Charles knew he’d have to coach his son through it, without appearing to do so. There couldn’t be any mistakes in explaining how they knew to suspect Melanie, such as the one he himself had made with Garnet – practically admitting he’d had access to Mark’s files. However, Chaz and he would now be able to claim that Roper and Garnet had showed them those reports during the investigation. There’d be no one to say otherwise, once Melanie took care of Garnet.
He glanced at his watch again. She must be in the hospital by now. How she’d get rid of him he had no idea. Any number of the tricks in the arsenal she’d built up over the years ought to do the trick. But he hadn’t heard a code blue over the PA system yet. Maybe she’d arranged for him not to be disturbed, and they wouldn’t find him for hours. Should he go back upstairs and recheck on Garnet himself, pretend he’d just dropped by, show concern after the man’s psychotic episode this morning-
The door to the coffee shop opened and in walked Chaz.
Good, thought Charles, until he saw the look in his son’s eyes. Even from the other side of the room he could see the pupils were far too big, the whites far too wide, the circles far too large. The rage in them pushed aside the rest of his face. “Chaz, what’s the matter-”
Mark Roper stepped into the room wearing OR greens. Behind him were three uniformed policemen.
The five of them marched forward, but Charles saw only his son’s horrible gaze as he descended on him. Oh, Jesus, he knows.
“Now, Chaz,” he said, getting up out of the chair. There had to be a way he could still bluff himself out of this, at least for long enough to make an escape. He didn’t know how Roper had survived, but there was nothing to implicate him, Charles Braden III, in what went on tonight. Ironically, all those wild accusations that he’d primed Mark to make might save him now, make the police hesitate. “Son, tell me, has something happened?”
Chaz’s hands shot out, his fingers splayed wide as if he were holding a basketball. “You! You took her from me. The one love I had.” He started to run. “I could have kept Kelly. You ruined that. Destroyed me. Let everyone think I did it.”
Charles stood his ground, certain he’d be obeyed. “Chaz, you stop this nonsense!”
“Oh, it’s not nonsense,” Mark said, his voice filling the room. “Sheriff Dan Evans has your men. The two that can talk are telling everything. Not just what they did on your behalf this last week. Seems they used their special skills at procuring information to ferret out all your past secrets, including the fact that you murdered Kelly and why, as insurance – in case they ever had to bargain their way out of a tight spot.”
“No!” said Charles. “They’re lying-”
Chaz leapt at his throat.
They crashed over backward as his son’s fingers closed around his neck. Charles tried to yell, but already the thumbs were crushing his windpipe. He attempted to claw them off.
“You never had faith in me,” Chaz screamed. “Never. You ruined everything I ever tried to do. But Kelly! How could you ruin Kelly?” He broke into a wail as raw and screeching as a wounded animal’s.
Charles struggled to draw breath and couldn’t. His hands pried and twisted at the fingers, but didn’t budge them. If anything they squeezed harder. A loud ringing filled his head, drowning out the shouts that rang through the room. His vision grew dark around the edges, and his son’s terrible, pained eyes, circles within circles, spiraled him toward two black pits.
Melanie found Earl lying flat on his back, the IV in his arm, a cardiac monitor attached to his chest. The latter surprised her. Had he already started to complain of palpitations? Deplete his potassium and give him a lethal arrhythmia – that had been her original plan. Too bad she couldn’t wait.
She walked over to the bedside and stood over him. His face hung slack, his mouth drooped open, and his respirations were shallow, the way she’d expect to see any patient who’d been brought down with a major tranquilizer. It gave her a sense of total control over him.
So look how we ended up, Earl. Couldn’t have guessed this when we were classmates, could you? Who’s the hotshot now? You’ll be remembered as Kelly’s killer, and I’ll be wringing my hands and saying, Who would have thought it?
She pulled out the syringe, uncapped the needle, and jabbed it into the side portal of the plastic tubing.
Still, you very nearly got me.
She pushed the plunger all the way down and opened the intravenous valve wide, flushing the solution into his vein.
Except it wouldn’t run through.
The normal stream of drops that should be dripping from the bag into the plastic tubing wasn’t there.
Was the line blocked?
She bent down to check where the tubing joined the angiocath that had been inserted into the vein. Usually the first sign of obstruction would be a backup of blood.
It looked clear.
Then the problem had to be the angiocath itself. It might have torn the vein, and the IV was simply seeping into the tissues of his arm, not through the bloodstream where she needed it.
Damn.
She’d have to change it. But most of the insulin would still be in the tubing. In a few minutes she could make the switch, run it in, and be out of there.
She quickly found an equipment tray on the counter, located a new angiocath, and broke it out of its package.
Then she stooped over Earl’s arm, removed the bandage anchoring the old one to the skin – and stared.
It had never been inserted in his vein. It lay taped to the surface of his skin, the needle capped.
“What the hell…”
She looked up, and saw Earl staring at her, eyes wide-open and alert.
The bathroom door opened, and out stepped a resident with red hair and the short-haired nurse who’d been taking care of Bessie.
Melanie felt warm, as if the room had gone on fire. “What are you doing here?” She mustered her most imperious tone, intended to make underlings out of anyone she used it on.
“They came to do the DONT on me, Melanie,” Earl said, before they could answer. “You remember. N is for narcan, as in reversing the effects of narcotics, such as morphine. Then, after they brought me around, they heard what I had to say about you.”
Earl’s quiet voice cut into her like a scalpel. It became hard to breathe. She cast around for some way to regain control. “What are you talking about, Earl? Now you let me restart your IV before I call a code forty-four.” She looked over at the others. “He had a psychotic episode this morning, and his infection is getting worse.” She’d adopted her confiding manner, the one used to bring friends and families over to her side and away from the patient’s. She also scanned their name tags. “So Tanya, and Dr. Roy, I know you two meant well, and if you will just get back to your business, we’ll say this little episode never happened-”
“You know, I talk to Bessie McDonald every day,” Tanya interrupted, speaking so softly it might have been a whisper.
Melanie’s fright escalated. “You what?”
“When I brush her hair and clean her nails – she used to be fastidious about that. Oh, don’t worry, she can’t speak back. Never will. I do it in case she can somehow hear or sense that I’m there, caring for her.”
“Well I’m sure that’s very commendable-”
“How could you have harmed her so?” Tanya continued. Her voice floated across the room. It made Melanie shiver.
Dr. Roy took a step toward her. “And I want to know if I’d given her sugar when we found her, would it have made a difference?” He had a harder edge to him. “That will haunt me until the end of my days.”
Testosterone defined an adversary so much better; it made him far easier to deal with. “You come an inch closer, Dr. Roy, and I’ll lay charges of intimidation and menacing behavior, not to mention libel-”