Worst Week Ever (A Long Road to Love)

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Worst Week Ever (A Long Road to Love) Page 25

by Liza O'Connor


  “Before my days of hell?”

  “During this day of hell,” the doctor replied.

  She frowned as she considered his question. That depended on how much harm she’d done to others. “How’s Jack and Mars?”

  “Who cares?” Trent demanded. “We want to know about you. How do you feel?”

  She glared at him. “Sick with worry, until I know I didn’t murder or permanently damage anyone with those turtles.”

  Trent opened his mouth, but Dr. Lenard silenced him by giving him an open palm gesture. Shockingly, her boss fell quiet.

  Carrie would have to try the doctor’s technique. He made it look so simple.

  “One more outburst and I’m sending you to the waiting room,” Dr. Lenard warned.

  Trent threw himself into a corner chair like a petulant child in time-out.

  Dr. Lenard refocused on her. “Both gentlemen are recovering nicely.”

  “Will they suffer any after-effects?”

  The doctor paused. “We aren’t certain. This designer drug appears to metabolize differently than the original Europa.”

  The door opened and Detective Pascal entered the room. “Ah, she’s finally awake.”

  The doctor stood up and faced Pascal. “We ran the blood panel your people provided. She shows no trace of the drug in her system. However, she suffers from dehydration and undernourishment. Add extreme exhaustion and stress, and I believe we have the cause of her fainting.”

  “And discovering I’d almost killed Jack,” she muttered. She met Officer Pascal’s stern gaze. “I’m going to prison for this, aren’t I?”

  “The hell she is!” Trent yelled and stormed from the room.

  Lenard chuckled. “I made him check his phone at the nurse’s stand so you could sleep peacefully. He’s no doubt out there demanding its return so he can call his lawyer. I’ll leave you to your interview.” Still chuckling, he left the room.

  She appreciated Trent’s reaction more than the doctor’s. If she had to serve hard time for making turtles, at least he could refrain from laughing.

  Pascal tilted his head as he touched her hand. “I would love to know what crossed your mind right then.”

  Her eyes started to water. “How many years am I going to serve?”

  “Did you knowingly give Mars and Jack a designer drug?”

  “No!” How could he even think such a thing?

  “Then you committed no crime. The one going down for this is the chef, Ivan Stanak. Any chance you know how long he’s worked for Master Trent? Your boss claims to have no idea.”

  “The chef’s quite new. During the month I spent in Taiwan, Trent fired one chef and another quit, so maybe a week or two.” She grimaced at her inability to provide a more precise answer. “Mars has a very well laid out office. I’m sure he has the employment papers for the man somewhere in his beautiful cherry wood cabinets.”

  He wrote in his little notebook, then his brow furrowed. “And how did you take the chocolate without Ivan seeing and stopping you?”

  “He had the day off. However, Mars let me know taking ingredients purchased for the cook’s meal equated to a capital offense and had the chef known, he would have quit. But since I’d already melted and applied the chocolate to my turtles, Mars said he’d buy some more so Ivan wouldn’t know.”

  She frowned, regretting she’d ever seen those chocolate bars. “Fortunately, he said he’d have time to replace it since the cook wouldn’t need the chocolate until later on in the week. Evidently, the cook plans his meals weeks in advance. Since Mars didn’t seem concerned about replacing it, I’m pretty sure he knew where to buy more.”

  Pascal wrote furiously in his notepad. “This is more information than I got from your boss and, unfortunately, Mars remains in Iraq.”

  Guilt overwhelmed her. “He’ll be okay though, right?”

  Pascal frowned. “Not sure.”

  Mars had only eaten one, while Jack had eaten half a bag full. “What about Jack? He ate so many…” Carrie asked, trembling in fear of his reply.

  Pascal gripped her hand. “He may have eaten more turtles, but evidently the drug was unevenly distributed in the chocolate. The lab tech suspects you never stirred the chocolate.”

  “I didn’t. I just melted it and scooped out a spoonful at a time.”

