Page 17

Chapter Seventeen

Mara and I jumped back. She grabbed the fire poker and handed me the shovel from the andirons. All this murder and snooping had us on edge. But we were two women ready to tackle anything.

“Ready,” I mouthed.

She shook her head but brandished the poker.

I opened the door quickly, and a man stumbled into our room.

“Bloody hell, what happened?” Henry said as he rolled over onto the floor.

The shock when he noticed our weapons almost made me laugh.

Almost.

“I’m going to kill you,” Mara said. She pointed the poker at him. “You and Ewan need to learn to announce yourselves. You scared us to death. Don’t go bangin’ on women’s doors. It isn’t right.”

“I was out of breath. Ran here. Ma’am, you’re needed in Caleb’s room. I believe he’s taken a turn, and not in a good way,” Henry said quickly.

Well, that changed our plans.

“Let me—”

“I’ve got your kit,” Mara said as she tossed her weapon back in the andirons. I handed her my shovel.

“Your cane,” Henry said as he thrust it at me. “You need to watch those legs.”

They were sore, and we had many stairs to climb.

“What do you mean by ‘worse’?” I asked as we left my room.

“We’ve had one of the housekeepers keeping watch over him in the room. I’ve been stationed outside. He’s lost consciousness. She was worried because his fever is higher as well.”

That wasn’t good. There might have been more going on than just withdrawal, though none of these symptoms were out of the ordinary.

“Let Ewan know we’ve been detained. He’s waiting on us,” I said as we climbed the never-ending stairs. There had to be an elevator around here somewhere, but I had yet to find it.

When we arrived in the room, I was out of breath.

The smell of vanilla hit hard, and candles lit around the room were, I’m sure, meant to help with the scent of sick. It was much better now than this morning.

They had been right to come and get me.

He was gray. Using my flashlight pen, I checked his eyes. His pupils were dilated, but not as bad as earlier. His temperature was quite high, but that could have been the drugs burning through his body.

This reaction is what kept addicts going back for more. Recovery was no joke for opioids.

It was the rash on his neck and chest that bothered me most. The raised bumps were a systemic reaction.

No way was it caused by what I gave him in the IV earlier in the day. None of those drugs would have caused a rash like this.

“Caleb, can you hear me? It’s Doctor Emilia.”

I didn’t expect him to answer, but it was worth a try.

“Henry, I need you to find Caleb’s mother. Now.”

He left.

“Has anyone else been in the room?” I asked the housekeeper.

She was younger, and I hadn’t seen her around.

“I’ve only been watching him a couple of hours,” she said. Squeezing her hands together she shifted from foot to foot.

Guilty of something.

“Did he ask you for anything?”

“No, miss. Some water when I first came in. That’s it. I tried to get him to eat the broth that was sent from the kitchen, but he wasn’t having it. I only got a few drops in him.”

“Broth? Mara?”

“On it.”

“Who brought the broth up?” Mara asked.

I turned back to Caleb.

“There were some women who came by. A group of them. Said they were family. One of them carried the broth, said she’d come from the kitchen.”

The girl was uselessly vague with information, and I didn’t have time to play twenty questions with her.

“How long ago did you notice he was sick?” I asked. “And someone turn on all the lights. I need more light.”

His pulse was low, as was his blood pressure.

Again, his body had to work hard to push out the drugs, but there was no denying his heart was failing when I listened to it. That was one of the biggest dangers, but none of that explained the systemic rash.

“Did anyone else visit him?” Mara asked the young woman. Henry had given her the walkie-talkie. “Ewan, we need Abigail,” Mara said. “Em’s face is scary.”

“Got it,” Ewan said.

“The women with the broth. His brother came by but only checked in on him, as the patient was sleeping. He didn’t go near him, just asked me questions.

“And his mum was here. There was another woman as well. Oh, my. I can’t remember who she was. Someone who was a friend. Petite and brunette,” she said.

That only described half of the woman at the castle.

“Oh, and there was a tall blond woman here when I came in for my shift.”

Was that Marianne? Why would Robbie’s cousin visit Caleb?”

That one didn’t make sense.

“You made a point of saying his brother didn’t go near him,” Mara said. “Did anyone get near him?”

“I’m not sure what you mean?”

Caleb’s breathing grew shallow.

“The broth. How long ago was he given the broth?”

“An hour or so.”

“Where are the dishes?”

“That woman I told you about, she took them down to the kitchen for me. She was worried about him.”

“That’s the one with the dark hair?” I asked. “The same one who brought the broth in?”

“Aye. He was a bit out of his mind, ya know. Kept talking gibberish. Uh, she’s actually the one who got him to eat a bit. She said I could say it was me, so I didn’t get in trouble.”

“Arrgh,” I grunted. It wasn’t like me to get frustrated.

“Deep breath,” Mara said. “They are housekeepers, not nurses.”

I closed my eyes. She was right.

“Can you get me a bucket of water and some more towels,” I said to the housekeeper. “As well as some ice or snow. A bucket of it, if you please. Go see if you can find that bowl that was used. Do not touch it.”

“I don’t understand, Doctor.”

“The doctor thinks the patient might have been poisoned by the broth. Do what she asks, and hurry.”

I opened Caleb’s jaw and sniffed. That sweet smell of antifreeze was evident.

“What do you think happened?” Mara asked when the woman left the room.

“I need Abigail,” I said. “We’re going to have to flush his system quickly, but I’ll need labs before we do that.”

“Tell me what I can do until she gets here.”

I set up new IV bags. I had to back off the meds I’d given him for withdrawal for the others to clean out his system. Seconds mattered. If his heart failed, there would be no bringing him back.

