by Diane Hoh
Old? The paper had said he was sixty-four. Was sixty-four that old? Duffy’s grandmother was seventy-six and still healthy and active.
But then, she didn’t have a bad heart.
“Gotta go,” Amy said. “Jane’ll probably be here in a minute to keep you company. See you later.”
She was right. She had barely left the room when Jane hurried in, looking guilty.
“Where have you been?” Duffy cried. “I’ve been waiting all day for you.”
“Sorry.” Jane flopped into the bedside chair and put her feet up on the edge of the bed. “Had to run some errands for my father’s wife.” Jane always used that particular phrase to describe her stepmother, and she rolled her eyes toward heaven as she said the words.
“Well, I’m glad you’re in a mood to run errands, because I have one for you,” Duffy said, “And it has to be done right this minute.”
Jane groaned.
Chapter 17
“BEFORE YOU TELL ME what the errand is,” Jane said, her lips sliding into a big grin, “I hear you got a telephone call last night. Didn’t talking to Kit make you feel better?” Her dark hair was in braids tied with orange ribbon that matched her jumpsuit.
“I never talked to Kit,” Duffy explained. “They wouldn’t put the call through. Too late. How did you know he called?”
“Dylan told me.” A bleak expression flitted across Jane’s round, plain face. “He didn’t seem too happy about it.” She paused and then added, “He likes you, doesn’t he?”
Duffy didn’t know what to say to that. Yes, he probably did like her, but right now, that seemed so unimportant—except to Jane and Amy. Duffy Quinn had far more pressing matters on her mind.
During Jane’s absence, Duffy’s idea had taken shape. But she needed Jane’s help. “Never mind Dylan,” she said tersely. “About that errand…”
Jane heaved a sigh. “I just got through running errands! Is it really, really important?”
“Do you want me to get better?” Duffy asked sternly.
Jane flushed. “Of course I do, Duffy. Okay, what is it? Where do I have to go?”
“To the lab.”
Jane frowned. “You mean Dean’s lab?”
“Of course. I need a lab, and your brother works in one, so why would I send you to someone else’s lab?”
‘What do you need a lab for?”
“You’re stalling, Jane. Quit asking questions just so you won’t have to leave this room. I need my pills analyzed, and Dean’s just the person to do it.” She handed Jane the capsules she hadn’t taken, still wrapped in their paper napkin. “Take these over there, right away, and ask Dean what they are. Then come straight back here and tell me.”
Jane’s frown deepened. “Why don’t you ask your doctor what they are?”
Duffy glared. “Because my doctor doesn’t know what they are. I mean, he thinks he does, but I think he’s wrong. I think someone screwed up and gave me the wrong stuff, and Dean can tell me if I’m right. So hurry up, okay? This is important.”
Something in her voice sent Jane to her feet. She took the napkin, then hesitated. “Duffy, I can’t believe someone would make a mistake like that.”
“That’s because you aren’t a patient in this hospital.” Conscious of the minutes passing rapidly, Duffy urged, “Jane, just do it, okay? Trust me. I know what I’m doing. I promise, I won’t ask you for another single favor as long as I live.”
“Yes, you will. And I’ll probably give it to you.” Jane grinned weakly. “I want you to know I’m only humoring this bizarre request because you’re my best friend and I miss you and I want you out of this place so life will be back to normal again. But I’ll bet you anything you’re wrong about the medication being screwed up, Duffy.” She shuddered. “I can’t believe someone could make such a mistake.”
Duffy shuddered, too. Because she wasn’t at all sure it was just a “mistake.” She wasn’t sure of that at all.
“I’ll hurry,” Jane said quickly, noticing Duffy’s shudder. “I’ll tell Dean it’s for you. He’s always liked you, Duffy.” She bent to give Duffy a quick hug. “I’ll be right back, I promise.”
When Jane had rushed out of the room, Duffy wondered just who she would tell if it turned out that the pills contained the missing digoxin. It would have to be someone she trusted completely. Names flitted through her mind and were rapidly discarded.
The list of people she trusted completely was getting shorter all the time.
