“You should talk to Betsy about it since she’s Martha’s social worker. But, if you can find another physician to see her, you can switch. I shouldn’t really get into this with you, but confidentially I thought last year that Ahmed might be ripping off Medicaid.”
“Really? How come?”
“He prescribes so many meds that come from the pharmacy next to the pain clinic he owns. Would you believe they call it the We Feel Your Pain Clinic? He prescribes oxycontin and a bunch of other drugs to everyone who goes there. I know about that because he hired Adam last year to put up a web site for him, and Adam spent some time over at the clinic. He thought Ahmed was kind of a shady character.”
I wanted to get more information from Sharon about Dr. Ahmed, but before I could come up with an appropriate question, she choked, spraying iced tea all over the table. Color drained from her face as she jumped up to face a slim, tan, young man with dark wavy hair and what looked like a three-day growth of dark beard. He wore khaki shorts, Teva sandals, and a black tee shirt with a red and gold elephant on the front. And he grinned from ear to ear.
“Joel?” Sharon gasped. “What are you doing here?”
Did she say Joel? As in Nathan’s father, Joel? The guy she said she hadn’t seen for years?
The smiling guy standing directly in front of Sharon reached out to hug her, but she backed away. “Sharon! I was just going in to get some groceries. I wasn’t expecting to run into you here, but it’s so great to see you.”
“I told you last year that I didn’t want to see you. How can you just show up like this after all these years?” Sharon still looked stunned.
Joel’s smile gave way to an intense, brooding look. “I wanted to see you and our son. I’ve changed, Sharon. I wanted to tell you that when I called last winter, but you wouldn’t listen. When you told me you’d gotten married and your husband had adopted our son, I thought it was too late for me, so I didn’t come. But then I heard your husband had died in an accident, so I decided to come back to Boulder after all.” Joel reached out to touch Sharon’s arm, but she backed off again.
“How did you find out that Adam died?” Sharon asked. “Did my dad call you?”
“No, I haven’t talked to him in years,” Joel said.
I stared at Joel’s elephant tee shirt, a clue that he was into meditation and yoga, and wondered whether he’d changed much since Sharon saw him last. All at once I realized I was the third wheel in this reunion. So I collected my trash, stood up and said, “I need to get to my office.”
“Oh, Cleo. This is Joel. Joel, Cleo.” Sharon said, too flustered to add any identifying information to the introductions. “We’re still set for Friday, right?”
“I’ll be there at 1:00,” I said, “unless you change your mind.” I thought Sharon might not be in the best frame of mind for the contact project, given the reentry of Joel into her life, but now certainly wasn’t the time to discuss that.
Chapter 9
After a busy afternoon with grief therapy clients, I went home and worked in Grampa’s garden, untangling and pulling out bindweed that had twined itself around some rose bushes. Gardening got me thinking about herbs again, so I went in to look up possible non-toxic herbal sleep remedies. Poring over Grampa’s collection of old herb books, I had just found an intriguing note about rose water and rose vinegar in an old book called The English Physitian, when the doorbell rang.
I was surprised to see Erik standing on my front porch, looking relaxed in shorts, a tank top and flip-flops, and holding a large white cardboard box. “Erik! How did you know where I live?” I blurted out before I thought about what I was saying.
I’ve kept the phone book listing for my house phone in my grandparents’ name because I don’t want to be surprised at home by discontented or needy clients. Most of my friends call me on my cell phone, which I also use for my business. And I don’t give out my home address casually.
“I’m good at finding people—nobody can hide from me,” he said with a laugh. “I wanted to bring you this starter kit for growing the valerian plants. We usually charge $500 for them, but I’ll give it to you for $250.” He stood there oozing boyish charm, waiting to be invited in.
I figured he was the kind of cute, sexy guy who usually got whatever he wanted from women and I didn’t plan on falling for that. No way would I be buying any herb kits or whatever else he might be selling. But his winsome smile melted my initial resolve to send him away. And I figured I could use his help with the herb thing for Gramma, so I asked him in.
