She smiled. "Because the other half of the deal is this. In exchange for a two-year note at interest one percent below the prime rate, I'll instruct my attorney not to file that countersuit against you and your wife."
"Leave my wife out of this."
"Why? As I understand it, and as we'll prove at trial, she's the reason behind this whole malpractice suit in the first place. It will be interesting when Will gets her on the stand, and it all comes out in open court."
Nix looked as though he'd swallowed a bad oyster. "What comes out?"
Cathy decided to sink the hook. "Mainly, how she tried to kill you. Actually, she would have succeeded if I hadn't saved your life."
"I don't—"
"She and her brother changed your dosage, then altered the prescription to cover it up so she could inherit everything you've got."
"That's not true."
"Maybe not. Or maybe it is. We'll just have to investigate and see, won't we?"
Nix seemed to collapse inward on himself like a balloon with a slow leak. "I can't do what you're asking, but how about one year at prime plus one percent?"
"Eighteen months at prime," Cathy said.
Nix ran his hand around his collar. "All right. I suppose I could agree to those terms. But you'll still need to reduce the principal by—"
"I know." Cathy brandished the cashier's check. "I believe you'll find that this covers that amount plus current interest, with a few dollars left over. Now I'll wait right here while you have your secretary prepare a receipt and the new note."
"Where did this money come from?"
"Now, Mr. Nix," Cathy said. "You of all people should know better than to ever ask that question. Money is anonymous.All that cash you have in your vault has no history, no scruples, and no identity. Just add this to your little pile, revise my loan, and I'll be on my way."
Cathy thought the day would never end. It was nearly dark when she opened the front door of the Kennedy house. As soon as she stepped inside, she slipped out of her shoes.Holding them in one hand, with her briefcase in the other, she padded into the living room. The shades were drawn, and the lights were off. She reached for the light switch when a voice stopped her in her tracks.
"I remember that about you. Not fond of wearing shoes."Will flipped on the lamp beside the couch where he sat.
Cathy recoiled. "Will, you scared me to death." She took a couple of deep breaths. "Where are your folks?"
He eased offthe couch and greeted her with a hug and kiss.
"Mom and Dad have already left for a meeting at church.They've eaten, but they left some supper in the oven. Join me?"
When they were settled at the kitchen table, Cathy said, "I went by the bank today. I used the check from Ella Mae to pay what they demanded."
"So you're square with the bank? You renewed the note?" Will helped himself to another of his mother's biscuits."What did Nix say?"
"Not much, after I brought up the possibility of a countersuit and a trial where his wife's history would come out."
Will almost choked. "You know when I mentioned that to Sam I wasn't serious."
Cathy smiled. "I'm not a lawyer, so I guess I can be excused for not understanding that. Anyway, Nix agreed to give me a new note at prime, renewable in eighteen months by paying the interest only."
"What happened to the woman who wanted my help because she didn't know where to turn?"
"You know, I think she's learning that she's pretty capable.That doesn't mean she can't use some help from time to time, like a white knight riding by in his pickup to rescue her when her trusty steed crashes."
"I was thinking more in terms of legal help," Will said."But I'm glad you look at me that way. I'd like to make the arrangement more permanent. Have you thought about it?"
"Not . . . really." Cathy's heart pounded, and she took a moment to calm down. "We were awfully close a few years ago, and I'll admit that I had a vision that we'd eventually marry. But that was then. A lot has changed."
Will shook his head. "Nothing could have happened that would make me stop loving you. There, I've said it. I love you."
"Nothing will change the way I feel" had been ambiguous.But this was "Nothing would make me stop loving you." How Cathy had longed to hear those words. More than that, she longed to say them back to Will. She wanted to, but somehow she couldn't. How could she explain this to him? And how could he possibly understand?
"Two men have already told me they loved me. They said they wanted to marry me. I thought I loved them. I told them so. Then they let me down. I'm still working on healing those wounds."
"And—?"
"And I promised myself that the next time I told a man I loved him, I would be one hundred percent sure."
"You're not sure about me?"
