by Harry Kraus
He was taken aback. “Yes.” He lifted his head. “You sound surprised.”
She pushed her chair back and crossed her legs. “Tell me more.”
“She came over to my house the other evening. Snuck up on me from behind. She kissed my cheek.”
Carol stayed quiet, her eyes boring in on John, who felt uncomfortable beneath her inspection.
“I’ve not returned her e-mails. I’ve told her I’m engaged. She doesn’t seem to be put off. She seems intent on wanting a romantic relationship with me.”
“I’ll need to see the e-mails, John. I need you to put this in writing.”
“I’ve trashed the e-mails, Carol.” He paused. “I think we need to fire her.”
Carol tapped a silver pen against the desktop. “Are you reciprocating her feelings?”
John found himself blushing. “No.” He shook his head. “No, I mean, she’s an attractive woman, but no, I’ve told her clearly that she is only my friend.”
Carol squinted. “A man can send messages without words, John.”
He squirmed in his chair. “I’m not trying to send messages, Carol. I’ve told her I’m engaged.” He held up his hands. “But she doesn’t respect what I say.”
Carol pushed a button on her keyboard and looked at her computer monitor. “File a formal complaint. Put it in writing so I’ll have something to act on.” She looked back at John. “Then I’ll make a decision.”
He sighed. “Okay.” He stood up and hesitated. “She tells me you’ve asked her to help with my presentations in Richmond this week.”
Carol nodded.
“I’d really be more comfortable by myself.”
“You need her on this one, John. The Henrico doctor’s group is expecting the nice touches that she will add.”
“Can you at least talk to her? Warn her to keep things at a professional level.”
Carol’s attention was back on her computer monitor. “I’ll see what I can do.”
Bob Estes heard his name as he passed Carol Dawson’s doorway. He paused and smiled. “What’s up, boss?”
She motioned him in. “Shut the door.”
He obeyed.
“I need your perspective on something. You’re next in chain of command around here. I’ve got some personnel issues to sort out.”
He folded his hands across his lap. “Sure.”
“It’s about Ami and John.”
He raised his eyebrows. “You’ve noticed.”
“Noticed? Not exactly.” She sighed. “Ami came to me, very sweetly, and explained how her relationship with John had made a romantic turn. She told me she loved her job and hoped that her involvement with John wouldn’t compromise her ability to continue with the company.” Carol held up her hands. “I told her to be careful, and that what she did on her own time was her own business. As long as their relationship didn’t affect her work, I didn’t see any problem with it.”
Bob drummed his fingers on his thigh and wondered why John Cerelli seemed to be the lucky guy. He nodded. “Sounds like the right kind of advice.” He lowered his voice. “Did you warn her that John’s engaged? I’d hate to see her get hurt.”
Carol shook her head. “Not exactly. I wasn’t sure it was my place. Anyway, then in comes John with a different story. He says Ami is paying all kinds of attention to him. Visits outside work, e-mails, that kind of thing. He says he isn’t interested and is troubled by her desire to have a relationship. He wants me to fire her.”
“Oh, boy.”
“Exactly,” Carol said. “What’s your perspective? I know you spend a lot more time around them than I do. Someone doesn’t seem to be telling the truth.”
“John talks about his engagement some.”
Carol tapped her pen against the desk. “Anything else? Do you see any interaction with Ami that may suggest John is leading her on?”
“I’ve seen them together outside work. Once at a softball game. She was on his arm. And I’ve seen them out to lunch together.”
“What’s your take?”
“I’m not sure. John talks like Claire McCall is the only woman for him.”
“But his actions may speak otherwise.”
Bob shrugged. “I’m minding my own business around here.”
“But keep your eyes open for me. Has Ami ever been flirtatious with you?”
Bob stood up. “I wish.”
Chapter Seventeen
By Monday closing time, Claire was anxious to get out. The day had been hectic. It seemed everyone in Stoney Creek was battling the same flu virus and they all needed attention at once.
As she placed the last file in her out-box, Lucy handed her a chart to initial. “Sarah Payne called.”
“Another request for antibiotics?”
“No. She just wanted to tell us that she’d gone to the urgent care center in Carlisle after she left our office. The doctor there recognized that she needed antibiotics right away and put her on a Z-pack.”
Claire shook her head.
“She said she felt better after the first dose. She wanted to recommend that you try to keep up with the latest drug information so that your future patients can be better served.”
Claire looked up at her nurse. “And just where did Dr. Payne get her medical degree?”
Lucy laughed. “Don’t let her get to you. It serves Ms. Payne right to have to spend a small fortune for her medicines.”
Claire stood. “Thanks for your help today.”
Lucy smiled and led the way out the back door. They parted and Claire drove out to the Childress place.
She stood on the front stoop and rang the doorbell.
In a minute, the wooden door opened, leaving Claire and Nancy Childress separated by a screen door. Nancy spoke across the divide. “Hello, Dr. McCall.”
“Hi,” Claire responded. “Can I speak to you?”
Nancy didn’t offer to open the door between them. “Sure.”
“I assume Deputy Jensen came to see you.”
“He did.” She smiled. “So you’re too late.”
