie looked up from her half-eaten plate of food. Her face was a sickly shade of gray, and her eyes were fuzzy as they tried to focus on them.

  “Hi, Grace,” she said. Then she slid from her chair onto the ground in a heap.

  Eighteen

  “Angie!” Mel cried. There was a painful grunt from beneath the table. Mel turned to Grace and yelled, “Get help now!”

  Mel dove under the table. Angie was slumped on the hard concrete, clutching her chest.

  “I think I’m having a heart attack,” she said. “Oh, no, I’m going to throw up.”

  Her eyes rolled back into her head, and she slumped into unconsciousness. The hostess for the café crawled under the table with Mel.

  “An ambulance is on the way,” she said. “Let’s get her out from under there.”

  “Angie, can you hear me?” Mel called anxiously. “Angie?”

  Together they half lifted, half dragged Angie out from under the table. Mel pressed her fingers to Angie’s wrist. Her pulse was slow and irregular.

  “They have to hurry,” she said to the hostess.

  “I’ll go meet them outside and bring them right here,” she promised.

  Grace crouched down beside Mel and frowned at Angie with worry. “Oh, dear, the poor thing.”

  “What’s taking them so long?” Mel yelled. “Does anyone have a car? I’ll drive her to the hospital myself.”

  Just then three burly EMTs stormed into the café. Two set to work, taking Angie’s vitals. They worked efficiently, which would have relieved Mel if they hadn’t looked so worried. The third one turned to Mel.

  “Were you with her? What happened?”

  “I was with her,” Mel said. “But then I went to the pool area. I was only gone for a few minutes, twenty maybe, but when I came back, she fell to the floor. She said she thought she was having a heart attack, then she thought she was going to be sick to her stomach.”

  “Does she have a history of heart disease or any other illnesses?” he asked.

  “No, Angie has nothing. She’s the strongest person I know,” Mel said. Her voice cracked, and she felt her throat constrict.

  She watched as Angie was quickly strapped onto a stretcher, and the three men prepared to whisk her out the door. Mel ran after them, determined to ride with them. She wasn’t going to let Angie out of her sight, not for one second.

  It was a short ride to Scottsdale Osborn Hospital, situated just down the street from the hotel. Mel hugged the side of the ambulance while the siren wailed and the lights flashed and they tore through intersections on their way to the emergency room.

  With the skill of those trained to function in a crisis, the paramedics burst out of the back of the ambulance and hustled Angie on her stretcher inside. They didn’t wait to fill out paperwork but sped into a glassed-in room at the end of the ward, where a doctor was waiting. Mel went to follow, but one of the paramedics held her off.

  “You’re going to need to wait here, ma’am,” he said.

  “But—” Mel protested.

  “We’ll do everything we can,” he said and then shut the door.

  If Mel could have clawed her way through the glass window to get to her friend, she would have. Instead she stared helplessly into a room while a team worked on Angie. With every head shake between the masked personnel, she felt her body spasm in terror.

  Angie was her best friend. Mel couldn’t even picture a day that didn’t have Angie in it. A sob bubbled up, but she forced it away. This was Angie. She was tough. She was young. She was going to be fine.

  Mel wiped away a tear that had spilled down her cheek. She had to let the DeLauras know what was going on. Keeping an eye on the activity in the room, she pulled out her cell phone and called Joe.

  He answered on the third ring. “Hey, Cupcake, are you ready for your competition today?”

  “Joe, it’s Angie,” she said. Her voice wavered, but she forged on. “She’s in the hospital, Scottsdale Osborn, I don’t know what’s wrong.”

  Joe was silent for a second. “Car accident?”

  “No, we were at breakfast and she was fine and then she was on the floor. She thought she was having a heart attack, and her pulse got really faint.”

  “I’ll be right there,” he said. “It’s going to be okay.”

  Mel shut her phone wondering which of them he was trying to convince.

  Next she called Tate. He was in a meeting, so she left a message with Mrs. Gurney, his secretary, letting him know where she was and why. She didn’t want to panic him, but she didn’t want to have to keep calling him either. She felt like all of her energy needed to be channeled to the pale woman supine on the other side of the glass.

  Angie had been Mel’s anchor for so long that just the sight of her lying flattened in the next room made Mel feel cut adrift, which invited in a whole lot of panic.

  Why didn’t Angie wake up? W
hy were the doctors just hovering over her? Couldn’t they tell what was wrong? As if sensing Mel’s stare, one of the doctor’s glanced up and met her gaze. Mel did not like the perplexed look in his sharp brown eyes.

