by Diana Orgain
Brad nodded. “Okay, I’ll wait for them here. You can take the ladies down to the station.”
“Crime scene team?” The woman next to me gripped my arm. “Is Fran … What’s happened?”
Brad shot a warning look in my direction and I bit my lip. I knew the drill. Brad would have to notify the next of kin, and he wouldn’t want word leaking out beforehand.
“Ma’am, if you wouldn’t mind,” he said, gesturing toward Ellington’s police car. “Officer Ellington will take good care of you.”
The coffee cup the woman had been holding slipped from her grasp and spilled onto the pavement. Everyone took an involuntary step back and for a mad moment, I envisioned the woman turning and running, but instead she mumbled, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. But down to the station? I don’t understand. Am I being arrested?”
“No, no, no,” Ellington soothed, in a much warmer and reassuring tone than I’d ever gotten from him. “Of course not, miss. I just need to ask you a few questions. Same as these ladies.” He jutted a chin in my direction.
“I see,” the woman said, although she looked altogether unconvinced.
My heart went out to her; she looked as frightened as a little girl. I knew she was playing out the worst-case scenario in her mind and the horrible part of it was that the reality was probably worse than she could imagine.
Officer Ellington turned on a heel, and opened the back door of the cruiser for the woman.
“I’ll drive Maggie and myself to the station,” Yolanda said.
Ellington made a face. “Good. I can’t have that dog in a police vehicle.”
Yolanda inhaled sharply, a look of the indignation on her face. Beepo howled alongside her. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Brad stifling a laugh.
Yolanda crushed Beepo to her breast and said, “Oh, believe me, Officer Ellington, I know where you and your cold, cold heart stands when it comes to our canine friends.”
Ellington ignored Yolanda and turned his attention back to the woman. She looked up at him, as she climbed into the backseat of the cruiser and batted her eyelashes, saying. “I’m Cornelia.”
Yolanda huffed over to her car and I seized the moment alone with Brad. “It’s awful, Brad. Very bloody. I feel horrible for Fran.”
He put a warm hand on my shoulder. “I’m sorry you had to find her, Maggie.”
I gripped at his hand for support. “We were on the way to the hospital. I wish we’d never come here.” But as soon as I’d said it, I knew it was wrong. If Yolanda and I hadn’t beat Cornelia there, she would have been the one to find her friend. That would have been worse. At least, we’d spared her that nightmare.
Brad frowned and asked. “Hospital? Is Grunkly okay?”
A few months back, my great uncle Grunkly had suffered a mild heart attack. He’d been hospitalized and on the verge of what he called “the great beyond” but he’d battled back.
“He’s fine. It’s Rachel. She has salmonella poisoning.”
“Salmonella? Geez! It’s not serious, is it?”
“I hope not. Can I go see her first, then go to the station?”
Brad glanced over at Officer Ellington, who was practically skipping over to the driver’s side. “Sure. I’m going to be held up here for a couple hours with the tech team. I can come to your place as soon as I’m done and you can give me your statement.”
A realization struck me. My cruise to the Mexican Riviera was leaving tomorrow morning. There was a check-in scheduled for staff this afternoon at 4:00 P.M. I was supposed to report to the ship for my list of purser duties and a bit of training.
“I … um … I have to leave my apartment by three-thirty. You’ll be able to stop by before then, right?”
Brad glanced at his wristwatch. “Yes. Of course. It’s still early.” His hand left my shoulder and reached for the knob on the front door of Chic Chickie. “If all goes as expected, we have plenty of time.”
My stomach dropped as he disappeared into the store.
Finding someone dead on the day you start a new job—well, heck, on any day—was not things going as expected.…
Chapter Five
Yolanda and Beepo waited for me in the convertible. I yanked open the passenger-side door and displaced Beepo, who’d been content to rest his eyes while I had chatted with Brad.
“Let’s go to the hospital. Brad’s going to check in with me later,” I said.
“What about me?” Yolanda asked.
“What about you?”
Yolanda quirked an eyebrow. “Who’s going to check in with me? Take my statement? You’re going to get me in trouble with Crankpot Ellington!”