“Thanks for the offer, but I don’t think I have time for another project,” I said. “But I would like to get your ideas on an old remedy I found. Do you have time for a beer?”
“Sounds great,” he said, and followed me out to the kitchen.
I grabbed a Fat Tire for each of us from the refrigerator. We settled at the old maple kitchen table where I had been looking through the herb books. “Here, read this,” I stuck The English Physitian in front of his face, pointing out the section that read:
Vinegar of Roses is of much good use, and to procure rest and sleep, if some thereof and Rosewater together be used to smel unto, or the Nose and Temples moistned therewith, but more usually to moisten a piece of Red Rose Cake cut fit for the purpose, and heated between a double folded Cloth, with a little beaten Nutmeg and Poppy Seed strewed on the side that must lie next to the Forehead & Temples, & so bound therto for al night.
I noticed Erik frowned as he read, so I said, “Well, okay, the book was written in 1652, but maybe they knew more about natural remedies than we do now. I have roses, and I’d like to maybe try that for Gramma, but I need some help knowing how to make this stuff. What’s red rose cake?”
Erik wasn’t too impressed with my rose water idea. “Cleo—hello—this is the 21st century not the 17th. You don’t have to make your own potions anymore.” He closed the book and pushed it away. “Have you gone on my website? We have concentrated valerian root available in capsules, or you can get tablets with valerian and chamomile and passion flower.”
“But Dr. Ahmed won’t let her take those. Because they’re not FDA approved, and so on. I thought the rose potion would be acceptable because she wouldn’t be taking it internally, just breathing it in.”
“Ahmed’s a jerk! That guy always has his head stuck where the sun doesn’t shine,” Erik exploded, banging his hand on the table for emphasis. “I can’t help you if you want to listen to his advice.”
Wow! He didn’t seem so relaxed anymore. But as a therapist, I see lots of angry outbursts. I know how to meet a strong emotion with a calm voice and a bland face. So I said quietly, “It’s not exactly that I want to listen to him. But right now, he’s her doctor.”
“Well, let me know when he’s out of the picture, and maybe I can help. Meanwhile, what’s up with Sharon? Were you able to talk her out of trying to reach Adam?”
“Erik, you’ll have to ask Sharon if you want to know what she plans to do. I can’t tell you that.”
Erik leaned across the table toward me, and put his hand over mine. He looked me straight in the eye. “Cleo, we both want the best for Sharon and Nathan. Do you really think this is going to help them? I’m afraid your project could destroy them.”
Angrily, I yanked my hand out from under his and jumped up. I’d had more than enough of his attempts to interfere with my work with Sharon. “Erik, I’m not going to talk about this with you. You need to go now. I have some work to do.”
Erik laughed, chugged the rest of his beer, and lazily got up from the table. “Ah, Cleo. You’re even cuter when you’re mad. I know you’ll eventually see that I’m right about this. I just hope it’s not too late.”
I ignored his condescending remark. I just wanted to get him out of my house. I headed straight to the front door and stood there, holding it open.
“OK, Cleo. See you around.” He flashed me a smile as if we were saying goodnight after a friendly visit. Then, finally, he left.
Congratulations! You’re going places. By taking advantage of this special offer, you’ve shown that you’re the kind of person who charts your own course. Your decision to invest in this starter kit says a lot about you. You set high goals for yourself, and you recognize a genuine opportunity when you see it.
You already know that your investment will pay big dividends. You’ll make ten times your original outlay, just by letting your plants grow while you go on about your life. But that’s not all!
We’re going to let you share this offer with special friends, family, and co-workers who would appreciate an incredible money-making opportunity. And for every potential investor you suggest who decides to join us, we’ll reward you with a $50 bonus. You win, your friends win, we all win. You can’t beat that!
We’ll be calling you in the next few weeks to see how you’re getting along with growing your herbs. That will be the perfect time for you to give your friends and family the chance to benefit from this remarkable opportunity. But make your list today, so you’ll have it ready. We’d hate to run out of starter kits before your people get theirs.
