by T. Doyle
Relief, fast and swift slid like bubbles through my veins. “Thank god.”
“Charlie, Tyler was amazing through that whole process. I can’t imagine him being involved in anything illegal. Especially not murder.” Her voice softened. “Honey, it can’t be him.”
“You’re right.” I sounded convincing, but the bubbles in my veins burst leaving dread, heavy, uncomfortable. Tyler was involved. I knew it. But I also didn’t think he could commit murder. Maybe he knew who killed Oscar, though. Maybe Oscar tried to blackmail Tyler and Tyler’s partner killed Oscar. And I’d forgotten to tell Ray and Joe about the SUV outside of Tyler’s office. Was the SUV driver the killer?
“Oscar’s death might have been an accident,” Angela said kindly, like easing bad news.
“Maybe. I’m headed to work, but I’ll see you this weekend.” We said our goodbyes and I continued to work. Today, our sign read Sunnyview Villages.
Had the anagram anarchist moved on?
Chapter Twenty
I trudged toward the nurses’ station and recognized Nora’s shape, but not the flaming red hair.
Nora chatted with the ward clerk, Eric. She waved at me and tilted her head back. “It’s Lucille Ball red.” She glowed, or rather, her hair glowed.
“Yes, it is,” I said. Tangerine described the shade better. But today her eyebrows matched. “You look…” Orange. “Happy and younger.”
Marabel joined us at the desk.
“Doesn’t she?” I said to Marabel.
“Much younger.” Marabel’s warm smile didn’t reach her eyes, reminding me my friend was under stress, too.
More guilt slid onto my shoulders.
Marabel nodded to Eric. “We’re going to do the shift reports in my office. I need you to stay until it’s over.”
“Sure.” Eric sounded apathetic, but then he’d never been a ray of sunshine.
“At the desk,” Marabel added.
He slumped back but nodded indicating he’d heard her. She shot me a look that said, save me from incompetence.
I responded with a weak smile. “Was it busy this morning, Eric?” I put my lunch in the bottom desk drawer.
“Not really.”
“Hello, ladies,” Doug, wearing Tommy Bahama patterned nursing scrubs strolled down the corridor toward us. “Are we doing shift reports in Marabel’s office?” His bright white smile faltered at Marabel.
“Yep.” Marabel headed to her office.
“See you later, kiddos.” Nora pointed her walker towards her room and began her slow thump-slide journey.
Marabel sat at her desk and Doug pulled in a couple of chairs for Vi and me.
“What happened?” Marabel asked.
Doug closed the door. “Mr. Marino rang and told us he was missing his Percocet. When the pharmacy tech dropped it off this morning he was using the bathroom. When he came out, his other meds were there, but not the Percocet. Gwen, the new CNA we hired, said Mrs. Garcia and Mrs. Almond also complained they were missing pills. Mrs. Almond told Gwen that she thought it had happened before, but she assumed she’d taken them.”
I glanced at Marabel, tempering an I-told-you-so look with crap-what-now.
She raised one eyebrow warning me it was about to get worse.
The door opened and Violet squeezed in along with Julie, the other morning nurse. Vi sat next to me.
Julie leaned against the door. Her cheeks were pink and her wide eyes searched for Doug. “Did you tell them about you-know-who?”
Doug shook his head. “Just getting there. Okay, so Gwen mentions that maybe Eric noticed something when he was helping her this morning. Now, the guy is usually a waste of air that occasionally answers the phone for me but Gwen insists he’s a real team-player. I’m like, really? What do you mean?” Doug sucked in a deep breath. “She tells me Eric helps all the time, takes the food trays out, takes the garbage out, runs and grab sodas for the CNA’s.”
“That’s news to me,” Marabel said.
“Yeah, well, today we have him on the camera footage. He waits until the RN’s are in a room and then assists. He’s quick, just one room at a time.” Doug’s lips pinched. “And guess what? He went into those three rooms to retrieve lunch trays.”
“Have you called the police?” I didn’t hide the excitement from my voice. It certainly made it more likely that Ray’s mom had nothing to do with the drugs in Evie’s room.
