“I could but I’m pretty sure he doesn’t know anything else. The hospital was very close-mouthed about the details.”
“There’s one nurse in particular that I’m worried about,” I said. “Her name is Lark Dove. She keeps pushing me on whether I want all this treatment to keep Gramma alive, given that she has Alzheimer’s. Was she one of the ICU nurses who took care of your mother?”
“Tall, blonde, athletic-looking, right?” Allie said. “Yes, she was in the ICU with Mom.”
I felt my chest tighten. Bad news. “That’s I was afraid of. I wish I could find out if the hospital suspects her. Maybe I’ll talk to the Patient Advocate.”
“Just don’t mention me around the hospital, okay?” Allie’s voice shook. “I could be in big trouble if they know I talked to you about this.”
I assured Allie that I wouldn’t betray her confidence. Then I hung up and went back to Gramma’s bedside.
She looked the same. I sat with her for a while, then decided to go get lunch and afterward try to talk to the Patient Advocate. I found the Patient Advocate’s office on the first floor and waited about fifteen minutes before I got in. Her name was Edith Wales. A sensible-looking woman in her sixties, with gray hair and shrewd blue eyes. “How can I help?” she asked.
“I’m worried about my grandmother in the ICU,” I said. I told her about Gramma’s pneumonia and that she had Alzheimer’s, then got to the more delicate part. “Lark Dove, one of the nurses there is being very pushy about Gramma not having an advance directive,” I said. “She wants me to make choices that I’m not ready to make.”
“We do have to ask you about choices and we encourage all patients or their surrogates to complete an advance directive,” she said. “We can help you understand the pros and cons of each possible decision. But it’s up to you what decisions you make. Would you like me to go through the choices with you?”
“Not today,” I said. “Maybe later. That’s not why I came. It’s about that nurse. She scares me.”
“Can you tell me more about her and how she scares you?”
A neutral therapeutic question. This woman was sharp. “Okay,” I said. “I’m assuming this is confidential.”
“Of course.”
I should have felt my way more carefully with her, but I was tired and scared, so I dove right in to the impact zone as Tyler would say. “Her name is Lark Dove and I know her outside of here,” I said. “I know she doesn’t believe that patients with Alzheimer’s should be treated with antibiotics for pneumonia, and she keeps pushing me to make that choice. I’m starting to worry that if I decide to keep having my grandmother treated, Lark will make her own decision to do something to make Gramma die. I’ve heard of that happening in hospitals sometimes.”
Edith Wales’ face shut down like a post-office clerk’s window at 5:00 p.m. “Not at our hospital,” she said coldly. “I know it’s worrisome to have your grandmother so ill, but you need to control your imagination. Do you have someone you can call to be here with you?”
“That’s not the issue here. You’re the patient advocate. Here’s what I need. I need to have Lark Dove not be in the ICU while my grandmother is a patient there.”
“I’m sure you realize we can’t shift staff around at the request of patients or family members,” Edith said. “Is there anything else I can do? I’m happy to go through that advance directive with you.”
“Never mind,” I said, standing up to go. What was I thinking? She’s just a bureaucrat. I was so frustrated and angry that I really lost it with my parting shot. “You seem more like a hospital advocate than a patient advocate to me,” I said, as I walked out the door.
I went back to Gramma’s bedside and sat for a long time listening to the steady high-pitched beep-beep-beep of the machines she was connected to. Sometimes there would be a series of lower-pitched bongs or a louder scritchy ding. Then a nurse would come in, check the machines and touch the controls until the tones stopped. Gramma slept on and I dozed off too.
I woke up with a jolt from a dream where Lark as Gramma’s nurse came in to check the machines and surreptitiously injected a deadly liquid into Gramma’s IV drip bag. I shivered. If that happened, Gramma wouldn’t have a chance. Her heart would stop and that would be it. My own heart pounded at the thought. My chest tightened so much I could hardly breathe. I knew this was a panic attack, but I also knew I had a sound reason for my terror.
