Five minutes later Judy was standing beside a bed with crib sides around it. The next thing she saw was a white face—white and wholly unfamiliar. Flaming red hair fanned out on the pillow. The woman looked at least thirty. Judy gazed at her a moment. Then she turned to the nurse who had escorted her to the room.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “My friend, Clarissa Valentine, disappeared. I thought this patient might be Clarissa, but she isn’t. I never saw her before in my life.”
“Can’t you tell me anything at all about her?” the nurse asked anxiously.
“Nothing except what you probably know already. We talked with the taxi driver after the ambulance drove away from the scene of the accident. He told us what little we know about it. Apparently this woman was on her way to the theater to see Irene’s—I mean the Golden Girl show. I’m sorry,” Judy finished.
“Sorry,” mumbled the patient. “Everybody’s sorry.” Then, suddenly grasping the crib sides, she cried, “I’ve got to get out of here. Please, let me out.”
“And then?” the nurse prompted Judy.
“Well, then we heard the ambulance siren. The show was nearly over so we waited until afterwards to find out what it was. That’s all I know. I’m afraid it won’t be of much help.”
“No, I’m afraid not,” the nurse replied sadly as Judy turned to go.
Peter was sleeping when she returned to his room. He looked so peaceful she decided not to awaken him. She’d help, though. Later on they’d talk it all over. There was sure to be some way she could help.
“I’ll go out and have breakfast,” Judy told the new nurse who had just come on duty. The day nurse assured her that there was no need for her to come back until visiting hours that afternoon.