There was a happy smile on Betty’s face as Nurse opened the door. If she had been the contestant on that game show, she would have won twenty thousand dollars.

“Not very hungry?” Nurse took the tray. “You’ve got company, so we’ll have our bath later.”

Betty was careful not to laugh out loud. Since Nurse had never bathed with her, why did she use the plural? Perhaps Nurse was using the “royal we,” pretending she was Queen of England. And then Nurse was gone and the cowgirl was there, along with her foreign actor. Betty smiled, always glad to see faces besides Nurse’s.

The quiz program was over and a movie was on, something with stirring music. It was about a runner in an important race and the cowgirl watched for a minute. “That looks like Chariots of Fire. Have you seen it before, Betty?”

Betty shook her head, even though she really wasn’t sure. With this horrid disease, she sometimes forgot the movies as soon as she watched them. If everyone in the country had her disease, the television station could save a lot of money by running the same movie over and over.

The cowgirl spoke again. “You look tired. Did you stay up late watching television?”

Betty nodded. Yes, she had, she remembered, and she recalled the movie, too, because it had frightened her.

“Which program did you watch, Betty?” The foreign actor asked the question and Betty turned to look at him. He really wanted to know. She wished she could tell him about it, but the words were very difficult to catch.

“Movie.” She heard herself speak and she was very surprised. It must have been right because he nodded.

“That sounds like fun.” The cowgirl smiled. “Do you remember what it was about?”

Betty frowned. Of course she remembered, but now she’d forgotten the word for it. She opened her mouth and nothing came out.

“Was it a romance?”

Betty shook her head. It hadn’t been a romance. She knew that. Suddenly she had an idea, and she put her hands up to her eyes to peek through her fingers.

“It was a horror movie!” The cowgirl looked very excited. “Did someone get killed?”

Betty smiled. That was exactly right, someone had died.

“Were they shot? Or maybe stabbed?” The cowgirl turned to the foreign actor. “Help me, Paul. I can’t think of any other ways.”

“Perhaps there was a drowning? An explosion? Poison?”

Betty shook her head each time he spoke. If only she could find that word! Then, before she really thought about it, her hands moved up to her neck.

“Choking!” They both spoke at once and Betty gave them a smile. That was almost right so she did it again.

“Strangling?” the cowgirl guessed. “Or maybe someone got hung?”

“Hanged,” Betty corrected. “Clothes get hung, people get hanged.”

The cowgirl looked very shocked and then she reached out to hug Betty. “That’s right! Hanged. I never could remember which was which.”

Betty laughed out loud, glad there was something someone else had trouble remembering. And the cowgirl didn’t even have the disease.

“So the subject was hanging.” The foreign actor smiled at her. “That is very frightening. Are there no comedies for you to watch?”

Betty shook her head. No comedies, just awful movies where people got killed.

“I bet it was a western!” The cowgirl looked excited again. Betty knew she must like westerns because she always dressed in the costumes. “Channel eleven runs all those old cowboy movies. Were you watching channel eleven?”

Betty held up three fingers. She had been watching forbidden channel three.

“But we don’t even get channel three. Are you sure, Betty?”

Betty tried to concentrate on the question. What had the cowgirl asked? Suddenly her mind was blank. This was an interesting game to play, but her eyes kept falling shut.

“Come, Jayne.” The foreign actor stood up. “Would you wish us to come back later, Betty, after you have rested?”

Betty nodded. He was so nice. It was lucky the cowgirl with her in-between name had found him again.

It was almost one in the afternoon when Moira and Grace knocked on Hal’s door bearing a pitcher of orange juice and a large bottle of aspirin, just in case Hal didn’t have any. Moira knocked again, then used the key Hal had given them so they could keep an eye on things when he was out of town.

Silence greeted them, and the bed didn’t look as if it had been slept in. “He must be in his studio,” Moira said, leading the way. “He probably holed up in there.”

Grace blushed. “Yes, but what if he’s . . . I mean . . . what if he doesn’t have any clothes on?”

“That shouldn’t bother you, especially if he’s passed out cold. Come on. You’ll probably have to help me carry him back to bed.”

Grace found she was holding her breath as Moira opened Hal’s studio door.

“Hell!” Moira spun Grace around and pushed her through the doorway. “Go get a couple of the guys.”

“But I can help you,” Grace started to protest. “What’s wrong?”

“Move it, Grace! Get the hell out of here!”

Grace hurried to the elevator and frantically stabbed at the button. When it didn’t come right away, she ran up the stairs. Moira had said hell twice without even trying to think of a substitute, and that meant that something was terribly wrong.

They’d all gathered at Grace and Moira’s again, and it had been almost eleven at night before they’d split up to go home. Jayne had claimed they were like spooked cattle herding together, and she wasn’t far wrong. No one had wanted to be alone. Hal’s suicide on the heels of Vanessa’s awful accident had been just too much to handle.

Laureen frowned as Alan opened the door to their apartment and they stepped inside. “I can’t do it, Alan. I simply can’t survive another night in those lounge chairs.”

“I know what you mean.” Alan winced a little and rubbed his neck. “I guess we should have taken Jayne and Paul up on their offer after all.”

“No, you were right. They need their time alone right now. I thought about asking Ellen if we could sleep there, but I know Walker’s using her guest room. Maybe we should have stayed at Grace and Moira’s.”

“We can still do that,” Alan pointed out. “Moira told us to knock on the door if we couldn’t sleep.”

“But Grace could hardly keep her eyes open, Alan.”

“Then how about Marc’s place? He’s always up late, playing his pinball machines. He’d put us up in his guest room.”

Laureen shook her head. “Remember the last time you slept on a water bed?”

Alan grinned. They’d gone to one of those adult motels once, and the water bed had thrown his back out for a week. “It seemed to me it was worth it.”

Laureen giggled and her face turned slightly red. It had definitely been worth it.

Alan started to grin. “I know what we can do. We’ll go up and sleep at Hal’s. After all, we’re putting him up in our freezer.”

“Oh, Alan!” Laureen looked shocked. “How can you joke about a thing like that?”

“If I don’t, I get scared. I can handle it if I joke about it. Betty’s place is out. The nurse is using her guest room, but how about Johnny’s? His place is vacant.”

“Not Johnny’s. I know it’s ridiculous, but I can’t seem to shake the idea that we’ll open a closet and find his body.”

“Then the only place left is Clayton and Rachael’s. Would that bother you?”

Laureen took a moment to think, then she shook her head. “Rachael’s such a good housekeeper, she’s probably got the guest room all made up. You don’t think they’d mind, do you, Alan?”

“If they were here, they’d be the first to invite us. Come on, honey. Let’s get our things together and go.”

The Caretaker frowned as he watched them step inside. Alan was carrying a bag and Laureen had two pillows. Clayton’s apartment was a lousy choice, but perhaps it would be all right as long as they didn’t start snooping around.