Francine's accent. She'd said it herself-she stuck out like a sore thumb because no one else in the whole county sounded like her. And judging from the cries and moans the parrot was uttering, I'd bet anything that Francine knew Parker a lot better than anyone had suspected.

Hadn't Rob recognized her voice? No, Rob probably hadn't met Francine. Even if he had, her accent wouldn't have struck him as strange. His staff at Mutant Wizards were a multicultural lot, so he was used to hearing accents from Brooklyn, Mumbai, Sydney, and yes, no doubt from Boston's Route 128 tech corridor.

I found myself remembering something. Francine's face at the T-Ball game, when the other mothers were laughing over Parker's many girlfriends. I'd assumed her facial expression was disapproval. What if it was jealousy?

And no wonder she'd been fretting so about her accent. She probably knew that the parrot imitated her. Perhaps she and Parker had laughed about it when he was alive. But once he was dead, the parrot might be the only witness to their affair.

What if both Vivian and Louise had been telling the truth? What if someone really had planted both earrings, one in each of their purses? Who better to do it than Francine? She could have had access to Louise's purse while visiting her husband at the town hall, and here at the hospital, she was always flitting about, largely ignored by the medical staff.

She obviously had a very strong motive for stealing Parker's macaw before anyone overheard its imitation of her. And now she knew Grandfather was conscious and might start remembering things any minute.

I scrambled out of my seat and started running.

Chapter 25.

Halfway down the long, echoing corridor to the lobby, I realized that I should be calling for help, not racing to the rescue. As I ran, I pulled out my cell phone and dialed 911.

"Hey, Meg," Debbie Anne said. "What's up now?"

"Tell the chief to get back here to the hospital," I said. "My grandfather could be in danger."

"What kind of danger?"

"I think Vivian and Louise were both framed," I said. "Francine Mann is the real killer, and she's somewhere here in the hospital. She's probably going after my grandfather, and-"

Just then I noticed that my phone had gone dead. Not uncommon here in the hospital. Should I run out into the parking lot, where reception was sometimes better? The key word was "sometimes." Did I want to be out in the parking lot, waving around my cell phone and cursing Caerphilly's substandard signal towers while something happened to Grandfather?

Unnecessary. No matter how much of what I'd said had been cut off, Debbie Anne had heard the first sentence. She knew Grandfather was in danger.

I had reached the elevator lobby. No one behind the desk. I punched the elevator call button. Nothing happened. One elevator was gaping open, and the call button didn't light when I pushed it.

Someone had hung an "Out of Order" sign on the open elevator.

Out of order? Or turned off by someone with access to the keys?

I raced for the stairwell.

I emerged on the second floor beside the nurses' station. The vacant nurses' station. What had happened to the replacement for Vivian? If I was right, and Francine was the killer, she could have canceled the request for a replacement once we were all out of the way. Or just waited to make it until after she had done something to Grandfather.

I slowed down to a fast walk on my way to my grandfather's room. I kept glancing left and right as I passed the other rooms on the hall. All were dark. Presumably part of the buffer zone they'd established around Grandfather. Whose idea was the buffer zone, anyway? Was it really something the nurses thought necessary for the other patients' comfort, or had Francine instituted it to make sure my grandfather was as far from help as possible when she made her move? Should I dash into one of the empty rooms and use a land line to call 911 again? No, Debbie Anne knew enough to sound the alarm. I could call again from Grandfather's room.

I paused at the door of 242. No one in sight up or down the hall. I walked in as quietly as I could and paused at the curtain. It suddenly occurred to me that Francine could be armed-after all, they hadn't found the gun that had killed Parker. I bent down and peered beneath the curtain. No feet anywhere in sight. I breathed more easily.

Of course, that didn't mean the danger was over-only that I'd reached Grandfather before Francine had. But I was sure she'd be coming.

And since I'd arrived here before she had, maybe I should see if I could catch her in the act. I could hide along the wall beside the bed and leap out when she came in. Or better yet, in the bathroom-the door was between the inner curtain and the outer door, so I could see her as she crept in.

