“Hi, Dr. Swanson,” I responded, standing to shake his hand. “I’m a friend of Edith’s. She seems to be having trouble remembering things. But she does know the name of her church and her daughter.”
“Thanks,” he said. “I’ll get right on that.” I hoped he wasn’t kidding. But since he might have a coronary patient or worse in the next room, I wasn’t sure.
“I can call if you’d like,” I offered. “If it’s okay to use my cell phone in here.”
“Go right ahead,” he encouraged. “Just give the information to the nurse, too.” He turned his attention to Edith. “How are you feeling, Ms. Huggins?”
“Okay,” she answered. That was good news, but it didn’t seem meaningful, considering she looked and sounded awful.
“We’re going to admit you and keep an eye on you tonight,” he said. “We’re just waiting for your room to be prepared. But all your tests have come back normal.”
“Good,” she said. I nodded in agreement.
Dr. Swanson told Edith he’d check on her again before she was admitted, and I said the same, and then followed him into the hall.
“Dr. Swanson,” I started. “Is memory loss normal after a fall like this?”
“It can be,” he said. “There are various causes, but after an accident, sometimes people just forget the event. Sometimes they forget people, too.”
“Yeah. She doesn’t remember me right now. Do they remember everything eventually?”
“Sometimes yes, sometimes no,” he said. “Time will tell.”
“Do you know anything about how she fell?” I asked.
“Nope,” he said. “Just that it was down some steps. Were you there?”
“No,” I said. “But I want to make sure it doesn’t happen again. And honestly, I want to make sure it was accidental.”
His eyes widened. “Do you suspect it wasn’t?”
“Not really, and I know falls are common at this age. But she can’t remember what happened, so I have no way of knowing. She’s old and lives alone, so she’s vulnerable. And one of her neighbors is iffy. The police were there, though, so I’m sure they checked things out.
“If they had any concerns,” he said, “they would have told me.” He scratched his beard. “You know, at her age, it’s amazing she didn’t have worse injuries.”
“I agree. Thank you so much for taking care of her. I’ll call the pastor and hopefully he can reach her family.”
“Sounds good,” he said. “Good luck.”
Twenty-Seven
Pastor Greg Williams didn’t have information about Edith’s daughter, but Edith had friends on the grounds committee, which kept the church gardens beautiful. He’d contact them to see if they could help.
“I’ll notify the healing prayer and pastoral care teams, too,” he said. “They can offer other things she might need.” We agreed to touch base the next morning.
Before leaving the hospital, I accompanied Edith to her private room on a regular patient floor. The transfer went smoothly, and since Edith was ready to close her eyes for the night, I said goodbye and spoke with a nurse about her care. He assured me Edith was in good hands and I didn’t need to worry about leaving. I wrote down my number just in case.
I’d arrived at the hospital frantic, but sitting with Edith had been almost meditative, so my thoughts were clear when I called George to catch up. Dr. Rush was driving somewhere, he told me, and the PI was staying on site to observe the house.
“Don’t ask how,” George said, “but we know where Dr. Rush is too.”
“Okay,” I said. “That’s good. I’m in the car, trying to decide what to do next.” I shared the little I’d learned from Edith. “I’m still worried this wasn’t a fall.”
“I understand,” he said. “So just for a moment, assume she was pushed. Who would do it? And why?”
“Your guess is far better than mine.”
“I’d like to hear what you think,” he said.
“Well, she’s been asking around. And the only place she’s been asking is at the Rushes’ house, I think. So it would have to be them or someone who knows them.”
“But why would they react that way?”
“I guess maybe she learned something or came close to learning something that threatened someone.”
“Okay.”
“And even if being pushed didn’t seriously injure her,” I continued, “it might scare her off. Except she doesn’t remember being pushed or even falling. So it’s definitely not scaring her now.”