A nurse coming in to give Duffy a back rub nearly collided with Jane.
“Where’s your friend going in such a big hurry?” she asked amiably as she uncapped the bottle of lotion.
“Gee, I don’t know,” Duffy fibbed. She wasn’t telling a single soul in this place where Jane was going, or why. Not until she was sure of who she could trust.
“You feel hot again,” the nurse said as she rubbed Duffy’s muscles, so tense with fear and uncertainty, they were cramping between her shoulders. “Your temperature must be up.”
Duffy knew it was because she wasn’t getting the antibiotics she needed. But until Jane returned with the lab report, she wasn’t about to tell anyone she’d quit taking the capsules.
The nurse was leaving when Dylan arrived, mop in hand.
And when he bent to kiss her cheek, Duffy was shocked to find herself recoiling. She didn’t do it on purpose. It was strictly an involuntary movement. But she knew it was stimulated by fear.
Fear of Dylan?
That really was crazy. Dylan hated hurting people. In grade school, he hadn’t done well in football because he was so afraid of hurting someone when he tackled them. He’d got over that in high school and was on the varsity team now, but the coach was always yelling at him for “holding back,” not “giving his all.” Duffy knew it was because he was still a little afraid of breaking bones. Someone else’s bones, not his own.
It would take something really powerful to overcome Dylan’s reluctance to hurt people.
And she couldn’t think of a single thing powerful enough to do that.
But neither could she bring herself to return his kiss, or even smile as if she meant it, not until she felt completely safe—if she ever did again.
How long would Jane’s “errand” take?
Frowning, Dylan asked gently, “You okay? Taking your pills?”
Wearing a frown of her own, Duffy remembered that this wasn’t the first time Dylan had asked that question. Why was he so preoccupied with her medication?
Maybe, she thought, her stomach twisting in revulsion, maybe he knew something about those pills.…
“Yes,” she snapped, “I’m taking them.”
Could Dylan, who seemed to like her so much, be the one who wanted to hurt her? What reason would he have?
If Kit were still around, maybe jealousy would make Dylan act weird, do strange things.
But Kit was in California. He wasn’t a threat to Dylan. Not that he ever had been, but Dylan didn’t know that. Maybe he was the sort of person who didn’t believe girls could have male friends. Like Jane, who had always had a hard time believing that Duffy and Kit weren’t in love.
“If you don’t want him for a boyfriend,” she had said more than once, “you shouldn’t monopolize his time when there are so many girls out there without boyfriends.”
Meaning Jane, of course.
But Kit had never been attracted to Jane. Duffy had suggested once, casually, that Kit ask her out, and he had said, “I don’t think so. She’s not my type.”
Meaning he liked “thinkers” and Jane wasn’t a thinker. She was a “feeler,” running mostly on emotion. Kit, who lived in a household devoid of emotion, couldn’t understand that.
Dylan wasn’t happy when he left her room, but Duffy couldn’t dwell on that.
Where was Jane? I need to know the truth, Duffy thought, and I need to know it now.
A very long hour and a half later, she did. Because Jane, red-cheeked and breathless, came int
o the room carrying a brown paper bag.
“Well, here it is,” she said wearily. She handed the bag to Duffy. “The pills are in there, and so is the report. Dean was glad to do it…for you.” She hesitated, and then added in a voice that hinted of hurt feelings, “Duffy, why didn’t you tell me you had a heart condition?”
Duffy looked down at the slip of paper in her hand, already knowing what it said.
DIGOXIN
Chapter 18
DUFFY TRIED TO STILL her racing heart. She told herself it wasn’t as if she hadn’t suspected…the word DIGOXIN shouldn’t have been that great a shock.
But it was.
Seeing it there on the small slip of paper, seeing the proof that her suspicions, which had once seemed so wild, had been accurate after all, punched her in the stomach. Someone had actually done this to her? On purpose? Sent this awful, sickening drug flowing through her body?
Who could hate her that much?
She had been right. Someone had switched the digoxin with her antibiotics. Someone had actually stolen her pills, split the capsules in two, emptied out the “something-myocin,” and replaced the antibiotic with the missing digoxin.
