Because she’d spent December 31st celebrating a bit too much at the Crossmans annual New Year’s Eve party, Max was sleeping late when her cell phone rang.
Sleep was a privilege for Max because it didn’t come easy.
“Hello,” she answered, hoping she didn’t sound as hungover as she felt.
“Maxine? Is that you, Maxine?”
Max sat up and blinked away the sleep in her eyes. She glanced at the caller ID to make sure she had the caller right.
“Maxine, can you hear me? Hello?”
“Lois?” Max cleared her throat.
“I thought I’d lost the call. I hate these things.”
The caller wasn’t Lois, but she was using Lois’s phone. “Who is this?” Max demanded.
“It’s Flo, dear. Remember me? Florence Riley? I’m friends with Lois Kershaw here in Miami. Do you remember?”
Of course Max remembered Flo. Her stomach dropped. “Is Lois okay?” Lois was closing in on ninety. Wait—it was January 1st. Today was Lois’s 90th birthday. When Max had first met Lois four years ago, the octogenarian had gotten a kick that they practically shared a birthday.
But anytime a call came in about someone in their eighties—or nineties—you feared the worst.
“Lois had a heart attack last night.”
Tears sprung in Max’s eyes. Max wasn’t a crier. She hadn’t cried in a long time. When had she last seen Lois? Nearly a year ago. When Max was still involved with FBI Agent Marco Lopez out of the Miami field office, she’d visited Lois every few months. Anytime she came down to spend the weekend with Marco, she made a point of having lunch with Lois. But Max called it quits with Marco nine months ago and she hadn’t been to Miami since. She and Lois had talked a few times, but why had she not visited? Being busy was no excuse.
“Maxine? Did I lose you?”
“I’m here.”
“The doctor said she needs surgery, but she wanted me to call you first.”
“Surgery?” She wasn’t dead. Relief flooded Max and she leaned back into her pillows.
Max heard noise in the background and then another voice came on the phone. “Maxine?”
It was Lois. “Flo needs to work on her presentation,” Max said dryly.
“I’m fine, Maxine.”
“But you need surgery?”
“So they say. I wanted Flo to call and tell you so you wouldn’t worry, and now she’s worried you.”
Surgery was never to be taken lightly, and on a ninety-year-old woman, it was even more serious. “When?”
“As soon as possible, they said. They’re waiting for a room to open, and then I’m next.”
She sounded so casual about it. “I’ll be down today.”
“You don’t need to come, dear. I just wanted to let you know.”
“I want to be there, Lois. What hospital?”
Lois gave her the details. “My doctor is Rory O’Brien. Irish Catholic, so Flo likes him. I could give a rat’s ass, as long as he graduated from medical school. He’s very attractive, Maxine. And tall. I suppose everyone looks tall since I’m so damn short. And I’ve shrunk, proving that God is doubly cruel. Are you still dating that cop from California? If you’re not, you need to meet him. Maybe you’ll have more luck in your love life if you stop dating policemen. How tall are you?”
“Five ten,” Max said automatically, then realized Lois wasn’t talking to her.
“He’s six feet three inches. My, that’s tall. How old are you?”
That’s when Max suspected the doctor was in Lois’s room.
“Max, he’s only thirty-six. Is he old enough to perform surgery? Thirty-six seems much too young to have enough experience.”
“Lois—” Max said, but Lois was no longer on the line.
Memories of the past flooded Max, and she almost laughed. When she first met Lois four years ago while investigating the death of one of Lois’s friends, she had to adjust how she thought about senior citizens. There was nothing old about Lois, other than her age—and she clearly hadn’t changed. Somehow, that was comforting. If she hadn’t changed, if she didn’t sound older, maybe she wouldn’t die.
“Hello?” said a deep male voice.
“Dr. O’Brien?”
“Yes. You’re Mrs. Kershaw’s granddaughter?”
Max heard Flo and Lois giggling like schoolgirls in the background. “No,” Max said, “but I’m the closest thing she has to family. How is she? I want the truth.”
