An elderly lady wearing a pale blue scrub-type jacket with a round patch on the shoulder that said Volunteer looked up as Heather approached the desk. Her name tag read Phyllis. “May I help you?” she asked. “Is the volunteer coordinator in?” Heather asked. “She’s out to lunch. Is there some way I could help you?” “Rats. I had wanted to talk to you about one of your volunteers. Verna Dixon.” Phyllis’ mouth drooped, and her eyes softened. “Verna doesn’t volunteer with us anymore, unfortunately,” she said. “Verna passed away recently.” “I know,” Heather said somberly. “That’s what I wanted to talk to the volunteer coordinator about.” “Like I said, she’s out to lunch. But if you need to talk to somebody about Verna, you might try the nurses in ICU. That’s where Verna worked. I imagine they know her pretty well up there.” “Thank you, I’ll try that,” she said. “Do I just take those elevators right there?”
