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.

“We have had a few unfortunate incidents here at Harbor House, but they were all explained in our reports.”

“Yes, I read those. It’s just that, statistically, it looks very … unusual.”

“It most certainly does,” she said, nodding in complete agreement. Then, just like that, a lightbulb went off in her head. “But you don’t think there was foul play involved, do you? Those poor kids all had previous conditions. The ones who were sick.” She started ticking off names on her fingers. “And then there were the accidents. Thank the heavens for Mrs. Ochoa. If not for her, we might have had another tragedy just the other day.”

“Mrs. Ochoa?”

“Yes. Our custodian. A stack of lumber fell and almost crushed little Rudy. Mrs. Ochoa saw it about to happen and pushed him out of the way. He’s in the infirmary, too, with a banged-up leg. Otherwise, he’s fine. And then there were the suicides. Two of those.

“You have to understand, all these kids come from broken homes. Sometimes it just gets to be too much, and they think the only thing left for them is to take their own lives.” Tears sprang to her eyes. “I wasn’t here when those happened.”

“I thought you’d worked here for over ten years.”