Moonshadows by Mary Ann Artrip Page B

like this. Stupid riddles. Speeding cars. She stood holding the receiver until a pounding on the door pulled her back to reality.
    “Janet.” Chelsea called from outside. “It’s me, open the door.” She pounded again. “Janet!”
    Janet whirled. “Chelsea,” she cried and tugged at the chain on the door.
    “What happened? An accident, you said.”
    Reaching for the comfort of Chelsea’s hand, Janet pulled her inside and slammed the door. The events of the evening caught up with her, and she could no longer control her trembling. Chelsea put her arms around Janet and led her to the sofa.
    “Take time to calm down,” she said. “Then we’ll talk.”
     
    Thirty minutes later, Janet and Chelsea entered the emergency room of the Middlebrook Hospital. The corridor was empty and no one at the admitting desk. A tall, straight-figured woman in white rounded the corner and met them in the hallway.
    “Excuse me,” Chelsea said to the nurse. “Could you help us? We’re trying to find out about Miss Jamison—Hilda Jamison. She was brought in earlier tonight.”
    The nurse studied the clipboard in her hand. “Miss Jamison—the accident victim.” She frowned. “I’m sorry, I can’t give out any information. That would have to come from the doctor.”
    “Oh please.” Janet touched her arm. “Can’t you tell us anything at all? It’s very important.”
    “Are you family?”
    Chelsea shook her head. “But we are her friends.”
    “I was with her when the accident happened,” Janet insisted. “I have a right to know.”
    “The nurse’s face softened. “I really can’t tell you anything—hospital rules, you know. But it’s been very quiet tonight, and I do remember when they brought her in.” She consulted her chart again. “At six-fifty. The doctor saw her right away and they took her up to surgery. I’ve heard nothing since.”
    “Could you find out?” Chelsea asked. “Can you call somebody?”
    “Wait here,” the nurse said.
    She crossed the hall and entered the glass cubicle behind the desk. Janet and Chelsea watched as she picked up the phone and pushed in some numbers. Chelsea reached for Janet’s hand as they stood silently watching the nurse speak into the phone, getting news of life—or death. Replacing the phone, she looked at them through the heavy glass. She looked sad. Janet felt Chelsea’s hand tighten on her own. The woman in white opened the door.
    “I’m sorry. Miss Jamison expired at seven-twenty.”
    “Thank you,” Chelsea said and led Janet away.
    Back in Janet’s apartment, Chelsea prepared hot chamomile tea and carried it to the living room. Still wearing her coat, Janet sat on the sofa and tried to stop the quaking that had taken over her body. Chelsea handed her a steaming cup.
    “Drink this; you’ll feel better.”
    Janet nodded. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.
    “You don’t have to,” Chelsea said.
    “I can’t believe this. We were working together just a couple of hours ago and now she’s dead.”
    Chelsea unbuttoned Janet’s coat and slipped it from her shoulders. “Try not to think about it for awhile. Drink your tea before it gets cold.” She stood up. “I’m going to call Miss Austin. She needs to know what’s happened.”
    Janet held the cup and felt the warmth against her hands. Through strained eyes and a throbbing head, she watched Chelsea reach for the phone on the end table and listened as she spoke almost immediately.
    “Miss Austin, it’s me, Chelsea. I’m at Janet’s. There’s been a terrible accident.” She listened for a moment. “No ma’am, Janet’s fine, it’s Hilda. She was struck by a car as she and Janet left the library. Miss Austin, Hilda’s dead.”
    Janet watched as Chelsea listened to the voice on the other end of the line.
    “No ma’am, they don’t know who did it,” Chelsea said. “Janet didn’t recognize the car or see the driver. She’s already talked to the police, although there was