  “Which was a good thing for both of them. Otherwise, they would’ve overdosed before they ever made it to the hospital. This is a new designer drug targeted at the high-stressed wealthy crowd. The initial high comes twenty minutes after ingestion and by capsulizing the Europa crystals in varying thicknesses, the drug releases into the blood stream at different times. Thus, a user can enjoy continual highs for up to two days. That means, after a hard, long week, for two thousand dollars, a stressed stockbroker can enjoy a small chocolate wafer and have a two-day vacation from reality with no after effect, no addiction, no depressions, not even nausea.” He snorted. “At least that’s the sales pitch.”

  “You said Mars was in Iraq. That doesn’t sound like a vacation.”

  Pascal shook his head and frowned. “No, he’s reliving the worst days of his life.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, people react to stimulants differently. But, in this case, Mar’s spoonful of chocolate had a much higher percentage of the long-lasting crystals than Jack’s. The experts have never seen this variant before, so they have no idea how this is going to play out. We just have to wait and see.”

  Tears flowed down her cheeks. All she’d wanted was an expense reimbursement form. Why would fate think that required the death of two wonderful people?

  Pascal dabbed her eyes with a tissue. “This isn’t your fault.”

  “I’m the ones who made the turtles.”

  “True, but if you insist on going down that road, then you have to give yourself credit for not stirring the chocolate. That allowed most of the crystals to sink to the bottom of the pan where the heat level was higher and degraded its potency.”

  She smiled at his words. She’d done something—or not done something—which might save Jack and Mars’ lives. “Thank you for sharing that. I do feel better now.”

  Pascal matched her smile. “Good. Any chance you know if Mars actually reordered the chocolate?”

  “He didn’t in my presence, but he’s so efficient—”

  “In his normal state, yes. Not so much tonight.”

  “But he still seemed rational when I left the penthouse. If he ordered it, I’m sure you’ll find the paperwork in his office.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Unfortunately, Master Trent has denied our request to search the penthouse. Did you use all the chocolate?”

  “No, I used six of the twelve bars.”

  “Hopefully we can get a search warrant before Ivan returns. Do you know if the place has a back entrance?”

  “Sam might know.”

  Pascal grimaced and sighed. “He’s not speaking to me right now. Any chance your boss would know?’

  “I’d be surprised if he did.” Trent seemed oblivious of matters not affecting him directly.

  Pascal chuckled and put up his notebook. “I strongly recommend you don’t return to the penthouse tonight. We believe Ivan’s part of the Russian mafia and he won’t be happy to discover someone’s taken, according to the analysis of your turtles, a half million in drugs from him.”

  A half million!

  Her day just keeps sinking further into hell.

  Dr. Lenard had evidently returned sometime in their discussion but neither she nor Pascal had noticed him standing by the door. He now moved to the other side of her bed and patted her hand as he focused on Pascal. “I’ll tell Trent she needs to stay overnight for observation. Are you finished with your interview?”

  Pascal nodded.

  “Good, because I have my own to conduct.” He frowned at Carrie. “When did you eat last?”

  “I nibbled on a turtle leg.”

  “Doesn’t count as nutrition.’

&nbs
p; She struggled to remember. This day had been so long. She worked her way back and finally recalled a meal. “Detective Pascal bought me a delicious turkey and avocado on whole grain. Oh, and I had popcorn.”

  “When did she eat the turkey sandwich?” the doctor asked Pascal.

  “Around 2 p.m. yesterday, and she only ate five small bites.”

  Dr. Lenard’s glare returned to her. “Young lady, if you insist on nibbling at your meals instead of eating them, then you require five or six meals a day.”

  “But I’m small. I only weigh eighty pounds.”

  Pascal shook his head.

  “Okay, if compared to Tiny, I’m not small, but generally speaking—”

  Pascal interrupted her. “You’re not eighty pounds. My pack in the army weighed eighty pounds.”

  “Well. maybe it put on weight due to the stress of being in a war. Maybe sand blew inside it. However, I assure you, I’m eighty pounds. My weight hasn’t changed since I turned twenty.”