I closed my eyes and focused on my breathing, taking slow deep breaths to get back in control. Then I walked out to the ICU waiting area for a little break. The room was empty and I stretched out on a plastic-covered couch to try to relax. About twenty minutes later, Pablo walked in. I flew into his arms. I told him about my talks with Allie and the Patient Advocate, and my horrible fears about what could happen to Gramma. “You have to help me,” I sobbed. “Make them tell me what they know. Make them keep Lark away from Gramma.”
Pablo held me and comforted me until my crying subsided. Then he pulled back and gave me a tissue to wipe my face. “You’re exhausted, Cleo,” he said. “And you’re pregnant and you’re not eating right. You need a rest, a good meal and some time way from this hospital.”
I protested, but he was insistent, and I was too tired to object any further. Besides, Lark was off-duty for the night. We went back in and checked on Gramma and then he took me home, with a brief stop at nearby Ideal Market to pick up some groceries.
He made spaghetti and salad and we both stuffed ourselves. I felt better but I was still worried and I wanted his help. After we cleaned up, I pulled him over to the couch. “We still need to talk,” I said, trying to sound calm. “I need to do something about Lark. I can’t let her take Gramma from me. What right does she have? Like you said, it’s not for her to decide.”
In spite of my attempt to stay cool, I was fidgeting and my voice was rising. “She’ll be back on duty at 6:30 in the morning. The hospital won’t do anything. You’re a cop. Can’t you make them keep her away from Gramma?”
Pablo sat still, looking at me with gentle eyes. “No,” he said patiently. “I have no jurisdiction there, and even if I did, I have no evidence that points to a crime or even a potential crime. What evidence do you have that this nurse, Lark, is planning to harm Martha?”
I went though the whole story again, about Allie and her mother, about how Lark had told me that nurses have issues with treating pneumonia in Alzheimer’s patients, and about Lark pressuring me to discontinue Gramma’s treatment. “Can’t you see? I have to stop her.”
Pablo wrapped his arms around me. “Cleo, you know that’s not evidence,” he said. “I know you’re worried about Martha, and I know her condition is serious, but I really don’t think she’s in any danger from the ICU nurses. You just need sleep. Come on, let’s go to bed. You’ll feel better in the morning.”
No point in pleading my case any further. I was tired and I did need sleep so I could get to the hospital early in the morning. It looked like it was going to be all up to me to stop Lark. I set the alarm and went to bed, but I tossed and turned a long time before I finally fell asleep. My thoughts tormented me. I couldn’t lose Gramma yet. It was too soon. I needed to be able to hug her and hold her and spend time with her. I needed her to be able to see my baby and hold it when it was born. I couldn’t let Lark cheat me out of all that.
Chapter 33
I got up at 5:00 a.m. Tuesday morning to make sure I’d be at Gramma’s side before Lark came on duty. Pablo was still asleep. I got dressed quietly and left him a note.
Gramma looked the same—barely alive lying there so tiny and fragile in the hospital bed, eyes closed, still hooked up to machines, the IV dripping slowly into her arm.
Lark came on duty at 6:30 and checked all Gramma’s beeping machines. I avoided making eye contact so as not to encourage conversation, and thankfully she didn’t stop to talk to me about choices.
I was afraid to leave Gramma’s side even for a minute. I needed to watch Lark—even tho
ugh I didn’t ever know what she was doing, what she was putting in the IV. Once I asked her what she was adding to it. “It’s her antibiotic,” Lark said. “Don’t worry Cleo, we’re doing everything we can for your grandmother.”
Her comment didn’t reassure me one bit. What did she mean by “everything”? And how could I know if she was telling the truth? I wanted to confront her with my suspicions, but I knew she’d deny it. And maybe she could get me thrown out of the ICU so I wouldn’t be able to watch anymore. So I just sat and agonized.
Mid-morning a woman in a suit and high-heeled shoes, wearing a hospital ID badge stuck her head into Gramma’s cubicle and asked Lark to come out for a minute so they could talk. Lark looked surprised and not particularly pleased, but she followed the woman out to the central desk. Their conversation quickly became intense with scowling faces and hands waving. But they kept their voices low enough that I couldn’t hear what they were saying. Then they left the ICU together.
