Nightingale's Nightmare (Cassadaga Book 4 by Elizabeth Owens Page B

clothes , speedily, feeling resentment building inside. What right did another person have to put a curse on someone else? That was against natural law and human decency. She wouldn’t want the karma that would certainly boomerang back from any  such action against another person. That thought alone made Nightingale shiver.
    “Follow me. I’m parked out front a ways. You stay in the lobby while I get the car,” Chloe said.
    “Yes, ma’am.” Nightingale was returning to her witty, sarcastic self.
    “Oh, no you don’t,” a voice from behind said loudly. “You have to ride down in a wheelchair.”
    Nightingale rolled her eyes at Chloe.
    “Stand there and I’ll be right back with a wheelchair.”
    “Do I look like I need a wheelchair?” Nightingale asked Chloe.
    “No, but it’s hospital policy. If you fall on your face outside, that’s one thing.” Chloe said. “Inside, it’s their problem. Just sit in it and we’ll go.”
    Nightingale grumbled under her breath as the wheelchair was placed behind her by the nurse. She smiled sweetly up at the nurse as she sat down, cursing in her thoughts.
    By the time Chloe drove up, Nightingale was waiting in the lobby with the nurse. The doors automatically parted as the nurse pushed Nightingale outside to the curb.
    “Thank you,” Nightingale said as she rose from the wheelchair and plopped down in the front seat of Chloe’s car. “Bye.”
    “Miss Congeniality,” Chloe said.
    “I don’t believe in being rude to people. I may be a little annoyed, but that’s not the nurse’s fault.”
    “Will you be okay by yourself tonight?”
    “Of course! I’m fine, the picture of health. Isn’t that what the doctor said?”
    “Okay, Miss Picture of Health. If you have any problems, anything at all, call me and I’ll be there in less than five minutes.”
    “Deal.

Twelve
     
    Margarite Card stumbled out of her front door on her way to the post office. She took a sniff of the air as she cautiously stepped down the three stairs.
    “Smells like money to me,” she crowed in a husky voice as her skinny legs wobbled toward the street. Her graying hair flopped into her face briefly before a gust of wind pushed it back in place.
    The journey to the post office was one she made daily, choosing to walk rather that drive. Margarite figured it was good exercise. After all, she was getting on in years and planned to be around a good deal longer, so it couldn’t hurt. 
    “Good afternoon, Margarite,” Ralph said as the woman passed by the bookstore.
    “Same to ya, Ralph,” she replied. “Don’t hurt your back with that digging.” Ralph stared after her as she continued on, resting on his shovel.
    Margarite liked Ralph, but he seemed to be fixated on Helen. Why he was keeping company with that dippy woman, she couldn’t understand. She was convinced the men in the white coats would come along one day and cart her off to the loony ben. Maybe she’d have a chance with Ralph then.
    She entered the post office as Chloe was coming out. “Hi, Margarite.”
    “Hey, young ‘en.” Margarite blew out her breath as she passed by, causing Chloe to winced as the odor struck her nostrils. She tried not to make a face over it.
    “How have you been?”
    “I’m doing fine. Need to practice the keyboard today when I get back,” Margarite informed her. “I’m playing in church on Sunday.”
    “Oh, that will be nice.” Chloe coughed away the offensive aroma emanating from Margarite. It was still early in the day and the woman smelled like booze, which wasn’t unusual. “You take care, I have to run back to the bookstore.”
    “Yeah, I’ve got to get back, too. Got four appointments lined up.”
    “Bye.”
    “Bye, Chloe.
    Margarite made it back to the house without incident and sat down at her organ. She stretched her bony hands and cracked her oversized knuckles, placing limber fingers down on the keyboard. She began to play in perfect tempo, the beautiful sound wafting