Code Blue

by Walters, Janet Lane;

  She wished for the comfort of Joe's arms. Though they were spending the weekend at his cabin, she feared the trip signaled the end and she didn't want that to be. Damn her, she thought. Barbara's threats had destroyed a fragile part of the relationship. Why had the killer waited so long?

  The lounge door opened. Julie Gilbert rushed past. Leila rose and waited for the officers. "That's the last of the nurses."

  Greg Davies nodded. "Let's go see what we can glean from her records."

  Leila walked ahead of them. And from the report hidden in her desk. Once again, she wished she and Susan had been able to discuss the situation.

  As Susan left the hospital, she remembered Barbara's warning about going to the parking lot alone. Tonight she was so exhausted even a hundred muggers couldn't make her run. She felt as if a week had passed since morning.

  When she reached her car, she unlocked the door and slid behind the wheel. The radio came on with the engine. "...report the body of a nurse was found..." She pressed the off button. Tears stung her eyes. Why did she want to cry? She hadn't liked Barbara. Susan gripped the wheel. Who had hated the practical enough to kill her?

  By the time she pulled into the driveway at home, her suspicions centered on De Witt. He had been the focus of Barbara's attempts to stir trouble between Trish and Julie. Why had he come to the hospital this evening when he could have waited until morning to clear the patient for surgery? She shook her head. Leave suspicions to the police. She turned off the headlights and stared at the house.

  Patrick stood on the porch. The ceiling light glinted on his honey-blond hair. She left the car and walked to the porch.

  "Welcome home. Long night." His deep voice promised security.

  For an instant, she thought of finding forgetfulness in his arms the way she had the night Jim had died. But that encounter had nearly destroyed their friendship.

  Tears spilled down her cheeks. Were they for Barbara, herself or some unknown reason? She fought to control feelings of helplessness. If Patrick saw her as weak, he would react the same way Jim had. She never wanted to be smothered again.

  He reached for her hand. "Don't tell me you knew the nurse I heard about on the police band."

  She nodded. "I found the body." She fumbled in her purse for the house key. Patrick put his arm around her shoulders. For a moment, she leaned against him. "I'll be all right."

  "I know, but it must have been a brutal shock. If you need a shoulder, mine's broad." He plucked the keys from her hand and opened the door.

  She dropped her coat on the arm of the couch. A splotch of dried blood stained the right knee of her uniform. She gasped. Why hadn't someone told her?

  She felt unclean. Her skin itched. She wanted to tear off the uniform. As she hurried to the stairs, she unfastened the buttons of her white shirt. "I have to shower."

  The note of panic in Susan's voice drew Patrick to the stairs. When she turned, he saw the bloodstained knee of her uniform. He gripped the newel post. She must have found the body not long after the woman had been killed. His muscles tensed. Had the murderer seen her?

  Long after she vanished, he remained at the foot of the steps. He wanted to follow her, to hold her, to protect her. She might be in danger. What if she had seen something that could identify the killer?

  He released his held breath and walked to the kitchen. There, he measured coffee and turned on the machine. While the coffee brewed, he returned to the living room and took a bottle of brandy from the antique icebox Susan used as a bar.

  Memories of the night Jim died arose. He had held Susan in his arms. A light kiss meant to offer comfort had ignited passion. He had forgotten her grief, forgotten his friend and had drowned in the heady sensations of making love with the woman he had wanted for years. The shock of hearing her call him Jim had iced his desire.

  For months after the funeral, she had avoided him. Though he had understood and shared the guilt, he had feared they would never regain what had been lost. This past summer, they had become friends again, but he wanted more. Sometimes, he thought his desire for her had become an obsession.

  Patrick leaned against the counter. He loved her, but she had to be more secure about her ability to deal with life before she would be ready for a relationship.

  He reached for two mugs hanging from hooks above the kitchen table, poured coffee and laced Susan's with brandy. Just as she came down the stairs, he entered the living room. His body reacted to the gentle sway of her light brown caftan.