“She had a mild heart attack last night and was admitted to the hospital at one this morning. We ran tests and there is a blockage in one of her arteries. It’s severe enough that we don’t have the luxury of trying non-invasive solutions. I’m going to go in and remove the clot, put in a stent, and she should come through it with flying colors. She’s otherwise healthy.”
Healthy perhaps, but she wasn’t a spring chicken. “She’s ninety. Today.”
“I understand your concern,” he said, keeping his voice light. For Lois’s benefit? Or hers?
“When is the surgery?”
“I’m waiting on a room. We’ll likely prep her within the next two hours. Three tops.”
Max wouldn’t be able to see Lois before she went under. Max wasn’t a religious person, but if she were, she’d be praying heavily that she’d see Lois alive again.
“Tell Lois I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
#
By the time Max arrived at the hospital, it was nearly five in the afternoon. Lois was out of surgery and in the recovery room. Flo had stayed the entire day, and even though Flo and Max had been like oil and water when they first met, Max was glad to see her.
“How did she do in the surgery? Be honest with me, Flo.”
Flo was nearly as old as Lois. Both were still as sharp as tacks, but Flo had a biting tongue and natural pessimism. “I’m always honest, Maxine. I don’t lie. Did someone tell you I’m a liar?”
“No, it’s a figure of speech.”
“My fourth husband—no, my fifth husband—called me a liar. Once. He was a jerk. Don’t know why I ever married him. Though there was a silver lining, I suppose. If it weren’t for him, I’d have never met Oliver and enjoyed the best five years of my life.”
Max had heard many stories about all six of Flo’s husbands, but she was too tired to go off on that tangent. “Is Lois going to make it?”
“Make it? Make what? Oh, you mean live. You should be clearer when you speak, Maxine. For a writer, you don’t use the right words.”
Max took a deep breath and mentally counted. By the time she reached four, Flo said, “She survived surgery. The hot doctor said the next twenty-four hours are important. She’s in the ICU.”
It took Max a moment before she realized Flo had called Lois’s doctor hot.
Where do they come up with this stuff?
“Which floor?” Max asked. “I’d like to see her.”
“They wouldn’t let me see her. Said she had to rest, that she was still unconscious. Do you want to come back to Del Sol with me? Lois gave me the key to her house so you can stay there.”
Max had reserved a hotel room nearby, but she wasn’t going to leave the hospital without talking to Lois’s doctor.
“I’m going to stay awhile. Do you need a ride home? I have a car service.”
“Nonsense. One of the boys from Del Sol will pick me up. A perk of paying top dollar for a retirement home. I have Lois’s phone. Call me if anything happens, okay?”
“I will.”
Max went up to the ICU and asked the nurse about Lois Kershaw. “You’re her granddaughter?”
“Yes,” Max lied. She didn’t know why Lois continued to tell people that she was her granddaughter, but it was so much easier to have that lie out there when dealing with hospital bureaucracy.
“I can’t let you go into ICU, but you can peek through the window. There’s a waiting room down the hall, but it’ll be several hours before we’ll know anything.”
“I’d lik
e to talk to her doctor. Rory O’Brien.”
“I’ll page him. He’ll meet you in the waiting room.”
Max walked to the ICU wing and entered. Each private room had a full contingent of equipment and observation window. Lois had the third room on the left.
Max sucked in her breath as she stared at the elderly woman. Lois looked so fragile with the cords and machines all around her. The vivacious, energetic senior who Max had befriended four years ago had never seemed old to Max. But now … every year showed.
Max had faced death many times. She’d lost her beloved great-grandmother when she was nineteen. Her grandfather a few years later. Her best friend in high school, her college roommate their senior year. Death happened, and maybe Max was colder than some because while she grieved, she didn’t mourn. She found answers when she could and went on with her life.
But this … illness. Being incapacitated. Walking the line between living and dying … it hit Max hard and she didn’t expect the rush of emotion.
