Chapter Fourteen
Amy looked over my shoulder and smiled. “Hiya, Doc. Oh, aren’t you sweet. You remembered.”
I turned and looked at the doctor carrying a strawberry sundae.
“Kyle, this is my sister Josie,” Amy said, taking the plastic dish from him. “Josie, Dr. Kyle Barbour.”
I shook his proffered hand and nodded. Amy made friends easily and anywhere. Obviously, she’d put treacherous Chris Roberts in her ‘mistake’ column and was moving on.
“Your sister is difficult to refuse,” Kyle said.
“Don’t I know it,” I said, making a mental reminder to get the 4-1-1 on Dr. Barbour. He didn’t wear a wedding band, but not every married man did. Amy would never have a relationship with a married man again but could, if she didn’t know differently. My sister took everyone at their word, and sometimes was too naive for her own good.
While Amy ate her sundae, I used the time to interview Kyle. “Are you from Freedom, Doctor? I don’t recall any Barbours in town.”
“I’m from Meade, a small town southwest of here.”
“That’s farming community, isn’t it?”
“It is.”
“Your parents are farmers, then?”
He shook his head. “My dad’s a firefighter, and my mom’s a hairdresser, but my paternal grandparents are farmers.”
“Ah. Any sisters or brothers?”
“Yes, Ma’am. One of each.”
“Are you on staff here?” I directed the question at Kyle, but Amy answered.
“Kyle will soon be the newest pediatrician in Freedom.” Amy made a production of cleaning the last bit of ice cream from the plastic cup. “Are you satisfied Kyle’s not a serial killer?”
“I was just about to ask him for his mama’s phone number,” I said not missing a beat.
“You weren’t!”
“No.” I laughed. So did Kyle.
“Your reputation precedes you, Josie,” he said.
“Huh?”
“The Burton matter. The foster parents who were using kids in child pornography. Didn’t you uncover their scheme?”
“I wouldn’t say ‘uncover’.”
“Instrumental in their incarceration, then.”
“How’d you know about that?”
“Your sister.”
“Oh.” I didn’t know Amy bragged me. I smiled, feeling darn pleased with myself.
“Not to worry, sis. I only told him the good stuff.”
My high bottomed out. Our definition of “good stuff’ didn’t always coincide, so I didn’t know whether Amy referred to my seduction of Jackson or the time I’d made my views known to His Honor the Mayor over upping his salary by ten grand a year — Who gets a two hundred dollar a week raise? Or the time I found ninety-two of the one hundred and ten lawnmowers at the homes of city employees, or the time –
“Earth to Josie.”
I followed the direction of the voice and found Amy smiling at me. “What?”
“Kyle was talking to you. Where were you?”
I turned to him. “I’m sorry. My mind drifted. What were you saying?”
“I read your article on a country without a senate. I found it very thought provoking. Really – ”
“Dr. Barbour. Dr. Kyle Barbour to the second floor nurses station, please,” a female voice sounded from a speaker outside Amy’s room.
Kyle grabbed the ends of his stethoscope hanging from his neck. “Gotta go.” He looked at Amy. “I’ll check in on you later.” He turned to me and smiled. “It’s been a pleasure.”
Amy and I watched him leave, his hard sole shoes slapping the highly polished tile floor.
“He’s nice,” I said.
“So you approve?” Amy asked.
I nodded. “Of course. What’s not to like?”
“He’s a cutie.”
“Are you interested in him?”
Amy shook her head. “He’s married. Been there. Done that. Ain’t gonna do it again.”
Good girl. It was one thing to make mistakes; not to learn from them was another matter entirely. I didn’t give Amy enough credit. I would always worry and watch out for her, just as she would always do for me. We were family. It’s what family did for each other.
“I’m not ready to rodeo again yet, so you can relax, Jos.”
I mentally thanked her.
“He cut the hole in the bandage and pulled my hair through.” Amy swiveled her head to show me. “See?” She turned her face toward me again. “He even tied the ribbon around it.”
“Where’d he get the ribbon?”
“From some flowers. Don’t worry, the patient won’t miss it.”
“Oh.” Amy acted like it was every doctor’s practice to accommodate the whims of patients. “How did you meet him? This isn’t his floor.”
She giggled. “He came up to take a break with his wife, a nurse on this floor. I called out to him when he passed by. I mistook him for housekeeping. What’s our first move?”
“What?” No one could shift gears faster than Amy.
“Our investigation. I’m so excited. We’re going to be working together.”
In my recent research on head trauma and comas, I learned it wasn’t unusual for a patient to want to make the most of every second of life after realizing what they’d almost lost. I couldn’t say Amy’s behavior was out of the norm since she’d always been bouncy and bubbly. Truthfully, she shouldn’t be so energetic, though. But maybe it wasn’t unusual, either. I couldn’t remember reading anything on the subject. It was time I had another talk with her doctor.
