by Neil Plakcy
I had to keep Allison talking as I moved closer to Mr. MacRae’s bed. If I could pull the IV out of his hand, perhaps I could short-circuit the effect of the potassium. “But what about Mrs. Divaram?” I asked. “She wasn’t sick.”
“She was heartsick,” Allison said. “Her son abandoned her. She had nothing left to live for.”
I had a hard time not focusing on the silver stud on her tongue each time she opened her mouth, but I kept edging closer. “Mr. Pappas?”
“He had that terrible disease,” she said. “He was never going to get any better.”
“And Mr. Fictura?”
“I just didn’t like him,” she said. “He was so mean and nasty and he upset the other patients. As long as I had the potassium I gave some to him.”
I was almost by Mr. MacRae’s side. Allison was on the other side of the bed, by the pole that held the IV drip, but if I could reach his hand I could pull the IV out. It would hurt, I was sure, but it was the only way I could see to save his life.
I reached across the bed for the IV tube, but Allison grabbed my hand. “You can’t do that,” she said. “The people here, no one loves them, no one cares about them. They’re sick and in pain. Mr. MacRae’s kidneys are failing and the dialysis isn’t working anymore.”
“It’s not up to you to help them,” I said. “Let go of my hand and let me pull the IV out of Mr. MacRae’s hand.”
“No! You don’t know what it’s like, watching people die,” she said. “My nana had Alzheimer’s, but there was nothing else wrong with her, so she just hung on like forever. She didn’t remember who we were and she cried all the time.”
Mr. MacRae started coughing behind Allison, and that distracted her enough that I was able to pry her fingers off my hand and pull out the IV. Blood began to ooze out of Mr. MacRae’s hand. “Rick!” I called. “Where are you? I need the nurse in here!”
I heard the door swing open. “What’s going on?” Rick said, as he pulled aside the curtain.
“Allison put the potassium in Mr. MacRae’s IV drip,” I said, as the nurse followed Rick inside.
The nurse hurried over to Mr. MacRae’s side. “What have you been doing, child?” she asked Allison.
“I just wanted to help him,” Allison said, and she began to cry.
The nurse began working with the IV. “Can you call an ambulance for me?” she asked Rick. “Tell them they’ll need an IV with calcium gluconate. That will move the potassium out of his blood and into his cells.”
“I’ll call,” I said.
Rick pulled another pair of plastic wrist restraints from his belt and walked over to Allison. He gently put the cuffs around her wrists and began to read her rights to her as I called 911 and the nurse worked on Mr. MacRae.
The old man looked up at the nurse and smiled weakly. “You just hold on, my darling,” she said to him. “We’ll have you right as rain in no time.”
Rick led Allison out of the room and I followed, my heart racing. “I’ll keep an eye on Allison until a unit arrives to take her to the station,” he said. “And then once she’s gone I’ll need to do a lot of interviews. Can you stay in the lobby and open the door for the paramedics? And then I’m going to need you to come by the station and give a statement. Can you wait?”
“Sure.”
By the time we walked out to the lobby, a black and white patrol car was pulling up at the front door. A blast of arctic air swept in as Rick turned over Allison to their custody and returned to Mr. MacRae’s room.
I waited at the front door until the paramedics arrived and let them in. While they worked on Mr. MacRae, I called Lili.
“Where are you?” she asked. “I got home a couple of minutes ago to find two dogs and no Steve.”
“At Crossing Manor,” I said. I explained what had happened.
“What am I going to do with you, Steve? You didn’t put yourself in danger again, did you?”
“No, I swear. I stumbled on Allison and she wasn’t going to hurt me. She just wanted to help Mr. MacRae.”
“I’ll see what Rick says,” Lili said. “I’m glad you were able to help Mr. MacRae. Call me if you need anything.”
“I will, sweetheart. I love you.”
“I love you, too, Steve.”
While I waited for Rick to finish his interviews, Marilyn Joiner arrived. “What’s going on?” she asked me. “Marie called and said Allison tried to kill Mr. MacRae.”
I resisted the urge to gossip. “You’ll have to talk to Detective Stemper,” I said.
“Then it’s true.” The color drained from Marilyn’s face. “I thought Allison was such a sweet girl,” she said. “She was so kind to the patients, and so dutiful. She was here all the time over the holidays. She and I talked a lot about what kind of career she should have.”
“I think she took the concept of palliative medicine a bit too far,” I said.
“I should have realized something.” She was still wearing her wool coat, but she shivered. “I let her have access to all those patients. I was responsible for keeping them safe and I let them down.” She shook her head. “Not to mention that was negligent and I’ll probably lose my job, and Manor Associates could be hit with wrongful death lawsuits.”
I didn’t know whether Marilyn Joiner had been negligent or not, but I felt obliged to reassure her somehow. “I know things look bad,” I said. “But trust me, I’ve been through a lot of bad stuff, and I know that if you just do your best things can get better.”
The door behind us popped open and a pair of paramedics rolled Mr. MacRae past us on a gurney. “You hang in there,” I said to him. “Rochester wants to come back and see you as soon as you get better.”
“You got a fine dog,” he said weakly, and then one paramedic opened the door and the cold air rushed in again.
Rick came out to the lobby and saw Marilyn Joiner. “It looks like I’m going to be here for a while,” he said. “Allison Brezza’s parents have already called a lawyer for her, so I’ll be busy sorting her out after that. You can come in to the station tomorrow to give your statement.”
“Sure. I’ll call Lili and have her come pick me up.”
While I waited for Lili, I paced around the lobby. Was there anything I could have done to stop the train of events—to save any of the patients at Crossing Manor, or Felix Logato?
I looked up at the wall at the photo of the woman with the scrunched face, the one who the poster said was having a stroke. Some things just happened, I thought. I had done what I could to bring comfort to the patients who had petted Rochester. I had tried to help Felix as best I could. That had to be enough.
Outside, I saw Lili pull up in front of the building, and then Rochester hopped out of the front seat and followed her up to the door, which I opened for them.
Rochester romped over to me. He put his front paws up on my knees and licked my face. I leaned down to rest my head in his fur. “Rascal’s in the car,” Lili said. “But I thought you’d want to see Rochester.”
“You were right,” I said, looking up again. “I wanted to see both of you.” I took a deep breath. “I had it wrong. I thought whoever stole the potassium had to work at the vet’s office. It wasn’t until a couple of days ago that I even considered it could be someone who brought a dog or cat in.”
“You aren’t the cop,” Lili said, taking my hand. “It wasn’t your responsibility.”
“I know. But if I’d figured it out sooner, maybe fewer people would have died.” I sat up. “And then there’s Felix. I wish I could have helped him more.”
“I’d say you have your hands full,” Lili said. “You have me, and Rochester. You have your job at Friar Lake.” She squeezed my hand. “You’re a good man, Steve. But you can’t take on the problems of the world by yourself.”
Rochester pressed his body against my thigh. “Not by myself,” I said. “I have Rochester to help. And you for backup.” I leaned over and kissed her, and Rochester did his best to snuggle between us.
* * *
If you’ve come this far with Steve and Rochester, I hope you’ll want to continue with the next book in the series, Honest to Dog. Order it from Amazon here.
