“Candy from a baby,” Marion says. The old woman claws feebly in the direction of the stolen foodstuffs. Rose dumps them back on the tray.

“Ready for bed?” she coos, prying the poor thing away from her unfinished treat. Keeping the woman between herself and the cola nurse, Rose asks, “Which room?”

“Second on the left,” Karen says. “Need help with toileting or teeth?”

“No thanks,” Rose replies, nearly frog-marching the unfortunate lady out of the main room.

As she and her prisoner pass Rose’s former room, she looks in. Nothing has been altered. Pictures are on the walls; the rocking chair with the decorative cushion is there. All Rose’s personal items are in place. The bed even has a new floral-print coverlet much like the one she’d cannibalized for her escape ensemble. Longwood expects Rose to be returned. Or they want it to look as if they expect it, therefore not assumed dead, or as good as.

Rose deposits the old woman in bed untoileted, teeth unbrushed. Abusing the elderly can now be added to her rapidly growing criminal résumé.

“Let me know where the nurse is,” Rose says softly.

“She’s helping a little guy—looks like a mummy—out of a big brown chair,” Marion reports. “Now she’s headed in the direction you disappeared in.”

“Thanks,” Rose says. Her back to the door, she fusses with the bedcover until she hears Karen pass the room.

“Get out of there now,” Marion says.

“Can’t. No card. Besides, I have an idea,” Rose murmurs.

“For God’s sake,” Marion hisses. “The nurse knows you! Ask her to buzz you out while she’s busy.”

“I can still make this work,” Rose says.

“Don’t expect any damned cakes with files baked in them from me,” Marion grumbles. “I’ll hang up. I’m not getting caught.”

She doesn’t hang up.

Hooray, Rose thinks. To the frail old lady she says, “Sorry.”

“What did you say?” Marion demands as Rose whisks out of the bedroom.

In the social area, she grabs the tissue box, then runs to the nurses’ station and sets it on top of a pile of files, the hole facing the computer screen.

“Oh Lord. You’re going to do this, aren’t you?”

“Yup. I do have a plan B. Half baked, but still…”

Marion groans. “Higher.”

A manual for troubleshooting printer errors is tucked between the printer and the counter. Rose slips it beneath the tissue box.

“Left,” Marion orders.

Rose turns the box to the left.

“Too much.”

Rose rotates it back slowly.

“Good,” Marion says. “Don’t let her move me.”

Not that Rose can do anything should the nurse choose to rearrange the desktop. Seating herself in the nurse’s chair, Rose lays her fingers on the mouse.

Like an irate drill sergeant, Marion barks, “Upper right screen, scroll up. Up, damn it. There. See that box on the far right?”