Code Blue

by Janet Lane-Walters

  "I'm a nurse. I couldn't pass by."

  "Did the police have any idea about the cause of the accident?" Patrick drew her from the door.

  "One of the front tires blew." Again, she hesitated. "He skidded out of control."

  She stood in the circle of his arms. He took comfort that she didn't move away. He hadn't meant to rush her. He massaged her shoulders. A question lunged from the recesses of his mind. "Denton, Barclay, Mendoza, could there be a connection between the deaths?"

  She looked away. "How? Dr. Barclay died in a hunting accident upstate. Mendoza, when his car went out of control."

  "Perhaps the two were intended to look like accidents."

  "Don't talk like that." She shook her head. "Dr. Barclay and Mendoza had nothing to do with Barbara. Except--" She closed her mouth, but not before Patrick saw something in her eyes that made him doubt her statement. An uneasy feeling lay like a block of cement on his chest. What was she hiding?

  "With the Denton woman's love of gossip and blackmail, she might have known something about them."

  "Then why would someone kill the three of them?" She shook her head. "You're not making sense."

  He nodded. "You're right." He had allowed his concern for her to control his thoughts.

  She stepped back. "I have to go."

  "Are you sure you'll be all right?"

  She nodded. "I can't keep running to you every time I'm upset. It's not fair." She picked up her coat.

  "I don't mind." He followed her to the door. "See you Saturday." He touched her cheek. "I won't push you for what you're not ready to give."

  Susan opened the door on her side of the house and switched on the lights. Her emotions churned. Just like the night of Jim's death, Patrick's kiss had ignited her. Had the similarities caused her to react with passion? Until she knew, she had to hold herself away from Patrick. Though she hadn't run to him, when he had appeared, she had stepped eagerly into his arms. She wished she could find an easy answer.

  Upstairs, she stood beside the bed and lifted Jim's portrait. "You were right about Patrick. What should I do?"

  For a moment, she studied the picture. Her lips brushed the glass. With a sigh, she carried the photograph to the hall and placed it with the other family portraits.

  Her gesture didn't mean she was ready to fall into Patrick's embrace. She just felt ready to consider the possibilities.

  Susan dropped a basket of uniforms beside the ironing board. Since this wasn't her favorite chore, she searched for a way to avoid the job. There was no cleaning to be done. She had no desire to complete her Christmas shopping.

  With a sigh, she opened the drapes. Last night's snow had melted under the bright morning sun. A new realization arose. The panic she'd felt when she'd driven away from the white Porsche still lingered, but as a dull ache.

  A smile crossed her lips. In the interval between last night and this morning, something had freed her from the desperate need to cling to memories of her husband.

  Her hands touched the cold glass. She could have told Patrick about Barbara's threat to reveal the affair between Joe Barclay and Leila. But for what purpose? Joe Barclay's death had been an accident. Barbara's a murder. The practical's death had been a climax to the life she's lived. Gossip. Threats. Blackmail. Susan turned from the window.

  She reached into the clothes basket. Last night, Patrick had been wonderful. Even though she had responded with desire to his kiss, he had accepted her withdrawal. How long would his control last? A week, a month? She straightened the leg of a pair of white slacks. Be honest. She feared her own reaction more than his.

  The thought of Saturday, of dinner and the concert, brought fear and anticipation to mingle in her thoughts. During the fifteen years of marriage, she had forgotten much about the interplay of dating. She wanted the evening to be fun, to be an adventure and the chance to learn more about who she was becoming. To keep from thinking about Patrick, she switched on the radio. Soon the movements of her body as she plied the iron matched the tempo of the music.

  Music changed to news. A pleasant voice droned a summary of the national and international news.

  "Now for a look at the local scene. Is there a jinx operating at Bradley Memorial Hospital? Staff members must be asking that question. In eleven days, three of their colleagues had died tragically. The first death--"

  As the voice recalled the deaths, Susan froze. Her eyes focused on the wall, and though she wanted to change the station, she relived the terror of finding Barbara, heard Leila's shrill cries and saw the crumpled white Porsche.

