The Phantom of Oz, Installment #17
Plus more names, a disgruntled property owner, and an impatient dog.
Hello! As most of you know, I’m serializing The Phantom of Oz here in a bit of an experiment. Once a month, you’ll still receive the “regular” Slightly Silly News. If you missed earlier chapters of Phantom, you can find links to all of the earlier installments here.
In the last installment of Phantom, I mentioned my love of great-sounding names, especially the given names of real people. You readers are the best - you sent me more! Favorites include Cecil Slover, Penelope Sweet, and Candy Coated (no kidding).
You also send me great photos of places to hide the bodies, or dead-body-adjacent fun, like this sign from fellow author Mollie Hunt:
In more mystery news, Annie Bloom’s Books listed Echoes of the Lost, my new serious mystery, as one of their Spring Books to Pre-Order!
(I am absolutely chuffed to be on the same page as Tana French and Louise Penny!)
And one more bit of levity before we get to murder and mayhem (and more levity).
Seamus thinks I should get out of bed earlier.
Chapter 12
So Frail a Creature, Part Two
In the last installment, Ivy is at the hospital to see her friend Candy, who had a mysterious incident/meltdown at the theater during rehearsal. Arrestadt, the director of the show and Candy’s current boyfriend, has joined her in the waiting room.
The nurse walked over to us. “Candy is going to be just fine.”
“What was wrong?” I asked.
The nurse continued without meeting my eyes. “We’ll want to keep her overnight for observation, but you can see her now. Follow me.” We both stood up and followed the nurse through swinging doors that separated the waiting room from the patient area.
“She’s still here in the ER,” the nurse said. “We’re waiting on a room for her.” I looked around but didn’t see any police. Must not be thinking foul play. The nurse pushed aside a curtain. Candy lay in a bed, her head raised, her face ashen against the pillows. The nurse checked the machines Candy was hooked up to, pulse and heart and whatever. Seemingly satisfied, she glanced at her patient, nodded her head, and left.
“How are you?” Arrestadt gave Candy the typical theater-folk kiss on the cheek. “We were worried about you.”
“I’m fine.” Candy’s voice was weak and scratchy. “Just stupid. I took too many antihistamines on an empty stomach. I should have known better.” A pulse beat in a vein on her thin neck.
Yes, she should have. Candy wasn’t stupid. Of course, I didn’t say that. I said, “How do you feel?”
“Like I’ve been run over by a truck. And they said I was...acting out. Please tell me I didn’t do anything ridiculous.”
“You were fine.” It seemed the kindest thing to say.
“I’m so tired...” Candy was having a hard time keeping her eyes open. “I’m sorry, but...” She waved her hand at us.
“We’ll see you tomorrow,” said Arrestadt.
“Call me when you know what time you’re getting discharged,” I said. “I’ll pick you up.”
“Thanks.” Candy managed a smile, then closed her eyes.
Arrestadt pulled the curtain surrounding the bed and held it open for me. “After you.”
“I think I’ll sit with her a few minutes.
“You’re a good friend.” He left.
I was a good friend, I told myself. That was why I was about to break a cardinal rule of friendship—hell, of sisterhood: Never go through a woman’s purse.
Candy was breathing in that deep way that usually means sleep. I leaned over her, my face close to hers. Her breathing stayed slow and constant.
Her purse, a big brown leather bag with lots of silver studs, was on a side table. I eased it onto my lap and scooted her wheeled bedside tray-table over me, hoping it would provide cover if anyone came in. I undid the bag’s flap. RIIIPPPP. Arghh. Couldn’t they make quiet Velcro? Luckily there was no sign that Candy heard.
I rummaged around in her bag. A set of keys—a car key, and a couple that looked like house keys. A plastic pouch that held makeup: several lipsticks, eyeliner, mascara, one compact with powder in it. Face powder, not coke. I double-checked.
I flipped through her wallet: credit cards, a health insurance card, her union cards. One of those hotel keycards—no, two of them, from different hotels by the look of them, but no name on either. She probably inadvertently kept one from a previous hotel; I’d done that before. Nothing else of interest in her wallet. I pulled out Candy’s iPhone. Locked. I tried a few passwords: her birthday, her old street address, her new street address, even plain old 1, 2, 3, 4. None of them worked.
Keeping the wallet and phone on my lap, I went through the rest of her bag, pulling each item onto my lap. A few Kleenex, a pen, and two tins of breath mints. No bottles of antihistamines. It had sounded like a pretty lame excuse. I sat back and watched Candy breathe. It was hard to see my friend in that gray emaciated figure.
I popped open the peppermint Altoid tin. It wasn’t filled with mints. A handful of small blue pills rolled around in the compartment. I carefully picked one up. I didn’t recognize it. It wasn’t an Advil or ibuprofen or Tylenol.
I rolled the pill in my palm. It wasn’t necessarily anything suspicious. Lots of people kept pills in different types of containers. It might even be an antihistamine. I examined the pill more closely. A series of tiny numbers were stamped on it: 56733.
Footsteps stopped right outside Candy’s curtained cubicle. Dang! I shoved the contents of Candy’s purse back inside her bag, put it on her bedside tray table, and dropped the pill. It rolled under the bed. Double dang! I dove for it just as the nurse stuck her head inside the curtain and said, “How is she?”
Don’t ask me why I raised my head. Reflex, muscle memory, years of being scolded to look at people when they spoke to me—probably one of those things. All I can say is that I did it, even though said head was right underneath Candy’s tray table. My head, the table, and the pitcher of water sitting on it all came up at the same time.
Crack! went my head.
“Hey!” shouted the nurse.
“Aah!” yipped Candy.
My friend looked at me, water dripping down her face. “Darlin’, if you wanted me to wake up, all you had to do was ask.”
Watch next week for Installment #18, Chapter 13: “Quite Extraordinary That You Should First Learn It from Me!”
And if you haven’t read the first four books in the Agatha-nominated series:
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