Chicken Soup & Homicide (23 page)

"Well, go pour yourself a glass of wine and relax. I'd say this mess will all be over soon."

After she hung up, Amy sat down in the breakfast nook. Relief skittered through her body, making her shake like she was freezing. But she wasn't cold. She was sweating. Funny how stress could manifest in such odd ways. There were a lot of arrows pointing at Michael being the murderer. Since arson was involved, there would be officers other than Pitts investigating. Everything was coming together. And now she was falling apart.

She forced herself to get a bowl of soup. Obviously, her body needed the nutrients. Maybe she should look into taking vitamins so she didn't fall apart at the seams during a competition. The table was too far away from the stove to try to carry hot soup while shaking like she was on caffeine overload. So she slurped up the soup sitting at the kitchen island. The Asian-flavored chicken and stars was like a warm balm for her frayed soul. It did make her feel a bit better. She ate another bowl and then put the rest in the refrigerator so Alex could have some.

The book was calling her again. She could definitely use the mental escape, this time from her short-circuiting body. After ten minutes of trying to concentrate enough to actually understand the words she was reading, and failing miserably, she decided to head to bed. Pogo padded behind her as she clutched the stair rail and pulled herself upstairs. The bed looked lovely and inviting, but as she trudged into the bedroom, it was clear she needed to make a stop before snuggling in. Her shoulder smashed into the door frame as she bolted into the bathroom.

After successfully emptying her stomach of everything she had eaten all day, Amy tumbled into bed. She wiggled back and forth until she was burrowed under the comforter. The stomach flu. Not quite the wine and relaxation celebration Bridget had suggested. She shut her eyes and concentrated on breathing through her nose to try to keep the nausea at bay.

She woke up from the nightmare when Chef Michael stabbed her in the stomach. The knife's handle was encrusted with glittering silver rhinestones. She squeezed her eyes shut and opened them again. Green glowing numbers floated in front of her. Even though she was looking at the clock on her nightstand, not standing in the dark dining room at Cornerstone restaurant, the pain of being stabbed still twisted in her stomach.

"Are you okay?"

Alex's startling question tightened the stomach knot. "No. I have the flu."

"I'm sorry." He stroked her hair. "What can I do to help?"

Would anything help? She couldn't remember ever being so sick. Her throat burned as she answered, "I don't know. Now I know how it feels to be so sick you feel like you're going to die."

* * *

Alex helped her to the bathroom, and within minutes he made the decision that she needed to go to the hospital. "Any virus that hits this hard so quickly needs something to help counteract it," he reasoned as he helped her put on a heavy cardigan sweater over her XL SpongeBob SquarePants T-shirt and sweatpants.

"I don't want to go anywhere." She was sitting on the bathroom floor, cuddling with the toilet. Standing up, walking down the stairs, outside to the Jeep, and riding across town to the emergency room sounded as appealing as going over Niagara Falls in a wooden barrel. Just because it was possible didn't mean it needed to be done. She planted her feet and scooted backward until her back hit the wall, then slowly leaned sideways to lower herself to the floor. The cool marble tiles against her sweaty cheek made her sigh with relief. "I just want to stay here."

Alex knelt beside her, slowly rubbing up and down her back. "Carla's working tonight, isn't she? Let's go see her. She'll know what to do to make you feel better." He stood up. "I'm going to get dressed and take you to the hospital."

She closed her eyes. The only way she was going to make it downstairs would be to act like a two-year-old and slide from step to step on her butt. The glittery knife from her dream must've impaled itself in her head. Something sharp and painful was taking a tour inside her skull. The sensation shifted to the top of her head as Alex scooped her up in his arms. "Let's go," he whispered as she laid her throbbing forehead on his shoulder.

The too-short blast of cold air when they left the house helped lessen the broiling-steak sensation from the fever. Plus, the startling climate change helped take her mind off the fact that the bumpy trip courtesy of being carried down the stairs made her feel like a shaken-up bottle of pop that was about to explode. The virus that was attacking her was a mean little sucker. In the garage, Alex lowered her onto the backseat of his Jeep, then tucked her in with blankets. She closed her eyes and curled into a ball to try to ease some of the pain boiling in her stomach. When she opened her eyes, Carla was standing in the doorway of the Jeep. Bright lights behind her made it look like she had a white aura radiating around her. She was an angel. "I'm going to need a stretcher," Carla called to someone behind her.