And no one knew that but her.
Except for the person who had done it.
Who was that person?
As she stared, frozen, at the slip of paper in her hand, Jane repeated her question. “Duffy? Why didn’t you tell me you had a heart condition?”
“I don’t,” Duffy replied. “There’s nothing wrong with my heart.” Except that it was pounding wildly in her chest.
“Dean made a mistake? But…but he seemed so sure,” Jane said. “I mean, I told him digoxin didn’t sound like an antibiotic, and he said it wasn’t. He said it was heart medication. I said you didn’t have anything wrong with your heart, and he said, ‘Then she shouldn’t be taking this stuff, it won’t make her well. It’ll make her sicker.’ ”
Duffy said nothing. She was debating whether or not to take Jane into her confidence. What if, in spite of Dean’s analysis, Jane didn’t believe her. What if she wrote it off as a simple mistake and accused Duffy of “paranoia”? Worse, what if she told someone that Duffy had had the pills tested? Word would spread quickly through the hospital that Duffy knew the truth…once whoever had done this knew Duffy was on to them, something really terrible might happen. Maybe to Jane, because she had taken the pills to the lab.
No. She couldn’t tell Jane. It was too risky.
“Never mind,” Duffy said, “let’s forget it. Let’s talk about something else. Seen Dylan today?”
“Duffy!” Jane squealed. “Are you kidding? Dean tells me you’re taking heart medication, and you say you don’t have a heart condition, and you expect me to forget it, just like that? What’s going on?”
When Duffy, her mind racing to come up with a plausible explanation that would keep Jane safe, failed to respond, Jane pressed. “Duffy, we don’t keep secrets from each other, right? Are you in some kind of trouble? You sounded so scared earlier. What are you doing with those pills? Where did you get them?”
Duffy wanted desperately to confide in Jane. She was so tired of worrying alone. And what was the point of having a best friend if you couldn’t tell her the truth?
But what kind of friend were you if you deliberately put your best friend in danger?
A rotten kind of friend.
She couldn’t stand the thought of anything terrible happening to Jane. Bad enough that Kit had left. What would she do without Jane?
Forcing a grin onto her face, she said, “Gotcha!” and added slyly, “Does the phrase ‘wild-goose chase’ have any meaning for you?”
It took Jane a few minutes. When the words finally sank in, her cry of outrage echoed throughout the room. “Dorothy Leigh Quinn! I don’t believe this! You didn’t! You didn’t send me all the way across town for no reason, did you?”
Duffy’s grin splashed wider.
Jane flopped back in her chair, throwing her hands up in the air. “This is not happening. Sick people are not supposed to play stupid practical jokes. I do not believe this.”
But Duffy could see that she did. And her relief was mixed with a terrible sense of loneliness. She had kept Jane out of it. Jane was safe. But now she was alone again, with no one on her side.
“Honestly, Duffy,” Jane babbled, “this is just like the time you told me Michael J. Fox was making a personal appearance here and if I hurried, I could get tickets.” The corners of her lips began to turn up in the birthing of a laugh. Glaring at Duffy in mock anger, she said, “You laughed so hard. I thought you’d crack a rib.”
Then she added with a grin, “So, I guess this means you’re getting better, right? And you’ll be sprung soon?” Her voice softened, “I miss you something fierce, Duff. I hate it when you pull this kind of stunt, but nothing’s the same when you’re not around.”
Thinking of the digoxin in her system, Duffy fell silent. Would she be going home soon? Would she be going home at all! In one piece?
She needed to think about what the lab report meant, and what to do about it. “I’m really all worn out,” she told Jane. “I think I need to sleep for a while. Maybe you could come back tonight?”
Immediately, Jane jumped to her feet. “Oh, sure. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have stayed so long. I keep forgetting you’re sick. I’ll come back later.” Her smile then was sweet to see. “I’m mad at you for sending me across town for nothing, but I’m glad that you felt well enough to do it. ’Bye.”
