Camille shrugged. “Look at me—I’m never going to be a model, but my family breeds women who can work and keep working.” She leaned forward. “Besides, I need the money. I still owe almost a thousand bucks for my training, so I pick up any extra work I can.”
“Still, two shifts in a row, you must be afraid that you’ll be tired and make a mistake.”
“Oh, no.” Camille shook her head, maybe a little too definitely. “I’m always careful. That was something they drilled into us at training.” An odd expression flitted across her broad features. “It’s different here, though. When we were training, we worked with people—well, let’s say people who’d look for free care. But I could get along with them better—they’re my kind of people. Here, it’s like even when you’re wiping their butts, some people will still look right through you.” She blinked, blushing. “Wow, we got kind of far away from what you were asking.”
“That’s me all over,” Sunny said easily. “I’m an easy person to talk to.” It was a skill she’d cultivated during her years in journalism.
Camille made an effort to adopt a more professional expression. “From what I’ve seen, by the time Mr. Barnstable has supper and watches a little TV, he’s pretty pooped. I think he sleeps right through till morning. If you want someone to check on him at night, though, maybe you should talk to the nurse.”
“Thanks, I’ll do that,” Sunny said, knowing full well that Ollie would kill her if she sent a nurse to check up on him.
Camille pointed at a flashing light. “Uh-oh. Duty calls.”
Sunny thanked her and turned to see Will approaching. “Ollie is finished already and resting in his room,” he reported.
As they headed for Room 114, Sunny heard a familiar chuckle, so she wasn’t surprised to find her father in there with Ollie. She was surprised, though, to find Portia sitting in Mike’s lap.
“She followed me here,” Mike said, laughing at Sunny’s expression while petting Portia’s sleek fur. “As soon as I signed in, I had a new best friend. And I have to say, she’s a lot more pleasant than your guy.”
At the reference to “her guy,” Sunny suddenly realized the reason for Mike’s sudden popularity. “Before you left today, you put out some food for Shadow, didn’t you?”
“Well, he was sort of hanging around me and then looking at his bowl. I figured you might want to sleep in a bit after last night’s fun, so I gave him fresh water and dry food.”
“And he thanked you for it by hanging around you a little more.” Sunny didn’t know whether to laugh or impatiently shake her head. “I’m afraid Portia is all over you because of the cologne you don’t know you’re wearing—eau de Shadow.”
Mike thought about that a little, and as he did, Portia thrust her head under his hand for more attention. “Maybe the cologne broke the ice,” Mike finally said with dignity, “but I think it’s my personality that keeps her around.” He scratched the calico cat between the ears. “Right, Portia?”
Sunny didn’t even bother to respond to that. Will just laughed. “Where’s your roomie?” he asked Ollie.
“His wife and daughter came and took him out to the garden,” Ollie replied. “Now he’ll be able to tell people on the next bench to be quiet.” He shifted in the bed, and Sunny noticed it didn’t look so painful for him. “Got anything new?”
“We have a new theory, but it can’t leave this room.” In a conspiratorial voice, Will explained the fun with numbers they had this morning.
“You say you had staff rosters,” Mike said, leaning forward in his chair. “Did any names turn up?”
“Before we answer that, let me ask you something.” Sunny aimed her eyes at Ollie. “What do you think of Camille the aide?”
“I like her,” he promptly replied. “She’s nice and hardworking, and she’s the quickest to come if you buzz for help—” His expression soured. “Aw no, you’re going to tell me she’s the name, right? It’s like you’re only picking on people I like.”
“We just follow the evidence,” Will said.
Sunny gave him a look. “But I’ve got to say in this case, the evidence is thin.” With his broken leg, Ollie was pretty much dependent on Camille. Sunny didn’t want Will’s suspicions to influence the way Ollie treated the girl. She offered her arguments about how fuzzy the statistics they were working from could be.
Ollie slowly nodded, going from patient to hard-nosed businessman. “So you’ve got a theory and a suspect. Someone who was around on the night shift, a staff member who’d know what was bad for patients and who could probably get her hands on whatever was needed. That’s whachacallem—opportunity and means.” He gave Will a tough look. “What about motive?”
Will shrugged. “She’s beating her brains out for chump change, emptying bedpans for rich people. That would start to get to me. And there’s something else.” He looked at Ollie. “You think someone was in here that night, giving Gardner a drink. We don’t think he’d take one from Alfred or Elsa. But he might have taken it from Camille.”
“Might,” Sunny emphasized. “Here’s what I know. She’s dedicated and responsible. The reason she’s taking all the shifts she can is because she still has to pay off her training.”
Ollie pursed his lips in thought. “She didn’t like Gardner,” he finally said.
Mike shrugged. “She’s a nice girl, but plain. Not Gardner’s type. I bet he didn’t waste much of the old Scatterwell charm on her.”
“As a matter of fact, she saw Gardner at his worst, going after Elsa Hogue,” Sunny had to admit. “But we’re talking cold-blooded murder. Is that enough to make someone go so far?”
“Put it all together . . .” Will let the words hang in the air.
“Put it all together, and do we have enough to persuade Frank Nesbit that he ought to look into this case officially?” Sunny looked around at the others. “He’s the one we have to convince, after all. What do you think? Do we have enough to convince him of foul play?”
Mike stopped playing with Portia to offer his two cents. “Admit that he let someone kill patients under his nose at a ritzy rest home? Oh, no.”
That got a sour laugh out of Will. “To convince him, we’d have to catch the killer cutting someone’s heart out. And even then, he might call it emergency surgery.” Will hesitated for a moment, and Sunny could sympathize with him. He’d made a case for some bad things going on here. But he had to face reality. “No,” he admitted.
“I could push him, but . . .” Ollie sat still, making the political calculations. “No.”
That pretty well killed the conversation. They sat for a moment or two in defeated silence.
“Hey, what’s going on, folks?” Luke Daconto came into the room. He was obviously still riding the high of last night’s performance, genial and grinning. “With a concert next week, I’ve been rehearsing my bell ringers pretty hard.”
“After all the free beer those folks at O’Dowd’s bought for you last night, you were able to listen to bell ringers this morning?” Will stared at him. “You’re a tougher man than I am.”
“Well, more like the afternoon after,” Luke admitted.
“The music was good,” Mike said, “but what really impressed me was the way you stared down that crowd to shut them up. That was really something, Luke.”
The guitarist shrugged uncomfortably. “It’s just something I learned from an old pro when I was on the road, playing in joints a lot worse than the one last night.” He grinned at Sunny, a flash of white teeth in his heavy beard. “If you thought that bar was scary, I could show you a few—”
Will rolled his eyes. “That’s all we’d need.”
Remembering some hair-raising episodes from Sunny’s other investigations, everyone laughed—even, after a moment, Sunny herself.
Luke looked a little confused at the big reaction, but pleased. “That’s better,” he said. “When I first came in here, I thought I was crashing a funeral.”