She opted to wait it out and texted Nina to say so and ask if she wanted in on some Chinese takeout.
The lack of response made her frown.
“Lingering cold, maybe,” she murmured as she watched the rain. “Post-work nap.” She ordered some extra noodles and sweet and sour shrimp just in case.
Fifteen minutes later, she headed out in the damp air under sunny skies. She stopped for the takeout, secured it and her purse in the basket.
She expected a fairly quiet night at the Round, as Wednesday tended to be slower. They hadn’t opened the outdoor seating area yet, but soon would.
When she got her place, she wanted a full patio area with a pergola, and she’d have heaters so customers could use it except in the coldest or rainiest of weather.
More seating, more sales, more profit.
When she didn’t see her car in the driveway, her heart jumped. Then she realized Nina must have needed to go somewhere. Maybe more NyQuil.
Still, she always asked.
She went inside, nodded when she saw the empty key bowl. She hung up her jacket, stowed her purse, then detoured to Nina’s room.
Definitely came home and went out again, she decided. The tissue box was back on the bed.
More tea and honey, she thought, and went to the kitchen to put the kettle on and stow the takeout.
She froze, simply froze when she saw the broken pane in the door, the shards of glass on the floor.
She backed up, breath already catching as she fumbled out the phone in her pocket. Her brain wouldn’t function beyond nine-one-one.
“Nine-one-one. What’s your emergency?”
“A break-in, a break-in. The kitchen door.”
She looked toward the bedrooms, then toward her office.
And saw the hand, the forearm, the blood in the hallway.
“Oh God! Oh God. It’s Nina!” She sprinted to the office, dropped to the floor. “Hurry, please hurry—229 Newberry Street. She’s hurt. There’s blood. She’s not moving.”
“Help’s on the way. Can you give me your name?”
“Morgan. Nina’s hurt, there’s blood. I think—I think she’s dead. No. No. No. What can I do? What should I do?”
“Morgan, is there an intruder in your house?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know. She’s not breathing. I can’t find a pulse. Help me.”
“Help’s coming. Can you hear the sirens? You should go outside now, Morgan, wait for the ambulance, the police.”
“I’m not leaving her here. Should I do CPR? I—I took a class. She’s cold. God, she’s so cold. I should get a blanket.”
“Nina’s cold?”
“I’ll get a blanket.”
“Morgan, the ambulance is pulling up now. Do you hear the sirens? Go let them in, Morgan. Go open the door.”
She veered off from her race to grab the throw off the sofa and yanked open the front door.
“Hurry, please. She’s cold, and she’s bleeding. She won’t wake up.”
She ran behind the EMTs, then stood with her hands crossed over her mouth.
One, a woman with dark red hair and soft blue eyes, looked at her. “Ma’am, how long has she been like this?”
“I don’t know. I just got home. I was late, the rain, and the Chinese takeout, and I got home and saw the broken glass, and then Nina. Can you wake her up?”
“I’ll call it,” the other EMT murmured, and the female walked to Morgan.
“Let’s sit down.”
“Are you taking her to the hospital?” Something hard and heavy pressed on her chest. She couldn’t get her breath. Something high and sharp rang in her ears. “She needs to go to the hospital.”
“I’m sorry, very sorry, but there’s nothing we can do. Your friend’s dead.”
“No. No.”
“I’m sorry. You’re in shock. Let’s sit down.”
“No. No,” Morgan repeated, even as the EMT guided her toward the sofa. “I—I dropped the takeout. I dropped it on the floor.”
“We’ll worry about that later.”
She eased Morgan onto the sofa, tucked the throw around her as she started to shake.
Then looked over as two uniformed officers came in the open door.
“DB down that hall with my partner. Nine-one-one caller’s in shock. DB’s cold, gone a couple hours at least. Can you tell me your name?”
“Morgan. Morgan Albright. She’s Nina, Nina Ramos.” Tears began to spill. “Please, can’t you help her?”