“What are you working on that’s taking you away from us today?”
“A missing 14-year old boy—I called it in last night, but I promised the mother that I would check back in with her today. I, also, have to follow up on a lead I received last night—it has to do with the murder of that homeless man a couple of weeks ago.”
Dottie nodded. “I remember that one, but, I thought you said it was pretty much an open and shut case. Something about a witness that came forward and identified the murderer, right?”
“That’s the one, yes,” Thomas replied, “But, I can’t shake the feeling that we’ve locked up the wrong person for that murder. I’ve talked to the suspect several times; he’s another homeless man, but, he’s also a decorated Vietnam Veteran.”
“Oh, really? You didn’t tell me that,” Dottie tucked her legs beneath her and took a sip of the coffee left over in her husband’s mug. “What makes you think he’s innocent?”
“You would have to meet him, Dottie. Once you met him, and talked to him for a bit, I think you would agree with me. I’ve been doing some research on Vietnam Vets ever since I first met Skipper—his real name is Gordon Whiting—and, he’s homeless by choice. I wouldn’t be surprised if he doesn’t have more money stashed away than you and I will ever make in this life time.”
“You know, I remember a research paper I worked on back in college; it was about the Vietnam War, and, there were some pretty depressing statistics to wade through.”
Thomas nodded. “Indeed.” He pulled out one of the papers on which he had scribbled some notes. “Like these…let’s see…there were 2,709,918 Americans who served in Vietnam, and, there are less than 850,000 estimated to be alive today; the youngest one would be around 54 years old; 390 of these Veterans die every single day; there were 7,484 women who served in Nam—of course, almost 84% of them were nurses—but, they were still there; there were 47,378 hostile deaths, 10,800 non-hostile deaths; the average age of the soldiers that died hostile deaths was only 23 years old—there were actually five killed in Nam who were only 16 years old!”
“Oh, my goodness!” Dottie laughed softly. “You have been doing some research, haven’t you, Thomas?”
Thomas grinned. “I couldn’t help it. The more I talked to Skipper, the more I felt the need to understand him. Part of me acknowledges that it’s probably because I never got to know my own father who died in Vietnam. Anyway, Skipper writes the most poignant poetry you’ve ever read…” His cell phone beeped and he grinned again. “Officer O’Brady, here.”
Dottie watched the transformation on her husband’s face—from one of pure joy as he talked about Skipper’s poetry, to one of shock, disbelief, and anger—in that order. She waited until he ended the call before asking, “Thomas, what’s wrong?’
“That was Madge from Dispatch. She called to tell me that Skipper was stabbed, during breakfast, at the prison this morning.”
“Oh, no…honey, I’m so sorry. Go on—leave now—you don’t have to wait for Belinda. I’ll be fine until she gets here.”
Thomas appeared to be torn, as he struggled with his decision. He finally nodded, grabbed his badge and gun, kissed his wife, and was out the door within thirty seconds.
CHAPTER 26
PJ Has a Breakthrough
Doug followed slowly behind Joe and Bernard as they made their way through the hospital parking lot and entered the main lobby to Floyd Medical Center.
“I hate hospitals,” Joe shuddered. “Every time, when one of my players got hurt and I had to visit them in the hospital, I felt like death was following me around every corner.” He shuddered again.
“Well, it’s just the opposite for me,” Bernard laughed good-naturedly. “I actually worked as a pharmacist inside one of our local hospitals. I always thought the reason my wife wanted me to own my own pharmacy was because it would mean more money available to her and the kids to blow and buy all those meaningless items they were always buying—I think that’s why I stayed put, working in the hospital. It was more to aggravate my wife than it was anything else; but, I have to agree with you, Joe. There were many days when the smell of death would be so overwhelming that I thought it was going to tap me on the shoulder and say, ‘Okay, you’re next!’.”
Doug motioned them to the elevators and shook his head. “Well, I’m sure that PJ will be glad to see you both, and thankful for the sacrifice you both are making by entering this building of doom and death.”