When Amy opened her eyes again, she was looking at a clear IV tube hanging in front of her face like a random jellyfish tentacle. A bank of white cabinets was the backdrop. Carla's face crept into the alien abduction view. "Do you feel good enough to tell me what's been going on?"

"Sure." She swallowed, sending a river of burning pain down her throat. Her mouth felt like it had grown a lining of sandpaper. "I started feeling bad after dinner, so I went to bed early. Been feeling worse and worse."

"Did you have something odd for dinner that could've given you food poisoning?"

Amy tried to shake her head, but her head wouldn't cooperate. "I made chicken and stars soup. Everything was fresh. I was careful with the chicken. Maybe I caught something from Pitts after the last time he came to the house."

"Okay." Carla tugged the blanket up to cover her arm. "We're doing some blood tests. For right now we're giving you some fluids through the IV along with some medications to help with the nausea and fever. Get some more rest, and I'll wake you when we find something out."

Go to sleep? She could do that. When she woke up again, Alex was sprawled in a recliner in front of a window. A shaft of sunshine traced a bright rectangle across his legs as he slept. She took a mental inventory. The headache had simmered down to a slow bubble. The pain in her stomach had lessened from stabbing-victim ferocity to mild cramps. And she didn't feel the least bit hot. Whatever medication Carla had given her was doing a good job. Amy rolled onto her back to check out the rest of the room. The color scheme had gone from white to cream and brown. A television and clock hung on the wall at the foot of the bed. More cabinets were lined up along the wall to the left. Through a partially open door she could see a gray shower curtain and the edge of a toilet. Apparently she had been moved from the emergency room to extended-stay accommodations.

The recliner squeaked as Alex shifted positions while he woke up. When he saw her looking at him, he asked, "How are you doing?"

"Much better."

There were sooty, gray circles under his eyes and his face was covered in rust-colored whiskers. He looked almost as bad as she felt. After working all day, the last thing he had needed was to come home to a hot mess of a wife. "I'm sorry."

"About what?" He flipped down the footrest on the recliner and stretched his arms over his head. "You don't need to apologize for being sick."

"But you had a long day. The last thing you needed was to take a stinky swamp monster of a wife to the ER in the middle of the night. You must have all kinds of things at Quantum that you need to take care of today, and I kept you up."

He stood and gently kissed her forehead. "My only project right now is helping you get better. You are more important than Quantum, even though I haven't acted that way the last few months. Believe it or not, everything is finally caught up there, and the new project manager is doing great. So, I am going to stay right here by your side until the doctors say you can go home."

The work monsoon was finally over? They had strapped themselves in for the ride and made it through the marital storm. She ran her finger over the back of his hand. "I'm looking forward to spending time with you even, though I look and feel like a zombie."

There was a knock on the door. A woman dressed in tan pants and a burgundy smock stepped into the room. She handed Amy a laminated sheet of paper. It was a menu. "Would you like any lunch?"

Lunch. She was supposed to be at Riverbend working on the lunch menu for Sophie. The woman tilted her head and smiled as she waited for an answer. Amy quickly scanned the menu. Nothing sounded appealing, but it was probably a good idea to try something. "Just some strawberry yogurt please."

The woman nodded. "I'll be back with it in a few minutes."

"I need to call Sophie. I was supposed to be at Riverbend today." Amy tried to sit up. Bad idea. The almost dormant headache rattled back to life. She plopped back on the flat mattress and squinted at the controls on the bed rail. She poked one, and there was a hum as the top of the bed pushed her into an upright position. Much better. She frowned at Alex. "Can you get my phone?"

After making the phone call to apologize to Sophie and eating the tub of yogurt, a wave of sleepiness rolled in. She ordered Alex to go get some lunch for himself, then snuggled under the thin flannel blanket and fell asleep. A big bouquet of stargazer lilies sitting on the windowsill greeted her when she woke up. Alex was back in the recliner next to them, reading a paperback book instead of frowning at his phone. Things
were
changing with him.