  He turned to Dr. Lenard. “She weighs about seventy...maybe less.”

  Dr. Lenard insisted on feeling her ribs beneath the gown. He then pushed the nurse call button.

  When a harried woman entered, the doctor sighed. “What’s wrong now?”

  “Mr. Lancaster insists the phone I returned is not his. But it’s the phone he gave me.”

  “I think it’s mine. I have his. They’re the same model,” Carrie explained.

  Pascal coughed, trying to stifle a laugh. They all turned their attention to him. “Sorry. Master Trent tossed your phone out my car window because you didn’t call him when you left the building. Therefore, he concluded you didn’t need a phone.”

  She groaned. “Any chance you can get my real phone away from him before he tosses that too? If we can save one, I can port over the numbers. If I lose them both, I’ll have to re-enter a thousand numbers by hand.”

  “I’ll handle this,” Dr. Lenard promised and left the room.

  The nurse stared at Pascal and Carrie. “Do either of you know why the doctor called me in?”

  In unison, they shook their heads.

  Looking upward and growling at the ceiling, she stormed from the room, leaving Pascal and Carrie alone.

  Pascal sat down on the side of her bed. “Off the record, why do you work for him?”

  Carrie grimaced. “Because underneath all the blustering are hints of an astoundingly good and kind man. I blame his father for most of his bad personality traits. And his other bad ones are because he came into this world with too much money.”

  His jaw clenched during her explanation.“He treats you like shit.”

  “You saw him at his worst.”

  Pascal sighed heavily, clearly disappointed by her defense of Trent. “I saw him put his hands on you in a threatening manner and you showed no surprise, so I’m thinking his abusive nature didn’t just sprout from the events of tonight.”

  Outraged Pascal had gotten such an idea in his head, she responded with vigor, “No! I didn’t flinch because I knew he wouldn’t hurt me. He grabbed my sweatshirt, not me. While that particular garment has reason to fear him, I don’t.”

  “You’re saying he’s never once hurt you in any way?”

  “He used to hurt my feelings by threatening to fire me. But he stopped threatening my job…until this week, when he actually did fire me. But he took it back.”

  “So you don’t call smashing you into a car a physical attack?”

  Her brow furrowed as she tried to remember when she got smashed. “Oh, you mean when he saved me from being crushed by a falling cabinet? No, I considered saving my life a heroic action.” She tried to keep her response polite, but honest to God! To accuse Trent of abuse when he kept her from being crushed to death was absurd.

  Officer Pascal sighed with frustration.

  “Trent is a better man than he seems.”

  Evidently growing weary of hearing nice things about Trent, Pascal changed the topic. “Where’d you meet the tall and short guys who got the turtles away from Jack?”

  Carrie livened up and told him all about the comedic magicians. “You should see their show. You’ll laugh from start to finish.”

  He rubbed the back of his neck then smiled. “Any chance you’d go with me?”

  His questioned shocked her. Did Detective Pascal just ask her out on a date? How weird. “You should ask someone with a social life. Trent and I have to do a complete makeover on the staff. We’ll work every waking hour for months.”

  He stood and shrugged as if it no big deal. “Well, don’t forget to eat along the way.” He then smiled. “It’s been my pleasure not to arrest you twice in two days.”

  Trent burst into the room and threw her phone on the bed. “This is your phone. Where’s mine?”

  Pascal shook his head and walked out of the room.

  “Don’t you ever throw my phone at me again!” she snapped. “You could have hurt me.”

  “Did I?” His brow furrowed as he uncovered her feet and bare legs and examined them.

  She couldn’t stay mad at him when he grew concerned for her welfare. “No, I just said you could have.”

  He sat on the bed. “Do you have my phone?”

  “I did until you plucked it from my unconscious body and threw it out of Detective Pascal’s car.”

  He grimaced, then glared at her. “Wait. You clearly weren’t unconscious or you wouldn’t know what I did. Why didn’t you stop me?”

  “Stop trying to shift the blame, this one has your name all over it. Detective Pascal told me what you did.”

  “And you believed him, without checking with me first?” Trent demanded, his outrage coming across loud and clear.

