Wall-To-Wall Dead

by Jennie Bentley

  Meanwhile, Jamie must have realized I’d said something surprising. She blinked owlishly at me. “How d’you know about that?”

  “David Rossini and Candy? I’ve seen them together a couple of times. At Guido’s.” And outside in the parking lot.

  “He owns it,” Jamie nodded. “Or so he’d like to think anyway.”

  “He doesn’t?”

  She shook her head. “Francesca’s family does. That and the Pompeii. And a lot of other places. David just married into the family.”

  Ah. That explained a lot. Including why he’d been so upset at the thought of his wife finding out about his infidelity. If Francesca realized he’d been diddling Candy, not only would he lose his wife, his children, and his cushy lifestyle, but his father-in-law might have him outfitted with concrete shoes, too.

  “Is that what you and Candy argued about on Friday?” I ventured.

  Jamie blinked at me again. “How do you know about that?”

  “I watched you,” I said. “At the meeting in the community room Friday night. You didn’t sit together. You didn’t look at each other. And you didn’t say good-bye when you left.”

  “It was my fault,” Jamie said. “I found out about her and David that morning.”

  When she looked at the information in Miss Shaw’s manila envelope, I guessed. Candy must have kept it real quiet, then, if that was the first time her own roommate realized that she was having an affair. Point to Miss Shaw for figuring it out earlier.

  “I couldn’t believe it,” Jamie added. “It’s stupid enough to get involved with a married man, you know, but her boss’s husband? She could lose her job. If Francesca finds out what’s going on, Candy will be lucky if that’s all she loses.”

  I nodded encouragingly.

  Jamie continued, “And she’s put me in a really bad position. I work for the Rossinis, too. I like Francesca. I’ve babysat for her kids when she and David have gone out on dates. And now I have to choose between telling her that my roommate and her husband are getting it on, or lie about it so Candy won’t call my parents and tell on me!”

  She flung herself back in the chair.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “Is that what happened? Candy threatened to call your folks?”

  Jamie nodded.

  “About the Pompeii?”

  Jamie nodded again. And then—“How do you know about that?”

  “You told me,” I said. “Francesca Rossini’s family owns Guido’s Pizzeria and the Pompeii and a lot of other things. You work for them.”

  “Yes, but…” She stopped and shook her head. I guess the intricacies of the conversation were beyond her in her current condition.

  “So what did you mean when you said it David’s fault?”

  She blinked at me again. “I said that?”

  I nodded. “When I first came in. You said it was all David’s fault.”

  “Oh.” She thought for a moment and then her face cleared. “Candy talked to David on Friday night. After the meeting.”

  I nodded. I knew that already, but she didn’t need to know that I did.

  “They had an argument. And last night he sent wine and flowers and chocolates to apologize.”

  Pretty stupid, a small voice in my head said, to send the stuff in his own name, if there was something wrong with it.

  “Was there a card with it?

  Jamie nodded.

  “With David’s name on it?”

  She shook her head. “The card just said Sorry. But who else could it be from? It wasn’t me. And I don’t think she’d argued with anyone else.”

  Right.

  I glanced around the room. “Looks like a lot of other people have stopped by, too, not just David. Where did all this come from?”

  Jamie looked around, too. “Candy grew up in Waterfield. She has a lot of friends. Most of the neighbors were here, and some people from school, and her mom.”

  “Candy’s mother didn’t stay?” When her daughter was in a coma and looked near death? What could be more important than that?

  “They aren’t close,” Jamie said. “That’s why Candy’s living with me and not at home. And her mom had to go back to work anyway. Bruce and Robin were here, with Benjamin—they brought the bear—and William Maurits…”

  “What about Gregg and Mariano?”

  “Gregg’s here,” Jamie said. “Working. He worked on Candy. All the doctors did. I haven’t seen Mariano.”

  I hadn’t seen Mariano, either. Hopefully he hadn’t made a run for the border. Seeing Derek and me at the Tremont yesterday had rattled him, I knew, but had it scared him enough to hightail it out of town?

