Guarded Prognosis

by Richard L. Mabry MD

  Caden promised to make himself available for whatever role Dr. Markham would allow him and to pray for his father in the interim. Both pieces of news thrilled Henry. He hadn’t been a very good model for Caden when it came to religion in general and praying specifically, but if God granted him the time, he planned to change that.

  “Caden,” Beth said. “You need to tell your father what happened to us this afternoon.”

  “I don’t want to upset—”

  Beth’s voice became more forceful. “Caden, I think your father can take hearing about our situation. Besides, it’s all over now.”

  “Okay. Dad, we had a bit of excitement this afternoon. Let me say that we’re fine, and the whole thing is settled. I was still debating telling you about it, since you’ve got so much on your plate. But I guess you need to know.”

  Henry listened as Caden related how he and Beth were held at gunpoint, their rescue, and the underlying plot that had been revealed.

  “But you’re not in any danger now?”

  “No, we’re fine. We met with the Freeman detective who’s handling the investigation. I suspect there’ll be a number of law enforcement agencies involved before it’s brought to a conclusion, but other than testifying, we’re out of it.”

  During his son’s relating of the events, Henry felt his heart beat speed up and the cold sweat form on his forehead. When Caden wound up his narrative, his dad said, “Thank God you and Beth are okay.”

  There was a brief pause before Caden’s next words. “Are you serious about the thanking God? That just doesn’t sound like my father.”

  “I know. It seems a bit out of character for me, but that’s something I intend to change. I talked with the pastor, and he assures me it’s never too late.” Henry swallowed. “I hope he’s right.”

  They talked for a bit more before Henry said, “I hate to cut this short, but Jean’s coming over tonight. She volunteered to cook supper, and I decided that it would be foolish of me to turn down a nourishing, home-cooked meal when I should be building myself up for the surgical procedure next week.”

  Caden’s chuckle came through clearly. “Sounds reasonable to me.” There was a pause before he continued. “Dad, I’m happy you’re letting God be a part of your life now. I’m trying to do the same thing. And I’m glad Jean is going to be with you through this. Give her my love.”

  Henry was still sitting in his recliner when the doorbell rang. He’d intended to give Jean a key but hadn’t gotten around to it yet. He heaved himself out of the chair and went to the front door. Without looking, he opened the door and said, “Jean. Come in.”

  But it wasn’t Jean on the front step. It was another woman, and she held a pistol aimed directly at his chest.

  23

  Nelda Horner stepped inside and kicked the door closed behind her, the pistol never wavering.

  “Nelda, what’s the meaning of this? Why the gun?”

  “Anyone who knows anything realizes that carcinoma of the pancreas is a death sentence. I just don’t know when your time will come. Claude was willing to wait, but I’m going to hasten it a bit.” She gestured with the gun. “Your study should serve nicely. Of course, that’s just a fancy word for the place you sit in your recliner and think.”

  “I don’t—”

  “You’ve told Claude about the study. I understand that after Nancy’s stroke you spent a lot of time in there. That’s probably where you first considered suicide. And I think it would be a good place to stage the end of your life.” Again, she gestured with the gun, and her voice became louder. “Now move.”

  Henry walked in front of Nelda all the way to the study, wondering if he was going to feel the bullet that hit him. When he reached his recliner, he sat. He didn’t know what was coming next, but he knew that the longer he stayed alive, the better his chances were. “Nelda, I don’t understand this.”

  She pulled a pill bottle from the pocket of her fashionable jacket. “I want you to take these—all of them. No need to write a note. It’s fairly self-evident. You’ve thought about it and decided there was no use postponing the inevitable. So, you took your own life.”

  “Why would I do that, Nelda? I’ve decided to fight this thing. My surgery is scheduled for next—”

  “Anyone can change their mind. And if you’re wondering about the label on this pill bottle, there isn’t one. I doubt the police will bother to check the fingerprints on it, but if they do, they’ll find yours. When I close your cold, dead hand around this, everything will end perfectly.”

  “I’m won’t do this, Nelda. I’m not committing suicide.”

