C is for Corpse
“Visiting hours must have been over because I found a parking space right across the street. I locked my car, crossed, and headed up the circular driveway. There was a large portico and covered walk leading up to double doors that shushed open as I approached. Inside, the lobby lights had been dimmed like the interior of an airplane on a night flight. To my left was the deserted coffee shop, one waitress still at work, dressed in a white uniform almost like a nurse’s. To my right was the gift sh...op with a window display done up with the hospital equivalent of naughty lingerie. The whole place smelled like cold carnations in a florist’s refrigerated case.
The decor had been designed to soothe and pacify, especially over in the area marked “cashier.” I moved to the information desk, where a woman who resembled my old third-grade teacher sat in a pink-striped pinafore with an expectant look on her face.
“Hi,” said I. “Can you tell me if Kitty Wenner’s been admitted? She was brought into the emergency room a little while ago.”MoreLess
The decor had been designed to soothe and pacify, especially over in the area marked “cashier.” I moved to the information desk, where a woman who resembled my old third-grade teacher sat in a pink-striped pinafore with an expectant look on her face.
“Hi,” said I. “Can you tell me if Kitty Wenner’s been admitted? She was brought into the emergency room a little while ago.”MoreLess
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