Grace Sees Red Read Online Free

was an assisted-living facility—though an upscale one, to be sure.
    â€œWhat’s going on?” I asked when we reached the two women.
    The one nearest me held a clipboard close to her ample chest. Fifty-ish with angled platinum hair that came to little points at either side of her chin, she wore an unabashedly eager look as she repeatedly clicked her ballpoint pen. “Sorry for the disturbance,” she said. “We’ve had an incident.”
    â€œWe noticed,” I said. “What happened?”
    â€œWe’re not sure. Not exactly,” she said. “I mean, it might be an incident.” She stressed the word
incident
with a lowered voice and wide eyes. “Or it might be nothing. It’s probably nothing.”
    â€œCathy,” the other woman warned. “Let’s not overreact.”
    â€œWhat kind of incident?” I asked.
    â€œNothing. Nothing.” The second woman waved the air, as though to erase what Cathy had said. “At least I hope it’s nothing.” Though this woman’s pale, lank hair was pulled back in a low ponytail, she repeatedly tucked stray strands behind her right ear. The badge hanging from her lanyard indicated her name was Debbie and that she was a nurse. “We’re not supposed to talk about it.”
    Cathy waggled her head. “Give me a break.” When she turned a shoulder to her colleague I got a glimpse of her badge: aide. She whispered conspiratorially, “People die in this place all the time. But calling in the homicide cops? Yeah. That doesn’t happen every day.”
    At the word
homicide
my stomach dropped. Bennett wrapped his fingers around my forearm. I didn’t know whether he did it to steady himself or me. “Who’s dead?” I asked.
    The nurse ignored me. “Cathy, stop.” Her voice was a warning. “They told us—”
    â€œOh come on, Debbie,” she said in that bored, singsong cadence popular with middle-schoolers. “It’s not like I’m sharing privileged information.” She wiggled her fingers to indicate the far side of the facility. “There are half a dozen investigators here. Maybe more. Anybody can see this isn’t business as usual.”
    Debbie forced a tight smile. “I’m sorry,” she said, addressing me and Bennett. “We haven’t had a lot of visitors since they evacuated the East Wing.” She rapped a knuckle against the back of Cathy’s clipboard, causing the other woman to jump. “Quit gossiping and record their names.”
    â€œOh, yeah,” Cathy said, and clicked her pen a few more times.
    â€œUntil they allow us back to the desk, you’ll have to sign in here,” Debbie went on. “I know, I know,” she continued, despite the fact that we hadn’t said a word, “visitors usually come and go here without all this hoopla. But until further notice, we have to take down your information before we can allow you into any residents’ rooms. But first: Who are you here to visit?”
    Bennett and I exchanged a puzzled glance, which clearly had a bewildering effect on the women. “We’re not here to see a patient,” I began. “At least, I
assume
she isn’t one.”
    Bennett chimed in. “One of our employees asked us to meet her here. Her name is Frances Sliwa.”
    Debbie gave a little yelp and Cathy’s eyes nearly pulsed out of her face. She clicked her pen ferociously. “What do we do?” she asked Debbie. “Who do we call?”
    My stomach jolted. “What happened?” The coffee I’d enjoyed earlier began re-percolating in my gut. “You obviously know who Frances is. Is she all right?”
    Even though Debbie appeared as rattled as Cathy was, she raised a hand. “I don’t believe there’s anything to worry about. Really.”
    Somehow her assurance didn’t do it for me.
    â€œTake us to her.”