  “Then I’ll shoot you. I’ll rig it to look like a home invasion in which you ended up being shot. After you’re dead, I’ll go through the house, take money and jewelry, create a mess, then leave.” Nelda didn’t flinch as she described what she planned. “Either way, the million-dollar insurance policy you carry on yourself, payable to Claude, will pay off. And he can use the money to replace what he’s been stealing from the practice.”

  “How did you know . . . ”

  “I checked. You’ve had it long enough that it will pay no matter how you die. Suicide or home invasion, it doesn’t matter to me.”

  Nelda held out the bottle. Henry reached forth a trembling hand to take the amber vial. But as he took it, he saw Jean in the doorway of the room. She had taken off her shoes and now tip-toed toward Nelda. If Jean created a distraction, could he spring from the chair and get the pistol away from Claude’s wife before she pulled the trigger?

  “I think the policeman behind you has heard enough,” Henry said.

  “You don’t expect me to fall for that trick, do you?”

  That was when Jean threw the book she had taken from the shelf behind her—not at Nelda, but rather toward the drapes covering the window to Henry’s right. Nelda turned slightly, the gun tracked away from him, and he lunged out of his chair toward her, hitting her the way he used to tackle runners when he played cornerback for his college several decades ago.

  He had thought he could knock the gun barrel upward, then wrest the pistol away from the woman. He’d figured that between the element of surprise and her sex, he could disarm Nelda. Unfortunately, that was proving no easy task. It took all Henry’s might, using both hands, to bend her arm back until the gun barrel was pointed upward. But he couldn’t hold it there.

  He summoned up strength he didn’t know he had. His arm shook with the effort, but Nelda was winning. He watched the barrel of the gun slowly come back down until it was pointing at his face. He squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for the shot.

  But the sound never came. Instead, Nelda’s head snapped back, and a harsh gurgle came from her. Caden watched as she tried to insert the fingers of her free hand under the cord that was looped around her head to encircle her neck. “Stop . . . ” she said in a raspy voice.

  Instead, Jean, who had both her hands on the cord, must have pulled even harder. As Nelda struggled, Henry managed to move the barrel of the revolver from its position near his face, eventually pointing it toward the ceiling. Finally, he felt her grip on the gun loosen as she seemed to stop struggling for breath. He grabbed the pistol and rolled away, letting Nelda’s body fall forward.

  “Jean, you can stop now. We don’t want to kill her.”

  “I don’t know exactly what was going on, but I could tell what she was going to do.” Jean was still breathing hard.

  Henry found that his hand trembled as he pointed the pistol toward Nelda. He took a deep breath. “I don’t know how you got in, but you’re quite literally a lifesaver.”

  “I found the front door open. There was a woman’s loud voice coming from the study, so I decided to be quiet as I approached.”

  Henry recalled Nelda reaching back with her foot to kick the door shut. She must not have managed to get it fully closed. “Where did you get that cord you used to choke her?”

  “This lamp,” Jean said. “I hope I didn’t crack it, but it was t
he first thing I could find to use.”

  “No problem. I think Nelda and Claude gave it to us as a wedding present, and I’ve always hated it.

  Nelda moaned and slowly moved one arm.

  “I’ll hold the revolver on her,” he said. “You call 9-1-1.”

  Caden had his key out, ready to enter his father’s house, but found the door unlocked. He hurried in, with Beth right behind him. “Dad, where are you?”

  “In here, in the study.”

  When Beth and Caden entered the room, they found Henry and Jean waiting for them. Two policemen were also there, but Caden ignored them, rushing to hug his father.

  “Dad, we came as soon as we could. Are you okay?”

  Beth added her own greeting, then said, “Are you sure you’re not hurt?”

  “I’m fine.” Henry looked at the woman who stood beside him. “I wasn’t going to bother you, but Jean insisted.”

  “I’m glad she did,” Caden said. “And I’m glad you listened to her. Sometimes you need a woman telling you the right thing to do.” He looked at Beth, who was smiling. “We both do.”

