Fatal Hearts

by Norah Wilson

  “I’ll do that right now.”

  “Okay.”

  The line went dead.

  “Everything all right?” Marta asked, coming back up to the desk.

  “I don’t know,” she said honestly. “I need to think for a minute.” She met Marta’s eyes. “Any problem if I take my break early?”

  “Good by me. And let me know if I can help.”

  “I will.”

  Hayden headed straight for the break room. She needed to sit down and think about this. She had the ominous feeling there was a gigantic cartoon anvil hanging over this situation, and she needed to figure it out before gravity kicked in and the anvil dropped, crushing . . . Omigod, Boyd!

  If Sylvia primed Josh to die from sudden cardiac arrest, she had to have been doing the same thing with Boyd over the nine days that he’d been here. All those free-range eggs and fresh-squeezed juice and organic fair-trade coffee—she’d bet her bottom dollar that it was spiked. Probably not with the same drug. That would be too obvious. But there must be dozens of pharmaceuticals that could put someone with latent LQTS in danger. And once the pump was primed, all that would be needed was a shock or a startle.

  She grabbed her phone and called Boyd’s number, but the line was busy. He was probably on the line with Detective Morgan. Thank God for that, at least.

  He said he’d walked downtown. How long would it take him to get back to Stratton House? Not long. If he ran—oh, God, she hoped he didn’t run but knew he would—ten minutes, maybe.

  And would he really wait for Ray Morgan?

  No, of course he wouldn’t. This was Josh’s life they were talking about. He wouldn’t shy away from confronting Sylvia. She might be an imperious freaking dragon, but she was a tiny woman in her sixties. Probably late sixties. Unless he calmed down enough to reason it through and realize she’d been drugging him too, no way would Boyd postpone confronting her.

  She’d reached the staff room, but instead of entering it, she turned and hustled back to the desk. “I have to leave,” she called to Marta. “It’s an emergency. I’ll explain later.”

  CHAPTER 29

  The run back to Stratton House did nothing to cool Boyd’s rage. Nor did the fact that he still couldn’t get through to Ray Morgan.

  He stood outside the service entrance of Stratton House, key in one hand, phone in the other.

  He should wait until he could reach Morgan. Hell, he should wait for Morgan to arrive on the scene. But he wasn’t going to.

  He’d tried Morgan’s cell first, of course. A couple of times. But it just kept routing him to voice mail. Then he’d tried the switchboard, who’d transferred him to a phone that rang endlessly.

  He dialed the station again. This time, he told them Morgan hadn’t picked up and could they put him straight through to his voice mail. They did.

  “Morgan, I tried to reach you, but I guess you must be off checking your hair or trimming your cuticles or something. I wanted to tell you I think I’ve figured this thing out. I’m pretty sure it was Sylvia Stratton who slipped the drugs to Josh. It’s so freaking obvious. She’s the only one who saw him every day, and she had the perfect delivery mechanism, that sensational free B&B breakfast. I still don’t know why, but I aim to find out. And . . . uh . . . you might want to come over here.”

  He ended the call and shoved the phone into his pocket. He let himself in and went straight to the back of the house, where he knew he’d find Sylvia in her study.

  She looked up at his entrance, her eyebrows shooting up into her hairline. “Detective, to what do I owe the pleasure?” She pushed away from her keyboard. “I take it you didn’t encounter Mrs. Garner, or she’d have reinforced that I don’t entertain guests back here.”

  “The forensic toxicology report on Josh came back today.”

  “Did it?” She leaned back in her leather chair. “I should have thought Dr. Walsh could help you sort through it, but if you require my help—”

  “Why did you do it?”

  “Excuse me?”

  Boyd felt the reins on his rage start to slip. “Why did you kill my brother?”

  Her eyebrows shot up again. “My dear boy, I can’t imagine what you’re talking about.”

  “The antidepressants. I know you went to a lot of trouble to make it seem as though they’d been prescribed by Dr. Gunn, but I know for a fact that Josh never met Dr. Gunn until days before he died. Hayden can confirm that positively. But you and Gunn were cozy. I’m thinking you had a role to play with my mother too. The birth, the adoption, the obliteration of the trail. I know it. Don’t goddamn sit there and deny it.”

