Isabelle tried to deflect the tension with a joke. “I guess we were crummy students?”
A brutish-looking nurse did not think it was funny and cleared her throat. “This is not a laughing matter, miss. Mrs. Brewster is very fragile.”
“I didn’t mean any disrespect. And yes, she looks very frail. I am so sorry if we did anything to upset her.”
Alexis added, “Truly. We thought maybe hearing familiar voices might help. They say that some people do come out of comas after they have had stimulation from things in their life.”
“My dear young lady. We don’t need you to tell us what can and cannot happen. We are professionals and have far more experience than you do,” the brute admonished them.
“Sorry. We were trying to be optimistic.” Isabelle apologized and gave Alexis a hint to do the same.
“Yes, we apologize. All we wanted was to let her know what a great teacher she was and how much she inspired us.” Alexis was pouring it on thick.
“If it weren’t for Mrs. Brewster, we wouldn’t be working artists today!” Even thicker from Isabelle.
The two other nurses had already left the room, after noting that Mrs. Brewster’s vitals were stable. Brute motioned toward the door. “I think Mrs. Brewster needs to rest now. Thank you for visiting.”
Isabelle and Alexis scurried through the door and walked quickly to the reception area. “Mrs. Brewster needs her rest?” Isabelle said in a loud whisper. “What do they think she’s doing in there? Jumping jacks?”
“Hush.” Alexis tried to calm Isabelle. “I don’t want them physically throwing us out of here.”
“Yeah, but did you notice that it was when I mentioned Steinwood that the ruckus started?”
“The theory may be right. They can hear what’s going on.” Alexis put her arm through Isabelle’s as they waved at Jeanne. “Thanks very much! Bye-Bye!”
Jeanne waved back at them.
As soon as they jumped into the Jeep, Isabelle texted Myra. Saw MB. Hand twitched when I mentioned DS. Then they threw us out. But all okay. Will call in later.
“Wow. You’re right about that twitching. Too bad we didn’t have more time with her.” Alexis drummed her fingers on the dashboard.
“I see those wheels turning. No, we are not going to break into this place later. We have our assignment. Besides, if we had said anything else, she might have died!” Isabelle’s eyes widened.
“Huh. She’s as good as dead,” Alexis said bitterly.
“Hey, don’t talk like that. Look what we went through, and our lives turned around.”
“Yeah, but we weren’t in a coma.”
They drove back to the lodge in silence, each thinking back to her own personal nightmare: when Isabelle lost her job, her man, and was framed for drunk driving, and when Alexis was wrongfully imprisoned for fraud. Yes, each of them had suffered great losses, but life was still worth living, thanks to people like Myra Rutledge and Anna Ryland de Silva.
Chapter 29
London
Eileen found a perfect go-go outfit for the fund-raiser being held in the conservatory in Dr. Marcus’s building. A red leather miniskirt, white leather boots, fake-fur vest, and a pixie wig, with a big shoulder bag on her arm. There was nothing in there that would set off security, and the devices she needed to plant in the apartment were tucked inside her bra. The contents of her bag were normal items, including a large shawl, foldable ballet flats for when her feet were tired of being tortured by high heels, a makeup case, phone charger, wallet, keys. The only thing was that the information in her wallet was fake, the phone charger was for the surveillance equipment, the shawl concealed an extra outfit, and the makeup was for the purpose of changing her look. The slippers were just for what they were meant to do and more. They gave her feet a break but were also made of special material that left no prints.
She approached the security desk in the lobby, then offered her purse to the guard, who simply nodded in her direction and let her pass through the small acrylic gate. She gave him a wink. He tipped his hat. Yes, they will remember the cute chick in the sixties outfit. They will not remember the plain and simple, mousy-looking girl.
Eileen made her way through the guests, had a few hors d’oeuvres, and snatched a glass of champagne from a waiter passing by with a trayful. Pretending to take a sip, Eileen looked around for the ladies’ room. It was in the far corner, next to an exit. When Eileen had studied the blueprints, she had etched the exact location of the stairs into her memory.
She smiled and nodded to several people as she approached the bathroom. There was a woman washing her hands as Eileen entered. “Good evenings” were exchanged, and Eileen went into one of the stalls. She quickly removed her wig, boots, skirt, and vest and replaced them with a long prairie-style skirt, tan blouse, brown hair in a bun, and granny glasses. And the flat shoes. She stepped on the toilet to see if there was anyone else in the room. It was empty.
She turned her bag inside out, and it now looked like an old satchel. She took a quick look in the mirror. Yes. She’d blend right into the woodwork.
Slowly opening the door, she peered out to see if anyone was looking in her direction. There were a few people engaged in conversation nearby, so she avoided making eye contact with any of them. With catlike moves, she was in the stairwell. She waited. Listened. Nothing.
She looked around for security cameras, just in case they had changed the layout since the building opened. Everything appeared to be in the locations indicated on the plans. She knew where the cameras were and how to dodge them. She had already made her way to Marcus’s floor when she saw the NO REENTRY sign on the door. Damn. That information had been omitted. She made her way to the floor below Marcus’s and was able to enter the corridor. She would have to take the lift up, but she had to avoid the camera. Or change her disguise again. Thinking quickly, she pulled out the scarf, wrapped it around her head like a hijab, untucked her blouse, and made her way to the lift. The lift dinged when it reached Marcus’s floor. Carefully looking in each direction, she proceeded to Marcus’s flat. The hallway was very quiet except for the sound of soft classical music coming from one of the apartments. When she reached the door to Marcus’s flat, she rang the buzzer. If anyone answered, she would use the “I’m lost or wrong number” excuse.
A second attempt. Nothing. After picking the lock, she slipped in. Listening for any sounds, she moved quickly, placing listening devices in key locations. She entered the master bedroom suite and placed a bug on the back of the headboard. The door to the walk-in closet/dressing area was ajar, so she peeked in and spotted the jewelry safe. She snapped a few photos and tried to decide if she should open it. With a little patience and the right technology, any lock could be picked. She tapped her watch to access the listening equipment she had assigned to Marcus’s office. She could hear the two women chatting at the front desk.
“What do you suppose is going on with the doc?” one asked.
“What cha mean?” asked the other.
“You know. Him running in and out, that creepy kid who keeps coming around. And his moods. One minute he’s a snarky old bear, and the next he’s dancing on his tiptoes.”