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surely be prized, but decided against it when she’d heard that her cousin Ruthanne was in data processing school. Any discipline that would take Ruthanne would never have her.
    It was nice, too, having only seven other nurses on staff. She knew them, could read their writing, and clearly understood the hierarchy of command. It was a nice hospital, and she liked Dr. Adams primarily because he never called her “nurse.” She had always hated being called by a generic name.
    There were not many challenges for her organized mind, and when she came on duty at three she sat down with the patient charts to review the details of their care. Emma was busy setting up the labor room—the mother-to-be was on the way in, and Susan liked to start with all the facts current.
    Immediately she noted the temperatures, charted and graphed on the vital signs sheet in Emma’s tidy hand. All of the temperatures, for all of the patients, were up by four tenths of a degree. Not a significant rise in itself, and not even unusual that everyone’s was up—the body temperature being given to afternoon and evening elevations in perfectly healthy people. But four tenths of a degree? All of them?
    Intrigued, she turned to the nursing notes to read what Emma had to say about each patient’s progress during the day. Franklin was being discharged despite his little temp, his blood pressure still hovering around 160 over 90. He had no complaints, except for the overcooked broccoli served at lunch.
    Samuels was restive, agitated and behaving strangely, as usual. Other than the temperature, her vital signs were stable. She had complained of nausea after lunch. Probably the broccoli.
    The new patient, Tyler, was receiving nourishment via a nasogastric tube, and was still on D5W. He was in soft restraints and was non-communicative.
    The Thomas brat, who was being watched for possible concussion after having jumped from the roof of his parent’s home in an attempt to fly, was oriented as to time and place, but was now to be kept a second night because of the fever.
    And, curiously. The last three patients—Nelson, Hunter and Brown—all were complaining of severe headache, nausea and vertigo. She checked their medication indexes, to make sure none were taking any drug which might account for the symptoms.
    Then she scolded herself; all three were admitted with exacerbation of flu syndrome. As simple as that.
    She stood, straightening her uniform. It was a good thing she had the week-end off. Finding a pattern was one thing—it existed. Forcing a conclusion as to the cause of the pattern was another.
    She went to help Emma prepare the labor room.
    At four o’clock she took vitals, writing the figures, as was her practice, on the back of a progress sheet for later transfer to the charts. The aide was covering the floor while she concentrated on Tina Cruz, the eighteen year old child struggling to give birth to another child.
    It was the beginning of a long evening.
     
     
     
     
     
     

THIRTEEN
     
    Jonathan Scott arrived at the town hall at five p.m. and went straight to his office. Earl was out, presumably on patrol, and the door between the communications room and the outer office was closed. He poured a cup of coffee and went to his desk.
    A note from Earl stating that he had been unable to locate family for the Tylers and that the car was at the garage being checked for mechanical failure. A set of Polaroids showing the car from several angles and the road with no skid marks.
    A poorly-typed report from Earl on a minor fender-bender involving Ralph Stuart, a camper, and Florence Wagner, Earl’s mother. With painful impartiality, Earl detailed the incident. Mr. Stuart, exiting the campgrounds, had pulled without warning in front of Mrs. Wagner’s slow-moving vehicle, startling her so she had stepped on the gas and run into the back of the Stuart’s rented trailer. Mrs. Wagner was fine, and the Stuarts were fine, except for the wife who seemed