by Lucia Sinn
Maggie looked at the crucifix, wishing it would provide for her the solace that it seemed to for Mike. “Why? Why do these things happen? You do the best you can for your children.”
“God works in strange ways.”
“And you can accept that?”
“What’s the choice? Some things only He controls.” Mike paused and looked out the window. A cloud parted in the late afternoon sky, brightening the room with the pinks and purples of the sunset. Mike continued: “Unfortunately, our children aren’t clones. We want them to be exactly like us, but there are these stray genes popping up from the other side of the family and from past generations, all of which tends to puzzle us and interfere with our plans for their behavior. We have to remember our children don’t belong to us, but to God. And they have to work out their own salvation.”
“Salvation. It’s been awhile since I’ve heard that word.”
Mike’s eyes widened and sadness crept into his tone. “You’ve left the Church?”
Maggie felt the blood moving up her neck. Why should he condemn her? Had anyone ever expected him to stay committed to someone who beat him? “Look,” she said. “You know divorced Catholics who remarry are ex-communicated.”
“I know. But you could still go to Mass.”
“Yes, I could. But I don’t.” Maggie felt her face muscles tighten. If he started Bible thumping, she was out of there.
Mike put a hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m not judging you. But will you join me in a prayer for strength and guidance in finding what’s happened to Julie?”
Her defenses collapsed. “Of course.”
Mike tented his hands and bowed his head. “Hail Mary, full of grace,” he began.
The words tumbled out of her mouth as Maggie joined in the familiar prayer.
Mike’s soothing monotone induced a trance-like feeling of peace. His mother had been right. Mike should have been a priest.
*
Two days went by. Maggie was beginning to think Jed was right. She should have known that a small town private detective couldn’t find Julie. She finished replenishing a tube feeding on a patient who’d been comatose for three weeks, feeling more depressed than usual by these palliative measures to prolong a useless life. Her nerves were so tense that the phone ringing at the nurse’s station made her startle like a rabbit. She answered before the unit secretary had a chance. “Transitional Care, Maggie Carrithers, RN speaking.”
Mike didn’t bother to identify himself. “I think I have something,” he said.
His words sent a shot of hope through her system. “Good news?”
“Not exactly. I haven’t found her, but I think I know where she was headed.”
At the end of the hall, a patient wailed plaintively, lost in the wide-awake dreams of her twilight existence. Maggie put her hand over her left ear, straining to detect any positive or negative nuances in Mike’s voice. “So she’s safe?”
“I don’t know for sure one way or the other. What time can you come and talk?”
“I’ll be there as soon as I get off work at 3:30.” Maggie hung up the phone and stared at the medical record on the computer, trying to remember what it was she was supposed to document. It was lunch time and she was surrounded by personnel keying in information on patient charts.
Her supervisor, Terry, appeared beside her. “Your patient’s tube feeding was clogged,” she said. “You need to double check after you’ve finished hooking it up.”
Maggie felt a rush of guilt. “I thought I did check, I don’t know what happened.”
Terry put her hand on Maggie’s shoulder. She was young for her job, one of those assertive types with a short, no-nonsense haircut and serious gray eyes behind rimless glasses. “It’s all right,” she said. “It’s not like you gave her the wrong meds or anything. You seem nervous today, what’s wrong?”
Maggie chewed the inside of her cheek, trying to decide how much to tell. She couldn’t reveal what was happening with Julie, but on the other hand, she might need some time off. “Family problems,” she said.
Terry’s brow furrowed. “You mean Julie?”
Tears stung Maggie’s eyes. Why couldn’t Julie, with all her brains and ability, have been more like Terry? A girl who set her mind on a sensible path early in life, accomplished her career goals, was safely married to a computer salesman, and the mother of two children. Why had she turned out so well when Maggie’s own daughter was such a disappointment? But all Maggie said was, “Julie’s been upset lately.”
“She didn’t flunk the med school test did she?”
