“Wise decision. As for moving her here, dementia patients tend to do better when they’re allowed to stay in familiar surroundings. If that isn’t possible there are some wonderful places specifically set up to keep them active and well cared for. I’ve seen some patients live much fuller lives when they’re cared for in these special centers.”
He grinned at her. “You seem to know a lot about it for an ER nurse.”
“I have a friend, Dr. Mercy Bower, who started something like that in Knolls not long ago. I saw her last week and she told me it’s such a huge success that she’s planning to open another center. This isn’t a nursing home. It’s a special place that is geared toward keeping a person’s mind as active as possible for as long as possible.”
“You think my mother would be better off in a center like that than living here?”
“Each individual is different but when trained staff is busy keeping those struggling minds occupied every day they can work wonders.”
“Then perhaps it’s something to consider.” He leaned forward. “You haven’t told me why you’re here tonight. Are you working to pay someone back for taking your place last week?”
She looked down at the table and traced a circle on the surface. “Not exactly.”
There was a knock at the threshold and Becky stepped through the open break room door. “I thought I’d find you here. Lauren, we have a patient waiting for triage. A woman with belly pains.”
“Coming.” Lauren pushed wearily from the table and put her mug into the sink at the far side of the room. “If you want to know what’s been happening around here lately, Grant, check out your office. Dr. Jonas gave notice two days ago and he was removed from the physician schedule completely.”
“Why?”
She glanced over her shoulder and lowered her voice. “He’s upset about a reprimand he received from Dr. Caine within the hearing of patients and staff. Muriel is no longer with us. Dr. Caine fired her.” She wouldn’t tell him yet that she had considered submitting her own resignation and returning to Knolls. “We’ve lost some staff in other departments as well.”
“Because of Dr. Caine?”
She nodded. “Are you sure you don’t want to go home and take a nap before you have to face this place?”
He looked wearier than when he’d come in. “I don’t think I can afford to let things go for eight more hours.”
Lauren turned to walk from the room then reconsidered and pivoted back. “I’m sorry I didn’t ask. How did your deposition go?”
“It was rescheduled for next week.” He grabbed his cup and stood up. “Apparently I wasn’t the only one caught off guard by the sudden announcement of the date. Now I think I’ll check out my office and see if I can do some damage control.”
“One more thing before you go. About Oakley Brisco’s death—I think it hit Dr. Caine pretty hard. That could be one reason he’s been so antagonistic this week.”
“It might explain this week but what about last week?” Grant’s tone was uncharacteristically sharp. “And the week before that?”
Lauren shrugged. “There are always problems beneath the surface. Who can know?”
***
Grant switched on the overhead light in his office, stood in the threshold for several seconds, then stepped into the office as he braced himself for whatever he might discover. He wouldn’t be surprised to find that Mitchell Caine had arranged for the room to be redecorated while he was gone but the curtains had not changed, the desk was still the same, the chairs familiar. He strolled to the bulletin board where he kept all the staff schedules.
The red marks gave him his initial clue to the extent of the changes Lauren had mentioned.
Each of the ER schedules, from nursing to secretaries to physicians to surgeons on call, contained changes. Lauren had been relegated almost exclusively to night shifts for the rest of the month. She hadn’t mentioned that. How many other things had she neglected to mention?
Mitchell had crossed Dr. Jonas from the list and replaced it with his own name in neat familiar script. Phil Jonas only worked a few shifts a month to supplement his family practice in Branson. He was part-time at this facility, which Mitchell Caine didn’t know. That meant he couldn’t legally be dismissed, and neither could he quit, without sixty-day notice. Mitchell had made an egregious mistake. How many others had he made?
After further checking, Grant discovered that two of the less experienced nurses had been placed together on weekends—an unwise move since this emergency department saw about fifty percent more volume on weekends. Muriel was missing from the schedule altogether.
In a surge of anger Grant ripped all the schedules from the board and stacked them on his desk. He punched the number to the call room and drummed his fingers on the desktop while he waited for it to ring three... four... five times. Stay calm.
There was a click and then a dry rasp echoed over the speakerphone. “What is it?”
“Mitchell? This is Grant Sheldon.”
There was a grunt of surprise and a muffled groan of bedsprings. “What time is it?”
“Two-thirty in the morning. I just received word that you have a patient waiting for you.”
“Patient?”
“Lauren is with her now. I need to discuss some concerns with you when you get a chance.”
“Fine.”
“I’ll be waiting in my office.” He punched the button to disconnect.
He would call Phil Jonas in the morning and make amends, praying the doctor would accept an apology. The doctor filled a vital role in this facility, particularly when two or more of the regular docs wanted off at the same time.
Grant would also call the nurse director of the ER and arrange to rescind Muriel’s termination and restore the schedules as they had been before he left. He jotted instructions to himself and stuck them onto the respective calendars. There was a slight chance that he was risking his future here at Dogwood Springs by bucking the chief of staff but it wasn’t a serious risk. William Butler had final call on these matters. William would back him.
By the time he completed the delicate task of schedule changes his anger had spent itself. Almost. He simply had to keep reminding himself that most physicians weren’t like Mitchell Caine.
