“I’m leaving early to take these reports to the guard station,” Winter told Phoebe as she prepared to leave the office. “Once you’re done here, you’re free to go meet Winter.”
Phoebe nodded. “Good night. And Plague Saint?”
Winter started for the door. “Yes?”
“Thank you.”
“Mmhmm.” Winter awkwardly fumbled with the door handle and left the office. Instead of changing in the restaurant tonight, she was going to take a risk and change in a hospital bathroom. She had to see River before she left and didn’t have much time to spare.
Her pulse quickened when she arrived at River’s room and found an unfamiliar man standing outside, peering in through the door’s window. He was a stout man only a couple of inches taller than her. Short gray hair was just beginning to recede at the top of his head. His deep green business suit looked expensive, as did the black shirt under his jacket.
Winter glared at him as she approached. “Can I help you?”
The man shot her an annoyed look back. “Doubt it.”
For a moment, Winter missed the respect and caution people treated her with when she wore the Plague Saint uniform. Despite her instincts screaming at her to lower her gaze and avoid antagonizing him, she lifted her chin. Sharpened her glare. “Then step aside so I can visit my brother. Please.” The bitterness in that last word negated any politeness it might have offered.
The man’s eyes narrowed. “You’re River Pierce’s sister?”
“And you are—?”
“It’s none of your concern.” The man gave her one last look—the same kind of look he’d likely give a hair in his food—and walked away.
Winter stormed into her brother’s room. “Who was that man outside?”
“Well, hello to you too.” River leaned over to peer at the open doorway. “There was someone outside? No one’s come in since the doctor.”
“Fantastic,” Winter muttered.
River laughed. “Aw, come on. You can’t cheer up just once? For me?”
“You’re in a hospital bed.” Winter closed the door and walked to his bed. “For once, I have a reason to be grim.”
“Oh, please. I’ll be out of here in no time.”
Winter sank into the chair at his bedside. “And back in the factory, where you’ll catch something else?”
“Well, what else am I supposed to do? Not work?” River playfully punched Winter in the arm. It was weak, even for something meant to be teasing. “I know you want me going soft so you can finally beat me at arm wrestling, but—”
Winter rolled her eyes. “I could beat you now!”
“Well, no shit. I’m on the verge of death!”
“Don’t let Mom hear you say that.” Winter couldn’t stop the barest hint of a smirk from finding her lips. “And I thought you were going to be out of here in no time.”
“There’s a smile. Though less smug would be nice.” River coughed. Thankfully, there was no blood. Not this time. “Anyway, the factory would fall apart without me.”
“Yeah, I think I heard them crying when I walked by the other day.” After a moment’s hesitation, Winter leaned forward. “How many other people have gotten sick?”
“Not many before I left, but James mentioned a lot more guys have stopped showing up when he visited me this afternoon.” More coughing. “It’s all right, though. Heard that Plague Saint’s been giving them some new treatment. They should all recover.”
Well, that was assuming the treatment worked the way it was supposed to. And assuming no one else got in Winter’s way.
River’s gaze shifted to the locket hanging around Winter’s neck. “Seriously, though. As soon as I’m out of here, I’m kicking your ass at devil’s bridge and winning that thing back.”
“Can’t wait,” Winter told him. After a moment’s thought, she added, “I could bring the cards sometime this week when I visit.”
“Please do,” River said. “It’s so boring here. And everyone’s as gloomy as you.”
“It’s a hospital.” Winter stood up. “I have to drop something off at the guard station, but I’ll try to find some books or something to bring you tomorrow.”
“Thank you.” River leaned back against his pillows. “Try not to let the station suck any more soul out of you, all right?”
Winter rolled her eyes. “Will do.” Her hand wrapped around the locket, and she hesitated. “Look, why don’t you just take the locket while you’re in here—”
“Nope. No way. I have to win it back fair and square,” River insisted. “Those are the rules.”
“If you say so.” Winter rose to her feet. “Good night. Love you.” She started toward the door.
“Love you too!” River called after her, his voice hoarse enough to make her wince.
It was already dark outside, though plenty of people were still running errands and finishing up work under the light from streetlamps and windows. Winter wished it was more acceptable to hide away in her room the moment the sun vanished, but the city wasn’t ready to sleep at five p.m.
Her apprehension grew as she walked. This would be her first time entering the station since quitting. She’d told them she’d been offered a job at the hospital when she left, and now the lie would actually come in handy. Assuming no one asked too many questions.
And assuming she could keep it together long enough to drop off a simple envelope. The slight tremble in her hands and her racing heart weren’t promising.