  She sighed and pressed a hand to her forehead as though he’d given her an inconvenient headache. “Okay, yes, I did it.”

  He’d been prepared for anything but a flat-out admission. And now that it was out there, an undisputed fact, he felt totally gutted. Dizzy.

  “But why?”

  “You are as blind and stupid as that brother of yours, Detective. I eliminated Josh not because of who your mother was but because of who your father is.”

  Who in the hell would make Sylvia Stratton kill— “The Senator.”

  “Congratulations. You reached the correct conclusion in a matter of weeks, where it took your brother months.”

  His father was the Senator. Oh, my God.

  “He knew about the Senator?”

  “He suspected. You see, I knew where he kept that diary of his. I usually managed to snag it every few days to read about his sleuthing efforts.”

  Rage flared anew. “You destroyed the diary.”

  “I did. Unfortunately, you weren’t obliging enough to keep a record of your own investigation lying around. I had to resort to a listening device in your room.”

  His room? The room where he and Hayden had made love?

  “Yes, I can see it’s sinking in. I heard the two of you. I always suspected that girl’s morals left something to be desired. I’m sure she got up to the same thing with your brother.”

  He let Sylvia’s disparaging words roll off his back. Clearly, she was trying to infuriate him. He needed to stay focused, figure this out. Why was she telling him all of this? Unless—

  She opened the top drawer to her desk and pulled out a snub-nosed revolver. It looked small, but he didn’t doubt it was deadly.

  On the other hand, seriously? She was going to shoot him? She was a poisoner.

  “Put that away, Sylvia.” He felt as though he had to raise his voice over the rapid, painful hammering of his heart. “You’re a stealth killer, not a shooter. That’s far too messy.”

  “You’re right. Mostly. But I think I proved I don’t mind a bit of blood with Dr. Gunn.”

  So she had killed the poor bastard.

  “I did, however, give him a little anesthetic beforehand. Something that clears the system very quickly, not that they’re apt to look for it anyway. Not with so obvious a suicide.”

  Oh shit. It finally clicked. She’d surmised Arianna’s long QT syndrome. Her success at killing Josh proved her suspicion correct and that he’d inherited it. Which meant Boyd also had it. So, naturally, she’d primed him for cardiac arrest too. The same orange juice or scrambled eggs or whatever she’d used to deliver the drug to Josh, she’d also used on him. His pulse leapt and staggered.

  Shit, shit, shit.

  He needed to keep her talking. Morgan would get that message anytime and come racing over. Hopefully.

  “So how are you going to deal with me, hmm? You’re waving that gun around and I haven’t obliged you by dropping dead.”

  “No, you haven’t. As I said from the beginning, you’re a tougher customer than young Joshua.”

  “How did you kill him? Was it the exertion of the run?”

  She smiled. “No. You two were far too fit for that. I used a snake.”

&
nbsp; Boyd felt the blood drain from his face. “A snake?”

  “Yes. Your brother was kind enough to regale me with tales of your shared phobias over breakfast one day.”

  He glanced around, trying to see if she had a snake stashed somewhere. That might just do it. He was fucking terrified of snakes.

  Keep her talking.

  “So, what? You put a snake in his car?”

  “In the thermal bag, right beside his water bottle. It was just a tiny, harmless snake, hardly big enough to qualify, but it did the trick. He probably arrested the moment his hand touched it.”

  She was crazy. Batshit crazy.

  Keep her talking.

  “Then you slipped back and liberated the snake?”

  “Obviously.”

  “And you were trying to do the same to me.”

  “Of course. Mrs. Garner’s car alarm. The doll. But you’ve proved nothing if not resilient.”

  “Then how do you propose to kill me without using that gun?”

  She smiled. “I thought I’d save the gun for Hayden.”

  “What?”

