Ill Will

by J. M. Redmann

  “If we messed up we would have seen them.”

  “If the appointment was erased, how would you know that you messed up and that the patient hadn’t come on the wrong day? And how often could something like this happen?”

  She again looked behind her, but this time it seemed more as a way to avoid the implications of my question than worry about being followed. She finally shook her head and replied, “I don’t know. When I was there looking at them it seemed wrong, but now that I’m away, I keep thinking maybe I should have checked this, or looked there. I have to be wrong about this, I just have to be.”

  “It’s hard to think that someone might be fudging the system. It’s someone you know, isn’t it? And that’s even harder.”

  She looked down at the ground. “I have to be wrong. We’re doctors, nurses, not the kind of people who would cheat the system.”

  “All kinds of people cheat. Including doctors and nurses. There are probably even a few bad nuns. Tell me what you found.”

  She again shook her head, clearly upset. “It’s all so jumbled now; it doesn’t seem to make sense. I’d need to show you.”

  “Then show me. Can we go there now?”

  “No! The support group is meeting on the next floor and both Ron and Brandon are doing rounds late and might come back. It has to be at a time when no one will be around.”

  “You work there; you have a right to be there.”

  “But you don’t.”

  “Cordelia does. I could say she left something and asked me to get it.”

  “And why wouldn’t she come for it?”

  “She was feeling too sick.”

  Lydia looked stricken—lost in her own dilemma, she’d forgotten about Cordelia. “Oh, I’m sorry, of course. But it’ll be better if we don’t run into anyone and we don’t need to tell anyone any stories.”

  “It might be helpful to tell Cordelia.”

  “No!” She looked around, worried someone might have overheard her vehemence. “Not yet. I want to be sure before I involve anyone else.”

  “You might want to talk to an insurance person; that’s not my specialty.”

  “Look, I’m trying to do the right thing. For everyone. If we’re wrong, we could ruin someone’s career, a medical education down the drain. I have to be sure I’m right before I let anyone else know besides you. And only you because you already know.”

  I tried not to let my exasperation show. This wasn’t my case; no one was paying me here. Except, I reminded myself, my being involved might shield Cordelia. And that was a very important reason. “We can take it slow, but if someone is committing fraud, there are patients who aren’t being seen. Reginald Banks had a denial-of-service letter from his insurance company claiming that he was being treated too often. Can you risk that happening to someone else?”

  She looked miserable. “No, I can’t. Let me check everyone’s schedule tomorrow. Can I let you know?”

  “Yes.”

  “And can you come up with a reason to not tell Cordelia?”

  “I’ll tell her I’m on a job. She doesn’t need to know what it’s about.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said, as if she knew the impossible favor she was asking. “I’m not usually like this. But if I’m not wrong, then someone I thought I knew very well is a complete stranger.” Improbably, she leaned in and hugged me, then quickly let go, embarrassed at her show of emotion. Without another word, she hurried across the parking lot, got in her car, and drove away.

  My hand was on my car door when my phone rang, the hot pink one.

  I answered it with a breathless, “Hello?”

  “Hi, Debbie, sorry I had to rush away so abruptly.”

  Grant Walters.

  “Not a problem. I know you’re a busy man.”

  “You mentioned you might need some help for your sister. Are you still interested?”

  “Yes, yes, sir, Grant. Very much so.”

  “I may be talking to someone I know in the next few days. It may take a while, though, for me to have anything for you. He has to talk to people as well.”

  “I’d appreciate whatever you can do for me.”

  “You’re a special woman, Debbie. I like doing things for you.”

  The lies that rolled off his tongue.

  “You’re a very special man, Grant. I hope someday I can show my appreciation to you.” And the lies that rolled off mine.

  The call ended. He was a busy man, after all, little time to talk to even the special women.

  I started my car and drove away.

  When I got home, Cordelia wasn’t there yet. In the past she had often worked late hours, but this was different. When she was away before, it was because she was the strong person taking care of others; now she was being taken care of.

  Worrying won’t help you or her, I told myself as I turned on lights against the coming dusk. It wouldn’t do to continually obsess over her health. Taking advantage of her absence, I poured half an inch of Scotch into a glass, enjoying the burn of the alcohol as I swallowed the first sip. Then another.

  On the fourth sip, I heard the sound of her car pull up outside. I hastily gulped the last of the alcohol, put the glass in the sink under the tap, and swished a handful of water through my mouth. I grabbed one of the sports drinks from the refrigerator and took several swallows.

  I just turned off the tap as she came in the door. She found me at the sink, finishing up the few dishes from breakfast.

  “How are you? How was the group?” I asked, my voice too jovial.

  “It was good, I think. One older man tended to dominate. This is his second bout of cancer, so he considers himself an expert. How was your day?”

  “It was okay,” I said. In truth, filled with things I couldn’t tell her. I was debating whether to mention Dudley or not. Joanne hadn’t called with an update, but I was taking that as a good sign. She clearly didn’t want to talk about Alex, but was honorable enough that if she thought I was in danger, she’d let me know. Since she was avoiding me, I was taking that to mean I wasn’t in danger.

