by Jana DeLeon
The doctor headed out of the room and Gertie glared at the two of us. “You didn’t say anything about a stress test.”
“Why do you think I told you to wear tennis shoes?” Ida Belle asked.
“Because we usually end up having to run,” Gertie said.
“A valid point,” I said.
“Well, then, since we usually have to run anyway, running on a treadmill shouldn’t make a difference,” Ida Belle said.
“Says the woman who gets to sit in a chair and watch,” Gertie shot back.
“At least you’ll be in the AC and won’t be running from a bear or someone shooting at you,” Ida Belle said.
“Sorta takes all the fun out of it,” Gertie grumbled.
“I could hold a gun on you while you run,” I said. “It might make the tech nervous, but anything for a friend.”
“I don’t think she’ll be running long enough to get a round chambered,” Ida Belle said.
“Says you,” Gertie said. “I ran plenty when that bear was chasing us.”
“Adrenaline,” Ida Belle said. “You could have run to Pittsburgh with that bear behind you. This is different.”
“We’ll just see about that,” Gertie said. “I’m going to kick this test’s butt.”
“Go for it,” Ida Belle said. “All we need is for you to distract him long enough to set off the fire alarm.”
The door opened and a young man with a bored expression stood there holding a folder.
Early thirties. Five foot ten. One hundred forty pounds. Merlin could take him.
“Ms. Hebert?” he asked.
“That’s me,” Gertie said.
“I’m Corey,” he said. “I’ll be doing your stress test. Follow me, please.” He looked at Ida Belle and me. “There are some chairs in the room if you’d like to stay. Or you can wait in the lobby.”
“We’ll come along,” Ida Belle said.
We followed Mr. Personality down the hall to a room at the back of the building. There was a treadmill on one side of the room with a television in front of it. On the other side was a table with a computer and several monitors. Two chairs were next to the entrance. In the center of the room was a hospital table. I wasn’t sure whether to be glad they were prepared or a little worried. I decided to go with both.
Corey walked over to the treadmill and motioned for Gertie to follow. She thrust her purse at me and leaned toward me. “The smoke bombs are in the side pocket.”
She headed over to the treadmill and Corey attached monitoring pads to different places on her body, then pointed to a button on the display.
“You’ll probably want to lose the hat,” Corey said.
“I don’t think so,” Gertie said.
Most people would have argued about the comfort or maybe the safety factor of treadmilling while floppy-hatting, but Corey didn’t even blink.
“Okay. When I tell you I’m ready, you’ll press this button to start,” he said. “Once you start it you can’t pause. So if you need to use the restroom, you should do it now.”
“I’m fine,” Gertie said.
He nodded and grabbed a television remote off the hospital bed. “Do you have a preference? Most of the ladies like HGTV.”
He practically blanched when he said it, and I guessed he was rather tired of hearing people with no money ask for a mansion with an ocean view.
“Do you have the Syfy channel?” Gertie asked. “They’re doing a whole run of shark movies.”
“Seriously?” Corey perked up. “Yeah. That would be awesome.”
He located the channel, currently showing a horribly done rendition of a giant shark fighting a giant crocodile, then headed off for his desk, practically skipping. I looked over at Ida Belle, who gave me a thumbs-up. At least we didn’t have to worry about Corey being distracted. He’d probably be so busy watching the television he wouldn’t even notice Gertie on the treadmill, much less one of us slipping out to set off the fire alarm.
Once Corey took his seat and fiddled with the computer for a bit, he finally looked over at Gertie and gave her a nod. “Whenever you’re ready,” he said, his attention already focused on the television.
Gertie glanced back at us, then blew out a breath. “Here goes nothing,” she said, and pressed the button.
The treadmill started up slowly and then increased to a normal walk. Ida Belle gave me a nudge and I reached into Gertie’s bag and slipped into the hallway with the smoke bomb. I located a smoke detector at the end of the hall next to the emergency exit and headed that way. The exit was just around a corner and provided me a bit of coverage from the staff and patients walking down the hall, so I lit it up and held the smoking firework under the detector. It took several seconds, but finally the alarm went off. Unfortunately, so did the smoke bomb.
