Laced with Poison (25 page)

*   *   *

BY the time she got up to her apartment after Sweet Nothings closed, Emma was almost
too tired to cook. She put a pot of water on the stove to boil some eggs. She’d make
some deviled eggs and throw together a salad. As she passed the refrigerator, she
noticed the slip of paper from the fortune cookies she’d shared with Brian taped to
the front. It had been a nice evening, and the thought made her smile.

Unfortunately thoughts of Jessica’s and Gladys’s murders intruded. Emma frowned. It
all started at that trunk show. But what had caused the murderer to strike right then?
She tried to remember everything that had happened, but it was all such a muddle.
She was dropping the eggs into the boiling water when she thought about what Sylvia
had told them about the old woman on the nursing floor. Someone had tried to smother
her. Why? As far as Sylvia had been able to find out, she had almost no family and
certainly no money to leave. Nursing care cost hundreds of dollars a day. Even if
she’d had a small estate, it wouldn’t take long for it to be eaten up.

Steam from the boiling pot wafted into Emma’s face, and she stepped back from the
stove. Could the three cases be connected somehow? Jessica’s death and Gladys’s hit-and
run and someone trying to kill this old woman?

As she washed and tore some lettuce leaves, she thought about the story Jessica had
told at the trunk show. Jessica’s story had been about a nurse. The old woman whom
someone had inexplicably tried to kill had been a nurse. Could they possibly be one
and the same?

She felt her heart race with excitement. She was onto something. Definitely. She had
to call Liz right away and see what she thought.

Liz sounded quite glum when she answered the phone, but her tone perked up when she
heard Emma’s voice.

Emma explained about the ideas she’d had.

“I’m not sure I get it,” Liz said when Emma had finished.

“What if Jessica was murdered because of that story about the babies being switched?
Obviously it was never meant to come out. I imagine the mothers themselves carried
the secret to their graves. And then all of a sudden, Jessica knows all about it from
this old nurse who’s now a resident at Sunny Days.”

“But Jessica didn’t know the women’s names. Just a nickname—Cat, wasn’t it?”

Emma silenced the timer pinging on the stove and turned the gas off under her eggs.
“Yes. But presumably the nurse knows the names. Or at least the murderer must be afraid
she does. And that’s why they tried to smother her.”

“But didn’t Jessica say that the babies who had been switched were boys? There weren’t
any men at that trunk show.”

“Maybe it was someone’s brother or husband?” Emma
carried the pan of eggs to the sink and ran cold water over them.

“But why would anyone care after all these years?”

“Maybe there’s money involved.” Emma turned off the tap and fished the boiled eggs
from the water. She started to put them on the counter, but one nearly rolled off.
She grabbed it in the nick of time.

“Could be. So, what next?”

“I’d like to see if that nurse who is now at Sunny Days was working at the Henry County
Hospital in 1954. That’s the year the switch supposedly took place. I’m sure Sylvia
can get her name for me.”

“I’ll go with you. I know someone who works in the human resources department there.
She’s the wife of a friend of Matt’s. Maybe she’ll help us out.”

*   *   *

TUESDAY the shop was fairly calm. No outbursts from Mr. Zimmerman, no escapades by
Pierre and no deliveries. Arabella was unusually quiet. Emma knew she was worried
about Francis. With nothing new to report, the story had slipped from the front pages
of the newspaper. Arabella was worried that Francis would be forgotten. Emma assured
her that the police were no doubt working overtime to secure his release from the
robbers.

Emma was a little concerned about leaving Arabella alone in the shop, but Liz was
picking her up at eleven o’clock to swing by the Henry County Medical Center, as it
was now known, to see if they could find out more about that nurse living at Sunny
Days. Sylvia had managed to discover her name—Rosalind Newell. The nurse Jessica had
talked about was named Rose—it seemed perfectly possible that that might be a nickname
for Rosalind.