  Jamie covered a yawn with her hand, and I changed the subject.

  “Amelia Easton brought you here, didn’t she? Is she coming back to take you home?”

  “She’s been back,” Jamie said. “Brought me a Slushie. My favorite. Blue.” She smiled, but her eyes were at half-mast.

  “Why didn’t you go home with her?”

  “I didn’t want to leave Candy alone.” She glanced at the bed.

  “She won’t be alone. There are nurses all over the place.” And she was in a coma, so it wasn’t like she’d know the difference. But that would sound callous, so I didn’t say it out loud. “You need to take care of yourself so you can come back tomorrow.” Especially as what had happened to Candy seemed to have affected Jamie, too, if to a much lesser degree.

  She nodded. “I don’t feel so good. I think I need to sleep.”

  “I can drive you home if you want. I just have to stop by the maternity ward first. A friend of Derek’s is in labor and I want to see how far along she is before I leave. You’re welcome to go with me, or do you want me to come back for you?”

  Not surprisingly, Jamie elected to stay where she was until I was ready to head out.

  “Can I get you anything before I go? Another cup of coffee? Something to eat?”

  “I think I’ve had enough,” Jamie answered. “Stomach’s still upset. I’m just gonna sit here and wait.” She pulled one knee up to her middle and wrapped both arms around it. I guess pole dancing keeps you pretty limber.

  “I’ll be back in a few minutes,” I said, and headed for the door.

  Jamie nodded before fixing her tired eyes back on her friend.

  —16—

  Little Pepper Cortino was born at twelve minutes past seven, while Derek was pacing the waiting room as diligently as Peter was no doubt pacing the delivery room.

  “Pepper?” I said when he told me. “That wasn’t in the running, was it?”

  “Late contender,” Derek answered. “It seems Jill went into a sneezing fit at the dinner table, causing her water to break, and they decided to name the kid in its honor. I guess they were both ready for this one to make its appearance.”

  “Everyone’s OK?”

  “Everyone’s fine.” He put an arm around my shoulders and pulled me forward toward the window into the nursery. “There she is, look.”

  He pointed to a little bundle of joy with a pink hat on its head, tightly swaddled in a green-and-yellow blanket, blinking owlishly up from a bassinet just inside the window. The sign hanging off the end of the bed said “Cortino” and “girl.” As I watched, Pepper opened her mouth and yawned, showing a small pink tongue. For a moment, she reminded me weirdly of Mischa the kitten.

  “Cute,” I said, although between you and me, she looked just like all the other babies I could see behind the glass: small, wrinkled, yellowish, and newborn.

  “They all look the same when they’re born,” Derek said and turned me away from the window again toward the exit. “Anyway, Jill’s fine. She’s been through this enough that by now she can just squat and get the job done. The whole thing was less than an hour from start to finish.”

  “She’s lucky.” I’ve heard horror stories about women and labor. Twenty-four hours and counting before the baby makes its appearance. It’s enough to make one seriously reconsider the whole concept of procr
eating.

  “Women are made to give birth,” Derek said. “Some have a harder time than others, but it’s a natural process. Unless there’s some sort of medical issue, most women don’t have a problem getting through it.”

  “Have you ever delivered a baby?”

  “By myself?” He shook his head. “But I did an ER rotation back in medical school, and we had a couple come through then. I’ve assisted in births. I’ve heard tell that afterwards, it’s like the pain never happened.”

  Easy for him to say. He may have delivered a baby from the outside, but not the inside.

  “I find that hard to believe,” I said.

  “It’s kind of like you and the nosey parkering.” He gave my shoulders a squeeze. “It’s gotten you in plenty of trouble over the past year. You’ve almost been killed a few times. And yet every time something happens, you throw yourself headfirst into it, even if you know that this might be the time when things could go wrong.”

  He had me there.

  He added, “So how’s Candy?”

  I switched mental gears. “Alive. Unconscious. Her room’s full of boxes of chocolate and flowers. I told Jamie we’d give her a ride home. We have to go fetch her.”

