The spell was broken and we all laughed.
“I’m Dr. Cindy Walker. I have good and bad news.”
All eyes veered to me. “Bad news first,” I said warily.
“As you’ve already heard from the nurse on duty, you have vertigo, which with medicine and time we can get under control, but it may take a while for it to go away.”
“How long?” Martha asked.
“A week, a month, several months. It should diminish in strength with the medications I previously started in your IV and the prescriptions I’m sending you home with, one of which is for the dizziness, and the other for the pain from your migraine, which was triggered by all this.”
“What caused her vertigo?” Hazel asked.
“Well, three things usually cause it. One is called vestibular neuritis, an inner ear problem, which is usually caused by a viral infection. The inner ear around the nerves that gives you a sense of balance become inflamed. The second one is Meniere’s disease which causes a build-up of fluid in the inner ear, which can cause episodes of vertigo. The last is BPPV. It stands for Benign Paroxysmal Positional Vertigo. It occurs when tiny calcium particles clump up in the canals of your inner ear. Because your ears and sinuses are all clear, I feel this is what you have. Normally, with this type, the body adapts and heals on its own, but in your case it was so extreme it caused your migraine. These medications will help with all that.”
“So it was vertigo that made me so dizzy and violently nauseous,” I said.
“Your inner ear sends signals to your brain regarding head and body movement, which is all relative to gravity. It helps you keep your balance. The calcium crystals threw everything off. The dizziness caused the nausea, which in turn, brought on a migraine. It was a vicious cycle that kept spiraling out of control the more you moved around. We are putting a stop to it by the medicines you are receiving now via your IV and the RX meds you’ll take home. Don’t drink or drive until all symptoms are under control, okay?”
“And the good news?” I asked.
“You tested negative for everything else. You’re blood work, nasal swabs, and urine were all clean. And if you’re feeling up to it, you can go home as soon this new IV bag attached to you is completely empty.”
I breathed a sigh, as did the others. No poisoning.
She patted my arm. “You’ll be just fine, Samantha. It’s just a matter of time and how fast your body recovers. If there are any complications, here is a doctor’s name and phone number for you to follow up with. If nothing further happens and in about a week you feel much better, then there’s no need to call him or come back here, okay?”
After the doctor left I leaned back on the pillow to wait for the IV bag to empty. Hospitals made me uncomfortable and this one was no different.
“I want to go home. I have a mystery to solve,” I said.
“I’m volunteering as your personal driver,” said Tony.
“We’ve got people to research,” said Betty.
“And we can do it all from the house,” said Hazel.
“Does this mean no canoe lake trip?” Martha asked.
“No, Pocahontas, not tonight,” retorted Hazel, laughing.
As I was wheeled out to the car, I turned to the others.
“Like in the movie Vertigo, we’re dealing with a cycle of lies. Who is telling the truth?”
And, like the movie, none of it made sense.
Chapter 37
Deductibles & Deducing
“After my ER visit and my very substantial deductible, I sure am glad that episode is over,” I said in relief.
We were all at the breakfast table the next morning, sipping coffee. I glanced over at Tony who was sitting across from me. He had just about moved in with us for daytime hours for my protection (his insistence) and reluctantly accepted my rules on his sleeping arrangements still in New Jersey, (my insistence) so we’d see him all the time now. Sunup to sundown.
As usual, he had let himself in through the locked door.
I was grateful and lucky he caught me in time the day before. I could’ve broken my neck falling down those steep stairs from my bedroom. After speaking to the doctor, we decided my rehab would have to wait at least a few days until my vertigo stabilized. I couldn’t do head movements up and down and turning side to side to do my exercises.
This setback was frustrating, especially in getting my back problem corrected from being in that wheelchair after falling down those stairs. I’d also lost my last link at getting information from the rehab center. Continuing my second rehab session would have allowed me to hear gossip that usually took place there even though Anne and Marilyn weren’t around. It felt like all of us had bad luck or bad timing when it came to any of us going there to dig something up. I was stumped.
“Now what do I do?” I asked the others. “I’m open for any suggestions.”
They knew what I was referring to. I had been mentally tossing the idea around for several minutes, trying to decide the best way to handle my nonexistent rehab pipeline, while the others discussed our case that wasn’t a case yet.
“I wouldn’t worry,” said Betty.
“Why?” I asked, my voice tight with frustration at not being able to follow through with rehab and trying to get more information that might help us.
“Betty and I have rehab appointments,” said Hazel.
“For today?” I asked, beginning to smile again.
Hazel nodded. “The sooner the better. I’m feeling achy.”
“I think I caught Martha’s arthritis,” moaned Betty.
“Terrific,” I said. “I feel much better hearing that.”
“Well, let’s do what we discussed the day before all this happened. The exception? Betty and Hazel are taking my place at rehab to gather any tidbit they can from whoever is willing to give it.”
Martha, got up. “My computer awaits. I’m off, people!”
“I’ll arrange a tail for Bill,” said Tony. “I’m guarding.”
I was about to protest. “But I...”
