Kee Patterbee - Hannah Starvling 03 - The Priest Who Ate a Poison Petit Fore (17 page)

Hym squeezed the elder clergyman’s hand. “It’s fine, but I’m glad you did.”

Hannah turned toward the door. “You don’t happen to know which patient, do you?”

The Reverend gave a questioning look. “Which patient?”

“Which patient she was consulting on? Was it in Holmes’ office or in a room?”

Whipson shook his head. “I’m not sure.”

Hym glanced over to his wife. “Is that important right now?”

Hannah affirmed. “It might be.” She looked to Whipson. “I’m sure she’ll be okay. She’s strong. But if you’ll excuse me…” She gave his hand one more squeeze before looking to Hym. “I’ve got to check something out,” she insisted. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.” Pulling out her cellphone, she motioned with it. “Keep me informed if anything happens.””

Hym nodded without question as Hannah exited to the hall. She moved toward the nursing station just before a large, double door entrance. Above the portal was a large sign reading Intensive Care Unit. As Hannah came to the tall counter, she looked over to see a nurse typing on a computer. 50s.
Short. Maybe 4’11 or 5’’. Reddish-brown hair. Bulbous nose. Hazel eyes. Downturned mouth.

“Excuse me,” Hannah said.

The woman turned to look at the sleuth with a frown. Hannah drew up her best smile. “I’m sorry to bother you, but I’m with Susan York. They brought her in and……”

“Dr. York is stable for the moment,” the nurse interrupted with a blank look and stern tone.

Seeing the woman’s reaction to her request, Hannah drew another smile forward. However, unlike the first, it was a troubled, forced smile. “Oh, yes. I know. Thank you. But they told me she left some items in the room where she had her……” Hannah fluttered her eyes, rolling them toward the roof. She pulled her lips in and swallowed hard before continuing. “Episode,” she continued in a strained voice. ““I was hoping to retrieve them for her. Susan and I… She’s my…” She squished her face up as if she were about to burst into tears. “You wouldn’t happen to know where it happened, would you.”

Hannah turned her eyes back to the nurse wearing a saddened expression. At first, the nurse continued to hold onto a stoic look. Then, it gave way to a sympathetic smile.
Bought it
, Hannah thought. The nurse looked down toward some of the files lying on the desk before her. After a moment, she glanced one over. “She was consulting with a patient on the fifth floor. I’m sure her items are with the station there now. Would you like me to call up and see? I could have them brought down?”

Hannah shook her head. “That’s okay. Thank you. I’ll go get them, if you don’t mind. I could use a moment away from it all.” She sniffled for added measure.

“Of course,” the nurse agreed. “Don’t worry, honey. Dr. York’’s strong. She’s going to be fine. Her husband won’t let nothing happen to her,” she added with a compassionate tone.

After thanking the woman, Hannah set off for the fifth floor. Thinking her performance over, she could almost hear the voice of Cate saying, “Drama queen” in her ear. Though disturbed by the ongoing events, this still made her half smile.

Once on the floor, Hannah glanced over at a sign that pointed to rooms in either direction. Thinking it over, she knew there would be a nurse’s station somewhere nearby. She had to find a way to determine what room Susan had collapsed in. She also knew that asking outright might draw questions. Wanting to avoid explanations and to keep her suspicions to herself, she decided the first step was to try to locate the room on her own. While considering it, she saw two nurses headed in her direction. In their late twenties by her estimation, they came before the elevators. As they waited, each talked loud enough for her to eavesdrop on the conversation.

“..508. She just hit the floor.”

“Do they know what happened?”

“Maybe a heart attack…”

As their voices faded within the elevator, Hannah continued down the hall in the direction of a sign that numbered rooms.
508. Room number
, she thought.
Has to be her. Lucky.
Checking the signs again for directions, she headed to the location. Once found, she read the name handwritten on the small dry erase board affixed to the door.
Patient: Victoria West. Primary: Dr. Holmes. Restricted diet. See notes.
Hannah eased the door open to find a woman propped up in bed while reading a book.
70s. 5’5. Thin. Short grey hair. Wire rim glasses
.