Edith’s memory could return at any moment, it occurred to me. Someone should be there to listen and protect her. I needed to call the nursing station so they’d note anything she remembered. I also wanted to know when she woke up.
“You’re doing fine, Nicki,” George said. “And since I’m an old geezer, I’m going to bed. I gave my investigator, Steve, your number. You can coordinate with him the rest of the night. We’ll talk in the morning. Be safe out there.”
Steve was a friendly guy who suggested I keep an eye on Dr. Rush, who, according to his resources, was headed South on Windham, which rang a bell. Maybe he was going to Asheleigh Manor. I still had the address in my case file, so I programmed it into the navigation system and double checked the directions. Yup. He was probably headed there. I told Steve my theory.
“It’s a charity he works for,” I explained. “So he’s there a lot. I can watch the entrance and let you know when he arrives or leaves. I’m not far from it right now.”
“Are you sure you want to do that? It’s late, and George said you have kids.”
I thought of Sgt. Dwyer’s warning to mind my own business.
“I’m good,” I decided. “I drove all this way. I want to make the most of it.”
“Okay then. Keep in touch. You got my number?”
“I do. Is it okay to call? I don’t want to interrupt what you’re doing.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll have it on vibrate or off if needed,” he said. “And you can always text me. I’ll do the same for you.”
We hung up and I pressed “Go” on the navigation system. Asheleigh Manor was about a mile from the hospital. Following Steve’s lead, I set my phone to vibrate and pocketed it so I wouldn’t miss anything.
Listening carefully to the navigation prompts, I arrived at Asheleigh Manor in a few minutes, hopefully before Dr. Rush, if that’s where he was going. The gates were closed, so I passed it, did a U-turn, and parked a block away. Before I had time to get bored, Dr. Rush drove by, but instead of turning into Asheleigh Manor, he passed it. I gave him a head start and pulled out, lights off at first, and then on after I did a U-turn and saw him take the next left. I turned left, too, and watched him take another left down a tree-lined, gravel road that ran toward the manor. The navigation system insisted I turn around, but I tried to ignore it, finally jabbing it off in annoyance.
My eyes strained to see Dr. Rush’s taillights as he drove down the road, which felt more like a long driveway. I turned off my headlights and pulled over momentarily to give him more room, afraid he’d be suspicious of anyone behind him on this deserted lane. When I pulled out, I used parking lights instead of headlights to see. I held my breath and gripped the wheel as the road opened into parking spaces and a loading dock flanked by dumpsters. If Asheleigh Manor were a person, this would be its unattractive backside. Dr. Rush’s car was parked, headlights off, at the far end of the lot near a door marked “EMPLOYEES ONLY.”
I stayed near the road and backed into a space for an easy exit. Pulse thumping in my ears, I considered two options. Wait for Dr. Rush to leave. Or take a look around. Everything in me wanted to keep moving in hopes I’d get closer to Beth.
As I was about to dial Steve for advice, Dr. Rush got out of his car. Whoa. I’d assumed he was already in t
he building. I pocketed my phone and watched as he stood by his car for a moment, a glowing gadget in his hands, which had to be a phone. I unbuckled my seat belt stealthily, as if he could somehow hear it from across the lot.
When he used the employee entrance, I opened my door, pressed “lock,” and closed it gently. I impressed myself by doing a quiet tiptoe-run across the lot, although I had to catch my breath afterward. I leaned down, not sure if I was panting from exertion or stress, and envisioned what was next. I was going inside. I was following Dr. Rush. And if anyone stopped me, I’d say I was out exercising and had an asthma attack. That wasn’t quite true. Panic attack, asthma attack...close enough.
While I still had the nerve, I gingerly opened the employee door, which led to an empty break room. Vending machines brought the kids to mind, so I forced myself to refocus and step further into the building.
