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elevator pinged and Gloria appeared, leading two men in white shirts and black business suits. Art stiffened at the thought of what they’d be wheeling behind them. Earl had dubbed it running the final gauntlet: being wheeled out of the elevator, past the tall windows lining the far wall of the common room, and out the side exit. All in full view of your friends.
    Gloria tugged at the lapels of her suit jacket as she strode to the middle of the room. Her lips formed a fake smile while her eyes scanned the faces as if looking for trouble. Then came that damn nursery-room whine. “I’m afraid, my dears, I am having some bad news.”
    Art scooted to the bridge table. It was better to be sitting close to your friends when Gloria made one of her pronouncements.
    Phyllis put down her cards. “Are you going to tell us who that was on their way to Craig & Lafferty?”
    â€œYou know I’m not allowed to say, Miss Wedderspoon. It’s our policy that —”
    Phyllis rolled her eyes and muttered, “Of course,
res arcana.
” She turned to Art. “As always, the matter is confidential. We’ll have to read about it ourselves in the obits.”
    Gloria crossed the room and stood beside Gertie. She never got any flack from Gertie, who’d been knitting the same purple scarf for the three years Art had been at Camelot.
    Phyllis leaned into the bridge table and cupped her hand to her mouth. “Did you see that pair of legs dangling off the stretcher? It must be poor Judge Nesbitt in that bag. He was one long drink of water, and I know he had the runs. And a headache.”
    Betty shivered. When she clasped her hands together they looked like a pair of sparrows trembling on the table. In a deliberate motion, as if directing Phyllis to do the same, she set her jaw, turned intently toward Gloria, and awaited the announcement.
    â€œAs I was trying to tell to you,” Gloria continued, “I need you to return to your suites. The health department informs me that we are now in a contact-isolation situation.”
    â€œNot again,” said a tiny woman dwarfed by the cabbage roses of the loveseat.
    â€œIs it influenza or gastroenteritis?” Art asked. Zol made sure he knew the difference between one type of flu and another.
    Gloria hesitated as if wondering how much information was appropriate to divulge. “Gastroenteritis.”
    â€œI hope it’s just in the Mountain Wing,” said someone.
    â€œHow many cases so far?” Phyllis asked.
    Gloria glared at her.
    â€œI know,” Phyllis replied. “You’re
not at liberty to say.
”
    â€œWe have a right to know. How many people are sick?” Earl called above the hubbub.
    â€œMy dears, my dears.” Gloria’s nursery voice was gone, and with it all pretence of a smile. “Please. Calm yourselves. The situation, we have it under control.”
    â€œWe’d better do as she asks,” said Betty.
    Earl put up his hand. “What about our supper?”
    The same thought had occurred to Art.
    â€œThe staff, they are gonna serve dinner at four-thirty, as usual. Till then, please go to your rooms. No visitors in your suites. No outside guests, and —” Gloria pierced Art with her gaze, then turned it on Betty “— no fellow residents.” She pointed at the dining-room entrance. “We’re gonna have a hand-wash station over there. And don’t forget to pump.”
    Art heard a noise at the rear door and turned to see the two men from Craig & Lafferty pushing an empty gurney toward the elevator. The taller of the two strode ahead, his eyes furtively sweeping the sitting room. He was trying to hide it, but there was no mistaking the black object folded under his arm. Body bag number two.

CHAPTER 5
    Tuesday morning, Zol turned off Aberdeen Street into Eaglescliffe Avenue. And into Narnia. It might as well have been a fantasy world for all the resemblance the