Was the Heiress Switched at Birth? novel · Chapter 7 of 24

Chapter 7: The Midnight Transfer

Two paramedics were already in my mother's room when I got there, with a gurney and a clipboard.

Pris sat up against the pillows in her green scarf, small and calm, with her go-bag zipped beside her.

"There's my girl," she said.

"I've been telling these gentlemen I can walk."

"You can't walk," said the older paramedic, kindly.

"Ma'am, the discharge is authorized."

"It's a transfer to the county ward, and the foundation account is closed as of ten o'clock."

"Show me the order," I said.

He showed me.

Annalise Kenworthy's electronic signature sat at the bottom, with a timestamp of 9:58 p.m.

My hands went tight on the paper.

"She doesn't get to do this."

"I'm sorry, miss."

"She's actively dying."

"That's why the ward has a bed."

I stepped between the gurney and the bed and took out my phone.

Piers's card was in my wallet, with his cell number on the back in a square black hand.

He picked up on the second ring.

"Stanwyck."

"It's Billie Odom."

"Annalise Kenworthy just evicted my mother from a hospice at midnight on a forged authority, and I'd like to know if you have a pen."

There was a short pause.

"Where?"

"St. Anne's."

"Don't let them move her."

"I'm fourteen minutes away."

He made it in nine.

He came down the corridor in his long overcoat over a navy turtleneck, with his phone to his ear and his jaw set.

He walked straight past me to the older paramedic and held out the phone.

"This is the foundation's after-hours director," he said.

"Listen to her."

The paramedic listened, and his eyebrows climbed.

"Yes, ma'am," he said.

"Yes, ma'am."

"A standing order from the founder, dated three years ago, that Priscilla Odom's care is never to be interrupted by anyone."

"I understand."

"I'll stand down."

He handed back the phone.

"Sorry for the trouble, folks," he said to us.

He and the younger one wheeled the gurney out empty.

The room was quiet after they went.

I turned to Piers with my mouth open.

"Three years ago?"

"I wrote it myself," he said.

"She dictated."

"Cordelia."

"She said no one was ever to move her."

"But she called her a thief on a stage."

"Both things are true," he said, "and I've never been able to make them sit together either."

From the bed my mother said, mildly, "You're late, Mr. Stanwyck."

"Nine minutes, ma'am."

"I counted."

"You were faster at shredding my mail."

Piers flinched.

"Yes, ma'am," he said.

"Take her home, Mr. Stanwyck," Pris said.

"She needs sleep."

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