Doug nodded. “I told the Director, Theo, right away, and told the CNA’s not to ask for Eric’s help. Eric doesn’t know we suspect him, I’m not even sure he knows the camera caught him going into the rooms,” Doug said.
Marabel spoke up. “Theo called me before I came in. Two detectives are in his office watching the videos and live stream. They want to get a warrant to search Eric’s car and house.”
“And I hoped Nora’s day-glow hair would be the excitement for the day,” I whispered.
Marabel grinned. “I love her.”
“Me, too.” And her hair would fade fast. Hopefully. “I think Eric was here the day that drugs were found in Evie Feeney’s room. Maybe he hid them in her room and they were found before he could retrieve them.”
Marabel’s head nodded like a bobblehead on a washing machine. “That makes sense. I’ll check the schedule and let the police know.”
“Anything else going on that we should know about?” Vi asked.
Doug and Julie gave their end-of-shift reports on the patients. Fortunately, our patients seemed to thrive on the excitement of stolen narcotics.
We left Marabel’s office. Kendra, the other nurse who worked the morning shift sat at the nurses’ station.
Doug motioned to Eric’s vacant seat. “Where’d he go?” he asked Kendra.
“He clocked out at two, exactly. Makes me want to run to the parking lot and see what’s going on.” Kendra scooted past Vi.
“Me, too. Let’s go. Bye all.” Doug waved. He, Julie and Kendra speed-walked toward the locker rooms.
Mrs. Almond’s call button lit up. “I’m on it if you man the desk,” I said.
Vi slid into the chair. “Sure. Call me if you need me. Here comes Missy.”
“Will do.” I waved to Missy, our favorite ward clerk, as she hurried toward the desk.
“Sorry I’m late. There’s a police dog in the parking lot sniffing everyone’s car.” The phone rang and Missy slid into the spare desk seat and answered politely.
I poked my head in Mrs. Almond’s room. Dr. Kotelawala, the podiatrist, knelt in a puddle of water on the floor.
Mrs. Almond lay on the floor, looking displaced and flustered, but comfy. “I’m okay,” she said.
I grabbed towels and tossed one on the floor and handed another to Dr. Kotelawala. I dried the puddle. “Did you get a little ticklish during your pedicure and fall out of bed?”
“Exactly.” Dr. Kotelawala looked at me, his handsome face puckered with worry.
“How are you feeling, Mrs. Almond?” I assessed her, noting she seemed more embarrassed than in pain.
“I’m okay.” She slapped Dr. Kotelawala’s hand away from her shoulder. “I’d like to sit up.”
Dr. Kotelawala and I leveraged her to a seated position. “Let’s hang out here for a minute. Any dizziness?” I asked.
“No. The only thing hurt is my pride. I slid very slowly and Dr. K caught me.” She huffed. “I just don’t have the strength to stand up on my own.”
I patted her shoulder. “I’m so glad you’re not hurt. You don’t think you overstretched a muscle?”
“I promise I’m not hurt,” she said.
“Give me a minute to change your sheets, okay?” I stuck my head into the hallway and waved to a nurse’s aide. The CNA helped me make the bed and then she took the wet things with her.
Mrs. Almond was a tiny thing, but I put the gait belt around her waist and Dr. Kotelawala and I transferred her back to bed. Fortunately, her clothes were dry. I dried the remaining water on the floor.
Dr. Kotelawala fi
nished trimming her toenails. His damp white shirt clung to his body and highlighted his dark, toned muscles.
Mrs. Almond’s eyes twinkled because she’d caught me checking him out.
I mouthed, “You’re naughty.”
She mouthed back, “You’re welcome.”
I needed to fill out an incident report but first I retook her vitals. Her heart rate was a little fast, but I figured it had more to do with Dr. K’s fabulous physique than her fall.
“I’m sorry to have caused such a fuss,” Mrs. Almond said.
“Nonsense. Next time, though, I insist we do this while you’re in a chair,” Dr. Kotelawala said and gathered his things.
“Can I get you anything else?” I asked her.
“No, thank you.” She picked up the TV remote.
“Call me if you need anything or feel funny,” I said.
Dr. Kotelawala followed me into the hall. “Thanks, Charlie.”
“What happened?”