I lowered my hand and checked it. Surely that wasn’t it. I thought the things would have lasted longer than that. I heard people milling around the hallway, talking, and slipped back around the corner, almost colliding with a nurse.
“Is everything okay?” I asked, my voice loud so I could be heard over the alarm. “I was looking for the restroom.”
“It’s at the front of the hallway,” she said and glanced up at the detector before hurrying away. Corey stepped out of the testing room and the receptionist motioned to him just as the alarm went silent.
The receptionist frowned. “Can you please check everything? We don’t know what set it off.”
“Sure,” he said, and then he noticed me. “Have your friend keep going. The computer will record everything. I’ll be back in a few.”
“No problem,” I said and slipped back into the room.
“What happened?” Ida Belle asked. “The alarm stopped.”
“The smoke bomb went out. It gave a couple seconds of smoke and then nothing. Probably not long enough to set it off good.”
“Lousy…good for…nothing,” Gertie huffed on the treadmill, and I noticed the pace had increased quite a bit. “Dud. Try…red one.”
I dug in her purse but couldn’t locate a red one in the side pocket. I did, however, find one beneath two sticks of dynamite in the center fold.
“The receptionist has Corey searching the building for the source,” I said. “I’ll have to wait a bit before the hall is clear.”
“What about the bathroom?” Ida Belle asked.
“Right across from reception,” I said. “Too risky.”
“Here,” Gertie said, and pointed to the corner of the room above the television where a smoke detector hung.
“I’ll cover the door,” Ida Belle said. “Gertie. Keep going until they clear the building.”
Gertie opened her mouth to say something but was too out of breath and settled for giving her the finger as she exited the room. Given that she didn’t even lift her hand off the treadmill rail, it wasn’t overly effective.
I sidled between the treadmill and the wall until I was under the alarm and lit up the smoke bomb. I lifted my hand up and heard a crackle. Then I felt the crackle on my palm. I lowered my hand.
“Are these supposed to sizzle?” I asked.
Gertie’s eyes widened. “Not smoke bomb. Throw!”
Chapter Twelve
I flung the firework at the smoke detector and launched backward. It hit the wall and bounced onto the motor housing of the treadmill. Gertie let go of the rails and tried to jump off the exercise equipment, but it was moving too fast and she was too tired. One foot made the side rail but the other missed. She lurched backward, then hit the belt and shot off the end, directly into me. My knees buckled and we both crashed to the ground in a big heap.
A second later, the firecracker exploded.
It must have continued a downward slide between the motor housing and the belt because the next thing I knew, the entire thing was on fire. I jumped up from the floor and hauled Gertie up.
“Run,” I said.
I flung open the door and Gertie and I ran out. Smoke billowed into the hallway, leav
ing no doubt as to the seriousness of the alarm this time. Nurses yelled and everyone began to stream out of the rooms and head for the lobby. I glanced back and saw Ida Belle slip through a door at the end of the hall.
The original plan was for whoever found the office to get the goods and then both of us to take the rear exit before we were seen. But as usual, that plan was long gone. The new plan was to figure out how to prevent the building from burning down.
I ran into the lobby as the nurses helped patients outside and grabbed the receptionist by her shoulders. “Do you have a fire extinguisher?”
“I—I don’t know,” she said.
“Think!”
“Uh, okay. Yeah. In the kitchen.”
“Great,” I said. “Go outside and make sure the patients are all right. I’ll check the building and make sure no one is inside.”
I glanced around, looking for Dr. Wilkinson, but didn’t see him. Hopefully he was outside attending to patients. And calling the fire department. I really hoped someone was calling the fire department.
“Gertie, find the doctor and make sure he stays outside,” I said.
