English Tea Murder by Leslie Meier

track of Pam and Rachel. A few twists and turns took her to a roomful of antique medical instruments, and she soon found herself both fascinated and appalled by treatments once considered effective, such as purging and bloodletting. Shockingly, some of the crudest apparatuses, like surgical saws and obstetrical forceps, were still in use today.
    Lucy was staring at a jar of leeches preserved in formaldehyde when Ann Smith joined her. “Disgusting, aren’t they?” observed Ann.
    “They sure are,” agreed Lucy, wondering that Ann had managed to separate herself from her husband and daughter.
    The mystery was soon solved. “Have you seen Tom and Caroline? I seem to have lost them.”
    “It’s easy to do here,” said Lucy. “I lost my friends, too. Shall we stick together?”
    Ann was eager to accept her offer. “I’d appreciate it. I get a little panicky when I’m alone.”
    “I guess we all do,” said Lucy, who didn’t really think that at all. It seemed to her that she rarely had a moment to herself, and she liked being alone now and then.
    Ann’s gaze had fallen on a glass case containing a glittering display of saws and scalpels, and she seemed to physically shrink. “Actually, I think I’ve seen enough here.”
    Lucy was agreeable. “Me too. This exhibit is enough to make you appreciate modern medicine.”
    “I suppose.” Ann wasn’t looking at either side as they passed through the gallery but kept her eyes lowered, studying the floor tiles.
    “They say George Washington’s doctors actually killed him by bleeding him too much.” Lucy was just making conversation and didn’t expect the reaction she got.
    Ann whirled around. Her thin body was quivering beneath the worn beige sweater and shapeless brown pants that were too big for her, and red circles had appeared on her cheeks. “Everybody talks about the miracles of modern medicine and says how Americans have the best medical system in the world, but it’s not true,” she declared, sounding like she’d just bitten into a very sour lemon. “Believe me, they can’t save everyone, and they don’t even try if you don’t have the money to pay. And medical insurance—that’s a joke! They take your money, all right, but when you try to file a claim, they find ways to disqualify you.”
    “It’s terrible, I know,” said Lucy, who knew all about the problems with medical insurance. Bill was self-employed, and their premium had recently passed their mortgage to become their largest monthly expense. She grudgingly wrote the check every month, but she had no illusions that even the best health insurance policy could guarantee to cure everyone. “Dr. Cope did his best but he couldn’t save George Temple.”
    “Temple! Is that who you think I’m talking about?”
    Ann was agitated, quivering with emotion, but exactly what emotion? Lucy wasn’t sure what was upsetting her. She kept her voice calm, fearful of agitating her further. “What’s the trouble?” she asked. “Can I help?”
    Ann laughed, a sudden, harsh explosion of sound. “Help! If only.” A sob escaped from between her lips and she pressed them together. “Nobody could help my baby. My baby boy.”
    “I’m so sorry.” Lucy suddenly understood. The Smiths had lost a child. No wonder they clung so tightly to Caroline. She felt a huge surge of sympathy for Ann, knowing that her greatest fear was losing one of her children.
    “He died when he was one.”
    Lucy thought of her grandson Patrick, who would soon have his first birthday. She thought of his soft, fair hair and his chubby wrists and dimpled cheeks, and she knew she couldn’t bear to lose him. “That’s terrible,” she said.
    Ann had grabbed Lucy’s arm, and her grip tightened. “It was my fault.”
    “These things happen.” Lucy was beginning to worry that Ann might go completely to pieces and looked around the empty gallery, hoping to see Tom and Caroline coming in search of her. Where were they? Where was