Rules of Lying (Jane Dough Series)

by Stephie Smith

  “I didn’t realize. I’ll pay the fine, but I really think you should tell me who turned me in. I’ve got plenty of problems with my property and my homeowners’ association, and I’m doing the best I can to solve them, but if someone in my neighborhood is spying on me so they can run me out, I think I have the right to know.”

  The crotchety old man smiled and the lines that had etched his face into a grimace now wreathed it in smiles.

  “I hear you, Ms. Jansen, and I don’t blame you one bit, but the fact is, we have no idea who placed that call.”

  Ms. Jansen? He knew me as Ms. Jansen? My face heated up as I realized he’d probably seen my fat butt too. That would be enough to turn anyone’s grimace into a grin. Except mine.

  “If I was you, Ms. Jansen, I’d see a lawyer. I don’t think that homeowners’ association has a leg to stand on from what I’ve read about it. Of course, I’m not a lawyer. But I think you should see one. I know you don’t have any money, but a beautiful young lady like yourself, you could work something out, couldn’t you?”

  I squinted my eyes at him. Bad enough that everyone knew I didn’t have any money, but did they think I was a prostitute too? Nah, surely not. I gave his words some consideration, wondering if I knew any lawyers I could sleep with for help. Thank goodness I didn’t. Because at this point, what with my hormones working overtime on account of Hank and Bryan and the drought in my love life, if I knew a lawyer who was young and good-looking, I just might go for it.

  *****

  It was ninety-eight degrees and the sun was hot on our backs, but Richard and I kept at it, stopping only to chug water and wipe away sweat. We progressed according to Richard’s plan, and I was impressed. We were too busy for conversation, which suited me just fine since I wasn’t one bit interested in talking to Richard.

  We’d finished weeding the back property line and by the third night were working on the scraggly weeds, the ones that had to be pulled by hand. These weeds included the ones around trees, bushes, the mailbox, the light poles, and anything else that stood up in the yard. We cut them really short, threw the weeds onto the plastic tarp as we went along, and sprayed what was left with weed killer. We finished on Thursday night.

  Friday evening Richard was pulling a bag of fertilizer out of his truck when Hank stopped by.

  “You’re not gonna use that are you?” Hank said to me.

  Richard threw the bag to the ground where it landed with a thunk.

  “I guess so. Why?”

  “It’s crap for the environment, that’s why. If you think you have to fertilize, then at least use somethin’ eco-friendly.”

  This was a side of Hank I didn’t know. Maybe Hank was one of those environmental nuts and was trying to run people like me out of their neighborhoods one at a time. Then I remembered him saying he’d been reading up on naturescaping. People who did things naturally probably didn’t use fertilizer, at least not the kind that came in a bag.

  “What do you suggest?” I asked.

  “You don’t need a fertilizer with fast-releasing nitrogen. Nitrogen should be released slowly, over months. It can cause blue baby syndrome if it gets in the drinkin’ water.” He kicked the bag with the toe of his boot. “And look at the amount of phosphorous in that fertilizer. You don’t even need phosphorous. You got so many plants breakin’ down that you’re producin’ plenty of it. Phosphorous is a key cause of algae outbreaks cloggin’ the waterways. Have you seen the waterways recently?”

  No, I hadn’t, but if I had, I doubted I’d have thought they were getting clogged up. I always enjoyed seeing plant life in water. Except for what was in my swamp.

  “I didn’t know,” I said. And I hadn’t known, just as I hadn’t known I couldn’t cut down my own trees. I was wondering what else I didn’t know. Plenty, I was thinking.

  “It’s the tropical season, and that means rain,” Hank went on. “Whatever you put on your lawn is gonna run into the drainage system and end up in our drinkin’ water. Have you thought about that?”

  Well, no, I hadn’t thought about that. How many things was I supposed to be thinking about? “So what are you saying? I shouldn’t fertilize?”

  “That’s what I’m sayin’. Everything is growin’ just fine in your yard. You got great soil and there’s plenty of water and you don’t need any fertilizer. But if you think you have to have it, I’ll bring you some that won’t poison everyone.”