He held his hand up. “I’m not leaving here. Period.”
Nodding okay, I slowly rose from the table and headed to a nearby desk. “I’m getting online to do Betty’s and Hazel’s research about those taxes then lie down to rest.”
I turned to Tony. “How about sweet-talking the local tax office on the phone to see what you can find out too?”
With that said, we all stood to go get our jobs done. I had a nagging feeling something further would happen and it wouldn’t be long before another shoe dropped.
Chapter 38
Second Journal & Second-guessing
I found out from public records online that a Marilyn Chambers purchased that property several months after I moved out. That timeline left the rental property without anyone living there for over six months. I recalled my past. So why the rush to move me out when it would sit vacant? Was there another short term rental that filled the gap in between? After ten years, I couldn’t find out if they rented it after me or not.
...Or could I?
I was determined to gain traction on this case and not wait for people or information to come to me. So I asked Martha to do her thing and access Bill’s unlisted number. I figured she owed him a call of thanks for the nice afternoon and to find out what he knew about that house next door. Maybe he could shed some light about another possible renter in between me and the new buyer.
When Martha left, I dug out an old box for my second journal to clarify a murky, past incident. I paged through then spotted where I described my rush to move out.
After receiving that unexpected call from the realtor who arranged my summer rental, I was shocked to learn my lease would be cut short. The owner was moving her things out, including all her furniture after being forced by the bank into final foreclosure. I always knew this could be the case, but I kept hoping they wouldn’t go through with it.
“The whole thing is unfortunate,” said the realtor. “The ban
k had no choice but to do this. The rent you are paying doesn’t make a dent in their debt. The owners have been in arrears, kept piling up debt, owed way too much, and never came up with the money. The bank now has a cash buyer.”
“That’s awful,” I said. “How did it first happen?”
“The husband was a futures trader in New York and lost big time when the market nosedived. Apparently, he bet big and lost big. He and his wife have separated over this.”
“What timeline are we talking about for me to gather my things and get out,” I asked, now concerned about the timeframe to find another place as soon as possible.
“A week,” she said. “I feel awful about this, but you knew the terms and were well aware this could happen.”
I understood completely, and even though I knew the risks involved, like she said, it didn’t make it any easier. Now I would have to find somewhere else to move to on short notice. It wasn’t the best situation I wanted to be caught in halfway through the summer season. Most short rentals were for the whole summer. The available inventory of what was left would be slim at best at this late date.
“I understand,” I said to the realtor.
“I’m sorry, Samantha. Oh, I almost forgot. Expect the owner to show up tomorrow for a few personal things.”
The very next day a very angry woman who was the owner of the house that was going into bankruptcy knocked at the front door.
“I know this is on short notice, but before the movers get here to remove our furniture, I came to get some personal things of my own,” she said in a huff.
She then whipped out a screwdriver and pliers. I stood there, not daring to interfere. This was the bank’s battle. I watched her go to work, as she proceeded to take down the window hardware, drapes, blinds and window shades.
“It’s not my fault my husband got crazed, thinking he could outmaneuver the futures market. Now I am paying the price by being forced out of the house I love. Those bastards (the bank) are not even going to get a bracket or screw from me. The last of our money was tied up in this house. The vultures...”
I stood there thinking. Her husband played the futures? The market had plummeted and I’d heard, as a result, there were massive layoffs. Apparently, he was one of the victims.
I followed her from a distance. After all, I did have my personal items lying around. In her haste, I didn’t want her to mistake anything of mine for hers. Besides, she was sort of scaring me with her anger, constantly pushing, jabbing and slamming as she went angrily from room to room.
When she began to climb the stairs that led to the dusty attic crammed with trunks, boxes, and old clothing, I waited at the bottom. The last time I was up there was to hide my journal in the old rafters. I didn’t dare grab it now and risk accusations of pilfering something. After a few minutes she carried down a medium-sized box filled with who knows what.
I paused a moment to process what I’d read so far.
Was she the one who found and took my journal tucked in her attic? I never considered that earlier because I’d forgotten how methodically the former owner had gone through her house in spite of being so angry. I had no proof whatsoever if she took it or not. It could have been buried in her box she’d taken with her. But after further thought, I nixed that. She was only up there a short period and knew exactly what she wanted and probably never discovered my hiding spot in the dusty, old rafters because, besides the bank, she was more concerned with her husband taking her personal things.
I went back to reading.
She suddenly whipped around to face me. “Watch that guy next door.” (She paused.) “I don’t trust him. I know you only have a week, but a lot can happen in a week.”
I nodded, standing a few feet away from her. “Are you sure about the husband? What about his wife?”
“The wife appears harmless, but him? ...Stay clear.”
What had he done? I didn’t know how to respond and didn’t. They were neighbors I hardly knew and just waved to the overweight, dark-haired wife, coming and going.
“That’s it,” she said, marching toward the front door, her arms full. “I’m done with this place, and to tell you the truth, my husband too.” She nodded toward the box she’d filled from the attic. “He’s not getting his hands on my personal stuff.”
