Tears born of frustration filled Susan's eyes. Why was Leila being so evasive? What had she done? The singsong pattern of speech and the frenzied pacing made Susan wonder if her friend was in touch with reality.
"Are you sure he's dead?"
"He left. I fell back to sleep."
Leila sounded like a child reciting a memorized piece. Susan held back an impatient scream. Any interruption might push Leila into insanity.
"I got up. I made breakfast. Eggs, toast and sausage. Joe was late..." Her voice broke on the edge of a sob. "He was late. I went to look for him."
Susan grasped her friend's shoulders. The muscles felt like taut wires. "Tell me about Joe. Please. I want to help you. Did you try to resuscitate him?"
Primitive and shrill shrieks poured from Leila. She jerked away from Susan. "How? His face. The blood. I touched it with my fingers." She pulled off her gloves and exposed bloodstained hands.
For an instant, Susan caught a glimpse of the scene in the woods and shared Leila's terror. "Who shot him?"
"I don't know. I don't know. The blood. His face. The cabin was empty. I couldn't stay. What if someone found me? Barbara was going to tell. I was afraid Joe gave her the money. Or killed her. I couldn't let anyone know I was at the cabin so I packed my things and came to you. What am I going to do?"
"Call the police." Susan inhaled a breath. Another murder. Surely not.
"I did." Leila straightened. She gulped deep breaths of air. "I couldn't leave him lying in the woods until Monday when he was expected home. There were animals. I heard them rustling in the bushes." She shook her head. "What will Mary do?"
"She has friends and family. De Witt will take care of her."
"He won't. He'll cheat her. He's not a nice person."
"What do you mean?"
"He..." She put her hands over her mouth. "I can't tell. Joe hates gossip. If I tell he'll know I did."
Susan stared at her friend. Barbara knew. Dr. Barclay knew and they were dead. Fear for her friend rushed through her thoughts.
"What am I going to do?" Leila wailed.
"You're going to pull yourself together." Those were the words Leila had said the day of Jim's funeral. The wall clock struck two. "I'm calling in sick to stay with you."
As though Leila had just realized where she was, she looked at Susan. "On a weekend? Are you crazy? I'd better go." She tried to stand but fell back on the couch.
"I can't leave you to deal with this alone."
Leila gulped a breath. "Don't worry about me. I'll handle this."
"At least stay until I leave for work."
Leila nodded. "I'll be all right. I'm tough." Tears spilled down her cheeks. "Joe and I were so right for each other."
"I know."
"Don't tell anyone I was with him this weekend." Leila grasped Susan's arm. "Oh lord, the police."
"You didn't kill him. They'll understand how you panicked and ran."
"I'm safe. I didn't give my name." Leila walked to where her coat lay. "I'll leave so you can get ready for work." Her voice trembled. "I can't believe he's dead."
Susan stared into Leila's eyes. "Are you planning to do something foolish?"
"You know me better than that." A sound midway between a sob and a laugh escaped from Leila's lips. "I'll be fine, believe me. Go get dressed. You don't want to be late."
Twenty minutes later, Susan and Leila left the house. Leila's dark eyes brimmed with unshed tears. Susan shifted the suitcases from her car to Leila's. "Why don't I stop by after work?"
"There's no need." Leila looked up. "I know you needed people around you after Jim's death. I don't. I want to remember Joe and what we had. I'll be fine."
Leila's rigid calm frightened Susan as much as the earlier hysteria. She wished she could stay at home, but there was no chance a replacement could be found at this late hour.
Leila got into her car. "Will you go to the funeral with me?"
"Should you go? What about Mary? One look at you and she'll know."
"I don't care who knows. He's dead. I have to go."
"Think of what Joe would want."
"Please go with me. I don't want to go alone."
Susan frowned. Maybe tomorrow Leila would listen. "If I get a chance, I'll call you from the hospital this evening. If not, in the morning, we'll talk about the funeral."