“Brad said it was fine,” I assured her.
Yolanda chewed on the inside of her cheek. “I dunno. Ellington gets mad about that sort of thing.” She revved the engine, and pulled out of the parking spot. “But I’m not too eager to run into Sergeant Gottlieb over at the station, so—”
It was my turn to quirk an eyebrow. “Oh? Trouble in paradise?”
Yolanda scoffed at me. “What do you mean? It’s not like we’re dating or anything.”
“I thought you liked him?”
“I do,” she said.
“So? What’s the problem then?” I asked.
“There’s no problem. He just hasn’t asked me out, yet.” She glanced over at me. “And I have no intention of asking him, so don’t even say it.”
“He probably thinks you’re out of his league,” I said.
Yolanda bristled. “Why would he think that? He’s a sergeant!”
“You look like Marilyn Monroe and he’s bald with bushy eyebrows—”
“Oh! You’re so superficial. I happen to think he’s very handsome!” Yolanda scolded me.
“I’m not being superficial. I think Sergeant Gottlieb is a very nice man. I’m simply saying that he’s likely intimidated by your beauty.”
Yolanda let out a low disapproving snort, which Beepo copied. We all got quiet as we took the exit for Pacific Cove General Hospital. Yolanda fiddled with the radio, hunting for anything but static. I found myself hoping for a news story, something that might give us more information about Fran, until I realized Brad wouldn’t have let the story leak yet.
Beepo yelped at the static coming from the speakers, and then buried his head under his paws. Yolanda flipped the radio off.
“What did you make of Cornelia?” I asked.
“What do you mean?” Yolanda asked. “She seemed shocked, poor thing. What else should I think about her?”
“Did you believe her story about not being scheduled to open the store?”
Yolanda glanced at me, confused. “Sure, why not?”
“If she wasn’t on the schedule, what was she doing going by the store?” I asked.
“Well, you make a good point.” Yolanda pulled into the hospital parking lot. “Last night, when we were at the Wine and Bark, Cornelia called Fran. It seemed to me that they had an argument of some sort.”
“What were they arguing about?” I asked.
“I couldn’t say. Inventory or something? I’m not sure. Fran just kept telling her to calm down. I think Fran was probably pretty difficult to work with.” She shrugged. “No people skills.”
I laughed despite myself.
She glanced over at me. “What?”
“If anyone knows people skills it’s you.”
Yolanda dismissed my remark and parked. She secured Beepo’s leash to the steering wheel. He whimpered and begged, turning his big sad eyes toward her. “Hush now, Beep. You know you can’t go into the hospital! You be a good boy here.”
We tumbled out of the car and walked toward the main hospital doors.
“I saw the logo,” I said.
“What logo?” Yolanda asked.
“The one Coral did. The watercolor rendition of Cousin Ronnie’s prize chicken.”
“Oh, yes!” Yolanda said. “It’s stunning right?”
Actually, it was stunning. I amazed myself by agreeing with her.
Are chickens growing on me?
“I can understand why Ronnie felt ripped off.”
Yolanda nodded. “I’d feel the same way.”
We stopped at the nurses’ station where a woman in a white coat was typing notes in a computer. She looked up as we approached.
“Hello. We’re here to see my sister, Rachel Patterson. Can you tell us what room she’s in?”
“Down the hall, room 209, on the right side,” the nurse said.
Yolanda and I ducked down the corridor toward Rachel’s room. In the narrow passageway, we saw a man leaving her room.
I grabbed Yolanda’s wrist. “Who’s that?”
The man was tall, wearing a thick brown Carhartt work coat, dark jeans, and black boots. His expression was serious, but that did nothing to detract from his handsomeness. He spotted us, squared his shoulders, and put his hands on his hips. The gesture opened his coat a bit and revealed something underneath.
“Suspenders!” Yolanda whispered to me.
Was the hunk of a man in front of us Abigail’s cousin Ronnie?
The poultry farmer?
“Maybe you can get over your thing about suspenders,” I whispered to Yolanda. “He’s hot.”
Yolanda made a face. “Not my type.”
