Sky High (A Nicki Valentine Mystery Book 2) by Susan O'Brien Page B

excellent, and I’ll do everything I can to help. You can call or email me anytime.” I placed an extra business card on the counter. “Can I give you a hug?”
    “I’d love one,” she said. Her bones were so prominent that I made a conscious effort to be gentle. “Thank you so much. Sometimes I feel like a leper with this disease.”
    “Oh, no,” I said. “You need people around you.”
    “I know. I’m just terrified. I don’t want anyone else to suffer from this.”
    I froze. Until now, it hadn’t occurred to me that C. diff might be contagious.
    Lydia winced and exhaled slowly. “Excuse me again. I’m sorry.” She sped away, leaving me in concerned silence.
    “Aunt Liz,” I called, doing my own little speed walk. “My babysitter’s expecting me soon. I think we’d better go.”

Six

      
    I asked Liz to drive while I read about C. diff for the second time, now with my family’s health in mind. Had Liz and I exposed ourselves to anything dangerous, other than a possible near miss with my late husband Jason?
    Liz was surprisingly calm, perhaps because she visited ill parishioners so often. On a scale from flu to Ebola, I wanted to know where this fell.
    “I never catch anything,” she mused.
    “I catch plenty of what Jack and Sophie get, and I’d like to know what this is—for us and for the case in general.” After a few minutes of intermittent reading and directing Liz to the sub shop where we’d left her rental car, I summarized what I’d learned. “Okay. You can get C. diff the same way you get other intestinal illnesses, by accidentally ingesting it.”
    I looked at Liz, who was nodding distractedly.
    “Anyway,” I continued. “Even if it’s in your system, it might not cause problems. But if you take antibiotics, especially ones that kill lots of good stomach bacteria as a side effect, C. diff can get the upper hand. It’s one of the most common infections people get in hospitals. It can be minor—or life threatening.”
    “You’re not taking antibiotics,” Liz said, “and you haven’t been in a hospital.”
    No, I wasn’t taking antibiotics. But the website said they weren’t always at fault, and hospitalization wasn’t the only other risk factor. I’d just started my research, and while it didn’t scare me, it disturbed me on behalf of Lydia and anyone at risk.
    “Antibiotics can also be the cure,” I continued. “Sometimes they’re tried long term. When they don’t work, fecal transplants might be used.”
    “Mia says it’s a miracle cure, but some doctors are put off by the ‘ick’ factor.”
    “Ickiness aside, apparently it’s highly effective. There are tons of studies looking into it.”
    “I wonder why they aren’t testing more donors. Why just Bruce?” Lydia asked.
    “This article says insurance doesn’t always cover expenses, so it can be costly, and some patients prefer close relatives as donors. Plus, not everyone qualifies for testing. It depends on a lot of factors. It looks like they usually test one donor at a time.”
    We reached the sub shop, where Liz parked next to her rental and turned to me.
    “I can’t stay in Virginia, you know,” she said. “My flight leaves tonight.”
    “Would you consider staying with us for a few days?”
    “I’d love to, but the vestry meeting is tonight, and St. Francis is in the middle of its pledge drive.”
    “You wouldn’t want to miss that,” I teased. Encouraging pledges was a challenging necessity each year. Without enough parishioner donations, St. Francis couldn’t afford its mission work, youth group activities, and other critical programs.
    “Mia’s in good hands,” she said. “Her parents are fine people, and with Bruce’s dad involved, she probably won’t want for anything.”
    “So you don’t think there’s a chance her parents had anything to do with this?”
    “Oh, goodness, no! We’ve been close since the ’80s, and we’ve talked at length about Bruce many times,