I took a sip of the steaming liquid, feeling energized. I picked up the book, and once again, read the first line.
By the time, I’d finished the sentence, I couldn’t keep my eyes open. I dropped the book on the floor and curled up on the couch, closing my eyes. I didn’t wake until the next morning.
I glanced at my watch. It was six a.m.
“What the hell?” I exclaimed. I had slept ten hours straight. The little red diary lay on the floor where I’d dropped it, closed.
I got up, stretched, and picked up the book. Was there something about this diary that was preventing me from reading it? A spell? A hex? I wondered about this, not really believing it.
Maybe I was just really tired and didn’t realize it, I reasoned as I brushed my teeth. I’ve been under a great deal of stress lately with Jeremy’s strange fevers and Vlad being on the loose. All that tension must be wearing me out. Yeah, that’s gotta be it. I’ll have to begin a program to try to reduce the pressures that are affecting my sleep. Maybe a little yoga would help?
39
Kate
Trouble in Paradise
THE NEXT COUPLE days I kept busy seeing patients and catching up on my journal reading. I tried one more time to get into that diary, but something about it seemed to have a narcotic effect on me.
I blamed this undue drowsiness on a heightened anxiety level and vowed I would do something about it. Exercise was one good way to reduce stress so I began to think about how I could incorporate fitness into our clinic practice. If we could partner with someone on the mainland, I thought we could offer a yoga class at the clinic, say two nights a week. I discussed this with Steve and he was enthusiastic about it. Together, we began contacting the numerous studios in town trying to find someone who would be willing to teach here on the island.
While I didn’t see much of Jeremy during the week, we kept in touch by text and phone.
On Thursday evening, I was just putting some chicken on the grill when my cell rang.
“Hello?” I answered.
“Dr. Pomeroy?”
“Yes, this is Kate Pomeroy.”
“Thank God. This is Smitty down at the boatyard. You need to get here right away.”
“Why? What’s happened?”
“I don’t know. But I just stopped by Jeremy’s boat to shoot the shit, pardon my French, and found him curled up on the deck. He’s awful sick.”
I took a deep breath. It was happening again. “Okay,” I said. “Can you get him to your office or somewhere inside? He shouldn’t be out in the cold and it’s snowing, too.”
“Yeah, I’ll get him inside.”
“Good. I should be there in about ten – fifteen minutes.”
I hung up the phone without saying goodbye and ran to the bedroom. I was wearing only my pajamas and robe. I quickly stripped and threw on jeans and a sweater. I grabbed my coat and my medical bag and hurried outside to the car.
The snow was coming down harder now, making the roads slippery and potentially dangerous. My car, like most island vehicles, was an older model and didn’t have four-wheel drive.
Carefully, I backed down the driveway and began the short trip to where Jeremy worked on his boat. I spun out once, taking a corner too fast, but managed to keep the car on the road. I breathed a sigh of relief when I saw the lights of the boatyard looming in the distance.
Pulling down the gravel entryway, I stopped in front of the office where I assumed Smitty would have taken Jeremy.
I turned off the ignition, grabbed my bag, and opened the car door. Smitty was right there waiting for me.
“Be careful, Dr. Pomeroy,” he said. “It’s icy and I don’t think the salt has taken effect yet.”
“Thank you,” I replied. “Where’s Jeremy?”
“Inside. On the couch. I covered him with a blanket and tried to get him to drink some water. But he’s really out of it.”
I nodded as I followed Smitty inside.
I found Jeremy lying on the couch, moaning softly. I checked his vitals. His temperature was again high – just over 104 degrees. He appeared to be delirious.
“What happened?” I asked.
“What do you mean?” Smitty replied.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t make myself clear. What I meant to ask was do you recall anything unusual that happened today or early this evening? Anything that might have affected Jeremy?”
Smitty scratched his head, thinking. “Only thing was the Morrisons.”
“What do you mean? What about the Morrisons?”