She gave me a nod and stumbled out the door behind the receptionist. I ran back down the hall, now filled with smoke, and grabbed the fire extinguisher from below the kitchen sink. The testing room was so thick with smoke I could barely see, except for the flames shooting out of the treadmill.
The television, oddly enough, was still running and the sounds of people screaming was all I could hear over the melting of the treadmill. I pointed the fire extinguisher at the flaming piece of exercise equipment and fired. The foam came gushing out and covered the collapsed mass of plastic and metal. The flames hissed, then finally disappeared. Coughing, I stumbled back out into the hallway and ran smack into a fireman.
“Too late,” I said. “It’s all contained.”
The fireman looked at what was left of the treadmill and frowned. Dr. Wilkinson came running up behind him and stared.
“What happened?” Wilkinson asked.
“The treadmill caught on fire,” I said, hedging my bets that no one would yell for an arson investigation.
The fireman nodded. “Same thing happened to my sister. I think lint builds up in the motor over time, then it can spark up during use. Do you ever take yours apart and vacuum it?”
“No.” Wilkinson looked bewildered. “I had no idea I was supposed to.”
“It’s not something they tell you,” the fireman said. “Just my own observation, but I’d suggest doing it once a month with the replacement. I’ll write you up a report and send it over for your insurance claim.”
“Thank you,” Wilkinson said.
“Don’t thank me,” the fireman said. “This young lady put the fire out.” He gave me a grin and headed off down the hallway.
Wilkinson took a closer look at me. “You were with Ms. Hebert.” Then his expression turned from confusion to panic. “Was she on that thing when it caught fire? Is she all right?”
“I think she’s fine,” I said. “I got her outside before coming back in to find the fire extinguisher.”
“And where the hell was Corey when all this was going on?”
“He went into the hall to see what had set off the alarm the first time.”
“It wasn’t the treadmill?”
“No. It was running fine when the first alarm sounded. Maybe you should have your entire system tested.”
“Yes, apparently,” Wilkinson said, completely flustered. “I am so sorry for this and thank you for your quick thinking. I’ll go check on Ms. Hebert right now. There will not be any charge for her visit, of course, and I’ll reschedule the test at another facility and cover that cost as well.”
“That’s very nice of you,” I said, even though I knew that was all about attempting to avoid a lawsuit.
I followed Wilkinson outside where the patients and employees were all huddled in the parking lot and waited while he went through his apologies and offers of free testing with Gertie. She played up the scared old lady thing a bit and even coughed several times for good measure, practically assuring that Wilkinson would head straight for a whiskey shot and a call to his attorney. Ida Belle sidled up beside us as Wilkinson was apologizing for the tenth time and gave me a nod. Thank God all of this mess hadn’t been for nothing.
When he was done with the patient business end of things, Wilkinson locked his gaze on Corey and frowned.
“I need to see you in my office,” Wilkinson said.
“Time to make our exit,” I said as we hurried off.
“I hope we don’t get Corey fired,” Gertie said.
“He’ll be fine,” Ida Belle said as we climbed into the SUV. “Just give Wilkinson a call and say you won’t redo your test with anyone but him. Not like there’s a ton of qualified techs wanting to work out in the sticks anyway.”
“It will be a cold day in hell before I do that test again,” Gertie said. “If I ever have real chest pains, I’ll just go ahead and die. It has to be easier than that test.”
“The fireman told Wilkinson that it was probably lint in the treadmill motor and that the same thing had happened to his sister,” I said.
“There you go,” Ida Belle said. “Corey will be fine. Wilkinson just needs someone to bitch at. What the heck did you do to cause all that anyway?”
“It wasn’t me this time,” Gertie said. “That one was all on Fortune.”
“Excuse me?” I said. “You were the one who said to use a red smoke bomb.”
“But that wasn’t a smoke bomb,” Gertie said.
“It was red and it looked like a smoke bomb,” I said. “How was I supposed to know the difference?”
“Did you get it out of the side pocket?” Gertie asked.
“No. I got it out of the middle.”
Gertie shook her head. “I told you the side pocket.”