“Hi,” Hannah said, “I’m from administration. I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions.”

The woman looked up and scanned over Hannah with a puzzled look. “Administration?”

For a moment, Hannah was unsure about the question. Then she turned her eyes down toward herself.
Jeans. Black tee shirt. Top hat with goggles. Don’t look the part. Improvise
.

“Oh, I’m sorry. It was my day off, but when they called about one of our physicians collapsing, I came right over. I was out and about, so I apologize for my appearance.”

The woman relaxed and smiled. “That’s okay, dear. What can I help you with?”

“Well, could you tell me what happened this morning with the doctor?”

“Of course. I was asleep when Dr. Holmes came in way early. He brought the young doctor with him. York, wasn’t it?”

Hannah affirmed as she took a seat in the corner of the room.

“Yes, well, we talked for a bit, and then she went all pale. Next thing I know she was on the floor and Dr. Holmes was calling for help. It was all chaos from then on. Not much more to tell.”

“Did Dr. Holmes say why he brought in Dr. York?”

“It was a consultation. Dr. Holmes is my internist. He said Dr. York was a geriatrics specialist whom he consults. I have diabetes, osteoporosis, and just diagnosed with Parkinson’s to boot. He thought she might have some insights on the best way to treat all given my obvious youth,”” West added with a grin.

Hannah returned the same.
Cheery disposition
given
, crossed her mind.
But not terminal in the short term
. She glanced over to the wastebasket next to the woman’’s bed. A box protruded over the edge. The back edge read Spur of the Moment. She pointed to the container. “Were those yours?”

The woman glanced over at the box and shook her head. “Oh no. At least I don’t think so. Like I said, I’m diabetic and have deteriorating bones. I’’m on a nothing-that-taste-good-can-be-eaten diet.” She pointed to the box. “That kind of thing is certain death for me according to the powers that be.”

“Do you know where they came from?”

“No, it was on the table there when I woke up.” The woman pointed to the small, rolling food tray next to Hannah. “Someone must have dropped them off while I was asleep. I suppose I could have forgotten if they did.” West moved one hand to her mouth and cupped it. “Alzheimer’s comes with Parkinson’’s they tell me, so you never know. Or maybe I don’t know,” she half whispered before chuckling.

Hannah tried not to laugh but found it impossible not to. The woman’s attitude was contagious and refreshing, despite the direness of her conditions.

“Eh, what are you going to do? Something’s going to take you down. Might as well not give it the last laugh, eh?” She glanced at the box again. ““Well, whoever brought them wasted their money. Dr. York tossed the box there.”

“She didn’t happen to eat one, did she?”

“Uh huh.”

“And Dr. Holmes?”

“No, he’s diabetic too. He declined. I was about to tell her to take them, but I never got the chance. Poor thing, is she okay?”

“She’s going to be.” Hannah rose. “Do you mind if I take that box?””

West again gave an odd, questioning look. Hannah responded with a quick explanation. “That big of a fan of sweets, dear?”

Hannah laughed. “No, but if someone dropped it off as a promotion, it’s against hospital policy. So I need to find out who and why.”

“Ah, I see. So now you’re the intrepid hospital sleuth who is on the case.” West gave another chuckle. “Take them. Otherwise, I might pull them out and eat them myself.”

“Well, I’m sorry you had to witness that. Is there anything I can do for you?”

“Nothing I can think of, so forget about it. I know I will.”

Both women laughed, though Hannah felt some guilt about it. She thanked the woman and looked around the room. She spotted a box of blue latex gloves. Removing a pair, she pulled them on. Though she found it improbable that such evidence would remain, she took care not destroy any fingerprints. Picking it up, she noted the container’s weight.
Light
. When West again gave her a puzzle look, she produced another smile.