Seeing no one, I followed a sterile basement corridor lined with closed doors and empty rooms until I spotted Dr. Rush in the distance. The sight of him was a terrifying relief. I was glad to know where he was, but being in the same empty hallway was freaky. At any second, he could turn around and catch me. Much worse, he might remember me. What would I do? Pretend to be a visitor? The whole acting part of investigation was so unpleasant.
Thankfully, Dr. Rush turned and closed a door behind him, still unaware of my presence. Most of the rooms I’d passed looked like treatment rooms or offices, empty for the night, but with the lights dimmed, it was hard to tell. The one he’d entered was unmarked and had a windowless door. A rectangle of chipped paint indicated where a plaque had been removed. I walked by, listening intently and noticing the door’s latch hadn’t caught. I moved closer to a sliver of light emanating from the room. Perfectly still, I turned my head, ears perked. I heard one word in a female voice, “Grandpa,” and that was all I needed.
I put a touch of pressure on the door, and although it didn’t squeak, it opened way more than I intended, exposing four things through the gap. Dr. Rush. Beth. Me. And a game of checkers.
What was the most appropriate response in this situation? “Can I play?” “Sorry! Wrong room.” Or maybe, “Did anyone here order pizza?”
Both of them looked startled, but Beth didn’t seem afraid or panicked. She didn’t look like a prisoner, either, although she was in a hospital bed, attached to an IV. Best of all, she looked pregnant. She held a black checkers piece over a board being set up for play.
I wanted to run outside and alert 911. Beth is okay! She’s here! Come and get her! But I was afraid Dr. Rush would follow and things wouldn’t go well. Maybe I could “pocket dial” 911 and get attention by saying Beth’s name and location.
“Beth?” I said while fingering the buttons on my phone. Over three. Down three. I pressed 9 and returned for 1. “Send” was hardest to find, but I was pretty sure I hit it.
“Yes?” she answered.
Dr. Rush’s eyes slid to me, squinting with what I feared was recognition. “Can I help you?” he said.
“Beth Myers?” I asked loud and clear, hoping 911 was listening. “The missing girl from Virginia?”
She looked quizzically at Dr. Rush.
He stood, and I didn’t back away. I wanted to protect Beth.
“A lot of people are worried about you,” I said to her. “Are you okay? Don’t worry, the police are on the way.”
Maybe that would reassure her and scare Dr. Rush. If he got violent, I couldn’t take him, since the closest I’d come to physical confrontation was roughhousing with the kids, and if anyone got hurt, it was me.
“The police?” she asked. “Why?”
“Because he’s keeping you here, isn’t he?” I asked, looking at Dr. Rush.
“No.” Her voice was firm. “He’s protecting me.”
“From what?” I asked. “Or who?”
“Who are you?” Dr. Rush interrupted. “Aren’t you one of my patients?”
“Not exactly,” I said. “Beth, why are you here? Is Marcus after you?”
“No,” she said. “Grandpa, what’s going on?”
This wasn’t how I thought things would play out. I’d found Beth, and that was supposed to be a good thing. I felt like I was being Punk’d.
“Then why are you here? Did you change your mind about the adoption?”
“No!” Beth said. “How do you know about that? Who are you?”
I wanted to keep running down the list like Twenty Questions. Your parents? Is it them?
“Get out,” Rush said, extending an arm, as if he was going to personally escort me. I mentally glued my feet to the floor. Then his eyes refocused on something behind me. Maybe the police were here!
“I told you to stay out of this, bitch.”
That didn’t sound like the police. It sounded like Marcus. He pushed me aside, and I stumbled into a chair next to a silver tray of examination supplies, including gloves and lubricant. Eeek.
“Beth,” he said, darting to her. “Are you okay?” His voice sounded almost...loving. He glanced at Dr. Rush. “Hey, Grandpa.”
“She needs to leave,” Rush told him, pointing at me. I shrunk into the chair beside the door, hoping to become invisible.
“She’s harmless,” Marcus said, waving his hand. “Remember her, Beth?”
