1 A Dose of Death

by Gin Jones

  But they didn't have to be so damned cheerful and efficient about it.

  * * *

  Just three days later, Lily and Laura returned. Helen had hoped it would take weeks, maybe even months, for them to find a visiting nurse, but she had agreed to the plan, and she was prepared to make the best of it, to keep her nieces happy. It was for her own good, after all, and she was confident she could handle the three brief visits each week.

  The woman with them was tall, solidly built, and the softness around the edges of her face suggested that she was in her fifties. She wore standard white nurse's clogs, but instead of a white lab jacket or pastel scrubs, she wore bright purple pants and a pink smock printed with purple teddy bears. Even Laura, when she'd been five years old and at the peak of her pink-and-purple phase, would have considered the colors too silly.

  Helen stared at the bright teddy bears for another moment. They might actually be a good omen. Lily had told her the nurse specialized in geriatric patients, which, in the absence of an autoimmune disorder specialist on the local agency's staff, was a reasonable choice for someone who could handle the wide variety of symptoms that a system-wide disease like lupus could cause. If the nurse thought her scrubs were appropriate for working with adult patients, though, she was probably as silly as her shirt, and Helen would have her wrapped around her little finger in no time at all. Then she could enjoy her solitude again with minimal interruption and without hurting her nieces' feelings.

  She stepped back from the door and let the three women inside, thinking that as soon as Lily and Laura left, Helen would have a nice, little chat with Nurse Goldilocks, and convince her that none of the bears in this cottage were "just right." No, the bears around here had sharp claws, huge teeth, and enough strength to tear a visiting nurse to pieces.

  Once everyone was inside and the front door was closed against the chilly morning air, Laura said, "Aunt Helen, this is Melissa Shores. I'm sure you two are going to be the best of friends."

  "Pleased to meet you, sweetie," Melissa said, folding Helen into a brief one-armed hug, overwhelming Helen's tense resistance. Finally, Melissa let her go and raised her six-pack of Diet Pepsi to eye level. "If you'll excuse me, though, I'll go put these in the refrigerator. Wouldn't want my soda to get warm."

  No problem, Helen thought as she made her way over to the recliner. The woman wasn't going to spend enough time at the cottage to need a drink, warm or cold.

  Laura took a seat at the far end of the sofa, leaving the spot closest to Helen empty. Lily remained standing behind her sister's shoulder, and said with fake nonchalance, "Melissa should have a set of keys to the cottage, in case you can't get to the door to let her in. I already gave her mine. The one you gave me a few years ago."

  "I remember." Lily had wheedled it out of Helen during a weekend-long visit a couple years ago, and then had stubbornly refused to return it, using one excuse after another. "I gather the key wasn't permanently lost, after all."

  "I found it in the last place I looked," Lily said with a straight face, and if Helen hadn't known her so well, she might have believed the innocent act.

  "You know we're doing this because we care about you," Laura said.

  Helen did know that, but it didn't change how much she hated being seen as needing help. "I suppose it's my own fault that you two turned out so bossy. I was a bad influence on you. I'll never understand why my brother ever let you visit me when you were young and impressionable."

  "But we love you, Aunt Helen," Laura said.

  Helen felt a brief pang of guilt, and then rallied. "Absence makes the heart grow fonder."

  "Aunt Helen's trying to say she loves us too," Lily told her sister as she came around the sofa to pull her to her feet. "We should leave now, though, so she and Melissa can get to know each other."

  The nurse was just returning from the kitchen, a soda can in each hand. Melissa saluted the girls with her soda, taking care not to spill the open can. She waited until the front door slammed behind them before turning her attention on her new patient.

  Helen stared back. She had better things to do with her life than dealing with a babysitter. How was she going to convince the woman to leave her alone and not tattle on her to the girls?

  Helen needed to gather more information on Melissa, just as she'd collected information on her husband's allies and enemies in her Rolodex, to find her weak spot. For now, all she was certain of was that the woman was older than herself. Her age probably explained why she was so obviously excited about a light duty assignment. She'd probably spent decades working hard at helping people. People who, unlike Helen, had wanted and needed that help.

