Drained (Edgars Family #6) - Suzanne Ferrell Page 0,17
kind to give us a tin of cookies before they went up to the fifth floor.”
Glancing at the other staff seated or milling in the nurse’s station, Brianna fought the urge to laugh. Almost everyone seemed to be eating one of Nana’s home-baked goods. “Apparently, Kirk F’s Nana was right.”
“I wonder if that’s how your friend got moved to her room so quickly,” Aaron said with a conspiratorial wink then turned to get the room number from the nurse.
When they arrived at Paula’s new room, she was sitting up about forty-five degrees, plastic oxygen tubes with the little nose prongs in her nares and the IV machine keeping her hydrated. Eyes closed, she appeared to be dozing despite all the beeps of the monitors and the television playing reruns of a game show.
“She was awake until they moved her up here and did all their business getting her settled,” Nana said from the big visitors chair beside the bed, her fingers moving quickly as she weaved her knitting needles back and forth with a string of yarn from a multi-shades-of-blue ball, even while looking up over the rims of her glasses at Brianna and Aaron. “Then she passed out. I think all the nurse’s fussin’ and the move just wore her plum out.”
“Good. I hate that she’s run herself ragged. .” Brianna set the travel cup near the other woman then moved over to pull the sheet and thermal blanket up around Paula a little more. She glanced at the monitors, not really knowing if the numbers were good or bad, but seeing the waving patterns and the spikey patterns moving in regular rhythm reassured her. When she’d been in the hospital three years ago, she’d once asked if all the numbers constantly changing was a bad thing. The nurse had smiled and said, “No, we expect to see them move around. In medicine, a straight line is never a good thing.”
“Any luck finding whoever you’re looking for? And where did you leave my grandson?” The clicking of Nana’s needles stopped, and she directed her attention to Aaron as she reached for the hot chocolate.
He set Stanley on the edge of Paula’s bed where the pup curled in beside her and shoved his hands in his coat pockets. “Left him downstairs getting copies of Art’s sketch and information from the nurses.”
Nana harrumphed, shaking her head and going back to her knitting. “That boy will probably forget the pictures and come back with only phone numbers for those nurses.”
“We were hoping to get some more information from Paula before heading out again,” Aaron said, glancing at the bed then at Brianna. “Hate to wake her though.”
“I’m awake,” Paula mumbled from the bed, her eyes drifting open as she smoothed her hand over Stanley’s fur. “You didn’t find Art?”
“No,” Brianna said, taking her other hand. “But that’s a good thing. We started at the morgue and no one matching Art’s description has been brought to either one.”
Coughing hit Paula as her eyes filled with tears. Brianna handed her a tissue to spit in and then moved the trash can beside the bed within easy pitching range.
“Want a drink of water?” she asked, lifting the big plastic mug with a reusable straw that all hospitals give their patients. She still used hers at home on exercise days to be sure she hydrated well afterwards.
Paula nodded and sipped on the straw, her hand shaking. After a moment, she moved her head and Brianna set the mug on the table. Paula gave her a whisper of a smile. “I’m glad…you didn’t find Art there. Have you…looked at the shelters?”
Brianna shook her head. “That’s why we came back here, Aaron and I are going to take Stanley to Art’s usual places, but we need to know which ones. Can you tell us?”
“I’ve been to the…City Mission… since they have some emergency…beds for those men in need. I do my volunteer work…at a church near there…that’s where I met Art and Stanley. But he hasn’t been there.” The wheezing had decreased, probably due to the medicine and oxygen, but Brianna could see the worry still in her friend’s eyes and the dark circles beneath them. “He wasn’t at…any of the other one-night shelters nearby, either.”
“Did you stay in this general area?” Aaron asked. He’d pulled his phone out of his pocket and seemed to be making notes.
Paula nodded from the bed. “Art usually stays…east of the Innerbelt and west…of Seventy-ninth.”