Page 43 of Almost Dead (The Cahills 2)

“But he seems happy,” Elyse had argued, and Marla had pinned her with those furious green eyes.

“Because he doesn’t know any better.”

“Then what does it hurt?”

“Are you going to do this, or do I have to?” Marla had snapped. “I will, you know. Without a second thought. He won’t feel much pain…. Just give him the shellfish: disguise it in a brownie.”

“Shellfish?”

“He’s violently allergic. He’ll go into anaphylactic shock, but the Valium should knock him out. Just cover the whole thing in lots of chocolate frosting. He’ll eat it, trust me.”

Elyse had been skeptical as she’d baked the batch, then tasted one. The shellfish taste was masked well enough. The brownies tasted “off,” but not necessarily bad, and when slathered in goopy chocolate frosting were pretty decent.

“Here ya go, Rory,” Elyse said, looking over her shoulder, hoping none of the aides accidentally wandered in. Rory had a remote-alert device, a call button he wore around his neck that, if pressed, would notify the staff that he needed help. She couldn’t take a chance that he would use it. “Here, let’s put that on the dresser. You wouldn’t want to mess it up with all that chocolate.”

He looked up at her with trusting eyes and bit into the brownie. Would it work? There should be enough crab oil and ground shrimp to start a seizure and cause his throat to swell. If he ingested it. But that didn’t seem to be a problem. He ate one brownie and was reaching for another when it hit. He started convulsing, and Elyse hurriedly took his call button and put it in the bathroom. Then she carefully wrapped up the rest of the brownies and returned them to her purse. Fear and adrenaline zinged through her bloodstream. Her mind spun crazily as she realized how close she was to being found out, to being caught in the act of murder, to losing everything she’d worked so hard to achieve.

Rory, gulping and gasping, eyes rolling upward, exposing only whites, slid to the floor, his seizure wild. Elyse pushed his wheelchair and rolling table away from him so that his flailing arms and legs wouldn’t strike the metal, banging and creating a racket louder than the strangled noises coming from his mouth. Again she adjusted the volume of the television upward. She stepped into the hall, closing the door behind her. Strolling slowly, she had to fight the urge to run like crazy. Instead she smiled casually at passing residents as she

headed toward the double doors at reception. The corridor was so damn long! It seemed to have lengthened to the size of a football field while she was in Rory’s little studio.

She passed by other rooms where elderly wheelchair-bound residents sat like automatons in front of televisions. A nurse spied her and smiled, and Elyse, behind her thick glasses and tinted contact lenses, smiled back and nodded. The fat suit was uncomfortable, the makeup making her sweat even more than her own sense of panic. It was all she could do to keep from looking over her shoulder. Crossing her fingers, she hoped the stupid floor nurse wasn’t going to Rory’s room.

At the main desk, an aide was arguing with a woman in a wheelchair who was refusing to return to her room.

Elyse slipped by. The aide glanced up briefly, catching her eye before Elyse could toddle through the double doors to the vestibule. She punched in the code to open the exterior doors.

Nothing happened.

What?

She tried again, her heart racing, and this time, thankfully, a green light and buzzer told her she had fifteen seconds to shove open the door.

Now to make good her escape.

Pulse pounding in her eardrums, she headed for her car. Slowly. Painstakingly. As if fear weren’t propelling her to run.

Just outside the door Elyse clicked the remote to unlock the car, but she heard the sounds of panic forming inside the building.

Running feet. Shouts.

They’d discovered Rory.

Too soon!

This was way too soon!

Fingers shaking, she ran to the car, pulling her purse to her chest. In her haste, she dropped the key ring, and it fell between the front seats.

Oh God.

It was too tight to get her hand through the crack.

Damn!

The keys were there—she just couldn’t reach them.

She was trapped!

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