  Melissa set her two cans on the side table and sank into the sofa. "Now that your lovely nieces are gone, sweetie, we can really get to know each other. It's always hard the first day, to be without your family, dealing with someone new."

  "I got over separation anxiety forty years ago," Helen said. "I don't need my nieces to make me feel secure."

  "Good, good," Melissa said, sliding to the edge of the sofa, ready to get to her feet. "But I can tell you're nervous, sweetie. How can I help?"

  "You can go away," Helen said. "I don't really need any help. I just agreed to hire a visiting nurse to make my nieces happy. All you have to do is pop in, confirm that I'm alive, and then leave."

  "Oh, but my contract calls for a minimum one-hour visit," Melissa said. "More if needed."

  "I won't tell anyone that you left early," Helen said. "You can bill the agency for your time, and I won't complain. You'll get paid, and I'll be left alone. Everyone wins."

  "You want me to not do my job?" Melissa shook her head. "I can't do that. It wouldn't be right."

  It figured, Helen thought. She had to get the one virtuous employee left on the planet, someone who was intent on providing an honest hour's work for an honest hour's pay. Helen would just have to make the most of it, looking for an angle to leverage the nurse out of her life.

  Melissa didn't need much encouragement to spill her life's story. She had almost thirty years' nursing experience, mostly in geriatric settings, although she'd started at a children's hospital, where apparently her fashion sense had been formed and then frozen in time. Every so often, Melissa paused to chug down her Diet Pepsi. She finished the second can and retrieved a third from the refrigerator, all without ever expecting or even allowing Helen to get in a word herself.

  As the mandatory hour ran out, Helen dropped increasingly blunt hints that it was time to leave. Melissa kept chattering as she emptied yet another soda can. Something more than mere words would be necessary to evict her.

  Helen might not be able to wrestle the woman out the door, but Melissa had revealed her one weakness: her soda addiction. Empty the remaining cans down the sink, and Melissa would need to leave to replenish her supply. Then Helen could complain to the nursing agency that she didn't trust a nurse who demonstrated such appalling ignorance of all the health risks associated with diet soda. With luck, the new nurse might be more amenable to bribery.

  Melissa was recounting a heroic rescue of an elderly patient, who probably hadn't even wanted to be rescued, when Helen decided she'd had enough. Surely, the mandatory hour was up, and if Melissa wasn't leaving, Helen was.

  She pulled her cell phone out of her pocket and dialed the number of a car service.

  Melissa stood and said, "Excuse me while I get another soda."

  Helen waved the woman toward the refrigerator and listened impatiently for the phone call to be answered. The dispatcher picked up on the third ring, and Helen said, "I need a ride."

  "Do you have a day in mind?"

  "Yes. Today. Now. As soon as possible."

  The dispatcher had apparently heard stranger requests, and didn't hesitate. "I'll send someone right away if you'll give me your address."

  Helen gave her the information. "Tell the driver to hurry."

  "Of course," the dispatcher said. "And where shall I tell him you wish to go?"


  "I don't care."

  "Excuse me?"

  There was no time to explain. In another minute, Melissa would be refueled and watching her reluctant patient. If Helen wanted to leave, she had to go now. "Never mind. I'll tell the driver when he gets here."

  "I suppose that will work," the dispatcher said. "He can call us with the itinerary. I'll just need your credit card information. We have a two-hour minimum that has to be paid up front."

  Helen gave her the numbers and was hanging up when Melissa settled back on the sofa with two more cans of Diet Pepsi, one on the side table and one in her hand. "Now, where was I?"

  "I don't know."

  Melissa chugged down more Diet Pepsi while she thought about it, and Helen crossed the room to get her purse from the desk. Her favorite walking cane was right where it was supposed to be, hanging from the doorknob, reminding her that she should take it with her. She didn't use it often, but the last couple weeks her hip had been particularly unstable. Falling flat on her face in the front walkway, with both Melissa and the limo driver watching, would definitely ruin her dramatic exit.