She also had Phoebe to worry about. Winter had told her to wait outside in her note, but if she decided to come into the station anyway, Winter’s entire story would be shattered to pieces.
Winter stepped through the front door and into the familiar chaos of the guard station. Officers hurried about, along with assistants carrying reports and files. The same job Winter had once had. Doors leading to offices lined the walls to the left and right of the foyer, while a hallway beyond led to storage and holding cells.
Winter walked to the reception desk. “I have a delivery from the hospital,” she told the woman on the other side. “From the Plague Saint.”
Beth looked up at her and smiled. “Winter! How’s working at the hospital?”
“Busy,” Winter replied curtly. She held out the envelope. “Plague Saint sent this for Captain Perry. It’s for the Adams case.”
Beth nodded. “I’ll get it to him. Good to see you!”
“You too,” Winter mumbled before turning around and leaving. The familiarity of the station was oddly uncomfortable, and she wanted out before memories could start clinging to her. Weighing her down.
She found a place in front of the guard station to wait for Phoebe that was out of the way of passersby on the sidewalk. Frigid air filled her lungs with every breath. The occasional flake of snow drifted lazily past her face. Winter wished she could give this terrible weather the plague and make it go away.
Yikes. Calm down. Winter adjusted her coat. All she had to do was put up with Phoebe’s investigation for maybe an hour, and then she could go home and sleep.
Phoebe came around the corner about five minutes later. Winter took a deep breath, straightened her coat, and moved to intercept her before she reached the station doors. “Phoebe Blackburn?”
Phoebe spun to face her. “Oh! Winter? Winter Pierce?”
Winter nodded.
“Pleasure to meet you.” Phoebe stuck out a hand.
Winter was taken aback by Phoebe’s eagerness and strong handshake. “Um, right. The Plague Saint told me you had questions for some families of recently deceased patients. You thought maybe there was something else at play?”
Phoebe nodded and tucked a stray curl behind her ear. “A lot of them should have recovered but took a turn for the worse out of nowhere. At first, I thought it was this new white plague people are spreading rumors about, but now I think it might be a person responsible.”
“And what led you to that conclusion?” Winter drew a folded piece of paper from her coat pocket and handed it to Phoebe. “Oh, and here are the addresses. Lead the way. I’ll follow.”
“Thanks.” Phoebe scanned the page for a moment before setting off toward the street corner west of where they stood. “The reason I think there’s a killer is because my uncle was one of the victims.”
“Oh.” Winter shoved her hands into her coat pockets. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
Something flickered across Phoebe’s face. Not sadness—hesitation? Concern? “Thank you. He was a scientist, working on cures for the plagues. He’s the one who first told me about the possible existence of a white plague.”
Oh. Great. The rumors would be harder to dismiss if a real scientist believed them. “Who did he work for? The city?”
“Uh, yeah, I think so. He’s been on a few projects recently, so I’m not entirely sure.” Phoebe looked up from the list of addresses. “Okay, we’ll do these first since they’re all a short walk from here. Then we can take the trolley a couple of stops to the eastern blocks and visit some people there.”
“Sounds good.”
Phoebe took the lead with surprising ease, pressing everyone who answered the door with questions. She asked whether anything strange had happened before the deceased passed, or if they’d interacted with anyone out of the ordinary. And through it all, she managed to maintain a tone of sympathy that kept the people she interrogated comfortable.
Winter stood behind her at every stop and watched, unable to help but be a little impressed. And unable to help feeling guilty—she had all the answers Phoebe was looking for. Her uncle was, more likely than not, just another victim of a doctor who didn’t care to save his poorer patients.
It took about forty-five minutes for them to finish with the addresses in the northwestern apartments and head to the trolley stop. As they climbed aboard, Phoebe shook her head. “They were all just—people. People with nothing. They won’t even be able to afford to pay the hospital.” Her hand tightened around one of the trolley’s poles. “It doesn’t make sense. Adams was the first wealthy person to be killed.”
Winter hesitated. “What about your uncle?”
“What about him?”
Was he rich? Poor? Winter shrugged instead of elaborating. It was probably the latter. “I don’t know. Never mind.”
Phoebe seemed to realize what she meant, anyway. “My uncle lives with me and my parents. He’s my dad’s brother. His research was valuable, but he hadn’t seen any money for it. Yet.” Her gaze dropped to the floor as the trolley jerked forward. “We were really hoping he’d find a real cure and finally get a good payout.”