“There weren’t any red smoke bombs in the side pocket,” I said. “So what the hell did I set off?”
“It’s something new,” Gertie said. “It’s not for sale yet.”
“It’s a good thing,” Ida Belle said. “How many kids will lose a finger over that one? They might need to rethink the packaging.”
“Anyway,” I said, “please tell me that all of this was worth it.”
Ida Belle nodded. “The autopsy report was right in the middle of Wilkinson’s desk. I snapped a pic of both pages, and a page with some notes that Wilkinson made, so we’ve got everything.”
“Excellent,” I said. “Pass me your phone. I don’t think I can wait until we get home.”
Ida Belle pulled the phone out of her pocket and handed it over.
I expanded the view and slid the document back and forth, trying to locate the pertinent items.
“Tox screen clear,” I said. “No indication of foul play on the body. No sign of a struggle.”
“What the hell?” Gertie said. “Don’t tell me we went through all of this and it’s natural causes after all.”
“Yeah,” I said, and shook my head. “Cause of death is heart failure.”
“That can’t be right,” Gertie said. “Let me see that.”
“You couldn’t read this with a magnifying glass,” I said. “Hold on and let me check the second page. There has to be something.”
I flipped to the next image and started scanning the document. Test after test was listed but all the results were negative.
“What does it say?” Gertie said.
“It’s just a detailed list of the tests run,” I said. “All negative.”
Ida Belle frowned. “What about Wilkinson’s notes?”
I accessed the last image and read Wilkinson’s scribbles. “I don’t understand. He’s saying that something with an impossibly long name wasn’t in Roth’s system.”
“Spell it,” Ida Belle said.
I started spelling the word and about five letters in, she started nodding, looking excited. “That’s a heart med,” she said. “And my gue
ss is it’s the one Wilkinson prescribed.”
I stared for a moment, not getting the point, then it clicked. “Oh! And it was missing from Roth’s system.”
“All that means is he wasn’t taking it,” Gertie said. “And likely, had a heart attack because he was too stubborn to swallow a pill.”
“Did Wilkinson say anything else?” Ida Belle asked.
I looked at the notes again. “Yeah. There’s a date and time from yesterday and something like ‘assured…taking,’ then it looks like the name Fran.”
“Francesca,” Ida Belle said. “He talked to Francesca and she verified that Garrett was taking his meds.”
“But that’s not possible,” Gertie said. “A tox screen is pretty reliable and it sounds like Wilkinson specifically had them test to ensure the med was in Roth’s system. He must have suspected Garrett wasn’t taking it.”
Ida Belle blew out a breath. “So what now? If Garrett wasn’t taking his meds and there’s nothing to indicate otherwise, it would appear he died from natural causes.”
“Which puts the whole beheading right back to a horrific prank of some sort,” I said. “That’s good, right? I mean, the no murder investigation part. That lets Carter off the hook for overlooking something when Roth died.”
Ida Belle slowly nodded. “I suppose it does.”
“But?” I asked. Something about Ida Belle’s tone and expression didn’t convey that she thought this line of inquiry was over.
She shook her head. “I don’t know. Something just feels off about it all. I mean, why did Wilkinson call Francesca?”
“To be sure Roth was a stubborn idiot?” I suggested. “Not that it would have mattered. He could have just as easily lied to his wife as his doctor.”
“I suppose,” Ida Belle agreed.
“But you don’t think that’s all there is to it,” I said.
She took a couple seconds to respond, then finally said, “No.”
“She’s got a gut feeling,” Gertie said. “That’s as good as slapping a homicide stamp across it as far as I’m concerned. Ida Belle’s never wrong when she gets to feeling this strongly about something. Especially when it’s not the answer she’s wanting.”
“Okay,” I said, completely willing to accept Ida Belle’s intuition as the gospel. This was her town and her people. If she thought something wasn’t right, then it probably wasn’t. It might not be murder, but I had a feeling Ida Belle wouldn’t stop worrying about it until we knew what it was.