Sunny’s male friend came with papers in his hand, thrust them into the top of the boxy thing—and it ate them! Not only that, but it made loud growling and crunching noises while it did.
Shadow carefully stayed behind Sunny’s leg, peering suspiciously at the strange hungry box. This was like a lot of the stuff two-legs kept around. Shadow wasn’t sure whether they were alive or not, like the go-fast things humans rode in, or the box with pictures of people inside. This one didn’t move around, but it seemed to like chewing up paper. And even stranger, you could look into its belly and see all the chewed-up paper lying in a heap!
That might be a good idea, Shadow thought. If Sunny could see into my belly, she’d always know when I was hungry and feed me.
But then, what would happen to his beautiful fur coat? This eat-’em-up thing with its see-through belly lived in a box. Even stupid Biscuit Eaters wouldn’t put up with that. They’d want to run around, woofing.
The box-thing stopped growling, and Sunny and her He stepped away from it. Shadow crept forward, extending a wary paw. He gave the boxy thing a tap. It didn’t growl; it didn’t even move. But that transparent belly-thing seemed to wobble. That gave Shadow an idea. He pushed harder, shoving with both forepaws, and the boxy thing fell over, its clear belly falling away and all those little strips of paper spilling all over the floor.
This was wonderful! Shadow leaped on the largest pile of paper, scattering the strips, rolling on them, having a grand old time until Sunny and her friend came back. Sunny had a big, black, plastic bag, and oh, did she make noise when she saw Shadow in the make-believe snowdrift he’d created.
Shadow expected Sunny’s He to make even more noise—human males usually got angry and loud in the houses Shadow had lived in.
But this one just stood quietly, shaking his head.
*
Sunny and Will spent a remarkable amount of time collecting the paper shreds, bagging them . . . and keeping them out of Shadow’s reach. “If we ever have to do this again, I vote we burn the evidence instead,” Will said, glaring down at the cat. “You are one crazy creature.”
Sunny had to go along with that opinion, but it seemed to be the only thing they agreed on for the whole trip to Bridgewater Hall. Sunny tried to lay it out logically. “Okay, maybe we’ve got a new lead here. But how do we find some proof? More importantly, who even gets to hear it?” she asked. “If we go to Dr. Reese for corroboration, we’ll open exactly the can of worms Rafe was afraid of. Reese will know we’ve been looking at files illegally. Do we talk to Rafe and let him know one of his union people might be a viable suspect? Where will his loyalties lie?”
Will kept his eyes on the road. “I say first we find out who this C. Thibaud is. Then we talk to him or her. Then we make up our minds.”
“What kind of questions can we even ask?” Sunny wanted to know. “I can’t see us strolling up and saying, “Gee, have you noticed that a lot of people die when you happen to work the late shift?”
Will’s lips quirked. “Whenever you talk to a murder suspect, you have to expect that they’re on their guard, even if they’re innocent.”
“But here we don’t even know if there are murders,” Sunny burst out. “We went to outside doctors, and they told us that Gardner could have died of a stroke. We have a handful of deaths that we think are statistically relevant based on the numbers. Strokes, according to the cause of death in the papers Rafe gave us. Maybe five really sick patients in a row got transferred from a hospital to the nursing home and then died. I don’t think it’s impossible. That article my dad mentioned to me said that nursing homes get patients who are frailer and sicker these days. That three years is an average life expectancy. Some live longer, and some go quicker. Maybe a lot quicker.”
“That’s an interesting philosophy for someone who’s looking for foul play,” Will said.
“I suppose that’s what Ollie wants. But call me naïve, I have a hard time believing that someone is stalking the corridors in that place looking to bump people off. I might expect it in a big city like New York, but this is my hometown, for crying out loud. I rode my bike around town. The dangerous neighborhood was the streets around O’Dowd’s on a Friday night, because people might get liquored up and drive like idiots.”
Sunny glanced over at Will. “I know you’re a cop, you see a lot of things I don’t. And I know things have changed. Crimes that only used to happen in big cities are turning up in small towns now. But in my heart, I can’t imagine that stuff happening in Kittery Harbor . . . or Bridgewater.” She grinned. “This isn’t like Dr. Gavrik’s hometown, where her relatives were ready to kill the neighbors.”
“I can understand what you’re saying.” Will’s voice got softer. “I grew up around here, too, remember. But as you say, I’ve been a cop. I’m trained to look for foul play.”
In the end, they decided to ask Rafe about C. Thibaud without explaining the possibilities. Sunny called his number, forgetting until the phone was ringing that he was probably sound asleep after his night shift. But he answered anyway, and didn’t sound too upset.
“Sure I know her,” he said. “You probably know Camille, too. The last name is pronounced Tee-bow, like the football player.”
“Camille the aide?” Sunny asked.
Rafe confirmed it, and she thanked him then clicked her cell phone closed as Will parked his truck at Bridgewater. He gave Sunny a long, thoughtful look. “So you know her.”
“I had a suspicion I might,” Sunny admitted.
“And you like her, which is why I’ve been getting this song and dance from you about people possibly being innocent.”
“I won’t deny that, but I also don’t think we have a convincing case to present.”
They walked inside in silence until they reached the nurses’ station. “Do you want to talk to her?” Will lowered his voice.
“She’s little more than a kid,” Sunny told him. “I think you’d scare her to death. Why don’t you check and see if Ollie is in therapy and I’ll look for Camille.”
Will gave a nod and strode off. Sunny cruised the hallway and easily spotted the aide in another room. The girl waved to her, and Sunny waved back. A few minutes later, she came out of the room and walked over. “Anything I can do for Mr. Barnstable?”
“I’ve been thinking about something and don’t know who to ask,” Sunny replied. She’d been thinking about the approach. “How has my boss been sleeping since Mr. Scatterwell passed away? He’s been so upset about it, more than he wants to let on. Do you think there’s anyone from the night shift I could ask?”
“I know just about everybody who works the overnights.” Camille shrugged. “Whenever someone is sick or can’t make it, I fill in.”
“Really?” Sunny did her best to look impressed. “Were you here when Mr. Scatterwell had his stroke?”
“Yeah, I was working that night.” Camille made a face, but seemed unself-conscious about admitting it. “A patient down the hall did a big load in his bed, and I was in there cleaning him up when the excitement started. So I missed it all. To tell you the truth, what I was doing was pretty gross, but I’m kind of relieved I was busy.”
“That had to be tough.” Sunny gave her a friendly smile. “Weren’t you here the next day, too?”