  She sat on one end of the couch and tucked her feet under her. After taking the mug in her hands, she sipped and coughed. "You should have warned me."

  "The perfect antidote for tonight's shock. Will help you sleep."

  "Thanks, and thank you for the flowers." She leaned forward and stroked one of the chrysanthemums with a finger.

  Patrick imagined her touching him in the same way. He lifted his mug. "Who was killed?"

  "Barbara Denton."

  "The infamous Barbara?"

  "The very one."

  "Any idea why?"

  She cradled the coffee mug between her hands. "I think she was blackmailing someone."

  The instincts Patrick had honed when he'd been a crime reporter rose to the surface. "Someone you work with?"

  She looked up. "I don't know."

  Who was she protecting? "What made you think of blackmail?"

  "There was money scattered--" She leaned against the back of the couch. "Even talking about the murder makes me sick. I didn't like her, but I like the way she died even less." She put the mug on the end table.

  "More?" he asked.

  She shook her head. "I want to curl into a fetal position and stay that way for a month."

  "What would that solve?" He put his hand on her shoulder.

  "Nothing. I don't want to go to work tomorrow."

  "Call in sick."

  "They won't buy that. I'm just back from vacation."

  "Ask for a different unit."

  "Transfers take months."

  He inched closer. "You don't have to stay at Bradley Memorial. What about home care?"

  "Would you leave the newspaper for a magazine?"

  Even when the erratic hours had destroyed his marriage, he hadn't considered changing jobs. "You win."

  Susan stretched. "You've helped me answer a question I've been asking myself all evening. I don't want to leave the hospital."

  "Have you considered a different shift?"

  "I might." She spoke through a yawn.

  "I'd better go. Will you be all right?" He reached for her hand. If she asked, he would gladly stay.

  "Thanks for being here."

  He tapped her chin with his fingers. "Remember, I'm just a wall away. Bang three times and I'll be over."

  "You're a good man, Patrick Macleith."

  Her reaction wasn't the one he wanted, but for now, her admiration was enough. He pushed aside the urge to take her into his arms. Moving too fast would scare her. He rose and reached for his black jacket. "Would you like to have Thanksgiving dinner at my place? The twins will be here."

  "I'm working."

  "Then we'll eat at noon. Will you come?"

  "Only if I can bring something?"

  "The pies. Your crusts are terrific. Come early and help."

  "What time?"

  "Nine thirty. We'll watch the parades."

  She walked to the door with him. "Again, thanks."

  He jammed his hands in his jacket pockets and crossed the porch to his side of the large house. How much longer could he be with her without betraying his feelings? If he let her know how he felt, he was sure she would back away again.

  Chapter 3

  With a firm click, Susan closed the front door and walked to her car. She wanted to be anywhere except at the hospital, but she had no choice. She backed out of the driveway and

  headed for the Thruway. Each revolution of the wheel increased her level of anxiety.

  Fifteen minutes l
ater, she pulled into the last open space on the second tier of the parking lot. After several rounds of relaxing breaths, she reached for the door. The rows of tombstones in the cemetery reminded her of Barbara's death. She grabbed her lunch and purse and before her courage vanished, dashed down the steps and into the street.

  Abruptly, she halted. A crowd spilled into the street and blocked the sidewalk in front of the Emergency Room entrance. Had there been a major disaster? To avoid reminders of the previous evening, she hadn't turned on the radio or television.

  She skirted the crowd and then wove her way toward the entrance. Too late to retreat to another door, she spotted the television crew from the local cable news service.

  "We're here at Bradley Memorial Hospital where last evening, Barbara Denton, a practical nurse, was brutally slain. The nurses who work the same shift are just arriving for work." He thrust the microphone toward the crowd. "How does it feel to be coming to work at the scene of a murder?" As the reporter spoke, he moved into the crowd.

  "Awful."

  "I'm petrified."

  "I'd rather be at home."