As we neared, the man stuck out a hand. “Are you Rachel’s sister? I’m Ronnie.”
What is he doing here?
I shook his hand. “I didn’t know you were so close to my sister.”
Ronnie nodded. “We haven’t know each other that long, but when I heard—”
“Was it your chicken?” Yolanda demanded.
Ronnie paled. “My chicken? No! No. No way. Definitely not. Mine are free-range, farm-raised. I have impeccable sterilization and hygienic sanitation.”
While he protested, I pushed open the door to Rachel’s room and peeked in. She was asleep with her arms folded across her chest, an IV attached to her left hand. She looked pale and drawn, her hair matted against her forehead. My heart lurched to see my baby sister looking so fragile.
I rushed toward her bedside.
Ronnie leaned in and said, “She sleeping now. The nurse came in a while ago and gave her some meds.”
“What are you doing here visiting Rachel?” Yolanda pressed.
Ronnie looked defiant. “I was with her yesterday. I heard she was in the hospital and I wanted to visit.”
“Who told you she was in the hospital?” Yolanda asked.
“My cousin Abigail,” Ronnie said.
Rachel stirred and I grabbed her hand. “Rach. It’s me, Maggie. I’m here now. How do you feel?”
Rachel’s lips twitched, but said nothing. Guilt bore down on me.
I should have come to my sister last night.
I’d had no idea how bad off she was. She looked drawn and thin, like she had dropped about ten pounds since yesterday and she didn’t have much to lose in the first place.
My stomach clenched, full of nervous knots as I glanced at Yolanda for support.
She patted Rachel’s foot. “I’m here, too, honey. We’ll break you out of this place in no time. Soon as the nurse gives us the go-ahead.”
Rachel moaned and pitched to the right, away from us. Her hand shot out searching for something. “Ugh … Get the nurse … uh … Where’s my…”
Ronnie, who’d obviously seen this earlier, grabbed a pan from the wheeled cart next to Rachel’s bedside and handed it to her. “Here you go, babe. Take it is easy. You can’t have much left to throw up.”
Rachel went through a series of frightful dry heaves and moans before she collapsed back onto the bed. Ronnie took the pan out of her hands and placed it back on the wheeled cart. A vase of fresh flowers sat next to the TV, and I realized with a start Ronnie must have brought them. So either he was feeling guilty about serving Rachel bad chicken … or … what?
Were they dating?
No! Rachel would have told me if that was the case.
Yolanda pulled the green upholstered chair that was nestled against the windowsill and pushed it toward the bed. She put a hand on my shoulder urging me to take the seat. I did.
I leaned in. “Have you been this bad all night, Rach? You should have called me again!”
Rachel shook her head, her eyelids getting heavy. “I slept a lot.”
Ronnie nodded. “She’s been kind of in and out all morning.”
All of sudden, Rachel’s face looked peaceful again and she seemed to drift off to sleep.
A vibrating sound emanated from Ronnie’s hip and his hand shot out to cover it. “Excuse me, ladies.” He glanced down at the phone attached to his belt loop and said, “I have to take this one.” He moved toward the door and said, “Yeah … it’s me … Is the job done? I don’t want a repeat of last night.”
Yolanda shot a me a look that I couldn’t quite make out.
“Well, has the problem been eliminated or not?” Ronnie said into the phone, his voice rising a notch. He yanked the door open and exited.
“What’s that about, do you think?” Yolanda hissed.
I shrugged. “How would I know?”
She shuddered. “Gave me the creeps is all. What problem do you think he’s talking about?”
“Could be anything,” I said.
“I wonder where he was last night…” Yolanda said.
The hair on the back of my neck stood at attention. What had Ronnie been talking about? Problem eliminated?
Could he have meant…?
No. It was ridiculous. He seemed like a really nice guy. He’d just handed my sister a pan to vomit in, he’d brought flowers. People like that didn’t kill someone over the illegal use of their prize chicken logo.
Goodness, what was happening to my logic?
I needed to get out of Pacific Cove and get some fresh air. I checked my watch. It was noon already. I had to get back to my apartment and intersect Brad.