I felt like I’d entered the Twilight Zone. How could Beth remember me?
Beth shook her head no. At least that made sense.
“Kenna’s neighbor,” he said under his breath. “From when we checked the house. The one who called 911 when I got shot.”
“What house?” I interjected.
He shrugged. “We didn’t want to pick parents for our kid without checking them out. So we looked at the profile pictures and figured out where Kenna and Andy live. We saw you there too. A couple times.”
“I’m sorry,” Beth said, wincing. “I felt bad about it.”
“It’s okay.” I looked at Marcus. “Did you recognize me in the hospital?”
“I thought you looked familiar. But it didn’t hit me ’til later. I thought maybe fate put you there to save me. A sign about the adoption. But then Los Reyes put a hit on you. I tried to keep you safe. So why are you in my business again?”
“First, I don’t get why Beth is here. Did you change your mind about Kenna and Andy?” I asked her.
“I told you no.” Tears came to her eyes. I’d obviously said the wrong thing, and I was thankful when Marcus patted her head. She touched his hand. “We were protecting the baby. Los Reyes wants Marcus dead. And me and the baby. We broke up, but we got back together and didn’t tell anyone. Then Los Reyes put a serious hit on Marcus, and he told me to get out of town fast. My grandfather helped.”
“He picked you up the night you went missing?” The man in the convenience store video looked enough like Rush to make sense.
“Yeah.”
“Do your parents know?”
“Yes.”
So that’s why they were so uncooperative. They didn’t want Beth to be found. And since they didn’t support the adoption, they probably hoped this would delay or prevent it...that First Steps would give up and move on.
“Why couldn’t you go to the police? Wouldn’t they protect you?”
Marcus laughed. I thought of his gun, gang leadership, and pot supply—not to mention the possibility Beth’s family was hiding something. “All kinds of reasons,” he said.
“So you’re Kenna’s friend?” Beth asked. “She told me about you.”
“Yes,” I said. “She’s been incredibly worried about you.”
“I tried to tell her everything would be okay. Did she believe me?”
“She did,” I said. “Always. But she wanted to make sure you were okay. She asked me to find you.”
Beth closed her eyes and sank into the b
ed, turning to Marcus. I was starting to relax, too, but I wanted to know the whole story. Why would Dr. Rush keep her here instead of getting real protection from the authorities?
Suddenly all eyes turned my way, or that’s what I thought until the door next to me moved again. It had to be the police this time.
“Oh shit!” Marcus yelled. That seemed like an overreaction. “Cover Beth!”
Dr. Rush jumped on the bed and threw his body over hers. That seemed excessive too. Marcus stepped away from the bed, dumped the checkers game, and held the metal table like a shield.
I instinctively put my hands in the air and looked left, still expecting to see cops with guns drawn. Instead I saw GT with a pistol aimed at Marcus, who’d been smart not to protect Beth himself. From everything he’d said, Los Reyes would love to take them both out. I watched GT alternate pointing the gun at Marcus and Grandpa/Beth. For the moment, sitting slightly behind GT and the open door, I was as good as invisible—at least to GT, the one who mattered most.
Slowly, I lowered my hands and made the “shhhh” sign to everyone else. Then I surveyed my immediate surroundings. Beside me was the table with lubricant and gloves. If only it had something like a syringe. I scanned cabinets and drawers, all labeled with unhelpful medical terms, until I spotted something familiar, metal, a little pointy, and definitely uncomfortable. I’d never seen one up close, but I’d experienced its torture: the speculum.
In that blessed moment, Marcus distracted GT with a question.
“How’d you find me here?”
I hoped GT would take a moment to brag.
“Was easy to follow a stupid fuck like you,” he cackled. I slid open the drawer, lifted the largest speculum I saw, and marveled at its gun-like shape.
“I got somethin’ for you to tell your boys,” Marcus told GT.
Finding Sky (A Nicki Valentine Mystery Book 1) Page 29