Blood Wine by John Moss Page A

to call Spivak, see what he can make of her. We’ve got to get her to a doctor. Does she talk?”
    â€œCall Ellen Ravenscroft.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œCall Ellen Ravenscroft, she’s a doctor.
    â€œShe’s a coroner, this woman’s alive —”
    â€œMorgan, are you with me on this? She came to me. Not to the police, not to the hospital, she came to me.”
    Morgan reached out and felt her forehead. Miranda leaned against the pressure of his hand. He stood up, and bending over her, he lowered her back onto the bed beside her new friend, who had closed her eyes and seemed to be asleep. Miranda closed her eyes as well and drifted off as he watched her.
    He wandered out into the living room and down the hallway. The floor was sticky with drying urine. He got a sponge-mop from the kitchen, dampened it with a little water and some vinegar from under the sink, and cleaned the floor from the hall through to the bathroom. He put the mop away after rinsing it and stood in the bedroom doorway, surveying the strange scene of the two women asleep on the bed.
    He started back to the living room, then turned and taking a light blanket from the back of a chair, he covered the sleeping women, tucking the blanket close around them as if they might catch a chill, even though the night air was seasonably balmy. Through an open window he could hear the ambient hush of the city.
    When the security door buzzed, he let Ravenscroft in without checking to see who it was. She had been surprisingly cheerful when his call wakened her. He met her at the door.
    â€œThanks,” he said softly.
    â€œYou’re welcome,” she said. “Where is she? And there’s no point in whispering, we’ll have to wake her up anyway.”
    Ellen walked into the bedroom and flicked on the overhead. “My God!” she said. “There are two of them?”
    Morgan had not told her about the stranger. He had said Miranda seemed to be suffering from post-trauma shock and had asked for Ellen by name.
    Miranda stirred, and without opening her eyes mumbled, “Hello, Ellen Ravenscroft.”
    â€œHello, Miranda Quin. And who are we in bed with this time?”
    Miranda’s eyes flashed open. She glared at the medical examiner, then shut them again and smiled. “She’s my friend.”
    â€œAnd what’s your friend’s name?”
    â€œI don’t know.”
    â€œCan your friend talk? I think she’s awake. Are you awake, Miranda’s friend?”
    The woman’s blue eyes flickered then stayed open, clear but expressionless. Ellen pulled back the blanket and scowled at the strange array of bathrobe and towel covering the two women.
    â€œI gather this was your doing,” she said to Morgan.
    â€œYeah,” he said.
    â€œVery gentlemanly, Morgan. Very modest. But perhaps a sheet would have been enough. It’s sweltering under there. You go on out to the living room and I’ll see what I can do with these two. Come on, love,” she said to Miranda. “We’ll start with you. Up you get.”
    As Morgan left the room, the M.E. was struggling to get Miranda mobile. From the living room he could hear thumping and bumping but could not imagine what, exactly, was going on.
    After a surprisingly short time, Miranda and Ellen emerged from the bedroom with the stranger between them. Ellen had dressed both in baggy sweatshirts and pajama bottoms. Morgan got up and Ellen helped the two women to the sofa, where they sat side by side, both looking dazed as if they had just woken from a long sleep.
    â€œI’ve checked them over,” said Ellen, addressing Morgan as if the women were not there. “Miranda’s fine. I mean physically. They both are. I think we might try a tranquillizer.”
    â€œI don’t do tranquillizers,” Miranda snapped.
    â€œBut then again, perhaps we won’t try a tranquillizer,” said Ellen, pausing, “on