“Where’s the nurse?” I asked. “We need to get Rachel discharged.”
As if on cue, the door cracked open and a woman in a blue nurse’s uniform carrying a tray stepped in. “Good afternoon. I brought her some fresh ice chips. No solids yet, I’m afraid. Doctor’s orders.”
I stood. “I’m Maggie. Rachel’s sister. I was under the impression she was going to be discharged today. Can you help—”
“Discharged?” the nurse said. “Oh, no, I don’t think so. She hasn’t been able to keep anything down. It’s going to be at least another few days.”
The surprise jolted through my system. “‘Another few days’?” I whined, immediately regretting it. Of course Rachel needed to be in hospital. She looked like the walking dead.
My new job!
Who was going to take care of Rachel if I was onboard the Soleado Mexican Riviera Cruise Line?
Yolanda squinted at me. “Right about now, I think you’re probably considering giving up your new gig, am I right?”
I sighed.
“As much I want you to stay, Mags, you have to go,” Yolanda said. “You’ll be back soon enough. I can take care of Rachel.”
At this Rachel’s eyes popped open. “Maggie, don’t go!” Her hand lurched for my shirt and she said, “Doggie Day! Maggie, what happened with the editor? Did you land the spread?”
I untangled her fingers from my shirt and held her hand in mine. “Rach, the editor never showed up—”
“She’s supposed to come today,” Yolanda said.
Despair rumbled through my tummy.
Oh God! They are going to trap me here.
Between Rachel’s salmonella, The Doggie Day editorial spread, Ronnie’s mysterious grumblings, not to mention Fran …
The nurse snapped to attention. “Do you need to sit down? You look pale.”
“I … um…” I seated myself. What could I say?
“The editor’s coming today?” Rachel asked.
Yolanda nodded. Rachel moaned then pointed at the pan. Yolanda passed her the pan, while the nurse scribbled somethi
ng on Rachel’s chart.
Rachel proceeded to battle with another bout of dry heaves, while we all looked on.
The nurse said, “I let the doctor know her condition isn’t improving. He may need to change her dosage.” After mopping Rachel up and taking her blood pressure, the nurse scurried out of the room.
Rachel grabbed my wrist. “Mags, you’ll be there for Yappy Hour, right? Promise?”
I knew I had to be onboard for training at 4:00 P.M. I had no idea how long the training would take though. “I’ll call Max. He can open for us and I’ll be there as soon as my orientation on the ship is over, okay? I promise.”
Rachel’s eyes squeezed shut and she looked miserable.
Guilt pressed against my shoulders, weighing me down.
How can I consider abandoning my baby sister at a time like this?
I hadn’t even had a chance to fill her in on Fran.
I glanced at Yolanda. She gave me a reassuring nod and placed a cool hand on my sister’s forehead. “Don’t you worry, darling. Beepo and I will be there to greet the editor. I’ll make sure it all goes smoothly.”
Rachel moaned and motioned for the pan again. “Thank you, Yolanda. Thanks, Maggie. What would I do without you guys?” Before I could respond, Rachel said, “Whatever you all do tonight at Yappy Hour…” She gripped the pan and, between dry heaves, said, “Don’t serve the chicken Arf d’oeuvres!”
Chapter Six
Beepo’s tail wagged maniacally at seeing us approach the convertible. I opened the passenger-side door and jumped in, running my list of to-dos through my head: rush to the apartment and finishing packing, call Max and ask him to cover opening for Yappy Hour, give my statement to Brad.
Poor Fran.
I must have made a noise because Yolanda patted my knee as she revved the engine.
“Rachel is going to be fine,” she said.
I nodded. “Yes. She’ll recover. I should get over to Grunkly’s and let him know.”
Yolanda tsked. “Don’t worry him. She’ll probably be discharged tomorrow.”
I leveled a gaze at her. “I’ll be on a cruise tomorrow.” Even as I said it, doubt overcame me, tying my stomach in knots.
“Sure, sure. Of course,” Yolanda soothed. “I’ll take care of Rachel. If, for some reason, she has to stay another day at the hospital. I’ll call your great uncle.”