  One of the two policemen approached Henry. “We’re headed out now. The detectives have already gone. Things look secure here. Can you make it down to police headquarters tomorrow about ten to sign a statement?”

  “I’ll be there. And thanks.” Henry waited until the front door closed. “Why don’t we sit down so I can answer your questions?”

  Caden and Beth started to take the sofa, but Jean and Henry were already heading there, so they sat in chairs across from them.

  “Dad, why did Mrs. Horner do this?”

  “When Claude and I started the practice, we decided that if either of us died, the other would need money to keep things going,” Henry said. “That’s why we took out two one million-dollar key-man policies. Apparently, Claude has been dipping into the practice finances, and he feared that if . . . that when I died, any audit would turn up the shortage. When he found out what I had—and he suspected it long before I told him—Claude was relieved. Statistics being what they are, he knew I’d probably die soon. And he was going to use the money from that policy to repay what he’d taken from the practice.”

  “You mean embezzled, don’t you?” Caden said.

  “I don’t like to use that word, but yes.”

  “Did Dr. Horner know his wife was going to do this?” Caden asked.

  “I doubt it. Nelda sounded like she was acting on her own. But we’ll see.” Henry grimaced. “I’d imagine the police are bringing Claude in for a not-so-nice interview right now.”

  “And Mrs. Horner?” Beth asked. “Do you think she’ll confess? I’d hate to see you have to go through a trial.”

  “Nelda will be checked over at the hospital, and then they’ll transfer her to a holding cell. I suspect Claude will be ready to tell police what they want, but whether he’s ready to implicate his wife, I don’t know. Either way, they’re both looking at some serious jail time.”

  “How about your practice?” Caden asked. “Do I need to plan on coming over and dealing with your patients?”

  “You’ve got a hole in your own practice to fill now that Dr. Russell is out of the picture,” Henry said. “I can handle my problems, and I suspect you’ll be able to take care of yours.” He winked. “God has a way of working these things out.”

  “This is nice,” Caden said, and meant it. A month had passed since both he and his dad had narrowly escaped death. They had just marked Henry’s recovery from his surgery by attending the services of the First Community Church of Freeman, and now his father and Jean were joining him and Beth for Sunday lunch.

  Henry, as expected, had complained because of the trouble he was causing. “We can’t eat together. I have some dietary restrictions after my surgery. I’m able to eat solid food now, within reason, but I have to avoid sugar, fats, and fiber.”

  “We realize that,” Jean said. “Beth and I put our heads together, and I can assure you the food we put on the table will be fine for you. We’re just happy you’re doing so well.”

  After Henry said grace that managed to cover the food, his recovery so far, and several other things, the four began to pass dishes around.

  Caden looked at his dad and felt a thrill of prayers answered, lives changed, and safety despite attempts to kill half the people seated around the table. “Dad, I just can’t believe Nelda Horner would do such a thing. Or, for that matter, Claude Horner.”

  Henry looked distrustfully at what appeared to be mashed potatoes. But Jean and Beth had assured him everything on the table was compatible with his diet, so he helped himself to some. “I wish Claude had told me he needed money, instead of stealing it from the practice.”

  Beth accepted the bowl from Henry, helped herself, and passed it to Jean.

  Jean paused, holding the food. “Will he be charged as an accessory to attempted murder, or what?”

  “Both Nelda and Claude Horner invoked their right to remain silent and insisted on legal representation. Since they’re married, they can’t be compelled to testify against each other. Right now, their attorneys are looking for a deal. Meanwhile, accountants are going over our books,” Henry said. “I’m sure they’ll both be serving long sentences when it’s all over.” He tasted the material he’d just put on his plate and discovered that what he was eating was mashed cauliflower. “Not bad.”

  “What did you do about your practice?” Caden asked.

  Henry swallowed another mouthful and followed it with a sip of iced tea. He’d learned to drink it without sugar, and although it was no substitute for the sweet tea he preferred, he’d adjust. “For the immediate future, some of my colleagues have offered to do the procedures already scheduled by Claude and me if the patients are willing. They’ll also take care of post-op appointments.”

