the hospital murder case (part eight)

This story started here.

"It looks good," Neil said. He glanced into the room again, and then looked back down the hall, as if double-checking his own assessment.

We were near the end of a short hallway, with only four rooms, two on each side. The rooms had been empty, so it had been fairly easy to get this set up quickly.

Mona had delegated this entire project to me. The initial medical reports on Felix had been positive: he had a headache and had been given a sedative and a painkiller, but it seemed the only real damage he'd suffered had been a broken ankle, which had already been put in a cast. After she'd read the report, she had said, "Marshall, why don't you deal with this situation, and I'll run the hospital and heal the sick?"

She had phrased it as a question, but that had been a formality. I did enlist Lucy to help me, which was fine with Mona, since Lucy was still very agitated and I could tell Mona was getting a bit sick of her.

Rafe checked out the other three rooms as Portugal and an aide got Felix into the bed and made sure he was comfortable. He was awake, but fairly groggy.

When Rafe came out of the room across the hall, he was carrying a straight-backed chair. He set it against the wall, at the beginning of the short hall, between the four rooms and the rest of the world.

Neil nodded at these arrangements and turned to Dorothy. "You can stay, if you want, but only on the condition you lie down yourself." I thought that it seemed typical of Neil to turn even concern about someone into a command. He turned to Lucy. "Are the beds in the other rooms made up?

She gestured at the room next to Felix's, at the far end of the short hall. "That one is. I don't think the others are."

He nodded and turned back to Dorothy. "Take a nap, and then you can check on Felix."

She nodded. "I will. Thanks."

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About Anthony Lee Collins

I write.
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