"I'll call you in the morning."
"After the police."
Susan locked the door behind Julie. Tears gathered but remained unshed. What's wrong with me? Leila was my best friend. Instead of grief, she felt anger. Why had Leila been killed? Because she knew a secret? That had to be the reason. Why hadn't Leila told her the reason De Witt wasn't being offered the partnership? Why hadn't there been a security guard to escort Leila to her car?
Her hands clenched so tight her fingers cramped. First thing in the morning, she intended to call the Nursing Office and vent her anger.
She couldn't understand why Leila had lost her usual caution and walked to the parking lot alone. Where had the other evening supervisors been?
As Susan remembered the days of friendship, one tear became a stream. Rather than go upstairs to a too large and empty bed, she curled on the couch and pulled the afghan close.
Patrick stood at the kitchen counter and buttered a piece of toast. A bright sun promised a cold but beautiful day. The radio, tuned to the local station, played a soft accompaniment to his actions. After breakfast, he'd deliver his column to the paper.
At eight, the news began. He poured a glass of orange juice and sat on a stool to eat.
"A second nurse was murdered last night at Bradley Memorial Hospital. Leila Vernon, one of the evening supervisors, died as a result of injuries sustained during a mugging. The attack occurred around eleven P.M. in the hospital parking lot."
The toast dropped on the counter. Susan will be upset. Leila had been her best friend. He reached for the phone and dropped his hand to his side. What could he say that wouldn't frighten her?
He rose. How could he keep her safe without making her resent his intentions?
In the past year, she had become a different woman from the one who had married Jim. Stronger, more self-assured. He liked her strength though her rigid hold on independence sometimes exasperated him.
The gun, he thought. Would she believe she was in danger if he told her about the gun? He needed to call Greg and discover what his friend had learned from the antique dealer. Again, he reached for the phone and just as quickly, changed his mind.
Was she up? Because she worked evenings, she usually slept late in the morning. He wanted to be with her when she learned about her friend. With resolute steps, he returned to the counter. He would call and see if she was awake.
The phone woke Susan. She groped for the bedside stand and nearly fell off the couch. Her hand hit the edge of the coffee table. In confusion, she looked around. Why was she on the couch? The reason hit like a lethal virus. Last night, Leila had been murdered.
Susan untangled her legs from the afghan and ran to the kitchen. The phone continued to ring. She grabbed the receiver. "Hello."
"I'm on my way over."
"Patrick, not now." The last word was spoken to the dial tone.
She splashed cold water on her face and combed her fingers through her short curls. As she smoothed her wrinkled dress, the doorbell rang. She went to the door.
Patrick strode into the room. He stared. "You know."
She nodded. "Fifteen minutes after you left, Julie arrived to tell me."
"Why didn't you call me?"
"I can't keep running to you every time something upsets me."
"Upset. I'd say you were more than upset." His gaze focused on her wrinkled dress. "I want to take care of you."
"No."
He groaned. "I just want to share your troubles and have you share mine. Leila was your best friend. I'm sure you're feeling hurt and lost."
"More like angry." She strode to the kitchen and filled the coffee maker. "I needed to cry and if you had been here, I wouldn't have allowed myself." She looked up and caught the flare of passion in his eyes and knew he remembered the night Jim had died.
He straddled one of the kitchen chairs. "I think you're in danger. That disturbs me."
She looked away. She had thought the same thing, but she couldn't let fear rule her. To do so would mean a return to the woman she had been before Jim died.
"How can I be in more danger than any of the other nurses on the evening shift?"
"I… " He sucked in a breath. "You know everyone who has died."
"So do about 90 percent of the evening staff. The hospital is like a small town. As she poured coffee into mugs, her annoyance with his attitude grew. "Why have you decided this is a personal vendetta against me?"
"You needed equipment from the storage room. Leila borrowed your car to go to Dr. Barclay's cabin. You and Mendoza left the hospital in white cars at the same time."