About ten minutes later, a tiny young dark-haired nurse appeared next to Gramma’s bed and checked her chart and machines. “Hi, I’m Helen,” she said. “I’ll be taking care of Martha today.” I introduced myself and asked her where Lark had gone.
“I don’t know,” she said. “She had to leave unexpectedly.”
“When will she be back?”
“I don’t know, but they asked me to finish her shift today.”
I wondered whether my talk yesterday with the chilly Edith Wales had made some difference after all. But, whatever the reason, it was a relief to have Lark gone. Still, she might be back tomorrow, or even tonight. I needed to find out more about what she was actually up to.
It occurred to me that if Gayle could contact Sabrina, she might find out more about Lark from her. Maybe Sabrina would tell her what she meant in her thirty-day plan about Lark violating her nursing oath.
Gayle’s contact session had been set to be our next step before Gramma got sick. But I had cancelled it. Now that Lark was gone for the day and I could leave Gramma for a while, I could re-schedule. I called Gayle and Paige and set it up for 1:00 p.m. at my office.
§ § §
Gayle was eager to go into the chamber. I suggested she find out whatever else she could from Sabrina about the thirty-day plan and about what happened to her at the wilderness journey. I didn’t want to prejudice the outcome by putting specific ideas in Gayle’s mind, so I didn’t mention my suspicions about Lark.
Paige and I sat quietly in the counseling room, listening to music while Gayle was in the chamber. When she came out, her face was tear-stained, but her body was relaxed. She walked slowly into the room, collapsed on the couch, and closed her eyes. I got her some water. She opened her eyes, sat up, took a big gulp, put the glass on the table in front of her, and smiled at us.
“I saw her, I really saw her,” Gayle said. “It was amazing. I knew right away that it was her spirit, so that meant she was dead, but it was okay. She walked right out of the mirror and hugged me. She said, ‘I’m fine and I love you and I know you’ve been trying to help Ian. I want Ian to be with you.’ I told her that as long as there’s no proof that she’s dead, Brandi will keep insisting that she’s only missing and Brandi will be able to keep Ian. I told her we need to know what happened to her so we can prove she’s really gone. Then she said, ‘A house in Nederland.’ Gayle stopped and gave us a bewildered look.
Gayle’s account of what happened and her reactions rang true to me, unlike the last time when she merely pretended she’d contacted Sabrina. This time I believed her. After a minute, I prompted her to tell us more. “What did she say about the house?” I asked.
Gayle slouched in her seat, like she was digging deep to dredge up a memory. “Not much,” she said finally. “She’s in a white room in a house in Nederland.”
Paige twisted a lock of hair around her finger. “Did she say who put her there?” she asked. “Was it Erik and Brandi?”
“She didn’t say,” Gayle said, perking up a bit. “But we have to find that house.”
“But how, if all we know about it is that it has a white room? Pretty much all houses have white rooms,” I said.
Gayle shook her head and rubbed her eyes. “Wait, wait, wait—I just remembered—she said something else—I’m trying to remember. Oh, I know. She called it Busbee’s house. We need to find Busbee’s house.”
“We should ask Lark,” Paige said. “She lives in Nederland. Maybe she knows the Busbees.”
Alarm bells rang for me. No way I wanted to involve Lark. But I couldn’t tell them what I suspected about her. She was their friend, and I had no evidence, and even Pablo thought I was imagining the threat. So I tried a softball. “That’s probably not a good idea,” I said. “Remember on Sunday Lark said she was through with Moxie and she didn’t want to talk about Sabrina anymore until there was real evidence of what happened to her?”
“I think she’d feel differently if we told her about Gayle’s talk with Sabrina, and that we need her help to find the house,” Paige said. “Let’s at least give her the chance.”
“Look,” I said. “This may sound strange, but I don’t feel comfortable with Lark right now. She’s been my grandmother’s nurse in the ICU and she’s been pretty much telling me she thinks Gramma shouldn’t be getting treatment for her pneumonia because she has Alzheimer’s. It’s really upsetting.”
Paige was silent for a minute, looking inward. Then she spoke softly, “I know what you mean,” she said. “My brother—the one I borrowed money from Sabrina to help—has Down’s Syndrome. One time Lark told me I was wasting money on his education. I wanted to hit her. I can understand why you’d rather not be around her right now, but we can’t just go around Nederland knocking on doors and asking if it’s Busbee’s house and if they’re hiding Sabrina.”