“Do we sound that bad?” Joe grinned as the doors closed and the elevator advanced one floor. He gasped and held his breath when the doors opened and an orderly stood on the other side, beside a gurney. All Joe saw was the still form beneath a white sheet. He quickly pushed the CLOSE button and yelled, “Sorry, you’ll have to catch the next one—we’re in a real hurry!”
The door closed and Bernard looked down at his friend. “I cannot believe you just did that, Joe.”
Doug smiled at them both and nodded. “There was plenty of room, Joe, and we’re not exactly in all that big of a hurry.”
Joe’s eyes grew wide and he shook his head feverishly from side to side. “Didn’t you see what he was pushing? It was a dead body! I don’t know about you two, but I sure didn’t want to be riding with Death in this closed elevator!”
“Oh, for goodness sake,” Bernard sighed. “That, most certainly, was not a dead body! They wouldn’t take the visitors’ elevator to transport a dead body.”
“They wouldn’t?” Joe queried. “Are you sure about that? Because I sure as heck didn’t see any breathing going on under that sheet!”
Doug laid a calming hand upon Joe’s right shoulder. “It’s true, Joe. The orderly would have used a service elevator to transport the body to the hospital’s morgue. The patient may have been given a sedative, prior to testing, maybe.”
Doug’s touch had once again done its job. Joe felt his previous queasiness and nervousness dissipate as quickly as it had come upon him. He closed his eyes and exhaled slowly. “You’re right—of course, you’re right, Doug.” He opened his eyes again when the door opened at PJ’s floor. “Hey, did you tell PJ we were coming with you today?”
“No, I didn’t,” Doug winked. “I wanted it to be a surprise—not that she’s going to remember who the two of you are, but you never know when a breakthrough will happen for her. I’ve talked about the two of you with her on my other visits, so she knows that all of you lived as a group at the camp ground for a while.”
“Maybe we shouldn’t have come,” Joe whispered as they stood outside of PJ’s room. “What if we screw things up with her memory or something?”
Bernard rolled his eyes and pushed his way in front of them through the open door. “Oh, for heaven’s sake…”
PJ’s roommate had been released earlier that morning, so she was alone in her hospital room. She was sitting in a chair that had been placed in front of the window. Her lunch tray had been placed on a rolling table in front of the chair and she was finishing her Jell-O when the door opened and a tall man walked through. Something about him seemed vaguely familiar; that vague memory brought a small smile to her face. “Hello…” she spoke softly. She let out a small sigh of relief when she saw Doug enter third, behind another man who, also, seemed vaguely familiar to her.
Doug moved around Joe and Bernard and crossed the room to where PJ sat in front of the window. He bent down and kissed the top of her head. “I hope we haven’t interrupted your lunch, PJ. I’ve brought a couple of friends with me today. Do you recognize either of them?”
Bernard approached PJ first, bent down and took her left hand into his own. He kissed the top of her hand and smiled at her. “I’m so glad that you’re healing, PJ. You may not remember me, but, my name is Bernard—Bernard Cartwright. We shared many camp fires together, you and I.”
PJ allowed the tall, white man to kiss her hand. Something told her that this was probably the first time in her life that any man had actually kissed her hand. It was something she
had only seen in old movies. “Hello, Bernard,” she shook her head. “No, I’m sorry; I don’t think I do remember you.”
“Hey, he is pretty forgettable!” Joe laughed, as he made his way toward her. He performed his signature side-to-side, end zone dance before he stopped in front of her. “But, I’m sure you remember me, right, PJ?”
PJ gasped loudly and her hand flew to cover her mouth. She stared wide-eyed at Doug and pointed to Joe. A tear trickled down from the outside corner of her eye. She pointed at Joe and nodded. “Joe? Your name is Joe, isn’t it?”
Saturday at lunch time was always an extra-busy time at the café. Bertie was busier than ever since Doug had taken Joe and Bernard with him to visit PJ at the hospital, but, by one o’clock the crowd had become more than manageable for her. She stood beside Max in the kitchen and sighed. “I think I like this new location, Maximus.”