“Too late?”
“To influence what I said.”
“I’m not hear to influence what you say, Ms. Childress. I came hoping you can clarify a few things for me.”
Nancy nodded without speaking.
“I trust you told the deputy that I was nowhere around when your husband died.”
Nancy Childress stood with a stone expression, her hands on her hips. “I told him the truth.”
Claire shifted her feet. “Could you elaborate?”
“If you want to know whether you’re off the hook or not, maybe you should ask Deputy Jensen.”
Claire didn’t understand. Why was Nancy so cold? “Ms. Childress, have I done something to offend you? I’m sorry if I — ”
“Dr. McCall, you seem to have a short memory. How many times did I bring Richard to your office? You saw his suffering and yet were so reluctant to give him the quantity of pain medicine he needed.”
She was aghast. Every time Richard came, she provided a new prescription for narcotic pain relief. It was never the liberal quantity Nancy requested, but it was an amount Claire deemed safe and unlikely to be abused. She’d even offered him hospice care, which Nancy refused because it wasn’t covered by their insurance. Claire looked at Nancy, wondering if it was her own guilt that drove her to be so nasty. “I’m sorry, Ms. Childress. I always tried to provide what I thought was best.”
Nancy stood without moving, staring across the screen at Claire.
Claire cleared her throat. “There is one more thing. Do you have any idea why Ami would have thought I euthanized her stepfather?”
“Maybe she just assumed it. She knew I wanted medicine to relieve Richard’s suffering. And she knew your office had provided it. Maybe she just got mixed up.”
“Or could it have something to do with my relationship with John Cerelli?”
“John Cerelli? Ami’s boyfriend?”
Claire took
a deep breath. “John is my fiancé. He is not Ami’s boyfriend.”
Nancy put her hand to her mouth. “You’re the one.”
“The one?”
“Ami told me a woman was moving in on her territory.”
Claire held up her hand. “If she’s under the impression that I’m trying to take John Cerelli from her, she has it exactly backwards.”
“Then this John is a two-timin’ rascal.”
Claire shook her head. “I can assure you, John is not two-timing your daughter. If she has led you to believe that — ”
“Maybe you should investigate just how your fiancé spends his time away from you.”
“Ms. Childress, with all due respect, is it possible that Ami might be deceiving you?”
“Ami isn’t like that. She’s sweet. Vulnerable.” She glared across the screen. “Vulnerable enough for a man to take advantage.”
“And John Cerelli isn’t like that.” She leaned toward the door separating them. “Could Ami be living out a delusion?”
“Dr. McCall, do you know my daughter?”
“No, ma’am. We’ve never met.”
“Then I suggest you keep your judgments to yourself.” She paused, her eyes locked on Claire’s. “And I’d suggest you leave my daughter’s boyfriend alone.”
Claire opened her mouth to reply, but was met by the wooden door slamming in her face. So much for Virginia hospitality.
On her lunch break Tuesday, Claire was still stewing about Nancy’s comments when she stepped into Apple Valley Video Productions. Although they had come highly recommended as the team to record her wedding, the place lacked the ambiance that inspired confidence. Tucked in the rear of a beauty salon, the video shop’s every bit of shelf and wall space was covered with equipment in various stages of repair.
A man with an adolescent face and thick black glasses looked up from his desk.
Claire offered a weak smile. “You must be Josh.” She paused, looking at a video monitor with her image on it. It was grainy and a bit distorted, with rounded edges, Claire inside a blurry fishbowl. She looked around and wrinkled her nose. “Where’s the camera?”
The man smiled. “Here.” He lifted his hand to the edge of a shelf just behind his desk.
“I don’t get it.”
He waved his hand in front of a potted flower. “It’s a hidden camera. Here in the center of this flower.”
Claire leaned toward the plant and watched her image grow. “Amazing.” She stood upright. “I’m Claire McCall. I called about recording my wedding.”
He opened a scheduling book. “May five?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll need a hundred-dollar deposit.”
She nodded and pulled out her checkbook. As she leaned over to write the check, she looked up again at her image on the monitor. “Do you rent out the hidden cameras?”
“You’d be surprised at how many people want to watch other people.”
“Other people?”
“Employees.” He paused and put his hands behind his head. “A spouse.”
The jealousy she’d carried about Ami Grandle stimulated a dark thought. She could hide a camera in John’s office to see how he really talked to her. Claire glanced back at the monitor. But she could never do that. She trusted John.
She thought twice about the little pink lipstick smudge that John said was nothing. She trusted John. She wouldn’t resort to spying on him.
But she’d been deceived by other men before. And John Cerelli was not like other men.
Was he?
Jimmy Jenkins spent the afternoon taking 253 digital images of a gray squirrel in his backyard. He reviewed and promptly discarded 250 of them. Then he fumbled through a beginner piano book, watered an azalea bed, and waxed his Harley. Anything was better than moping around wishing he was with Della.
But the alluring fragrance of her hair hung fresh in his memory. There was something about her, the familiarity of her scent that had brought it all back. He’d never dreamed that his feelings for her could seem so fresh, so urgent. He hadn’t felt this alive with desire for years. But he knew Della regretted their relationship and there was little chance for a rekindling of old fire without Wally’s death.
