Laura and Eileen shared an emotional moment; the older woman knew all her kids, knew all her idiosyncrasies. She’d been Laura’s support system. Through some tears, she poured out her good wishes. Laura would miss her and their relationship. They were saying extended good-byes when a kid in a white coat looking no older than her daughters stepped into her hospital room.
“Have to go,” Laura said. “Heading off to a physical therapy session. Better described as a torture session.”
“Before you hang up, Laura,” her secretary slipped back one more time into her habitual role, “did you ever return Mr. Greenwood’s call?”
No, she hadn’t.
“Mr. Greenwood,” Eileen reiterated. “Lonnie Greenwood, with the Detroit mayor’s office. The man with the son who needs a lung transplant? He left you that cryptic message. He called again, and I told him I gave you the message, but that you were hospitalized in Philadelphia. Hope that was okay?”
Laura felt her heart start to twitch. After the fall, she’d completely forgotten about that ominous message. The cue that took her back to the darkest corner of her life. Johnny Diggs. Her mind must have wanted to keep that corner buried. She thought it had been buried since her discussion with Detective Reynolds, the day she left Detroit—twenty-one years ago.
“I will call…Mr. Greenwood,” she promised.
She had to call the man, Laura knew. She had to find out about his link with Johnny Diggs. Did it pose a threat to her? To all she’d become since…? But not now. She had unavoidable misery to face. She had insisted on immediately starting physical therapy on her hand, knowing it would be pure torture, but would expedite getting back to as close to normal as she’d ever get.
“Okay, Dr. Nelson, time to rock and roll.” Her young therapist managed a brave grin. “I’m going to take your arm down, leave it in a sling at heart level. Our aim is to get function back in the hand. Not going to kid you, it’ll be painful and will take a long time. Dr. Hanover wants you medicated to the greatest extent possible.”
Laura had wanted to tough it out, but before they had progressed much in the exercise routine, she asked for medication. Her injured hand was being stretched to the agony threshold. She wished she had made those calls to Tampa, but they would have to wait. As would Lonnie Greenwood from Detroit.
Laura awoke to three voices, two familiar and one she did not recognize. She willed her eyes open, checked the position of her hand, now lying laterally on her chest, bandaged, but no sign of the unwieldy trapeze apparatus. The hand hurt like hell, but nothing near the torturous pain inflicted by her therapist.
Mike was saying, “Mom is tough. The whole team of us can’t keep her down. Her doctor wanted her hand suspended for a few more days, but as you can see—”
“I don’t like people talking about me while I’m under the influence,” she interrupted him. “How about giving me a hand—no pun intended—in raising this bed out of invalid mode. No, second thought, I’ll just find the button and do it myself.”
“No, I’ll do it.” Tim was at her side, already adjusting the angle of her bed.
“Laura, you have a visitor,” Tim said. “Barney McCoy from Keystone Pharma. You were expecting him?”
Shit. She’d forgotten to ask the staff to wake her up. What had Paul said? Barney McCoy, early afternoon?
“What time is it?” she asked, looking up at the sixtyish man in the herringbone suit, striped tie, and skeptical smile.
“Oh, Dr. Nelson, I’m so, so sorry. Paul Parnell said—”
“I’m just glad you’re here, Mr. McCoy.” And she was, but she looked a wreck, and now without the Foley catheter, she had to pee. How could she hold this guy off until she could pull herself together?
“Mom, it’s one-thirty.” Mike came to her rescue. “I’ve been here for an hour, skipped lunch. Mr. McCoy, why don’t you come down to the cafeteria with me? I’ll get a sandwich, you can grab a coffee while I give you the real scoop on my mom. As her eldest son, I know all her secrets.”
And he did too. Well, most.
“Great, Mike,” McCoy said. “And, Dr. Nelson, I’m ready for all your questions about the company. We can go over the paper work, and if we’re all in agreement, you’ll be a Keystone employee by this afternoon. But one thing, you have to call me Barney. You too, Mike, and Dr. Robinson.”