The letter was signed by Erik Vaughn for the Natural Herbal Remedies Company. I wondered whether this was a subsidiary of Vaughn’s Holistic Healing or a completely different company. The whole thing began to feel more than a little shady. Pyramid scheme, anyone? I started thinking Dr. Ahmed might be right about Erik. But what about Sharon’s questions about Ahmed? And she thought Erik was great. I wanted to look up Erik’s website, but my home computer had some new problem connecting to the internet, and I hadn’t had the patience to sit on hold waiting to talk to a technician about it. I made a mental note to check Erik’s site at the office the next day.
I stuck a frozen organic spicy Kung Pao chicken bowl into the microwave, cut up some fruit, and took it all out to my studio. I needed a break from the intrigue. While I ate, I contemplated my Tyler abstracts. Something about them had been bothering me, but while I ate I got an insight as to how to move on. I painted, deeply engrossed, for several hours without noticing the time until I heard a knock on the studio door.
Chapter 10
Had Erik returned for his starter kit? The thought of having to deal with him again left me cold. When I opened the door to Pablo, I was so relieved I forgot I was mad at him and jumped into his arms. I guess he forgot too, or else he’d decided to let it go. So we sort of made up without any discussion. That’s one of the best things about our relationship. We’ve been together off and on for so long we know each other like family. A look, a kiss, or a hug can say it all, when we want it to. Of course the downside of this familiarity is that we can set each other off as fast as a spark in dry pine needles, which unfortunately happens all too often.
I didn’t want to discuss my paintings of Tyler with him—Tyler being one of those sparky issues between us—so I sent him over to the house to get himself a beer while I cleaned up the studio. When I got over there, he was stretched out on the couch with his beer watching Larry King interview Cameron Diaz. Pablo looked at least as entranced as Larry did. “Hey, Cleo. Did you know Cameron Diaz left home at 16 and lived all over the world? And she hadn’t even had any acting experience when she got that part in Mask.”
“Hmmm, interesting,” I said, admiring Pablo’s thick dark hair and fit body. He’s over six feet tall, played football in high school, and works out to keep himself in shape. I could imagine even a celebrity like Cameron Diaz finding him as appealing as he found her. I grabbed myself a beer and joined him on the couch, snuggling into his solid body. We cuddled on the couch, watched the rest of the show and finished our beers. I felt mellow and close to him, so I leaned my head over until our lips met. We were engrossed in the intense kisses that come with making up, when Pablo’s cell phone rang. He jumped, grabbed the phone from his pocket and flipped it open. “Gomez,” he barked. “Yeah. Right. How long ago? Okay, I’ll be there in about half an hour.”
He untangled himself from my arms and stood up. “Sorry sweetie, I have to get out to a drug bust in an apartment in Longmont.” He gave me a goodbye kiss, and turned toward the door.
Suddenly I remembered I had wanted to ask Pablo about police investigations after hiking accidents. “Hey, before you go can I ask you a question?”
He stopped. “I’m in a rush. Can’t it wait?”
“No, I need some information right away.” I stood up and walked over to stand in front of him. “When someone falls in the mountains and dies, how do the police or sheriff or whatever know if it’s an accident, or suicide, or maybe someone pushed the person over a cliff?”
“Hmmm…they look for a note? Ask witnesses what happened? Check out the hiker’s state of mind. There’s no simple answer to that question, Cleo. We can talk about it more when I have more time.” He turned and opened the front door.
“Well what kinds of things might make them suspicious that it wasn’t an accident?” I wasn’t going to let him blow me off, even if he was in a hurry.
“Give me a break, Cleo.” He walked out onto the front porch and turned back in my direction. “I don’t have time to talk about this right now.”
“Come on, Pablo, another few minutes won’t make that much difference. Just give me a quick picture of what the police would think was suspicious.”