"Who are those from?" she asked when he glanced up at her.

"Carla. She and Bruce will be back in a few minutes. They didn't want to wake you up." He turned to pick up a plastic wrap-covered plate from the small table behind him. "These are from Sophie and Trisha. Homemade digestive biscuits made by Sophie and crackers with herbs that are supposed to calm upset stomachs from Trisha."

"Knock, knock."

Amy rolled over and smiled at Carla as she walked into the room. Shepler trailed behind her. "How are you feeling?" Carla asked as she looked at the screens of the monitoring equipment clustered around the head of the bed.

"Much better, thanks to you."

"It's my job, but you scared me half to death last night."

Alex cleared his throat. "Have they figured out what's making her sick?"

Carla shook her head. "The test results should be back soon. Then we'll really be able to dial in the medicines to combat it."

"Hey, Amy," Shepler said as he walked around the end of the bed. He sat in an empty chair next to Alex. "Sorry to hear you're sick."

"Thanks. Pitts probably gave me his plague. I didn't get a chance to tell you he showed up at my house after you two left." She glanced at the television that was on with the sound muted. The charred, smoking shell of Cornerstone restaurant was on the screen. The conversation with Bridget tumbled back to her. "Did you guys catch Michael, the new head chef at Cornerstone, yet?"

Shepler leaned forward to look at the TV screen and shook his head. "I'm still on leave. I don't know what you're talking about. I've seen the news reports about the fire, but that's it. What's going on?"

Amy recounted the phone call from Bridget the previous evening. Shepler pulled his phone out of his coat pocket. He stood and walked to the door. "I'm going to step out and make a few phone calls."

"Want some crackers while we wait?" Alex folded back the plastic wrap on the platter and held it out to Carla. After she took one of each variety, he lowered the tray so Amy could choose one. Nervousness over what Shepler would find out made her stomach quiver, but the nausea was gone. And she was hungry. She grabbed several of each kind.

Sophie's digestive biscuit was buttery and slightly sweet. Crumbs rolled down the front of Amy's loose-fitting, and highly unflattering, hospital gown like a tiny landslide as she munched on the treat. But she didn't care. They were too good to worry about the crumbs. Once she finished the biscuits, she looked at Trisha's crackers. Green flecks of minced herbs speckled the thin brown-edged squares. She took a bite. The crispy pastry tasted strongly of spicy ginger, but the herb didn't mask the intense bitterness. She spit the soggy crumbs in her mouth onto the blanket. "Don't eat the herb crackers. They may be poisoned."

"What?" Shepler asked as he walked back into the room. "Poison? I thought we were talking about arson."

Amy tossed the uneaten half of her cracker onto the blanket. "The herb crackers were made by Trisha. Yesterday she gave me a bundle of herbs to flavor the stock of the chicken soup I made last night. The soup smelled different and tasted kind of bitter. It wasn't really unpleasant, so I figured it was just some kind of exotic herb that I had never tried before. But I started getting sick right after I ate the soup."

Shepler deposited his phone back into his coat pocket. "Trisha? Isn't she your friend who was paired up in the competition with Britton?"

One part of the question was easier to answer than the other.
Is Trisha your friend?
She certainly seemed like one until a minute ago. "Trisha was Chet's partner in the showdown. She's an herbalist who owns Dunbar Farms. Sophie and I have been hanging out with her quite a bit. We got to know her because she supplies the herbs to Riverbend Coffee."

Shepler picked up the discarded cracker from the blanket. He sniffed it and grimaced. "This does smell weird. An herbalist could have access to some pretty exotic plants." He kissed Carla's cheek. "Looks like I have some more phone calls to make."

He turned to leave, but Amy spoke up. "Wait. What did you find out about Chef Michael?"

"They haven't found him yet. Looks like he took off right after he started the fire at the restaurant."

Amy brushed crumbs off of her blankets onto the floor. Considering Michael was driving a new Corvette, he could be very far away. "I would alert other states that you guys are looking for him. He could be halfway to Florida by now."