“Hmm, might work. Let me give him some now. I gave him an extra blue pill before Dr. Matthews came so he’d keep his mouth shut.” She fingered the drug getting a feel for the tiny syringe.
“It’ll work,” Julius said. “You want me to call Dr. Matthew’s office to let him know that Aunt Margaret wants him off, or do you want to it?”
“You do it. Fax him some paperwork, too. I’ll wake Jared up and work some of my magic,” she said, feeling much calmer. Her hands had stopped trembling. She expertly injected the new miracle drug into Jared’s upper arm.
“Hi honey,” Marta’s sweet voice cooed while her gentle hands stroked Jared’s face. “Time to wake up. Are you hungry or thirsty? I can bring you some soft apple crisp for snack if you’d like. You really liked it last night. Remember? I made it just for you, sweetie.” Jared’s eyes opened into the cloudless blue abyss where, with black lashes batting, her eyes met his.
Jared slowly shifted his position in bed, using the trapeze bar overhead. He shook his head as if trying to shake himself awake.
“Isabella?” he managed to say, though weakly.
“Yes, your cat was here, but the doctor doesn’t want her to stay. She’s not good for you while you’re recuperating. I told the lady not to bring her back. I’m so sorry, sweetie. I know you love your cat, but I’m here for you now. I’ll take care of you.” She rubbed the shoulder of his good arm. “You know I take good care of you, don’t you, Jared?” She coyly smiled, her perfect white teeth gleaming like tiny peals.
“I’m hungry,” he said. “Apple…” It was all he could manage to say.
*****
I unload the groceries from the bags on the counter and straighten up the refrigerator putting in order the carelessly tossed milk, cheese, and yogurt containers from earlier. Sometimes I think I have a touch of obsessive-compulsive disorder because I like things organized in a certain way, like all the cans on the shelves have to face outward for easy view, and I like my vitamins in alphabetical order. Isabella rubs at my ankles, annoying me, but I know she feels as confused as I do about Jared. I’m not sure where to begin sorting out my thoughts but putting first things first, I want Dr. Matthews to know about Jared’s pills.
I call information for his office number. When I connect with his receptionist, she tells me that that Dr. Matthews is in with a patient, has a very busy afternoon, and brusquely asks if it’s an emergency.
“I just want him to know Jared’s other doctor, Dr. Julius Fenway, has ordered sedative and anti-anxiety medicines in addition to the pain killers that Dr. Matthews is prescribing. When I was there earlier, I thought Jared appeared to be overmedicated. I know that Dr. Matthews thinks he should be more alert.”
She cuts me off, hanging up before I feel satisfied that she understands the urgency of my message.
My duties done for the day, I still have several hours before sunset. I grab my backpack from the closet and stuff a few pieces of fruit inside along with the necessary contents from my pocketbook. I need to work off my restless energy. My hiking boots are still in the trunk of my car.
I find the trailhead easily and notice how different the terrain is from where I hiked yesterday. Here, at Wright’s Canyon Park, south of San Jose, the dirt trail is dark, moist, and rutted. It zigzags alongside a bubbling creek. The tree branches hang low offering canopied shade. I hike about a mile when I come to a junction with a sign that points to a waterfall veering to the right. I follow the sign through a dense copse of trees and straggly branches almost obscuring the waterfall, but I hear the pounding rush against the rocks, so I push closer, squeezing between the scratching branches until I see the spectacular cascade of water and feel the fine mist on my face. Bright green moss, thick and fluffy, coat the rocks and trees.
A fallen log not far from the waterfall is my invitation to sit, where mesmerized; I am lulled into agreement, the smell of dirt filling my nostrils with the pungent aromas of earthy decomposition. Mushrooms grow in the soft, black, leafy earth near the log.
So far, I haven’t seen any wildlife though I’ve seen evidence of its presence in the form of furry scat and faint tracks in the moist areas on the trail. I don’t know what kinds of animals live here, but suspect bobcats or coyotes, certainly deer, and of course ground squirrels and other rodents.
I wish I had time for a greater adventure, but I know better than to stay out on the trail after dark. I don’t have a great sense of direction. The only map I could find from my previous day’s computer search was sketchy and I hadn’t bothered to print it. Besides, I’d like to catch a sunset somewhere, so I pick my butt up off the mossy log and hike back towards my car.
Just as I arrive back at the trailhead, my cell phone rings. I can hardly believe my good luck when I hear Stan’s voice. “Hey,” he says, “I’ve been thinking about you all day. I’m giving it up for the day, I’ve been writing all afternoon. Would you like to get together?”
I love the sound of his voice. I answer with my own uplifted lilt. It sometimes amazes me how my own voice sounds better when I’m happy about something. “You won’t believe where I am right now,” I say. “I’m just finishing a hike at Wright’s Canyon. I was hoping to find someplace to view a sunset.”
