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replacement killer instead of Helen.
    Damn, it was too early to relax after all.
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    Luckily, Helen was still alive. When Leslie came to work the next morning, George told her that Helen’s mother had called and informed him that Helen was in a Santa Ana hospital, being treated for poisoning. Leslie had the urge to tell the boss that Helen had drunk her own poison the day before yesterday, but changed her mind: why waste your breath if he would not believe it anyway? Thanking her good fortune, Leslie took the address of the hospital from George and sprinted to the garage. Helen might have had just days to live and she had to act swiftly.
    How was she going to squeeze information out of that bitch? Leslie did not have a specific plan, but there was a Glock 19 sitting in the glove compartment of her car, which could definitely play a role.
    When she arrived at the hospital, she pondered for a minute whether she should bring the gun to Helen’s room. She ruled against it since there could be a metal detector at the entrance and she needed getting arrested with an unregistered gun like a fish needed a bicycle. She turned out right, the hospital did have a metal detector with a burly security guard attached to it in the lobby.
    Her string of good luck continued, Helen spilled her guts without Leslie having to resort to gun threats. She did not reveal the name of the man behind the curtain though; she did the next best thing.
    “I want to tell you something, Leslie,” Helen almost muttered a few minutes into their conversation.
    Leslie put her hand on Helen’s, slightly squeezed it, and asked:
    “What is it?”
    “I did not put poison in your coffee two weeks ago.”
    “Why are telling me this?” Leslie spoke in the same low voice as Helen.
    “That day, it was Kathy who went to the kitchen and got your coffee.”
    Leslie frowned, let go of Helen’s hand.
    “Are you saying that Kathy gave you that coffee?” she asked.
    Helen nodded.
    “She was going to go to the kitchen and I asked if she could also get coffee for you.”
    Oh, so this bitch was too lazy to walk a measly hundred feet to the kitchen and back? Okay.
    “Did you tell her it was for me?”
    “Yes. I asked her if she would be back soon and let her know the coffee was for you.”
    “Really?” Two deep wrinkles appeared on Leslie’s forehead. “That’s very interesting.”
    Very interesting, indeed.
    “I know you still think I put poison in your coffee. And you probably don’t believe a word I say. It’s up to you, Leslie. I am telling you the truth. Whatever was in your coffee that day, you should ask Kathy about it.”
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    Leslie sat in her car in the hospital parking lot for half an hour, mulling over the new information.
    So it was Kathy Edwards, that timid, quiet woman in the accounting department, three doors down the corridor. If Leslie remembered correctly, she had started working there two or three months ago when Claudia had gone on maternity leave. How old was Kathy? Thirty five—forty? She must have been at least five years older than Leslie.
    What in the world could Kathy’s beef be against her? Was it possible that Helen had lied and Kathy had nothing to do with the poison? Sure. But it was also possible that she was telling the truth and Kathy had indeed poisoned the coffee.
     Leslie tried to recall if she had actually used the phrase she had prepared in her mind on the way to Helen’s hospital room: “I’ll shoot your fucking mother’s brains out if you don’t talk.” It was a juicy phrase and could have been the magic catalyst of Helen’s honesty.
    Fortunately, she had learned from mistakes she had made with Helen and this time she would act differently. There would be no pussyfooting around. It would be mind blowing.
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    “Leslie, I’ve seen so much weird, hardcore stuff in my thirty year career, that I have no problem believing your suspicions,” said David Lopez, the private investigator Leslie had found in