drive, so Casey got behind the wheel, something she usually avoided. Now, Sissy was at the hospital’s registration desk, answering what questions she could about Andrea’s insurance and family.
Two police officers stood on the other side of the room. One of them had already taken Casey’s statement, and now they were waiting for a detective, who was checking out the crime scene back at the Flamingo. Casey was to stay put until she talked with her. Casey hoped the cops were there just to keep tabs on the situation, and not because they considered Casey a suspect in Andrea’s attack.
Death sat beside Casey, pouting. “I hate waiting rooms.”
Casey didn’t respond.
“They’re so…boring. I say, get it done, and move on. Why prolong the suffering?”
“Because sometimes people aren’t ready to move on,” Casey said. “Do you really still not get that? They’re willing to live through the suffering to have more time living.”
One of the cops glanced over, and Casey shut up. That would be just super to have the cops thinking she was a mental case.
“I wasn’t talking about their suffering,” Death said. “I was talking about mine, being put on hold like this. I think I’m coming to take someone away, and get stopped at the gates.”
Sissy returned and sat on the other side of Casey. Her bright purple slacks and shirt were obscene in the sterile white and gray atmosphere. She kneaded her hands in her lap. “I just don’t understand. Do you know how someone could get into the locker room like that? How could our security system not catch him?”
Casey really didn’t want to list the ways, which included professional criminals, corrupt security guards, or, most troubling, violent residents.
“Did she say anything to you? Could she tell you who did this to her?” Sissy had already asked numerous times, but Casey’s insistence that Andrea had said nothing didn’t seem to sink in. Sissy acted as scared as ever that someone was lurking in the Flamingo, ready to kill the next person to cross his path.
“Does Krystal know?” Casey asked, changing the subject for what she hoped was the last time.
“I didn’t call her. I wasn’t sure if I should or not. We aren’t exactly…friends.”
“Maybe not, but Krystal and Andrea seem to be good ones. Andrea might want Krystal here when she wakes up.”
“If…” Sissy hiccupped. “If she wakes up.”
Casey wanted to reassure her, to say that of course Andrea would wake up. But she knew from very personal experience that many emergency patients never did. “Why don’t you go ahead and call her?”
“Pointless,” Death muttered. “This whole thing is pointless.”
Sissy pulled out her cell phone and scrolled through her contacts. When she found Krystal’s number, she got up and walked out of the room. She was back in under a minute, sniffling. “She’s on her way. She was shocked. Completely shocked.”
The double doors swung open and a man in scrubs looked around the room. Casey stiffened.
“You know she’s alive,” Death said grumpily. “Otherwise, why would I be in here and not there?”
Sissy popped up and hustled over to the surgeon. Casey followed.
“Family?” the surgeon said. His nametag read Dr. Remon Neem.
“We’ve called them,” Sissy said. “But they live in Oregon. We’re friends, from where she lives. I’m the manager of the condos.”
Dr. Neem took in Casey’s appearance, pausing when he reached the blood on her clothes, which she’d gotten from kneeling beside Andrea. “She was awake when you found her?”
“Yes.”
“She is unconscious now. She is in very bad shape, and I cannot say what will happen. It depends how she progresses in the next twelve hours.”
“What happened to her?” Sissy’s eyes shone with tears.
“She was beaten very badly. There was a lot of internal bleeding, and the injury to the back of her head was quite severe. We will not know until morning if we were able to help her in time.”
Sissy leaned against Casey, and Casey put her arm around the woman’s shoulders, holding her up. “I’ll take you home,” Casey said. “Then I’ll come back, okay? So someone’s here when she wakes up.”
“Krystal’s coming. We can wait until then. And you can’t leave until…until the detective gets here.”
Right. Detective. Police. Everything Casey needed to avoid.
But she wasn’t Casey Maldonado anymore. She was Daisy Gray. Fitness Instructor. Recent transplant from Tallahassee. Daisy had definitely not been in Kansas or Ohio recently, and she had certainly not killed anyone.
The surgeon took Sissy’s hand. “We will let you know if she awakens, or if anything changes, all right?”