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He scooped up the keys. As he shook them out, his pulse jumped. “What is this key?”
“Which one?” Patrick’s eyebrows created a V over his nose.
Joe plucked out a key with a round cardboard tag attached to it. He studied the tag, but the writing on it in pencil had been smeared off—just like another key.
“That’s a key to one of the lockers at the shelter.”
“The shelter called Mission Hope. M-I-S-S...”
Hailey’s eyes widened as she snatched the key from Joe’s hand. “It looks the same. Marten knew about my work with Mission Hope, knew I’d been there before.”
Patrick’s head turned from side to side as if he were watching a tennis match. “What are you two talking about and can I please have my keys back?”
“Sorry.” Hailey dropped the key chain into Patrick’s outstretched palm. “Someone left me a key, and we’ve been trying to figure out what it unlocked.”
“Do you have it on you?”
Hailey patted her pockets. “I left it at home, but it looks the same, doesn’t it?”
“It sure does. Patrick, what did the writing on this circle say before it was wiped off?”
“‘Mission Hope.’”
Joe asked, “Who gets keys to those lockers?”
“They’re first come, first served. If a homeless person comes to the shelter and has valuables, or at least what he considers valuables, he can leave them in a locker while he’s sleeping at the shelter or when he goes out to panhandle.” Patrick extended his hand to Joe. “You’re welcome to come by and check out the lockers at any time...as long as you bring a check or some food or toiletries. Nice to meet you. I have to get back to Michael.”
Joe shook the man’s hand—without the extra pressure this time. “Thanks. We’ll do that.”
“Great to see you again, Patrick.” Hailey gave him a hug.
Patrick returned to Michael and sat next to him in the plastic chair.
Seemed he was surrounded by do-gooders. Joe touched Hailey’s back. “Looks like we found the match to our key.”
“I think so. Marten was at the shelter for some reason and thought it was a good idea to get a locker.”
“Maybe because he figured nobody would think to look in a locker at a homeless shelter—except for his philanthropic friend who just might recognize a key from Mission Hope.”
“As soon as we get Ayala settled at my place, we’ll grab that key and pay a visit to Mission Hope with food and toiletries in hand.”
Hailey checked in at the desk and joined Joe at the wide double doors leading to the treatment rooms of the emergency wing.
“The nurses told me she’s doing fine and is ready to leave.”
They found Ayala’s bed, which occupied one of four curtained-off areas in a large room.
Hailey whipped back the curtain and rushed to Ayala’s bedside. “Oh my God. How are you doing? I was so worried when I found you on that bathroom floor.”
Ayala, her dark head propped up against a snowy-white pillow, gave Hailey a weak smile. “I can imagine.”
Hailey whispered, “Was it poison? Did the police come by and talk to you?”
Ayala gave a shake of her head. “It wasn’t poison, Hailey.”
“What?”
Joe pushed a chair against the backs of Hailey’s legs before she collapsed, and she sank into it.
He put a hand on Hailey’s shoulder. “What did the doctors say, Ayala?”
She shrugged, and the hospital gown slipped from one shoulder. “A stomach upset and too much alcohol.”
Hailey hunched forward. “You don’t believe that, do you?”
“I don’t know what to believe. I’ve been drunk before. This didn’t feel like too much alcohol. Maybe it was all our talk before, but I immediately thought someone had poisoned me.”
“But the doctors didn’t find any poison in your system.” Joe sucked in one side of his cheek. “I suppose there are certain poisons that can be masked.”
“Are there?” Ayala folded her arms. “I wouldn’t know, but I do want to get out of here.”
Hailey squeezed her hand. “We’re here to pick you up and take you back to my place, but I should warn you, someone took a shot at me through my bedroom window last night.”