“What’s our first course of action? Look into the vet’s life, probably,” she said, answering herself. “We should check out his profile.” She stared into space a moment. “He’s a doctor right? Maybe his murder was drug related. Or maybe he was a gambler and owed money to loan sharks.”
“No chance of recovering a debt with the debtor dead. Besides, he was a vet.”
“Oh yes, right. Maybe it was a mob hit.”
“Hits are usually two the chest and one between the eyes, forming a triad.”
“Really?”
I laughed. “It’s how it’s done in mobster movies.”
She hit keys on her cell phone. “Oh my God, you’re not going to believe this.”
“What?” I felt as giddy as Amy. Whatever infliction she had, I had too.
“He’s on Best Friends Forever.”
“Get out of here.”
“See for yourself.”
I took her cell in my hand and read the screen. Sure enough Tom’s name stared back at me. Something yanged at me. After several seconds, I remembered. Tom had jokingly said, Hayes with an ‘e’, not to be confused with the smugglers of Jaffer’s Bay.
“This is not our Thomas.” I explained the difference.
Amy hit her thumbs against the key pad again. “Let’s see what we have for Hayes with an ‘e’.”
My legs were killing me. I doubted my muscles would ever recover from my stint with sophistication. I sat in the recliner next to Amy’s bed.
“That’s strange,” she said, biting on her thumbnail.
“What?”
“There’s nothing on him. Zip. Nowhere.”
“Did you spell the name right?”
“See for yourself.”
I did. “Where did you check?”
“Everywhere. Thomas without an ‘e’ Hayes comes up but nothing for the poor fella who got knocked off.”
“Maybe he kept to himself.”
Amy nodded and let the cell drop from her fingers. She laid her head back on the pillows.
I wanted to stay and talk more, but she was tired and needed to rest. Tomorrow, she’d feel even stronger than today. By the end of the week, she’d be ready for discharge. Dr. Coville was right. Not that I thought he wasn’t.
“I’m going now,” I said, looking at my watch. “I have something to pitch to Lou.”
“What’s that?” she asked from
behind closed eyelids.
“An idea for a column. I’ll tell you all about it if he gets on board.” I wasn’t lying. I’d been tossing around the idea for a few days now. Sane Rants. Okay, the title needed some work, but the premise showed promise. At least, I thought so. I hoped Lou would, too.
“When he gets on board, not if.”
Amy’s voice was barely audible and her mind was letting go, but she still had the presence of mind to bolster my ego. She always had faith in me even when I had none in myself.
“Sleep well, honey,” I said and tucked her in for the night. I flicked the switch for the overhead light and turned, taking my time to walk to the door. What might await me outside Amy’s room frightened me. I peeked into the corridor. The lights had been dimmed for the evening and nurses were seated at their stations, heads bent, pens between their fingers. No one paid me the least attention when I walked past.
I don’t know what I’d expected. Jackson, perhaps, rushing toward me when I emerged, telling me I’d misconstrued everything and I’d been wrong to think he and Trish were conspiring against me. But I knew what I’d seen. He lied to me. The caller hadn’t been a customer. He was talking to Trish and they certainly weren’t discussing eighteenth century armoires. They were probably conferring how to tighten the police’s case against me. Truth was, I wanted Jackson to take me in his arms and tell me not to worry, to protect me and not let anyone hurt me.
My body trembled at the thought of going to jail.
I was innocent. I would be innocent among thieves, murderers and tax offenders. Me, who paid her taxes months before the due date. Me, who fainted at the sight of blood. Me, who’d paid a driver to return to the corner store to pay for a chocolate bar I’d eaten while waiting in line and walked out without paying for it.
Feeling someone watching me, I looked over my shoulder. There was no one behind me. I turned, but couldn’t shake the notion I was being observed.
I walked faster. Seconds later, I jabbed the button for the elevator. I heard a noise around the corner from a wing closed for renovations.
“Hello, is anyone there?” I asked, turning sideways toward the unlit corridor.
The elevator responded to my question.
Ding.
I jumped. I’d asked but apparently, I hadn’t expected anything or anyone to answer.
The hair on my forearms bristled.
Something heavy hit a solid surface nearby.
Thump.
Thump.
Thump.
My heart hammered.
The sound crept closer.
Thump.
And closer.
I dashed into the elevator car and beat my finger on the close door button. Why did these damn things always hesitate? “Close. Close. Close.” The doors swished shut in my face. I let out the mother of all sighs, then jumped against the back wall when someone on the other side of the doors pounded them.