‘Miss?’
‘The hospital,’ I said, knowing there was no reason the night shift girl at the message service in Midtown Manhattan should know. ‘Where is Mineral Springs Hospital?’
‘Should I connect you to information, miss?’
‘No, no,’ I said. ‘I don’t have a city to give them.’
‘All right. Anything else?’
‘No. Thank you,’ I said, fervently, but she had already clicked off.
I floated toward the kitchen. I was flushed, my hands shaking with relief. A couple of handsome young men were in there, leaning against the counters, flanking Faye Dunaway at the stove. Another sat at a table. She said, ‘But isn’t it such a bore?’
‘Thanks for dinner,’ I said from the doorway, and then, because she’d been kind earlier, ‘She just left me a message.’
‘Oh, wonderful!’ she said. ‘Going to bed?’
The two y
