When the Cat's Away

by Dane McCaslin

  Melissa didn't need much encouragement to spill her life's story. She had almost thirty years' nursing experience, mostly in geriatric settings, although she'd started at a children's hospital, where apparently her fashion sense had been formed and then frozen in time. Every so often, Melissa paused to chug down her Diet Pepsi. She finished the second can and retrieved a third from the refrigerator, all without ever expecting or even allowing Helen to get in a word herself.

  As the mandatory hour ran out, Helen dropped increasingly blunt hints that it was time to leave. Melissa kept chattering as she emptied yet another soda can. Something more than mere words would be necessary to evict her.

  Helen might not be able to wrestle the woman out the door, but Melissa had revealed her one weakness: her soda addiction. Empty the remaining cans down the sink, and Melissa would need to leave to replenish her supply. Then Helen could complain to the nursing agency that she didn't trust a nurse who demonstrated such appalling ignorance of all the health risks associated with diet soda. With luck, the new nurse might be more amenable to bribery.

  Melissa was recounting a heroic rescue of an elderly patient, who probably hadn't even wanted to be rescued, when Helen decided she'd had enough. Surely, the mandatory hour was up, and if Melissa wasn't leaving, Helen was.

  She pulled her cell phone out of her pocket and dialed the number of a car service.

  Melissa stood and said, "Excuse me while I get another soda."

  Helen waved the woman toward the refrigerator and listened impatiently for the phone call to be answered. The dispatcher picked up on the third ring, and Helen said, "I need a ride."

  "Do you have a day in mind?"

  "Yes. Today. Now. As soon as possible."

  The dispatcher had apparently heard stranger requests, and didn't hesitate. "I'll send someone right away if you'll give me your address."

  Helen gave her the information. "Tell the driver to hurry."

  "Of course," the dispatcher said. "And where shall I tell him you wish to go?"

  "I don't care."

  "Excuse me?"

  There was no time to explain. In another minute, Melissa would be refueled and watching her reluctant patient. If Helen wanted to leave, she had to go now. "Never mind. I'll tell the driver when he gets here."

  "I suppose that will work," the dispatcher said. "He can call us with the itinerary. I'll just need your credit card information. We have a two-hour minimum that has to be paid up front."

  Helen gave her the numbers and was hanging up when Melissa settled back on the sofa with two more cans of Diet Pepsi, one on the side table and one in her hand. "Now, where was I?"

  "I don't know."

  Melissa chugged down more Diet Pepsi while she thought about it, and Helen crossed the room to get her purse from the desk. Her favorite walking cane was right where it was supposed to be, hanging from the doorknob, reminding her that she should take it with her. She didn't use it often, but the last couple weeks her hip had been particularly unstable. Falling flat on her face in the front walkway, with both Melissa and the limo driver watching, would definitely ruin her dramatic exit.

  Helen grabbed the cane and purse and carried them over to the window, where she could watch for the limo, while still pretending to listen to the nurse.

  "Now I remember what I was talking about," Melissa said, setting down her soda for the moment. She launched another story, which Helen tuned out.

  As long as Helen had a car and driver for the next two hours, she might as well do something useful. Mostly, she just needed time to think about how to get Melissa to leave her alone without upsetting her nieces unnecessarily. There had to be a way to offer her nieces some peace of mind, without having to endure Melissa.

  She used to have people who could take care of this sort of thing for her, with a single phone call. A brief word with her ex-husband's security staff, or one of the lawyers he kept on retainer, and the problem would have gone away.

  That was the answer, Helen thought, suddenly energized. Lawyers. She didn't need a whole fleet of them, like her ex-husband did. A single competent lawyer ought to be enough to handle one highly caffeinated, overly enthusiastic nurse.

  A black Lincoln Town Car crunched along the gravel in the driveway, stopping with the passenger door directly lined up with the front path. A bald, wiry, dark-suited man emerged from the driver's side and headed for the cottage's front door.

  "I'm going to see my lawyer," Helen said on her way out of the cottage. "Lock up when you leave."

