Louise paused in her frenetic packing to throw me a look of scorn tempered by fear. “I won’t be here. I’m leaving. I won’t be next, I’m telling you that right now!”
I stared at her. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about murder. What else?”
“Murder?”
She threw her armload of clothes down on the bed with a grunt. “Murder. Here, in this house. First Professor Burbridge, and now Miss Ruth. There’s no telling who will be next. But it’s not going to be me!”
I shook my head, baffled. “Ruth wasn’t murdered. Last I saw, she was alive, and I’m expecting she’ll stay that way, since she’s been taken to the hospital. She fell. That’s what happens to old people.”
Louise turned to face me, both hands on her hips. “Oh, you’re so smart, are you, missy? Well, let me tell you about that Ruth Ellis. She walks with a cane so she doesn’t fall. Other than that, she’s in perfect health and her doctor says she’ll live to be a hundred. She’s so ornery that she’d never just keel over from a heart attack or a stroke. She was on that floor because somebody tried to kill her. Just like Professor Burbridge. I’d bet my life on it.” She leaned on the top of one suitcase, trying to get it to close. “Well. They’re not going to get their chance at me. I’m getting out of here.”
I stared at her, the image of Ruth on the floor floating before my eyes. Was there anything suspicious about the way she was lying, or any blood or evidence of a blow to the head like with the professor? I couldn’t think of anything. But Louise’s words had the possibility of truth in them, all the same. She had been right about the professor, suspecting that his death was more sinister than a simple heart attack. Could she be right about Ruth as well? Had somebody tried to kill her?
“If this is true, what do you think happened?”
“Poison. I’d bet my week’s wages that she was drugged with something to make her fall asleep. She was standing up when it hit so she fell over. If it was a big enough dose, it could have killed her straight out. Who would think twice about an old lady over seventy dropping dead one day? But that ornery old lady didn’t actually die. It would be interesting to hear her side of the story. But I won’t be sticking around to find out.” She clicked her other suitcase closed and dragged both of them off the bed. “I’m out of here.”
I caught her arm. “You can’t leave. If this is true, Miss Priscilla needs you here to protect her.”
“You stay and protect her. I’m leaving to protect myself.”
I positioned myself between her and the door. “Louise, think. If this was attempted murder and you leave now, the police will surely suspect you. You could have easily poisoned Ruth. If you leave, you will look guilty.”
“Are you saying you think I did it? How dare you!”
“No, I’m saying the police will think you did it, and they’ll start looking for you. Is that what you want, to get arrested by the cops?”
Louise sank down on the bed. “I want to save my life, that’s what I want.”
The sight of her terrified face unnerved me. I didn’t know what to tell her.
“How about this? You call the police and tell them your suspicions. Then you can leave after that, and they can keep Miss Priscilla safe.”
“So who’s going to keep me safe? You?” She picked up her phone even as she talked. “You realize, of course, that the murderer is most likely in the house, right now. No one who doesn’t belong here has come in or out of the house all day.”
Chapter Fifteen
I ran down to check on Priscilla while Louise placed her call to the police. Priscilla still sat in her rocker, gliding gently back and forth, back and forth. With her long white hair bound up in a chignon at the base of her neck and wearing the lavender gown that I’d made her, she was the very picture of an eighteenth-century grand dame. I wished McCarthy were here to do a portrait of her.
I paused in the doorway and pulled out my phone. He’d stopped trying to contact me after those thirteen texts and one missed call. He must have figured, correctly, that I knew he was trying to get in touch with me and would respond at some point. I started keying in his number, and then I hesitated. Did I really want him here when the police arrived to question the entire household yet again on the suspicions of a nearly hysterical caregiver? Now that I was out of the room and free from Louise’s presence, I felt more and more dubious about her suspicions. Poor Priscilla, who was already upset about Ruth’s condition, would be even more discombobulated at the suggestion that someone had tried to kill Ruth. Couldn’t she be spared that, especially if the suspicions were unfounded?
I went back upstairs to find Louise just ending her call.
“What did they say?”
She tucked her phone into her pocket in disgust. “They took my name and number and listened to what I had to say. They said they wanted to check with the hospital and see how Miss Ruth was and talk to her before they sent someone over here. They needed more evidence that a crime had actually been committed.” She sat down heavily on the bed. “They said they’d be by later today or maybe tomorrow to talk to me. Sounds like I can’t leave after all. Even if I quit my job, I’ll still need to be here to talk to the cops. I might as well keep collecting my paycheck through this whole thing.” She glared at me, as if I were the root of all her problems. “You got your wish.”
“Tell you what. If you stay here and protect Priscilla in case there’s any danger, I’ll go to the hospital and see what Ruth has to say about what happened to her. I told Priscilla I would visit her.”
Louise nodded, accepting defeat. “Come back here after you talk to Ruth.”
I stopped to say goodbye to Priscilla on the way to the bus stop. “I’m going to check on Ruth now. I’ll let you know how she’s doing.”
She grasped my hand. “Thank you so much dear. Tell Ruth I’m thinking of her.”