"At this moment I am. But I don't want to make another mistake. It would only hurt both of us. I'm almost there— maybe even ninety percent. Can you be patient with me a little longer?"
Will pushed back his plate. "Would it help if I withdrew as your lawyer? Honestly, it would be hard for me to do, because I want to help you, but I'd do it."
"No, I need your legal help. More than that, I trust you."The words just came out, but as she heard them, Cathy knew she really meant them.
"Okay, I'll try to be patient."
Cathy could see Will make a visible effort to shift into professional mode. "If I'm still your lawyer, we need to talk about our defense of this malpractice action. As I see it, it hinges on showing that someone tampered with that prescription and that you weren't responsible for Nix's overdose.And, of course, in the end you were the one who saved his life."
"That's all well and good," Cathy said, "but we have no proof, just suspicions."
"Maybe if I file for a continuance—ask for more time."
"No!" Cathy slammed her hand down on the table, and the silverware rattled. "I'm tired of having this hanging over my head. I've been thinking about it all day, and I believe I know how to smoke out the person responsible."
"How?"
She shook her head. "No, it's a one-person job, and the less you know about it, the better."
Jane tapped on the open door of Cathy's office. "Want me to bring you back a sandwich?"
"No thanks," Cathy said. "I brought yogurt and an apple.I'll eat at my desk. I've got some stuffto do."
Cathy waited until she heard the outer door close and lock. Then she opened Microsoft Word on her computer and began typing. It took her several tries to achieve the right blend of threat and greed.
How many copies would she need? That depended. Who could have changed the prescription? Who had means, motive, and opportunity? She opened a new document and made her list.
The two pharmacists, Jacob Collins and Lloyd Allen, were the most logical suspects. They had ample opportunity.They had the knowledge. She wasn't sure what the motive might be, but maybe that would come out later. For now, she needed to be sure they got the bait.
Sherri Collins, Jacob's wife, also had access to the pharmacy area. She could certainly have done it, but would she know how to alter the prescription? Motive? No problem there. It seemed that everyone in town had something against Cathy, and Sherri was no exception. Then Cathy realized she couldn't send a note to both Jacob and Sherri, or it would be obvious to them that she was on a fishing expedition. No, it had to be Jacob. Leave Sherri offthe list.
How about Gail Nix? Cathy had been bluffing when she told Milton his wife had tried to kill him, but it was certainly possible. She'd have needed the assistance of her brother, Lloyd. If Gail and Lloyd talked, would a letter to each make them think Cathy knew they had collaborated? Would it make them more certain that their plot had been discovered? She decided to add Gail's name to the list.
She couldn't bring herself to believe that Milton Nix had altered his own prescription, but had he left it on his desk at the bank before getting it filled? If he had, who could have gotten hold of it long enough to make the change? Only his secretary and Ella Mae had easy acc
ess. Motive aside, Cathy couldn't believe that either of them possessed the medical knowledge to make the alterations. No, leave them off the list.
Any others? Her mind kept coming back to Marcus Bell.He had a black Ford Expedition. His attitude toward Cathy had been ambivalent, to say the least. A doctor would know how to change the digitalis dosage. How could he have gotten the prescription? It wouldn't be hard for a physician to visit the pharmacy department and use some pretext to gain access behind the counter. Maybe Marcus sent the pharmacist looking in the shelves for some weird drug, taking the opportunity to palm the prescription as it lay on the counter.A little work in his office, then another trip back. Maybe even hand the altered script to the pharmacist and say he'd picked it up by mistake. Much as she hated the thought, Marcus's name went on the list.
Was there someone else? Yes, there was—a person with medical knowledge and a definite grudge against Cathy.She didn't see how he could have carried it out, though. It was far-fetched. Or was it? With a sigh, she wrote down Robert's name on the list and transcribed a Dallas address beneath it.