  The shouted comments matched Susan's feelings. She craned her neck to see if anyone else from Five Orthopedics had been trapped by the mob.

  Like an amoeba, the crowd shifted and engulfed her. When the reporter reached the woman on Susan's left, she flinched and edged away.

  "Did you know the murdered woman?" he asked.

  The woman giggled. "Everyone knew her. She had her nose in everything."

  Susan wiggled between two women. "Excuse me."

  Why had she stopped to gape with the same fascination as the rest of the women? She had to break free of the mob before she faced a microphone. Talking to a reporter wasn't on her list of want-to-do things. At last, she broke free of the milling crowd.

  "Susan Randall, did you really find her body?"

  Susan pretended not to hear and walked briskly down the sidewalk. The desire to run pushed her into a trot.

  "What did she look like?" a voice shrill with excitement shouted.

  "Was there really a hundred grand on the floor around her body?"

  "Hold on." The reporter pushed his way through the mass of women. "I'd like a statement from you."

  "I have nothing to say." The automatic doors opened. Susan evaded the hand that reached for her and dashed into the hospital.

  "Damn!" the reporter cried.

  The doors slid shut on his shouts and demands for information. Susan shook her head. No wonder the administrators were worried about bad publicity. The crowd outside had acted like they were attending a Roman circus.

  Two nurses and a doctor stood in the hall outside the ER lounge. "Susan, what happened last night?" They leaned toward her.

  Susan ignored the question. She reached the elevators and pressed the button with an urgency that spoke of her rising panic. An enormous lump settled in her stomach.

  I should have stayed at home. This thought wove a course through the knowledge that the bombardment of questions would continue when she reached the unit.

  The elevator doors opened. She stepped inside and pressed five. Her anxiety rose with the indicator. Her thoughts raced. Had she seen something last night she hadn't told the police? Had the killer seen her enter the storage room?

  The moment she had seen Barbara, her entire awareness had centered on the dead woman. The killer could have been in the room and she wouldn't have noticed. Had a stranger killed Barbara? Whom had the practical planned to meet? Who had given her the money? Though Susan wanted a stranger to be blamed, that was unlikely. But that left few choices. She didn't want the murderer or be someone she knew.

  On the fifth floor, she gulped a breath and rushed past the entrance to the storage room hall. The ceiling light had burned out. Shadows reached for her. Her mouth felt dry. The pulse at her throat throbbed with staccato rhythm.

  I should have called in sick. How can I give my patients the care and attention that deserve when my instinct is to cower?

  In the locker room, she leaned against the wall and changed into white shoes. Then grasping the stethoscope like a weapon, she ran to the nurses' lounge.

  At first, she thought the room was deserted, but before she reached the credenza, she saw Julie standing at the window. Trish sat in a corner behind the round table. Susan put her lunch in the refrigerator. What kind of scene had she interrupted? The atmosphere felt as charged as it had yesterday.

  Julie turned. "I was sure you'd call in sick. I nearly did. Weren't you scared to come?" She pushed wisps of hair from her face.

  Trish's bony shoulders shook. "Looks like she's ready to launch an attack."

  Susan remembered the way she clutched the stethoscope. Self-conscious laughter erupted. "I've spent the last five minutes calling myself a fool for coming in today." She draped the tubing around her neck.

  "Were you trapped by the reporter?" Julie asked.

  "Almost. One of our colleagues identified me, but I escaped."

  "Why are they allowed to block the entrance?" Julie asked.

  "Technically, they're on the sidewalk and that's public property," Trish said. "It's not much better here. The vultures on the day shift badgered us for details."

  Julie giggled. "Trish impolitely told them to get lost."

  "I'm sure that didn't stop them." Susan reached for a cup. "Part of me can't believe she's dead. When I opened the door, I expected to hear her spouting some tale."

  "And spewing cigarette smoke." Trish pushed her chair back. "Thank heavens we're spared that forever."

  "How can you be so callous?" Julie asked.

