The ride to the emergency room was painstakingly slow until we got out of the fogged-in area. The man monitoring her vitals was very quiet, and I had a bad feeling.
Izabelle was taken right into the emergency room when we arrived. I was directed to a waiting room. The only good part was that it was empty. I think ER waiting rooms probably all look the same. Uncomfortable but indestructible plastic chairs, a gray linoleum floor, a TV tuned to CNN with the sound tuned so low you get only every fourth word and a vibe of worry.
I wished I had brought some crocheting. I wished I’d brought my purse. Most of all, I wished I wasn’t there in the first place. A woman with dark circles under her eyes called me to the reception desk, and I gave her the information I had. Before we finished, a somber-looking doctor walked out. I figured his bad news before he said it. He said he was sorry but they’d lost her.
“It appears she had a severe allergic reaction. It’s called anaphylactic shock.” He explained that it caused her throat to constrict so she couldn’t breathe and her blood pressure to drop. He asked me a lot of questions about Izabelle that I couldn’t answer. I didn’t even know how old she was, let alone if she was allergic to anything. “Sometimes people suddenly develop a severe allergy and it catches them off guard. A severe reaction can happen in minutes and requires immediate care,” the doctor said. “Maybe that’s what happened in this case. There was some peanut butter in the food item the paramedics brought in. That might have triggered it.” He asked me more questions regarding her family, and again I had no answers. While he was talking, a police officer came in and joined us.
“Sergeant French, Pacific Grove PD,” he said, introducing himself to me. The doctor obviously knew him and nodded in greeting. The police officer turned back to me and spoke in a kind tone. “You look a little green around the gills. Are you all right?”
“Not really,” I said, feeling my stomach churn and threaten to empty its contents. I suppose someone good at being in charge wouldn’t have said that. I should have sounded unflappable, like someone dying while under my authority was something I could completely handle.
The craggy-faced police officer had good people skills. He tried to put me at ease and suggested I sit down. “I just need to get some information from you. When someone dies on the beach, we investigate,” he said, keeping a friendly voice.
Of course, Sergeant French knew about the fog and how it had brought everything to a standstill on the tip of the peninsula. I told him about the creative weekend and Commander Blaine and the s’mores. He kept taking notes. When I mentioned finding the burned wood, he looked up. “Fires aren’t allowed on the beach,” he warned.
It seemed kind of beside the point now.
It was dark when the police cruiser pulled up to the administration building. The only bright spot was that the fog was finally beginning to dissolve. The ride back from the hospital had been at almost normal speed. Dinah was waiting for me, and when I walked in, she jumped up.
“Tell me everything,” she said. She swallowed her words when she saw Sergeant French following me. I crossed to the registration table. Commander Blaine had collected the extra s’mores bags and the container of forks was gone. The folders for the campers were under the table, along with a folder Mrs. Shedd had included for me. I had thumbed through it once before and noticed information sheets for all the presenters and campers. I had wondered why they included emergency contact information. Now I understood.
I pulled out Izabelle’s information sheet and showed it to Sergeant French. Her contact was Zak Landers and included a phone number. He wrote down the information and, to my relief, said he’d make the call. Then he left, and I collapsed into one of the easy chairs in the conversation area.
“First of all, Commander took care of dinner and Mason arranged some kind of walking meditation. I told everyone that Izabelle got sick and you went to the hospital with her. They were all understanding.” Dinah glanced out the window as Sergeant French got into his cruiser. “She isn’t all right, is she?”
I shook my head slowly and then recounted what had happened.
“Did he say how she died?” Dinah asked nervously. I knew she was really asking did they think it was murder. I was embarrassed by the relief in my voice as I explained the doctor said he couldn’t say for sure, but he thought she’d had some kind of allergic reaction.
“He said she might have gone into anaphylactic shock and asked me a bunch of questions. I had to tell him I didn’t know. I hardly knew her.” The word knew stuck in my throat. “I can tell you this because you’re my best friend and you won’t think I’m some kind of cold-hearted monster, but I was really hoping to get through the weekend without anybody dying. There’s no way this isn’t going to be a black mark against my leadership abilities.”
“Yes, but at least it wasn’t murder.”
“Right,” I said, getting up and going back to the registration table. The rhinestone clipboard and my tote bag were still in the corner. “But I still have to call Mrs. Shedd.” Reaching her turned out not to be an easy matter.
“I heard about the fog emergency,” she said when I finally got her on the phone. “CNN is everywhere, even on the ship. Do they know when this fog problem is going to end?” I told her it had thinned considerably.
“Good,” she said. “Well, if that’s all-” She was ready to wind down the call.
“No, there’s something else.”
“I hope it isn’t a dead body,” she said, obviously joking. When I said nothing, I heard her swallow. “Oh no, there is a dead body, isn’t there?” I told her about Izabelle, and she gasped. “How terrible! The poor woman alone on the beach-” Mrs. Shedd clicked her tongue in dismay. “I tried to tell Commander Blaine not to do the s’mores, but he was absolutely insistent about doing them. Then I tried to get him to go the traditional route, but no, he had to make them his gourmet way and stick in peanut butter.”
As the news sank in, Mrs. Shedd realized it presented a problem for the weekend program. “That leaves you with a big spot to fill, doesn’t it?” Her tone changed, and it was clear she wanted to end the call. “I’m sure you’ll think of something. You’re good at improvising. Just make the best of it.” I heard her call to someone that she’d be there in a minute and to save a space in the mambo class. “By now you’ve had some experience dealing with deaths. I’m sure you’ll do a better job than I would.” She started to sign off, but I stopped her long enough to explain that most of the campers hadn’t arrived yet because of the fog.
“You said it was clear now. So, they’ll probably all show up tomorrow. Tell them we’ll do something to make up for the lost day. I have every confidence in you, Molly.”
“Thanks, but-” I started to say. It was already too late. She’d hung up and probably headed off to her dance class.
I considered calling Barry, but I wasn’t up for it. I knew what he’d say as soon as he heard someone had died: “Stay out of it.” But I couldn’t. As the holder of the rhinestone clipboard, I was in the middle of it whether I wanted to be or not. Though at least it wasn’t murder.
I needed time to think, and I wasn’t up for dealing with Adele just then. I saw her march past the window on the driveway side of the building. Any moment she would come through the door and give me the third degree about Izabelle. I just couldn’t tell the story one more time.
“I can’t face Adele right now,” I said, making a beeline for the other door. Dinah followed me out onto the deck. I was still getting used to being able to see beyond the end of my arm. I could actually see the fire circle, where a campfire was giving off a warm glow. I was going to suggest going there since it appeared the benches were empty, but as we crossed the path through the meadow, I saw two people sitting toward the back. The floodlights along the wall illuminated their faces. It was the guy who had made the scene with Izabelle in the kitchen-Spenser somebody-and his niece. I didn’t want to talk to them, either.