Grant had discovered long ago the special bond of brotherhood that existed between doctors when they didn’t allow their egos to get in the way—unfortunately, the ego thing was a big problem quite often. It was probably the same for nurses or attorneys or teachers or any other calling. The medical field was a tough profession.
If they stumbled somewhere along the way, Grant could hardly blame them. It didn’t mean the calling wasn’t there—it just meant they had lost sight of their first call. He too had stumbled. Now it was time to deal with a comrade who seemed to have stumbled hard along the way—and he needed to do it with compassion.
He was half-dozing at his desk when the knock came on his office door. He looked up to find Caine hovering at the entrance. The doctor’s stained lab coat hung in wrinkled folds and fatigue lined his face.
“You wanted to see me?” The voice was not antagonistic but it wasn’t friendly. It was hesitant, cautious, like a truant schoolboy who thought he might have been caught skipping school but wasn’t sure.
“Yes, Mitchell. Please come in and sit down.”
Caine stepped inside but he did not sit.
Grant gestured to the sheets of scheduling on his desk. “I notice you’ve been putting in a lot of hours here lately.”
A muscle twitched in Mitchell’s right jaw. “I don’t see what choice I had. You were out of town and Jonas chose this week to abandon ship.”
Grant nearly choked on his tongue. “I understand the situation. I’ll call Dr. Jonas in the morning and talk to him. Meanwhile I hope to be here at least until next week, probably longer. I’ll be able to do the scheduling. I’m sure you’ll be relieved to see that you will be working only the hours you were previously scheduled. That sh
ould give you a chance to catch up on some rest.”
Mitchell’s shoulders straightened and his winged eyebrows lowered. “I spent a great deal of time and effort rearranging those schedules.”
“I’m sorry my absence has made things difficult for you.” Grant picked up the sheets in question and kept his voice soft. “I can’t use them as they are. The safety of our patients is my first concern and we need more seasoned nurses on these weekend shifts.” He just hoped they hadn’t lost more of their staff by tomorrow. “We also need our night nurse back. I’ll call Muriel in the morning.” Might as well spill it all out at the same time.
Caine’s eyes flared. “You can’t do that. I fired that nurse for insubordination. I refuse to work with a member of the staff who is blatantly disrespectful. A nurse has to be willing to take orders from the physician on duty and—”
“I’m aware of the situation,” Grant said. He didn’t mention the fact that he had found a copy in his mail of a grievance report Muriel had filled out. “I understand that it’s difficult to maintain order in the ER when a staff member is insubordinate but I feel this is a special case—we need this nurse. Our hospital is short-staffed as it is. We can’t afford to lose an experienced nurse over one instance of insubordination.”
“I cannot work with her.”
What a prima dona. “I will review the paperwork and speak with her. I’m sorry if she irritates you. We can arrange to have your shifts scheduled so that you can work with nurses with whom you feel most comfortable.” Grant tried to curb his own rising animosity but he couldn’t help thinking about the way this man had treated Beau.
“Will that be all?” Mitchell snapped.
“One more thing.” Grant picked up a sheet of names and numbers that had been placed in the center of the desk. “This is the list of ministers in the area who take part in the chaplain call program. I’m curious to know why it’s been taken from the bulletin board. Is there a problem with their scheduling?”
A sigh and a nod. “The reverend called you?”
“Nobody called me, Mitchell. In case you can’t tell, I just arrived in town.”
A glimmer of surprise crossed Mitchell’s expression and he shook his head. “Okay. I was wondering if your...if Beau told you about our misunderstanding.”
Grant curbed a sharp retort. “Misunderstanding? I don’t think those were the exact words Beau used but yes, he told me what happened. He tends to blame himself more than he should when something bad happens.”
Mitchell looked up. For once there was no coldness in those steely eyes, only the barest glimpse of sorrow. He looked down quickly. “There was a considerable amount of misunderstanding. It began with the guardian of one of our patients and unfortunately escalated before I realized the facts about Beau’s situation.” His lips gave a sardonic twist. “Lauren was quick to point out my mistake, as was Muriel, and I came in early this evening to express my misgivings to Beau about the unfortunate incident.”
“I’m sure he appreciated that,” Grant said. “And so do I. Thank you.”
Mitchell nodded. He stared down at the floor for a moment then said in a quiet voice, “He may have told you about the divorce, as well.”
“Divorce?”
A long silence. Another sigh seemed to reach to the edges of Mitchell’s lung capacity. “Mine.”
“Beau didn’t say anything about that and he wouldn’t. He takes confidentiality seriously. I’m sorry to hear it.” That tight band of anger loosened a little more from around Grant’s heart. This was a viable explanation for so much of Mitchell’s poor behavior lately.
“I’m sure you didn’t call me in here to listen to musings about my private life.” Mitchell turned to leave.
“On the contrary, I’m here to listen to you any time. If you need someone to speak with, I will help you contact—”
“I have no interest in baring my soul to a stranger.”
Grant sighed. “I know we’re both tired,” he said softly. “Neither of us is at his best. Perhaps we should continue this conversation after we’ve both had a good night’s sleep.”
