The Sisterhood - Michael Palmer [82]
“Lisa, the bathroom looks fine. I told you, don’t worry about the place. I’ve got an hour before she’s due. That’s plenty of time to clean up.” Christine dropped a record into its jacket and replaced it on the shelf, taking a moment to straighten the row of albums. She had felt increasingly jittery and apprehensive since Dotty Dalrymple’s late-afternoon call and now wished her roommates would head off for the evening so she could have some time to herself before the woman arrived.
The nursing director had given no hint as to why she wanted to stop over, but it was hard for Christine to believe the visit related to anything other than the death of Charlotte Thomas. She had given thought to calling the Regional Screening Committee for advice on how to handle the situation, but decided it was foolish when she wasn’t at all certain of what, exactly, the situation was.
Lisa popped into the living room naked from the waist up. “Carole, bra or no bra for this guy?”
“He’s a blind date, Lisa,” Carole shouted from her room. “Just don’t let him touch you and he’ll never be able to tell whether you have one on or not.”
“What do you think, Chrissy? Bra or no bra?”
Christine appraised her for a moment. “It’s been a dull season,” she said. “I think you should go for it.” Her voice held far less cheer than she intended.
Lisa shrugged and slipped on a blouse. “You seem tight as a drum. Anything you want to talk about?”
“Believe me,” Christine said, “if I had something to talk about, I would. I’ve never had Miss Dalrymple visit like this, that’s all. She could want to promote me, she could want to fire me. I just have no idea. Listen, you guys have fun. I hope he’s nice. And thanks for helping me tidy up the place.”
“Ooh, wait a minute!” Lisa snapped her fingers and dashed to her room, talking as she ran. “These came earlier this afternoon. I guess while you were out.” She returned with a vase of flowers. “I think they’ll be the perfect touch over here by the window … no, on the table … no, I think perhaps over the …”
“Lisa, those are lovely. Who sent them?”
“The mantel. Yes. They’re perfect for the mantel.”
“Lisa, who?”
“Oh, they’re from Arnold. Arnold Ringer, the office heartthrob. The fool believes these are a shortcut to my body. And you know what?”
“He’s right!” The two of them said the words in unison, then laughed.
Christine was straightening the kitchen when the doorbell rang. Moments later, Carole and Lisa called their good-byes and she was alone.
Her solitude lasted a sigh and one pace to the living room and back. With a purely symbolic knock Ida Fine slipped in the back door. Folded under her arm was a copy of the evening Globe. She started talking before Christine could explain that her visit was ill-timed.
“So where are my other two? Gone for the evening? So why not you?” Ida seldom asked a question without answering it herself or at least following it with another, often unrelated query.
“They’ve got dates, Ida,” Christine said, hoping that the flatness in her voice would get the message across without being offensive.
“And you, the prettiest of the three, have none? You’re sick, is that it? You’re not feeling well. I have some soup upstairs. I know you nurses are too sophisticated to believe in such things, but …”
“No, Ida, I’m fine.” There was no stopping the woman short of a frontal assault. “I’m just busy tonight. My nursing supervisor is coming over soon, so I’ve got to get ready. Maybe tomorrow or even later tonight we can talk, okay?”
Ida slapped the newspaper on the table. “I’ll bet it’s about that doctor who murdered the woman at your hospital,” she said. “A doctor yet. My mother always wanted me to marry a doctor, but no, I had to be pigheaded and marry my husband, God rest his soul …”
Christine’s eyes widened and fixed on Ida, who just kept talking. “… not that Harry was a bad man, mind you. He was a very good man. But sometimes—”
“Ida, what are you talking about?”
“The murder. David somebody. Must be Jewish. No, he