“So, you’re not terribly disappointed that we didn’t relocate to Rome, Italy, then?”
“I didn’t say that!” she punched the seven-foot giant on the back of his left shoulder. “No, I would still like to meet the Pope one day, but, with the way things are going—I may just have to wait for the Rapture before that meeting ever takes place.”
“Well, I’m glad that you’re not too disappointed, Bertie.” Max grinned down at her. “You have to admit, though; even small-town America has enough drama going on to keep things interesting and challenging for us.”
“That’s for sure!” Bertie grinned as she propped herself on her elbows and stared out at the lunch crowd. “There’s definitely no shortage of drama and excitement in Rome, GA. By the way, I’ve been so busy, I forgot to ask Doug if he had heard anything from Jason this morning.”
Max turned off the burner to the frying pan that was full of bubbling, country-fried steak and gravy. “Yes, Jason called Doug just before they left to go visit PJ. I listened in on the conversation.”
“I was going to,” Bertie nodded, “But, I was too busy entertaining that little girl who came in with her father—the one who wanted to wear my halo—did you see her?”
“I did, yes,” Max answered. “Do you think her father suspects that the child is sick?”
Bertie shook her head. “No, not yet, but, we both know that he’s the one who will notice it first, and get her the help she needs—in time.”
“He will,” Max agreed. “I’m glad, too. So many parents these days are so wrapped up in the busyness of their lives that they can’t see what’s going on with their family—right before their very eyes.”
Bertie stood up straight, stretching to her full 5’2” height. She rolled her shoulders and turned to face the former gladiator. “That’s something I don’t understand, Max. You know, I was only 26 when I died way back in 1911, but I can’t imagine me not knowing what was going on in my children’s lives. I mean, we were busy as hell, too—probably even busier than mothers today—but, I think I would have known immediately when something was wrong with one of my kids.”
Max crossed his arms across his massive chest. “We’ve worked together for more than 50 years now, Bertie, and I admit—I know very little of what life was like for you when you were alive.”
Bertie glanced through the serving hatch to make sure all her customers were still happy and filling their bellies before she looked back at Max. “Well, I’ll admit, my life probably wasn’t as exciting as yours. I mean, I certainly didn’t spend my day killing lions and spilling guts all over some huge arena, but—it was as exciting as anyone else’s life during that time, I suppose. I had to quit school in eighth grade to help my family with the farm, so when my husband married me, he always joked that I was innocent of book learning.”
“Which means, you didn’t finish school?”
“That’s right, big fella; but trust me, getting that piece of paper doesn’t guarantee that a person will be any smarter than anyone who didn’t get it. You wouldn’t believe how many college graduates I’ve met who didn’t have the good sense it takes to come in out of the rain. Nope, I don’t believe you need a piece of paper to prove that you’re smart. I may have been innocent of book learning, but I had a helluva lot more common sense than most people I’ve met!”
Max’s loud laugh filled the kitchen. “No doubt, Bertie, no doubt.” He reached for a large pot to boil the noodles he needed for his famous macaroni and cheese casserole. “You lived on a farm, didn’t you?”
“All my life,” Bertie clicked her tongue. “All my life.” She closed her eyes for a quick moment and smiled. “It was a hard life, Max, but it was a good life. We didn’t have much, so there really wasn’t all that much housework for me to do, so half my day would be spent helping my husband on our farm. I was healthy and strong, and we didn’t have our kids right away, so there was plenty of time for me to help. I think that’s when he became my best friend—you can learn an awful lot about a person when you’re stinking sweat beside each other for almost ten hours a day, every day. I remember—I would get up around four o’clock most mornings, dress and tie my hair up in a bun, get the fire started in the kitchen, tend to the garden while the fire was heating up, sweep the floors, and then cook our breakfast.”
“What did you like to eat, Bertie?”
“Oh, that’s an easy one,” Bertie laughed. “No doubt about it—I loved my grits, with scrambled eggs and bacon all mixed up in them. That’s the kind of breakfast that would stick to your ribs, you know?”
