Invasion by Robin Cook Page A

my guest,” Curtis said agreeably.
    A sudden burst of coughing got everyone’s attention. It was Michael Schonhoff, a mortuary tech, who was over at the sink washing the entrails. The coughing went on for several minutes.
    “Jeez, Mike,” Curtis said. “You’re sounding worse. And pardon my expression, but you look like death warmed over.”
    “Sorry, Dr. Lapree,” Mike said. “I guess I got the flu. I’ve been trying to ignore it, but now I’m starting to get chills.”
    “Clock out early,” Curtis said. “Get yourself home and in bed, take some aspirin, and drink some tea.”
    “I want to finish up here,” Mike said. “Then I want to label the specimen bottles.”
    “Forget it,” Curtis said. “I’ll have someone else finish up.”
    “Okay,” Mike said. Despite his protestations to the contrary, he was happy to be relieved.

7

    8:15 P.M.
    “WHAT I KEEP ASKING MYSELF IS WHY WE NEVER COME down here,” Beau said. “This is beautiful.” He, Cassy, and Pitt were strolling along the pedestrian mall in the city center eating ice cream after a dinner of pasta and white wine.
    Five years previously the downtown had looked like a ghost town, with most of the people and restaurants having fled out to suburbia. But like a lot of other American cities, there’d been a reawakening. A few tasteful renovations had started a self-fulfilling prophecy. Now the entire downtown was a feast for the eyes as well as the palate. Crowds milled about, enjoying the spectacle.
    “You guys really skipped school today?” Pitt questioned. He was impressed and incredulous.
    “Why not,” Beau said. “We went to the planetarium,the natural history museum, the art museum, and the zoo. We learned a lot, more than if we’d gone to class.”
    “That’s an interesting rationalization,” Pitt said. “I hope you get a bunch of questions about the zoo on your next exams.”
    “Ah, you’re just jealous,” Beau said, cuffing the top of Pitt’s head.
    “Maybe so,” Pitt admitted. He stepped out of Beau’s reach. “I put in thirty hours in the ER since yesterday morning.”
    “Thirty hours?” Cassy questioned. “Really?”
    “Honest,” Pitt said. He then told them the story of the room where Beau had spent the afternoon and about spilling the coffee on Dr. Sheila Miller, the woman in charge of the entire emergency department.
    Both Beau and Cassy were entranced, especially about the condition of the room and the death of the housekeeper. Beau asked the most questions, but Pitt had few answers. “They’re waiting for the autopsy results,” Pitt added. “Everybody’s hoping then there will be some answers. Right now no one has any idea of what happened.”
    “Sounds horrid,” Cassy said, making an expression of disgust. “A hole burned through his hand. Gads, I could never be a doctor. No way.”
    “I got a question for you, Beau,” Pitt said after they’d walked a few moments in silence. “How did Cassy manage to talk you into this day of culture?”
    “Hey, wait a sec!” Cassy interrupted. “This day wasn’t my idea. It was Beau’s.”
    “Get outta here,” Pitt said skeptically. “You expect meto believe that…Mr. Type A who never misses a day of school.”
    “Ask him!” Cassy challenged.
    Beau just laughed.
    Cassy, intent on making her point that she’d not been to blame for the frivolous day and despite the crowded sidewalk, had turned and was walking backward so as to confront Pitt. “Come on, ask him,” she urged.
    Suddenly Cassy collided with a pedestrian coming in the opposite direction who wasn’t paying much attention either. Both were mildly jolted but certainly unhurt.
    Cassy immediately apologized as did the individual whom she’d hit. But then she did a double take. It was Mr. Partridge, the dour principal of the Anna C. Scott school.
    Ed did a similar double take.
    “Wait a second,” he said as a smile spread across his face. “I know you. You’re Miss Winthrope, the charming