“I was soaking her foot and she kicked the bowl. It surprised me and I stood suddenly. She flinched and slid off the bed. I caught her, but couldn’t safely maneuver her back on the bed. I guided her down so she didn’t sit in the water.” He pulled his shirt away from his skin. “I should have insisted she sit in the chair. It won’t happen again.”
“Mrs. Almond can be very persuasive,” I said, thinking about how I’d helped her change her low-sodium diet. “If you want, we can have a CNA round with you and help you with the patient transfers.”
“That would be helpful. I think I’ll change first.” He looked down at his damp shirt.
“There are spare scrubs in Physical Therapy linen closet. I can show you.” I really needed to write the incident report, but the poor man needed dry clothes.
“Thanks, that’d be great.” He pulled at the cuffs of his shirt.
I directed him toward the rehab rooms. As one of the few podiatrists in Forest Forks, Dr. K. treated most of the diabetics in town. I realized he might know how often insulin pumps fail. “Dr. Kotelawala, did you know Oscar Robles?”
“No, is he a new patient here?”
“No, he was a close family friend. He died recently of an accidental insulin overdose, maybe from a pump malfunction, and I wondered if you knew how often insulin pumps fail?”
“I’m sorry for your loss. Pumps can malfunction, of course, but…” He checked up and down the hall. “Is this about Mrs. Collins?”
“Yes, I know you can’t go into specifics but if the circumstances of Oscar’s and Mrs. Collins’s death are so similar.” I rushed the words out, and I was sure I looked surprised and guilty and relieved because those feelings flipped and flowed over me.
We continued down the hall and I unlocked the linen closet outside of the rehab area. The four-foot by eight-foot room had stainless steel shelves with spare scrubs, towels, and a few blankets used by the rehab patients when working out.
Dr. K. turned on the light and selected a pair of scrubs. He stood inside the closet and faced me. “Mrs. Collins had her diabetes under control. I think it was a recent diagnosis that may have contributed to her death.” His eyes widened, like he encouraged me to make a few guesses.
“Oh?” I stalled.
“Yes.” He waited for me to say something and gave his head a small shake. “I suppose it’s not an issue since we prayed for her at church. She’d been diagnosed with Parkinson’s.”
My mouth dried. Mrs. Collins’s heart was healthy and she had her diabetes controlled. She’d have to live with the Parkinson’s, having it overtake her life, her independence. Maybe she didn’t want to deal with that future. My heart beat slowed in my chest. “How did she handle the diagnosis?”
He tilted his head to the side. “She accepted it well. She told me her son was devastated and making plans to renovate her house so she could live in it forever.” He shook his head. “I don’t think that’s what she wanted.”
“I didn’t know her,” I admitted. “I don’t think Oscar’s pump malfunction was an accident and I thought maybe the deaths were related.”
Dr. K. turned off the closet light. “I see. Did they know each other?”
“No.” I locked the door.
“I don’t think they’re related. Thanks for the scrubs.”
“You’re welcome.” I turned and headed back to the nurses’ station.
I filled out the incident report on Mrs. Almond’s fall and then checked on my remaining patients in a daze. My mind wandered from Mrs. Collins to Oscar to Tyler to kidnapped babies to Eric’s involvement in the missing narcotics. I returned to the nurses’ station. Missy scribbled a message for Mr. Nelson to fix a television.
The call lights rang non-stop keeping the CNAs, Julie, and I running. It was clear the bed-ridden patients wanted gossip, not medical care.
At dinner time, Joe texted he loved me and had a case and wouldn’t be home until late. I replied with the heart emoji. Too much had gone on today to text. I wanted to hide in the storage room to eat dinner to avoid more questions about Eric, but forced myself to go to the cafeteria.
Nora sat with Ingrid and Ray’s mom, Jenny, at the non-wobbly table. I wandered over and pointed to an empty chair. “May I join you?”
“Of course,” Nora said. She’d applied hot pink lipstick. She completed her ensemble with a black velour track suit, and honestly, she was rocking it. She looked like the grandma that drove her golf cart with a martini in one hand, and a teacup poodle on her lap.