“Well, they stopped by – Terry, Mary, and their grandfather. Terry said the old man wanted to see how a lobster boat was converted for scalloping. Said they wanted to chat with Jeremy.”
I frowned. What the hell were they doing? It didn’t make any sense.
“Dr. Pomeroy?”
“I’m sorry. Can you help me get him into the car? I need to take him to the clinic.”
“Of course. Here, let me get him up.”
The drive to back to the clinic was harrowing. The road was covered with snow and it was difficult to know where the shoulder ended and the road began, but we made it without mishap. I’d sent a text to Steve before leaving the boatyard and he was waiting with a gurney when we arrived.
“I was hoping this wouldn’t happen again,” he said as he helped me get Jeremy from the car. “Any idea what brought this on?”
I shook my head.
We wheeled Jeremy up the ramp into Stormview.
“If this episode follows the same course as the others,” I said as we entered the building, “he’ll be fine in the morning. However, I’m afraid the third time is the charm. I’m going to have to talk to him about seeing Dr. Martin in Boston.”
Dr. Thomas Martin was a Professor of Oncology at Mass General. I knew him from my time at Memorial and respected his work.
“Do you think Jeremy will comply?”
“I think so. This has got to be scaring him, too. And, anyway, it’s just to rule things out. I’m confident this isn’t indicative of a malignancy, but we’ve got to cross all the T’s and dot all the I’s.”
As I spoke, Steve nodded, but I could tell he knew my words were mostly false bravado. He knew I was scared.
Steve smiled. “Okay, you’ll get it ruled out. I’m with you. In my experience, cancer doesn’t present like this. Now, what do you need me to do?”
“Just like before. I’ll get him hooked up to the machines and an IV. If you could get a cooling blanket, that would be great. I’ll sit with him until his fever breaks. If it follows the same pattern, that should happen around two or three in the morning.”
We got Jeremy settled and I pulled up a chair beside his bed to wait. I tucked my legs under me and leaned back, letting my mind wander.
Why had the Morrisons gone to visit him at the boatyard? The reason they told Smitty sounded flimsy to say the least. And the other two times Jeremy had come down with fevers, they had been the last people he’d seen then, too. Why? Does that old man have some kind of communicable disease? Is he passing something on to Jeremy? But that doesn’t make much sense. If he were a carrier, why haven’t Mary or Terrance gotten sick?
I thought about Ian Morrison. He looked impossibly old and frail. Yet, he had shown amazing resilience when he’d emerged from that comatose state. And, there was something else I couldn’t quite put my finger on. Something about him that put me off. Irrationally, I thought of him as unclean.
That book of Maude’s mentioned Ian Morrison and called him an evil whoreson. Why? I never can get far enough into it to find out what it’s all about. Always falling asleep. That doesn’t make sense either. Maybe there is a hex on that book. Perhaps Maude didn’t want anyone reading it – anyone, that is, who wasn’t her kin. I hadn’t succumbed to a bout of sleepiness when I’d first discovered the diary in the silo. Perhaps that’s the key. Maybe I’ll have to return to the silo to read it.
The thought of going into the tunnels with Vlad still
on the loose frightened me. The FBI might not think he was around, but I did. But I had to help Jeremy and something in my gut told me that Maude’s diary might hold the key.
Resolved, I decided to go to the silo after Jeremy’s fever broke and he was stable. The book wasn’t long and shouldn’t take me more than a couple hours to read.
Time passed slowly and I dozed off and on. Finally, as I’d predicted, at a little after three in the morning, Jeremy’s fever broke.
He cried out, jarring me out of my fitful sleep.
“I’m here,” I said, leaning close to him.
His face and body were wet with sweat, but his forehead was cool.
“Where am I?” he asked haltingly.
“At the clinic. Smitty from the boatyard called me. You had another fever, but you’re okay. I’m going to get something to dry you off. Okay? I’ll be right back.”