“Let’s get the Nederland police or sheriff or whatever they have up there to check out that house,” Gayle said.
“How?” I asked. “By telling them her spirit said that’s where she is? They’d laugh at us.”
“Wait,” Gayle said, brightening. “I can probably find the house in my firm’s real-estate database. Then we can get directions and go right to it.”
“It could be risky to go to the house,” I said. “Someone might be there.”
“Who?”
“Who knows? The Busbees or someone they hired. We don’t know anything about them. Maybe they’re friends of Erik and Brandi.”
Paige looked at me as if I’d lost my mind. “What can they do to three of us?” she said.
“Shoot us if they have a gun,” I said. “And they probably have one. Most mountain people do. I’ve been surprised a couple of times in the past year when someone tried to shoot me. Maybe we should have a gun. Do either of you have one?”
“I do.” Gayle said. “A group of us local real estate agents took a concealed-carry class last year and I have a gun and a concealed carry permit.”
Paige’s jaw dropped. “You carry a concealed gun, Gayle?” she said.
“It can be risky being a real estate agent,” Gayle said. “We meet strangers at empty houses, sometimes in remote locations, sometimes at night. You never know what might happen.”
“Do you have your gun with you?” I asked.
“It’s in my car,” Gayle said. “We’ll take my car anyway and we’ll have the gun with us. But first I need to find the house in our database. Let me sign on to it on your computer, Cleo.”
I got her set up and she was into the database with a couple of clicks.
“While you’re doing that, I’ll call Diana and Hana and tell them what happened so they can come with us,” Paige said.
Gayle jumped up from the computer and grabbed Paige’s shoulder. “No you won’t,” she said. “Remember how hateful they were at your studio on Sunday? We don’t need them with us and we don’t want them with us.”
“But they’re part of Moxie,” Paige said. “They deserve to know about Sabrina and they deserve a chance to
join our search if they want to.”
“No!” Gayle said. “Now look. I need to get back to my database and find that house. And as soon as I do, we need to get going with no more delays. Once we get there, if we find Sabrina, we can call them from there.” She sat back down at the computer and returned to her search.
Paige frowned. “All right, Gayle, I’ll wait until we’re up there, but you have to promise I can call them if we find out anything at all.”
“Cross my heart,” Gayle said. “Oh, here it is. The address is 3420 Ridge Road. We just go up Canyon to Nederland and Ridge Road is off Hurricane Hill Drive.
“I’m going out to my car to get my water-proof boots and my hat,” Paige said. “And I also need to call my kids and tell them I’m going to be home late. I’ll let them order pizza. They’ll be happy.”
§ § §
About an hour later the three of us were in Nederland. We easily found the Busbee’s house—a wood and stone modern perched on a steep hillside, surrounded by evergreens and rock outcroppings. An unplowed driveway led off from the road to the garage. Gayle pulled off onto the side of the road into some icy tire tracks. The house looked empty, like it was closed up for the winter. “Must be summer people,” Gayle said.
We waded through knee-deep snow in the driveway to the front door, where we rang the bell and knocked loudly. No response.
“Finding the house doesn’t do us much good if we can’t get in,” Paige said.
“Luckily I came prepared to pick the lock,” Gayle said, pulling out what looked like a pocketknife, but was actually a set of six tiny picks that folded into a handle. She inserted one into the lock, jiggled and twisted it, then took it out and stuck in a different one. We heard a click, Gayle grabbed the door handle, tried it, and opened the door.
I was impressed, but a little worried about the breaking and entering. I hung back. “We’re breaking into private property,” I said. “It’s illegal and unethical. What if we get caught?”
“Not likely,” Gayle said. “Look how remote this place is. And it’s clearly closed for the season. “But if anyone shows up, I’ll say I was checking on a potential listing and the door was unlocked. They can’t prove I picked the lock.” She stepped in. I followed.
Lynn Osterkamp - Cleo Sims 03 - Too Many Secrets Page 20
