Free Killer in the Kitchen by Donald Bain Page A

specialists are working with her.”
    â€œHow long will it take before we know?” Brad asked, his voice cracking.
    Seth shrugged. “Certainly hours, perhaps days. Sorry to have to be the one to tell you, Brad. If she survives the night, she might not be right. She might be . . .” He looked away.
    â€œA vegetable?” Brad filled in. His head dropped into his hands and he moaned. “Nooo! She would hate that, absolutely hate that.”
    â€œLet’s not think the worst,” Seth said. He squeezed Brad’s shoulder. “My suggestion is that you go back to the restaurant and take care of business there. I think Isabel would want you to do that. Don’t you? I promise that I’ll call you if there’s any change.”
    â€œHe’s right,” I told Brad. “There’s nothing you can do for yourmother here except worry. But I’m sure that Marcie needs your help right now.”
    Brad glanced at his watch and heaved a sigh. “Maybe you’re right,” he said. “She’ll want to know what’s going on. I’ll check on things at the restaurant and we’ll come back as soon as we close. Do you think we’d be able to see Mom then?”
    â€œThere’s a much better chance once they’ve got her settled in and had an opportunity to monitor her response to the medication.”
    â€œOkay.”
    Seth and I watched the young man cross the lobby and disappear through the doors.
    â€œI ache for him,” I said. “The ugly scene with Leboeuf and now this. If trouble
does
come in threes, Seth, I dread to think what’s next for Brad Fowler.”

Chapter Eight
    I waited while Seth looked in on his patient, consulted with his colleagues, and gave the hospital staff directions. Mort had kindly retrieved Seth’s car and had a deputy park it at the hospital. Eventually we drove to my house, where I put up a kettle of water for tea for myself and my exhausted friend.
    â€œQuite a night,” Seth said as he pulled a teacup from my kitchen cabinet.
    â€œSo much has happened,” I said, “that I’m having trouble wrapping my brain around it, from the opening of the Fin and Claw, the episode with Leboeuf and his party, and now the situation with Isabel. Will she make it, Seth?”
    â€œWe’ll know soon enough,” he said as he plopped a tea bag into boiling water. “Dr. Kloss is an expert on treating stroke patients, had plenty of experience at Mass General before settling here.”
    â€œI wonder how things ended up at the restaurant,” I mused, sipping my tea. “I hope that Brad’s sous chef and Marcie were able to handle all the orders in the kitchen. More customers were arriving as I left with Mort and Maureen, so things must have gotten especially hard without Brad. The whole evening has been so upsetting.”
    â€œI’m sure they got through it okay, Jessica. Drink your tea. It’ll calm you down.”
    Seth’s assurances about the tea’s soothing qualities didn’t make them real. After he left I stayed up far past my usual bedtime, the night’s events tumbling in my mind like a cement mixer on steroids. What was supposed to be a joyous evening had turned into something far removed from that. Was it John Lennon who said, “Life is what happens while you’re making other plans?” I knew that he’d used it as a line in a song he wrote for his son, Sean, but it had appeared earlier than that in a number of places. Its genesis didn’t matter. There was solid truth behind it, and this evening proved how accurate it really was.
    I slept fitfully until the phone rang at seven the following morning. It was Seth.
    â€œSorry to start the day with bad news, Jessica,” he said, “but we lost Isabel Fowler. She never recovered consciousness.”
    â€œOh, Seth. I’m so sorry.”
    â€œMight be a blessing,” he said.