I closed the journal. Then it dawned on me I told Martha to call that same neighbor, who might be unstable, who lost his wife ten years ago to who knows what. If he did bury something in the woods then he might get suspicious of Martha’s phone call. I had to stop her.
...Uh-oh.
It was too late. Martha was standing there, smiling at me confidently.
“Guess what? I spoke to Bill.” she said.
Chapter 39
Chasing The Elusive?
I wanted to find out what Martha had to say and what she might have stepped into, or worse yet, what can of worms she opened we weren’t prepared for. My curiosity was killing me. But then I recalled the foreclosed owner’s words of warning to me, regarding her male neighbor, who I now knew was Bill Prescott. Pessimism echoed loudly.
“Tell me you didn’t make a date to meet with him,” I stated matter-of-factly.
“Not yet. Why?” she asked, suspiciously.
“Did he reveal anything more on my rental?” I asked.
“Well, kind of and not so kind of,” she said, cautiously.
“...Oh.”
“Why are you acting so strange?” she asked, eyeing me.
“I bet he told you just enough to wet your interest and led you to believe you’d get more, am I right?” I said.
Martha thought about that for a second. “Now that I think back on our conversation, it did kind of feel like it.”
I didn’t like where this whole thing was heading.
“Betty and Hazel are back from rehab. Go get everyone. We need to talk. We should all hear about what you found out. Plus, I found something in my second journal.”
“Does it relate to what’s going on now?” she asked.
“I have a feeling it might, and is worth tossing around with everyone together, all in one room.”
“I’ll go get them,” she said, while I quickly got busy on my laptop looking up a particular name for another lead: the former owner of my rental.
After rereading aloud to everyone the entry that was in my second journal, I waited for everyone’s reactions.
“Sounds like Bill Prescott’s more than a widow and an avid gardener,” warned Tony.
“Bill paused a lot with me,” said Martha, “giving vague answers. Like he was holding something back when I pressed him on that rental house where you stayed, Sam. Then he suddenly said he had to leave for an appointment and I ended up getting nothing worth mentioning other than generalities regarding weather, his gardening, and such.”
“Do you think he became suspicious when you began to probe him about that rental?” I asked.
Martha shook her head. “I never got that chance.”
“Well, I guess that’s a relief,” I said. “I wouldn’t want him becoming suspicious of us checking his background as well as that rental next door.”
Hazel turned to me. “Why not go dig up that former owner to ask her what she was referring to ten years ago when she gave you that warning about Bill?”
“That’s exactly what I’d have to do. Dig her up.”
“You don’t mean with a shovel, do you?” Tony asked.
“Yup. In a cemetery. I just researched her. She’s dead.”
Notorious for our moments of silence, we had one.
“I’m almost afraid to ask how she died,” said Betty.
“The obit said in an unfortunate car accident,” I replied.
Hazel clutched her chest. “You don’t suppose...”
I shrugged. “Right after I moved out ten years ago.”
Another moment of silence as we figured the timeline.
“So, was her husband a suspect?” asked Hazel.
I shook my hea
d. “...He was in the car with her.”
“A win-win for the bank and cash buyer,” said Tony.
“That leaves Bill, the last one to ask the if and who about the renter in between,” I said.
“That renter could’ve pilfered the journal,” posed Betty.
“A possibility,” said Hazel.
“Or Bill, himself. Remember what Sam witnessed.”
What a tangled web this was indeed.
Chapter 40
Take That Beachhead...Err Dock
We all knew the routine well. I had recovered enough for us to tackle that dock and rental property at night. This time everyone knew what to expect and silently went about making preparations before shoving off after dark from the lake’s edge. This time the canoe was a dark blue one.
No one mentioned where it was ‘borrowed’ from.
We were all wearing black, per Tony’s orders. Martha’s black eye smudges were history. We all donned life vests this time, except for Tony and Martha. I thought I heard the word wimp thrown about beforehand in false bravado between the two. Stowing our three shovels, Betty jumped in last, casting us off as Tony and Martha effortlessly cut a clean slice across the lake. Perfect so far.
Lesson learned: My new cellphone was in my pocket in a waterproof plastic bag, having learned the hard way that you can’t dial 911 on your cell after a dunk in the lake. Thankful, I felt I dodged a bullet when it never dawned on anyone last time around to wear a GoPro camera that night or my swan dive would be all over the internet by now.
Martha turned her head back from the front of the canoe and said, “I have a good feeling about tonight.”
That alone should have warned me right there, but like a fool, I let her enthusiasm run in my direction, catching me right up there with hers. Maybe we would get lucky. After all that’s happened, we deserved something to go our way.
So far no creatures hiked a ride, so it was hysteria-free, and somewhat anticlimactic when the canoe gently tapped the dock of that summer rental. Tony deftly jumped out and tied it up. Last thing we needed was to be stranded there if something should go south only to find our ‘canoe rental’ was drifting somewhere out in the lake in the dark.
Too Close For Comfort (Samantha Jamison Mystery Book 9) Page 9