  He must have said something, because the next thing she knew, the curtain was drawn shut, blocking out her view. Mel tried to protest, she even banged on the glass, but the curtain remained closed.

  “Mel!” It was Tate. He was running toward her with his tie askew and looking frantic. Somehow, it took the edge off Mel’s panic to have someone to soothe.

  “Tate, thanks for coming,” she said and gave him a big hug.

  “What’s going on? Mrs. Gurney interrupted my meeting, saying she thought I’d want to know you were here with Angie. What’s happening?”

  “I don’t know,” Mel said. “Angie got really sick at breakfast, and now she’s behind the curtain in that glass room.”

  Mel felt her voice crack. She didn’t know how much longer she could go without knowing what was happening.

  “Well, let’s find out, then,” Tate said.

  He strode over to the door of the room and opened it as if he had every right to do so. Again, Mel was reminded that in the privileged world Tate had grown up in, they operated by a different set of rules, one of which was that virtually no door was ever closed to him.

  The staff in the room looked over as he pulled the curtain open. Mel recognized the electrocardiogram that was hooked up to Angie. Her father had had to have that when his own ticker had started to go kaput. It scared Mel more than any other piece of equipment in the room. Could Angie really have had a heart attack?

  A nurse blocked them from coming any closer. “I’m sorry,” she said. “You can’t be in here right now.”

  “Please just tell us if she’s all right,” Mel said.

  “Are you related?” the nurse asked.

  “I’m her husband,” Tate said. “And this is her sister . . . in-law.”

  Mel didn’t even blink at the whopper of a lie as it flowed out of Tate’s mouth as smooth as royal icing.

  The doctor Mel had seen earlier left Angie’s side and approached them. “Let’s step outside for just a moment.”

  He turned to the nurse and said, “We need to start the gastric lavage and doses of potassium chloride.”

  “Yes, doctor, I’ll begin the prep,” the nurse said and turned back to Angie.

  Mel and Tate followed the doctor into the hallway. He lowered his mask, and Mel could see that he was young—she guessed him to be about their age, maybe a bit older in his mid- to late thirties.

  “I’m Dr. Patel,” he said. His voice had just the trace of an accent, and his warm brown eyes were full of sympathy, a sympathy Mel did not want to see. “I’m sorry, Mr. . . .”

  “Harper, Tate Harper,” he said.

  “Mr. Harper, it seems your wife has been poisoned,” Dr. Patel said.

  Tate hissed in a breath and went rigid. “Is it treatable? Will she be all right?”

  Mel studied the doctor’s face. He looked grim, and she felt every muscle in her body tighten in fear. Angie could not die. She would not accept that.

  “It is a particularly nasty poison, reminiscent of Digitalis purpurea, commonly known as foxglove, but that’s not it. In fact, I’m having a hell of time trying to figure out what it is exactly. The symptoms she’s exhibiting are giving us an idea of how to treat her, but I’m afraid without a conclusive diagnosis of the poison, or the amount of the poison she ingested, it’s going to be touch-and-go. I’m sorry.”

  “Doctor, we’re ready,” the nurse said as she popped her head out of the doorway.

  “Excuse me,” he said. “I’ll update you on her condition as soon as I can.”

  The door shut behind him, and Mel and Tate reached blindly for one another in a terrified hug. The sobs Mel had been holding inside exploded from her, making her body shake as she leaked snot and tears all over Tate’s shoulder.

  “I’m sorry,” she said as she stepped back.

  She looked blindly around for a tissue, but Tate was ahead of her and grabbed a paper towel from a dispenser on the wall over a nearby sink.

  “It’s okay,” Tate said. “It’s an old suit.”

  He handed her the towel, and Mel blew her nose. She glanced at him through watery eyes and could see he was struggling to keep it together.

  He had gone a unique shade of gray, and his eyes were red. He looked to be pushing back some tears of his own.

  “Mel!” a shout sounded down the hall, and Mel turned to see Joe running toward her with the entire pack of DeLaura brothers right behind him. Seven grown men all looking as if they’d rip the building apart brick by brick, if they had to, to get to their baby sister. No wonder Angie loved them so.

  “Oh, man, I don’t know what to say,” she said.

  “It’s all right,” Tate said. “I got it.”

  “Where is she?” Sal demanded.

  “Yeah, what’s happening?” Tony asked.

  “She’s in there,” Tate said. “Dr. Patel says it appears that she’s been poisoned.”