“Are you sure you’ll be okay?” Emma asked as she slipped into her sweater.

Arabella made a face. “You worry way too much for such a young girl. I’ll be fine.
Besides, I’m dying to know what you’ll find out.”

Emma kissed her aunt on the cheek. A horn sounded outside Sweet Nothings—Liz. Emma
went out the front door and slid into the passenger seat of Liz’s station wagon.

“Don’t you feel we’re getting close to an answer?” Liz said as she pulled away from
the curb.

“I hope so. I’m only concerned as to whether or not the records at the Henry County
Medical Center go back to 1954.”

“Fingers crossed,” Liz said as she turned into the hospital parking lot. They parked
Liz’s car and headed toward the modern glass and steel entrance.

A blue-haired woman sat behind the information desk. She was wearing an old-fashioned
flowered dress with a large starburst brooch on the right shoulder. Emma guessed they
were both almost as vintage as the lingerie Arabella found for the shop.

“We’re looking for the human resources department.”

The woman scribbled some directions on a piece of paper with Henry County Medical
Center printed at the top and handed it to Emma.

They followed the rights and lefts until they came to their destination. “Cross your
fingers again,” Liz said to Emma, “that Tammy hasn’t gone out to lunch.”

A pleasant young woman behind the desk looked up inquiringly as they entered. Liz
approached her with a smile.

“I’m Liz Banning, and I was wondering if Tammy Cole is here.”

“I think I saw her a minute ago,” the girl said, picking up the telephone on her desk.

She spoke a few words into the receiver then looked up at Liz. “She’ll be right out.”

A woman with short blond hair came down the hallway. She was tall and trim with an
athletic gait. She smiled when she saw Liz.

“Liz!” They shook hands. “Good to see you. How are Matt and the kids?”

“Fine, just great.” Liz turned toward Emma. “This is my friend, Emma.”

“Come on down to my office.” Tammy waved an arm, and her cluster of bracelets tinkled
melodically.

“What can I do for you?” she asked when they were seated in her rather cramped office.

“We’re trying to find out whether or not a nurse by the name of Rosalind Newell worked
here in 1954,” Liz said.

“Rosalind Newell? Does this have anything to do with all that stuff that’s been going
on at Sunny Days? Your father’s there, isn’t he?”

“Yes, he is. And yes, it’s somewhat related. And rather complicated.”

Tammy leaned back in her chair. “Unfortunately the records from that far back are
no longer here. They’re in storage…”—she waved her hands around—“somewhere.”

“I was afraid of that,” Liz said as she picked up her purse.

The phone on Tammy’s desk rang, and her hand went toward it reflexively.

“We won’t keep you any longer. Come on over with Dan some night for a drink, okay?”

Tammy gave Liz a thumbs-up as they left her office.

“We didn’t really expect to find out anything,” Emma said
soothingly as they retraced their steps back down the corridor.

“True. Still, it would have been nice to have had confirmation.”

They were going through the lobby when Emma grabbed Liz by the arm.

“Look!” She pointed at a series of gold plaques on the wall. Large gold letters at
the top read
Employees of the Year.
“You don’t suppose…”

Liz was already reading through the names.

“There!” She pointed toward the plaque for 1954.

Engraved in the gold was the name
Rosalind Newell
.

“WHAT’S our next step?” Liz asked as she leaned on the counter at Sweet Nothings.

“Is there any way you can get in to see this nurse? Rosalind, you said her name was?”
Arabella put down her mending and took off her silver-framed half-glasses.

“People are used to seeing you around Sunny Days. You might be able to pop into her
room without being noticed.”

“I don’t know,” Emma said. “They’re quite careful about things like that up on the
nursing floor.”

“Say you’re a friend or relative.” Arabella smiled. “Use your charm.” She patted Emma
on the arm.

Emma made a face. “Very funny.”

“You could go over now,” Liz suggested. “I can stay here in case Arabella needs a
hand.”

