by E J Kindred
The ICU was laid out like a wagon wheel, with the nurse’s station as the hub and each patient room the spokes. The walls facing the nurses’ station were glass, so the medical staff could see into each room. Privacy could be had by pulling floor to ceiling curtains closed. Each room was set up for a single patient.
Grandma Natalie lay swathed in blankets, her head resting on a soft pillow. Clear IV lines snaked down to her arm from bags of fluids. She was surrounded by more beeping machines than I’d ever seen. One monitored her pulse and blood pressure, but I had no idea what the other devices did.
She was asleep or unconscious, I didn’t know which. I pulled a chair to her bedside and held her hand, moving only to let the nurses hang new IV fluids or adjust the machines. When I arrived, they told me to keep my visit to fifteen minutes, but an hour later, they hadn’t asked me to leave.
When Joe showed up, however, they did ask us to visit one at a time, so I stepped outside the room to let him sit with her. I watched from near the nurses’ station and tried to stay out of the way. From that vantage point, I saw four other patients in their own rooms, also with visitors.
“Are you visiting Ms. Lindberg?”
A man who appeared to be in his fifties, dressed in hospital scrubs and wearing a white coat, approached me. He had dark brown skin, darker brown eyes, and black hair liberally laced with silver. His voice carried the pleasing lilt that people originally from India possessed.
“Yes, I’m her granddaughter.”
“I’m Doctor Bhattacharya. I operated on your grandmother yesterday.”
“How’s she doing?”
“As well as can be expected at this point. She was seriously injured, mostly internal injuries, though she has a couple of broken ribs and a broken leg. We’re keeping her sedated for a day or two, but I expect her to make a full recovery.”
“That’s a relief.”
Joe joined us and I introduced them.
Joe said, “Yesterday, one of the emergency room nurses mentioned the possibility of a head injury.”
“We didn’t see any indication on x-rays or CT, but we won’t know for sure until she wakes up. All signs are encouraging, though, so try not to worry too much.” He paused for a moment. With a quizzical expression, he asked, “Is it true that she was riding a motorcycle? I mean, she’s in her sixties. I saw the report, but I wasn’t sure how accurate it was.”
“Yes, she loves her Harley,” Joe said, and I murmured my agreement. “She’s ridden them her whole life. She was giving a ride to a friend, and from what we’ve been told, they were hit by a man who ran a light.”
“I have a feeling your grandmother is a strong person, and barring any setbacks, I think she’ll be fine.”
Joe and I spent a little more time with our sleeping grandmother until the nurse in charge of her care insisted politely, but firmly, that we’d overstayed our welcome. We called Patrick with an update and bought sandwiches in the hospital cafeteria.
I said, “I think I’ll go get Shadow this afternoon.”
“And start packing?” Joe gave me a lopsided grin.
“I might as well. I’m going to stay here in Portland anyway. She’ll need help when she goes home.”
After lunch, I drove back to Charbonneau. Once I placated Shadow with treats and a new catnip toy, I called my clients to let them know I was leaving town. Most of them offered kind wishes for Grandma Natalie’s recovery. I gave them Lupe’s name and encouraged them to hire her. I contacted Elise Wentworth last.
I didn’t feel the need to explain about my grandmother’s collision and injuries. I informed her I wouldn’t be coming out to clean for her any longer. Her reaction was not a surprise.
“What do you mean—you’re quitting?”
For the first time, I said what I wanted, her feelings be damned. “It’s a simple concept.” I made no effort to conceal the disdain I felt for her. “Quitting means I won’t work at your home again. I’m finished.”
“But what about—”
“I don’t care, Elise. I’m through listening to you bitch and moan about every little speck of dust. You’re a spoiled diva with a superiority complex, when all you did was marry a wealthy doctor. He gave you anything you wanted, and you spit on everything he tried to do for you. He loved you, but I can’t begin to fathom why. Nobody likes working for you. You might want to try changing your behavior before everyone quits. You’ll have a hard time finding replacements, too, what with your reputation around town.”