  Looked like I wouldn’t be fertilizing. I certainly didn’t want to be responsible for poisoning everyone. “What about mulch? You have a problem with mulch?”

  “No, but I don’t suppose you got rubber mulch, did you? Rubber mulch is the most eco-friendly. For one thing, we use up the rubber, and for another, no trees get cut for it. And as a bonus for you, no termites will be feedin’ on it either.”

  “Hunh.” I didn’t know I had to be worried about termites, but that was just a bonus for me.

  “Any rubber mulch, Richard?” I asked. He shook his head.

  “Well, punk tree mulch is good too,” Hank said. “Punk trees are non-native, and they’re overpopulatin’ the Everglades, takin’ over the native trees. As long as you’re not usin’ …”

  Richard tossed a bag of mulch out of his truck, and it hit the ground in front of us.

  “Cypress mulch,” Hank finished.

  I stared at the bag of cypress mulch.

  I turned to Richard. “I’m not going to fertilize,” I told him. “But go ahead and put the mulch down—thinly—in the beds where we pulled out the weeds.”

  “I didn’t know,” I told Hank after Richard took the bag of mulch around to the back. “I’ll get punk tree mulch next time. Why didn’t you say something?”

  “I didn’t know you didn’t know. You kept talkin’ about how you wanted to turn this place into a haven for wildlife. I just assumed you knew. It’s important.”

  It was important and I found myself wishing once again that Hank, rather than Richard, was helping me in the yard. Working with Hank the week before had been fun, even though I’d stumbled into bed every night, aching all over, while working with Richard was simply a chore, something to get through. But Hank had only offered to help until Richard started, and now Richard had started.

  In two months this will all be over, I told myself, but that just made me groan. Two more months of working with Richard. I didn’t know why the thought was so depressing. There was nothing specifically wrong with Richard.

  Well, I wasn’t going to think about Richard anymore. In a few more minutes he’d be gone, and tomorrow was another day. A good day, in fact. Tomorrow I didn’t have to work, so I was going to the hospital to visit Mark.

  Chapter 14

  According to Sue, Mark’s surgery had gone as planned and he was doing as expected, less one kidney. Sue had been to the hospital early in the morning—she had appointments with prospective clients back to back all day—but she’d left a voicemail message with Mark’s room number. Mark’s sister, Jill, had a couple of issues that had to do with her body accepting a new kidney, but no one would say more than that. Probably one of those medical privacy things that everyone paid attention to except when it had to do with me.

  Sue also warned me that only family could visit and that Mark’s parents were pretty much camped out in the ICU waiting room since patients in intensive care didn’t have specific visiting times. In order to visit Jill, her parents had to be sitting in the waiting room when the nurse came to get them.

  None of the hospital staff seemed to care when I called and complained that Mark’s parents were with his sister so that left Mark with no visitors. Rules were rules, they said.

  Rules weren’t going to stop me, however, not when my friend’s well-being was at stake. What if Mark needed something and no one was around?

  I got off the elevator on the fourth floor and followed the signs to Mark’s room. Unfortunately, a couple of nurses were walking past his room just as I reached it. I kept going as though I were headed
somewhere else. When I neared the end of the corridor, I nonchalantly looked around.

  The nurses were gone. I started back toward his room but just as I got to it, a nurse came out, so I passed it once again. The nurse quickly overtook me and continued down the hall until she turned off on another corridor. I did an about-face and scurried back to Mark’s room.

  There appeared to be two beds; at least there were two curtains pulled shut, so I figured there were beds behind them. Since loud, obnoxious snores came from behind the curtain on the far side, and I knew there was no way the sound of a hyena giving birth could ever come out of Mark’s mouth, I slid open the other curtain.

  The instant I saw him a rush of compassion and concern made my eyes tear up. His thick blond hair was tousled, his face was pale and drawn, and he was hooked up to a myriad of monitors, drip lines, and other scary-looking equipment.