“Okay, Barney, and I’m Tim.”
Laura smiled. “Laura, Barney.”
Tim helped her to the tiny bathroom and stayed to watch her urinate. She tried to remember if Steve had ever watched her pee. She thought so, but it had been a long time since she’d had a husband.
“We might as well get married,” Tim said, “now that we’ve gotten that intimacy over with. Seriously, Laura, when should we?”
As a Catholic widow, Laura had no impediments to a church marriage, but now that she’d made the decision to marry Tim, she wanted to skip the formalities. “Let’s get our license the instant I get out of here. And—”
“What about City Hall?” Tim said, settling her back into bed.
“Perfect. That building is so intriguing.”
“I happen to know the William Penn up on top is the tallest statue on any building in the world.”
“It’s such a beautiful old building.”
“The largest municipal building in the country. Over seven hundred rooms.”
“You seem quite the expert, Tim, and just which one of those seven hundred rooms shall we pick for the occasion?”
“What occasion, Mom?” Mike interrupted, Barney in tow. “The occasion? Hope you two don’t mind, but I told Barney your big news.”
“Congratulations,” her new colleague offered.
Crap. She’d let the wedding banter with Tim distract her from combing her hair and putting on some lipstick. While in the bathroom, she’d glanced at herself in the mirror. An unkempt disaster. She’d never hire anyone who looked as awful as she did.
“You’ve never been good with family secrets, Mikey, at least with this family’s.” Laura enjoyed his blush at his little-kid nickname.
Mike came to her bedside and kissed Laura’s cheek. “Sorry to go now, Mom. Good to see you so spunky. Call me if you need a lawyer—we don’t want Keystone putting anything over on you.”
As soon as Mike left, Laura decided to forget about her hair and get down to the contract. She needed to settle this employment business before her next round of therapy later in the afternoon. And, she had the Tampa calls to make.
“Okay if Tim stays?” she asked.
She was rewarded by Tim’s biggest grin. This marriage thing might be just what she needed.
“Of course.” Then Barney outlined an employment package that so exceeded her expectations, she and Tim could only stare at one another. Big pharma was living up to its reputation.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
THURSDAY, FEBRUARY 20
Jake spent all day Thursday morning at the Rockville City Police Station. He answered one intrusive question after another; none a surprise except one. He’d prepared for the relationship probe: he and his wife were as normal as a couple could be after thirty-one years of marriage; not much spark these days but mutual respect; a son, married, living in Miami; wife had her job; he had his; no social life since she worked nights in her restaurant; he had a day job. Same-old-same-old, day to day. No, she had no enemies, not unless there were issues at the restaurant he didn’t know about. No, he had no enemies either. Neither of them brought their work problems home. No money worries. His salary was adequate. She had a good income from the restaurant she’d started with family money. Nothing they wanted they couldn’t afford. Your average American dream—well, maybe not Hollywood style. Until some common criminal took Karolee’s life.
When they got to his alibi, his timeline stood up well. He knew they’d check Frank Barker’s story, the Good Samaritan, and, of course, the garage where he’d waited for his new serpentine belt. They asked if he’d made any calls. Yes, three to his home to
inform his wife he was delayed. Yes, he had assumed she’d take a cab. The events flowed logically, no hiccups. They said they needed to do an inventory of the household goods. He scheduled a walkthrough with them later in the afternoon after he picked up his son at the airport. From the beginning, burglary had been the motive; Jake had broken into Karolee’s jewelry box, smashing the lock, scattering the less expensive pieces. He’d already told them he believed that her most valuable jewels were missing.
The surprise question had been about a phone call to the house last night.
They told him that at 10:50 p.m. as the crime scene was being processed, Officer Lois Sweeney had picked up a call on the Harter line. The female caller asked for Jake Harter. She hung up without identifying herself.
Who would be calling at that hour?
