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Dottie left the hospital shortly after Kathryn. She pushed the redial button to call Mic's phone for the fifth time in a row. It made her angry when she couldn’t reach Michaela exactly when she wanted. Of course, it wasn't just Mic. It made her mad when she couldn't reach anyone when she wanted them. She'd seen a therapist once about her impatience and he'd pretty much diagnosed her as a brat or, specifically a “rich bitch.” Then he'd said she was spoiled and impatient so she'd fired him and gone out and bought some new clothes. Dottie wasn't sure she believed in all that “psychobabble crap” anyway. If things weren't going her way, she'd always gone out and bought herself something new. Retail therapy. She was a believer in retail therapy. I'm old school and damned if I'm gonna change. Dottie just wanted what she wanted when she wanted it. It was just that simple. She looked at her watch. It was after seven o’clock in the evening. Where's Mic? She should've been home hours ago. How dare she come home and not call her, especially when they had a potential case and her best friend was fighting for her life in the hospital.
Dottie jumped out of her skin when her cell phone rang. It was Margaret. Margaret had told her that she and Beau were meeting General Rothrock and Adam and Kathryn Lee at the hospital. Margaret probably had an update.
Dottie picked up the phone and asked abruptly, “How’s Camilla. What’s goin’ on?”
We’re here in the waiting room and just talked to the ICU doctor. He still doesn’t know much.”
Anger shot thru Dottie’s body. “Doesn’t know much? Why, for God’s sake?” she retorted angrily. “He’s the doctor. They’re supposed to know everything.”
“Don’t blast me, Dottie, blast him,” Margaret said sharply. “I’m just the messenger.”
Dottie knew Margaret was furious with her. She needed to make nice to get the rest of the info she needed. She took a deep breath, “I’m sorry, Margaret. I’m just worried about Camilla and I can’t find Michaela.”
Margaret sniffed and continued, “I understand that, Dorothy, but you don’t need to eat me for lunch,” she whined.
Dottie seethed in anger. She didn’t have time for Margaret’s antics. “I said, I was sorry. Now, what else is happening?”
“Tell me you won’t be abrupt or ugly to me again,” Margaret wheedled. “I’m tired of you jumping up my butt with your impatient self.”
Dottie rolled her eyes. If Margaret were close to her, she’d shake her. “I promise. I won’t. Now, how’s Camilla?”
Margaret seemed placated with Dottie’s groveling. She answered, her voice low, so low Dottie could hardly hear her and Dottie had excellent hearing for an eighty-two-year-old.
“She’s no better. In fact, she’s worse. And you know what else, Dottie?” Margaret said as her voice trailed off to a whisper, “They think she may have been poisoned.”
“What, what did you say?” Dottie nearly screamed into the phone.
“They think she may have been poisoned. They think someone, somehow, maybe managed to poison her.”
Poisoned? Dottie’s heart skipped a beat. That’d been her theory all along. Camilla didn’t have any enemies. Who would poison Camilla? Somebody would probably poison Margaret, or me, but not Camilla. She’s always nice and polite. “Are you sure, Margaret? Who’d poison Camilla? She’s nice. Kind even. Now, people are standing in line to poison us, but not Camilla,” Dottie said, her voice confidant.
“Speak for yourself, Countess,” Margaret said icily. “They’d probably want to poison your aristocratic ass, but I’ve spent my life doing good deeds. No one is after me,” Margaret assured her.
Dottie sighed deeply and replied in a bored tone. “Okay, whatever you say. I don’t care, but for the record, I totally disagree. I can remember a hundred times when you’ve been less than kind... but drop it. What else did the doctor say?”
“Not much, but Beau and Adam were talking about some group - possibly terrorists - retaliating against the general. He’s been a lot of places and angered a lot of powerful people in foreign countries... Who knows, he could’ve pissed off ISIS or something.”
“Humph.” Dottie considered this. “I don’t know, Margaret... kill his mother? To get payback? That’s a bit out there, don’t you think? We’ve all got a coupla years on us. Seems like they’d go for one of the general’s kids or grandchildren.” Dottie speculated for a moment and added, “I just don’t think so. My gut says no.”
“Well,” Margaret huffed, “That’s what I overheard Adam telling Beau. And Adam would know. He’s part of the National Security Agency or something like that.” She paused for a breath. “He does all kinds of stuff with the military and CIA. Spy stuff. You remember that don’t you, Dottie?”
Dottie shook her head. “My gut still says no. I don’t think Camilla was poisoned because of her son,” Dottie said stubbornly.
“To hell with your gut, Dottie,” Margaret added with frustration in her voice. “General Stuart Rothrock is an American war hero and he was with the NSA and everything. I even think he was one of the Joint Chiefs of Staff. Beau said he led all kinds of operations and commands in the Middle East and Eastern Europe.”
Dottie mused this over. “Humph. What does Kathryn think? Did you talk to her about this?” Kathryn Lee was a victim of a terrorist organization because of her husband’s position in Congress and his work against the terrorist groups in the Middle East. Dottie would love Kathryn’s opinion on this.
“No, I was eavesdropping on Beau and Adam. I heard them out in the hall on my way back from the ladies room,” Margaret admitted, her voice barely a whisper.
Dottie snorted. “Oh, you were eavesdropping. Good, kind, honest, caring, dependable you without a bad bone in your body... would eavesdrop? You, possibly the only woman in the world without an enemy?” Cynicism dripped from Dottie’s mouth as she grinned into the phone. She loved getting Margaret back.
“Shut up, you old bag, I’m about sick of you. I’m hanging up,” Margaret retorted angrily.
“Keep me in the loop, Margaret. I’m passing this on to Mic and we’ll probably come around and see the general.”
“Okay, gotta go. Don’t call me back,” Margaret ordered as she clicked off.
Dottie sat and stared through the French doors into her lovely, manicured courtyard. The rhododendron, azaleas, and irises were in full bloom and the roses had huge buds. They’d be open in a day or so. Thank goodness for Henry. He keeps things perfect around here. Dottie enjoyed the view for another moment and tried Mic’s number again.
Poisoned? It was a possibility. But why? Did some foreign terrorist poison her friend to retaliate against her son? It could make sense.