  Much as I wanted to consult her about the medical records, while I hadn’t exactly promised Lydia, I would hold off until we met and then decide what to tell Cordelia. So I was left with, “Mostly a lot of phone calls and paperwork. It’s never like this on TV.”

  She flopped down in a kitchen chair. “I am so tired.”

  “You’re fighting cancer with poison. Would probably make just about anyone tired.”

  She managed a wan smile. “I think I just need to go to bed.” She watched me as I as I started drying the dishes and putting them away.

  “Have you eaten? Do you want me to fix something?”

  “They had food, so I ate there. Thanks. I need to rest right now.”

  “Do you have to go to work tomorrow?” She looked worn, as if she had aged since she left in the morning, her skin pale, the dark under her eyes pronounced.

  “Yes, I have to,” she said shortly. She looked pointedly at the glass I was putting on the shelf. “One of us has to hold it together.” Almost immediately, she covered her face with her hands. “Shit, shit, shit. I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s happening to me.”

  I quashed my anger—having a drink of Scotch at home wasn’t exactly falling apart—and knelt in front of her, resting a hand on her knee. I didn’t say anything. I didn’t know what to say.

  “I’m sorry,” she repeated. “I don’t know where that came from.”

  “Maybe because you’re going through something that I can’t be much help with,” I said softly.

  “Don’t say that. Don’t even think that. I need you now more than I ever have. You can drink a bottle a day. Just don’t leave me.” She broke down crying.

  I put my arms around her, reaching up from my kneeling position. “I’m not planning on leaving you.” I admitted, “Alcohol is a crutch. I don’t drink because I enjoy it, but to blur the edges, make life go away. I learned the hard way, it doesn’t really
help. But…some days I just can’t be perfect.”

  “I have no right to judge you,” she said, wiping her eyes.

  “Yeah, you do. You live here, so when I screw up you bear the consequences.”

  She slid down to the floor—we were both kneeling and she held me tightly. “Right now you’re getting the consequences. I’m sorry, I seem to be much more emotional than usual.”

  “Could it be the chemo?”

  “It could be anything. And everything. The chemo, the cancer, the exhaustion.” She put her head against my neck. “Maybe I’m angry because this isn’t supposed to happen to me. I watched my diet, exercised. If you take care of sick people, then you shouldn’t get sick.”

  “It’s not fair.”

  “Life isn’t fair. Most of the people in the group were older than I am, but a few were younger. Some of them have supportive family, some don’t. I told them about cooking two dinners last night. Several of them asked if they could borrow you.”

  “I hope you said no.”

  “I only didn’t say ‘no fucking way’ because I was in company.” She lifted her head up. “My knees are hurting and I can’t breathe.”

  I stood up and helped her up.

  She grabbed a paper towel and hastily blew her nose. “The best thing about the support group is that it made me realize how lucky I am. I have good medical care, insurance, enough money that if it comes to it, I could afford COBRA for six months. And I have you to come home to.” She looked at me and smiled a heartbreaking smile. “You’re not dating your secretary.”

  “I don’t have one.”

  She took my hand and continued, “Or asking for a divorce.”

  “We’re not legally married.”

  “Or leaving the vomit for me to clean up or bringing home fried chicken when I can’t cook even though you know I can’t stand the smell. I have noticed and I need to do a better job of letting you know. The extra trip to the grocery store, the chicken soup in the freezer—home-made—cooking several different dinners and then packing them into small containers for me to easily grab. There are so many ways that you have told me you love me…” She paused to wipe away a stray tear.

  “I’d better, you’ve put up with me all these years.”

  “And you’ve put up with me.” She looped her arms around my waist and rested her cheek against mine. “I’ve always been in love with you and I’ve fallen more in love with you over these last few weeks. Maybe I could do this without you, but I wouldn’t want to and I’m glad I don’t have to.”

  “I even got an organic chicken for the soup.” I tightened my arms around her and said, “I love you, too. And…the thought of losing you has made me realize how much. It’s more than I have any words to say.” I tried not to cry.

  “Shh, it’s okay,” she said, reaching up to wipe away my tears. “Don’t leave me and I will do my best not to leave you.”

  We spent several minutes silently holding each other. She broke it with, “I need to do a better job of handling my anger. I can’t let it out at work or at my patients, so that kind of leaves you, and that’s not fair.”

  “Politicians. There have to be enough idiot ones in just Louisiana alone for you to spend days screaming abuse at them.”

  We both laughed and she agreed it would be a much better strategy.

  But she was still tired and we both went to bed. I left the rest of the dishes for the morning.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  When we woke in the morning, I let Cordelia have the bathroom first—after all, she had people who expected her in by a certain time.

  I made a breakfast of oatmeal, which I left plain. I cut up strawberries and a banana and rinsed some blueberries. She came out of the shower just as I was placing containers of honey and cinnamon by the steaming bowl of oatmeal.

  “Wow, I thought I smelled something.” She wrapped a still-damp arm around me and gave me a quick kiss as appreciation.

  We ate together. I was pleased to see that she had a decent appetite.

  After she left, I did my morning routine in the bathroom and was out the door.

