Season of Danger. Jill Elizabeth Nelson

“No, just call in your order and get Mamie to the clinic to help you. She mentioned the other day she was a volunteer medical aide in high school. I can pick up the order on my way.”

       After hanging up, Tess pulled on a fresh pair of jeans and a sweater as the dogs fought each other for her attention. She kissed Roxie and Romper on their foreheads, scratched their ears and smiled at Roxie’s groan of contentment.

       “Sorry, kids, gotta run. You want out?”

       Of course, they did. She unlocked the door and watched them race each other through the doorway and out into the huge fenced yard, then, despite her watchdogs on alert, she locked the door again. How long since she’d felt safe when she was alone?

       And the stress over the mission illnesses was making her worse. Often, people from participating churches would bring side dishes or desserts to help feed the hungry, but yesterday all the food had come from the Vance Mission kitchen, and they tested their raw meats and produce often. It had always been an obsession of Gerard’s to make sure the people he fed received wholesome, healthy food.

       But Megan had said more than once that those living on the street were more susceptible to any illness that came along. They had weakened immune systems from exposure and often a history of poor lifestyle choices.

       Despite the attempt to reassure herself, Tess felt the stress growing as she brushed her teeth and combed her hair. She grabbed her jacket and keys and rushed into the garage, where she parked her Cooper. As the garage door opened, she pressed the first phone number on her cell for nursing help.

       She called herself all kinds of a fool on the drive to town. This was not her fault. Not her responsibility. She did not cause anyone to get sick…she couldn’t have caused this in any way…could she?

       No. But she couldn’t get the sound of those footsteps out of her head from last night and the fear that, even in the absence of more of the threats she’d begun to receive ten months ago, someone out there still wanted to hurt her by hurting those she cared about.

       By the time she reached the pharmacy, she had promises from a nurse and two techs to meet her at the mission. She drove to the pick-up window and exchanged friendly insults with Troy, the tech on duty, who had asked her out at least once a month since she’d arrived in Corpus Christi.

       “Sounds like you’ve got an outbreak at the mission,” Troy commented as he heaved two big bags out the window to her. “Flu season has hit hard.”

       “You’ve had a lot of orders like this?”

       He nodded.

       “But these patients had their flu shots.”

       He raised his bushy eyebrows in surprise. “That’s weird. We’ve always got our rogue viruses, of course, but this year’s inoculations seemed to be hittin’ the bull’s-eye.”

       She thanked him and drove to the mission as the tension knotted multiple times in her stomach.

       Sean held an emesis basin for a man in his fifties who’d never answered to any name but Stud. Three more people had walked into the clinic after Sean traded kitchen duties for clinic duties at Megan’s request, and all of them looked miserable.

       Megan had drawn blood, given eight shots so far for nausea and handed out multiple little envelopes of pills to help with the stomach cramps. She told Sean she wanted to do a blood draw on Stud as soon as she could get to him; he had a chronic alcohol history, and that could make him prone to electrolyte imbalances. She’d managed to collect some stool samples on the others and remarked three times in the past five minutes that she hoped Tess arrived soon.

       And Tess did, looking harassed and pale, carrying in two large bags imprinted with the local pharmacy logo. Soon after she arrived, an RN who volunteered at the clinic two Saturdays a month walked in the door, pulling off her coat and wrapping her stethoscope around her neck.

       “Feeling better, Stud?” Sean asked his patient softly.

       The man nodded and used the paper towel Sean handed him. “Need to clean up.”

       “Go get a toothbrush and toothpaste in one of the bathrooms down the hall and then go into the men’s dorm. Lie down and rest until the doctor can get to you for your blood test.”

       Stud shook his head. “Got a job helping a man fix a fence a couple of miles out of town. I need the money.”

       “At least rest until we have a better idea about what you’ve got. If it’s infectious, nobody’s going to thank you for showing up. Give me a telephone number, and I’ll call to let him know you didn’t bug out on him, but you need to be here for Dr. Bradley to check you out.”

       “Got no number. How would I call? Really, I’m feeling better.”

       “You have the man’s name? If the doc can get a diagnosis from your blood, you could be helping out a lot of sick people.”

       Stud gave in, and Sean hunted down the phone number of Stud’s temporary employer and left the message. When he hung up, he caught sight of Tess, her large, beautiful eyes as haunted as they’d been yesterday when he’d found her in the corridor. The smudges beneath her lower eyelids seemed to have deepened overnight, and she’d lost the typical glow in her complexion.

       “How are you feeling?” she asked, stepping over to him.

       “Good. Did you sleep last night?”

       “Off and on. I had a nasty wake-up call.”

       “Tess, I can’t believe this is food poisoning.” He was just glad he had a strong stomach. He’d never signed up for clinic duty, and for a few moments, he’d thought he might have to hunt down his own emesis basin.

       “Me neither, unless they all ate something elsewhere. Or unless it wasn’t the food itself that poisoned them.”

       As soon as she spoke the words, she closed her eyes and bit her lower lip, long strands of her black hair falling over her forehead.

       “So, what you’re saying,” he said softly enough that the others couldn’t hear, “is that you aren’t ruling out poisoning of some kind.”

       Her shoulders slumped, and she nodded. “That’s what I’m saying.”

       He stood up and took her arm, led her from the clinic proper for a moment. “You’re trembling.”

       She put a hand over his. Hers was icy. “I’m sorry. Leftover post-traumatic stress disorder, I know. Also, I can’t get past Carlotta’s death two weeks ago.”

       “That was ruled a natural death.”

       “Easy for the authorities to do that when she’s homeless with no family.”

       “You’re obsessing over it.”

       “So sue me.”

       “What you’re really anxious about is that Tanner’s killer is still out there,” Sean said, guessing at the direction of her thoughts.

       Tess raised her hand from his and pulled her fingers through her hair. “I know it’s not all about me. But those notes, Sean, I can’t stop thinking about them, reading them, trying to figure out who might have sent them to me and what kind of person that might have been.”

       “Vindictive.”

       “Of course, but how vindictive?”

       “You think enough to poison homeless people?”

       “I’m thinking all kinds of things right now.”

       “And you’re driving yourself crazy in the process.”

       “I’m not crazy,” she snapped.

       “You know that’s not what I’m saying.”

       “Whoever wrote those notes threatened to hurt me or those I loved.”