“The puzzle will still be there after dinner,” the orderly says to the old man impersonating a hank of hair and a bag of bones. With practiced ease, he moves Mr. Buschbaum to another chair, then sets a plastic tray with a rectangular plate divided into segments in front of him. Identical trays are placed in front of Rose and Chuck.

“Mr. B.” The orderly sets a tiny paper cup containing blue pills in the puzzler’s hand. “Mr. Boster.” Another little cup with two red capsules is put in Chuck’s hand. “Ms. Dennis.” Chuck releases her hand. She watches as it floats up, nearly transparent but for the veins, and takes a paper cup with four red capsules in it.

Mr. Buschbaum dumps blue pills into his mouth. Rose stares at the capsules, pretty as drops of blood on snow.

“Dry, aren’t they,” the orderly says. “This’ll help.” He holds out a small plastic glass filled with orange juice.

Rose takes it. The juice sloshes, catching light from the window.

Poison. The word clangs, a clapper banging against the bell of her skull. Orange juice to wash down her “meds.” She puts the capsules in her mouth. Lifting the glass to her lips, she pretends to drink, then swallow. Clumsily, she sets the orange juice back on the tray, spilling half of it.

The orderly sighs and walks heavily from the room. Rose scrapes the dry capsules from her tongue and closes them in her fist.

Stumping back with a handful of paper towels, the orderly mops up most of the spill. A couple of tablespoons of juice slop into the mashed potatoes. Rose thinks poison and stares out a window half obscured by a hedge. Beyond are parked cars, a street, and houses. Rose presses her fingertips to the pills in her palm. A plan is beginning to form in her mind.

The orderly continues around the table. He pours orange juice into a cup for Mr. Buschbaum, then for Chuck. It’s all from the same pitcher. This orange juice is not poisoned.

The red capsules are poisoned.

Rose eats her food and marshals facts in her mind. She had the stomach flu. She was moved to general population. She woke up and wandered off. She was caught and returned. She is ancient, frail, and in a home for old demented people.

She has been here long enough to make a friend.

She will not be staying long enough to make another.

CHAPTER 4

Dinner eaten, Rose and Chuck are parked in side-by-side loungers facing a large flat-screen TV over the sliding glass entrance door. A big woman, KAREN, her name tag reads, comes in bearing a can of Diet Pepsi.

“How many does that make for today, counting the one you probably drank in the car on your way to work?” a nurse wearing the name SHANIKA asks, vacating the chair behind the desk.