"We've been working on the assumption that Victor was killed to keep him quiet about Restcrest," she said. "That Jason was a threat to me. What if they were just part of the same pattern? A mercy killer who's just moving a little wider than the hospital."
"You really don't think that your husband's murder was a threat to you?" Micklind demanded.
Timmie was having trouble breathing again. "No," she said. "I think it was a gift. So, what the hell does that mean?"
* * *
Two hours later Timmie drove home with Mattie, but without Meghan. Betty and Jason, their eyes brittle with weary grief, had begged Timmie to let her daughter stay with them for a couple of days, and Timmie, seeing the matching need in Meghan, had said yes.
"Are you okay that I'm staying, Mom?" Meghan had asked, her arms around Timmie's neck.
Timmie squeezed hard, inhaling her daughter's scent. "No," she admitted. "I'm selfish. I always want you with me. But I bet Gram and Gramps would like to tell you stories about your daddy when he was little like you. And I'd really like you to hear them."
Meghan pulled back. "You mean it? You're not just being nice because Cindy blabbed about that insurance thing with Gram before Ellen said it was okay?"
"Nah. I'm being nice 'cause I'm nice. Now, I have to go, or Renfield doesn't get any flies."
"Stay with Mattie," Meghan insisted.
"I will, baby. I'll call you tonight."
Timmie stayed with Mattie. In truth, she couldn't imagine how she was going to live in her own house again after what had happened. Micklind had pointed her to a company that actually cleaned up the kind of mess they'd left in the living room, but the afterimage tended to linger a lot longer than the stains, like a bad smell caught in upholstery.
The problem was that Timmie couldn't imagine staying at Mattie's, either. Not that she didn't love Mattie and Walter and the six kids of various ages who were tucked into every nook and cranny of that tiny house. But no matter how much Mattie and Walter insisted Timmie wasn't in the way, she knew she was. So she went back to work the next afternoon and actually sighed with relief at the relative quiet.
She also had the chance to sit with her dad, who really had settled down some on the new dosage of medication.
"When are they going to come question us?" one of the nurses asked Timmie.
Timmie blinked up at her. "I'm sorry?"
"The police. We know they're going to crucify this place. Word is, the media's already preparing the skewer. It isn't fair, you know."
Timmie got to her feet. "They haven't been by yet?"
The nurse stiffened in renewed outrage. "This is a good place," she insisted. "You don't think they're dismantling it fast enough?"
Timmie straightened herself, tired of being batted back and forth like a shuttlecock between all the special interests in this town. "This isn't a good place," she said in her most quelling voice. "This is a great place. Which is why at least one person should have had the balls to stop what was going on, because you can't tell me that not one of you knew it was happening."
"Last of the idealists, my Timmie," her father suddenly said.
Both nurses glared at him for a minute. Then Timmie decided to take it outside where she couldn't rile him.
Too late. By the time she reached the middle hallway, he was singing the first words of "The Patriot Game," a lovely song about idealism gone bad. The other nurse was fortunate enough not to be familiar with it.
"You know, of course, that two of the nurses on unit five are getting pink-slipped."
All right. She had Timmie there. "Why?"
"Because they didn't report the possible problem."
"Of course they did. Nobody did anything."
Another glare, hands on hips. Nurse's sign language for "Well, no shit."
Timmie shook her head. "Doesn't it just fuckin' figure. Okay, I have contacts in the press. Let's see what we can do. In the meantime, help the police, okay? If you don't, this whole place could go up in flames."
She didn't bother to wait for an answer. Just stalked over to unit five to find Gladys finishing paperwork in her civvies.
"What happened?" Timmie demanded, grabbing a seat next to her. Another nurse, who was dressed for work in her best white polyester, made it a point to ignore Timmie as she walked by.
"What do you think happened?" Gladys asked quietly, never once raising her eyes from her task. "The shit rolled downhill, and I happened to be standing at the bottom."
Timmie almost smiled. She hadn't thought Gladys had it in her. "What reason were you given for being let go?"
"Poor performance. Lack of faith by the families. Typical bullshit. My last review, which was rated exceptional, evidently doesn't count. The next thing we probably need to address in this facility is a union."
"One thing at a time. Did they fire you before or after you talked to the police?"
That got Gladys's attention. "I haven't talked to the police."
Timmie wanted to curse. Wouldn't do either of them any good. "Guy named Micklind hasn't been by?"
Gladys shook her head. "Amazing what power in the right places can prevent."
"It can't prevent it forever. You remember that list I asked you for of anybody who could have gotten at that vial of Lasix?"
"Of course I do. I've been carrying it around ever since you asked for it, waiting for the police to take it."
Timmie decided that now wasn't the appropriate time to remind Gladys that the phone worked two ways. "You haven't said anything to Dr. Davies?"
Gladys shook her head. "I told you. It couldn't be him."
"But you said he was here."
"He was here for a half hour, from two-thirty to three, and he spent the whole time in Mr. DiAngelo's room doing a cut-down. I know, because I was the one who helped him. I hadn't clocked in yet, but the day nurse asked me if I'd give him a hand. So I did."
Timmie fought the urge to argue. "And he couldn't have gotten near Alice's nurse server without you knowing it."
"Heck, no. We had to call him in from a meeting he'd been attending. He ran in, did the job, and ran out. I saw him the whole time. Besides, he would have had to get access to a key sometime or another, and he's never involved enough to do that. Heck, I'm not even so sure he knows where a nurse server is. He's not exactly your hands-on kind of guy, you know? The only reason he came in that day was because Dr. Raymond was out of town."
"Dr. Raymond could get a key?"
"Sure. But he wasn't here. But the point is, Dr. Davies just didn't have access to that nurse server while he was here."
Timmie tried any way she could think of to make him suspect, and couldn't. "What about Ms. Arlington?"
Another shake of the head. "Nope."
Timmie's hopes died a painful death. "You're sure."
"Believe me. We know when she's around. I called her in from an all-day function when Alice coded."
Timmie wasn't going to be able to stand much more. "You have the whole list?" she asked.
Gladys reached for her purse where it sat, next to her chair. "Sure. It's not very long, though. Shorter when you think of how tough it is to get one of our keys. Maybe they're free with them in other parts of the hospital, but we're real careful of our old people. Especially since we've figured out what's been going on."
Gladys had made her list on the back of a preprinted prescription form one of the pharmaceutical companies passed out. Oddly enough, for Lasix. Timmie wondered if she'd noticed, but she'd never pegged Gladys for an irony kind of girl.