  “Jane …” He sounded groggy, and he looked a little out of it. I hoped that was because of pain meds and not pain.

  “I wanted to make sure you’re okay, and I’m sticking around a while in case you need something.”

  “I don’t think they’ll let you,” he said with a tired smile. “Sue sneaked in earlier, and they had a security guard walk her out of the hospital.”

  Hmmm. I’d thought my days of being bounced out of a joint were over, but evidently not.

  “How often do they check on you?”

  “Every half hour I think. A nurse was just in here, so that gives you about twenty minutes.”

  “Is there anything you need?”

  “Some ice would be good. The nurse brought in a cup for me, but I can’t reach it.”

  He tipped his head toward a Styrofoam cup sitting on a table about ten feet away, so I fetched it. This was exactly why they shouldn’t ban visitors. It was ridiculous that a nurse would bring Mark ice and then set it way out of his reach. Poor Mark. It was a good thing I was there.

  I got the ice and fished out a piece of it with the plastic spoon the nurse had left in the cup. As he slurped in the ice, I noticed his lips were dry and cracked. I searched for some lip balm, but no luck. This annoyed me. If I was allowed to be visiting, I could ring the nurse and ask for some balm, but since I’d snuck in, I couldn’t.

  A tube of antibiotic ointment, lying next to a package of gloves, caught my eye. I ripped open the package of gloves, slipped one on, and squeezed a small amount of ointment onto my index finger. I was just turning toward Mark when a voice spoke from the hall.

  “No, I think I forgot and left the ice on the table.” The voice, and presumably the nurse attached to it, drew nearer with every word.

  For someone who didn’t care about the rules, I sure did care about getting caught breaking them. In my panic I stumbled over the legs of one of the pieces of equipment hooked up to Mark. The equipment swayed toward me, then tottered away, and I caught it just before it crashed to the floor. Mark said, “Ugh,” which horrified me since I was afraid I’d jerked some line out of his arm.

  Then I saw the reason for his grunt. I’d squirted antibiotic ointment all over his face. I was still clenching the tube of ointment in my hand, so I threw it toward the bedside table. I sank down to the floor and rolled under the bed with only a second to spare before the nurse entered the room.

  “What the …”

  The next thing I knew, a nurse’s upside-down head was checking me out under the bed. I scooted out the opposite side, rolled over onto my stomach, shoved myself off the floor, and took off running.

  “Hey, what do you think you’re doing?” she shouted as I sprinted through the doorway.

  The fact that she didn’t know was all the more reason why Mark needed someone sitting with him. If she couldn’t tell when someone was obviously making a getaway, she probably couldn’t figure out when Mark’s equipment malfunctioned or when he was in pain.

  But I’d give that some thought later, after I found a place to hide. A door just ahead of me had the word linens on it, so I flung open the door, jumped inside, and jerked the door shut behind me.

  *****

  I heard feet scurrying past the door, more than once, plus an occasional voice carrying down the hall from somewhere. Now what was I to do? I was stuck in a supply closet with no way out. Why had I run at all? Well, maybe because I was hiding out under the bed. I would’ve felt like a fool saying “Hi!” to the nurse’s upside-down head and then rolling out and getting to my feet as though nothing had happened.

  But why had I even gotten under the bed? I could have just said I didn’t know he wasn’t allowed to have visitors. It wasn’t like there was a sign or anything. Of course, there was that little business of me squirting ointment all over his face, but still … I tried to come up with a good reason for hiding under the bed, one that made me sound smart or compassionate, but the bottom line was I’d panicked because I knew what I was doing was wrong.

  I pulled off the glove I was still wearing and groped for the light switch. Maybe something in the closet would aid my escape, but I needed to see in order to make that decision.

  I found the switch, flipped it up, and took a quick look around. Aha! Surgical gowns. At least that was what I thought they were. And caps. Eureka!

  I threw on a gown and tied the strings. But I couldn’t carry my shoulder bag over the gown. How many doctors or nurses carried a purse? None, I was thinking. I pulled the ties out of the strings, shrugged out of the gown, and put my bag over my shoulder. I pulled on the gown again and retied the strings. The cap was next. Now, if I could just find a mask.