  “What about long term?” Caden asked.

  “Got it covered,” Henry said. “Yesterday I talked to a young surgeon who’s interested in the practice.” He paused to take another sip of tea. “In our initial conversation, I said Claude and I needed him to come in with us because of my illness. Today I asked him how he’d like to take over the whole thing.”

  “And his answer?”

  “Once he decided I wasn’t kidding, he told me he was very interested. He’ll call me back tomorrow, but it looks good.”

  Jean looked around the table and seemed to relax when she saw everyone enjoying the food. “Caden, what have you done after Dr. Russell . . . er . . . left the practice suddenly?”

  Caden blotted his lips with his napkin. “You mean since her arrest? Dr. Sparling and I divided up her patients, which was a bit of a stretch initially, but we’ve got it covered. A woman who graduated from the surgery residency program where I trained is coming up next weekend to look over the practice.”

  Beth chimed in. “And she’s happily married to an anesthesiologist. I think there’s room for both of them to take over Ann’s space.”

  “What about you, Dad? Dr. Ross has kept me in the loop after your surgery, but we haven’t gotten into specifics.”

  Henry put down his silverware, used his napkin, and looked around the table. “Dr. Markham thinks the Whipple procedure was successful. Dr. Ross talked to me about adding post-op chemotherapy or radiation. Studies vary on whether it would be helpful. I told him anything that gave me a better chance of making that five-year survival group would be worthwhile, even if there are side effects.”

  Beth suddenly excused herself and left the table. Despite attempts by the others to keep the conversation going, they all heard the faint retching noises that issued from the bathroom. Eventually, they heard a toilet flush, water run, and a door open and close.

  “Sorry,” Beth said as she took her seat.

  Caden frowned. “Hon, you had to leave church a couple of times this morning, and that’s the second time since we got here that you’ve had to run to the bathroom. Are you okay?”

  Beth looked around the table
and smiled. “I’m okay, but I think I’ll need to see a doctor in the next week or two.”

  “Can it wait that long?” Henry asked.

  “As I understand it, what I have is pretty normal and generally self-limited.” She turned her attention to Caden. “But I think it’s time you started interviewing for a nurse to take my place.”

  “Why? Don’t you like working with me? Was it something I did?”

  Beth snickered. “Sort of.” Then she looked at Henry. “I’m glad things are going well with you. Because I want to see the expression on your face when you first hold your new grandchild.”

  WATCH FOR MY NEXT NOVELLA, EMERGENCY CASE, RELEASING THIS WINTER

  Dr. Kelly Irving strode from her house into the attached garage. She headed for her car, still fuming. Here it was, December 13, less than two weeks before Christmas, but she wasn’t in a holiday mood—not even after the snow that fell last night.

  The garage was cold, and she knew her car would be as well, so Kelly shrugged deeper into her coat. Of course, it was December, so what else should she expect? Here in this part of Texas, snow on the ground for Christmas was unusual, but it had come overnight—at least a smattering of the white stuff. Would it be a white Christmas? Frankly, she didn’t care.

  Kelly climbed into her car. She gave a glance to her husband’s BMW sitting to her right. Jack should be coming out of the house any minute, but right now Kelly didn’t care about him. Not after the fight they’d had.

  She pushed the button to open the garage door, then started her Subaru sedan. Kelly looked in the rearview mirror and briefly reflected that the snow on the roof of the house directly across the alley from her made the area look Christmas-like. She just wished her attitude were in tune with the season. There might be peace on earth, but not at her house.

  Kelly was on automatic pilot as she slipped her car into reverse and backed down the slightly inclined drive. The tires took hold easily, despite the dusting of snow that had fallen during the night, but nevertheless she went slowly, occasionally glancing at the rearview mirror but not bothering to look at the images the car’s back-up camera displayed. Suddenly she felt a bump, and the backward motion of her car hesitated, then stopped. Kelly shook her head. Please, not this morning. I’m already running late.