Crescent City Chronicles (Books 1-3)

by Judith Lucci

  Monique interrupted her, her voice cool. "All right, Alex. I've got it. Let's table this for now. I'm too tired for another emotional shakedown and so are you. I know you're right and I know I can't change him. It would've been easier if his first case with us as a couple hadn't occurred on my medical unit."

  Alex laughed at her friend. "Yep, for sure, it certainly would've been – but sometimes life's a shit sandwich and we all have to take a few bites!"

  Monique laughed at Alex's description, which she knew came straight from the mouth of Congressman Adam Patrick Lee. Alex seldom used profanity and, when she did, it was for emphasis. By this time, they were in front of the restaurant. "My, my, my, where are your genteel Virginia manners and where did you learn to speak like that?"

  "You know exactly where that came from because you've been there!" Alex eyed the door thankfully. "Good, no wait. We can go straight in. And, the manners, I left them at home – better watch me at the table. Order me the special and I'll call Mona."

  The Cajun Café was a small coffee shop inside the CCMC complex. It was usually filled with patients, staff, and family members for lunch, but for some reason the lunch traffic was light today. The food was authentic Cajun cuisine and the chef took great pride in his menu. The café was gaily decorated with a Cajun bayou motif and watercolors of New Orleans street scenes painted by a local artist. Monique slid into the back booth at the rear of the restaurant, while Alex fished in her purse for her phone. By the time Alex finished her call, Monique had ordered iced tea and crawfish étouffée for both of them. Pierre, the owner and chef of the Cajun Café, was arguing good-naturedly with Dr. Desmonde over the proper Cajun spices for étouffée.

  When Chef Pierre saw Alex, he bowed gallantly from the waist and said with a big smile on his face, "Miss Alex. I'm honored. Please enjoy your meal. I'll send a special chocolate dessert your way. You know, I know your favorite."

  Alex smiled her thanks and she, Monique, and Pierre chatted for a few minutes before the chef left the women alone to enjoy their lunch.

  The service was quick and within several minutes, they were eating the rich, delicious étouffée. Alex asked how things were going at the Pavilion.

  Monique looked at her sideways. "Well, pretty well, I guess. That should be obvious since I was able to get over here for lunch. Most of the patients are still heavily medicated. Several others are depressed ... that is, more depressed than usual. Overall, there's still a feeling of shock up there. Things could break bad tonight or tomorrow when the patients rally and start to talk about things – you know, when the meds wear off. The community meeting should be interesting today and tomorrow, especially since we canceled all privileges!" Monique rolled her eyes as she imagined the backlash she would get from Anthony.

  Alex sighed. "Yes, I suspect you're right. We've got to get Don and Whitset to agree to hire more security at the Pavilion for the next few weeks."

  "Good luck with that, Alex," Monique said in a sarcastic voice as she arched her eyebrows. "Whitset told me this morning he wasn't authorizing any increased help – either professional or security. He maintains the unit is safe ...."

  Alex interrupted her, her face flushed with anger and her voice defensive. "That's insane! That man's crazy! If it was safe and we had enough staff, Mrs. Smithson would more than likely still be alive today."

  Monique held up her hand. "Save it for the executive meeting, Alex. We will need all the support we can muster to fight the boys. From what I can tell, Whitset has Montgomery in his pocket. It's pretty disgusting." Monique pulled vigorously at her chignon and several large masses of her dark here came loose.

  Alex was astounded at how 'human' Monique had become in the past few days. Before, the distinguished psychiatrist, while always supportive of Alex and friendly, had been aloof, cool, and unapproachable – or, at least, unapproachable in a proverbial human sort of way. Now, she seemed to be real – a real person like Alex, who struggled endlessly with the trials and tribulations of working in a male-dominated organization. It wasn't that Alex had a problem working with men in general; it was just that she had a problem working with incompetent people ... and most of the incompetent leadership at CCMC was male.

  Thank goodness, she was meeting this side of Monique Desmonde. It was going to be great to have a colleague to hang out with who was part of the same dysfunctional organization. Of course, she had Elizabeth, but Elizabeth was much younger and Alex was both her boss and her mentor. It wasn't quite the same. Dr. Desmonde was a power broker in the organization.