“Perfect,” he says. He gives me directions for where to meet him, a restaurant named Lakeside Bobs, near a lake with outdoor seating and a perfect viewing area for watching the sun go down.
“I’m not dressed for anyplace fancy,” I say hesitantly. I don’t want to jinx the plan, but I’ve changed from my earlier date clothes into jeans and a simple shirt. My pant cuffs have splashes of mud around the ankles, and I suspect that tree moss has darkened my seat.
“My kinda’ girl,” Stan says.
When I pull into the restaurant’s gravel parking lot, I’m thrilled to see Stan waiting for me. Lakeside Bobs isn’t much more than a shack with gray weathered siding and old windows. Picnic tables are scattered in front, but Stan guides me to a seating area in the back by the lake, facing west, where huge boulders frame the view. Sunlight casts an orange glow to the side of the rocks. Reflections in the water double its effect.
“Wine or beer?” Stan asks, leading me to the only empty picnic table. I give him my wine order. “Wait here, I’ll get our drinks.” When he returns, he hands me a plastic glass of Chablis, the house white wine. He slugs Sierra Nevada beer from the bottle. “They have chicken or ribs in the basket when you get hungry.”
We sit side by side on the picnic bench, hardly talking, and watch the sun disappear below the horizon. “So, what’d you do today after lunch?” he asks conversationally.
I tell him about seeing Jared and talking to Maggie, seeing Dr. Matthews, and what Jared said about Aunt Margaret. “I think he’s being over medicated, too. Something feels bad about the whole thing, but I hardly know the guy, so I’m not sure how to interpret anything.”
Stan listens silently for a long time while I ramble on about my gut feelings. “Well,” he all but drawls, “I don’t know Jared, and I hardly know you, but I do know about gut instinct, and from what you’re telling me things don’t add up. It sounds like Jared could easily be victimized in his kind of circumstances. You planning to talk more to Maggie, try to get to the bottom of it?”
“I feel like I have to. Jared said to help Maggie. He said it as clear as day. I plan to call her tonight and tell her about seeing Jared.”
“Better call her now. The time change is three hours and you might want to catch her before it gets too late,” he says. “I’ll go order some food. You want chicken or ribs?”
Suddenly ravenous, my mouth waters for barbecued chicken. I call Maggie while Stan places our order. Maggie sounds more composed than when I talked with her earlier. Her voice becomes loud and wild when I tell her what Jared said about me helping her, and that I thought maybe he was being over medicated.
“I called Bradley Lawton earlier. He says that Jared’s in good hands with Dr. Matthews, but says Jared’s house was being
used for a party last night. I’m worried sick. I’m coming out tomorrow afternoon. Are you really willing to help me sort things out?” she asks.
I assure her that I will. We make plans for me to pick her up at Norman Mineta International Airport in San Jose at three-forty tomorrow afternoon. When Stan comes back, he’s balancing a basket of chicken, fries and coleslaw for me, ribs, fries, and beans for himself. He goes back for seconds on wine and beer, and then we settle down to eat and talk.
We sit together at the picnic table until long after the sun is gone. A crescent moon glows against black sky where countless glittering stars twinkle against the backdrop. Stan holds my hand. He tells me he’s originally from Texas, which explains his slight drawl.
“You’re something else,” he says gently. “You care about things and people. So many of the women I meet only seem to care about themselves and material things. I hope I’m not being too forward, saying it too soon, but I really like you Connie Harrison. I want to see a lot more of you.”
Color me happy!
Chapter Nineteen
Bradley Lawton tossed and turned with the promise of a sleepless night. He knew something was wrong, just didn’t know what, and he definitely didn’t know what to do about it. Maggie Martin had called him earlier to discuss Jared and her worries. Jared had no Aunt Margaret, yet this Aunt Margaret had supposedly hired a whole team of healthcare professionals to take care of him, even provided the hospital with all the right paperwork and documentation. How was that possible?
“What’s wrong, honey?” Bradley’s wife woke up and turned to face him. “Are you worried about Blue Kettle without Jared?”
“I’m worried about Jared,” he said. He liked to protect Kelly and the girls from his worries, but this was different. Once he started talking he couldn’t stop. He told her everything he knew: About the party atmosphere at Jared’s house the night before, how pale and listless Jared looked with his bandages and medical equipment, about the mystery of Aunt Margaret, and even about the nurse Jared had been in the accident with.
Kelly sat up in bed. “Wow, that is all very troublesome. I thought you said you believed Jared was in good hands with Mark as his neurologist.”
“That was before I talked to Maggie, before she talked to Connie Harrison. She’s the nurse Jared was in the accident with. Apparently, Connie called her back after she saw Jared. She thinks he’s being over medicated,” he said.