I was turning to slip into the shadows inside the bathroom door when I heard a familiar noise. A soft "pffffft!" from the whoopee cushion chair.

I parted the curtains slightly and peered in. Francine was standing on the chair and fumbling at the ceiling. I could see her face in profile. She was calm and frowning slightly as if in concentration.

I pulled out my cell phone, turned it on. Wonder of wonders, the wayward signal was back, so I pointed it toward Francine. She moved one of the ceiling tiles aside. There was a space between the drop ceiling and the real one. She was reaching in and pulling something out.

A syringe and a medicine vial.

I snapped a picture of her doing it and hit the button to send it to the baby e-mail list, the one we'd set up so that with one click we could send cute pictures of the twins to dozens of friends and relatives. Good; one bit of evidence safe.

Then I called 911, set the phone down on the floor, and stepped through the curtains. Francine was standing by Grandfather's IV bag, filling the syringe from the little vial.

"You can put that hypodermic needle down now," I said as loudly as I could.

From the floor, I heard faint noises from my phone. Debbie Anne, I hoped, asking what the hell was going on.

"I don't think so," Francine said. She squirted a little bit of the liquid from the syringe, and the drops caught the light and glittered as they landed on the sheet covering Grandfather.

I was racking my brains for something to use as a weapon-and kicking myself for not having stopped to find something on my way. Of course, if I'd stopped to search for a weapon, by the time I'd gotten here, Francine might already have done whatever she was planning to do to Grandfather. Maybe I had something in my purse that I could use.

Or maybe I could just keep her talking until help arrived. As long as I kept her away from Grandfather.

"What were you planning to do to Grandfather?" I asked. "Put potassium chloride in his IV? Or maybe succinylcholine?"

She looked startled for a moment, then her frown deepened.

"Hey, remember, I'm a doctor's daughter," I said, shrugging. "I know a few things. Just as you do, in spite of what the nursing staff think. And speaking of them, were you going to frame Vivian for the theft of whatever's in that vial, or just let the blame fall on the whole nursing staff?"

"I'm sorry you came here." She didn't sound sorry. More like annoyed.

"Just drop the syringe," I said. "You can't get away with poisoning him now."

She sighed, held out her hands, and opened them. The syringe and the little bottle clattered to the floor.

"You're right," she said. She took a fumbling step backward, as if she were about to collapse into the whoopee cushion chair.

Then I realized that when I thought she was reaching back to grab the chair arm for support, she was grabbing something from the oversized pocket of her jacket.

A gun.

"Why bother fiddling with his IV when I can just shoot you both?" she said. "And no, I probably can't get away with that, either, but I'm not sure I care anymore."

"Not since you found out that Parker Blair was only using you to get information about what the mayor was up to," I said.

She winced as if I'd struck her, and her face hardened. Maybe that hadn't been the wisest thing to say. Then again, she seemed to be working up to saying something. Just keep her talking-that was the ticket.

"And I thought you were my friend," she said. "But now- Oof!"

She suddenly lurched forward as if someone had shoved her.

No, someone had kicked her. I could see Grandfather's long, bony leg sticking out from under the sheets. He kicked her again and this time she fell down. As she hit the floor, the gun went off, and I felt a sudden sharp pain in one leg.

"Get her!" Grandfather shouted. "Quick! Before she recovers!"

I was already in motion. I landed on top of Francine and managed to grab her wrist and pin it down. She started shooting, but none of the shots went anywhere near Grandfather or me. One bullet did ricochet off the tasteful chocolate-brown wall and into one of the machines, which died with a small arpeggio of tinkles and beeps.

The gun was now clicking empty. Francine began struggling wildly.

An object sailed past us and struck the wall with a light thud.

"Stop it!" Francine shrieked. "How dare you throw that bedpan at me?"

"Wasn't throwing it at you," Grandfather said. "What'd be the use? Damned flimsy piece of plastic junk!"