She put her hand up on the window and willed Lois to wake up. She wouldn’t, not yet. But she needed to. Max wanted to talk to her again, hear more of her stories. Lois was a smart woman. A “sharp cookie” as Flo had once said. Max didn’t want her to die without getting a chance to say good-bye.
Was that more for Max’s comfort or Lois’s?
A voice cleared behind her and she turned and looked up—a rarity for her, since she was tall. “Ms. Revere?”
She nodded. “Max.”
“I’m Doctor Rory O’Brien. I heard you’d arrived. I need to check on Lois, but I’ll come talk to you in the waiting room after, if you’d like.”
“Yes, thank you.”
She walked away, feeling a bit in a daze. Lack of sleep, worry, no food … and of course the hangover. All catching up with her.
The waiting room was relatively comfortable with firm but clean couches, numerous chairs, and a television mounted on the wall, volume low, showing a twenty-four-hour news station. Max sat in the corner of one of the couches and rubbed her forehead. Maybe she would go to the hotel after she talked to the doctor. Eat, shower, nap, then come back in a couple hours.
Dr. O’Brien walked in ten minutes later and sat down next to her. Flo was right—he was “hot”—tall, dark hair, green eyes, and an award-winning smile. He also had a soothing voice.
“There were no complications in surgery,” he said, “but the damage to her heart was extensive. I suspect she’s had a series of problems she’s ignored over the last few years and they culminated in this attack. I repaired the damage and I expect her to recover. But like you said, she’s ninety years old, and it was major surgery. I’ll be monitoring her very closely over the next twenty-four hours. I need her calm and completely immobile, so I have her on medication to help her rest comfortably. She could wake up in an hour or a couple hours. Do you have a place to stay? I’ll call you when she can have visitors.”
“Yes—but I’d like to stay here for awhile. Just until I know she’s awake, if that’s okay.”
“Of course. There’s a cafeteria in the basement. The food is adequate. The diner across the street is good.”
“Thank you.”
“I’m doing rounds, then I’ll check on Lois again and let you know if there’s a change.”
“I appreciate it.”
He left and Max closed her eyes. Maybe she should go to the hotel for a while.
But she was so tired she didn’t want to get up.
Chapter Two
Four years ago
Max packed her suitcase early Monday morning. Marco—her on-again boyfriend—was still in bed, but he wasn’t asleep.
“Why don’t you stay with me while you’re investigating these claims?” Marco asked. “I’ve missed you, Max.”
“I’m going undercover.” She shouldn’t have to explain this to Marco. She was an investigative reporter and going into a situation incognito was often necessary in order to gather the best information. “If there’s any merit to this woman’s accusations, I need to be on-site, and certainly not spending the night in a house owned by an FBI agent.”
He didn’t say anything. She glanced at him, then frowned. Marco would never change. Which was why it would never last between them. He was a good man, but he was arrogant and borderline chauvinistic. She’d told him once to find a nice Cuban girl who would be happy barefoot and pregnant and catering to his every need. He didn’t find her comment funny.
She said, “You think there’s nothing.”
“I talked to a few people and there’ve been no complaints against Del Sol or their staff. It’s one of the top-rated retirement communities in the state. Don’t you think you should have vetted this Kershaw woman before you committed to the investigation?”
She wasn’t going to get into this again with Marco. He didn’t find anything suspicious about the death of Dotty Holcomb. She had been eighty-two and under a doctor’s care for high blood pressure. Old people died.
Yes, they did ... but Lois Kershaw, Dotty’s closest friend, claimed to have evidence that Dotty was murdered. She wouldn’t tell Max over the phone, but she didn’t sound like a spotty old woman. She sounded like a woman on a mission, and Max feared Lois would start investigating on her own if she didn’t help. If there was nothing to her claim, then Max was simply wasting a few days in beautiful Miami—where her lover also lived. That certainly wasn’t a hardship. If there was something to the case, then Max would be on-site to investigate and prove Lois’s theory.
