TWENTY-FOUR 

We let the nurse at the window know Dolly was here, then sat down in the waiting room chairs. I picked up a magazine but wasn’t interested in any of the articles so I set it back down. Dolly watched the fish tank. I guess the movement and the colorful fish were supposed to keep us calm. I was nervous for Dolly. I couldn’t imagine how she herself must be feeling.

Finally, a nurse with a clipboard in her hand appeared at the inner door. “Mrs. Riley? The doctor is ready for you.”

We made our way through the door and down an interior hallway to an examining room. “You staying?” the nurse asked me.

I looked at Dolly. She nodded.

“Yes,” I said. I rubbed Dolly’s upper arm, hoping to give her moral support.

“Strip from the waist up,” she said to Dolly, “and put on the johnny. We’ll be back in a couple of minutes.” She shut the door, and I could hear the clipboard being slid into place in its holder outside.

I turned away while Dolly undressed. She got herself covered up with the johnny, and I helped her climb up onto the paper-covered examining table, then folded her clothes neatly and set them on one of the chairs.

Dr. Phelps came in, reading Dolly’s chart. He looked at me oddly. Maybe it was strange for someone who wasn’t a relative to attend a patient’s examination. But I didn’t care. Dolly was family.

“How are you feeling, Dolly?” he asked.

“Better,” she said. “Less coughing. More energy.”

“Good, good. Let’s have a listen.” He placed his stethoscope on her chest, just inside the thin cotton garment. “Deep breath. Or deep as you can.” He moved the stethoscope to a new position on her chest and repeated the order, then moved to her back. He closed his eyes, listening.

“Very good. You’re not clear yet, but you’re definitely on the mend. We’ll get you another chest x-ray to completely rule out pneumonia before you leave.” He wrote something on the clipboard.

Dolly looked at me. Her brave front had crumbled, just a little. Ask him, she mouthed to me.

I nodded. There weren’t a whole lot of people I would do this for, but Dolly was one of them. “Uh, Doctor? Did the prior x-ray show . . . anything else?”

He looked at us, then reviewed his chart. He must have already known the answer, but I was grateful that he was double-checking.

The doctor gave Dolly a smile. “No. Your lungs aren’t perfect, but as long as you’re asymptomatic, we’ll just monitor you. I’ll expect you in here for a physical every year for the duration.”

Dr. Phelps’s duration was probably quite a bit shorter than Dolly’s. But I was so relieved, I could have kissed him.

“Your blood pressure and cholesterol are a little high. We’ll talk about that when you come in next week for your final recheck.”

Dolly’s face creased into a huge smile that showed all her dentures to perfection. “Okay, Doc,” she said.

Dr. Phelps wrote something else on his clipboard, then turned to me. “Mrs. Nik—”

“Nikolopatos. And yes?” I still hadn’t decided if I was keeping my married name when I was no longer married, or going back to my maiden name, Bartlett. I hadn’t been Georgiana Gertrude Bartlett in a lot of years. And I was pretty sure I wasn’t that person anymore. Nor was I Georgiana Nikolopatos, except on paper.

“Let’s leave Mrs. Riley to get dressed. I’d like to talk to you.”

I looked at Dolly, who said, “Go on. I’ll meet you in the waiting room.”

Dr. Phelps led me to his office and asked me to sit. My heart was in my throat. Why would he want to speak to me privately?

“First of all, what happened to you? That’s quite a bruise you have on your cheek.”

“I, uh, took a tumble. It looks worse than it is.” I wasn’t sure if I should reveal anything, now that there was an active police investigation. He looked at me pointedly, no doubt assessing whether I needed some kind of battered woman intervention. And I was sure he knew that I’d found Jim MacNamara’s body, and that Franco Riccardi had been sent to the ER from my restaurant. So whatever suspicions he had, well, there was probably a grain—or more—of truth to them.

“I’ll advise you to get yourself checked out. Now, for the second thing. You know I went out to Castle Grant to examine your mother, her assistant, and Liza Grant?”

“Yes, and I want to thank you for that, and for arranging for the nurse. It’s a load off my mind knowing they’re being cared for.”

The wrinkles on the doctor’s face got deeper, if that were possible. “You also know I’m bound by patient confidentiality. However, when your mother was here a few weeks ago with her gunshot wound, she signed a release authorizing you to receive any and all information about her health care.”

She had? I was her next of kin, of course, but I might have expected that honor to go to Caitlyn Black. “Okay,” I said, waiting for whatever he was about to tell me.

“So you understand that I’m only speaking about your mother, and not about either of the other two ladies, right?” His eyes bored into mine.

A finger of dread poked around in my gut. “Okay,” I repeated.

“When I examined your mother, my initial diagnosis was food poisoning.”

“That’s what I understood.” Initial diagnosis? Was there another one?

“I sent out some samples for testing. I was going to call you with the results, but you’ve saved me the trouble. The preliminary results are in.”

The lump in my throat was the size of a grapefruit. I looked him in the eye. “And?” It came out as barely a whisper.

He held my gaze. “Your mother has been poisoned.”

“Right. Food poisoning.” Why the need for the dramatic statement? We knew that.

“Not food poisoning. Poison was put into her food, systematically over a course of days. It’s a good thing Ms. Grant called when she did.”

I was gobsmacked. “You mean, poison as in Lucretia Borgia and old-fashioned crime novels, and Arsenic and Old Lace? Are you certain?”

He nodded. “Unfortunately, yes. We’re still determining the exact chemical makeup of the poison. There are traces of a sedative in her samples as well.”

Poison. The doctor could only talk to me about Melanie. But it was clear Caitlyn and Liza were suffering from the same thing. “The nurse I sent has been instructed to keep them on clear liquids from sealed bottles. She understands the situation.”

“Did you call the police? Are they going to be all right?”

Dr. Phelps’s face was neutral. He’d had fifty or so years of practice calming patients and families. “I do have a call in to the state police. And as long as your mother doesn’t ingest any more of the toxin, I believe she’ll be all right.”

“I need to get them off that island. Bring them back where I can look after them. Can I move them?”

Dr. Phelps looked grim. “Normally, I’d say yes, though your mother will likely get even more nauseous from the boat ride. But have you seen the weather forecast? There’s a storm coming in this afternoon. You know how the river gets in late fall and winter. I wouldn’t risk it.”

“But someone’s doing this to them—her. I’m sure your nurse is very good, but she’s not law enforcement.” And she’s not me.

“My suggestion is to call the police. Tell them you need help and see what they offer. Maybe they can get an emergency boat out there. Or call the Coast Guard.”

His words were like a punch to the gut. Where was Jack when I needed him? But I knew I wasn’t being fair. He was doing his job, and our relationship was very new.

“I still think leaving them where they are, at least until the storm passes, is your best bet.”

“Thanks, Doctor. I should go now. Dolly’s waiting.” Dr. Phelps was right. Until the weather was better, I shouldn’t try to move them. If we got into any kind of trouble, if the waves were bad or the boat took on water, they would be too weak to help themselves. But that didn’t mean I couldn’t go to them. Make sure that they weren’t administered anything else. Try to figure out who was behind this. And that was what I meant to do. But first I had some wheels to set in motion.