I was glad he seemed to be looking for a weapon, but I hoped he'd hurry. I was having trouble holding her down.

"And you're bleeding all over me!" Francine added. This appeared to be aimed at me. "Get away from me!"

Yes, there was rather a lot of blood smeared on the floor where we were struggling. Apparently my leg was bleeding. I felt a momentary twinge of dizziness, and then snapped myself out of it. No time for that now.

I punched her in the stomach, knocking the wind out of her, which had the double effect of halting her struggles and shutting her up. Though both effects probably wouldn't last long.

"Tie her up," Grandfather said.

"With what?" I'd twisted both of Francine's arms behind her back and was sitting on her. I figured I could probably hold her down until help came. Assuming help didn't take too long. She was getting her wind back and starting to struggle again. Desperation gave her more strength than I'd have expected and my leg was starting to hurt like hell. If I lost so much blood that I fainted ...

"Here." I heard a ripping noise. Some small strips of tape landed near me. I glanced up to see him pulling the IV out of his arm.

"Hey," I said. "Even if you didn't need that IV, there's not enough tape here to hold her. And besides-"

"Then tie her up with this."

He was waving the IV bag with its long trailing cord.

"Great," I said. "Except I've got my hands full here."

It was as much as I could do to hold Francine. And now she had begun kicking everything within reach, trying to knock something down on me. The IV stand barely missed me. Could I manage another stomach punch?

"Damnation," Grandfather said. "Let me do it, then."

To my astonishment, he looped the IV tube around Francine's neck and began pulling it tight. Francine stopped trying to kick the furniture and began struggling wildly.

"Don't strangle her!" I shouted. "The chief will want a live suspect."

"I know what I'm doing," he said. "Used to tackle Burmese dacoits this way."

Francine went limp. Grandfather immediately loosened the tube and began using it to tie her hands. I checked her pulse.

"Okay, at least you haven't killed her," I said.

"Better her than me," he growled.

I retrieved my cell phone.

"Debbie Anne?" I said.

"Meg! What in the world is happening there?"

"Tell the chief to get another stall ready," I said. "We've got the real killer here."

Chapter 26.

"You should go back to the hospital, Grandfather," I said. "Dad, don't you think he should be back in the hospital?"

Grandfather ignored me, as he had the last dozen times I'd said the same thing since the chief finished questioning us and let us come here to Mother and Dad's farm for breakfast. I had to admit, from the way my grandfather was packing away pancakes, bacon, eggs, toast, hash browns, and fruit salad, he did look rather like a patient well on the road to recovery.

"He'll be fine," Dad said, from his place by the stove. "He can stay here for a day or two and I'll keep an eye on him. More pancakes, Dad?"

Grandfather nodded, shoved the last bite of his current pancake stack into his mouth, and held out his plate.

I sighed, and looked at my own overladen plate. Maybe escaping a murder attempt had given Grandfather an appetite. Mine was almost nonexistent, thanks to the painkillers Dad had given me for my injury. He assured me that Francine's bullet had only grazed my leg, and it would heal just fine without any scarring, but right now it hurt like hell, and the painkillers weren't helping-just making me woozy.

"Good news!" We all looked up to see Clarence running in, followed by my brother, Rob. "They've found the macaw!"

"The real macaw?" Dad asked.

"Yes, Parker's macaw. An animal shelter outside Charlottesville found his cage on their front step yesterday morning. He's fine. Rob's going to drive up today to collect him."

I peered suspiciously at my brother. Bad enough when he seemed to be on the road to adopting an Irish wolfhound. But better the wolfhound than a foulmouthed macaw.

"Are you still giving the macaw to the Caerphilly Inn?" I asked.

"Parker's macaw? Yes," Clarence said. "He'll still be good company for Martha Washington, even if he's not the same species. But they don't want him till we've done some reeducation. Cleaned up his vocabulary a bit."

"So I'll be taking him down to the Willner Wildlife Sanctuary," Rob said. "Caroline's going to rehabilitate him. She's done it before."