Marco didn’t understand why she’d committed to this case when she hadn’t known Lois until she received her letter last week. Either he accepted that there were some cases that drew her in—like an accusation of senior abuse and possible murder—or he didn’t. She couldn’t seem to verbalize the whys of her decision
“I did a full background on Lois Kershaw,” Max said. Marco knew how she operated, and she never went into any case without information. “Regardless, I’m going to stay with her for at least a week and assess whether her accusations have any merit. You’ve been trying to get me down here for months, I finally come and you’re giving me problems?”
“I think you’re wasting your time.”
She glared at him. Marco was a good cop, but he saw everything in black and white. Max regretted asking him to run Del Sol for her. Though he was usually happy to help her, he always had a damn opinion, as if he didn’t trust her investigative instincts. Hadn’t she proven to him time and time again that she had a nose for this business? She wasn’t wrong. Even if there was no murder at Del Sol, there was something odd going on, and Max would find out what it was.
“Don’t look at me like that,” Marco grumbled. “Anything that gets you down to Miami is a good thing.”
She dismissed his weak attempt at an apology. She zipped up her suitcase. “Don’t you need to go to work?”
“Breakfast first? I’ll cook.” He rose from the bed and the sheet fell off his naked body. She stared. For all her frustrations with Marco Lopez, he attracted her like few men did. And she’d always enjoyed morning sex.
“I’m meeting Lois for breakfast,” she said.
Marco walked over to her, putting on his best seductive smile. “I like the dress.” He reached out and tugged at the long, filmy sleeves of her flowing sundress. “Nothing like Maxine Revere would wear, but it looks good on you.” He winked. “It would look even better on the floor.”
She was still irritated, but not too angry. Marco was Marco. He was never going to change, which was why she knew deep down that their relationship was destined to fail.
But right now, it was okay between them. And honestly? They had never really had calm. Everything with Marco was hot or cold. It was exhausting, but exhilarating. What did that say about her?
“It’s my Maxine Adler cover. Art restorer, lives in Santa Monica.” She kissed him.
He laughed. “I would pay to watch you play the part of a hippie.”
“Not a
hippie. Just … a bit like a flighty artist. And I love the beach.” She kissed him again. Sometimes, it was difficult to walk away from Marco. Even when it wasn’t a breakup. “I’ll come by when I’m done with Lois.”
“Tonight?”
“In a week or two.”
“A week or two?”
“I’m going undercover, Marco. I told you that how many times? I can’t be bouncing back and forth.”
He ran his hands down her arms. “I worry about you.”
“You just told me there was no merit to Lois’s claim that her best friend had been murdered. And now you’re worried?”
“You wouldn’t be down here if you didn’t have something. What is it?”
“Now you believe me?” Dear Lord, the man was impossible.
“Well?”
“Well what?”
“What was the tipping point? What made you take the case?”
“I don’t know.”
“Yes, you do.”
Yes, sometimes Marco really did understand her.
“If I don’t help Lois, who will?”
“She didn’t call the police.”
That had bothered Max a tiny bit, but she also knew how it was when there was enough evidence to make someone suspicious, but not enough where the police would be able to do anything. And if Lois tipped her hand—and something nefarious was going on at Del Sol—then she could be in danger.
“I can give her an honest assessment—and truly, if I find nothing, I can give her peace of mind. I’ve done it before.”
“You have a soft spot for old people.” He kissed her. “It’s one of the things I adore about you.”
“Adore? Adore?” She almost laughed. In no world would she call herself adorable. Nor would any of the men she’d dated. “Seriously, Marco, after I talked to her on the phone, I just had that … that itch. If there’s something untoward going on at Del Sol, we need to be smart about it. Not tip off anyone. Lois agreed that I would play the part of her granddaughter—granddaughter by marriage. It works in her life timeline, and I created the Maxine Adler identity. It’s a decent cover, and I know a lot about art and art restoration if anyone pushes.”
TWO TO DIE FOR Page 12