Passage

No such luck. “Are you all right?” Vielle asked. She was wearing the worried expression she always had in the ER. “Did something happen? I saw you leaving the hospital in a taxi. I called to you, but you didn’t hear me, I guess. Where were you going?”

Joanna looked anxiously down the hall. They shouldn’t stay out here talking. “I went over to Kit’s,” she said, opening the door and going into her office.

“In a taxi?” Vielle said, right behind her. “Did your car break down? You could have borrowed mine.”

“Mr. Mandrake was after me,” Joanna said and tried to smile lightly. “He had the parking lot staked out.”

Vielle appeared to accept that. “How come you went over to Kit’s?”

“I had to pick up a book,” Joanna said. Which she clearly didn’t have with her.

“I got worried about you when I saw you weren’t wearing a coat,” Vielle said.

“I told you, Mr. Mandrake was after me. I couldn’t even go back to my office to get my bag. It’s getting so he stalks me constantly. We’re going to have to start holding Dish Night underground,” she said, trying to change the subject. “Speaking of which, what night do you want to have it?”

It didn’t work. “Are you sure you’re okay?” Vielle said. “The last couple of weeks you’ve seemed so distracted.”

“I have been,” Joanna said. “My best friend’s still working in the ER, even though a drug-crazed maniac nearly shot her arm off.” She looked pointedly at Vielle’s bandaged arm. “How’d it go today? Any attempted murders?”

“Okay, okay,” Vielle said, raising her hands in a gesture of surrender. “How about tomorrow night? For Dish Night? You tell Richard, and I’ll call Kit.”

And Kit and Vielle will compare notes, will ask me why I left in such a hurry and what Mr. Briarley said. “I can’t,” Joanna said. “I’m swamped with interviews I’ve got to transcribe.” She sat down at her desk and switched on her computer to make the point. “There’s no way I’m going to get home before ten any night this week. How about Saturday?”

“Perfect. That way I can tell Harvey the Ghoul I’m busy. Did you know morticians inject mastic compounds in the corpse’s cheeks to make him look healthier?”

“Saturday then?” Joanna asked, picking up a tape and sticking it in her minirecorder.

“Well, I’ll let you get busy,” Vielle said, looking worried again. “I just wanted to make sure nothing was wrong.” At the door she turned. “I know this dithetamine is supposed to be harmless, but everything has side effects, even aspirin. Have you told Richard about — whatever it is that’s been worrying you?”

I can’t tell Richard, Joanna thought. I can’t tell anybody, not even you. Especially not you. You deal with people dying every day. How could you bear it if you knew what happened to them afterward? She looked brightly up at Vielle. “There’s nothing worrying me,” she said, “except how I’m going to get all these tapes transcribed.”

“I’d better let you get started on them then,” Vielle said, and smiled at her. “I just worry, you know.”

“I know,” Joanna said, and as she went out the door, “Vielle—”

But Vielle had already turned and was pulling the door sharply to behind her. “Mr. Mandrake just got off the elevator,” she whispered. “Lock the door and shut off your lights,” and ducked out, shutting the door behind her.

Joanna dived for the light switch and then the lock. “She’s not here,” she could hear Vielle say. “I was just leaving her a note.”

“Do you know when she’ll be back?” Mr. Mandrake’s voice said.

“I sure don’t.”

“I have something very important to tell her, and she does not answer her pages,” Mr. Mandrake said disapprovingly. “Did you say you left her a note? I think I’d better leave her one, too.”

There were shuffling sounds, as if Vielle were trying to block his getting to the door, and then the knob rattled.

“I must’ve accidentally locked it when I shut it,” Vielle said. “Sorry,” and then, from farther down the hall, “I’ll tell her you want to see her,” and the faint ding of the elevator.

Joanna stood by the door, listening for the sound of Mr. Mandrake’s breathing, afraid to turn on the light for fear he was still waiting out there, ready to pounce, and then, after a while felt her way over to her desk and sat down, trying to think what to do.

I’ll have to quit the project, she thought, make up some excuse, tell Richard I’m too busy, the project’s interfering with my own work. Quit and go back to — what? Interviewing people who had coded, knowing what she knew? Talking to Maisie, who was going to die before she got a new heart? To Kit, whose fiancй had gone down on the Titanic, whose uncle was trapped on it, sending up rockets no one could see? I can’t, she thought. She would have to leave the hospital altogether, go someplace else, get away. Like Ismay, she thought, sneaking off in a lifeboat. Leaving the women and children to drown. “He was such a big coward,” Maisie had said contemptuously, and Maisie certainly knew something about courage. She had been looking death squarely in the face for a long time and had never tried to run away.