  “Poisoned?” Al echoed. “Like food poisoning?”

  “No,” Tate answered.

  Joe reached out and pulled Mel into his arms as if he was trying to comfort her and get strength from her all at the same time. Mel buried her face against his solid warmth and said, “Oh, Joe, I’m so scared.”

  “It’s going to be okay.” He soothed her by running his hand up and down her back. “Angie is the strongest person I know. She’ll pull through.”

  “I want to go in there,” Dom said. “I’m her brother. I should be allowed in there.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m her husband, and they wouldn’t let me in,” Tate said.

  The brothers all turned as one to stare at him. He shrugged. “I had to say something so they’d tell me what was happening.”

  The brothers nodded. The group was silent.

  “Seven of us and not one of us is a doctor?” Joe asked. “That was an oversight.”

  “Did anyone call Mom and Dad?” Ray asked.

  They all exchanged blank looks.

  “I’ll call,” Dom said. “I’m the oldest. It’s my responsibility.”

  He left with Al, the baby, tagging along behind him. The rest of the group stood awkwardly in the hallway until a nurse showed them to a waiting room just three doors down.

  The room was more of an oversized closet than anything else. Utilitarian carpet on the floor and beige upholstery on wood-framed chairs filled the small room. A corner table held an in-house phone, a lamp, and a stack of well-thumbed magazines.

  “I’ll let Dr. Patel know where you are,” the nurse said. “He’ll be with you as soon as he can.”

  They all nodded numbly. There weren’t enough seats in the room, so Mel and Joe stood in the doorway. She preferred that. She wanted to know the minute the door opened.

  “Can you tell me what happened today?” Joe asked.

  “I was headed over to Café Zuzu, and Angie decided to bike over with me. We ordered breakfast, but I saw Jordan Russell and decided to say hello.”

  “Vic’s protégée?” Joe asked. “I didn’t think you were overly fond of her.”

  “True. Honestly, I wanted to ask her some questions about Vic,” Mel said. She glanced at Joe’s face to see what he made of this, but he said nothing. “I ran into Grace by the pool and invited her to join Angie and me, but then Angie got sick and now we’re here.”

  “Any idea what the poison was?” Joe asked.

  They were standing close together, and Mel appreciated that Joe was keeping his voice neutral, sounding almost conversational, despite the horrible news she was conveying.

  “No, the doctor said it was similar to foxglove, but he didn’t seem to think that was it.”

  “I have a contact in poison control that we used as an expert witness on a case a few years ago,” he said. “I think I’ll give him a call.”

  Mel nodded. “Do i
t now, right away, please. If they can identify the poison, then the doctor will have a much better idea of how to treat her.”

  “All right,” Joe said. “I’ll need to call my office to get the number. I’ll be just a minute. Will you be okay?”

  Mel gestured to the waiting room with the four remaining DeLaura bothers and Tate. “I’ll be fine.”

  Joe kissed her forehead and strode away.

  Mel couldn’t sit, so she began pacing, back and forth, up and down the hallway. No one came from the room with Angie. The clock felt as if it were moving backwards. Mel was sure she was going to lose her mind with worry.

  After her third pass, Tate got up and joined her. Together they walked back and forth, up and down, and on their second pass, Tony joined them. And so it went until six of them were striding shoulder to shoulder up and down the hallway.

  A few of the staff looked at them but said nothing. On their fifth pass, Mel glanced up and saw them, Maria and Dominick DeLaura Senior, hurrying down the hall toward them.

  Maria was clutching her rosary beads, and Dominick Senior’s thick gray hair was disheveled, as if he’d raked his hands through it repeatedly, a gesture Mel knew that each of his sons had inherited and used when they were stressed.

  Dom and Al bookended their parents, as if to bolster them emotionally and physically as they led the way to Angie’s room.

  Maria was an older version of Angie, with the same warm brown eyes and striking features, the same compact figure that was soft but not pudgy. Her hair was short and gray, and she wore jean capri pants and tennies with a pink sweatshirt. There was a streak of dirt on her knee, and Mel would have bet money that she had been in her garden when they got Dom’s call. Maria had a gift for plants and was the only person Mel had ever known who’d actually grown a tree from an avocado pit.

  Maria looked strained but not panicked. Having raised eight children, she had done her share of time in the emergency room. She nodded at the cluster of them, and Mel knew it meant a lot to her that the whole family was here.

  Dom Senior moved more slowly than his wife, having recently had hip replacement surgery. Still there was fire in the stout Italian man’s eyes when he asked, “Where is she?”