Everyone knew Julie had never flunked a test in her life. In the close knit world of this small unit, the nurses discussed their children in the quiet times when patients were sleeping. But this was different; Maggie couldn’t share this latest episode with her co-workers. “It’s not that,” she said, “But Julie thinks we aren’t being supportive.”
Terry snorted. “Humph. The trouble with that girl is you’ve spoiled her rotten. If you ask me, you’ve been too darn supportive. About time she uses those brains of hers to support herself.”
Maggie thought about the terse message on the envelope in Julie’s room. “I think she’s about at that point,” she said.
“Great, so what’s the problem?”
“I just wish we had a better relationship.”
Terry looked over her shoulder, waiting until potential eavesdroppers drifted away. “Have you thought about counseling?”
“Julie went once, just to please me. But she’s read so many psychology books, she knows exactly what’s behind every question the counselor asks and has decided it’s all a racket.”
“She may have a point,” Terry said, but I wasn’t talking about her getting help, I was thinking about you.”
Maggie gnawed on a thumbnail, tasting the alcohol pad she’d used when giving her last shot. She’d spent her fair share of time with psychologists, but finally found a much more reliable way of dealing with stress. “Don’t worry about me,” she said. “I’m heading upstairs to the fitness center. Okay if I combine lunch and breaks?”
“Get out of here. Go.” Terry gave Maggie a good-natured shove.
*
On the way upstairs, a heaviness pulled at Maggie’s body like the return of a dormant disease, reminding her of the time when her ex-husbands abuse had sapped her strength and made her feel like a failure. But that had changed five years ago when she stepped on the treadmill, put one foot in front of the other and started walking. She had crawled out of that black hole of despair and she would not go back again, even though the cot in the locker room looked tempting.
Her spirits lifted as she changed into workout clothes, smelled iron and rubber, and walked into the hospital’s bright fitness center with windows overlooking the city. It was the best time of the day.
“Do you want the heart monitor?” Tim Randolph, the director, stood beside her. He was clean and clear skinned, with powerful shoulders: a poster boy for exercise and healthy living.
Maggie pushed the button accelerating her speed, not breaking stride. “Nope, I’ve been doing six for a month now. Not to worry.”
Tim took a swig of bottled water and gave her an admiring look. “You’ve come a long way,” he said. “I remember when you started out.”
“Don’t remind me. Two miles an hour. What a wuss I was.”
“By the way,” he said. “We’re doing a brochure for the Center and I’m wondering if you’d be willing to have your picture taken.”
“My picture? What for?”
“Well, I consider you kind of an example for your age group.”
“Does everyone have to know I’m over fifty?”
“We won’t mention your age, I promise.”
“Hmm, how would I have to pose?”
“I want to show you pulling down 100 pounds,” he said. “You look powerful, and yet graceful at the same time, when you do that.”
Maggie kept
walking, enjoying the rhythmic pounding of leather against rubber as the conveyor sped along. It was a good feeling—the quickening of her pulse, the endorphins flooding her brain and rushing through her body. “I have you to thank for all this,” she said. “I wouldn’t have thought I was capable of these things.”
“Don’t thank me, “Tim said. “I just helped you get started. You’re the one who did the work.”
“It’s funny, people tell me I’m a new person since I’ve met Jed. What they don’t realize is that I was a new person before I met him.”
“I’ll never forget the look on his face the first time he saw you.” Tim smoothed back his thick dark hair and looked toward his office, remembering. “That day he came in to sign up. We were sitting at the desk, filling out forms, and you had just come off the treadmill. You had this glow about you. You face was all flushed and damp. And you were wearing that rust colored tank top that matches your hair. I had a helluva time getting him to finish up those forms, he was so afraid you might get away.”
“Was he really?” Tim had told Maggie this story before, but she loved hearing it again, recalling the stir of inner excitement when she’d looked into the kind brown eyes of the stranger with a white beard. He’d had an ambling gait like he’d grown up on a horse, and the oversized muscles on his slender arms were a dead giveaway that he’d done his share of grunt work. He hadn’t looked like a history professor.