She was silent for a long moment. With a sigh, she said, “Okay, fine,” and slammed the phone down.
I sat for a moment, feeling a little sheepish, thinking I’d been too harsh with her. And then I said aloud, “Damn, that felt good.”
I had more calls to make, but I decided to pack a box or two first. I snipped the band around the cartons Grandma Natalie left for me. Shadow promptly claimed ownership of the plastic strip. I assembled a couple of the boxes and opened my closet door. Standing before the neatly folded sheets and blankets stored there, a feeling came over me that I’d made the right decision.
A couple of hours later, I’d packed half a dozen boxes. I decided to take a break and drove by the Charbonneau police station. Dean’s car was in the lot, so I parked and went inside. The receptionist phoned him and after a few moments, he led me past the infamous library and into his office.
“What can I do for you this fine day?” We sat opposite each other across his desk.
“I have a question first. Any news about Mo?”
“No, unfortunately. As I suspected, her car didn’t reveal any evidence leading us to think someone else drove it to the airport. I’m sorry.”
I spoke insistently. “It’s been more than a month, Dean. I’d have bet my life she didn’t have anything to do with the doctor’s murder, but I don’t know what to think any more. Either I’m wrong about her, or something terrible has happened to her.”
He started to speak, but I waved his words away.
“The reason I came by is to let you know I’m moving back to Portland. My grandmother was injured in a bad crash, and she’s going to need my help after she’s out of the hospital. Truth to tell, though, I’d decided to move before this happened. I like it here, but I’m too far from my family.”
“I have your phone number, Annie. I’ll keep in touch if I hear anything about your friend. And if we ever find out who killed Doctor Wentworth and there’s a trial, you might need to testify about finding his body.”
“Thank you. I’ll be willing to testify, of course.” I tried to ignore the echo of Patrick’s voice, warning me to come clean with Dean, which I’d avoided doing. Then I remembered something else. “I’ve been meaning to ask you something.”
“Shoot.”
“Didn’t the security camera over the back door show anything? If nothing else, it should have shown the doc going out the door and falling, wouldn’t it?”
“Someone at the house told one of the officers the camera didn’t work.” He picked up a coffee mug from his desk and took a drink.
“Sure it does.”
He was still for a moment, coffee mug in his hand. “How do you know?”
“Last summer, not long after I started working there, Elise had a tantrum about the garden being vandalized. The recording from the camera showed a deer eating the flowers. If someone at the house said the camera was broken, they were wrong.”
“Or lying.” He put the mug down with a thud and reached for the phone. “Harrison,” he barked, “get your ass in here, and bring your notebook.”
Within moments, the young officer I’d first met when Elise’s jewelry went missing was at the door.
“Yes, boss?” He sounded worried.
“Did you take the report about the Wentworths’ security cameras when the doctor was killed?”
“Hold on.” He riffled through the pages of his notebook. “Yes, I did. Why?”
“Who told you the camera outside the back door wasn’
t working?”
He riffled through the pages of his notebook and looked up with an embarrassed expression. “I forgot to write who said it.”
Dean heaved a sigh. “You and Baker get out to that house and see if there are recordings from that camera. I want to know who told us it wasn’t working.”
“Yes, boss.” Harrison headed for the door.
“And Jimmy, if it turns out the camera works, you and Baker better hope a recording still exists. Are we clear about that? And for god’s sake, learn to take better notes, or I’ll get your ass fired.”
“Yes, boss,” and this time, the young man escaped, calling for his partner as he hustled down the hallway.
“Damn it.” Clearly annoyed, Dean drummed his fingers on the desk. Then he seemed to remember I was there. “Sorry about that. They should never have taken someone’s word about that camera. It won’t happen again, you can trust me on that.”
He must have seen something in my eyes because he said, “What?”