  * * *

  "Quick, quick." Helen gestured for the driver to return to the front seat without waiting to usher her into the back. "I can close my own door. We need to get out of here before she comes after us."

  "Most folks choose a less conspicuous vehicle for a getaway car, you know, but you're the boss." The driver climbed into the front. "For the next two hours, at least. They did tell you it was a two-hour minimum, didn't they?"

  "No problem." Helen pulled the door shut behind her before checking over her shoulder at the door to reassure herself Melissa couldn't possibly stop them now. Melissa could call Lily to complain, but it was too late to do anything more than that. "Just start driving."

  The driver put the car into gear and started down the driveway. "The dispatcher didn't tell me where we're going."

  "To see my lawyer."

  "Not planning on suing me, are you?" the driver said with a nervous chuckle.

  "I'm not suing anyone at the moment," Helen said, "but it never hurts to be prepared."

  The driver reached the end of the driveway. "Which way?"

  Instead of answering him, she leaned forward to read his identification card on the dashboard, and said, "Are you from around here, Mr. Clary?"

  "Call me Jack," he said. "It's too confusing otherwise. The Clary name is more common around here than Smith or Jones. You'll see, once you get to know the area."

  She'd been spending summers here in Wharton for fifteen years now, and it was only now that she realized she didn't know much about the town. She'd always been delivered to the cottage by her husband's staff and then picked up a few weeks later, without ever leaving the property. It was different now. Wharton was her home, not just a vacation spot.

  "Do you know any good lawyers?"

  "My cousin Hank used this guy named Tate a couple years ago," Jack said. "He must be good, because he kept Hank out of jail, and if anyone deserves to be in jail, it's Hank. Along with his brothers. They'd probably be locked up, too, come to think of it, if they hadn't also hired this Tate guy."

  A criminal lawyer wasn't what she'd had in mind—Melissa was a minor nuisance, not a criminal—but if the alternative was going back and being referred to as sweetie or honey or something equally saccharine, she might as well check him out. "Tate it is, then. Take me to his office, please."

  Helen watched out the side window as the thick woods of the acreage around her cottage gave way to neighborhoods of large houses and only a few strategically planted saplings, and then finally to urban lots with more paving than grass. She recognized the approach to the center of town, and, while she'd never paid much attention before, it was probably where the local attorneys had their offices.

  A few minutes later, Jack parked the limo in front of a weathered-looking Cape, not unlike Helen's own cottage, except that it was on a tiny lot in a more urban zone and no trees. There was a small paved parking area in front, a long handicapped ramp leading up to the main entrance, and a discreet sign on the building that read Tate & Bancroft, PC, Attorneys At Law.

  The car door swung open, and Jack was standing there, offering Helen his hand to help her out of the back seat. He probably did the same thing for all of his customers, but it only reminded her that she wasn't the same person she'd been before the lupus had started to really act up. Before then, she'd have been out of the vehicle and halfway to the building's entrance by the time the driver could have unbuckled his seatbelt.

  It didn't matte
r so much what Jack thought of her abilities, but lawyers worked in a world where image was everything. Their own image, their client's image, and even the judicial system's image. They knew it, but few realized how much they, themselves, were taken in by appearances and failed to see reality. Chances were that this Tate guy wasn't going to see Helen as the strong, smart, attention-grabbing person she used to be; he was going to see the decrepit, slow, and easy-to-ignore person she'd become. If that was all he saw, he might dismiss her as not worthy of his time.

  Jack bent down to look inside the car. "Do you need help?"

  "No." The lawyer might not have time to see her without an appointment, but if she didn't at least try to see him, she'd have to find somewhere else to go. She wanted to be sure Melissa would have left before they returned to the cottage. Being rejected by an attorney wasn't as bad as being accepted by Melissa.

  Helen slid to the edge of the seat. "I can get out on my own, thank you."

  Many people, especially in the service industry, would have insisted on helping, but Jack took a step back. She made a mental note to leave him an extra-large tip, as a thank you for respecting her wishes.

  A DOSE OF DEATH

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