Do You Want to Know a Secret? (48 page)
Read Do You Want to Know a Secret? Online
Authors: Mary Jane Clark
She flipped on the light, made her way to the white bathroom and knelt on the cold floor beside the toilet. She remembered briefly the feeling she’d had once on a small sailboat on Long Island Sound. The nausea that wouldn’t go away until the body relieved itself. Being seasick was worse than having a virus or a flu. Or so she had thought until now.
She retched violently. Then again. And again. She vomited until there was nothing left to throw up. Then she vomited green. She knew it to be bile.
She was scared. Alone in her hotel room, hundreds of miles from home. The nausea was not going away. She lifted her heavy head from the bowl. The room spun. She was afraid she was going to pass out. She had to get to the phone. Call Mack. Crawling across the tile floor she knew there was something wrong. Something terribly wrong.
The entire room had turned yellow.
“Mrs. Twomey, Mrs
. Twomey,” shouted Janie from the living room. “Mommy isn’t on the TV this morning.”
Mrs. Twomey walked from the kitchen to the living room, wiping her floured hands on a dish towel. She looked at the television. Janie was pointing at the screen.
“See? Mommy’s not on.”
Janie was right. Mrs. Blake’s friend Mack was sitting in the skybox where Eliza was yesterday.
“Okay, Janie. Let’s turn on
Sesame Street
instead.”
“But where’s Mommy? I want to see my mommy!”
She wasn’t on!
It worked! Eliza had taken the pills.
The murderer smiled. Now everything was taken care of.
Dr. Randi Hagerman
didn’t usually find herself at work so early in the morning.
Though the emergency room doctor at Twelve Oaks Hospital suspected flu or food poisoning, he had thought it wise to call the sharpest internist on staff. Considering who the patient was, he didn’t want to be held responsible for any misdiagnosis.
Dr. Hagerman had listened as the duty doctor described over the phone Eliza Blake’s violent vomiting and yellow vision. She immediately ordered an electrocardiogram. By the time Dr. Hagerman got to the hospital, the answers were back.
She had expected to see the “hockey stick” pattern on the EKG tape. The surprising thing was the patient. Young, healthy-looking Eliza Blake was the owner of very disturbing, inexplicable test results.
“
I want to
see my mommy.” Janie’s lower lip was protruding dangerously.
“Honey, I’m sure Mommy must be busy doing something else. She’ll probably be calling us soon.” Mrs. Twomey tried to sound nonchalant.
Janie looked uncertain. Mrs. Twomey changed channels and Big Bird appeared. Janie’s curiosity over what the big yellow fellow was going to do today distracted her for the moment.
Mrs. Twomey returned to the kitchen and her blueberry muffin batter. She switched on the small kitchen set, already tuned to KEY, and adjusted the volume lower, insuring that Janie would not hear anything. Mack was on the screen talking to Harry Granger in New York.
“Middle of the night, major league stomach upset, Harry. She’s resting well enough, though. In fact, she had to be forced to stay in bed and take it easy this morning. But the last I heard, she is determined to be working the convention floor tonight.”
As she slid the muffin tins into the oven, a worried Mrs. Twomey wondered if what she had just heard was the whole story. When she heard from Eliza herself, she’d know for sure.
Detective Colburn got
to the precinct a little later than usual. Bunny and the kids were leaving for the Cape and he had wanted to see them off. He was going to join them up there in a couple of days. Unless, of course, something big came up between now and the weekend.
Colburn had just taken a seat at his desk and was pulling the plastic lid off his coffee when his chief walked over and informed him that the patrol guys had picked up the graffiti artist the night before. He was being held downstairs.
“Let me go get a look at him,” sighed the detective, putting the lid back on the Styrofoam cup.
“Don’t get your hopes up about getting any answers that make sense. He’s a schizo.”
The man in the holding cell was lying on his side in the corner. His eyes were closed and his mouth was hanging open. Watching closely, Colburn could see the man’s shoulders and chest moving slowly up and down. He was sleeping. Probably the best sleep the poor bastard has had in quite a while, thought the detective. Colburn decided to let him sleep. Whether he was questioned now or after lunch wouldn’t make a whole lot of difference. Let the guy rest and get something to eat. This sad soul wouldn’t complain about the jail food. He’d be grateful to get it.