She'd carefully avoided adding one name to her list, stepping around it as gingerly as she would have avoided a landmine. There was one person who had intimate knowledge of all her actions since the first day the black SUV had made that near-suicide run at her. A person who had a right to hold a grudge, however much he might deny it. Of course, he didn't drive a black SUV. He drove a pickup. What if he had two vehicles? She'd never seen inside his two-car garage. Maybe the other half wasn't filled with tools and Christmas decorations.
She sighed and chided herself. His name wasn't on the list of Expedition owners. And he said he loved her.However much her head told her not to blindly trust a man, she knew—knew for certain—that she could trust Will.No, she couldn't—wouldn't—suspect he was capable of such duplicity.
Cathy computer addressed five plain white envelopes, adding the notation "Personal." She stuffed copies of her letter into the envelopes, added stamps, and dropped the small bundle into her purse. She'd mail them on the way home. They should arrive tomorrow—Friday. Then came the hard part—waiting to see who would respond.
She hoped her simple message would be enough to flush out the person whose actions almost killed Milton Nix and threatened to destroy her professional career:
I KNOW HOW YOU MANAGED TO ALTER THAT DIGOXIN PRESCRIPTION.HOW MUCH ARE YOU PREPARED TO PAY FOR MY SILENCE? IF IT'S ENOUGH, I'LL LET MY INSURANCE COMPANY SETTLE THE SUIT. I'LL LEAVE TOWN AND NO ONE WILL KNOW WHAT YOU DID. COME ALONE TO MY OFFICE AT 9:00 SATURDAY NIGHT.
—Cathy Sewell, M.D.
19
MERCURY VAPOR LAMPS BATHED THE BARREN ASPHALT OF THE PROFESsional building's parking lot in blue light when Cathy pulled into her reserved space on Saturday night. Her throat tightened when she saw that the security light nearest the door had burned out, creating a tunnel of darkness she'd have to negotiate. She locked her car and hurried toward the building, shivering despite the mild breeze. The tingle between her shoulder blades made her tighten the muscles, as though that action could protect her from a bullet or a knife.
Once inside, Cathy hurried down the dark corridor to her office. She fumbled with her keys and slid inside, slamming and locking the door behind her. She stood for a moment with her back against it, breathing deeply and trying not to hyperventilate.
Quickly, she threw a switch and bathed the outer office in light. Despite her fear of an attacker, she eased past the reception desk and raced from room to room, turning on lights to reassure herself that no one lurked behind a closed door.
In her office, she slipped into her white coat and finished her preparations. She looked at her watch. Eight o'clock.Soon she'd know the truth. But, the more she thought about it, the crazier her scheme seemed. And if it did, could she handle the person who showed up, whoever it might be? She breathed a silent prayer, surprised that it seemed as automatic as though she hadn't stopped praying more than three years ago.
The ring of her cell phone interrupted her thoughts.She picked her purse offthe desk and pulled out the cell."Anonymous caller," read the ID. Was it one of her suspects? Only two of them had her cell phone number: Marcus and Robert.
She took a deep breath, held it, and blew it out in a sigh before she answered. "Dr. Sewell, this is J. C. Dunaway. I got your cell number from Will Kennedy. I hope I'm not calling too late?"
Cathy realized her hand cramped from gripping the phone so tightly. She switched the instrument to her right hand and flexed the fingers of her left. "No, no. You just startled me."
"I wanted to bring you up to date on our search for the driver of your black Ford Expedition—let you know we're still on it."
"Do you have a suspect?" she asked.
"Afraid not. As of this afternoon, we thought it was Kenny Johnson."
"Who's Kenny Johnson? And what would he have against me?"
"Nothing," Dunaway said. "Kenny's just a teenager who got hold of the spare key to his dad's SUV and decided it would be cool to ditch school and go joyriding with a buddy from time to time. One of my deputies stopped the pair this afternoon for reckless driving. He recognized the vehicle as the type we were interested in. He asked a few questions, and the boys acted so guilty the deputy decided to bring them in and let me talk to them." Dunaway chuckled. "Didn't need the bright lights and rubber hose to get the truth out of them. I put them in two separate rooms, and Kenny's buddy ratted him out in about five minutes."
