Killer Calories

isn’t much to see. Mr. Zeller’s coma is quite deep. But, if it would make you feel better, I’ll arrange for you to be admitted, one at a time, to the intensive care unit.”
    “Thank you,” Ryan said.
    “Only for a couple of minutes each.”
    “We understand,” Savannah told her. “Thank you, Doctor.”
    Dr. Hernandez hurried away to answer her page and arrange for their brief visits.
    “Who goes first?” Tammy asked, suddenly sounding very young and frightened.
    “Ryan,” Savannah said. She gave John a quick glance.
    Graciously, he nodded his silver head. “Absolutely,” he said. “Ryan first, and then the ladies. We old fellows have learned to be patient.”

    When Savannah entered the intensive care unit and saw Dion lying there—his face whiter than the pillow beneath his head—it occurred to her this was more like viewing a corpse in the morgue than visiting a sick friend.
    Based upon her past experiences, Savannah held the theory that the average suicide attempt was a cry for help rather than a sincere effort to end a life.
    But it appeared Dion Zeller had meant to go all the way, and—from the way he looked, lying pale and motionless on the bed, hooked to half a dozen, blinking, beeping machines—he had nearly succeeded.
    Savannah walked to his bedside, lifted his cold hand and folded it between hers, trying to impart some warmth, comfort, and support... at least to his subconscious.
    “Dion, can you hear me? It’s Savannah ,” she said, not that she really expected him to answer, but it never hurt to ask.
    Remembering only several days ago, when this healthy, vibrant man had been jogging at her side, Savannah was shocked and horrified by how that vitality could be devastated by some pills and a streak of self-destructiveness.
    She felt a rush of impotent anger at Dion for surrendering something as precious as himself, his life. She felt rage at society for forcing some of its dearest and most valuable members into horrible positions where suicide seemed the best alternative. And, most of all, she was furious at whoever had murdered Kat Valentina and started this chain of destruction.
    If someone killed Kat, she reminded herself. For all she knew, she was raging at Fate or Kat’s own irresponsibility for sitting in a hot tub while drinking alcohol.
    Either way, her fury seemed pretty pointless. She needed to spend more of her time and energy thinking about “what” and “how“ this had happened, rather than “why.” She was only a detective, not God.
    Hearing a footstep behind her, Savannah turned and saw the intensive care nurse coming toward her. “I’m sorry, ma’am ,“ the RN said, “but you’re going to need to leave now. We have to run some tests on Mr. Zeller.”
    “Yes, of course. Thank you for letting me see him.”
    Savannah bent over and placed a kiss on Dion’s cheek. “Don’t you dare check out,” she whispered. “I want to go running in the daisies with you again. I’m counting on it; you hear?”
    Still there was no response.
    Savannah left the room with a heavy, sinking feeling in the region of her heart. She was afraid she would never know if Dion had heard her or not.

    In the hallway between the ICU and the hospital lobby, Savannah ran nearly headlong into Dr. Freeman Ross.
    “I just heard,” he said, breathless, as he grabbed her by the arm. “How is he?”
    “Not so good,” she told him. “He’s in a coma. But they say he’s stabilized; I guess that’s good news.”
    Dr. Ross took off his glasses and rubbed his hand wearily across his eyes. “Man, what a morning! Some days it doesn’t pay to get out of bed. Two in one hospital at once! Who would have thought?”
    ‘Two? What do you mean?” Savannah had a bad feeling about this.
    He looked confused for a moment. “Oh, I thought you knew. Phoebe Chesterfield called me this morning, frantic over her brother. I went running up to their house and realized he had suffered a stroke.”
    “This morning? But John Gibson and I were with him this morning. We had tea, and he was fine.”
    “Apparently she came home shortly after you left and found him lying on the lawn in the backyard. He was incoherent and had lost control of his right side.”
    “Oh, no! Is he okay?”
    “Not really. I’m afraid he suffered substantial brain damage, though we won’t know until the test results are in how serious it is. I was consulting with his personal physician when I heard about Dion.”
    For some