  The first thing I did after I got to the office was call Rafe to give him an update on what had happened with Grant Walters—and that I had his change. His voice mail answered. Probably too early in the morning for him.

  Several other cases needed my attention. I was still chasing down heirs from the ninety-one-year-old who had died. She’d had five children, two who had passed away before her, so I had to find their progeny, which had spread to twelve people to locate who might get a few hundred dollars from the sale, since there were so many heirs. A hairy case, to be sure. A company that I did a lot of work for wanted me to track down an employee who had gone missing. He’d disappeared at the same time they discovered that over one hundred thousand dollars had been embezzled. They really wanted to talk to him.

  The McConkles and even Rafe weren’t paying me enough to ignore the other cases.

  Rafe called back in the afternoon. I told him I thought Grant was playing cat and mouse with me. He had to be confident that Debbie was everything she said she was before he’d give her more.

  “That’s okay,” Rafe said. “It’ll give us time to be subtle about checking him out and we’ll get a better idea of what’s going on with him here.”

  “What if he bails?”

  “He can’t yet. Not enough money in the account for him. He’ll need a couple of million at the least to disappear.”

  We left it at we’d call each other if anything happened.

  I had to track Mr. Embezzler to sunny Phoenix and work with both the authorities there and the ones here. It took several trips out there for me to get enough evidence of a flashy lifestyle with no apparent means of support and enough of a stable location for the police to arrest him.

  Just before the last one, I again went with Cordelia for her chemo treatment.

  It hit her harder this time; she didn’t make it home before the nausea hit her. She had to make use of the plastic bag in the last few blocks from home.

  I offered to delay my trip, but she insisted I go. Elly, Danny’s partner and a nurse, was off and would stay with her while I was gone.

  “If I need someone to stay,” she added. “I’ve had to throw up by myself before and managed to survive it.”

  I talked to her every night. Elly had stayed the first night after I was gone, but Cordelia insisted that she was fine, even going back to work the following day.

  Phoenix is a nice place to visit, I thought, as I exited the airport to the waiting humidity, but there wasn’t enough green for me. I was too accustomed to verdant New Orleans where every and anything could and did grow.

  Just as I stowed my suitcase in my truck, my phone rang.

  The one I got for Debbie.

  “Hi, Debbie, how are you?”

  It took me a moment to place the voice. How many men would call me without identifying themselves? Torbin, but I knew his voice and he wouldn’t be calling on this phone.

  Grant Walters.

  “Hi, Grant, I’m fine. How are you?”

  “I’ve been wondering how the sales are going? I thought I’d hear from you by now.”

  Damn, I’d gotten so busy with travel—and Cordelia—that I had neglected my budding career as a saleswoman for NBG. “I’m doing quite well. I meant to get in touch with you a few days ago, but…” But what? “But my sister hasn’t been doing well and I had to go with her to the doctor.”

  “I was calling about that as well. I’d love to see you—and now you’re selling well, I did want to follow up with that.”

  “I’m so scared for her,” I said, letting real emotion into my voice for false purposes.

  “Is she interested in this as well?” he asked.

  “She’s the one that asked me to search around for her. We feel the same way. If there is anything out there that can help, that can get us through this hell, we’ll both do whatever it takes.”

  �
�Sadly, because of the danger and the efforts of concealment, it can’t be as inexpensive as it might be otherwise.”

  “I understand. You have to cover your costs. I’m just glad that you’re willing to take the risks to make this available.”

  “Thank you, but I’m not the one behind this. There are others involved and I do this to protect them. The first payment is five thousand dollars, and it usually requires three to five courses.”

  “Wow, that’s expensive,” I acted. “But worth it if it cures her cancer.” His ruthlessness was tripping over his silver tongue. Of course, he assumed he had Debbie well hooked—a desperately ill sister, someone who believed in the conspiracy theory that cures were out there, just hidden, and someone developing a romantic interest in him—the perfect way to blind a person to reality. But Micky Knight easily saw through his denial of having anything to do with it and rattling off the costs like they were second nature.

  “Yes, it is. But it barely covers their expenses. Some people sell jewelry, or cash in retirement plans—what good is retirement if you never live that long? Or they borrow from friends. It may be difficult, but surely your sister’s life is worth it.”

  “Yes, of course. We’ll get the money. I have some pictures from when we were young and stupid that I’ll bet my husband wouldn’t want his law partners or his new wife to see. I never thought I’d really use them, but this seems like a good enough reason.”

  “It’s best if you can bring two or three payments. That way you don’t have to meet so often and it cuts down on the risk to do as much as you can in one time.”

  “Of course, that makes perfect sense.”

  “How long until you have the money?”

  “I can squeeze my ex pretty hard. Within the week. Maybe the next few days. Is that soon enough?”

  “Yes, it certainly is. Give me a phone number where I can reach you and where there won’t be someone else answering the phone or listening to messages.”

  I rattled off the cell number. “The phone stays in my purse. No one else touches it,” I assured him.

  “Good. I’ll pass your number along, and you should hear from someone in the next few days. And when’s a good time for you to restock your inventory? I’m going to be at our office tomorrow afternoon if you can do it then.”