Jeremy nodded wearily and I rushed off to the linen closet to get a towel and some rubbing alcohol.
After I’d wiped the stale sweat from his body, I removed the cooling blanket and replaced it with a clean sheet and cotton blanket.
“There,” I said, tucking the blanket around him. “This will keep you warm.”
“Thanks,” he murmured, not really fully awake.
I opted to leave in his IV and catheter and, checking him one more time to be sure he was sleeping, left the room.
Steve was dozing at the front desk, but roused when he heard me coming.
“What’s up?” he asked. “How’s the patient?”
“Better. Fever’s gone and he’s sleeping. I’m going to run home and catch a little shuteye. I’ll be back before we open.”
“Don’t worry,” said Steve. “He’s still hooked up to the monitors and they’ll alert me if anything’s amiss. I’ll page you if something happens.”
“Thanks. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
Steve blushed. “All in a day’s work.”
I smiled, then grabbed my coat and headed for the door. “Any change – good or bad – page me. Okay?”
“Yes, Doctor. Now, go get some sleep.”
I walked back to the Carriage House. The snow was tapering off but there were several inches of accumulation on the ground. Walking, I decided, was much safer that driving.
Entering my home, I knew immediately that something wasn’t right.
It just felt wrong.
I closed the door quietly behind me then hurried to the kitchen. After the last incident, wanting to protect myself, I had secreted a handgun in one of the utility drawers. It was a Beretta 92FS that I had purchased legally and trained on after the events of the summer before. It was a 9mm, standard issue for U.S. military officers and lethal enough to put even Vladimir Sokolov down. I pulled it from the drawer and, holding it out in front of me, walked carefully from room to room, afraid someone might be hiding in the shadows.
I didn’t find anyone, but I did find something that told me someone uninvited had been in my home. My laptop, as usual, sat on a desk in a corner of the living room. The wall to the left of the desk was lined with bookshelves. Most of the books had been there since I was a little kid. They were classics – Jane Eyre, Wuthering Heights, and books by Jane Austin and Agatha Christie. My mother’s journals were there, too, lined up on a bottom shelf – one for every summer we’d spent on Storm.
All of these books appeared normal, but for one. A dog-eared volume of Mourning Becomes Electra was not lined up with the others. It looked as if someone had taken it from the shelf and, when they replaced it, neglected to push it back into its place.
I stared at the book. I hadn’t touched it in years. Someone or something had been here.
I bit my bottom lip. I knew I should check the cameras to verify that an intruder had, indeed, broken into my house. But I’d checked them before when things weren’t as they seemed and they revealed nothing. Why would today be any different? Either someone was coming in here and moving stuff around just to get into my head or I was going stark, raving mad. But at this moment in time, I didn’t care which was true.
I thought about calling the police, but doubted they would or could come out tonight, given the weather.
I stood quietly, thinking, then, bowing to convention, checked the back door and the entrance to the tunnels, finding both of them securely locked from the inside. Despite my reluctance, I opened the nanny cam app to see what had been recorded. It was as I suspected – the film showed nothing out of the ordinary.
I was sure someone was messing with me, but I couldn’t really dwell on that right now. I was fed up with being everybody’s pawn. I was, for the time being, safe and sound. I’d deal with the suspected intruder later. But at this moment in time, I had to focus on Jeremy. He was my priority and I had to find out what the connection was between his illness and that old codger, Ian Morrison.
Without further thought, I picked up Maude’s diary and put it into my backpack along with my pager and cell. I put on my headlamp, then grabbed a flashlight from the utility drawer and tucked it into the pocket of my down jacket. I pulled on a pair of boots that I gotten on a ski trip to Canada that were warm, cozy, and comfortable and had about the best tread that I’d ever seen. It would be cold in the tunnels, and possibly icy. I didn’t want to slip down there and injure myself. Satisfied that I would be warm enough, I grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and added it to the stuff in my pack.
