Alex.
It wasn't going to be Alex. She wouldn't let it be, no matter what.
But if not Alex, then who? If she was right about the death rate going up in Restcrest, why wouldn't he have noticed? And why the hell couldn't she just have focused on cleaning the house and teaching trauma nurse certification courses instead of always getting into trouble?
"So, you're telling me that the long and short of this evening is that you got beaten up because you're sure Vic was murdered, and it has something to do with that little dustup at the horse show," Barb said, squinting into Murphy's retina through an ophthalmoscope. "Which might lead back to Restcrest, if not—and I don't believe it for a minute—Alex."
"Shouldn't you be more surprised?" Murphy asked.
Barb just kept working. "The last time I was surprised was when my children told me that they'd walked in on Daddy handcuffing his girlfriend to the bed. If Vic had to die, I'm glad it wasn't from stupidity."
Standing beyond Murphy, Timmie could see the glitter in Barb's eyes that belied her brisk words. She offered the only consolation she could. "He was trying to be a good cop."
Barb nodded, spared Timmie a quick glance that betrayed too much, and picked up her percussion hammer and Murphy's elbow. "Then what do we do about it?" she asked.
"We do nothing," he answered, his attention on the gig-twitch of his arms in response to her deft taps. "It might just be time to take this to the state police."
"State police wear jackboots, too," Timmie quietly offered.
Murphy glared at her.
She shrugged. "In a little while. Can't we just kind of make sure we've got the right field of wheat before we bring in the harvesting equipment?" Now both of them were staring at her. She scowled. "All right, so there are some drawbacks to being raised in a literary household. I think in analogies. What I mean is that Restcrest is a wonderful place. I don't want it leveled in a panzer attack for the truth."
"It may end up leveled anyway," Murphy told her. "Even if it isn't Raymond, an investigation of any kind could cost the facility its license."
Timmie was already shaking her head. "That won't happen," she insisted. "Alex Raymond is the heart of Restcrest. As long as he isn't the culprit—which he isn't—Restcrest will be fine."
Barb leaned over to look Murphy full in the face. "Mr. Murphy," she said, gesturing to Timmie. "I'd like to introduce you to Cleopatra."
Murphy grinned. "Queen of denial, huh?"
"I am not," Timmie insisted out of habit. "I'm serious."
Besides, she thought without bothering to tell them, I'm Scarlett. No denial necessary when you can just put things off till tomorrow.
"You really think somebody's killing gomers?" Barb asked as she tapped knees and Achilles tendons. "Why?"
"Could it just be negligence?" Murphy asked.
Both women shook their heads. "That'd make Alex the culprit," Timmie told him. "Alex may be many things. He isn't negligent."
Murphy rolled his eyes again. Barb, on the other hand, looked pensive. "Then who? And why?"
"Could be a number of things," Murphy assured her. "Could be cost cutting. For some reason right now, Restcrest doesn't have very many patients in its most expensive division. Then there's the researcher, Davies. He's happy as a clam that he has lots of fresh brains to play with. Or you could have one of those mercy killers on the loose."
Timmie shook her head. "That usually doesn't involve a police cover-up."
"Even if the hospital involved is the town's biggest industry?" Murphy asked. "Awful lot of good publicity generated in that facility, not only for the hospital, but for the town and the county. It's top on the local job hit parade right now."
"Well, that would definitely explain the chamber-of-commerce angle," Timmie admitted.
"You're sure it's Restcrest?" Barb asked.
"It's sure Alex they mentioned on the phone," Timmie said.
"It's not Alex," Barb said simply. "Think of somebody else. Lie down, Mr. Murphy. I'm going to make you beautiful again."
Murphy laid down and in quick order had sterile towels draped over head and bare chest, and his forehead painted a bright Betadine orange. Settling herself on the coffee table like a ripe pumpkin waiting for a good carve, Barb set to work.
"Okay," she said, drawing up the lidocaine. "If there is something going on, what about that Mary Jane Arlington? I wouldn't put anything past her."
Just south of the sterile towels Barb had draped, Murphy's eyes followed the movements of the syringe. "How about if we wait to discuss this?" he asked in astonishingly faint tones. "I'm not sure I want you to be wielding sharp instruments close to my face if you get upset."
Barb snorted unkindly. "Oh, don't be a baby. I've sewn up screaming kids, fighting drunks, and hallucinating psychos. I even sewed up a hysterical poodle once."
Timmie grinned. "Didn't even leave a scar."
Murphy just sighed in resignation and closed his eyes. His fists were still suspiciously tight, however, as Barb first numbed, then sutured the laceration with stitches as delicate as any master seamstress.
"Mary Jane," Barb reiterated. "You see the serious Hinckley eyes she puts on Alex? I think she'd take out the town council with a machete if she thought it'd help. When was your last tetanus?"
Murphy didn't even hesitate. "Last year. Mary Jane, huh?"
Barb nodded. "Rabbit in the stew pot, you know what I mean?"
"What about Paul Landry?" Timmie asked. "Mattie doesn't like him at all."
"Who knows?" Barb asked, snipping a pair of hairlike threads. "He's sure a big-time player in a nasty league."
"Would people be upset that he's involved with GerySys?" Murphy asked, bringing the proceedings to a screeching halt.
"What?" Timmie demanded before Barb could.
"You know about GerySys?" he asked, opening his eyes.
"You are talking about the worst nursing home chain since the invention of the bedsore," Barb informed him. "Parent of the notorious Gulag Golden Grove. That GerySys? Why?"
"Because Paul Landry is negotiating with them to cosponsor Restcrest. I found out today from a contact at the Post."
Murphy almost ended up with a pierced eyebrow. "Alex would never let him do that," Barb informed him tightly.
"Alex has no say," Murphy said. "It was part of the deal. Landry's in charge. And Landry's talking GerySys into helping defray a much more expensive unit than anybody at Price had anticipated."
"Oh, God." It was a chorus now. Distress, disgust. Disbelief.
"This'll kill Alex for sure," Timmie said.
"So they—Landry or Mary Jane or whoever—killed Victor because he found out people were dying at the home," Murphy said. "And maybe it had something to do with this new deal with Golden Grove—"
"Or maybe they're keeping it quiet so GerySys won't be scared off," Timmie said.
"And somehow they have Van Adder involved so the deaths go virtually unnoticed."
"If they killed Vic," Barb said, "why not just kill Murphy, too?"
Murphy was once again eyeing the instruments. "Because I got the impression that this was stage one. If somebody had threatened Victor, would he have listened?"