“On purpose? She thinks Jared is being overmedicated on purpose? Now, that adds a whole new dimension to this whole scenario… like evil... evil preys on the vulnerable…” Kelly whispered, shivering slightly.
“We’ll get to the bottom of it,” Bradley said, pulling her close.
“I’m wondering about Shannon Tanner now. You know I don’t approve of her arrangement with Jared, but how does she fit into this whole picture? Shouldn’t she be checking up on Jared?” Kelly asked, wondering now about Jared’s casual friend and sexual partner.
“You’d think,” Bradley said. “Maggie’s coming in tomorrow and meeting with Connie Harrison. I’ll try to get a hold of Shannon before hand, see if she knows anything.” He paused, deep in thought. “Art Wilkinson called earlier today, too. He left a message on my voice mail. I’ll call him back tomorrow. He plays tennis with Jared.”
Bradley pulled Kelly closer. “I wish you weren’t so judgmental about Jared and Shannon. They’re consenting adults and it works for them. Now, let’s both of us try to get some sleep.”
*****
Maggie Martin calls me when she arrives at Norman Mineta International Airport. It’s three-forty exactly. I only live ten minutes away. “I’ve arrived,” she says.
“I’ll be right there. I’ll be in a red Honda Accord,” I say, rattling off my license plate number. “I’m wearing a bright yellow shirt, in case my car is hard to see.”
Everything goes like clockwork. Maggie wheels her two large designer bags curbside just as I pull up. I jump out of my car so she can see my bright yellow shirt. She’s wearing the pale blue pantsuit she’s described to me. We recognize each other instantly, make brief introductions, and then together we hoist her two large suitcases into my trunk.
“I have a room booked at The University Inn in downtown Palo Alto. It’s not far from Jared’s. Why don’t we go there first so I can check in. We can talk before going over to see Jared.” Maggie barely takes a breath, and then adds, “I can’t thank you enough for helping me. I know something is very wrong.”
We ride along in companionable silence for the first few miles. Maggie looks much younger than I expected, and it throws me off. “How are you related to Jared? I know you told me, but tell me again.” I expected more of a motherly figure. Maggie looks more like she could be Jared’s older sister. She’s very pretty.
“I was hired to be Jared’s babysitter when he was five. After his parents died. I was young myself then, barely eighteen. I raised Jared while his grandfather worked until they moved out here to Atherton when Jared was seventeen. We were all in the Boston area. I didn’t come out with them. By then Jared was old enough to be on his own,” Maggie explains. She’s older than she looks. I hope I look that good when I’m her age.
“And you’re still in touch with him regularly?” I persist, not meaning to sound suspicious, but there’s still so much I don’t know about Jared. I want to be sure, and I don’t want to be suckered into any more mystery than already exists.
“Pretty much. We talk by phone once a week or so, and send emails back and forth, but Jared gets sidetracked sometimes. He can be absent-minded like his grandfather when he gets going on a design. That’s why time got away from me. I thought it odd that Jared wasn’t calling me or returning my calls or emails, but in some ways, that’s how he is, both dependable and unreliable all rolled into one.”
Makes sense, I think.
“You said you were in the accident with Jared. Tell me what happened?”
“Well, it all happened very fast. I had just met Jared the night before. He was taking me to Stanford to show me some artwork, some sculptures there. Jared swerved so as not to hit a bicycle rider. That’s all I remember about it.”
“So, you and Jared were dating?” she asks.
“We’d really only just met,” I say again, hesitantly, this being territory I don’t really want to get into. I’m ashamed for having gotten drunk and allowing Jared into my bed that night. I don’t want to slip and reveal that information to anyone.
“Here we are,” Maggie says, pointing to her hotel when we arrive. I pull into the circular driveway where a uniformed bellhop immediately appears to take Maggie’s luggage. Maggie follows him inside to register while I wait in the car. Minutes later, she’s back in the passenger seat.
“Let’s get some coffee. There’s a nice coffee shop down on University Ave. We can talk there. I’ve arranged for Bradley Lawton and a man named Art Wilkinson to meet us there. They’re both friends of Jared. I’ve met Bradley before, but not Art.
Suddenly, I get the feeling that Maggie doesn’t quite trust me yet. That’s okay because she hasn’t earned my trust yet, either.
*****
Stanley Miller gets up from his computer, goes into the small condo kitchen, and returns to his desk with a cup of coffee and a box vanilla cookies. He can’t get Connie Harrison out of his mind. She’s such a cute, young gal, and so sweet, and she was so worried about this fellow Jared, who’d been in the accident with her. Jared Wise is a familiar sounding name.
He types the name into his people search engine. As an investigative reporter he has tools of the trade the ordinary guy wouldn’t likely have. At times he’s felt like he has more resources available to him than the federal government because private industry doesn’t have the same restrictions as the feds.
When You're Expecting Something Else Page 11