  “You’ve dragged her too far into this, Detective. Josh was clever enough to keep his investigation private, but you’ve been leaning on her this whole while.”

  For the first time, real terror took serious root. He’d thought he could handle Sylvia, but he hadn’t counted on her targeting Hayden.

  “You’ll never get away with it.”

  “Of course I will. There was a break-in. You suffered a cardiac arrest trying to defend me and Hayden.”

  “But Hayden’s not here.”

  “You think I can’t get her here?”

  “But Mrs. Garner . . . she’ll know there was no break-in.”

  “Perhaps the burglar will shoot her too.”

  Jesus. The woman was genuinely crazy. She’d kill Mrs. Garner?

  Of course she would. She’d already killed her longtime friend.

  Fuck!

  “You don’t need to do this. Hayden . . . she doesn’t know enough.”

  “But, Detective, you just told me that she knew for certain Josh and Angus hadn’t met until very recently.” She got up and walked around the desk to stand a few feet away.

  Oh, Jesus! He’d sealed Hayden’s fate.

  “That’s right.” Sylvia cocked the hammer on the little revolver. “She’s as good as dead, and it’s your fault.”

  Boyd’s world whirled. He was as good as dead.

  He had to take her out before she could get to Hayden. And if he couldn’t get the gun from her, maybe he could at least force her to shoot him. If the gun went off, the nurse upstairs with the Senator would call 911 and Sylvia’s plan would fall apart.

  He lunged at her.

  CHAPTER 30

  Hayden found the service entrance door wide-open. That would be Boyd’s work. What had he said? Never close an avenue of retreat? That suited her fine. She didn’t want to wheedle her way past Mrs. Garner. Or muscle her way past, if need be.

  She followed the sound of a female voice and almost blundered on Mrs. Garner in the kitchen. She was working at the counter, but she had the telephone receiver wedged between her neck and shoulder as she carried on a conversation with what had to be a relative.

  Hayden backed quietly out of the room, then ventured down the hall toward the rear of the house. This time, she heard a male and female in conversation. Boyd and Sylvia.

  “You’ve dragged her too far into this, Detective,” Sylvia was saying. “Josh was clever enough to keep his investigation private, but you’ve been leaning on her this whole while.”

  Were they talking about her?

  “You’ll never get away with it.”

  “Of course I will. There was a break-in. You suffered a cardiac arrest trying to defend me and Hayden.”

  Oh, God. No, Boyd. Don’t listen. Don’t let her get to you.

  “But Hayden’s not here.”

  “You think I can’t get her here?”

  “But Mrs. Garner . . . she’ll know there was no break-in.”

  “Perhaps the burglar will shoot her too.”

  Hayden’s stomach lurched.

  “You don’t need to do this. Hayden . . . she doesn’t know enough.” His voice was fading alarmingly.

  “But, Detective, you just told me that she knew for certain Josh and Angus hadn’t met until very recently.” Sylvia appeared in Hayden’s line of sight as she came around the desk holding a gun.

  “That’s right.” There was an unmistakable cocking sound, just like in the movies, and Hayden knew Sylvia had pulled back the hammer on the revolver. “She’s as good as dead, and it’s your fault.”

  Hayden had to cover her mouth to keep any noise from coming out.

  Then Boyd lunged at her, arms grappling for her, but it was more of a staggering lurch. Sylvia leapt back. There was a crash, and Boyd hit the floor and lay there, unmoving.

  Oh, God, no! He’d arrested—Sylvia had killed him!

  Sylvia moved with calm fluidity to stand over Boyd’s body.

  “You were a fool, Boyd McBride. As big a fool as your brother, and almost as big a fool as that mother of yours. She thought she could take Lewis from me by becoming pregnant?” As Sylvia continued to rant, Hayden realized this was her chance. Maybe her only chance.

  She glanced around for a weapon. There, on the bookcase inside Sylvia’s den, was a brass heron bookend.

  Please be heavy. Please be heavy.