Lives? Present tense? Winter’s chest tightened. Poor Phoebe. It sounded like she hadn’t completely processed her uncle’s death.
“Do you think his death could have to do with his research?” Winter asked.
“I did think about that,” Phoebe replied. “But it doesn’t really make sense to kill him because of it. Who wouldn’t want a cure?”
“Maybe it’s not about stopping a cure. Maybe it’s about stopping people from knowing a cure exists.”
Phoebe stared at her. “You think someone’s keeping plague medicine a secret?”
Think? More like know. Winter didn’t know of any true cures yet, but there was better treatment than the hospital claimed to have. “Maybe,” she answered Phoebe with a shrug. “I mean, people in the government might want to keep themselves safe without wasting resources helping people who—” She swallowed. “People who won’t be able to pay for it.”
“Huh.” Phoebe’s brow furrowed. After a long moment, the concentrated expression fell away, and she straightened up. “Thank you for your help. Do you have a phone?”
Winter’s mind went to the ancient thing hanging on the wall in her family’s kitchen. “Yes. Why?”
“Why?” Phoebe laughed. “Because you just gave me a new direction to take this case!”
“Case?” What the hell had Winter gotten herself into?
“If you’re not busy this weekend, we could go to my uncle’s lab,” Phoebe continued. “It’s locked up, but I have one of his keys.”
Say no. It’s a bad idea. A waste of time.
But what if Phoebe’s uncle had new research on the plagues? Cures or treatments that the Saint hadn’t discovered?
“Sure. I’m free.” Winter usually left weekend mornings to the other doctors, anyway. She searched her coat pockets until she found a stray pen. Phoebe gave her the crumpled piece of paper that held the addresses, and Winter scribbled down her number.
“What did you say your uncle’s name was?” Winter asked as she handed the paper back. She wanted to search the Saint’s personal reports and see if she could confirm whether his death really was on purpose.
“Oh. Um. I didn’t.” There was clear hesitation on Phoebe’s face as she accepted the paper. It took another moment before she answered, “Uh, Marcus Blackburn.” She glanced at the list of addresses, then flipped the paper over to study Winter’s number.
“I think we should call it a night,” Phoebe continued. “Whatever the reason for these people’s deaths, I don’t think they know anything that will be helpful.”
Winter held back a sigh of relief. She was eager to get out of the cold and away from the shadows lurking just beyond the streetlamps. “Sure thing. Where’s your stop?”
“Next one, actually.”
“Oh. You’re not far from the hospital, then.”
Phoebe leaned against the trolley’s railing. “Yup.”
“Careful,” Winter found herself muttering as the wind whipped Phoebe’s hair around.
Phoebe laughed and straightened up again. “Right. Wouldn’t want to end up in someone’s philosophy experiment.”
“Hm?” The hell was that supposed to mean?
“Oh, sorry. I don’t know why I thought you’d get that. We learned about it in one of my elective classes.” Phoebe traced a finger across the railing. “The trolley problem. Let’s say you’re standing by a switch in the tracks and the trolley’s coming. If it continues, it’ll run over five people.”
Winter stared at her blankly. “What? Why?”
“I don’t know. It doesn’t really matter, but the point is there’s five people tied to the tracks and the trolley can’t stop. But you can pull the switch.”
“Well, do that then.”
“There’s more.” Phoebe held up a finger. “There’s a sixth person on the other track. To save the five people, you have to kill one.”
“Is this what they teach at the college?” Winter asked incredulously. “I thought you were studying nursing.”
Phoebe chuckled. “Technically, yes. But I’m also taking an old world history and philosophy class. The whole point is to study what people thought and believed hundreds of years ago, and why that might have led to things falling apart around the world the way they did.”
“Okay, well, what did people think back then? Would they kill the five to save the one?”
“This isn’t the kind of class with simple answers.” Phoebe smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “And even if you think killing the one is the right thing to do, could you actually do it? Could you pull the switch? Lots of people say they’d do one thing, when in reality they might do the opposite.”
Winter rubbed her forehead. “I’m still not sure I understand the point.”
“It’s just a thought experiment. And it’s only a small part of what we’re covering.” Phoebe shrugged as the trolley rolled to a stop. “Anyway, this is my stop. Good night, Winter! I’ll call you sometime tomorrow.”
“Good night,” Winter mumbled in response as Phoebe hurried past her.
That girl had too much energy, Winter thought as she watched her hop off the trolley. Before walking off, Phoebe turned and waved. Winter offered a half-hearted wave in return, still not entirely sure what she’d gotten herself into.