The Real Macaw: A Meg Langslow Mystery

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