Someone had poisoned him.

Finding a vein wasn’t easy. He was still dehydrated by his drug use.

“Bring the kit over here,” I barked. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Mara said.

“I need five vials. Those right there.” I pointed to the top of the kit. “Hand me a new one each time I ask.”

By the time I’d filled four vials, the vein had collapsed.

With the scent in his mouth, the broth was most likely the way in, but I checked his body for any place he might have been pricked with a needle.

I didn’t find anything except that the rash had spread down his back. I put cortisone cream on all the redness. But it was his insides I was worried about. No telling what kind of organ damage could have been done.

He didn’t have the blue tinge to his eyes like Robbie, but I couldn’t be certain it was antifreeze until we tested it. After checking everyone who had asked, we had very few of the diabetes strips left.

The door burst open, and Caleb’s mother rushed into the room.

“What happened to my boy?”

“I can’t be sure until we run some tests. He wasn’t quite with it when we were doing a medical history this morning. Does he have any known allergies?”

“No,” she said. She stood at the end of the bed. “Is he going to die? What can I do.”

I blew out a breath. “Are you sure about the allergies? He’s developed a rash, and it wasn’t caused by the drugs I gave him this morning. It could be food or medical allergies that cause a rash like this.”

Abigail came in, and in true Abigail fashion, she gathered up the test tubes I had lying on the bed.

“He is unresponsive and has developed a systemic reaction. I need quick tests.”

She nodded. “Poison. Is it the same?”

“Smells like it, but I have to make certain. His heart is failing—we must get this right.”

His mother gasped.

“Mara?” I was a bit gentler this time.

“Mrs. Carthage let’s get out of the doctor’s way. If anyone can save him, it’s Em, I promise. She’s the best. Did you know she was head of an ER in Seattle? She’s like one of those women on that Grey’s Anatomy show.”

I was nothing like those women. I did my best to save my patients rather than having sex in broom closets.

Focus.

“I can’t give him anything to counteract what’s happened until we know exactly what we’re dealing with this time.”

“This time?”

“Yes, he has a mix of drugs in his body.” I should have checked the kit after he was in my room. “He may have also taken more drugs than he told us about.”

“Tox screens, as many as you can run with what we have. I know that’s not much.”

“Wait,” Abigail said. “Smell this.”

She handed me one of the towels we’d used to help cool his body.

“That sickly sweet. It’s coming from his pores.”

“The housekeeper said he only ate a small amount of the broth, which is what I think was used to transfer the poison. But we were already flushing his system.”

“Poison.” His mother cried out. “Oh, my boy. No. You must save him.”

I ignored her.

“Ethylene glycol first.”

“Yes,” Abigail said. She dropped everything in her arms on the bed and searched through my kit.

By the time we went through every test we could, we’d narrowed it down. His not wanting to eat had probably saved his life.

It took several hours, but his fever went down. His body couldn’t handle much more, and while we could run some tests, he desperately needed a hospital. There was no telling how the poison, in conjunction with his withdrawal, had damaged his body.

I sent Abigail back to rest, but I had a feeling it wouldn’t be for long.

Caleb’s mother paced back and forth in front of the fireplace.

“Who would try to kill him? Do you think it’s my husband? I—I can’t believe he would stoop to something like this.”

“Why don’t you tell me what you can about Robbie? I understand he was friends with Caleb and Damien.”

“For many years,” she said. “He was a sweet child. His father was our barrister for a long time, but he had a heart attack and died when Robbie was quite young. His life was never quite the same after that. His mother—she did not handle her husband’s death well. She remarried quickly. Robbie was often left to his own devices, even at a very young age.”

“How old was he then?”

“Ten or so. He’s a year younger than Damien and a year older than Caleb. My husband paid for Robbie’s schooling. Well, not university. He didn’t want to go. By then he had a band.”

“You paid for his schooling?

“Mind you, my husband felt responsible for the boy, as he’d been arguing with Robert, Robbie’s father, when he died.”

I frowned.

“I know what you must be thinking, but they were on the phone. He collapsed at his home. Though, when he was older, I believe Robbie blamed my husband.”

Was that why he was here? For revenge against the family and his ex-girlfriend? It would make sense. But he had to have had help.

Someone had poisoned Caleb.

“Do you know if Robbie ever worked for a pharmacist, or a chemist, as you call them here?”

“Not likely,” she said. “His trouble with drugs began early in life. Damien tried to help him through the years, was even in the band with him for a short time. His father had a few words about that.

“While I felt sorry for the young man, his problems with drugs and the law—I didn’t want that sort of life for my children. Now, look what my snobbery has wrought. My family is no better. If I’d been there for Robbie, maybe his life could have been different.”

“We can’t control them,” I said. “Your son and Robbie are adults now. They are, and were, responsible for their life choices.”

She appeared extremely distraught as she glanced at her son. “I should have done better. His father—they’ve never been able to get along. Every meal, every time they were in the same room, arguments erupted. That wasn’t easy on my Caleb.” She sniffed. “If he dies, I’ll never forgive myself.”

“Not your fault, Mum.” A hoarse whisper came from the bed.

We rushed over. She took his hand. I busied myself checking his vitals.

His blood pressure was low, but that was to be expected.

“Caleb, luv. I’m so sorry. I should have done more to help you.”

“Did it to myself, Mum. Am I dying?” He glanced over at me.

“I—we’re doing our best.” I learned long ago not to make claims about keeping someone alive. I had no idea how his body might be reacting to the trauma, and I wouldn’t lie to him.

“Confess,” he said. The words were barely a whisper. I almost thought I’d made them up.