  "Come off it. Don't pretend you liked her."

  "I wish it hadn't happened," Susan said.

  Trish jumped to her feet and knocked her chair against the wall. "You're both hypocrites." She stabbed a finger at Julie and then at Susan. "At least neither of you has been one of her victims."

  The violent overtones in Trish's voice shook Susan. "I know she pushed you last night, but I thought she was probing for something she could use."

  "She already knew too much."

  "Do you want to talk about it?"

  Trish's thin body stiffened. "And give you some ammunition to use against me? Forget that."

  "I don't gossip," Susan said.

  Trish moved from behind the table. "I'm glad she's dead."

  As Susan studied Trish's face, she remembered Barbara had named Trish as an anorexic. Had the practical said more? Instead of tuning Barbara out, Susan wished she had listened.

  "She asked to be killed." Trish edged past Susan. "You're lucky she never learned your secrets. At least you don't have to worry if the police will find a written record of your mistakes."

  "Do you really think Barbara kept records?" Julie asked. "She seldom noted our calls. If it wasn't gossip she could wrap her tongue around, forget it."

  Susan nodded. "Remember how we had to nag so she'd do her share of charts."

  "I tried to ignore what she said about you and Larry," Julie said.

  "What kind of things?" Trish's voice rose to a shrill pitch.

  "Like your reasons for being here," Julie said. "How Larry dumped you and how you planned to get revenge by telling lies about the things he's done."

  Trish laughed. "You don't know what went down between Larry and me and I'm not going to tell you. If you're curious, ask him."

  The edge of anger in Trish's voice stirred Susan's curiosity. Why hadn't she listened to the practical? Every one of Barbara's tales had contained a bit of truth. Susan didn't believe love for De Witt had brought Trish to Bradley Memorial. But what had?

  She put the coffee carafe on the heating plate. "In a week or two, no one will remember anything she said."

  Julie nodded. "Lord, half the people who work here have survived one of her attacks."

  "This time it's different. She's dead...murdered. Everyone wants the police to look at someone else." Trish's thin body shook. "I've been accused of being the o
ne."

  "So have I," Julie said. "Rhonda asked me what I used as a weapon. The police didn't find one."

  "Rhonda was teasing," Susan said.

  "You're a fool if you believe that." Trish entered the powder room. "She has her reasons, too."

  "Even dead, Barbara's causing problems," Julie said.

  "She never accused you of being anything but a fool for believing De Witt will marry you. She was right. You don't have the money or the social position to interest him for the long haul." Trish slammed the powder room door.

  "You'll see." Julie stepped into the hall. "I don't understand why everyone thinks the worst of Larry."

  Because we've seen him in action, Susan thought. "I hope the police will solve this before we're all screaming at each other."

  "I wonder what happens to the money. Five thousand is a lot of cash."

  "How do you know how much money there was?"

  "From the newspaper."

  Susan glanced at Julie. Why had the police revealed the amount of money? Were they hoping to trick someone by giving a false number?

  Dark circles made Julie's eyes appear larger. Her skin had a muddy hue. Did she think De Witt had given Barbara the money? He had been here last evening. When Julie stopped at the doctors' desk, Susan continued across the station.

  One of the day nurses looked up. "Susan, how are you? What luck finding her and all. Last evening must have been ghastly. How could you force yourself to come to work today? But since you're here, why not tell me what happened."

  Susan hated the whine of anticipation in the woman's voice. "Yes I'm worried, but I'm not talking about last night." She picked up the medication book for District Two. "Did I have a choice about coming? They don't give sick days for fear."

  "I guess they don't. One good thing happened though." The day nurse waved a pen in the air. "They found a float to replace Barbara."

  A second nurse leaned her elbows on the counter. "Now for the bad news. The storage room is sealed. Supplies are to be obtained from the ER and Central." She cracked her gum.

  While the conversation swirled around her, Susan opened the med book. Before she finished checking the charts for new orders, most of the day shift had gathered at her desk.