“No name? Did she leave a contact number?” Jake asked the detective. Of course, he wanted to ask if the woman had an accent, but then Addie’s accent was almost imperceptible. Could they trace the call, another question he wanted to ask, but couldn’t. Instead, he just shrugged. “No idea. Can’t say I get many late-night calls from women.”
“Someone from your job? Working at the FDA, you guys must get all kinds of emergencies. People getting sick on bad food, stuff like that?”
“No,” Jake said, “not in my line of work. I deal with new drugs not on the market yet. Rare that we have some kind of after-hours emergency. Yeah, sure, I work late plenty, but, no, in my department, we don’t get calls of that nature.”
Jake did not want the cops sniffing around his work. He had enough problems there trying to manipulate records and data. What he needed now was the cops off his back so he could keep after Immunone. Too much time was being wasted. Today with the detectives and his son Mark. Tomorrow at the funeral home, picking out a casket, clothes for her body, and a burial site. Karolee in all her foresight and so-called wisdom had not made a single plan in the event of her death. Could he just have her cremated? No, Mark would expect him to do it up fancy for Mom, never mind that his son had just thrown the woman out of his own house. The guiltier Mark felt, the fancier he’d want the funeral. Guilt does that to people. Plus, Jake had to play the grieving husband. Convincingly.
And Addie? If only he could contact her. But she must have heard about Karolee’s murder in the news. Surely, she’d know that soon they could be together. Forever.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
MONDAY, FEBRUARY 24
Tim had been with Laura on Friday when she’d made the calls to Tampa City Hospital and the university. She resigned outright; told them straight out that she’d never operate again. That her decision was best for them, best for her. Stoic. Not a quaver in her voice. But Tim knew the toll it was taking. Laura had worked so damned hard for how many years to make chief of surgery—while raising five kids!
When they met, she’d been a med student. Even back then, her passion for surgery had absorbed her. The surgical residents used to obsess about her; the only woman in the class who had kids—she had two when she started and five when she graduated. While other students struggled to get through, Laura breezed along, collecting more than her share of honors. Tim remembered blushing at how the guys used to take odds on whether she breastfed or not. No one ever found out, including him. Would he find out now? One thing for sure, he’d never share that tidbit with those other jokers.
He could now sum up his own behavior back then in one word: disgusting. He’d never had a monogamous relationship, had a few mini-affairs, and a lot of one-night stands. For twenty-two years now, one of those misadventures still haunted him. One involved Rosie Santangelo, Laura’s friend. He and Rosie had endured a tumultuous relationship, neither of them committed to any definition of faithful, but in Laura’s view, he and Rosie were a couple. When he’d propositioned Laura at a surgical conference in Montreal, she’d rebuffed him in no uncertain terms. Of course, he had been drunk. And, she was married with four kids.
Tim had shown up at Laura and Rosie’s graduation, bringing a bouquet of roses for Rosie, but really he’d wanted to see Laura one last time. And he had, but the circumstances had turned tragic that day. Over the ensuing eight years, Tim had thought of Laura relentlessly, couldn’t shake his infatuation with her. Although he’d cleaned up his philandering approach to amour, he hadn’t transformed into an ascetic. Now at fifty years of age, Tim had to admit to himself that even with the variety of women he had dated, he’d never been “in love.” How could he have been, he now realized, with Laura always on my mind. Just like that song.
After graduation, Tim’s next encounter with Laura had been a phone call. Fourteen years ago. Laura, frantic. Urgent. Her nine-year-old son Patrick had been diagnosed with a cardiac tumor. She had begged him to get Dr. Koop at CHOP to operate on her son. He had, Tim assisting Koop with the surgery. Successful, as judged by Patrick’s subsequent athletic feats.
About that time, Steve, Laura’s husband, died, and Tim saw Laura only rarely until about seven years ago when he arrived in Tampa just as Natalie fell prey to a heinous act of bioterrorism. He’d been there for Laura when she needed him most and, since then, their relationship had progressed from friendship to intimacy. But never had they broached the subject of a life together. He’d wanted to as his love for her deepened, but their careers and her kids seemed too daunting a barrier. Only now could he harbor more than hope.
