204, he was relatively safe—especially with the formidable Special Agent Keefe still poking around, annoying the E.R. staff and paramedics with questions. But outside the hospital—well, anything could happen in the real world.
She watched the elevator door slide open. Melanie Luft, the floor-duty nurse who’d cared for Andrew, pushed his wheelchair alongside the Information kiosk in the lobby.
Melanie looked elfin in a Santa hat as she walked back to the elevator—a reminder that Christmas was only nine days away. But despite the approaching holiday, Sharon found the hat more frivolous than festive. The thought of a poisoner stalking Andrew had overwhelmed the joy of the season. It no longer felt like Christmas to Sharon.
Her former husband had announced his intention to leave a few days before Christmas two years ago. She’d urged herself not to allow the divorce to destroy her love of Christmas—and she’d succeeded. But how could she enjoy the Season of Lights this year when Andrew might be in lethal peril?
Andrew waved at her, a cheerful smile on his face. She jogged to the wheelchair and reprimanded him, “Let’s get one thing straight. You’re not going to overexert yourself today.”
“Wow! Did I do something wrong?”
Sharon winced at her overreaction to his understandable pleasure at leaving the hospital. She’d scolded Andrew, she knew, because she was worried about him—and also harbored guilt for orchestrating his premature release.
“Your cardiologist wanted you to spend another day in bed until we’re entirely sure your heart rhythm is back to normal,” she said briskly. “I talked her into letting you go this morning—with the understanding that you’d have a no-stress day and wear a real-time cardiac monitor.”
Andrew patted the book-sized plastic box clipped to his belt. “Melanie described it as a portable patient monitor.”
“It’s more than that. There’s a cell phone module inside that transmits your cardiac data back to the hospital every hour. It will report abnormal rhythms as soon as they occur.”
He peered up at her. “I just noticed…you’re not wearing scrubs.”
The admiration she could hear in his voice pleased her. She’d chosen her simple outfit—a cashmere sweater and designer jeans—because it flattered her figure. This wasn’t a date, but why not look her best?
“I’m your chauffeuse today,” she said. “You’re not allowed to drive until you rack up twenty-four more hours of normal heartbeats, so I arranged for another nurse to replace me in the E.R.” She stepped behind Andrew, took hold of the wheelchair’s handles, and pushed the chair toward the hallway that led to the parking garage.
“Thanks for springing me from Glory Regional. Another night upstairs would have driven me bonkers.” He added, “I’m raring to get to work.”
“Don’t ‘rare’ too hard. You’ll trigger your cardiac surveillance system.”
“I feel fine.” He glanced at her over his shoulder. “Admit it—I even look healthy.”
She replied by pushing the wheelchair faster. It was true that Andrew seemed as hale and hardy as when she first saw him. But she knew that Sharon Pickard, Committee Chair, not Sharon Pickard, Registered Nurse, had championed Andrew’s early “parole” from medical care—for purely practical reasons.
Andrew was scheduled to speak at a special Tuesday night elders’ meeting at Glory Community Church, where he would present for their approval his recommended strategy for restoring the broken stained-glass window. Alas, it was too close to Christmas to reschedule the meeting. If Andrew didn’t speak tonight, the committee work she found so tedious would drag on another month.
Well, whatever her motives for persuading his cardiologist, Andrew would remain “fine” and “healthy” today. She’d be at his side throughout the day—his own private duty nurse.
I won’t let him overdo. And I’ll make sure he’s not poisoned again.
She paused in front of the sensor to allow the electric doors to open, then pushed the wheelchair into the parking garage.
“I can walk from here,” Andrew said.
“Stay put! My car is at the other end. I intend to bring the wheelchair with us today. In case we need it.”
“I feel silly being wheeled around.”
“Get used to it. It’s all part of the deal I made.”
“Whew! You can be tough,” he said with a chuckle.
“Not tough enough,” she murmured. I didn’t say no to Pastor Hartman.
Daniel Hartman had approached her just before Thanksgiving. “Sharon, we need someone like you to chair our Window Restoration Committee.”
“I’m not a committee person,” she’d said truthfully. “I’m impatient and not at all diplomatic.”
Daniel countered her objections. “It’ll be an easy job for someone with your organizational skills and experience. It’s a small committee—only three members plus yourself. You’ll meet occasionally to decide the best way to repair our damaged stained-glass window. Once the committee recommends a course of action to the elders, Ann Trask Miller—our church administrator—will oversee the actual construction work when the restoration strategy is approved by the elders.”
He’d made it seem like such a simple assignment. But the “occasional meetings” had quickly become three meetings a week as the WinReC discovered that the job of restoring a stained-glass window was a festival of unforeseen complexities. After two weeks of wheel-spinning, the members reluctantly decided to import a stained-glass expert to help them plan a restoration strategy.
“End of the line. Here’s my car.” She stopped in front of a compact sedan. “You buckle up in the passenger seat while I collapse the wheelchair and stow it in the trunk.”
“Where are you taking me?”
“To your office.”
“I have an office?”
“We didn’t get the chance to tell you on Sunday, but Gordie Pollack set up an office for you to use while you’re in Glory.”
“Did I meet Gordie at the tea party?”
“Briefly. He’s the Director of the Scottish Heritage Society, Glory’s Number-One expert on our Scottish traditions and history. He’s also a member of the church’s Window Restoration Committee. He’s become the project’s “historic conscience”—the person who champions the window’s cultural significance.”
Sharon climbed into the driver’s seat and started the engine.
“Glory is a small town,” Andrew said, “and it’s a fine morning for a brisk stroll. Do we really have to drive to my office?”
“True. I agree. And, yes—it’s not negotiable.” She put the car in gear. “No brisk strolls until your cardiologist feels confident you won’t suffer another bout of bradycardia.”
“I’ll say it again. You’re tough.”
She drove in silence for more than a minute. “That impressive stone and granite edifice ahead on the left, on the corner of Front and Main, is the Glory National Bank Building—the tallest structure in Glory.”
“Our destination?”
“Yep. Your office is on the second floor.”
Sharon found a parking space in front of the building.
“What happens now?” Andrew said.
“We’ll risk you walking from here on.”
Sharon followed Andrew into the building then through the high-ceilinged lobby, her heels tapping on the marble floor.
“Let’s