  She stole into the room and picked up the bookend. It was very heavy, and the bird’s slender craned neck proved to be an excellent handle. She lifted it high and swung it at Sylvia’s head. The old woman went down harder than Boyd had, and it occurred to Hayden she might have smashed the woman’s skull. Frankly, she didn’t care.

  She flew to Boyd. And oh, God, he had arrested. No pulse. No respirations.

  She dug out her phone and dialed 911, quickly giving the details to the dispatcher. Then she dropped the phone, knelt, and delivered thirty chest compressions. She paused to give him two breaths, then resumed chest compressions. Two more breaths. She checked for breath and pulse. Nothing.

  Dammit, she needed a defibrillator. But the ambulance was probably ten minutes away.

  Unless . . .

  After giving him another thirty compressions and two breaths, she leapt up and raced for the stairs, taking them two at a time. Josh had always said the Senator’s sickroom was as well equipped as any hospital room. She sure hoped he was right. A nurse jumped up as though to defend the old man when Hayden burst into the room.

  “Defibrillator!” Hayden shouted. “Where is it?”

  The nurse pointed. Hayden grabbed the portable unit and ran downstairs. “I need your help,” she called over her shoulder. “Come on!”

  She could hear the nurse right behind her as she thundered down the stairs.

  “Omigod, Dr. Stratton!” The nurse hurried over to her employer and bent to check her vitals. “She has a pulse.”

  “Over here!” Hayden commanded. “We have to resuscitate him.”

  The nurse didn’t question the order for a second. She was at Boyd’s side and starting CPR while Hayden got the defibrillator set up. The nurse paused to allow Hayden to stick the pads to his chest.

  “Clear!” Hayden said.

  The nurse backed away and Hayden hit the “Shock” button. He arched up, then sagged back to the floor.

  The nurse bent over Boyd to resume compressions, stopping to allow Hayden to give the rescue breaths. They kept that up for two minutes. The nurse checked for a pulse and shook her head.

  “Dammit, Boyd, do not die on me! I’ll never forgive you if you do this.”

  The defibrillator was back at full charge.

  “Clear!”

  She hit the butto
n, and again Boyd arched up and sagged back.

  This time, Hayden did the compressions herself, as well as the rescue breaths. At the two-minute mark, she pulled back and let the nurse check him again. She looked up at Hayden and smiled. “He’s back.”

  “Oh, thank God.” Hayden dumped the defibrillator controller and leaned over him. He was breathing but still unconscious. She stripped off her hospital coat, rolled it up, and slid it under his neck.

  In the distance, she heard sirens.

  Ray Morgan was the first on the scene, and Hayden gave him the Reader’s Digest version. But when the paramedics arrived, she turned her attention to them. She recognized them from the ER—Doug Trammel and Susan Barclay—and they recognized her.

  “What do we have here, Dr. Walsh? Looks like two victims.”

  “This one actually arrested.” She gestured to Boyd. “There was a portable defibrillator on site, and I used it to get him back.”

  The female paramedic had already taken his pulse and was strapping a blood pressure cuff on him.

  “He almost certainly has hereditary long QT syndrome. It’s been silent his whole life, but over the past weeks, he’s been given a proarrhythmic drug. I’m guessing it’s an antidepressant, but they need to screen for anything remotely proarrhythmic—antihistamines, decongestants, antibiotics, everything. He’s going to need beta-blockers, sodium channel blockers, and a quick ride to the ER.”

  “Perfect,” Doug said. “We’ve got this.” He glanced over to where Dr. Stratton still lay on the floor under the close eye of Senator Stratton’s nurse and Detective Morgan. “There’s another bus on the way for the second vic, but maybe I should take a look.”

  “That’s Dr. Sylvia Stratton,” Hayden said. “And she’s no victim. She’s the one who tried to kill this guy, Boyd McBride, after which she apparently was going to kill me.”

  “No way!”

  The nurse, who’d been following all this, spoke. “I’m a registered nurse and Dr. Stratton is my employer. Her vitals are fine. I can keep an eye on her until the other crew comes.”

  “Well, all righty then,” Doug said. “We’ll just focus on Mr. McBride.”

  “Good plan.”