Over the weekend, Tim wondered if it had been pure selfishness on his part to encourage Laura to work in a drug company. Would she miss patient contact? The exhilaration that came with a successful surgical cure? Could she handle the bureaucracy? Get real, he told himself. If she could handle a department of surgical prima donnas, she could handle research scientists. And besides, she was no longer able to operate.
Now it was Monday morning, Laura’s first day at Keystone Pharma. They’d sent a limo to pick her up. This time Tim did escort her to the car, making sure she was comfortable inside. Laura had kept her vow to stop all pain meds except for Tylenol with codeine. She still needed to keep her arm elevated. She’d find a way to work in physical therapy. So off to work they’d gone. He to his job. She to hers. A normal work routine. He’d alerted the surgical secretaries to find him if she called, but she hadn’t. He’d picked up dinner on the way home—a rotisserie chicken, mashed potatoes, a mixed salad.
She returned from her first day at Keystone late that afternoon, and they dined early, topping off their meal with peppermint ice cream. Laura seemed upbeat, wanting to talk about their future. Tim’s reservations started to slip away. Laura was going to be okay.
“Should we live here in your apartment?” she asked. “It’s small, but none of the kids live at home anymore. Like they say, ‘Less is more.’”
“Nice location if you’re a city dweller, but you’ll be working in the suburbs; that’ll be a long commute,” he said.
“Once I sell the house in Tampa, maybe we can buy a bigger condo? Here in Center City, Philadelphia?”
Tim was touched by her deference. As if she had to ask his permission! Whatever she wanted would be just fine with him. “That’ll be a forty-minute drive to Montgomery County.”
“A reverse commute. Shouldn’t be so bad; besides, I’ll be traveling a lot, and this is much closer to the airport.”
Not a pleasant thought, Laura traveling, but Tim reminded himself that he had to give her space. He’d never had a wife before so he didn’t know what to expect or how to react.
“You sure you want to sell the Tampa house? You’ve lived there for twenty years. Kids all grew up in that house.”
“No problem,” Laura said. “Matter of fact, I’ve wanted out of that place. Too many memories of Steve. Couldn’t do it though, because of the kids.”
He remembered all the photos and mementos she displayed in the Tampa home. “Laura, you’ve done a fine job, preserving his memory for the kids. Things must have been rough for you around the time he died.” Tim didn’t want to bring up bad memories, but he d
id want to know more at last, about the mysterious—apparently dire—circumstances of Steve’s death.
They were sitting by the fire in the living room, nestled together on the oversized sofa. A long silence. Tim suspected she’d once again stonewall. He’d accept Laura with her secrets, but he did long for a relationship where there was no such need—on her side, either. Reconciled to sticking with safe topics, he asked, “Any surprises at Keystone?”
“Met a million people. Kept getting lost looking for the bathroom. But, Tim, about Steve, I think I better tell you. I think it’s time. You want to hear?”
Tim gulped. Did he? Yes, he’d always wanted to hear. But now was he sure? “Laura, you needn’t—”
“Yes, but you’re going to be my husband, and I want you to know. Once you do, you might change your mind.”
Tim faced her, pulled her closer to him. Her green eyes were wide, the pupils dilated as if in fear, and tears started to trickle down her cheeks. Shit, now I’ve made her cry. But she read his mind.
“Tim, ignore the tears—just listen?” She rushed on. “When you came up to Traverse City to take Patrick to Philadelphia in the medevac plane, you walked into a catastrophe.”
Tim had known that something must have happened between Laura and her husband, but his priority had been getting her son to CHOP and onto the operating table.
“Remember when you and me and those other surgical residents went to Montreal for that international conference?”
“Laura, I have never forgiven myself for my uncouth behavior. I knew you were married. I’d had too much to drink. Every time I think about it, and I have thought about it more times than I care to count, I can’t believe I was such a consummate ass. And you know what? I’ve never even apologized. Well, I will now. I am very sorry.”
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