Chapter Eighteen
Egg Cartons
“Bette’s stare was way worse than her shout.”—Kate
For ten years, Bette was terrorized by the fieldworkers’ “night frights.”
When they would happen was anyone’s guess. Bette could have weeks, months, years of peaceful sleep, then bam—a scream, a yell in the middle of the night, followed by those god-awful tongue-poking painted faces, kookaburra hair, and a scream that would startle the comatose.
It was not the first time she had to change her knickers, and when word got out . . . her credibility was in tatters.
How the story broke, no one had any idea, but Bette had to do something and called Beryl for a secret meeting at dawn before the other idiots had even thought of their first caffeine.
Beryl took her time.
Ten years of being ignored can do that to
