White Elephant Dead by Carolyn G. Hart Page B

responsibility.”
    Pamela stood even straighter, her blue eyes shining in anticipation. A Serious Responsibility was elixir to her spirit.
    Emma’s voice had the resonance of The Shadow at his most mellifluous on his Mutual Broadcasting radio show. “It is the responsibility of the Women’s Auxiliary to protect Henny Brawley from further attack—”
    Annie looked at Emma sharply. Was it wise to be so open? After all, it wouldn’t take long for the word to get out that Chief Garrett planned to arrest Henny for Kathryn Girard’s murder.
    “—therefore every person who enters the ICU must be logged in by the auxiliary. With no exceptions.”
    The nurse smothered a tiny belch. “Dr. Woody will take her head off.”
    Emma’s smile was grim. “Dr. Woody may terrorize the staff, but he understands the power of the auxiliary.”
    Pamela and the nurse gazed at Emma with profound respect.
    Annie knew she was light-headed with hunger but something teased at her mind. Pamela had the imagination of a peanut butter jar—okay, she was seriously hungry—so whatever Pamela mentioned had a basis in fact.
    “Pamela, how many phone calls have you logged in?”
    Pamela thrust a notebook at Annie. The calls were logged in by time, the first at nine-forty. Six of the calls also listed names. There was no name by the call at nine-fifty-eight.
    Annie pointed at it.
    Pamela’s usually placid face creased in dismay. “I asked for the name. But the caller had such a bad cold—”
    Annie felt a prickle down her spine.
    “—that I could barely understand. Whoever it was wanted to know when Henny would be moved to a private room.”
    “What did you say?” Emma’s tone was gentle.
    Pamela tucked a vagrant sprig of hair beneath the snood. “I said the patient would remain in intensive care until she regained consciousness.”
    Annie stared at the door to the ICU. Behind that door, Henny lay defenseless. “Emma—”
    Emma raised a hand to silence Annie, but their eyes met and Emma nodded in agreement. Emma reached out, gripped Pamela’s thin arm. “From now on, tell anyone who calls that the patient’s condition is unchanged”—she looked from Pamela to the nurse—“and call me immediately should Henny regain consciousness.”
    The nurse said placidly, “Head wounds never remember a thing that happened. She may even think it’s last week.”
    “That’s a good point.” Emma smiled at Pamela. She spoke slowly to impress her message. “Maintain to all inquirers that Henny remains unconscious even if she comesto. All inquirers. Make certain that your replacement understands this and agrees to it.”
    “I shall not leave my post unless I am assured of total cooperation.” Pamela had a Mission. She would fulfill it. She combined the doggedness of Bertha Cool confronting Donald Lam with the serenity of Maud Silver quoting Tennyson.
    “Nurse,” Emma continued briskly, “call me if there is any change in Henny’s condition. Please tell the next shift to do the same.” Emma opened her purse and lifted out a silver card case. “Here is my number.”
    Annie glanced at the card. Yes, this was Emma’s second line, which was answered always by voice mail. Annie was one of the few on the island who knew the number to the reclusive author’s first line.
    The nurse reached for the card. It might not be included in the nursing station job description, but once again Annie felt confident Emma’s request would be obeyed.
    Annie half turned, ready to walk swiftly down the hall. Wasn’t there a vending machine by the door to the stairs?
    But Emma still stood, frowning slightly, a blunt finger gently stroking her upper lip. The blazing cap of tight bronze curls and clashing colors of the shapeless caftan would have made most women look absurd. Not Emma. Her square face radiated power and her piercing blue eyes glinted with cold intelligence. “Pamela, tell everyone that the nature of Henny’s head injury will result in memory loss