  “Sure,” Derek said. He pushed the button for the elevator and we stood and listened to it setting itself into motion a couple of floors above or below. “How is she?”

  “She looked pretty bad. Almost as bad as Candy. Except Candy’s flat on her back in bed and Jamie’s walking around. Sucking down coffee. She needs to go home and rest.”

  “We’ll get her there.” Derek waited for the sliding elevator doors to part all the way before giving me a nudge. “Go ahead.”

  I went, and pushed the button for the third floor. We were halfway there when an alarm cut through the air.

  “What the hell?” Derek said, looking around.

  I did the same, my heart beating in my throat. For a second I was concerned that there was a problem with the elevator, that we’d be stuck in here for an hour or two while they worked to get us out. I’d been stuck in an elevator in a building in New York once, between the forty-seventh and forty-eighth floors, and the experience hadn’t made me want to repeat it. But the elevator kept moving; the problem must be elsewhere.

  After a moment, a disembodied voice came over the intercom system, faint and fuzzy from outside the doors.

  “All available personnel to room 304. Repeat, all available personnel to room 304. Stat.”

  “That’s Candy’s room!” I exclaimed.

  “Damn!” Derek shifted from foot to foot as he watched the elevator creep upward. It took a small eternity for the lighted number to go from 2 to 3, and then another eternity before the doors slid apart.

  “Go!” He gave me a shove. I stumbled out of the elevator into the hallway and tried to get my bearings, while my stomach churned with dread. I’ve seen enough television to know that “stat” coupled with “all available personnel” probably meant that Candy had relapsed.

  “What do you think happened?” I asked Derek breathlessly while we pounded down the hallway in the direction of Candy’s room.

  “Don’t know. Save your breath for running.” He sounded less winded than me. He was probably in better shape. And his legs are certainly longer. I concentrated on moving.

  Already I could hear voices and lots of activity from Candy’s room. When I got closer, I saw a half-dozen doctors, orderlies, and nurses buzzing about, the doctors in white lab coats over their scrubs, the nurses in pale blue and green. One of the lab coats contained Gregg Brewer, and I tugged his sleeve. “What happened?”

  He shot me a distracted glance. “What? Oh, Avery. What are you doing here?”

  “Visiting,” I said, trying to peer around him to figure out what was going on.

  “Get out of the way,” Gregg said. “They’re coming through.”

  He gave me a nudge. I moved, and pressed my back against the wall as a couple of nurses and orderlies pushed a bed on wheels through the door into the hallway. One of the doctors was on top of the bed, performing CPR as they went.

  “One, two, three, four…” he counted, along with pushing down on Candy’s chest.

  “What happened?” I asked Gregg.

  “Some sort of relapse. Or that’s what it looks like. Excuse me.”

  He hustled after the gurney, in the wake of the other nurses and doctors. It was like a procession going down the hall, at warp speed, with the counting giving the whole thing the surreal appearance of a parade. I half expected the music to start at any moment. A one, and a two, and a one, two, three, four…

  As they disappeared around the corner, still counting, I turned to Derek. “This is crazy.”

  He nodded, peering into the room. Jamie was still there, standing next to where the bed had been, her hands folded so hard her knuckles were showing white, with tears silently trickling down her cheeks.

  “Let’s get out of here,” Derek said. I nodded. Since it didn’t look like Jamie would, I snagged her purse from the hook by the door on my way over to her. “C’mon. We’ll go down to the ER and see what’s happening, and then we’ll go home.”

  Jamie nodded, her eyes still on the open doorway where the bed had disappeared, her stare vacant and filled with horror. I put an arm around her waist and guided her toward the hallway, asking Derek over my shoulder, “Should we call Wayne?”

  “I’m pretty sure the hospital has already done that. He’ll be here within the next few minutes.”

  I nodded and concentrated on getting Jamie out of there.

  When we got downstairs, the ER was in an uproar, with doctors and nurses running frantically to and fro, doing their damndest to keep Candy alive. It looked like they weren’t going to succeed. They had brought out the defibrillators, and while I watched, they tried to shock her back to life a couple of times.