“I’m afraid I can’t pay more than minimum wage,” Arabella quipped.

A shadow crossed Liz’s face. “Right now even that would be a blessing.”

“Still no news on Matt’s contract?” Emma frowned. She’d hoped that Liz’s situation
would have improved by now.

Liz shook her head. “No. Soon, though. Hopefully by the end of the week. He’s pretty
sure he’s got it, but you know how these things go.”

“Well, are you going or not?” Arabella put the piece she’d been working on under the
counter and turned to Emma. “I can’t wait to hear what you find out.”

“I guess I’ll go then.”

Emma was thinking hard as she walked to her car. Should she try to sneak into Rose’s
room or claim to be a relative? By the time she’d slid behind the wheel of the Bug,
she’d decided that honesty was the best policy. Besides, she wasn’t much of an actress
and was likely to be busted by the first person to come along.

Emma parked at the back of the Sunny Days lot. She really, really didn’t want to do
this. She should have sent Liz instead. She dragged her feet as much as possible,
but eventually she still found herself at the front door of the retirement community.
She threw back her shoulders, raised her chin, pushed open the front door and approached
the front desk.

The woman sitting there smiled helpfully.

Emma tried to control the quaver in her voice. “I’m here to visit Rosalind Newell.
She’s on fourth-floor nursing.”

The woman’s expression of interest turned to boredom. She pointed toward the elevators.
“Take the elevator to the fourth floor.”

Emma’s stomach did a little victory leap. She couldn’t believe it was going to be
this easy! She stabbed the elevator
button and waited impatiently as the car crawled downward from the fourth floor.

The doors opened and Emma stepped inside. They closed so slowly she found herself
clenching her teeth in frustration. She really felt as if she were about to find the
one thread that would unravel this whole mystery. If she could only manage to get
to the fourth floor!

Finally, the car began its slow ascent. Emma studied the numbers on the indicator,
trying to focus on what questions she would ask Rosalind Newell when she got there.
According to Sylvia, she was in room 403, which was a right off the elevator and a
left turn at the end of the corridor.

Emma wiped her palms on her slacks as the elevator doors swung open. The corridor
was quiet and empty. She tried to step out as boldly as possible. As if she belonged.
Of course it didn’t matter, since there was no one there to see her.

She followed Sylvia’s directions and took a right off the elevator and headed down
the hall. Room 403 was easy enough to find. Emma counted off the rooms…397…399…401…and
finally she was approaching number 403.

She was almost there when a woman came out of the room opposite, carrying a tray and
pushing the door closed with her hip. She was wearing blue and white scrubs and a
pair of scuffed clogs. She looked up in alarm when she saw Emma.

“Can I help you?”

Emma swallowed the huge lump that had formed in her throat. She ran her hand casually
through her hair. “I’m stopping in to see how Rose is doing.” She indicated the doorway
to room 403.

The woman eyed her suspiciously. “Did you check in at the desk?”

“Downstairs?” Emma asked, confused.

The woman shook her head vehemently and her frizzy brown curls bobbed this way and
that. “No.” She pointed toward the end of the corridor. “At the nurse’s station.”
She must have noticed Emma’s confused look. “When you got off the elevator,” she clarified.

“Oh,” Emma said in a very small voice. “No one was there.”

“Come with me.” The woman motioned with her head toward the other end of the hallway.
“I think the doctor’s issued orders that Miss Rose isn’t to have any visitors for
the near future.” She marched officiously down the corridor, and Emma had no choice
but to follow.

The woman who now sat behind the desk opposite the elevator, which had been empty
when Emma got off, was, if possible, even more severe looking. Her eyes were narrowed
to slits, and her lips were sucked in so tightly it looked as if they had been stitched
shut by an expert plastic surgeon.

“Can I help you?” she asked as Emma approached the desk. Her lips barely moved, and
her eyes retained their suspicious mien.