“Yep,” Tim’s voice rose with enthusiasm. “He’d started out talking about a one-week trial, but I had him signed up for three months before he knew what hit him. See why I want you in my marketing brochure?”
Maggie said, “Tim, you’ve made my day.” Her head cleared and her energy returned. She was going to find out where Julie was. She was sure of it.
At 3:30, Maggie pulled on her coat and raced outside. The sun had disappeared behind a mass of cumulus clouds in the tin-colored sky, and snow was in the forecast. Despite the midwinter gloom, optimism hummed in her veins. Mike knew where Julie was. It would all be fine. Now she was feeling foolish about contacting a private investigator for one of Julie’s escapades. She ducked her head, smiling to herself, when her shoulder hit a wall of muscle.
“Hey, Maggie. You’re in a big hurry, huh?”
She looked up in surprise. She’d been too preoccupied to see someone walking directly ahead of her. It was Kenny, one of the porters who delivered patient food trays. He wore only his uniform—a faded tan cotton shirt and dark brown pants. “Why no coat on such a cold day?” she asked.
Kenny’s head dropped to one side. “I dunno,” he said. “It’s so hot in the dish room, this feels good.”
“You’re walking all the way home like that?”
“Yeah, but I’m stopping at the Mulberry Bush on the way. That’ll warm me up.” Kenny wiped his nose with the back of his hand and chuckled deep in his throat. He was tall, with strong bony facial features, mottled front teeth, and a thin scar down one side of his face. He was thought to be mentally challenged, and didn’t drive a car.
“Look, I go right past there on my way home,” Maggie said. “I’ll give you a ride.” She was wildly impatient to get to Mike’s office, but couldn’t bear the thought of Kenny walking a mile without a coat. He’d probably lost it during one of his binges at the tavern and had to wait until payday to buy a new one.
“You’re sure it’s not putting you out?”
“Of course I’m sure,” Maggie tried to sound enthusiastic.
Kenny gave her a shy smile, falling in step beside her. Then he stopped and pressed his hand against his head. “Just remembered, forgot to clock out,” he said. “Don’t wait for me.”
Drat. Maggie bit her lip, almost wishing she’d left a few minutes earlier. “Go on,” she said.”You know my car—the black one at the end of the parking lot. I’ll be waiting.”
“I’ll hurry,” he promised, turning to run back.
Maggie opened her purse, searching for keys. Jed always told her to keep them in the same zippered pocket, but such forethought wasn’t in her nature when she was upset. She rooted through layers of personal items, finally hitting pay dirt under a pack of chewing gum, when she heard—or felt—someone breathing.
There was a rancid smell, faintly medicinal. Like dirty laundry coming out of the operating room. She turned to see a heavyset middle aged man with a bristle of white hair, dressed in black. Leather jacket, tight jeans, boots. The nostrils of his spongy pink nose flared as his bloodshot eyes looked directly at Maggie.
“I wanna talk to you,” he said, moving so close his acrid breath blew hot across her face.
Maggie’s tried to pull away and called at the top of her voice, “Kenny, help!”
The man moved so close she saw only his T-shirt in front of her nose. “Shut up,” he said.
Kenny hollered, “I’m coming!” Footsteps thudded louder in their direction.
“You’d better listen,” the man said.
“No,” Julie saw Kenny running toward them, stumbling, followed by two hospital orderlies.
“Leave her be!” Kenny shouted.
The man moved closer and bared his teeth. “I’ll be seeing you,” he said.
Maggie blocked Kenny’s path, “Stop!” she cried, knowing he’d be no match for this thug.
“He’s getting away!” Kenny yelled.
“Don’t go after him,” she said. “Let’s go back and call Security.” The orderlies pulled Kenny back, not eager to fight with a menacing stranger.
Maggie was trembling and her legs felt like jelly, but as soon as they’d filled out the report, she ran out to the parking lot to head for Mike’s office. She felt a gust a wind at her throat and reached to close her coat.
Something crunched underfoot. When she moved her shoe, she saw black buttons scattered across the pavement. She touched her chest and looked down, inhaling a sharp cold breath of air. Her coat had been slashed from the top to the bottom buttonhole, exposing small shreds of white inner lining.