  “What’s wrong with her?” I asked Derek, my voice shaking, and he put his arm around my shoulders and pulled me closer. His body felt warm and solid against mine, and his voice was strong and steady, bringing comfort, even if the words he said were chilling.

  “I’m guessing some sort of poison. There are natural, medical reasons why someone might present with symptoms of intoxication and nausea—concussion, Bickerstaff syndrome, or even just a heavy migraine would do it—but they aren’t usually followed by a full systemic shutdown. It’s more likely it’s some kind of drug or poison.”

  “She didn’t do drugs,” Jamie said from behind me, her voice shaking as she watched the doctors and nurses frantically trying to save Candy. “I swear. All she had was a bottle of wine last night. I had half a glass. I’m not as used to wine as she is. I had only a little, and she had the rest. Although I think there was alcohol in the chocolates, too.”

  Liqueur-filled, maybe.

  “Wine and chocolates shouldn’t be responsible for this,” Derek said, I guess in an attempt to be comforting. “Not unless there was something wrong with them. Did everything taste all right?”

  Jamie’s bottom lip quivered, and she sank her teeth into it. “I don’t know. I grew up religious. I’m not used to alcohol. It tasted strong, but alcohol always does. It wasn’t bitter or anything.”

  “It wouldn’t have to be,” Derek said. “A lot of substances don’t taste like anything at all. And some taste sweet. In fact…”

  He didn’t get any further, because now the double doors at the end of the hall opened and Wayne strode through, looking like a slightly older avenging angel in a uniform.

  “What the hell happened?” he demanded when he was about twenty feet away. His voice was low, but vibrating with fury. Beside me, Jamie shrank back, quailing. I patted her arm and raised my voice.

  “Gregg Brewer said it looked like a relapse.”

  Wayne shot a look through the window into the ER, where Gregg, along with everyone else, was bent over the table where Candy lay. When he turned back to Jamie, he had visibly simmered down and was making an effort to contro
l his temper.

  “Were you with her?”

  Jamie nodded and swallowed. “I’ve been here since this afternoon. She seemed fine. She had a tube to help her breathe, you know…” She made a move toward her throat.

  “Intubated,” Derek shot in.

  “But she was all right. Quiet. Sleeping.”

  Or unconscious, rather.

  “The machines all sounded fine. Beeping. Steady. I was…” She flushed, looking guilty, “I think I might have dozed off. I don’t feel great, either, and it’s been a long day.”

  I patted her arm.

  “I heard something, and I sat up, and the machines were going crazy and Candy was…” She swallowed. “She was arching off the bed. Shaking.”

  “Convulsing,” Derek translated.

  “I didn’t even have time to call anyone. They came running; I guess they monitor the machines from somewhere else. They pushed me out of the way and started working on her, and then they took her out of the room and down here, and Derek and Avery came and got me…” She swallowed, tears trickling down her cheeks again. She was swaying, and I put my arm around her.

  “Maybe we should get out of here. She needs to rest.”

  “Not until I know…” Jamie whispered and turned back to the window. In time to see everything come to a standstill. The doctor with the defibrillators lifted them from Candy’s chest and took a step back. So did everyone else. For a moment, everything was frozen, like a still from a movie. Gregg Brewer looked at his watch. I could see his lips move, but I couldn’t hear the words. I didn’t have to, to know what he said. “Time of death, eight-oh-four P.M.”

  Jamie wailed, and fell on my neck, bawling into my shoulder.

  “Damn,” Derek said.

  “This is crazy,” Josh said forty minutes later. “I can’t wrap my brain around it. Dad and I have lived here more than eight years, ever since my mom died. Nothing like this has ever happened before.”

  We’d loaded Jamie into the car, still crying, and Derek had driven us back to the condo. By the time we got there, Jamie had fallen asleep with her head on my shoulder. Rather than waking her, Derek had scooped her up and carried her the three flights of stairs up to her apartment while I ran ahead and held the doors.