“That would probably be best.” Mitchell turned on his heel like a soldier in stride and left the office.
As Grant watched him go he felt an uncomfortable surge of empathy for the man. Mitchell was obviously in the first stages of grief over the loss of a marriage. He showed many signs of serious depression. He must feel overwhelmed by the pressure, particularly since he didn’t seem able to bring himself to rely on anyone but himself. If the pressure continued, the cracks in his relationships with others would become more and more obvious and his self-control would grow weaker.
What would happen when Mitchell Caine lost his ability to continue the facade?
At last Grant found the strength to take the necessary measures and pray for his enemy. At last he felt the relief of obedience and the beginning of forgiveness.
Chapter 25
Early Saturday morning Tony Dalton realized he had never really heard or felt the power of his own heartbeat until this past June. He’d never focused on the exquisite pain of an adrenaline rush through his system. He was never so cognizant of his remaining four senses until after the attack that had robbed him of his most cherished one.
He hoped this morning would be the culmination of years of learning, months of teaching, and weeks of strategic planning and detective work from some surprising sources. He’d scheduled everything with detailed precision and much help.
His natural high could end in frustration, however, if he focused on the things he could no longer do. He had to depend on others for the simple act of spying.
A tap of keys on a laptop echoed through the van like a muffled spray of ricocheting bullets.
“The last officers are in place,” announced Officer Henry Fulton. “No sign of activity.”
“How long until daylight?”
“I’d say ten minutes. Getting cold in here, want some heat?”
Tony reveled in the cold. “Nope, leave the engine off.”
“Fingers are getting stiff.”
“Sit on ‘em for a little bit. That’ll warm them up.”
They had arrived under cover of darkness. They would wait until first light. Henry—who did his best work behind a keyboard—would be Tony’s eyes. Tony knew Henry couldn’t forget the accident last summer. During a raid, Henry had been told not to enter a building until Tony gave the order. He hadn’t waited. If Tony hadn’t jumped forward when he did, Henry would have been the one to take the full blast of ammonia in the face.
“It’ll go great, Tony. The guys know what they’re doing.”
“Anything could happen,” Tony growled.
Tony knew Henry hadn’t forgiven himself for the accident. This was his first raid in six months and the tension was so thick in his voice that it permeated the van.
He was right about one thing, though: Tony’s people knew the upcoming sequence in their sleep. The plan wouldn’t work everywhere for every drug raid. It had been custom designed for this setup, this town’s drug boss, and these particular raiders. Tony had drilled them, encouraged them, admonished them, and often shouted at them when they didn’t want to listen.
The slippery, more experienced meth producers had made a habit of setting up shop, cooking a batch or two in a short period of time, then dismantling and moving on to escape authorities.
Peregrine, however, was becoming more and more careless. Strict surveillance showed that for the past four months he had frequented five rental houses scattered throughout Dogwood Springs. According to sentries all five houses had been occupied last night. Tony expected his people to find evidence of production in every single house; they were prepared with protective gear, camouflage, and gas masks.
Today’s raid was made possible by private citizens of this town. Since the school-wide funeral for one of their own, the telephone calls to the police department had quadrupled. Public outrage over Oakley Brisco’s death was a powerful fo
rce. Evan Webster’s article in the school paper yesterday had been a clincher. Students and their parents were moved to action and Tony and his men had been able to work out last-minute details from information they had received from some of these brand-new sources. Tony could kiss Evan Webster.
A few minutes later, when Henry’s teeth had begun to clatter almost as loudly as the keyboard, the key-clatter stalled out. “Getting light, Tony. Sun’s halfway up, just like you wanted.”
Tony spoke into his mouthpiece to the forty-five people who awaited his go-ahead. “Everyone get ready.”
The tension mounted and he loved it. Officers had come from all over the county, many on their day off, to work this raid. Peregrine had last been seen entering the house a block down the street and the sentry had not seen him leave. The stealth with which Tony’s raiders moved in would aid them greatly in the surprise attack.
He pressed the button. “Now. Move. Go.”
He sat back and listened to Henry’s stressed-out breathing. Now was the time to pray. And he intended to revel in the afterglow.
Henry cleared his throat. “They’re going in.”
This was a pivotal point, vital that they stop any communication from the house—any warning to the other places.
He heard the first gunshot echo only minutes after his order. He heard Henry’s sharp gasp.
“What do you see, Henry?”
“Nothing.” The word trembled from the man’s throat. “I can’t see anything! You want me to g-get out and—”
“Stay here. They know how to take care of themselves.” What they wouldn’t know how to handle was Henry when he tripped over his own feet.
Another shot and Henry groaned. He held his breath for a long moment then started to breathe again. “They’re coming out. Look, that detective from Branson’s got one handcuffed.”
“I can’t look right now, Henry, if you know what I—”
Tony’s cell phone rang and he pushed the talk button. “Dalton.”
“Sergeant, are those extra ambulances still on standby?”
“Yes. Is the house secured?”
“Yes. Four people in this one, one gunshot wound, one inhalation distress.”
NECESSARY MEASURES Page 25