That should give them a long enough time period to average out any normal peaks and valleys in the mortality statistics. Sunny figured that a careful search of the obits from the Portsmouth and Portland papers could probably discover names to line up with the dear departed, but she decided to let Rafe go with a fig leaf of privacy.
Will had more practical considerations. “You mean the official cause of death.”
Rafe nodded. “The rest are staff rosters for those days. I figure that’s close enough to what you asked for.”
“What made you decide to take such a risk getting these to us?” Sunny asked.
“I think you’ll look at them and decide you can’t use them.” Rafe’s confidence seemed to come back as he upped his caffeine level. “You’ve talked about a rise in mortality rates at Bridgewater Hall, and that’s true. Right now we’re above average. But you’re suggesting that the spike is because union people are angry, or aren’t doing their jobs, or whatever, because of what Dr. Reese has done since he took over.” He took a deep breath. “Reese has definitely made trouble—I ought to know, I’ve been banging heads with him since he came in—but if you look at the deaths month by month, the spike was higher when Dr. Faulkner was in charge, and we got along better with the administration.”
Will frowned. “So you’re saying—”
“I’m saying it’s not a job action, or people slacking off. As shop steward, I know the folks in the union. They may not all be saints, but they—we—do our best for the patients. I think this information should prove that to you. So you’ll either have to go barking up some other tree or just accept that Mr. Scatterwell died of whatever they wrote on his death certificate.”
Which is where we’d already reluctantly landed before you brought all this paper to my house, Sunny couldn’t help thinking.
“I guess we should say thank you,” she said, wishing she sounded more sincere. “It must have been a lot of work for you.”
Rafe shrugged. “A little less looking at screens, a little more photocopying. Just promise me one thing. Shred them, burn them, destroy them somehow when you’re done. I think once you see that they back up what I told you, you won’t have any other use for them.”
Rafe thanked Sunny for the coffee and went to stand up. The scrape of his chair seemed to be the cue for a gray-furred form to come through the door.
Shadow’s gotten very good at putting in an appearance just as strangers—or Toby—are heading out the door, Sunny thought with a smile.
She wasn’t sure if it was cat manners or just cat curiosity. Shadow would come over, give the guest a cursory sniff, accept a little petting if the mood was on him and the person was so inclined, and then move on.
But as Shadow approached Rafe, his standoffishness melted and he became friendly—maybe too friendly. Shadow was all over Rafe’s feet and ankles, practically clinging to him.
“Well, hello, fella.” Rafe sat back down and went to pet Shadow, but the cat surprised him—and Sunny—by veering away. It turned into a strange kind of dance. Shadow seemed magnetically drawn to Rafe’s bottom half, but repelled by his top.
Then Sunny had a thought. “Were you holding Patrick recently?” she asked.
Rafe looked surprised. “Why, yes. He was feeling a little rocky this morning, so I picked him up to help him feel better.”
“Meanwhile,” Sunny went on, “Portia was on the floor.” She laughed. “I bet Shadow’s smelling Portia from your knees down, but Patrick on your upper half. If you sit there and don’t pet him, you’ll have a new best friend all over your feet.”
Rafe did as she suggested, folding his arms and staying still. Shadow twined his way around the security guy’s legs, sniffing and purring.
“I’ve brought Portia’s scent home on me a couple of times,” Sunny explained. “And Shadow definitely likes it.”
“I guess so.” Rafe chuckled, looking down at the cat around his ankles, and then yawned. “I’d better be getting home.”
But when Rafe rose from the table and started down the hall, Shadow trotted right behind him.
“Uh-oh,” Will said. “This could be trouble.”
*
Shadow had avoided Sunny since last night when she came home late, smelling of that smoke the humans liked to breathe and the stuff they drank to act silly. He’d found that a bad combination in other homes where he’d lived.
The Old One had gotten up earlier that morning and left something out for Shadow to eat, so he’d left Sunny to sleep by herself. Then the talking-thing had made a noise, and Sunny woke up and stood under the water so the bad smells were gone. But then the human male that spent a lot of time with Sunny had come along. Shadow had learned to give them space when Sunny’s He came to visit. He was just about to come into the room and let Sunny know he was around when the noisemaker at the door sounded again—some stranger this time. So Shadow had lain low in the living room while the sound of two-leg talk had drifted down the hallway. After a while, though, he’d decided to go check out the newcomer.
The human didn’t seem scared of cats, or angry at seeing one. That was good. In fact, he seemed friendly. Then Shadow smelled the mysterious She on him. He investigated the stranger’s feet and legs thoroughly. The scent was so strong, it made his head buzz. Yes, this was definitely the She! Could this be the two-leg the She lived with?
The human bent down and offered a friendly hand—but Shadow hadn’t liked that scent at all. It was a He, and Shadow smelled sickness on him. But when the hand went away and the offending He-scent dissipated, Shadow couldn’t keep himself away from the traces the She had left.
Then the human rose from his chair again, getting set to leave, and Shadow had an inspiration. This two-leg could lead him to the She!
So, as the human went with Sunny toward the door, Shadow had followed. The scent from the other human’s pant legs was a constant distraction. He stepped a little closer, the scent filling his brain . . .
And then hands came from behind and grabbed him up. Snatched from his happy fog, Shadow found himself held helpless as the door opened and the She’s human disappeared. Flinging himself around, Shadow managed to tear himself loose, but by then the door had already closed. He flung himself at the heavy wood, scratching and crying, but the two-leg was gone, and the She’s scent was already fading.
He heard Sunny’s voice. How dare she close the door on him, letting the She’s human get away! Shadow was so, so angry. With his back to the door, he hissed at her, one paw up and claws ready—
And then he remembered the scent of Sunny’s blood. He couldn’t do that again. Conflicting impulses all but paralyzed him. He jammed himself up against the door, the unyielding wood, right at the space where the faintest traces of outside air came in. But it didn’t bring the scent he most desired.
Sunny spoke, but she didn’t touch him. Maybe that was a good thing. Shadow couldn’t trust himself not to draw blood again. He just stayed where he was, letting out his feelings in mournful yowls.
*
“I’ve seen people going through detox who didn’t look or sound as bad as that,” Will said as he and Sunny sat back in the kitchen. “Looks as though Shadow has a real case for Rafe’s Portia.”
“I don’t know what to do about it,” Sunny said as another disconsolate moan came from the front door. “So I guess we may as well ignore him.”
They sat together, reading down the list of names Rafe had left. Will ran a finger down the page. “I count twenty-three people here. That’s like a third of the beds in Bridgewater Hall, isn’t it?”