What had he said? I’ll be seeing you.
*
Maggie raced up the dusty stairwell to Mike’s office, too impatient to wait for the rumbling old elevator to make its laborious ascent. Mike was assembling two mismatched mugs, tea bags, and a small pot of water steaming in an electric heater.
“So,” she blurted out. “You’ve found her.”
“Wait,” he said. “Take off your coat and sit down.”
“Uh oh.” Maggie’s emotional roller coaster went south. “You have bad news.”
“Not really, no. I think I know where she is.”
“France? Germany?” Maggie named some of Julie’s favorite haunts.
“Julie took a night plane to San Jose, Costa Rica.” Mike placed the cups on his desk and began filling them.
Maggie shrugged out of her coat and sank into the wobbly guest’s chair, trying to digest this piece of information. If Julie wanted to get out of the country, why not someplace she’d been before? “Why Costa Rica?” she asked.
“She was probably scared and in a hurry. It was the first flight out of the country after she got to the airport.”
“How do you know for sure she was on that plane?”
“It’s pretty easy to check passenger lists from the airport if you have the right credentials.”
“So then she’s safe. I was afraid she hadn’t even gotten out of town.” Maggie picked up the cup of tea, enjoying its spicy fragrance and the way it warmed her fingers. Things were looking better. Julie could speak Spanish. This could turn out to be nothing more than exciting adventure.
Mike took a packet of sweetener and slowly stirred it into his tea. “It’s not quite that simple,” he said.
“What do you mean? You said yourself she’s out of the country. The only thing is, I wonder where she got the money for a plane ticket.”
“There are a couple of things to worry about,” Mike said. “First, if I could find out where she was going, so could someone else. Next problem is
the one you mentioned. What is Julie doing for money?”
Maggie closed her eyes. What was Mike getting at? Julie had never stolen so much as a penny from Maggie’s purse. She wouldn’t have taken money that wasn’t hers. “Maybe someone else was with her,” she said.
Mike shook his head. “No, she was alone. Also, Kevin DuFrain’s so called accidental death was probably a homicide. I told you from the get-go that he was probably dealing drugs.”
“Drugs? What kind of drugs?”
“Cocaine, mostly. But some methamphetamine, too. This county is full of meth labs. They’ve busted over 100 in the past year.”
“Why Clark County? Is there some special ingredient that can only be found here?”
“Not really. You can make meth from some common products: decongestant pills, lighter fluid, camera batteries, to name a few. I guess you can just say it’s a skill that’s caught on in Lewiston and now there’s a network operating. We’re at the crossroads of the country, readily accessible from each coast. It’s easy money and Kevin was benefiting from it. That was a new Porsche he crashed.”
“Are you saying Julie was pulled into something illegal? Could she go to prison?” Numb with fright, Maggie leaned on the desk to steady herself.
“Whoa, your mind is racing too fast. Slow down.” Mike squeezed her arm. “All I’m saying is that she could have gotten caught up in some kind of mess. If you and I know she was with Kevin the night he was killed, other people know it, too. And they also knew she flew to San Jose.”
“You’re saying they might follow her?”
Mike ran a forefinger around the rim of his teacup, avoiding Maggie’s eyes. “Possibly.”
“Then we have to go find her.”
“We? I’m not sure that’s feasible. I don’t speak Spanish, and neither do you. I’d be lying if I said I thought I’d be any good at finding her.”
“Then I need to contact the FBI, or the CIA don’t I?”
Mike frowned. “Maggie, are you absolutely sure Julie wasn’t helping Kevin? If she was, and you’re trying to protect her, it may not be a good idea to get in touch with those agencies.”
Sour anger rose in Maggie’s throat. Did Mike actually think her daughter could be involved in something illegal? He didn’t know Julie at all. She opened her mouth to protest, but she knew Mike’s concerns were valid. Still, she had the urge to get on a plane to San Jose without so much as stopping at home to pack her bags. But what would she do when she got there?