Too Sweet to Die T. Doyle (tharntype novel english .TXT) 📖

let everyone use the equipment.” Ingrid’s sounded unimpressed and pressed her lips together, like she fought a smirk.

Jenny’s eye-roll was Oscar-worthy. “So, who was the thief who planted the drugs in Evie’s room?” Jenny studied my face.

“I don’t know.” I wondered why Eric chose Evie’s room. Although, she was pretty active and had been spending more time with Ray’s dad than in her own room. And maybe he got caught by Mr. Nelson and forced to help him assemble the IKEA bookcase. “I think that’s why they are checking the parking lots. I bet they’ll do the residents’ parking lot next.”

The ladies speculated which resident had the most to gain from selling narcotics. For once, Jenny didn’t blame Evie.

“I’m telling you, it’s not Johnny’s kids,” Jenny said. “Besides, why would someone here sell drugs?”

“Maybe they can’t afford to stay here,” Ingrid suggested.

“True.” Nora shifted in her seat, wincing at the pain in her hip. “When this place first opened they had some sweetheart deals that locked in the rates. I’m not sure I could afford it here, now.”

Jenny’s eyes clouded and a frown settled on her face.

I couldn’t tell if she was confused about why she was in the cafeteria or worried about money.

Ingrid’s phone emitted a loud trilling and several people glanced over. She smiled at the screen. “Andy and Kyle are in Tiny Tigers Taekwondo and earned their yellow-belts today.” She turned the phone and two adorable little boys with huge smiles wore white uniforms with a bright yellow belt tied around their waists.

“They’re so precious.” Unease slid down the back of my neck to the pit of my stomach and bubbled. Ingrid would hate me if my questions into Oscar’s death resulted in her losing her grandbabies. I stood. “I should get back to work. Talk to you later.”

I texted Ray on my way out of the cafeteria. “Any news?”

He replied. “FBI involved.”

Chapter Twenty-One

Why were the FBI involved? I approached the nurses’ station, ready to give Vi her break for dinner but my fingers itched to call Ray. My phone weighed heavy against my hip, like my curiosity had hyper-sensitized my body.

“I’ve already walked ten thousand steps today,” Vi said from behind the nurses’ station desk. She leaned back in her chair and pointed at the ceiling, making a circle. “And don’t let this lull fool you. I’ve been sitting for thirty seconds.”

No call lights blinked or buzzers sounded from the speakers overheard. I sat between her and Missy. “Do you want to take your dinner break now, Vi?”

She grabbed her lunch bag. “Yes.” She speed-walked to the women’s room down the hall.

Missy gave me a sunny smile and I remembered a few weeks ago she’d asked me to write her a letter of recommendation for a personal aide position.

“Missy, what happened with the personal aide job you were interested in?”

Her face morphed into a Greek tragedy mask. “She died before I could start.”

The sensation of a string pulled deep inside my brain, tangling thoughts together and I blurted, “Was it Mrs. Collins?”

Missy paled and she nodded her head. “Her son offered me a part-time job as her companion because she was having a hard time getting around.” A smile flickered across her face and she her gaze seemed unfocused and far-way. “It sounded so Austen-esque to be a companion to an older lady.” Missy tucked her hair behind her ear. “She went to our church and was so sweet.” She looked at me. “When I went to meet her she was polite but kind of standoffish. She told me not to put in my notice here.”

“Do you think she was depressed? Maybe suicidal?”

Missy’s eyes widened and her shoulders hunched up to her ears. “I don’t know. Maybe? I mean, she reminded me of Mrs. Almond on a bad day…What if I could have prevented it?”

I hugged her. Mrs. Almond, at 92, often had days where she desperately missed her husband, family, and friends and resented her body for continuing to live.

Mr. Flores’s call light turned on and I checked for a CNA down the empty hall. I stood, turned off the call light, and patted Missy’s young shoulder. “Don’t think like that. I bet her insulin pump malfunctioned, and I’m just being morbid. I didn’t mean to upset you.” I hurried toward Mr. Flores’s room.

What if Mrs. Collins heard about Oscar’s death and realized she could make her suicide look like an accident. My skin tingled and I had that feeling, the one when the kids were too quiet and something bad was about to happen.

Mr. Flores called me in under the guise of feeling feverish. “Check my forehead, Charlie. I think I have a fever.” He raised his chin and presented his forehead for inspection.

“I think I’ll use a thermometer, instead.” I pulled the temporal thermometer out of my pocket. “I won’t even charge you extra.” I slid the thermometer across his forehead.

“I’ve heard the call bells ringing all night. Is everyone getting sick?”

“No, and your temperature is normal.” I rested my fingers on his pulse and counted. “It has been crazy, but everyone has been recuperating nicely. Even you.” I noted his pulse and temperature.

“Something is going on, out there. Look, kiddo, you can either spill your beans or dress me and help me into my wheelchair so I can find out from someone else.” His voice turned gravelly as he ran out of oxygen.

“Nothing is going on out there right now, I promise you. And it’s 9:30, kind of late to have a social call on a friend.” I straightened his covers. “Besides, I don’t know anything because I’ve been busy all night long.”

He narrowed his eyes at me and huffed. “Fine. But put me down for breakfast in the cafeteria tomorrow.”

“Will do.” I turned on his bedside light. “Sleep well, Mr. Flores.” I flicked off his overhead light on my way out of his room.

Vi came back from dinner and with the help of the pharmacy tech, we distributed all