Leila revved the engine. As the gray car shot out of the driveway and into the street without a pause to check for traffic, Susan gasped. She's tough. She'll be all right. Susan found no comfort in those words.
Though she wanted to follow her friend, she drove to the hospital. In the parking lot, she remained in the car and stared at the sky. Tension settled between her shoulder blades.
How could she hide her prior knowledge of Joe Barclay's death when the news reached the hospital?
Susan let the locker room door slam shut. She wished her fears could be closed out as easily as the noise from the hall. What could she do to help Leila? Going to the funeral might be what her friend wanted, but attendance could only add new dimensions to Leila's grief. One look at her friend's face and the secret she had tried to keep would be known.
With a sigh, Susan stared at her reflection in the mirror on the back of the door. Did her face reveal the knowledge she had to hide? Her co-workers teased her about wearing her emotions where they could be seen. Patrick often said her feelings shone in her eyes. She practiced a poker player's face and failed.
With a laugh at her posturing, she walked to the second row of lockers where the deep shadows told her one of the overhead lights had burned out. She opened the locker. A package tumbled from the shelf. Uttering a cry of surprise, she jumped back. With a thud, the package landed on the floor at her feet. She sucked in a breath. Who had left this?
As she bent to examine the brown paper bag, her eyes widened. A note was taped to the bag. She opened the envelope.
"You were so good to her. I always bought her the latest books. I hope you like them, too."
Susan swallowed. The chocolate had been wrapped in a brown paper bag. The note--Was the writing the same? She wasn't sure what she had done with it. She drew the package closer.
During the fall, a corner of the bag had torn. She saw the edge of a book. Cautiously, she peeled the sealing tape and piled the books on the floor in front of the locker. She frowned. Why had someone sent her fifteen books from the latest New York Times bestseller list? Was there a meaning behind the messages?
Or was this some kind of practical joke? Candy. Books. Julie had teased her about a secret admirer. Were these gifts an extension of the teasing and designed to make everyone believe in a covert courtship?
The locker room door slammed. Susan yelped in surprise.
Kit popped around the end of the row. "It's just me." She stared at the books. "Planning to goof off tonight?"
Susan handed a stack of books to Kit. She picked up a second stack and rose. "These were in my locker." She shoved the books on the shelf.
"Maybe someone got the wrong locker. The night nurses read a lot."
"My name was on the bag." Susan shoved the second stack on the shelf.
Kit raised an eyebrow. "Another gift. Who do you think it is?" She laughed. "Aren't many interesting men around here unless you count the doctors and I can't see one of them doing something secret. Unless he's married."
"This isn't funny."
"Then get a lock and it won't happen again."
"The candy was left at the desk." Susan pulled off her boots and slipped into her white shoes.
"Doesn't this give you the creeps?"
"Should it?" Susan looked away to keep Kit from seeing the fear in her eyes. She wouldn't admit to anyone what the gift and the notes made her feel. She shoved her boots beneath her coat. "This has to be a joke. You and Julie, maybe."
Kit's eyes widened. "Me!" She shook her head. "I wouldn't play a joke on you. Besides, this isn't a cheap game. These books are new. On my salary, they'd be used."
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"Sorry."
Kit dumped the books she held in Susan's arms. "When your secret admirer starts handing out money, jewels, or furs, let me know. I'll gladly share those." She flounced away.
The door slammed. Susan leaned against her locker. Jewelry, she thought. Why had that word caught her attention? Joe Barclay had given Leila a watch. That wasn't the connection. Maybe it would surface if she didn't push. She grabbed her stethoscope and hurried down the hall. In the lounge, she poured a cup of coffee and carried it to the nurses' station.
As she passed the census board, Joe Barclay's name seemed to be printed in bold letters. A gasp caught in her throat. He was dead and Leila shattered. Susan grabbed the chart rack for District Two. She had to pretend she didn't know.
The evening began with the admission of two patients. As Susan rushed to settle them, she found herself thinking about Leila. When one of the patients spoke about her brother's sudden and tragic death, Leila's tear-swollen face flashed in Susan's thoughts. While hearing a patient with cancer of the spine cry in desperation and agony, Susan heard Leila's repetitive wail.