A chill snaked up her spine. And the gifts had arrived after each death. She hadn't told him that and now she wouldn't. His protective instincts had already gone into overdrive.
"Then how do you explain Leila's mugging? There's no way she could have been mistaken for me."
He shrugged. "I'm sure there's a connection. I just haven't found it. Call the hospital on Monday and request a leave of absence."
She gripped the back of a chair. "That's what Jim would have said. Do you want me to leave town and the country? If I've suddenly become the target, the person could find me here." Her fingers tightened. There had been a prowler. She gulped a breath. "Why are you doing this to me?"
"I love you. Isn't that reason enough?"
She turned away. "Love would allow me to be myself. The decision to continue to work is mine. I let Jim make decisions for me, but never again."
Patrick put his hands on her shoulders. "Don't ask me not to worry. Don't ask me not to want to protect you. I know I can't make decisions for you, but we could share."
"Not today," she said.
A few minutes later, she heard the door close. They could share decisions if he allowed her to express her views. But he had demanded. He believed love gave him that right.
All day, Patrick's theories troubled her. By evening, she wondered if she should call him. For what? To apologize, to give in to his demands? Did he know something he hadn't told her? He knew Greg Davies. Had the police officer given Patrick some piece of inside information?
The bracelet. Should she call the detective and tell him about the missing piece of jewelry? Surely one of the others had mentioned it.
The poinsettia reminded her of Patrick. So did the concert program. His gifts, his company, the way they had worked together in the yard this past summer had been times of enjoyment. Tonight, she had realized he had never forgotten the exciting and frenzied sexual encounter the night Jim had died. Neither had she, but her reasons had been different from his. Even then, he had loved her. She had been reaching for life. She wasn't sure she could explain the difference. Did she even want to try? Why, when he had made demands and ruined her growing ease in his presence?
She shook her head. She didn't want Patrick as a substitute for her husband. A partnership with equal sharing of decisions and responsibilities. Breaking the habit of dependency had been hard and she refused to allow herself to slide into the trap again.
With a sigh, she walked to the kitchen and loaded the dishwasher. The calendar on the refrigerator caught her eye. A star marked December twenty-eighth. Leila's birthday. Tears filled her eyes and spilled over. Why has she pushed all thoughts of her friend to some dark corner? Would the funeral be held here or upstate? When would it be?
In that instant, she understood Leila's desperate need to attend Joe Barclay's funeral. Even if it meant taking several days off without pay, she intended to attend her friend's funeral.
She hurried to the desk for her phone book. Under L for Leila, she found the Vernons' number. While she drank a glass of orange juice, she wondered if anyone in the Nursing Office had the information. She reached for the phone. Though she hesitated to intrude on the Vernons' grief, she needed to talk to someone who had also loved her friend.
A half-hour later, glad she had called, Susan hung up. No one from the hospital had spoken to Leila's parents. Susan's eyes were moist, her chee
ks wet. The Vernons had needed to talk about their daughter.
She dialed the hospital. One of the evening supervisors answered. "Grace, this is Susan Randall... I'm still in shock... The funeral will be Tuesday at ten thirty... Powers... No, the burial will be upstate. I need Tuesday and Wednesday off. There are some things I need to do for her parents... Just Wednesday... All right, I'll see who I can trade for Tuesday. Thanks."
The call was transferred to Five Orthopedics. Trish answered and quickly agreed to trade days.
Susan put the receiver in the cradle. Trish's questions had made her wonder if Patrick's idea of a leave of absence had merit. Not because of danger but because of her coworkers' curiosity. Facing them would be a trial.
"I'm strong. I can handle this." The echo of Leila's words after Joe's death brought a fresh storm of tears.
Chapter 9
When Susan entered the med room to organize her nine o'clock rounds, she groaned. The evening had dragged and allowed her too much time to think about Leila's death. Trish was off, Kit subdued and Julie looked as though some dark problem had infected her with insomnia.
