Tattooed (18 page)

19

K
ate drove into the parking garage, mulling over the interview she and Frances had just given. Had they said enough to motivate the public to call Harry Owen’s office and force him to change his mind?

Her phone rang. “Kate Lange.”

“It’s Enid.” Her elderly neighbor’s voice sounded weak, breathless. Not like Enid at all.

Enid Richardson lived two houses down from Kate. Fifteen months ago, when Kate bought a house in her old neighborhood, Enid and her sister Muriel befriended her. No matter the Richardson sisters weren’t related by blood to Kate, they had shown in so many ways that they considered her a cherished member of their singular lives. Honorary niece, goddaughter, whatever.

“Are you all right, Enid?” She most definitely did not sound all right.

“It’s my heart. I can’t get up.”

Can’t get up?
Enid was the most energetic, unstoppable woman Kate knew. “Okay. Just stay there. I’ll be right over.” Kate did a 180 in the parking garage. As soon as the parking exit barrier lifted, she hit the gas.

Ten minutes later, Kate unlocked the door to the old Victorian home of the Richardson sisters and rushed inside.

“Enid?” she called, running into the kitchen. It was empty.

She sprinted upstairs. Although she knew the Richardson sisters quite well by now, she rarely went to the upper level of their home. “Enid?”

No answer.

The first door on the left was Enid’s bedroom.

“Enid!” Kate cried.

Enid lay on the bed, her breathing short and rapid. “It’s my heart. I took the nitro…but it hasn’t helped.” She paused for breath.

“I’m calling an ambulance.”

Enid’s lack of protest was indicative of how badly she felt, Kate realized as she dialed 911.

The dispatcher answered on the first ring.

“My neighbor is in heart failure,” she said, trying to keep her voice calm. “We need an ambulance.”

“What are her symptoms?”

“She’s short of breath. Sweating. She can’t walk. She says her medication isn’t helping.”

“We’ll be there in less than ten minutes. Stay with her.”

As if she would leave her.

“Please go to Muriel,” Enid whispered. “I told her to have a nap. But she’ll be scared when the ambulance arrives.”

Kate hurried from the room. Muriel’s door was shut. She paused outside, listening. She heard a tell-tale snore. She wouldn’t disturb the elderly lady until the ambulance arrived.

She rushed back to Enid’s bedroom, checking her color carefully. Had her lips become more purple? Had her breathing worsened?

“I’m sorry,” Enid whispered. “This is such a bother for you, Kate.”

I’m the one who is sorry. This is my fault.

Neither Enid nor her sister Muriel had been the same since they had been trapped by Elise Vanderzell’s killer last summer. Both had grown noticeably frail. Kate had watched their decline, trying to keep her anxiety and guilt at bay. But seeing the once-vibrant Enid unable to lift her head off the pillow terrified her.

“Can you stay with Muriel while I’m in hospital?” Enid asked. “She knows you.”

“Absolutely—”

The strident wail of the ambulance announced the arrival of the paramedics. Kate sprang to her feet and ran downstairs to the front door to admit the Emergency Medical Technicians. She followed them as they ran up the stairs with a stretcher.

It was only then that Kate saw Muriel. She stood by Enid’s door, wearing her big black coat. Her hair hung in limp strands around her face. “Enid?” she asked. “Enie? What’s wrong?”

Kate took Muriel’s arm and drew her away from the doorway. “She’ll be okay.”

Muriel pulled her arm out of Kate’s grasp. She returned to the doorway. “What’s wrong with Enid? What’s the matter?” Tears gleamed in her eyes. “What did they put on her face?”

“It’s an oxygen mask,” Kate said. “She’s not feeling well, Muriel. They are helping her.”

The EMTs strapped Enid into the stretcher. Kate’s heart constricted. The elderly lady appeared shrunken as she was carried down the stairs. Enid gave her sister a thumbs-up, unable to speak with the mask on her face, and then let her eyes droop closed. Her eyelids were tiny mollusk shells, bruised and blue against her bloodless face. Kate put an arm around Muriel’s shoulders.

“Muriel and I will come as soon as we can,” Kate called, not sure if Enid could hear her.

Please don’t die.

“Where are they taking her?” Muriel asked, trying to shake off Kate’s arm. “I want to go with them.”

“She’s going to the hospital. We’ll go very soon.”

“The hospital?” Terror flashed through Muriel’s eyes. “Enid has to go to the hospital?” She began to cry. “No, not the hospital!”

Kate didn’t know why Muriel was so upset about the hospital, and wished she could take back the words. It took her fifteen minutes to calm her down, although she suspected it was the presence of Muriel’s cat, Brulée, that soothed the Alzheimer’s-stricken woman.

Now Muriel sat at the kitchen table, threading Brulée’s tail through her fingers. Kate put on the kettle. “Would you like some tea?”

“When is Enid coming back home?” Muriel asked.

“Soon, Muriel.”

Muriel started to rock. “Where did she go?”