Max nodded. “That explains why you’re always first in line when cheese grits are on the menu!”
“Oh, yeah!” Bertie laughed. “We angels may not have to eat, but I won’t be one to complain about being able to enjoy eating my grits again! In case I haven’t told you before, Maximus, your grits are even better than the ones I use to make for my family.”
“That’s a real compliment—thank you, Bertie.”
Bertie smiled at her thoughts down memory lane. “Well, enough of all that—talking about all that just makes me homesick to see my family again.”
“Tomorrow is Sunday, so you won’t have to wait much longer, Bertie.”
“I know, I can’t wait,” she laughed and punched him on the shoulder again. “So, back to what we were talking about—what did Jason say to Doug when he called this morning? Have they heard anything from Jimmy?”
“No, they haven’t. Officer O’Brady showed up at Miss Crennan’s home last night and took her statement. I believe he filed a missing person report for her. Jason told Doug that it appears that Jimmy may have left behind a secret message for his mother.”
“I knew this was coming,” Bertie nodded, “But, I have no idea how it’s all going to end—do you, Max?”
Max was quiet for what seemed like a very long time to Bertie.
“Maximus? Please don’t tell me that this is not going to end well.” She watched him intently. “You do know how it’s going to end, don’t you?”
Max nodded. “Yes, I do, Bertie; however, this is one time where I must keep that information to myself; besides, the ending that I know about could very well change at the drop of a hat. We’ll just have to be patient and wait it out, like everyone else.”
“Well, Hells-Bells! Who do you think I’m going to tell?” Bertie was exasperated.
Max raised his brows and looked down at the spunky angel who had worked by his side for so many years. “Really, Bertie? You have to ask me that?” He raised his hand when he saw the impending objection on her face. “No! Just accept that this is one time where it is better for you not to know how things will play out.”
“You won’t even give me a hint?” Bertie was flabbergasted. “Hell, we’re angels, Max! Where’s the trust?”
“Bertie,” Max spoke slowly. “You know as well as I do why it took you over 50 years to earn your wings—not to mention, the number of times you’ve been placed on probation.”
“There’s a big difference between cussing and keeping secrets,” Bertie continued to object.
“Not for
you,” Max pointed his finger at her and smiled. “You’re not good at keeping secrets and you’re not good at controlling your foul language—although, I will be the first to admit, that I have seen definite progress on your part lately regarding the latter.”
Bertie started to reply with a foul comment about his opinion, but the ringing of the angel chimes above the café’s entrance stopped her. She shook her finger in his face and said, “You’re just lucky that I have work to do, big fella!”
Max smiled as she stomped off to wait on the new customers. He shook his head and sighed. “Oh, I bet your husband had his hands full with you, Bertie…”
PJ thoroughly enjoyed her visit with Joe, Bernard, and Doug. Her doctor had been called in and told of her memory breakthrough. She was confused that she remembered almost everything about Joe Sanders, but nothing concrete about Bernard. Her doctor told her that it was completely normal, and that every patient was different. He told her that it was very possible that her memories would return in spurts rather than gushing back in their entirety.
Doug, Joe, and Bernard had waited outside PJ’s room while she talked to her doctor, but, returned to her the moment the doctor left and informed them they could continue their visit.
Doug approached PJ’s bed and sat down in the chair beside her. He took her hands into his own and smiled. “What did the doctor say, PJ?”
PJ felt the calming sensation course through her body when Doug took her hands into his own. She closed her eyes and enjoyed the feeling of peace that came over her. When she opened her eyes, she smiled at Joe and said. “I remember everything about you, Joe. The doctor said that it was common for some people to do that.” She looked at Bernard and lowered her eyes. “I’m sorry, Bernard, but I still don’t remember you. You seem familiar to me, but…”
“Don’t be silly,” Bernard shook his head. “I’ll be the first to admit that this big oaf is much more memorable than I could ever hope to be.”
Star-Spangled Rejects (The Heavenly Grille Café Book 3) Page 21