The Real Macaw: A Meg Langslow Mystery

Louise had been telling the truth? What if someone really had planted both earrings, one in each of their purses? Who better to do it than Francine? She could have had access to Louise’s purse while visiting her husband at the town hall, and here at the hospital, she was always flitting about, largely ignored by the medical staff.
    She obviously had a very strong motive for stealing Parker’s macaw before anyone overheard its imitation of her. And now she knew Grandfather was conscious and might start remembering things any minute.
    I scrambled out of my seat and started running.

Chapter 25
    Halfway down the long, echoing corridor to the lobby, I realized that I should be calling for help, not racing to the rescue. As I ran, I pulled out my cell phone and dialed 911.
    “Hey, Meg,” Debbie Anne said. “What’s up now?”
    “Tell the chief to get back here to the hospital,” I said. “My grandfather could be in danger.”
    “What kind of danger?”
    “I think Vivian and Louise were both framed,” I said. “Francine Mann is the real killer, and she’s somewhere here in the hospital. She’s probably going after my grandfather, and—”
    Just then I noticed that my phone had gone dead. Not uncommon here in the hospital. Should I run out into the parking lot, where reception was sometimes better? The key word was “sometimes.” Did I want to be out in the parking lot, waving around my cell phone and cursing Caerphilly’s substandard signal towers while something happened to Grandfather?
    Unnecessary. No matter how much of what I’d said had been cut off, Debbie Anne had heard the first sentence. She knew Grandfather was in danger.
    I had reached the elevator lobby. No one behind the desk. I punched the elevator call button. Nothing happened. One elevator was gaping open, and the call button didn’t light when I pushed it.
    Someone had hung an “Out of Order” sign on the open elevator.
    Out of order? Or turned off by someone with access to the keys?
    I raced for the stairwell.
    I emerged on the second floor beside the nurses’ station. The vacant nurses’ station. What had happened to the replacement for Vivian? If I was right, and Francine was the killer, she could have canceled the request for a replacement once we were all out of the way. Or just waited to make it until after she had done something to Grandfather.
    I slowed down to a fast walk on my way to my grandfather’s room. I kept glancing left and right as I passed the other rooms on the hall. All were dark. Presumably part of the buffer zone they’d established around Grandfather. Whose idea was the buffer zone, anyway? Was it really something the nurses thought necessary for the other patients’ comfort, or had Francine instituted it to make sure my grandfather was as far from help as possible when she made her move? Should I dash into one of the empty rooms and use a land line to call 911 again? No, Debbie Anne knew enough to sound the alarm. I could call again from Grandfather’s room.
    I paused at the door of 242. No one in sight up or down the hall. I walked in as quietly as I could and paused at the curtain. It suddenly occurred to me that Francine could be armed—after all, they hadn’t found the gun that had killed Parker. I bent down and peered beneath the curtain. No feet anywhere in sight. I breathed more easily.
    Of course, that didn’t mean the danger was over—only that I’d reached Grandfather before Francine had. But I was sure she’d be coming.
    And since I’d arrived here before she had, maybe I should see if I could catch her in the act. I could hide along the wall beside the bed and leap out when she came in. Or better yet, in the bathroom—the door was between the inner curtain and the outer door, so I could see her as she crept in.
    I was turning to slip into the shadows inside the bathroom door when I heard a familiar noise. A soft “pffffft!” from the whoopee cushion chair.
    I parted the curtains slightly and peered in. Francine was standing on the chair and fumbling at the ceiling. I could see her face in profile. She was calm and frowning slightly as if in concentration.
    I pulled out my cell phone, turned it on. Wonder of wonders, the wayward signal was back, so I pointed it toward Francine. She moved one of the ceiling tiles aside. There was a space between the drop ceiling and the real one. She was reaching in and pulling something out.
    A syringe and a medicine vial.
    I snapped a picture of