Finally, I picked up my handgun, made sure the safety was on, and tucked it into my coat pocket. I wanted to be ready for Vlad or anyone else I might find lurking in the tunnels below.
I checked once again to make sure the front and back doors were bolted securely, turned on the nanny cam, then proceeded to my bedroom closet where the trapdoor to the tunnels was located.
Unlocking it, I descended into the labyrinth.
40
Kate
The Silo
A BLAST OF cold air greeted me as I slipped through the trapdoor into the tunnels. Locking up behind me, I was glad I’d thought to wear my boots. The floor, always damp, was now littered with areas of black ice. Thus, I proceeded with caution.
I pulled my flashlight from my pocket and scanned the tunnel in front of me. It was empty – no sign of life. I walked carefully forward, stopping frequently to listen for the sound of footfalls or any other signs that I was not alone.
But the tunnel was empty and, with the exception of the constant sound of dripping water, silent.
As I walked, I thought about the invasion of my home. Could Vlad have somehow gotten hold of my keys? But even if he had, how would he know about the cameras? It didn’t make sense. And, what about what had happened to me at the clinic – my apparent reaction to a harmless antianxiety drug that I had taken numerous times before. I needed to get those pills to the mainland to be analyzed. That type of episode was eerily similar to ones I’d experienced last summer and, if I couldn’t prove that my pills had been replaced with something stronger, I would have to face the possibility that perhaps it was me who was causing or imagining everything that had happened.
The thought of this chilled me as I walked. Jeremy’s fevers had begun shortly after our engagement. Could they somehow be my fault, too? Was I that afraid of commitment?
Pushing this notion from my brain, I was glad to see that I had finally made it to the place where my tunnel – the one that led to the silo – began. I stopped and scanned the area surrounding the entrance with my torch.
Everything was silent and ordinary.
I was about to breathe a sigh of relief when the light from my headlamp caught something lying on the ground about ten feet away.
A piece of paper.
Approaching it carefully, I flashed my light down the tunnel. It was empty. Crouching, I examined the debris.
A Milky Way wrapper.
I picked it up and put it in my pocket, wondering if it had been left by one of the FBI agents who had canvassed the labyrinth a few weeks before
. Maybe Jeremy would remember if someone had been eating candy bars during the search.
Puzzled and a bit frightened by the possibility that the Milky Way lover wasn’t with law enforcement, I stood quietly, listening for anything untoward, but all remained silent.
Finally, satisfied that I was alone, I walked back to the entrance to my tunnel. I removed the lightweight, fake boulders that kept this entryway secret and, getting down on my hands and knees, entered the tunnel. When I was inside, I grabbed the handle that was on the back of the fake rocks and pulled them into place. Then I proceeded on the short journey to the silo.
By the time I reached the entrance, I was freezing. I pulled myself up into the tower and was gratified to find that, as always, the interior was warm and welcoming. How this occurred, I didn’t know, but I was grateful for it.
I took off my gloves, rubbing my hands together for warmth, wishing that I’d had the foresight to bring with me, not cold water, but a thermos of hot chocolate or tea. Shaking my head at my stupidity, I scanned the room.
Everything was as it always was. Nothing out of place.
I pulled my pager and cell phone from my backpack and placed them on the desk. The oil lamp was already lit giving off a soft glow that illuminated the room. Who or what caused this to happen every time I came here, I didn’t know. Was it witchcraft? I smiled thinking about that possibility.
As I sat down, I noticed something new on the desk – a tall pottery mug with steam rising above it. Curious, I leaned over and sniffed.
The aroma of cinnamon and cloves.
Grinning, I picked up the mug and took a sip.
Hot tea, sweetened just as I liked it.
I took another sip, then walked over to the window and gazed out. The moon was full, shining down on the newly fallen snow. It was beautiful and I wished for one moment that I could just stand there and enjoy it.
The Tao of the Viper: A Kate Pomeroy Mystery (The Kate Pomeroy Gothic Mystery Series Book 2) Page 14