“Wherever. The black luggage is mine. The tan is Isabelle’s,” Alexis instructed. “Put hers in one room and mine in the other. Thanks!”
“Are you girls hungry? Thirsty? There’s food in the fridge, wine, beer. Annie said you’d probably be staying three or four days. If you need anything, send me a text. I’ll be back in the morning to make the beds and do the breakfast dishes,” Yolanda informed them.
“That won’t be necessary, Yolanda. Alexis and I can make our own beds and do our own dishes.”
“Miss Annie said whatever you want.”
“Yes, and we want you not to worry about us!” Alexis was very matter of fact. “We’re here to do a little research and relax a bit.”
“Okay, but I will tell Miss Annie you want to be on your own.”
“No problem. We’ll let her know. And we’ll let you know if we need anything. Okay? We really do appreciate everything,” Isabelle reassured her.
“All right. You can text me anytime. Enjoy your stay.” With that, Yolanda left through the kitchen door.
“Looks like that cover-up was right on the money!” Isabelle slapped her friend on the back. “Time for the next costume change! Come on, master of disguise.” She grabbed Alexis’s hand as they marched up the stairs to the guest quarters.
Within the hour, they had unpacked their suitcases and begun the second transformation of the day. Both were happy to be rid of most of the makeup and the toe-pinching shoes and boots, but they were especially thrilled to get out of the padded bimbo outfits. It had made each of them look thirty pounds heavier.
“Remind me never to eat chocolate cake again,” Isabelle muttered to herself.
The newly created “former art students” looked up directions to the nursing home and wrote them on a piece of paper. The nursing home was only minutes away.
It was a very small facility. Only forty beds. The women approached the receptionist’s desk. A very leathery, too-much-sun middle-aged woman looked up. “How may I help you?”
“Hello. We’re former students of Marjorie Brewster. We’re in town for a reunion and heard she was staying here. We wanted to say hello, if that’s possible,” Isabelle informed the woman, who gave her a look of surprise.
“Uh, well, I don’t know. Who did you say you were? Former students?”
“Yes. Is there a problem?” Alexis asked innocently.
“Uh, Mrs. Brewster has been in a coma for a while.”
“You mean as in coma, coma? Like unconscious?” Isabelle played dumb.
“Yes, that is what a coma is. What did you say your names were?” Leather face, whose name was Jeanne, peered at them.
“Cherie and Mackenzie.” Alexis threw the names out with practiced skill. All the sisters had a slew of aliases they could use in a flash.
“Just a minute.” Jeanne turned and walked into an adjoining office. Isabelle leaned over the counter to get a glimpse of the computer screen, but it was facing away at an angle.
“You’re taller than I am,” Isabelle whispered. “You try.”
Alexis stretched and peeked at the screen. “I can’t see it, either.”
“Watch it. Here she comes.” Isabelle had spotted the woman through the blinds on the window of the office. They settled back into their normal stances.
“I am going to have to call her sister to get permission. Mrs. Brewster never has visitors except for when her sister comes every couple of weeks.” Jeanne picked up the phone and began dialing the number on the computer.
“Sure.”
“Of course.”
Marjorie Brewster’s sister wouldn’t know who they were, so things could go either way: she would say yes or no depending on how she felt about her sister having visitors.
“Hello? This is Jeanne from Mountain Hills Nursing Home.” A pause, then, “No. Everything is fine. There are two women here who were her students, and they wanted to see Marjorie.” She listened for a response and looked at the women. “Yes, I explained her condition to them.” Another pause. “Oh. Okay. Yes, I will. Thank you.” She hung up and repeated what she was told. “You can go in. Perhaps talk to her a bit. They say that people in comas can hear you. I don’t know if that’s true, but I suppose it can’t do any harm. I have heard some stories myself, working here these many years. You should see some of the people who have had skiing accidents. I used to ski a lot, but now it’s tennis whenever I get a chance. But working here . . . Well, the hours aren’t terrible, but sometimes the shifts are not conducive to outdoor activity.” Jeanne had become more animated, which made her look like a worn-out talking baseball glove.
Alexis gave Isabelle a slight kick, knowing they were both thinking the same thing. Batter up!
Trying to get the situation moving forward, Isabelle politely said, “Thank you very much, Jeanne. Can you direct us to her room, please?”
“Oh, of course. I tend to ramble a lot. All the way down at the end of the hall.” She pointed in the direction of the room.
Isabelle and Alexis tried to maintain their composure. They took deep breaths and slowly moved toward Marjorie Brewster’s room.
“This feels a little creepy,” Alexis confessed. “It’s like we’re intruding.”
“I know it feels that way, but we need to do this so we can report back to Myra and Annie.”
“What about the sister? Should someone contact her?” Alexis queried.
“Once we get the info from the hospital, and depending on what we find at the end of this hallway, we’ll send everything to Myra and Annie. There is a lot of information for them to evaluate, with more coming. I know they’ll have a plan as soon as they have the whole picture.”
“Okay. Here’s her room.” Alexis pointed at the name plaque next to the door.
Both women took a deep breath and squeezed each other’s hand for reassurance. Despite all the missions they had gone on in the past, they always felt a sense of dread when a new one came along, since each one brought its own kind of horror, shock, and anger. And, they hoped, with the help of the sisters, justice.
A woman in her sixties lay perfectly still. Wires and tubes entered and exited various parts of her body. Beeps and blinks emanated from the machines that recorded her vital signs.
Isabelle approached the woman first. She reached for the hand that was free of needles and whispered softly, “Hello, Marjorie. You don’t really know us, but we come as friends.” Isabelle flashed a look at Alexis. She thought she saw Marjorie’s eyes flutter. She shrugged and continued. “We are going to try to help you come back to this side, but if we can’t, we are going to go after the people responsible for this and see to it that they pay dearly for what they have done to you.” She patted the woman’s hand. Again, a slight flutter of the eyes.
Isabelle pointed to Marjorie’s face and mouthed the words, “Look at her eyes.” Alexis nodded, and then Isabelle continued. “We know you were taking special vitamins from Dr. Steinwood.” Marjorie’s hand started to twitch, setting off an alarm. Three nurses rushed in.
“What did you do?” one asked accusingly as the two others tended to Marjorie.
“Nothing. We were talking to her. Reminiscing about her art classes,” Alexis replied.