  The smell of scorched fabric broke the spell. She lifted the iron. A large brown spot scarred the back of a white top. She rolled the shirt in a ball and tossed it in the wastebasket. As she turned the radio to a different station, a thought occurred. There had been no mention of a bullet in the report of Mendoza's accident. Did that mean the police were keeping the fact a secret or that she had imagined the policeman's words?

  Susan pulled into a parking spot on the second tier. She stared across the street at the hospital. After collecting her purse and salad container, she left the car.

  "Wait for me," Julie called. "Did you hear about Mendoza?"

  Susan paused at the top of the steps. "Yes."

  "I nearly fell out of bed when I turned on the radio this morning. That's the first thing I heard. Doesn't surprise me a bit."

  "He said he never had an accident."

  "Now that does surprise me." Julie stopped and fastened the silver clip around her hair. "I've followed him to the Thruway a couple of times. I'm not a slow driver, but there was no way I could keep up with him."

  "We're jinxed." Kit ran down from the third tier to join them. "I'm looking for a job as far as possible from the hospital."

  Susan made a face at the glee in Kit's voice. "Just remember what they say about threes."

  Kit moved past Susan. She held the rail and backed down the steps. "It's been one murder and two accidents. The way I figure it, we've one accident and two murders to come."

  "The accident will be yours if you don't watch where you're going," Susan said.

  Kit halted. "I just want to know what's going on around here, and let me tell you, I'm going to learn."

  The unit secretary's broad grin reminded Susan of the one Barbara always wore when she was about to begin a story. "Why don't you let it drop?"

  "I have a right to be curious."

  Trish waited at the bottom of the steps. "Curious or just plain nosy. A person could get hurt that way."

  "Are you threatening me?"

  "Hardly," Trish said. "You're not Barbara. In fact, your imitation is rather comic."

  "Hear, hear," Julie said.

  "I heard Mendoza was drunk and he wasn't alone," Kit said.

  "Where did you come up with that?" Julie asked. "A radio report from Mars."

  Susan clenched her hands. "Cut the inventions. You don't know anything."

  "And I suppose you do." Kit flipped her hair back. "What I really want to know is the identity of the woman. Maybe she's the same one who was at Dr. Barclay's cabin."

  "What woman?" Trish asked.

  Kit smirked. "Didn't you hear that Mendoza's body was identified by a woman who vanished by the time the reporters arrived."

  "Into thin air on the Thruway? Spare me," Trish said. "If you're going to invent stories, at least see that they make sense."

  "You're sick, both of you," Julie said.

  Susan ran across the street with the others on her heels. "There was no woman with him."

  "How would you know?" Kit asked.

  "I identified the body."

  Julie grabbed Susan's arm. "Really?"

  "Don't tell me you and Mendoza were--" Kit pushed the ER door open.

  Susan exhaled. "I saw his car against the overpass abutment and stopped to see if I could help."

  Trish grimaced. "Sounds like something you'd do. You'd never catch me stopping at the scene of an accident. Aren't you
afraid of being sued?"

  "No," Susan said.

  "Was he gross?" Kit asked. "You sure have all the luck. First Barbara and now Mendoza. What did he look like? Was there a lot of blood?"

  Susan pushed the elevator button. "I've said enough." She closed her eyes. Would Kit's harassment continue all evening?

  "Stop bugging her." Julie held the elevator for the others. "It couldn't have been pleasant."

  The doors closed. Kit pressed five. "Funny how this happened just the way De Witt predicted."

  "What's that supposed to mean?" Julie asked.

  "Want me to quote?" Trish asked. "Someday you're going to push that white Porsche--"

  "Stop it," Julie snapped. "I'm tired of snide remarks and nasty comments. If you have a quarrel with Larry, confront him."

  Trish's laughter exploded. "Now that would be an interesting scene."

  The elevator doors opened on five. Susan dashed to the locker room and hoped to escape before the others arrived. As she tied her shoes, Julie, Kit and Trish burst into the room. The door slammed behind them.

