The Body in the Bouillon by Katherine Hall Page Read Free Book Online

station, which opened onto an atrium, at the end of the corridor and walked down for a closer look. It was well equipped, and even the gold-framed botanical prints on the wall behind it did not disguise the fact that this was a medical facility. She’d noticed the oxygen hookups and other hospital-room paraphernalia in Farley’s room. It was all unobtrusive but state of the art. Whatever Howard Perkins had stumbled onto, outdated or shoddy medical equipment wasn’t it. A door to the left of the nursing station opened and a woman who appeared to be in her late thirties came through, carefully locking it behind her. Before she did, Faith glimpsed a wall of glass cabinets—obviously the medication room.
    The woman smiled at her. “Hello, are you looking for someone?”
    â€œI found him, thank you. I’ve been visiting Farley Bowditch. I’m helping in the kitchen and brought him his tray. He’s a parishioner of my husband’s.”
    â€œOh, then you must be Mrs. Fairchild. I’m Muriel Hubbard and I met your husband when he was here the last time. Farley loves company and it was good of you to come. And Mrs. Pendergast must be thanking her lucky stars. We’ve been having a terrible time with so many of the staff out, and it’s impossible to get short-term replacements.”
    Muriel was a small but solid woman. Her brown hair, cut in a sensible, chin-length Dutch bob, was streaked with a few gray hairs. The bangs accentuated her broad forehead. Her glasses hung from a string around her neck, and she was dressed in a navy-blue skirt, starched white oxford-cloth blouse, and comfortable nurse’s shoes. She exuded competence, security, and dullness.
    â€œI’m glad I can help,” Faith told her, “but I must get home now. I’ve already stayed later than I planned.” Virtually nothing so far had gone as planned, Faith thought, her
mood elevating as it did whenever unpredictability surfaced in days that at present tended to march in step.
    â€œThank you again, and I’ll look forward to seeing more of you.” She extended her hand and shook Faith’s warmly. Muriel was obviously a very nice person.
    Faith dashed to the parking lot and drove home. The phone was ringing as she opened the kitchen door. It was Tom.
    â€œWhere have you been, honey? I’ve been calling you all morning.”
    â€œI went out to Hubbard House to visit Farley Bowditch and—” Faith started to explain.
    â€œThat’s nice. I’m sure he appreciated it,” Tom interrupted. “I’m going to be later than I thought tonight, but I will be home for dinner.” His voice sounded grimly determined. Something was up, Faith realized—not just from the tone of his voice, but from the fact that her visit to Hubbard House had scarcely been noted. She hoped it wasn’t complaints about wording in some of the hymns again. There were so many points of view these days, and Tom had been going in circles trying to keep everybody in tune.
    â€œFine. I have to get Ben at the Viles’. He’s playing with Lizzie today. Then we have to do the food shopping, so I’ll be running a little late too. Is everything all right, darling? You sound a little harried.”
    â€œI am. Leave a light in the window and get out the scotch.”
    Faith hung up. This wasn’t just hymns. A thought stabbed her. Maybe the director of the church school was ill and couldn’t direct the Christmas pageant! This was always a worst-case scenario and something her normally unflappable mother had fretted about at Christmastime all during Faith’s childhood. Jane Sibley was noted for her cool toughness in court, and there were hints of a possible judgeship, but the intricate theological wrangling about who was going to be Mary this year and my son isn’t going to be a shepherd again totally unnerved her. Let alone
getting them all down the aisle and in some