Lie of the Needle (A Deadly Notions Mystery) Read Free Page A

He’d made a fortune for the company, and for himself, and had retired in his early fifties.
    I’d always thought of him as a highly intelligent, fascinating man. Brilliant, in fact.
    And now he barely knew his own name.
    Ruth hung our coats in the foyer closet and then took a deep breath. “Daisy, you haven’t seen Stanley in a while. I don’t want you to be upset, but he . . . Well, he’s gotten much worse lately. He probably won’t recognize you.”
    “That’s okay.” I smiled up at her in reassurance. I’d never seen the tall, elegant Ruth not perfectly coiffed, and tonight was no exception. She wore a long ecru flowing sweater over a silk top and dress pants, together with a necklace of intertwined gold rings. Her bobbed hair was dyed a rich chocolate brown, and her dark eyes were enhanced with eyeliner of the same shade.
    She’d always looked years younger than her husband, even before he got sick, but in the light cast by the chandelier there were fine lines of exhaustion drawn around her eyes and mouth that even the most expensive night creams couldn’t erase.
    I followed her upstairs. We passed a guest bedroom on our way, and I caught a glimpse of some of Ruth’s things. When we walked into the master bedroom, I could see why. The imposing cherry four-poster bed was gone. It must have been dismantled and stored somewhere else and replaced by a metal hospital bed.
    I’d steeled myself for this, but I had to press my lips together to hide my shock at Stanley’s wasted appearance. He’d always been a slim guy, but now he was incredibly thin, his cheeks sunken and gray hair standing up in wisps on top of his head.
    His hands looked like bird claws resting on the starched white sheets.
    “Stanley, Daisy’s here to see you,” Ruth said.
    He didn’t turn his head.
    It must have been six months since I’d last seen him. At that time he seemed to know who I was, although he couldn’t quite follow the thread of the conversation. He kept asking Ruth about someone named Mickey. Turns out that Mickey was the cocker spaniel he’d had as a kid.
    There were sheets covering the mirrors on the dressing table and also draped over the closet doors. Ruth followed my gaze. “Sometimes we see imposters in the room,” she said softly.
    I bit my lip and nodded.
    An array of medicines stood on the bedside table, and a nurse sat in an armchair next to the bed, knitting a pink-and-orange scarf. She got to her feet with a grunt.
    “He wouldn’t let me change him, Miz Bornstein,” she said, pursing her full lips together.
    “I’ll do it, Jo Ellen. You were right not to push matters. Evenings are always the worst time.”
    Stanley coughed, a painful dry wheeze.
    “His sinus infection is getting real bad again, too.” The nurse shook her head. “Doctor was here earlier to do his blood work and said he’s probably gonna need another course of antibiotics.”
    “I’ll pick up the prescription tomorrow.” Ruth walked over to the table and trailed a graceful hand over the bottles. “Did you give him his meds?”
    “Yes, Miz Bornstein.”
    “And did you sign off on the chart?”
    “Yes, ma’am.”
    The nurse glanced at me. She stopped short of rolling her eyes, but she may as well have. I gathered they’d been through this routine many times before.
    Ruth touched a hand to my shoulder. “Daisy, I’ll be right back. I’m just going to see Jo Ellen out.”
    They walked out of the room, and I sat in the chair next to the bed. Even though I didn’t know much about how to deal with a person afflicted with Alzheimer’s, I knew I should talk to Stanley as normally as I could. If there was a part of him that could still comprehend, I wanted to respect his dignity.
    I tried to ignore the faint odor hanging in the air that reminded me of the early days of teaching, when some of the little kids didn’t always make it to the bathroom in time. I wondered how long he’d been lying here like that. Surely Ruth paid