A third admission arrived just as two patients returned from the Recovery Room. When Susan looked at the pages of orders, she groaned. With the push for better utilization of the hospital's facilities, Saturday surgeries were becoming the norm. Rumors circulated through the hospital about the operating room being used seven days a week.
While Susan checked the charts and talked to the admitting doctors for orders on the new patients, Faye took vital signs. Three phone calls later, Susan glanced at the clock. Though the time for her dinner break had come, she needed to assess the admissions and the two post-ops.
She rushed down the hall and stopped short. "Mr. Martin, why are you here on a Saturday night?"
"I promised five days a week and since I wasn't here on Thanksgiving, I came tonight."
"Thank you. We're busier tonight than usual."
"So I noticed. Isn't it time for your dinner break? You're usually in the lounge when I arrive."
Susan nodded. "No dinner break this evening. I'll eat while I chart."
"Would you like a cup of coffee?"
"That would be wonderful."
"I'll leave it at the desk. Milk, no sugar."
Ten minutes later, she finished checking the two post-ops and introduced herself to the third admission. She returned to the desk and reached for the coffee.
Faye approached. "Mrs. Chang wants something for pain."
Susan groaned. "I had hoped to finish these orders before seven."
"If not, I'll start evening care on my own."
"Bless you," Susan said. Since the regular staff practical nurses still followed Barbara's pattern, they never began without the RN.
In the med room, Susan reached for the narcotic cabinet's alarm and saw it had been switched off. Careless, she thought. Meg will have a fit if she learns. After taking a tube of Demerol, Susan locked the cabinet and activated the alarm. While she signed the narcotic book, Julie entered.
"Aren't you supposed to be at dinner?" Several strands of fair hair strayed from the silver clip at Julie's nape to curl around her face.
"I'll eat later. I may never catch up."
"You always do. Five admissions. Kit's going crazy at the desk. Aren't you glad they're not all yours?"
"They might as well be. I've three, plus two fresh from Recovery."
"Good thing they sent Faye. If we were five like last night, the evening would be a disaster. I have three pain meds to give. Maybe I should try Trish's method."
"What's she done now?"
"Put her patients on a schedule. She passes pain meds at five and nine." Julie took the keys from Susan. "When are they going to replace Barbara?"
Susan shrugged. "Meg has to interview the candidates and she's on vacation. Maybe they won't replace her. They might try a different pattern of care delivery like they have on the Surgical unit."
Julie opened the inner door of the narcotic cabinet. A shrill noise erupted. She sucked in her lower lip. "Who turned on the alarm?"
Susan flipped the switch. "I did."
"You're right. We should keep it on, but it's so inconvenient." Julie groaned. "Wait a minute. What's he doing here?" She stabbed a syringe at the window. "Isn't it Saturday?"
Susan's gaze followed the syringe. "You mean Mr. Martin. He takes his duties as a volunteer seriously, and since he wasn't here Thursday, he came tonight."
Julie fitted the tubex into the syringe. "I guess we have to be grateful."
Susan nodded. "When he saw how rushed I am, he brought me a cup of coffee. I'm glad he's here to do water and nourishments. My patients would have been out of luck." She turned to leave.
"Could I talk to you for a minute?"
"Problems?"
Julie blew a strand of hair that had strayed to touch the corner of her mouth. "Sort of. How can you love a man and not trust him?"
"De Witt?"
Julie nodded. "It's just...just...last night, he talked about doing something that's not...not right." She sighed. "It's kind of hard to explain."
"Are you sure you want to?"
Julie slumped against the counter. "I'm not sure what I want to do about anything. He's been pushing me to apply for the position that's opening on days."
"I don't see any reason you won't get it. I'm not ready for days. Trish prefers evenings. There's no one on nights who has more seniority than you do who might want to switch."
Julie fastened the keys around her slender waist. "I'm thinking about grad school. Evenings are best for that."