And I have two problems, Susan thought. Having too much time to grieve for Leila and wondering what to do about Patrick. She didn't want the pair of problems to become entwined so tightly she could never unravel them.
"Are you all right?" Julie asked.
Susan turned. "Two and a half hours left. I'll never make it through them. What about you? You look like you're ready to cry."
"Larry, what else? I can't stop wondering what's been bothering him lately."
Susan nodded. "There's too much empty time tonight."
"Most of my thoughts aren't pleasant." Julie leaned against the sink. "Can we stop at the diner after work?"
"What, no date?"
"Larry's having dinner with Mrs. Barclay and her lawyer to discuss the sale of the practice. I'm not sure I care if he takes over or not."
"Is he still upset about Saturday night?"
"Let's talk at the diner. I don't want to say anything around here that could be misunderstood, misinterpreted or misused." She waved at Kit who stood outside the door with her face pressed against the glass.
"Good thinking. She's probably practicing the act of lip-reading. Why she wants to emulate Barbara, I'll never understand." Susan pushed the cart to the door.
Susan finished report and closed the care plan book. "Have a good night," she said to the oncoming nurse. She reached for her purse. Julie waited beside the doctors' desk.
As they neared the locker room, Susan tensed and her steps faltered. There had been another death. Would there be a brown paper bag with her name printed in block letters and a present inside waiting in some unlikely place?
Julie reached around Susan and pushed the door open. "What's wrong? Finding it hard to enter because you're five minutes early?"
The teasing words failed to erase Susan's apprehension. She tried to smile and failed. When she reached her locker, she eased it open.
"There is something wrong," Julie said. "Is it more than Leila's death?"
Susan fitted her right foot into a boot. "Every time there's a death, I've found a present." She pulled on the left boot.
"You mean like the chocolates?"
Susan nodded. "Candy at the desk. Books in my locker. Perfume on my car."
"When?"
"After each death." Susan reached for her coat. "I'm surprised Kit didn't tell you. She was here for the books and I accused her of playing a joke."
"Weird." Julie's eyes narrowed. "You don't think I'm the one, do you?"
"I considered the possibility."
Julie shook her head. "I know I teased you about having a secret admirer, but I'd never pull a trick like that on you."
Susan slammed her locker door. "I figured that." But she also wondered if the gifts had been left to frighten her. "I can't think of anyone who'd leave gifts for me."
"What about Patrick?"
"He'd hardly sneak in here when he lives next door."
"Mr. Martin?"
"He leaves coffee for me at the desk."
Julie shrugged. "Maybe someone wanted to cheer you up. Since you found Barbara's body, you've been kind of jumpy."
"Haven't we all?" Susan walked to the door. She didn't mention the notes that had accompanied the presents. That would only give Julie more data for speculation and Susan had done enough of that herself.
As they walked to the elevator, Julie rattled off the names of a dozen men who worked at the hospital in the evening from pharmacists to maintenance.
By the time they reached the ground floor, they were joined by a number of nurses. The crowd headed for the exit and crossed the street to the parking lot.
Julie paused beside her car. "Meet you at the diner. I'll go in and order for us."
"Wait in your car for me."
"Not tonight. I'm starved. Coffee and a cheese omelet for you?"
"What else?"
Fifteen minutes later, Susan reached the diner and pulled in beside Julie's car. A brisk chill wind pushed against her back. When she opened the diner door, a blast of hot air hit her face. A quick glance around showed several men seated at the counter. She scanned the high-backed booths. Julie waved. Susan reached her friend and hung her coat on a hook jutting from the divider between the booths. She slid across the red plastic seat. Moments later, the waitress arrived with their order.
Julie ate with relish until half the omelet had disappeared. She looked up. "Kit was quiet tonight. No gossip. No wild tales. Do you suppose someone issued a warning?"
"I don't know, but the break from her pseudo-Barbara imitation was welcome. One stupid question or one inane comment would have finished me."