  Alex touched her shoulder and said, "Monique, in some respects these events, terrible though they are, have created a bond between us. We'll work through this together."

  Monique squeezed her hand in return and said, "I agree. Two heads are better than one and I need all the help I can get."

  Alex nodded and continued, "Let's figure out a strategy for this afternoon's meeting with Don Montgomery." She thought for a moment and said, "How about you approach the need for more security from a patient and staff safety point of view and I'll approach it from a legal and image position. We ought to be able to get what we want. Don's hot button is the CCMC image and he wants no airing of our dirty laundry.”

  Monique looked uncertain. "I'm not so sure, but I hope you're right. We have to go,” she said as she ate quickly. She checked her watch. "We're meeting with Whitset. I invited myself, hope you don't mind?"

  "Not at all. It's going to be hard. I'm glad you're coming! The poor Smithsons. I'm dreading it. It's still so horrible." Alex had a tragic faraway look in her eyes as she remembered the scene.

  "Yes, it's horrible and Whitset's horrible, but we've got to meet with them. I'm still angry that chicken shit Montgomery isn't coming. It makes me furious when he dodges these nasty issues!" Monique was mad.

  She only cursed when she was really mad, kind of like Alex. They saved the profanity for when it really mattered. Another lesson from Alex's grandmother.

  Alex shook her head and said sarcastically, "Now, Monique, where are your genteel manners? Surely, you know by now that our esteemed CEO only pays attention to the positive things that happen here. Don thinks he's a deity and the only person who does any work!"

  Monique smiled ruefully at Alex. "Hell yes, I know." To quote an observant Police Commander, 'Donald Montgomery is an incompetent SOB'." Monique and Alex both laughed as Alex's phone sounded, signaling a text. It was Mona texting her, "Get in your office quick!" Monique excused herself and quickly headed to the ladies’ room. As Alex was gathering her things, an enraged Donald Montgomery grabbed her shoulder roughly.

  "Where the hell is Desmonde? I want to talk with both of you. Where the hell is she?" Don's voice was loud and people at nearby tables looked at him sharply.

  Alex was shocked by Don's behavior. "Monique's gone to the ladies’ room. Please lower your voice."

  Don continued to hurl angry and profane epithets at her, while a number of patrons eating lunch in the café turned to stare at the well-dressed man whose speech would make a sailor blush. One gentleman stood up as if to intervene on Alex's behalf. Even Chef Pierre had emerged from the kitchen, wielding a large chopping knife. He was looking questioningly at Alex. She smiled, but with a small movement of her finger, she motioned for him to go back into the kitchen.

  Alex's voice was soft. "Don, what's the matter? Come on over and sit down." She gently grasped the CEOs arm and led him to the table where she and Monique had just finished their lunch. Alex saw that people were still watching them and she smiled courteously at the people around them. Alex hated scenes. She also hated to see people make fools of themselves because it embarrassed her. Don did it frequently and she still hated it. By this time, Monique had returned and sat down.

  Don sat down. Alex and Monique looked at him expectantly, waiting to hear the cause of his most recent outburst.

  The CEO looked around the restaurant and saw for the first time that people were staring at him curiously. He lowered his v
oice and quietly blasted his words at the two women, his voice hissing a torrent of swearwords like the air escaping from a dying sailor.

  "Why in the hell didn't the two of you take care of the Smithsons? The man literally stormed into my office a few minutes ago demanding to see his mother. Damn you all! Both of you are useless, incompetents. Why didn't you talk with him?" Don's face was so red that Alex thought he might have a stroke. Monique hoped he would.

  Monique glared at him and answered his questions. She was as angry as Montgomery, but much more in control. "Mr. Montgomery, did you really want Mr. Smithson to see his mother with a knitting needle hanging out of her mouth? Did you want him to see her blood and brains on the walls? Did you want him to see that his mother no longer had a face? Do you think that would've settled him down?" Monique's voice was strong and quiet. Her intent was clear, and her argument was strong. Monique glanced over at Alex, who seemed to be silently cheering her on.