"But you said he wasn't the one who's been hounding me."
"Nope. Unfortunately, they weren't out by Big Sandy or on the road to the cemetery when you had your run-ins.Already confirmed they were in school both those times. No doubt about it."
Cathy cleared her throat. "So you're no closer to finding out who's trying to kill me?"
"We've eliminated a bunch of folks, and we're still working on it. Thought you'd like to know."
Why didn't that make her feel better? The sheriffcould still be "working on it" during her funeral. Maybe it was truly up to her to put an end to this thing.
Cathy thanked the sheriffand hung up. Someone in a black SUV tried to kill her. Someone—maybe that same mysterious stranger—set fire to her apartment. And someone altered one of her prescriptions and caused an incident that involved her in a malpractice suit while adding fuel to the derogatory rumors circulating about her in town.
"I'm not paranoid," she whispered like a mantra. "Someone really is out to get me."
Cathy settled down to wait. She was half asleep in her chair when the buzzing of the office phone awoke her. She wasn't on call this weekend. When the answering service didn't pick up, she noticed that the call was on her private line. She lifted the receiver and punched the lighted button.
"Dr. Sewell."
"Cathy?" At the sound of the voice, Cathy had to fight the urge to hyperventilate. She'd never appreciated how accurate the expression "Her blood ran cold" was until that moment.
"Robert? How did you get this number?"
"I have connections. What's this about my altering a prescription? I know your mother was psychotic, but I never saw any indication of it in you until this. Are you all right?"
Cathy took several calming breaths. "Robert, it's a long story. The short answer is that I'm not paranoid. Someone really is out to get me."
His familiar laugh made Cathy's heart clench. "Just like we said in medical school, huh?"
"It's not funny to me. But I do appreciate your calling. I'll write you and explain it after it's all over."
"Anyway, I'm glad you haven't gone around the bend."Robert cleared his throat. "And I'm sorry about sending you that clipping and note. I did it without thinking, and now I realize it was a terrible thing to do. Can you forgive me?"
Cathy's first impulse was to simply hang up. But then she recalled something she'd heard in church recently— forgiving others the way we want God to forgive us. "Robert, I forgive you . . . for everything. And I wish you and your wife h
appiness."
She hung up and sat with her head in her hands for a long time. Then she pulled her list toward her and drew a line through Robert's name. One down, four to go.
Cathy leaned forward, her elbows on the desk, trying without success to concentrate on an article in one of her medical journals. A faint tap on the glass of the outer office door caught her attention. She tiptoed to the waiting room and edged up to the Venetian blind that covered the door.She separated two slats far enough to identify Marcus Bell standing in the hall outside, shifting from one foot to the other, his eyes darting back and forth down the hall.
Marcus? Had she been right? Was he the one behind all this? She tried to swallow a softball-sized lump in her throat, but it wouldn't budge. Her hands shook as she unlocked the door.
Marcus rushed in as though he were being chased. "Cathy, what's the meaning of this note?" He pulled a wrinkled piece of paper from his shirt pocket and thrust it at her. "You know I didn't change that prescription." He squinted at her, as though seeing her for the first time. "Are you—? Do you think someone's out to get you?"
Cathy stifled a wry laugh. Poor Marcus. He thought she'd gone offthe deep end. "No, Marcus. I don't think that. I know they are. I'm not paranoid. I'm not delusional. But I do know that someone changed Milton Nix's prescription to guarantee that he'd wind up with digitalis intoxication. I still don't know if what they did was aimed at me or at him, but whatever the motive, we both suffered the consequences."
"And you think I did it?" Marcus said with righteous indignation.
Cathy decided to bluff. After all, he was here. Maybe he was the guilty party. "It's possible. You could easily have altered that prescription."
Marcus shook his head. "I don't know what you're talking about. Cathy, I'm sorry to say this, but when the credentials committee meets on Monday, I'll recommend that your hospital privileges be suspended until you undergo psychiatric evaluation." Abruptly, he turned and stormed out the door, closing it firmly behind him.
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