Ingrid, on the other hand, looked like the grandma that bakes cookies with her “World’s Best Grandma” t-shirt, elastic waist jeans, and sensible sneakers.
Jenny wore a blue and green plaid flannel shirt over a tropical-print moo-moo. It was a bold choice that said, “beware”.
I sat and unwrapped the other half of my sandwich from lunch with Ray.
Jenny leaned on the arm of her wheelchair. “Why are there drug dogs in the employee’s parking lot?”
I swallowed. “I would guess they’re searching for drugs. Where were you that you saw the employee’s parking lot?” Had Jenny wandered outside alone?
“Physical therapy. They let me come in and use the arm machines whenever I want,” Jenny said with a touch of smugness.
“They let everyone use the equipment.” Ingrid’s sounded unimpressed and pressed her lips together, like she fought a smirk.
Jenny’s eye-roll was Oscar-worthy. “So, who was the thief who planted the drugs in Evie’s room?” Jenny studied my face.
“I don’t know.” I wondered why Eric chose Evie’s room. Although, she was pretty active and had been spending more time with Ray’s dad than in her own room. And maybe he got caught by Mr. Nelson and forced to help him assemble the IKEA bookcase. “I think that’s why they are checking the parking lots. I bet they’ll do the residents’ parking lot next.”
The ladies speculated which resident had the most to gain from selling narcotics. For once, Jenny didn’t blame Evie.
“I’m telling you, it’s not Johnny’s kids,” Jenny said. “Besides, why would someone here sell drugs?”
“Maybe they can’t afford to stay here,” Ingrid suggested.
“True.” Nora shifted in her seat, wincing at the pain in her hip. “When this place first opened they had some sweetheart deals that locked in the rates. I’m not sure I could afford it here, now.”
Jenny’s eyes clouded and a frown settled on her face.
I couldn’t tell if she was confused about why she was in the cafeteria or worried about money.
Ingrid’s phone emitted a loud trilling and several people glanced over. She smiled at the screen. “Andy and Kyle are in Tiny Tigers Taekwondo and earned their yellow-belts today.” She turned the phone and two adorable little boys with huge smiles wore white uniforms with a bright yellow belt tied around their waists.
“They’re so precious.” Unease slid down the back of my neck to the pit of my stomach and bubbled. Ingrid would hate me if my questions into Oscar’s deat
h resulted in her losing her grandbabies. I stood. “I should get back to work. Talk to you later.”
I texted Ray on my way out of the cafeteria. “Any news?”
He replied. “FBI involved.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Why were the FBI involved? I approached the nurses’ station, ready to give Vi her break for dinner but my fingers itched to call Ray. My phone weighed heavy against my hip, like my curiosity had hyper-sensitized my body.
“I’ve already walked ten thousand steps today,” Vi said from behind the nurses’ station desk. She leaned back in her chair and pointed at the ceiling, making a circle. “And don’t let this lull fool you. I’ve been sitting for thirty seconds.”
No call lights blinked or buzzers sounded from the speakers overheard. I sat between her and Missy. “Do you want to take your dinner break now, Vi?”
She grabbed her lunch bag. “Yes.” She speed-walked to the women’s room down the hall.
Missy gave me a sunny smile and I remembered a few weeks ago she’d asked me to write her a letter of recommendation for a personal aide position.
“Missy, what happened with the personal aide job you were interested in?”
Her face morphed into a Greek tragedy mask. “She died before I could start.”
The sensation of a string pulled deep inside my brain, tangling thoughts together and I blurted, “Was it Mrs. Collins?”
Missy paled and she nodded her head. “Her son offered me a part-time job as her companion because she was having a hard time getting around.” A smile flickered across her face and she her gaze seemed unfocused and far-way. “It sounded so Austen-esque to be a companion to an older lady.” Missy tucked her hair behind her ear. “She went to our church and was so sweet.” She looked at me. “When I went to meet her she was polite but kind of standoffish. She told me not to put in my notice here.”
“Do you think she was depressed? Maybe suicidal?”
Missy’s eyes widened and her shoulders hunched up to her ears. “I don’t know. Maybe? I mean, she reminded me of Mrs. Almond on a bad day…What if I could have prevented it?”