  Donald Montgomery turned his eyes away from the straightforward glance of his chief of psychiatry. He was quiet for several moments and then said heatedly, "Hell no! That would not have been good ... but ... it's still your fault. If ... if ...." Don was groping for words. "I don't see why you all didn't see them hours ago and calm them down. He's in my office threatening to call the press. Says he's going to sue Crescent City for all it's worth. Said his mother was brutally murdered in my hospital by one of my patients. The man's insane!" Don's red face had turned grey and he was shaking, obviously anticipating an onslaught of press reporters and TV cameras. "Where do people get these lies?"

  Alex and Monique stared at each other in disbelief. What was going on with Montgomery? Didn't he remember the murder?

  Alex spoke to him. "Don, his mother was murdered in the Pavilion. She was murdered in our hospital and Dr. Desmonde talked with the family this morning. We asked you to see them as well. You refused. You tufted it to Lester Whitset and me. We're seeing them in a few minutes. Do you remember any of this?" Alex watched Don closely as his anger and rage returned.

  Montgomery glared at Alex as if she were a moron. He raised his voice and said impatiently, "Of course I remember the murder in the Pavilion. As far as I'm concerned, the Pavilion isn't CCMC. We're a world-class hospital. Those wackos don't count when we look at the good things that are done here. Psychiatry isn't an important part of the hospital! It never has been. The Pavilion is a dump. It's a loser. As a matter of fact, I don't even consider psychiatry a part of this hospital at all." Don was thinking.

  Alex could see the wheels turning in his mind. He was completely oblivious to the look of contempt Dr. Desmonde was giving him.

  He continued, "Hell, I'm not even sure that psychiatry is part of the practice of medicine! Those sons of bitches never get well. They never even get better. They are just leeches on society. It's a losing battle all the way around. Even the psychiatrists are half crazy!" Don looked smugly at Alex and Monique and folded his hands on the table, as if patiently waiting for their anger.

  Alex thought she could see smoke pouring from Monique's ears. She was speechless at Don's diatribe and accusations. She could feel energy, negative energy, radiating from Dr. Desmonde. Monique could hardly contain herself. Alex tried to settle the physician down by placing her hand on her arm, but it was useless.

  Desmonde was not to be quieted. She rose and stood over the CEO, her face faintly flushed and her dark hair and eyes glistening in the artificial light of the restaurant. "Montgomery! You know something. Your behavior is infantile, it's inexcusable. You are an idiot. You treat this hospital like a toyshop, lining up your favorite toys and beating up and discarding the ones you don't like. That's what you did to the psychiatric service. You sold us out to contract management. Psychiatric services have been going downhill ever since." Monique paused for a moment and began again, her voice seething with anger, "Frankly, Montgomery, I think you need a bed in the Pavilion. Not only are you an idiot, you have a behavioral disorder!" Monique stared down at the CEO, clearly repulsed by what she saw. With a quick glance at Alex, she stalked out of the café.

  Donald Montgomery was silent for a moment and then he turned to Alex and laughed. "Our famous shrink looks pretty good when she's mad. She is much easier on the eyes when she's irate. Maybe I should make her angry more often. Then I can almost stand to look at her!"

  Alex was enraged at Don, but refused to play into his sexist remarks. She said quietly, "Don, psych is a part of CCMC and the situation over there will affect the hospital and our image. You may as well prepare for a lengthy wrongful death action and a lot of negative publicity." Alex watched Don as reality set in. She chastised herself for feeling a bit victorious. She had humbled the CEO. "How did you leave Mr. Smithson?"

  "Not well. I sent him to your office. He's probably there now. Take care of him, Alex. Handle it, and do it right. I don't need this stuff so soon after February!" Don was actually pleading with her. His voice was quiet.

  Alex used the situation to her advantage and said, "I'll do my best, Don. At the executive meeting this afternoon, I expect you to approve additional permanent staff positions for the Pavilion, as well as a temporary increase in security – at least until this stuff clears up. Deal? We need strong young bodies up there for security, as well as professional caregivers permanently." She looked carefully at Don, contemplating her next move.

  Don shrugged his shoulders. "You give me a good argument, you'll get the money. Favre maintains that psychiatry is well staffed. So does Whitset. Just keep these people out of my office – the crazies and their crazy relatives. I'm busy and I don't have time for this kind of stuff. Understood?" Don was recovering from his momentary lapse into fear and uncertainty.