He finished buffing the silver tank and stood back to admire the shine. Checking the saddlebag for his passenger helmet, he decided to take a ride. Maybe he could convince Della to grab a burger over at Fisher’s Café.
She was weeding a flower bed when he arrived, her smile making her look ten years younger. Wiping the perspiration from her forehead, she called, “Your mother would never have approved.”
“Since when did you ever care what my mother thought?” he laughed.
“I cared a great deal. It seems to me your mother always counted on me to keep you out of trouble.”
“My, how the years have twisted your memory!”
“I had to watch the clock so you wouldn’t get grounded for getting me in past curfew.”
He hung his helmet on the end of the handlebar. “Remember swimming up at Junction Reservoir?”
“You dared me to jump from the tower.”
“You were the only girl in the class who was brave enough.”
“Crazy enough.” Della seemed to be blushing at the memory. Her eyes narrowed. “You knew what would happen, didn’t you?”
“Never did find that bathing suit top, did we?”
“You didn’t look very hard.”
He shook his head. “It’s been a long time since I thought about those days.” He leaned his bike over on the stand. “What happened to us?”
Her eyes met his and looked away. It was a question that didn’t need discussion. They both knew the answer: a Navy man by the name of Wally McCall.
Della changed the subject. “I guess you heard about Mae Simpson’s wedding.”
Jimmy ignored her. “Let’s ride up to the reservoir, why don’t we? We can pick up some chicken at Fisher’s Café and have a picnic and watch the sunset.”
“Jimmy — ” Della stopped with her mouth open, studying his face. “I . . . You know I can’t.”
He sighed. “Just be my friend, Della.”
She looked down. “We were never very good at that.”
She was right about that. Everything about Della was all the way or nothing. There was very little gray in her black-and-white world. “Your marriage isn’t really a marriage anymore, is it? What would be the crime in — ” He stopped when he saw the disappointment on her face.
She changed the subject. Or was it linked in Della’s mind? “Did you suspect that Richard’s wife was going to help him die?”
“She made it pretty clear that she wanted to end his suffering.”
“Have you ever — ” She looked away.
“Helped someone die?”
Their eyes met. She nodded.
“No. At least not directly. I’ve given plenty of prescriptions for narcotics to terminally ill patients. But I never gave an injection to intentionally hasten death.”
“If I were Wally — ” She halted, her voice thickening. “I would want you to help me.”
He wasn’t sure what to say. He fiddled with his clutch lever.
“His life is hell, Jimmy. All he does is thrash around in that bed. They can’t even get him up in a chair anymore. They try to strap him down, but with his constant movements, he ends up in danger of choking himself or pulling the wheelchair over. He can’t eat regular food. He can’t have a normal conversation. He can’t go to the bathroom.”
Jimmy couldn’t seem to meet her gaze. He stepped off his cycle but didn’t move closer. He was afraid. If he did, he knew she would fall into his arms.
And that’s exactly what he wanted. And exactly what he needed to avoid if he was going to stay sane.
“He won’t last long this way.”
Della knelt in the mulch bed. “I’ve got work to do.”
He knew his response was less than what she wanted. But what could he do? He
wasn’t even practicing anymore.
He watched her for a minute as she pretended that her weeds were demanding her whole attention. Then, without speaking, he put back on his helmet and drove toward town.
As he approached the hill leading to Pleasant View Home, he had a sudden inspiration.
He needed to see Wally face-to-face.
That night Claire looked at the clock with blurred eyes. Three a.m.. What had nudged her from sleep? Uneasy, she reached for the gun on the nightstand. The phone sounded again. What in the world? Who is calling at this time of night?
She plodded to the kitchen phone. “Hello.”
The voice on the other end was feminine. Strangely familiar, but lilted with a heavy southern accent. “Hello, Claire.”
“Who’s this?”
“You don’t need to know.”
Claire shook her head, her alarm and frustration mounting. “What? Who’s this?”
The woman’s voice dripped with seduction. She seemed to be breathing out the words in an exaggerated whisper. “He’s with me now.”
“He’s with you — who? Who’s with you?”
“Oh, you know.” Click.
She rubbed her eyes. Was this some kind of joke? She walked back to the bedroom and pulled a small calendar from her purse. She’d made a notation. John was to be away in Richmond on business Tuesday and Wednesday.
Was the caller talking about John? Could it have been Ami?
She picked up her cell and dialed John. After four rings, his voice mail answered for him.
Maybe he’s sleeping too soundly to be disturbed.
She frowned. Or maybe he’s busy.
She tossed the phone on the bed. She’d been tricked by men before. Most recently by Tyler, and before that by a fellow surgery resident, that psychopath in doctor’s clothing, Brett Daniels. But John isn’t like that. He loves me. Doesn’t he?
Then why hasn’t he fired that secretary like I demanded?
The thought betrayed her loyalty. I shouldn’t be thinking like this. It must be the hour. I’ ll call John in the morning and everything will be all right.
She lay back on the bed and tried to sleep, but the phone call had revved her frontal lobes into a thousand what-ifs.