“She’s at the doctor’s.” Kate said the words tentatively, hoping that Muriel’s experiences at her doctor’s office were better than the hospital. Muriel nodded, fingering the cat’s tail. Kate exhaled. Another land mine avoided.

The kettle boiled. “Let’s have some tea,” Kate said, relieved she could offer this comforting routine to Muriel.

While Muriel drank her tea, Kate called Finn, the shaggy blond dog walker-cum-Guy Friday who had proven his friendship time and time again. His voice mail answered.
Damn
. “Finn, it’s Kate. Please pick up.”

He didn’t. She called again. Voice mail.

This time she left him a message. “Please call me at Enid’s house. It’s urgent.” She couldn’t take Muriel to the hospital with her; it was too confusing and upsetting for her. But she desperately wanted to go the hospital and stay with Enid.

She found the ancient address book that Enid kept in a kitchen drawer. The Richardson sisters had several close friends, and searching through the book filled with crossed-off names underscored Kate’s worry about Enid. Would she become a scratched-out entry in some other friend’s worn address book?

Stop being morbid, Kate
. She tried to funnel her worry into more productive channels, so she called the homes of Enid’s friends. Her relief was almost palpable when one of them answered. Kate knew Mary was one of the Richardsons’ closest, oldest friends, but even so, when she offered to spend the night with Muriel, Kate hesitated. “I told Enid I would stay with Muriel.”

“Listen, Kate. I can only do tonight,” Mary said. “My granddaughter is coming on a visit tomorrow. Don’t worry, Muriel still knows who I am. Give yourself the night off, because you could be in for a long week.”

“Thank you,” she said. It would give her a chance to check on Enid in the hospital, do her laundry and catch up on the Sloane file.

“I’ll be over in an hour.”

“Thank you,” she said again. She hung up the phone and turned to Muriel. “Do you want to watch some TV, Muriel? I can put on
Fawlty Towers
for you.”

“That would be nice,” Muriel said. They went into the sitting room. While Muriel watched the show, Kate called the hospital to get an update on Enid’s status.

The doorbell rang just as she got off the phone.

Kate hurried to the front door. It was Finn. She almost melted with relief.

He stepped inside and followed her to the kitchen, a concerned expression on his face. “I just got your messages. What’s wrong?”

Kate leaned against the kitchen counter. “It’s Enid. She’s in the hospital. Her heart is acting up.”

“Oh, no. That’s terrible.”

“I know. I’m really worried about her.” She felt the tension ease from her shoulders. It was good to be able to share her worry with someone who knew and cared about Enid.

“How’s she doing?”

“She’s stable. She’s in the E.R., still waiting for a hospital bed.”

“Sorry I didn’t get your call right away.”

“It’s okay.” Finn’s personal life was still a mystery to her. He spent a lot of time at her house, but she knew very little about him, except that his family lived on the West Coast, where he had attended university before dropping out and heading east.
They wanted me to be a dentist,
he’d once said, rolling his eyes. “How long do you think Enid will be in the hospital?”

“They thought a few days.”

“What are we going to do about Muriel?”

“I’m going to call some home-care agencies as soon as they open. I thought we could get someone to help during the day, and then you and I could take turns at night starting tomorrow.” She held her breath. Finn had no obligation at all to help the elderly sisters, but she knew he had a soft spot for them.
Who wouldn’t?

“Sounds good.”

Kate exhaled in relief.

“I’ll check in on you after I take the dogs for their walk,” he added. “I’ll do that right now.” He headed to the door. There was a stain—looked like pus—on the back of his T-shirt, by the shoulder.

“Finn, did you cut yourself?” Kate pointed to the spot.

He shook his head. He had a strangely bashful expression on his face. “I was…um…gonna surprise you.”

That didn’t sound good.

“Oh?”

“I got a tattoo.” He grinned, pride and excitement all over his face. It was hard to resist Finn when he smiled like that, but Kate felt a little twist in her heart nonetheless.
He’s your friend, Kate. Nothing else. He doesn’t have to share every detail of his life with you.

He pulled his T-shirt over his head, wincing a little when the fabric stuck to the fluid dried on his skin.

“Let me help you.” Kate eased the stiff patch off his skin. His shoulder, once so smooth and tanned—she’d seen it many times last summer while he worked on her home—had a large bandage taped to it.

Pus stained the gauze, crusting the skin below it. “It looks infected,” Kate said.

“Where?”

“I can’t tell with the bandage on it.”

“Lift up one side. Then you can see it.”

She had the feeling he was more interested in showing off his tattoo than investigating his infection. As a precaution, Kate washed her hands before lifting one edge of the bandage.

“It’s not too infected,” she said. “Just on the edges.”

“But do you like it?” Finn asked. “It’s a Foo Dog, the symbolic protector of the home.”

Kate studied the tattoo. The Foo Dog crouched on his shoulder. It had been so artfully created that it appeared to be breathing, its muscles tightening, ready to spring against any foe.