She nodded and stuffed the last chip in her mouth before trashing the bag. “Sorry to drag you down here. I told them I could just talk to someone over the phone. Can you tell me how the case is going? I mean, do they have the guy?”

“There’s been an arrest but, no, they don’t have the guy.”

She cast me a confused expression and then continued. “Well, I just wanted to let the cops know that I think Ms. Adams was in trouble.” She rolled her eyes. “Obviously. But, I mean, I think she was in trouble before she disappeared.”

“How so?” We walked down the hall toward the lab where she worked.

“I didn’t say anything to anyone. I didn’t want to insinuate anything, but I found her in the lab the other night after we’d closed. She was crying.”

“Was anyone in there with her?”

“No. I’d forgotten my phone. I do that. So I had to have Estelle let me in.”

“Estelle?”

“Custodian. Sweetest lady ever.”

“Did Estelle let Ms. Adams in?”

“Oh no. She’s the administrator. She has keys to the whole place.”

“Right. Did she say what happened?”

“No, Estelle didn’t even know Ms. Adams was in there.”

“I mean, did Ms. Adams say what happened?”

She shook her head. “No. She apologized, grabbed her bag, and hurried out. But I know how she feels. Sometimes you just have to cry and there’s nowhere private in this whole place. I couldn’t blame her for coming here after hours like that.”

“I agree. Did you notice anything else? For example, was Ms. Adams disheveled in any way like she’d been attacked?”

“I don’t know. I really never knew her that well. But now that you mention it, I think someone might have hurt her.”

“What makes you say that?”

“She had blood on her skirt. Not a lot. Just like a drop that she’d tried to wipe off.”

“Okay,” I said while turning in a circle and scanning the area for cameras. “Why didn’t you tell the police this before?”

“Oh, I’ve been on vacation. Just got back. I had no idea what happened to Ms. Adams until I walked in the door today. And then I knew I had to tell someone.”

“I appreciate that. Thank you.” I shook her hand. “Can I call you if I have any questions?”

She brightened. “Sure. I will help in any way I can.”

“Here’s my card if you think of anything else.”

“You’re a private investigator?”

“I am.”

“That’s so cool. I would love to be a PI.”

Her credibility was dwindling by the second. She was a helper. One of those who went out of her way to assist others for the attention even when it’s not wanted. Still, her information could be crucial to the case.

I called Parker on the way out. “I need the camera footage for the evening of the nineteenth.”

“Any particular area?”

“Every area. There was blood on Emery’s skirt that night, and she was found locked in the lab crying. You need to get that skirt. If she was attacked, it could be on the camera footage.”

22

My decision-making skills closely resemble

those of a squirrel crossing the street.

—MEME

I did a drive-by at Satellite Coffee and refueled before heading out to the children’s home to interview the heroic nurse. I just had to come up with a reason for being there.

“You could be looking to adopt,” Cookie suggested.

“Too cold. And I don’t think it works that way.”

“You could be a philanthropist looking to make a donation.”

“Way too cold.”

“Sorry. Okay, well, maybe you’re a reporter and you want to do a story on her.”

I thought a moment. “That might work. She’s had articles written about her before.”

“There’s really nothing unusual that I’ve found as far as illnesses. She never married and has no children of her own.”

“Okay, thanks, Cook. I’ll call you if I get anything interesting.”

“Be safe.”

I stepped out of Misery and went first to the office to sign in and check if the nurse, Florence Rizzo, was even there. I didn’t want to go with the reporter angle. They might not appreciate that. So, when asked, I said, “I’m a consultant with APD. I’m working a case that Ms. Rizzo might have information on.” Neither of those were technically a lie. I was more implying that APD had hired me to look into the case. I never said it outright.

The woman behind the desk didn’t seem impressed either way.

“She’s down the hall and to the right.”

That was easy. “Thanks.”

Okay, I needed a clean read off her first, then I’d bring up the string of deaths. A girl about sixteen with dark skin and large exotic eyes the color of smoked glass told me the nurse was checking on a kid in the infirmary. Alarms rang in my ears. Another sick child in her care.

When she walked in, I stood and held out my hand. “Hi, my name is Charley Davidson. I’m a consultant for APD, and I’ve been hired to look into a case here at the home.”

“My goodness. Well, have a seat,” she said in a Northeastern accent. Florence Rizzo was a slightly overweight mid-fortysomething brunette who liked Red Bull and comic books, if her desk was any indication.

I sat across from her and waited for her to clear her desk.

“You have someone in the infirmary?”

“Yes. Poor babies.” She tapped the comic books to straighten them, then stashed them in her desk. “The flu. It’s going around, don’t you know?”

“Yes. It does seem to be worse this year.”

“I think so, too. No one is immune. Darned flus. Well, what can I do for you?”

I certainly wasn’t sensing anything out of the ordinary off her, but I was just getting started.

“It seems that there have been several deaths at the home over the years, and I was hired to look into it.”

“Heavens,” she said, but instead of being distressed or taken aback, I got the feeling she would be more than willing to cooperate.

Unfortunately, that is the signature response of a person with Munchhausen by proxy. They want the attention. They want to be seen as heroic or distraught. Anything to put the focus on them. And, worse, they don’t believe they’ve done anything wrong, so to get a guilty reading off them is almost impossible.