“I’m wondering what else it might show,” I said slowly. “Like whoever killed the doc? Or anyone else who might have gone out that door?” I didn’t mention Mo, but I didn’t have to. I got the sense Dean was on track with me.
“I suppose so, if it hasn’t been recorded over.”
“If I remember right, the cameras are motion activated, and there’s usually not much activity out there, so fingers crossed.”
Before I left, I gave him Grandma Natalie’s address.
“It’ll be a few days before I’m completely moved. I’ll be at the hospital a lot, so if you need to reach me, call my cell.”
He agreed and added his wishes for her recovery, and I went home to pack more boxes.
The next few days took on a sort of sad routine. I got up every morning and called the hospital for an update, hoping she’d regained consciousness, and every time, I was disappointed. The doctor was kind enough to call me and tell me I shouldn’t worry, that she was still lightly sedated, but she was healing well after the surgery. I appreciated his efforts, but not worrying wasn’t an option.
After that, I packed a few more boxes and loaded them into the car. Shadow alternated between hiding in the newly assembled boxes and leaping out at me in great delight.
Bit by bit, box by box, trip by trip, I got my stuff moved into Grandma Natalie’s house. The stack of cartons grew slowly. Every time I lifted a box out of the car, I thanked my lucky stars I wasn’t a packrat like Dad.
Of course, I left packing my books until last. I figured Joe would come in handy for that fun little task.
On the Monday after the crash, I was driving to Portland when my cell phone rang. I pressed the button on the steering wheel connecting my phone to the sound system in the car.
“Annie, where are you?” Patrick sounded annoyed.
“On my way to town. I’m stopping by Grandma’s house to drop off boxes. Why? What’s going on?”
“Have you heard anything new from the doctors?” His tone changed to one of concern. He hadn’t had grandparents of his own, and Grandma Natalie took him in years ago as she had Joe and me, though his parents were alive and well. As far as Patrick was concerned, the sun rose and set on Grandma Natalie.
“No,” I said. “I called again this morning, and she still wasn’t awake. I’m going to see her anyway. Staying away feels wrong.”
“I understand. When you’re done, call me, okay?”
I agreed and we ended the call. I was worried that he’d sounded irritated at first, but maybe it wasn’t about me for once.
At the hospital, I sat next to Grandma Natalie’s bed and held her hand until the nurse evicted me. She’d let me stay long past the usual permitted time, and she sounded reluctant to make me leave.
“She’s lucky to have you,” the nurse said. “Some patients don’t get visitors in here.”
I moved out of her way while she changed the bag of IV fluid. We chatted for another minute, and I noticed the nurse stroking Grandma Natalie’s hair. Even unconscious, she was making friends.
I made a detour through a fast food place on my way to the house and tried not to think about hardening arteries and antibiotic-laced meat while I devoured a burger and fries. After I ate, I unloaded boxes from the car.
In my grandmother’s garage, I stood for a moment admiring the stack of cartons I’d made. Except for those I needed at my apartment, all of my sheets and towels were in there, along with most of my kitchen tools, bike accessories, and more cat toys than I cared to consider. A few more days, and my things would be completely moved. Except for the books. I still needed to call Joe about that.
Thinking about Joe reminded me to phone Patrick.
“Can you come to the office in about an hour?” He was back to sounding annoyed.
“I suppose so. Why?”
“Beth needs to talk with you again. And so do I.” With that, he hung up.
Hell and damnation, what now?
I went into the empty house and tried not to think about what I was in trouble for this time. While I waited, I dusted and vacuumed and started the dishwasher. Keeping busy helped me to worry less about everything: my grandmother, whatever it was that Beth and Patrick wanted to talk about, Doctor Wentworth’s murder, and my deep grief for my father. I stood back and surveyed the results of my efforts. No doubt about it, I needed a diversion, something fun to do.
At the appointed time, I made the long walk down the windowed hallway at Patrick’s law offices. This time, the receptionist barely acknowledged my presence before waving me through.