“I have this thing about germs,” Hannah explained as she exited with the box in hand. Once outside, she opened the container with care.
Empty
. All that remained were the paper holders. She pulled her face in as she pondered over the carton. The patient, West, claimed Holmes nor she ate any, but that Susan had, but she was uncertain about who had dropped them in her room. Though the woman had Parkinson’s disease, and Alzheimer’s was a symptom in some cases, West seemed not to suffer as such. She only joked about it. Thus, Hannah came to only one conclusion. It was clear to her that Susan had brought them with her. The question now was who had given them to her and were they all tainted or just one.
No way to tell
, she inferred, but she tried to sort it out. It seemed improbable to her that the perpetrator tainted all. There were too many chances for others to get hold of a poisoned piece.
Doesn’t fit the method. People share
, she thought.
Whoever is doing this, it’s about control. Single victims.
She frowned.
Moreover, what if the target didn’t eat one first? It would tip them off.
At that moment, Hannah made a connection. “Wessel,” she said half aloud, catching herself at the last moment. She glanced around as layered thoughts started pouring in on her, one after another
. Wessel. Overweight. Died in office. Cardiac arrest. Candy box. Empty in trash. Office. In the office. Next to Whipson. Who is diabetic.
Her sea green eyes twinkled as her quirk presented itself.
Diabetic. Offered it to Wessel
. Her eyes shot wide open.
Whipson was the target
. “It was an accident,”” she said aloud. Two nearby nurses turned to give her a look, as she cleared her throat and gave a weak smile. “Sorry, just figured something out.” After giving her another odd look, the women returned to their business. Hannah bobbed her head in self-appreciation as she headed to the elevators.

Chapter Fifteen

Waiting for the elevator, Hannah felt at least some sense of relief. With Whipson a target, she could dismiss him from her postulations. She was never comfortable with the idea to begin with, but this one elimination brought her one step closer to her goal. Now she could offer him some relief over his own self-doubts. Still, the notion of someone trying to kill the man disturbed her.

When the bell rang and the doors opened, Hannah found herself before Jackie Rhoades, who stood holding a mop and a push bucket. Behind him, rested a custodial cart. Catching sight of her, he turned his eyes downward. She smiled and stepped in. After pushing the button, she looked over to the man.

“You’re Jackie Rhoades, right? We met a while back in Reverend Whipson’s office.”

Rhoades shifted but affirmed with a silent nod.
Uncomfortable
, Hannah noted.

“I was wondering if I could ask you some questions.”

Rhoades remained silent and stared ahead.
No eye contact. Reluctant.
Hannah made a quick assessment of what she knew of the man. From what Whipson said and what Hym had found, she knew that he had spent the majority of his life as a prisoner. She considered what that kind of life that would be and understood that questions inside meant trouble. Answering them, more so, but he had been and always remained devoted to his friend. In an instant, she knew how to get him to agree.

“The Reverend said you wouldn’t mind.”

For the first time, Rhoades turned to look at her. He bit at the corner of his lower lip as he peered at her. “All right, but I’ve got duties now. I get off at four. I eat in the cafeteria,” he responded in a soft, meek voice.

Hannah agreed as the elevator came to a stop and the custodian pushed his bucket with mop out onto the floor and pulled the cart along. As the doors closed again, Hannah saw him pause and look back. He pulled his finger to his mouth and bit at the nail. There remained hesitation in his eyes. She gave him a reassuring smile but noted every detail of the exchange.
Nervous. Uncertain
. She again wondered if it were just due to his past, or if there was something more. Was he aware of what was going on? In many ways, from the Reverend’s references to him, Rhoades was the clergyman’s best friend. She had also noted hints of an older brother/younger brother relationship between the two. Whipson played the part of the former.
They would talk about it for sure
, she thought,
but would he be doing this? And why?
Revenge seemed improbable. Rhoades was a rash man by what the clergyman had described. He was one who was prone to rush in or follow without question. As such, had he wanted revenge on Whipson, he would have taken it long before. In all probability, he would have done so in a sloppy manner, not a well thought out series of murders.
And to what end?
She shook her head to clear it of the notion.