She showed me an article.

“She’s the common thread. Well, one of them. The home still has the same director, a few of the house parents, and a groundskeeper that it’s had since the deaths began. I just found it odd that a boy dies right before the nurse goes on leave, and then another one a week after she comes back.”

“That is certainly worth looking into.”

The article called the nurse heroic after she tried to save the boy by administering CPR on him for over an hour before someone found her and help arrived. The picture that accompanied the article showed the nurse, bereft and sobbing and falling into a coworker’s arms, as an ambulance took the nine-year-old kid away. The caption read, NURSE COLLAPSES AFTER CHILD DIES DESPITE HER BEST EFFORTS TO SAVE HIM.

“Very dramatic,” I said, finding all kinds of things wrong with the picture. “Exactly the kind of attention a certain type of person thrives on.”

“I thought so, too.”

“Well, looks like I know what I’ll be doing today.”

“Me, too. Figuring out how many Dumpsters it would take to stash thirty billion dollars in.”

We high-fived before I headed for George. Reyes’s shower. No. I closed my eyes and let happiness shudder through me. Our shower.

* * *

By the time I left for the office to check in again with Cookie, I was dressed quite spiffily in a black sweater, jeans, and ankle boots. Which was pretty much what I wore every day during the winter.

Reyes had texted me a thumbs-up, which had become our code for, “I’ve checked with Osh. Beep and the gang are okay.”

Walking across the parking lot to the office, I noticed a familiar neon-green minivan parked down the alley. It was the bungling ghost hunters. The adorable ones that I wanted to adopt.

I resisted the urge to hightail it to their van and give them a piece of my brain. Partly because it would be bloody and painful and all I had in my bag was a box cutter, but mostly because I didn’t care. If they wanted to waste their time, fine. I was actually surprised they’d stuck around after our chat. Hopefully, I’d scared the French crew off. They were the dangerous ones.

My phone rang as I headed up the outside stairs to the office. Pari’s picture filled my screen, complete with bug-eyes sunglasses. She never rose this early. My mind immediately jumped to Heather. “Is everything okay?”

“Groovy. Are you okay?” she asked, her voice groggy and muffled.

“I’m fine. Why are you up? And where are you? Your voice is muffled.”

“I’m in bed. It’s muffled because I can’t quite lift my head yet. And I called because you butt-dialed me ten thousand times last night. Did you get drunk?”

“What? No.”

“Don’t lie to me, Chuck.”

“Maybe a little. Is Heather okay?”

“She’s good. I think she’s getting better. The doc put her on a lot of liquids to hopefully flush any toxins out of her system. I think it’s helping.”

“Pari, thank you so much for keeping her.”

“Not a problem, but I will say that a tattoo parlor is probably not the best place for an impressionable twelve-year-old.”

“I know. I’ll try to come up with other accommodations today.”

Her voice cleared instantly. “What? That’s not what I said. I just meant, you know, she could be scarred for life, but really, she’s fine here. I don’t mind.”

“Really? You sure?”

“Of course. She’s sleeping right now. Or I hope she’s sleeping. She took off with one of my regulars at around one this morning, but I’m sure she made it back.”

I so didn’t fall for that. “I’m so not falling for that.”

“It was worth a shot.”

“Totally. Call me if anything comes up. I’m heading to the children’s home to do some interviews today.”

“Ten-four. Over and out.”

“Over and—bye.”

With both Heather and Beep safe, I could concentrate on my cases. But before I could head out to the children’s home, Parker called.

“How’s the case going?”

“Sensational, but you may have been made. Joplin is trying to get a judge to force me to say who hired me. He’s way too interested.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” His explosive temper exploded. Thank god I didn’t have him on speakerphone when I walked into the office. A deliveryman was just leaving.

I waited for the door to close, then I put him on speakerphone. Expletives, the really colorful ones, filled the air around us like dirty butterflies. Cookie and I cracked up as we listened. When he finally got around to telling me why he’d called, I was having a hard time keeping a straight face. Or voice since we were on the phone.

“I need this done, Davidson. I would suggest you close this thing. Quickly. Isn’t that what you do?”

“Did you call just to threaten me, Parker?”

“What? No. One of Emery Adams’s coworkers called. She has some information that might pertain to the case. I need you to go talk to her.”

“What’s her name?”

I took down the information he gave me on the coworker and asked Cook to look a little more into the nurse’s background. The one from the children’s home. Specifically, look for a history of mental illness or a history of physical ailments. Both could be a sign of Munchhausen’s. If she was killing those kids and taking the glory for trying to save them, that would be a form of Munchhausen syndrome by proxy. Either way, it’s hard to detect and even harder to prove.

“We could have an Angel of Death on our hands,” I said.

“Whatever works. We just have to stop her.”

I hurried downstairs, made out with my husband for about three minutes, then went in search of one of Emery’s coworkers named Cathy Neville. It was actually on the way to the children’s home, so that worked out well.

The Presbyterian Hospital sat down the road from our offices. It didn’t take long to find Cathy. She was on break outside the lab, sitting on the edge of a chair in the waiting area, punching buttons on her phone.

“That’s her,” another tech said.

She rose the minute I walked up to her. “Are you with the DA’s office?”

“Of a sort. I’m working Emery’s case.”