  Alex shook her head negatively, signed her lunch check, and headed for her office.

  Don, since he was already there, decided to have lunch. What was left on Alex and Monique's plates looked pretty good. He waved for the waiter. Things were quiet for him. He had over an hour until the executive committee meeting, so he settled in for a tasty lunch. Besides, he deserved it. It'd been an awful day, and he did run the place. He was entitled to a reward.

  Don was a lucky man. He had no idea how close Chef Pierre had come to putting crushed glass into his lunch.

  Chapter 22

  As Alex made her way back to her office, she became more and more infuriated at Don Montgomery. The man was an absolute egomaniacal idiot. Monique was right. The CEO probably did have some sort of a personality disorder. She wondered if asshole was a legitimate diagnosis in psychiatry and asked herself how much longer she could stand working for him. Again, the letter from her colleague in San Francisco surfaced in her mind. Maybe she would consider it. It was only a year and she could return to New Orleans if she chose. Dealing with Montgomery was getting pretty old and very tiring.

  Alex paused outside her office door for a few moments, contemplating the best way to handle the Smithsons and the sad tale of their mother's death. When Jack had spoken with them earlier, it had been difficult enough, but he had kept with the police procedure and said nothing about how the crime had occurred. She shook her head, as if to clear it, hoping for some clarity on the best way to manage the conversation. When she entered her outer office, Lester Whitset was sitting on her sofa reading a magazine. Mona was not at her desk. Alex's heart began to beat frantically – just seeing him made her uncomfortable. He was repulsive. She felt her stomach flip-flop.

  Whitset rose when he saw Alex, his eyes raking her face and body. "Alex, you're looking amazingly well for such a long day. Marvelous in fact!" His voice was soft and seductive.

  Alex pulled back reflexively as his hand touched her wrist. The coldness of his fingers sent a shiver through her. "Are Mr. and Mrs. Smithson here? Where's Mona?"

  "Your secretary just took them into the conference room. She's getting them coffee. She seems to be obedient enough – she a good worker?" Whitset smiled balefully at Alex.

  "Obedient? What do you mean by obedient?"
Alex looked suspiciously at the administrator. Obedience was becoming a theme in Lester's conversations.

  "You know what obedient means, Alex dear." Whitset's voice was soft, almost hedonistic. "It means that she did what I asked her to do as soon as I asked her to do it. She scurried right out of here. I like that!" Lester had a half smile on his face and his dark glittering eyes were locked with Alex's blue ones. He moved closer to her. She could feel his breath on her cheek, and for some reason, she was powerless to move back. It was if he had a strange hold over her. Whitset continued to talk with her in the same soft voice. “Another pretty girl. Mona is her name, isn't it? She looks like a darker version of your regular secretary, Bridgett. They're the same size ... just the hair is different. Isn't that correct?" He continued to stare at Alex, his dark eyes raking her face as his look commanded her attention.

  Alex could barely suppress the shudder she felt crawling up her spine. And yet, there was something about him that fascinated her and made her feel powerless. It was almost as if there was an electric energy between them. She was startled. A dozen thoughts were dancing through her head. How did Lester Whitset know Bridgett? Did he know she was Angie's twin sister? Did all of these things mean something? She was frantically trying to sort the information through her tired brain as Whitset continued to leer at her.

  Just at that moment, the door opened and Bridgett walked in. She looked terrible. Her face was streaked with tears. She had a gold cross in her hand.

  "Oh, Alex. It's so horrible. This is all been so dreadful." Bridgett was crying pitifully. Her voice coming out in gasps. "The nurse in the ICU just gave me Angie's cross. She's not doing well at all. She still won't talk to me – they say she can't! I don't think she is conscious, but her eyes are open and she stares at the wall. Alex, will she get well?" Bridgett burst into fresh tears.

  Alex walked over to hug Bridgett. "Sure she will, Bridge. She'll be okay in a few days. It'll take some time." Alex continued to hug Bridgett, conscious of the gaping, sly smile Whitset was giving them. It was almost pornographic, she thought. Whitset was relishing Bridgett's pain. Bridgett seemed unaware of him. Alex doubted that Bridgett had noticed him in her grief.