"Maybe she's afraid of Grace Rodgers. Our new supervisor reminds me of a drill sergeant."
Susan laughed. "She's reached her level of incompetency. I remember when Grace was a staff nurse. She hasn't changed."
Julie cut several pieces of omelet with her fork. "Why don't you put in for supervisor? You know a lot about nursing, the hospital and getting along with people and you have a BS."
"Thanks for the compliment, but I have no desire to go back to school. You know the rule. To obtain the position of supervisor, the candidate must be enrolled in a Master's program." Susan rested her fork on the edge of the plate. "I've been thinking about requesting a transfer to days on another unit."
"I'll withdraw my request for the day position. I might have to any way."
"Don't. By the time I decide what to do, there'll be other positions. I'm not about to rush into anything."
"Lucky you. I wish I didn't have someone pushing me for a decision." Julie moved pieces of the omelet around the plate.
"De Witt?"
Julie nodded. "He wants me to resign. Since a friend has agreed to join him in buying the practice, he thinks I should work in the office full-time."
"Wouldn't you be bored?" Susan looked at her omelet. Why was Julie even considering that type of move?
"I'd be doing things like drawing blood, doing EKG's, taking histories and doing patient teaching. I'd even have my own patients."
Susan picked up a piece of toast. "You'd be working as a practitioner without the credentials. Won't he wait until you have a Master's?"
"I haven't mentioned school to him." Julie's fork tapped the plate. "Since his uncle died, we've hardly seen each other. That's why he was upset Saturday night. He spends a lot of time with his aunt."
Or another woman, Susan thought. "Just don't end up with nothing. Working in a doctor's office distances you from the latest in hospital care."
Julie continued to scramble her omelet. "I know that. I also know you don't trust Larry. I'm not sure I do either. I love him, but how long can love last without trust?"
Susan stared at her hands. Could love even take root without trust? "I don't know. Just think about your goals and options before you choose."
"I'm trying." Julie leaned back. "How come y
ou asked Trish to trade with you for tomorrow? You should have heard her gripe after she hung up. You'd think she had a command performance somewhere."
"She answered the phone," Susan said. "I'm taking Wednesday as a personal day. Leila's parents asked me to go through her things."
"Need any help? I could come for the morning."
Susan shook her head. There were things of Joe's at Leila's. Though Julie wouldn't intentionally gossip, Susan felt the need to protect her friend's secret.
"Do you think Leila was mugged?" Julie asked.
Susan shrugged. Did Julie share her suspicions? If Leila hadn't been mugged, she had been murdered, perhaps to protect someone's secret. "I don't know what to think."
"Me either. I always thought Barbara made up the story about the parking lot, especially when she injected your name into the telling. I wish the police would find who killed her."
"And who gave her the money." Susan held the cup for the waitress to refill. "Did you call them?"
Julie nodded. "They kept insisting I must have seen something and was deliberately hiding information."
Susan leaned forward. "I think someone frightened Barbara in the parking lot and the same person killed Leila." Even as she spoke, she felt doubt creep into her thoughts. "I'm also convinced Barbara's death is connected to the money."
Julie's voice dropped to a whisper. "I was afraid you'd think that."
"Why?"
Julie stared at the window. "I'd rather not say right now."
"Patrick has an odd theory. He thinks someone is after me."
"Why you?"
"Who knows." Susan didn't intend to air Patrick's views. Though they made sense, she didn't want to believe he might be right. There was no reason she could be the target. "He wants me to take a leave of absence. He has this idea he's my keeper."
"Aren't you afraid of losing him?"
"As a friend?"
"As more."
"Maybe I don't want more. Friendship is enough."
"I wish I felt that way. With Larry, it's all or nothing."
"Would nothing be that bad?" Susan leaned forward. How could she tell Julie her suspicions without Julie telling De Witt? If the younger nurse said anything, Susan believed she would be in the same danger as Barbara and Leila. "About De Witt--"
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