I opened the conference room door to find Patrick standing near the coffee station and Beth at the table, this time without a stack of files before her. Neither of them responded to my greeting except to direct me to a chair.
Wary, I took a seat across from Beth. Patrick sat at the head of the table, not next to me as he had when we’d met here before. Neither of them spoke.
“Okay, I’m here. What’s going on?”
“Do I understand correctly that you are somehow involved in the murder of a doctor in Charbonneau?” Beth’s tone was icy.
So that was it.
“The word ‘involved’ isn’t accurate. I didn’t kill him, so no, I’m not involved in his murder. I found his body. That’s all.”
“That’s not all,” Patrick said. “Tell her the rest.”
“What rest? I found the doctor’s body and gave my report to the police.”
“And?” He was using his lawyer voice on me, and I resented it.
“And I’ve given all the information I have to the detective there.” I’d had enough. “For fuck’s sake, Patrick, what do you want from me? Isn’t it enough that I had the bad luck to find the doc’s dead body? When I think about the doctor, you know what I see? I see my father’s body with his shop burned down around him.”
I couldn’t sit still any longer. I rose and paced the length of the room while they both sat silently. After a few passes, I resumed my place at the table.
“Look,” I said, trying to calm myself, “yes, I found him. Yes, I gave information to the detective. What else should I do?”
Beth finally spoke. “Have you told the Charbonneau detective about your father’s death and your partner’s murder?”
“No, I haven’t.” I ignored Patrick’s snort of derision.
“Why not?” At least her tone was polite, if distant.
“It’s not relevant, is it?”
“He might think otherwise.”
“Why? How is the shooting death of a woman in Portland related to a stabbing of a doctor in Charbonneau? They have nothing in common.”
“They have you in common.”
I had no response to that.
“You’re already a person of interest in a murder, Annie,” Patrick said. “I don’t believe for a moment that you killed Nicky, but someone else who doesn’t know you, who has a different perspective, might disagree.”
“And you,” I said to Beth, “what d
o you think?”
She paused for a long moment before she answered. “I’m not drawing any conclusions yet. The investigation is ongoing. I can tell you that Nicky was working with a local gang notorious for violence. They’ve been linked to at least three killings in just the past year. But the other reality is that, as of today, the evidence still shows that you had what a lot of people would consider a strong motive to kill her. Her meth lab caused the explosion and fire that burned the bike shop and killed your father. In those circumstances, I might want to kill, too.”
I opened my mouth to say, “I didn’t kill her,” but unexpectedly, my throat closed up and tears streamed down my face. I grabbed a handful of tissues from a box on the table. Her tone had been kind and understanding and caught me off guard. I took a deep breath and tried to control my emotions, but again, the image of my father’s body hit me with unavoidable force. I wiped the tears away.
“I hope you realize,” she said, “when Dean Jarrett learns that his most important witness is a person of interest in another homicide, he won’t be happy.”
“You know Dean?” I shouldn’t have been surprised, but I was.
“He was a detective in Portland for several years. We didn’t work together, but I know who he is. He’s a good cop, Annie, the best, and you can trust him.”
“But—” I stopped.
“But only if you’re honest with him.”
Just then, the phone rang and Patrick answered it. He replaced the receiver and turned to me.
“Remember when you promised to talk to Dean?”
I looked at him without speaking, dread growing.
“Did you do it?”
“No,” I said in a low voice.
“Figured as much.” He strode the length of the room and opened the conference room door.
That evening, I sat curled up in one corner of Grandma Natalie’s white couch. I had a beer in my hand and a blanket pulled halfway up to my shoulders. Shadow pawed at the blanket, so I lifted the edge to let him settle in under it.
The television was on, but I had no idea what I was seeing. The angry silence I’d gotten from Dean and the lectures I’d endured from Beth and Patrick had me boiling with anger. I’d have thrown the bottle in my hand against the wall in frustration, but no matter how mad I might be, wasting good beer was not an option.