  "Did De Witt really drop me?" Trish asked. "You don't know what went down between us. Ask him to level with you. His answer might be a real eye-opener."

  Kit's eyes glittered with avid interest. Julie shoved her coat into the locker. "What does this have to do with Mendoza's death?"

  Susan slammed her locker door. "I've had it with the three of you. We're here to do a job. Forget this nonsense and start thinking about the patients."

  "I will as soon as you tell me what happened," Kit said.

  Susan strode to the door. "It was an accident. He was speeding. The roads were wet. A tire blew and he lost control." She opened the door. "That's all you're going to hear from me."

  "Wasn't that the way your husband died?" Kit asked.

  Tears welled in Susan's eyes. "Enough, Kit."

  "Sorry. Me and my big mouth. I didn't mean to remind you."

  "What do you think I've been remembering since last night? I'll be at the desk."

  "Do you want me to bring you some coffee?" Julie asked.

  "I don't want to see any of you until three o'clock when we're officially on duty." She clutched her purse and strode down the hall. The time had come to bury herself in orders, reports and other people's problems.

  At quarter to six, Susan stood in the med room and prepared an injection for one of the new patients. The door closed with a click. She turned. Leila crossed to the sink and lit a cigarette.

  "Aren't you pushing your luck a bit?" Susan raised an eyebrow.

  "I'll take my chances."

  "You're early."

  Leila nodded. "I'm due in the OR in fifteen minutes. Surgery on a battered child."

  Susan made a face. "That's a bad one."

  "The worst." Leila sighed. "How can a parent do that to a child?"

  "I wish I knew."

  "How are you holding up? I hear you stopped at Mendoza's accident."

  Susan shook her head. "News sure travels fast around here."

  "With the speed of light. Kit's been burning the phone wires with a second hand assessment of the accident."

  "She's becoming obnoxious in her quest to take Barbara's place as gossip queen."

  "As long as she sticks to gossip." Leila tapped an ash in the sink. "How's the unit tonight?"

  "Sullen. I blew my cool with Kit, Trish and Julie earlier. They're so busy sniping at each other, I'm afraid the patients will suffer. I don't want Meg to hear about the problems and act in her dogmatic way."

  "You're more patient with the situation than I'd be. Why didn't you call me last night? I'm sure being a witness to Mendoza's accident upset you."

  "Patrick was waiting for me. He let me talk."

  "And?"

  "When I finished talking, I went home." She wasn't ready to talk about the kiss and the desires that had been stirred. "He has this weird theory about the deaths."

  "What are you going to do about him?"

  Her failure to divert Leila made Susan smile. "Let's say that I'm ready to consider the possibilities."

  "That's the best news I've heard in months."

  Susan picked up the syringe. "Don't rush me. I don't want him to start acting like he's my husband. How are you?"

  Leila turned on the water and doused her cigarette. "Living each day as it comes. I'm thinking about moving to California or New Mexico."

  "I'd hate to see you go." Susan tucked a handful of alcohol wipes in her pocket. "What about your parents?"

  "They're one of the problems." Leila dropped the butt in the trash. "They won't leave the farm. Don't worry. I'm not making decisions until I finish my Master's."

  Susan walked to the door. "I'm thinking about a transfer to days."

  "You have seniority. Why not go back to school? Then you can have my job."

  "I'll leave that for Julie."

  "Has she applied to any school?"

  Susan shook her head. "First she has to get her mind off De Witt."

  "How long have they lasted?"

  "Four months."

  "That's about two more than usual. Maybe this time he's serious." Leila started down the hall and stopped outside the utility room. "Are you free for dinner tomorrow night?"

  "If you want to eat here. I'm working and off the weekend. Do you want to meet me at the diner after work tonight?"

  Leila shook her head. "And have to wait until eleven thirty when I'm always out of here at eleven?"

  "Some people are lucky. See you."

  "What about Sunday brunch?" Leila asked.

  "Sounds good. Where?"

  "O'Quill's. I'll meet you there."