  Helen grabbed the cane and purse and carried them over to the window, where she could watch for the limo, while still pretending to listen to the nurse.

  "Now I remember what I was talking about," Melissa said, setting down her soda for the moment. She launched another story, which Helen tuned out.

  As long as Helen had a car and driver for the next two hours, she might as well do something useful. Mostly, she just needed time to think about how to get Melissa to leave her alone without upsetting her nieces unnecessarily. There had to be a way to offer her nieces some peace of mind, without having to endure Melissa.

  She used to have people who could take care of this sort of thing for her, with a single phone call. A brief word with her ex-husband's security staff, or one of the lawyers he kept on retainer, and the problem would have gone away.

  That was the answer, Helen thought, suddenly energized. Lawyers. She didn't need a whole fleet of them, like her ex-husband did. A single competent lawyer ought to be enough to handle one highly caffeinated, overly enthusiastic nurse.

  A black Lincoln Town Car crunched along the gravel in the driveway, stopping with the passenger door directly lined up with the front path. A bald, wiry, dark-suited man emerged from the driver's side and headed for the cottage's front door.

  "I'm going to see my lawyer," Helen said on her way out of the cottage. "Lock up when you leave."

  * * *

  "Quick, quick." Helen gestured for the driver to return to the front seat without waiting to usher her into the back. "I can close my own door. We need to get out of here before she comes after us."

  "Most folks choose a less conspicuous vehicle for a getaway car, you know, but you're the boss." The driver climbed into the front. "For the next two hours, at least. They did tell you it was a two-hour minimum, didn't they?"

  "No problem." Helen pulled the door shut behind her before checking over her shoulder at the door to reassure herself Melissa couldn't possibly stop them now. Melissa could call Lily to complain, but it was too late to do anything more than that. "Just start driving."

  The driver put the car into gear and started down the driveway. "The dispatcher didn't tell me where we're going."

  "To see my lawyer."

  "Not planning on suing me, are you?" the driver said with a nervous chuckle.

  "I'm not suing anyone at the moment," Helen said, "but it never hurts to be prepared."

  The driver reached the end of the driveway. "Which way?"

  Instead of answering him, she leaned forward to read his identification card on the dashboard, and said, "Are you from around here, Mr. Clary?"

  "Call me Jack," he said. "It's too confusing otherwise. The Clary name is more common around here than Smith or Jones. You'll see, once you get to know the area."

  She'd been spending summers here in Wharton for fifteen years now, and it was only now that she realized she didn't know much about the town. She'd always been delivered to the cottage by her husband's staff and then picked up a few weeks later, without ever leaving the property. It was different now. Wharton was her home, not just a vacation spot.

  "Do you know any good lawyers?"

  "My cousin Hank used this guy named Tate a couple years ago," Jack said. "He must be good, because he kept Hank out of jail, and if anyone deserves to be in jail, it's Hank. Along with his brothers. They'd probably be locked up, too, come to think of it, if they hadn't also hired this Tate guy."

  A criminal lawyer wasn't what she'd had in mind—Melissa was a minor nuisance, not a criminal—but if the alternative was going back and being referred to as sweetie or honey or something equally saccharine, she might as well check him out. "Tate it is, then. Take me to his office, please."

  Helen watched out the side window as the thick woods of the acreage around her cottage gave way to neighborhoods of large houses and only a few strategically planted saplings, and then finally to urban lots with more paving than grass. She recognized the approach to the center of town, and, while she'd never paid much attention before, it was probably where the local attorneys had their offices.

  A few minutes later, Jack parked the limo in front of a weathered-looking Cape, not unlike Helen's own cottage, except that it was on a tiny lot in a more urban zone and no trees. There was a small paved parking area in front, a long handicapped ramp leading up to the main entrance, and a discreet sign on the building that read Tate & Bancroft, PC, Attorneys At Law.

