Cinnamon Roll Murder

Chapter Five

“These are really good, Hannah.” Lynnette popped the last bite of cinnamon roll into her mouth and gave a sigh of satisfaction. “I don’t even feel guilty for breaking my diet.”

“Uh-oh.” Hannah went on red alert. She’d dieted before, more times than she wanted to count, and she certainly didn’t want to tempt anyone to stray from their weight-loss plan. “I’m sorry, Lynnette. I should have asked if you could have a cinnamon roll. I just assumed that everyone wanted one, and ...”

“And I did want one,” Lynnette interrupted her. “It was delicious. If I had one of these every morning, I’d probably ditch my diet for good.”

“Is it a weight-loss diet?” Michelle asked.

“Not really, but how much tofu can you eat? It’s just something my friend Cammy talked me into trying when we started traveling with the band. Maybe it’s time for a change, anyway. I’m sick of eating nothing but tofu and vegetables. You don’t happen to have an extra one of those cinnamon rolls, do you?”

After leaving another roll with Lynnette, Hannah and Michelle went up the corridor, dispensing their delectable wares. When they came to the end, they still had one pan of cinnamon rolls left, and Hannah turned to Michelle. “Why don’t you find the nurses and give them some? A lot of them came in early, and they probably didn’t have time to eat.”

“Good idea.” Michelle looked down at the cart and assessed the contents. “I think I’ve got enough,” she said.

“If you don’t, go back to the kitchen and get the cookie bags. That’s why we brought them in. There should be enough to give cookies to everyone in the waiting room.” Michelle turned to go, but Hannah called after her. “Just don’t bring the box with the Sinco de Cocoa Cookies. They’re for later.”

Hannah watched as Michelle pushed the cart down the hall. After her sister had disappeared around the corner, Hannah stood there in the middle of the corridor, unsure of exactly what to do next. She supposed she could check on Buddy to see if he’d enjoyed his cinnamon roll, or perhaps she could go back to the emergency room to ask Bertie if she needed any help with the patients. She was just considering her options when the decision was made for her.

“Hannah?” One of the nurses came bustling up. “Your mother wants you. She’s in treatment room seven. By the way, those were great cinnamon rolls.”

“Thanks,” Hannah said, walking down the hall toward the adjoining corridor. She had no idea what her mother wanted, but it was bound to involve something that would keep her from her condo and her bed when that was the only place she really wanted to be. She turned the corner at the end of the corridor, started down a second corridor that veered off at a ninety degree angle, and spotted Delores about twenty feet ahead, just emerging from one of the treatment rooms.

“Mother?” Hannah rushed forward to put her arm around her mother as Delores slumped heavily against the wall. Her mother’s complexion was the same color as the all purpose flour that Hannah used at The Cookie Jar, and the makeup on her face stood out in sharp relief.

“Hannah,” Delores said in a trembling voice. She shook her head as if to clear it and took a deep breath. “I need you, Hannah.”

Alarm bells went off in Hannah head. Something was drastically wrong. “What is it, Mother? Are you ill?”

“No.”

“Then what is it? You’re shaking.”

“He’s dead,” Delores said, giving a sigh that seemed to go on forever. “I just looked in at him to see if I could bring him anything. And he’s dead!”

“Are you sure?” Hannah asked, preparing to go in and substantiate her mother’s words.

“I’m very sure.”

Hannah gave her mother a little hug. Delores was still shaking, and she looked as if she were about to pass out. “I’m sorry, Mother,” she said in a comforting voice. “I know how hard this must be for you, but people don’t come to the hospital unless there’s something really wrong with them. Some patients are critically ill, and the doctors can’t save them.”

“I know that. You don’t understand!” Delores stared at her eldest daughter for a moment, and then she shook her head. It appeared to be a massive effort and she took several deep breaths. “You don’t understand!” she repeated.

Hannah held her mother tighter, afraid that she might faint. This was obviously the first time since Delores had started to do volunteer work at the hospital, that she’d come face-to-face with death. “I think I do understand,” she said. “And I know it’s a shock when a patient dies. It’s terribly sad, but it happens, especially when you work at a hospital. Do you want me to call a nurse?”

“No.”

“All right, but you need some help. You’re still shaking and you’re as pale as a ghost. I’d better call Doc Knight.”

“No, call Mike,” Delores insisted. And then she began to slide downward on the wall, as if her legs were no longer capable of supporting her.

Hannah couldn’t hold her up, even though she tried. Delores was close to fainting and she was slumping like a rag doll. All Hannah could do was help her sit down on the linoleum floor with her back against the wall. Hannah crouched next to her and patted her mother’s shoulder. “It’s okay, Mother. You’ve going to be okay. I’m going to call Doc Knight to take a look at you.”

“No! Call Mike!”

“But ... why should I call Mike?”

Delores took a deep breath and visibly struggled to compose herself. A little color came back to her complexion, and she turned to give Hannah a glare. “I told you why. He’s dead!”

Hannah was thoroughly mystified by her mother’s words. Mike was a detective with the sheriff’s department. She didn’t think it was standard hospital procedure to call the sheriff’s department every time one of the patients died.

“Do it! Call Mike!” Delores insisted again.

It was fairly clear that her mother’s mind had slipped a cog or two from the shock of discovering the dead patient. Perhaps, if Hannah could encourage Delores to talk about her traumatic experience, the shock would fade and her mother would calm down and think clearly again.

“All right, Mother,” Hannah said in her most reassuring tone. “I’ll call Mike, but first I need some information from you. Do you know the patient’s name?”

“Of course I do. I looked at his chart the moment I came in. We’re supposed to do that. It’s more personal if we call the patients by name. And then I looked at him, and ...” Delores stopped speaking and shuddered. “His name was Buddy Neiman.”

“Buddy Neiman?! Are you sure?” Hannah was so shocked, it took a moment for it to sink.

“That’s what it said on his chart.”

“But I brought Buddy a cinnamon roll just a couple of minutes ago! The technician was wheeling him out of X-ray, and he said it was just a bad sprain. He was going to take Buddy to a treatment room to wait for someone to put a splint on his wrist. They wanted him to keep it immobile for a day or two. Once the splint was on, he could leave the hospital.” Hannah began to frown. “Are you absolutely sure the patient was Buddy Neiman?”

“I’m sure. I remember thinking it was strange that he didn’t use his full name. Usually Buddy is a nickname. He’s dead, Hannah. I told you that.”

“But the only thing wrong with him was a sprained wrist. Nobody dies from a sprained wrist!”

“That’s true,” Delores said, “but he didn’t die from a sprained wrist. He died from the pair of surgical scissiors somebody buried in his chest. Call Mike!”