Duffy watched her go, her thick dark hair swinging on her shoulders, and was glad she’d made up that silly story about a wild-goose chase. Being in this alone wasn’t easy, but at least she didn’t have to worry about something horrible happening to Jane.
Alone again, she asked herself if the digoxin in her pills could possibly have been a mistake.
There had been a lot of “mistakes”—the elevator sign being switched, the wheelchair being pushed down the hill, the attack in the shower, the digoxin. There was no way all of those things could be simple mistakes. Someone had engineered them.
If only she had some clue as to who it was, and why.
Duffy settled back against the pillow, her head throbbing, and closed her eyes.
As hard as it was to believe, Duffy realized with horror, it had to be someone she knew, someone who’d been around the hospital and knew where she was and what she was doing.
Amy was still in love with Dylan, that was obvious. But Dylan was interested in the ailing Duffy Quinn. That must either hurt Amy terribly…or make her very angry. And she had a temper, Duffy knew that now. She also had a very nasty scratch on the back of her leg.
How far would Amy Severn go to get Dylan Rourke back?
Dylan had a cut, too. On his wrist. He had said he’d hurt himself when he saved her from hurtling into the chilly waters of the lake.
But Dylan had no reason to hurt her, did he? What had she ever done to Dylan?
Amy had said Dylan was jealous of her friendship with Kit, had been for a long time. How jealous? And why would that make Dylan want to hurt her?
Could Dylan and Kit have had an argument before Kit left? Was Dylan hiding a hatred of Kit so deep that he would attack anyone who was close to Kit? Duffy Quinn, for instance?
But…wouldn’t that mean Dylan was severely unhinged? If he was, he hid it well.
If she only had Kit’s phone number, she could call him and find out if Dylan and he had fought.
What about Cynthia? She seemed to be interested only in Duffy’s health. But was that just a clever disguise? Duffy tried to recall something she might have done to anger Cynthia. But she came up with nothing.
There was Smith Lewis, too. He had been there at the empty elevator shaft, and again behind her wheelchair on the hill. As far as she knew, Smith had no reason to want her out of the way. And he had seemed so helpful.…
What am I doing? Duffy covered her face with her hands. Everyone is right about me, she
thought in disgust. I am losing it. Suspecting my friends, people who have helped me since I got sick. No wonder everyone is treating me as if I’ve gone off the deep end. Ever since that night I heard those weird noises in my room.
Those noises…that night…the sounds…what if everyone was wrong and those sounds hadn’t been figments of her fevered mind’s imagination? What if there really was someone in her room? Someone who didn’t want to be seen? Someone who was afraid Duffy had seen him? Or her?
But…what could that someone have been doing in her room that was so awful, killing the only witness had become absolutely necessary?
“Fooling around” with a date, as Jane had suggested, couldn’t be it. That was ridiculous. Whatever had happened in her room, if anything had, it had been a lot deadlier than a few stolen kisses.
What was it?
Had she really seen something? And forgotten it because it was too awful to remember?
And who, exactly, had she shared the experience with? Who knew she’d heard something that night?
Everyone.
Everyone knew.
Duffy felt tears of exasperation stinging her eyelids. What difference did it make? Why waste time racking her brain to figure out who wanted her sick or dead, when it was so clear that the only way to be safe was to escape from the hospital.
Now that she knew the digoxin in her body had been put there deliberately, she couldn’t spend one more night in this place.
She had to get away.
I am not, she thought with resolve, spending another night lying awake, waiting. If only I could call Kit, tell him to come and get me. He would. And he wouldn’t ask any questions until we were safely out of here.
But Kit wasn’t here.
She would have to figure out, all by herself, how to carry out her resolution to leave this place.
Chapter 19
DUFFY DECIDED ON THE midnight hour to attempt her escape. The patients would be asleep by then, the nurses occupied with night care and writing reports. She would have to be careful to steer clear of the maintenance crew. On her sleepless nights, she’d heard them out in the halls at all hours, mopping the floors or changing light fixtures. Any one of them would be suspicious of a patient lurking in the corridor at such a late hour. They might report her, clip her wings before she took flight.