As I walked down the driveway to the bus stop, I saw Randall come out of the house. He headed for his car without noticing me. He carried a bulky bundle in his arms. No one could mistake it for a briefcase—it was wrapped in a cloth and he carried it with both hands as if it were quite heavy. Just what was Randall carrying out of Compton Hall?
I almost accosted him to ask that very question, but the sight of the Number Two bus approaching made me change my mind. If I missed this one, I would have to wait another forty-five minutes for the next bus. I abandoned Randall to his bundle and climbed the bus steps.
It was a twenty-five-minute ride to the hospital. I sat in one of the side seats, ignoring the young guys in the back who sat with their legs spread out into the aisle, laughing and talking about their hot girlfriends. I needed to sort things out in my mind.
Images of Ruth lying on the floor and of Louise’s terror flickered through my mind, but my most pressing thoughts were of Randall. What was he thinking, putting his arms around me like that? Surely he didn’t harbor any romantic feelings for me, after all this time? He was engaged to a beautiful woman, for crying out loud. I wished, fervently, that Randall would finish up his job, go back to Philly, and leave me alone.
The bus let me off in front of the hospital just past five thirty. I didn’t know what the visiting hours were or what Ruth’s condition might be. I hesitated outside the main entrance. Not much time had passed since I found her sprawled on the floor. What were the chances that she would even be conscious? I shook off my intrinsic dislike of hospitals and let the doors swish open to admit me.
The hospital reception area was quiet. The walls were a pale green color—“hospital green” in my mind. Only half of the admissions desks were manned at this hour. I walked down the hall past the pictures of mountain laurels done by the high school drawing class, and entered the elevator for the third floor. Assuming that Ruth was settled into a room, this is where I would find her.
I checked in at the nurses’ stati
on, and was directed to room 318. The nurse didn’t tell me anything about Ruth’s health status or how long I could stay. I didn’t even have to establish a relationship with the patient or a reason for visiting. That lack of vigilance made me uncomfortable. How weird would it be to be unconscious in a hospital room and have any old person walk in?
But I didn’t need to worry. Ruth was not unconscious, and she wasn’t alone. Her son John sat by her bedside, scrolling through his phone while she spoke to him. Neither one of them noticed me standing in the doorway.
I ducked back out into the hallway, feeling an unexpected rush of relief at the sight of Ruth’s face. She was still quite pale, and she lay back against her pillows in a posture foreign to the ramrod-straight woman that I knew. But she was alive, and looking much better than I had feared.
I gathered myself, and knocked on the open door. “Excuse me, Priscilla asked me to stop by to see how you were doing, Miss Ruth. It’s good to see you’re looking better.”
She turned her head to look at me. “I gather my sister did not come with you.”
I walked into the room and stood awkwardly by the foot of the bed. “No, she asked me to come on her behalf. She’s worried about you.”
“Hmm. I expect it was a sorry sight to see me being hauled out of the house on a stretcher. I imagine the neighbors were out in force, enjoying the spectacle.”
John reached over to pat her thin hand with his pudgy one. “Now, Mother, you mustn’t worry about appearances.”
She pulled her hand away from him. “The last time I worried about appearances, I was on trial for my life.”
John threw me a glance of consternation. “Well, we don’t need to talk about that now, Mother.”
Ruth followed his gaze. “I’m sure she knows all about it. Don’t you?”
I shrugged. “I read about the trial in the newspapers. That’s all. But your son is right, that’s not what I came here to talk about. I just wanted to see that you were okay, so I could tell Priscilla.”
Ruth locked eyes with me in a penetrating stare that belied her prone posture.
I steeled myself to return her gaze without flinching or looking away. Then I smiled. “I’ll be happy to tell her that you’re almost back to your old self.”
Incredibly, Ruth smiled back at me, if you could describe her grimace as a smile. “John, could you please leave? Go have a drink in the cafeteria and come back in fifteen minutes. Not a moment sooner.”
John glanced from me to his mother, clearly at a loss. Even in a hospital bed, Ruth was a force to be reckoned with, and he looked like he’d spent his lifetime reckoning. He got up and shuffled out of the room.
“Sit down,” Ruth commanded.
I sat.
“So. My sister is worried about me. As are you, I gather?”
“Priscilla said you would hate being in the hospital. She just wants you to be okay.”
“And you?” Again that penetrating stare.
“I want to know what happened, in your room. Did you fall over something, or have a heart attack? I’m guessing it wasn’t a stroke, since your speech is so good.”
She reared her head up in surprise. “The nurse didn’t tell you? I took an overdose of sleeping pills. I imagine she thinks I tried to do away with myself. Funny thing is, I don’t remember taking any pills at all.”
I looked at her, frail and vulnerable in that hospital bed, but with a will of iron. “Where did the pills come from, then?”
She glared at me. “Where, indeed? Maybe you could tell me.”
I struggled to keep eye contact with her. “I don’t know. Do either you or Priscilla ever take sleeping pills?”