  “Yes, I did,” she replied without apology

  “Why?”

  She rolled her eyes at his stupid perseverance in this matter. “Because it sounded too crazy for a police detective to make up.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Do you have something going on with Officer Packrat?”

  In a fury, she threw her phone at him. “Go buy a new phone and ask the guy to port the numbers from mine. I need rest. You’ve driven me to the fainting edge.”

  “I have? My employees, perhaps, and certainly the mafia chef Mars employed has…Which reminds me. I want you to approve all of Mars’ future hires. He’s an excellent butler, but his ability to hire employees seems iffy.”

  This time she threw her pillow. “You are outrageously unfair. Now give me my pillow and phone back.”

  “So I don’t have to buy a phone?”

  “I’ll order it and have it delivered tomorrow morning, then I’ll port the numbers. You should have a phone by the time you stop by to take me to work.”

  His voice filled with pent-up anger. “Where are you staying, if not with me?”

  “I’m staying here. I am dehydrated, under-fed, exhausted, and stressed. Dr. Lenard wants to ensure I get a good night’s sleep.”

  “Why can’t you recuperate in my bed?” he asked.

  “The mafia chef remains on the loose. Detective Pascal advised me to stay far away from your penthouse. I evidently used a half million dollars of a new designer drug to make my turtles.”

  Trent rubbed his temples. Never a good sign. “I have two questions. What exactly are these turtles you keep talking about, and why didn’t the cop mention the danger to me?”

  “Turtles, at least my gram’s, are made with a brazil nut for the head, a big walnut for the body and pecan halves for the legs. Then they’re covered with caramel and chocolate.”

  He sat on the edge of her bed with a wistful look on his face. “That’s sounds really good.”

  She nodded then sensed where his mind headed. “I am never making them again, so don’t ask.”

  A definite pout formed on his lips. “And my last question?”

  “I suspect Detective Pascal did warn you, but you ignored him. Although, since you wouldn’t allow him to search the kitchen, he might have purposely forgotten.”<
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  Trent huffed. “My lawyer has me well trained. Which reminds me, your phone doesn’t have his number so I couldn’t call and save you from the attempted murder charge.”

  “Good, because I’m not charged with anything.”

  His eyes narrowed again. “You’re having an affair with Packrat, aren’t you?”

  Sick of him assuming she was the whore of Babylon, she glared at him in return.“It’s Pascal and no! I just cooperate when the police ask me questions.”

  He snorted. “Not me. I don’t answer questions and I never allow searches. Whereas you probably told him every last detail of your day.”

  “Pretty much.”

  “Idiot,” he muttered.

  “May I have my pillow and phone please?”

  He raised his right eyebrow in suspicion. “Swear you aren’t going to throw them at me again, because I’ve got to tell you, I’ve had it with employees throwing things today. Mars lobbed a crystal vase at me while his turtle took him back to Iraq.”

  “Is the vase okay?”

  “Here!” He thrust the pillow and phone at her. “I’m going to wander the streets all night like a homeless person because a mafia chef will kill me if I go home. And don’t think he won’t! He’ll try to force me to tell him who took his chocolate and I’ll give up my life before I reveal your name and whereabouts. And I won’t even have a phone to call 911 when I take a wrong turn and end up on the frightening short cut Sam took the other day.”

  She took the phone and pillow then snared his hand before he could wander off to his horrible fate. “You’ll make a terrible homeless person.”

  Trent shrugged.

  “You aren’t even dressed properly,” she added.

  “Maybe I’ll borrow your clothes.”

  She laughed aloud at the image of six-foot Trent in her size 0 sweatshirt and pants. “Maybe you could stay here and be my substitute teddy bear. I’d sleep much better then. That is, if the hospital will allow it.”

  “I’m a major contributor to this hospital,” he reminded her as he tossed his shoes, pants, and shirt into a pile of the floor.

  “Unless you really do want to resemble a homeless banker, you need to pick your clothes up and find a hanger in the closet.”

  He did as she asked without a single complaint.

 

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