Susan looked at the clock. "Why don't we stop at the diner after work, or do you have a date?"
"No date. Larry's having dinner with his aunt. His uncle's away."
Susan stared at the floor. She couldn't reveal her knowledge.
"He's staying for bridge," Julie continued. "That's one game I'll never understand."
"Makes two of us. I'll rush to get done on time so I won't keep you waiting."
The door of the med room slammed against the wall. Susan turned.
De Witt strode in and closed the door. "Julie, we have to talk."
Julie crossed to him. "What happened? Where did you go last night?"
"Uncle Joe's dead."
Julie's hands dropped to her sides. "Why, Larry? Was that where you went? How did it happen?"
Susan edged past the refrigerator. Was Julie accusing De Witt of being responsible for Dr. Barclay's death? Was this what the younger nurse had tried to tell her just moments ago?
De Witt grabbed Julie's shoulders. "It was a hunting accident. Of all the times for this to happen."
"What are you talking about?"
Susan silently echoed Julie's exclamation. She eased along the wall where a window looked into the station.
"The practice. My plans. Aunt Mary will have to sell the practice. Where am I going to get that kind of money?"
"Why worry about that now?" Julie asked. "When did you learn he died?"
"This...afternoon. I stopped to check on my aunt and took the call from the police upstate. They said he had an accident. Since she couldn't go, I drove up and discovered he was dead. I don't know what I'm going to tell her."
Julie's mouth gaped. "You haven't told her yet? What were you doing all this time?"
"Um... Nothing that matters. It's a long drive. I had to go to the cabin to see if anything was missing. You know, his female companion didn't leave a trace."
"Did you tell the police who she was?"
He looked away. "What purpose would that serve? How am I going to break the news?"
Susan whirled. "Your aunt's probably frantic."
He glared. "What are you doing here?"
Julie caught his arm. "She's right. You've got to go to your aunt."
He shook his head. "We need to talk first."
"I'm busy."
"Just for a few minutes. We'll go to the lounge. We have to talk without an audience." He
grabbed Julie's arm. "I need your help."
His selfish attitude made Susan itch to slap him. Didn't he care that his invalid aunt was alone and probably worried sick? Julie stroked his arm as though she soothed a fretful child. What was wrong with her? Not long ago, she had questioned her faith in him. Didn't she see she was being manipulated?
Susan stepped into the station. Her shoulder muscles tensed. The anger in De Witt's eyes and his rigid stance frightened her. She could imagine him battering Barbara. She could picture him shooting his uncle. Would he remember all the things he'd said before he realized she was there?
"Susan, could you medicate my patients," Julie called. "The list is on the counter."
Before Susan had a chance to refuse, Julie dashed after De Witt.
"What's the matter?" Kit drawled. "Did the lovebirds have a quarrel?"
Susan sucked in a breath. The news had arrived and the need for secrecy had vanished.
"Well." Trish tapped her foot in an impatient beat against the carpet.
"Dr. Barclay was killed in a hunting accident this morning."
The chart Trish held dropped and hit the edge of the desk. The contents spread across the dark green carpet. "What amazing luck. Trust De Witt to come up with another prize."
Susan stooped and picked up some of the papers. "What do you mean?"
"This isn't the first time he's been in the right place at the right time to benefit from someone's bad luck. That's how he became chief resident."
Kit rose from her chair at the desk. "Did I hear right? Is Dr. Barclay dead? What happened? Tell me everything you know."
"Very little," Susan said. "There was a hunting accident upstate."
Kit flipped her red hair back. "Come on, give. Tell me more."
Susan clenched her teeth. "That's all I heard." She walked away. Let Kit discover the details from another source.
The three practical nurses gathered at the desk. Kit edged between them. "Did you hear? Barclay's dead. That's all Susan knows, but I know where we can learn more."
"Kit," Susan said. "Let Julie and De Witt alone." She saw the stack of charts on the secretary's desk. "Finish the orders first."
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