  At that moment the closet door opened a crack and then swung open further to reveal Bryan standing there in a surgical gown identical to mine. I heard voices coming down the hall, so I did what any normal person in my situation would do—I grabbed a handful of the front of Bryan’s gown and jerked him into the closet with me.

  “I knew it was you,” he said, smothering a laugh. “I knew it the minute I heard that some woman was caught hiding under a bed. I didn’t even have to ask any questions.”

  He stepped back and eyed me up and down. He shook his head.

  “Were you looking for me or were you just lucky?” I asked, though I was thinking I was the lucky one. Bryan’s hunky body less than a foot away in a tiny closet was enough to make my heart go pitter-pat. I didn’t get a whiff of the aftershave I associated with Bryan, but maybe doctors didn’t wear aftershave into operating rooms. He didn’t need the aftershave though.

  “I was looking for you. I asked myself, if I were a nutty woman hell-bent on staying near my friend even though I’d just been caught under his bed and chased out of the room, what would be my next move? And I came up with this.”

  Hunh. Pretty perceptive of him.

  He gave me what appeared to be a stern look. At least his lips were pursed and his jaw was firm.

  “Has it occurred to you that you might carry a virus to your friend? He just underwent major surgery; his immune system is at risk. There’s a reason they don’t want him to have visitors, and anyone who does visit is supposed to wear a mask.”

  Uh-oh. I hadn’t considered that. This was upsetting news. Maybe Mark would get sick because of me.

  “Why don’t they have masks sitting there then? And why didn’t they tell me the reason he couldn’t have visitors when I called to complain? I wouldn’t have gone in to see him if I’d known it could hurt him.”

  I was feeling a little indignant. At least I was trying to muster up some indignation, hoping it would help with the guilt. “If people would just say why there’s a rule …”

  “Explaining why isn’t required, although someone might have explained if you’d asked.”

  “It never occurred to me to ask, and I’ll bet they wouldn’t have told me if I had.”

  “You’ll never know, will you?”

  No, I wouldn’t.

  “What’s your plan now? One of the nurses said there’s a reporter here from Palmeroy Times.”

  “That’s ludicro
us. I was only caught ten minutes ago, and they don’t even know my name, so why would a reporter be here looking for me?”

  “He’s been here since you called and complained about your friend not being allowed to have visitors. I suspect reporters have realized you don’t pay attention to rules. They’ll probably show up every time your name is mentioned, just in case you do something wacky.” His gaze swept over me and landed on the giant lump at my side.

  “I hope whatever’s under that gown doesn’t belong to the hospital.”

  “It’s my purse.” I might be a lot of things, but a thief was not one of them. I wondered if I could get in trouble for impersonating a doctor or a nurse. I wasn’t sure how the headline would read, but I was afraid the word prison might be in it.

  “Um, any ideas?” I asked.

  Bryan tipped his head back and gazed up toward the ceiling, shaking his head as though he and God were sharing a moment of exasperation. Then he sighed and looked back at me.

  “I can’t figure out what it is about you that’s got me so interested,” he said. “We met under bizarre circumstances, you turned me down flat for a date, your life seems to be one weird situation after another—if Palmeroy Times is to be believed—and now I find you hiding out in a supply closet after getting caught under a patient’s bed.”

  “Maybe it’s a physical thing,” I said, edging a little closer to him. I was certainly feeling a physical thing. I had the urge to jump into his arms and wrap my legs around him. If that wasn’t a physical thing, I didn’t know what was.

  “There’s definitely a physical thing, but that’s usually not enough for me.”

  “Maybe you just like me. Maybe you like the fact that I don’t obey the rules. Maybe I’m not like all the other girls you take home to Mama.” Ooh, that didn’t sound right. The girls that a guy would take home to Mama were good girls, so basically I was saying I was a bad girl. I wasn’t really a bad girl, and I didn’t want Bryan to think I was. Maybe a girl who might do bad things once in a while, but not a bad girl.