  The car door swung open, and Jack was standing there, offering Helen his hand to help her out of the back seat. He probably did the same thing for all of his customers, but it only reminded her that she wasn't the same person she'd been before the lupus had started to really act up. Before then, she'd have been out of the vehicle and halfway to the building's entrance by the time the driver could have unbuckled his seatbelt.

  It didn't matter so much what Jack thought of her abilities, but lawyers worked in a world where image was everything. Their own image, their client's image, and even the judicial system's image. They knew it, but few realized how much they, themselves, were taken in by appearances and failed to see reality. Chances were that this Tate guy wasn't going to see Helen as the strong, smart, attention-grabbing person she used to be; he was going to see the decrepit, slow, and easy-to-ignore person she'd become. If that was all he saw, he might dismiss her as not worthy of his time.

  Jack bent down to look inside the car. "Do you need help?"

  "No." The lawyer might not have time to see her without an appointment, but if she didn't at least try to see him, she'd have to find somewhere else to go. She wanted to be sure Melissa would have left before they returned to the cottage. Being rejected by an attorney wasn't as bad as being accepted by Melissa.

  Helen slid to the edge of the seat. "I can get out on my own, thank you."

  Many people, especially in the service industry, would have insisted on helping, but Jack took a step back. She made a mental note to leave him an extra-large tip, as a thank you for respecting her wishes.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Helen left Jack to wait for her in the limo, where he was happily playing video games on his phone. She'd also left her cane behind, so her weakness wouldn't be the first thing her new attorney noticed about her.

  The small reception area was unoccupied. To Helen's right were a couple leather-upholstered arm chairs that had all seen better days and a faded plaid sofa on the adjoining wall. Directly in front of her, its back to the third wall, was a heavy wood desk that was just large enough to hold the bare minimum needed for a receptionist: multi-line telephone, clunky computer monitor, keyboard, mouse, and phone-message pad.

  The chair behind the desk was unoccupied, the computer wasn't humming, and the phone console didn't have a single line lit up. The surface of the desk was so tidy it looked abandoned, rather than temporarily unoccupied while the receptionist went to lunch. He
len looked closer and noticed a light coating of dust on everything.

  A loud thump off to her left startled her. She turned to explain that she wasn't snooping or stealing, but had just been looking for some indication that the office was occupied, so she could arrange a consultation. There was no one to explain to, though. No one in the room except herself.

  Next came the softer, more protracted sound of a box being slid along carpeting. Helen followed the noise down the hallway that led out of the reception area, hoping that no stairs would be required. Finally, she came to an open doorway. Inside the room, a tall, lean man in a dark blue t-shirt and faded jeans stood with his back to her, emptying desk drawers into moving boxes.

  She knocked on his door, and he looked over his shoulder at her. "What can I do for you?"

  "I'd like to talk to a lawyer."

  "I was one," he said. "The name's Tate. But I'm retired now, so you want to talk to my nephew Adam Bancroft."

  He didn't look old enough to be retired. There was a bit of gray in his hair, but he couldn't be any older than she was. Of course, that didn't mean anything; her career was over too. "If you're retired, why is your name still on the sign?"

  "Tradition." He pulled another thick pile of papers out of a drawer and tossed them into the remaining space in the box on top of the desk.

  "False advertising," Helen said.

  "Whatever." He sealed the top of the box. "I'm no longer in the business of arguing, and I never did it unless I was paid. You should talk to my nephew. He's at a closing right now, but he should be back soon."

  This whole thing had been a mistake. She should have taken the time to do some real research on the local legal community, instead of coming here on a whim. "It's not that important."

  "Interesting." Tate stopped packing and turned to face Helen, leaning back against the desk and peering at her suspiciously. "In my experience, by the time a client gets around to talking to a lawyer, it's already a crisis, not something that can wait. Why don't you tell me what you think isn't so important? If it's that simple, I can probably answer your question right now. If not, I'll pass it on to my nephew for you. He's looking for new clients."