“I have to go. Can’t you learn to be a detective some other day?” I heard his I-have-important-police-work-to-do-don’t-bother-me-with-stupid-questions voice. All of a sudden I remembered I was mad at him.
“Okay, never mind,” I said, with an ever-so-slight edge to my voice. “I’ll ask someone who’s not too busy and important to answer my questions.”
“Hey, maybe you could ask that Tyler dude. He can look down from the afterlife and tell you what happened.” Oops—Pablo had remembered he was mad at me, too.
“Didn’t you say you had to be somewhere? I wouldn’t want you to be late,” I wasn’t even trying to be civil anymore.
“Okay, Cleo. Goodnight.” He walked across the yard, got into his car, slammed the door, and drove off.
Wow. My karma was really off for males that Wednesday. Dr. Ahmed, Joel, Erik, Pablo. And of course Tyler, who I hadn’t seen that day but who I was sure could give me some answers if he wanted to. I was definitely hoping Sharon would make contact with Adam at our Friday session, and that he’d be one male who would actually help.
Chapter 11
I woke up on Friday to one of those gorgeous sunny summer days that brings tourists flocking to Colorado in July to escape the heat and humidity back home. I took a cup of freshly brewed Columbian coffee out to my back patio to enjoy the sweet peas, delphiniums, and columbine sparkling in the sunlight. A fabulous day—but to be honest, I couldn’t sit still. A lot was riding on today’s contact session. If I could believe Tyler, Sharon was in danger. But I had no idea what sort of danger, or from whom. I didn’t even know what had happened to Adam. This is a lot of pressure for a contact session and not the way I usually set them up.
I decided to take a short but steep hike up a trail in Boulder Canyon’s Settler’s Park behind my house to a rocky ridge that overlooks the whole city of Boulder. Tourist photo-ops everywhere I looked. Our most famous landmark, the Flatirons—1,400 foot tall sandstone formations that jut up from the tree-covered foothills at Boulder’s west end—glowed red against a brilliant blue sky. That view always refreshes me and restores my perspective. And it worked its usual magic that day, so when I arrived at Sharon’s at 1:00, I felt relaxed and ready to start preparations for her contact session.
Nathan answered the door wearing a grubby Beckham 23 white tee shirt and dark shorts. He was grinning, but his face fell when he saw me. “Mom, that woman Grandpa doesn’t like is here. You’ll be in big trouble if he finds
out,” he yelled into the house at Sharon. I was sorry Nathan had already decided I was trouble.
“Come in, Cleo,” Sharon yelled from a back room, and Nathan backed off so I could. In the daylight, I was able to take a closer look at Sharon’s house. The windows had all been redone to let in the maximum light, which was enhanced by faux painted walls in shades of copper, crimson and amber. The contemporary furniture looked new. Someone had put a lot of energy into remodeling and decorating this house.
But the living room was as big a mess as it had been on Saturday. The hardwood floors sported large dust balls. A pizza box lay in one corner, with three shoes and a baseball glove on top of it. Newspapers, mail, and dirty glasses covered the round glass-topped coffee table. Sweatshirts and jackets were strewn over the couch, and a black leather camp chair was draped with a couple of light brown towels. I wondered whether Sharon kept her house this way to show Waycroft his training didn’t take, or whether she liked it this way, or whether maybe she just didn’t notice the mess.
However, I noticed Nathan’s herbs had been repotted and were neatly arranged on a tile table by the window. “How are your plants doing, Nathan?” I asked hoping I could get him to soften toward me a little.
“They’re okay,” he said looking down to avoid meeting my gaze.
“Erik wants me to grow some, too,” I said. “Do you have any advice?”
He perked up. “I gave them all names—and I talk to them every day. I heard that makes them grow faster.”
Just then a car honked out front. Sharon ran in from the bathroom wearing a white terrycloth robe, her hair wrapped in a towel. “That’s Jeanne. Do you have all your stuff packed, Nathan? Don’t forget sunscreen.”
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