  Susan finished report and headed to the locker room in hopes of catching up with the others. The room was deserted. With a sigh of exasperation because they hadn't waited for her, she pulled on her boots and coat. In the elevator, several nurses from other units joined her. She walked to the parking lot with them.

  On the steps, the group dispersed and headed to cars on all three levels. Susan dug her keys from her purse. At the car, she halted so abruptly she nearly dropped the keys.

  A brown paper bag sat on the hood. This is becoming less than a joke, she thought. No wonder they didn't wait for me. Why are they playing these tricks? Her hands shook. The trembling spread to her legs. She leaned against the car to keep from falling. Why? A surge of anger restored her equilibrium. She grabbed the bag, unlocked the car and slid behind the wheel.

  Three gifts. Three deaths. The coincidence of the arrival of the presents shook her. Could there be a connection?

  She shook her head. "It's a joke." Her coworkers had to be doing this. Nothing else made sense.

  Her thoughts ran wild with speculation. With unsteady hands, she pulled the note free.

  "She always wore this perfume for me. I want you to wear it, too."

  Susan swallowed and extracted the bottle from the bag. She sniffed. Roses. Where had she smelled this perfume before? The memory was as elusive as the one concerning Barbara.

  What if her co-workers weren't playing a joke? The impact of this thought stunned her. If they weren't, these gifts were a subtle threat and she didn't understand why.

  Chapter 8

  Patrick stood in front of the mirror in his bedroom and for the fifth time, tied his tie. Four jackets lay in a heap on the bed where he had discarded them. He wanted to laugh at his retreat into adolescence, but the anxiety he felt couldn't be easily dismissed.

  This evening's dinner and concert with Susan was a first. They had never appeared in public as a couple unless a chance meeting at the food court in the mall counted. They had eaten meals at home together, they had barbecued in the back yard and had joined forces for projects around the house. They had kissed. Once they had made love. They were friends and he loved her.

  With a groan, he stepped back from the mirror. This tie would have to do. If he dawdled another minute, he would be late.

  He took the stairs two at a time. A
fter buttoning his overcoat, he lifted the scarlet poinsettia from the counter. He shook his head. Buying the largest plant in the store hadn't been his intention but he seemed to have succeeded. When he left his side of the house, the leaves brushed his face. With the pot braced between his body and the doorframe, he rang the bell.

  When Susan opened the door, he peered between the leaves. He whistled softly. The rust-colored silk dress made her skin glow and her eyes to appear more brown than hazel.

  He held out the poinsettia. "A little gift."

  "Did you have to buy a tree?" Laughter punctuated her words.

  Patrick chuckled over the ridiculous picture he must make. "It is a bit large. Where do you want me to put it?"

  "On the coffee table for now." She moved a stack of magazines. "Proper placement will take creative thinking. You know, I could forget the idea of a real tree and decorate this instead."

  Patrick studied her face. Did her desire to have a real tree have significance? She and Jim had always decorated an artificial one. This seemed to be another step away from the past. "Have a tree, too." As he deposited his burden in the space she had cleared, he understood her amusement. The plant dominated the spacious room. He turned. She stood at the door and buttoned her coat.

  "Not fair," he said. "You've cheated me out of the chance to prove I'm a gentleman."

  "You don't have to prove anything." She opened the door.

  Since there wasn't time for a leisurely dinner, Patrick had made reservations at the Pub. Once inside the restaurant, Susan slid onto one of the church pews used as benches and studied the menu. After they ordered, he grinned sheepishly. The bar was double lined with men watching a football game. Their loudly voiced comments and their friendly shoving made Susan smile.

  "Sorry," Patrick said.

  "At least it's not wrestling. The spectators are more fun to watch than the game."

  The waitress brought their salads and a basket of breath. He lifted his fork. "Are they more interesting than your patients?"

  She nodded. "The hospital's not a great place to be these days. There's a lot of sniping among the people I work with. Sometimes it gets nasty."

  "Did they bug you about Dr. Mendoza's accident?"