Shifting her gaze to the photograph of a tropical sunset on the wall, she said, “Sometimes Priscilla has a hard time sleeping. She does take Seconal, on occasion.” Her hands plucked at the thin blanket covering her. “Louise Pritchard dispenses all her medications, but Priscilla controls the Seconal, since she might need it late at night when Louise is gone.”
“Did the nurse tell you what medication you overdosed on?”
She glared at me like I was an idiot. “Seconal, of course. You see where this is going, don’t you?”
“You think Priscilla gave you an overdose of sleeping pills? But why? She couldn’t possibly want to harm you. She loves you.”
Ruth clenched her jaw a moment before answering. “You may have noticed my sister’s, well, shall we say, ‘peculiarities’?”
I nodded. “You think she’s suffering from some kind of dementia?”
“Not in the slightest! She has always been sweet, unsophisticated, somewhat vague. It has nothing to do with old age; it’s who she is. I’ve never considered it to be dangerous in any way. But now...”
We sat in silence for a moment. I didn’t know what to say. Mostly I was floored that Ruth would confide in me in this way. But I had no idea how to help her.
She must have seen that, for she gave a sharp sigh, followed by, “Well.”
I nodded. “Yeah.”
She locked eyes with me again. “Not a word of this to anyone, do you understand? I’ll not have my sister hounded by police or psychiatrists or anyone else trying to make her out to be a menace to society.”
I returned her gaze as best I could. “Professor Burbridge was murdered in your house. People are going to think your situation is related. Louise already thinks someone tried to murder you.”
“Does she, now?” Ruth stared out the window as she considered this. I watched her jaw clench and her eyes go hard as she made her decision. “When life gets to be overwhelming, sometimes the only way out is to take matters into your own hands.”
It took me a moment to realize what she was saying. “You want people to think that you tried to kill yourself?”
She lifted her chin in determination. “Wouldn’t you?”
I bowed my head for a moment. “But what if people think that you tried to kill yourself because you killed Professor Burbridge and you don’t want to be charged with his death?”
“Maybe I did kill Professor Burbridge.”
I looked at her closely, my heart starting to thud. “Did you?”
She scoffed. “No, of course not. Why should I kill him? I didn’t kill my husband, either, if it comes to that.”
I opened my mouth to reply when we both heard the door handle rattle, signaling John’s return. She held a gnarled finger to her lips. “We do this my way.”
I nodded. What else could I do?
When John entered the room, Ruth was telling me, “So tell her I should be home by tomorrow or the next day.”
I stood up. “I’ll do that. I’m glad I got to spend this time with you, Miss Ruth. I know Priscilla will be happy to hear that you’re going to be okay.” I backed out of the room, avoiding any eye contact with John.
I almost ran in my haste to get out of the hospital. I was barely in time to hop on the bus that would take me back to Compton Hall. The bus was mostly empty, probably due to it being the supper hour. I found a spot in the back, stretched out my legs, and considered the remarkable conversation I’d just had.
Clearly Ruth thought that Priscilla had inadvertently poisoned her with sleeping pills. Just as clearly, she intended to cover up this suspicion to protect her sister from prosecution. I doubted that the authorities would go after Priscilla in this case, especially if Ruth refused to press charges. But I didn’t know if there was a risk of the mental health professionals becoming involved. Again I wondered if someone held power of attorney for Priscilla.
But what about Ruth? Would she get caught up in some kind of mental health safety net, with people taking unnecessary action in order to keep her safe from herself? Would she risk losing her autonomy, especially since she had a son down the street to take charge of her?
I gasped out loud. Maybe that was the whole p
lan. Maybe John had slipped Ruth the pills in order to incapacitate her, either partially or totally, so that he could take over her affairs. I could scarcely imagine it when I reflected on the browbeaten man I’d just observed, obeying his mother’s every command. But I couldn’t forget the fact that Ruth’s and Priscilla’s wills had been taken from Randall’s law firm. Was John making sure of his succession rights before taking his chance at bumping off his mother, or at the very least putting her in a situation where she stood to lose her legal rights? I felt like I needed a lawyer to help me figure all this out, but the only lawyer I knew was Randall, and I certainly wasn’t going to ask him. But I also knew Marlena Hernandez. Maybe she and I should have another lunch together. But first, I needed to talk to McCarthy about what he’d learned about John Ellis.
I considered the next issue. If John was the one who had fed the sleeping pills to Ruth, then he obviously posed a danger to her. And I had just left the two of them together in a private hospital room!
Chapter Sixteen
My head was swimming by the time I got off the bus and walked to Compton Hall. I didn’t know which way to turn. It was time to call in reinforcements. I pulled out my phone and typed in the number. The phone rang five times before he answered.
“Sean, are you busy right now?”
“Right now? She ignores my messages for the past four and a half hours, and then when I’ve just started in on a photo shoot of this glorious sunset as seen through the wrought iron fence encircling the Philmont estate, she calls and asks if I’m busy right now.”
I tried to keep the smile out of my voice. “Okay, I can wait ten minutes for the sun to finish setting. Then can you meet me at Compton Hall? A bunch of things have come up.”
“Aha! The nosy seamstress is onto something, is she?”
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