“No, it’s a good thing. It’s just that I do like this job, Izzy, more than I ever expected to. I like what I do, I like the people I do it with, and it’s going to make me a little sad to leave it. I thought I’d have a little more time to get used to the idea, that’s all.”
“Well, if you really miss it all that much, you can always come for a visit.”
“I just might do that.”
With the difficult stuff out of the way, we get down to business. Two hours later, Lisa Warden’s autopsy is done. Unfortunately, we haven’t found anything other than evidence of the narcotic habit we already knew she had. Arnie pops his head in to let us know that the syringe we found in her arm tested positive for morphine and had only one set of prints on it: Warden’s.
“Well, based on what we have so far, I can’t rule out an overdose, though I can’t tell if it was accidental or intentional.” He looks over at me. “Do you want to deliver the news to Hurley, or should I?”
Since I’m anxious to let Hurley know about my work decision, I say, “I’ll do it.”
It takes me another half hour to clean up the autopsy room; and when I’m done, I head back to the locker room to change out of my scrubs. I discover a voice mail message on my cell phone and play it back, half-expecting to hear Hurley’s voice. But I hear the whispery, slight lisp of Nancy Molinaro, instead. All she says is “Call me.” I figure she wants to welcome me back to the hospital fold. I try to call her back, but her secretary informs me she has left for the day and won’t be back in until the morning.
Next I try to call Hurley, but I get his voice mail. Rather than leave a message, I hang up, figuring I can try again later. By the time I head out to the main office area, it’s going on three o’clock. Since our day started in the middle of the night, and we’re now back on call, Izzy decides we should both head home for the day.
Back at my cottage, I try calling Hurley again. Again I get his voice mail and I leave him a message about our findings on Lisa’s autopsy. I don’t mention anything about my job and life decisions, however, because I want to do that in person. Instead, I simply end my message with “Call me.”
Feeling groggy from my lack of sleep, I decide to lie down for a while. I manage to doze off for what feels like a short while. When I wake up, it’s dark outside. I look over at my clock and see that it’s almost six. I stumble out to the living room and dig my cell phone out of my purse to see if Hurley called back. But the phone is deader than Lisa Warden, because I forgot to charge it. I put it in the charger; and after freshening myself up a bit, I walk over, knock on Izzy’s door, and let him know about my phone situation.
“I’m headed over to Hurley’s place, so you can reach me there if a call comes in. Though, I imagine, I’ll find out when Hurley does.”
“No problem,” he says. Then, with a wink, he adds, “And good luck.”
I thank him, hop into my hearse, and head out.
I pull up in front of Hurley’s house a few minutes later and see his car in the drive and the lights on inside, telling me he’s home. Feeling both nervous and excited, I head for the front door. Halfway there I’m brought to a sudden halt.
The drapes on Hurley’s front window are open a crack and I can see him sitting on the couch, watching TV.
Cuddled up beside him is Tonya Collier.
Chapter 37
I stare at the tableau before me in disbelief, feeling as if someone has just stabbed a shiv through my heart. When I look back toward the street, I belatedly notice Tonya’s car parked on the other side.
Feeling crushed, I head back to my car and drive to the closest convenience store, where I purchase a frozen mac-and-cheese for dinner and a pint of Ben & Jerry’s Cookie Dough ice cream for dessert. When I get back to the cottage, I toss the mac-and-cheese into the microwave and treat myself to an appetizer of cookie dough chunks while the meal cooks.
I’m stress eating, and I know it, but I don’t really care. The animals seem to sense that I’m in a funk and they all keep their distance, watching me warily as I pace and mutter to myself. I can’t believe my crappy luck. Just when I make the decision to change my life in a huge way so I can be with Hurley, he hooks up with someone else.
I turn the TV on and plop down in front of it, scarf down my mac-and-cheese, and then finish eating all the cookie dough chunks out of the ice cream. There is a sitcom on, but what little of it my brain is following doesn’t seem at all funny. My mind keeps circling around the fact that Hurley has hooked up with Tonya. But then, what did I expect? How many times lately had I told him that nothing can go on between the two of us, that he had to move on? Well, now he has, damn it.
It’s just a first date, I tell myself. Maybe it won’t go anywhere. Maybe when I tell Hurley that I’ve quit my job and decided to submit myself to the humiliation of hospital gossip just so I can be with him, he’ll drop Tonya like a hot potato and hook up with me, instead. Or maybe he’ll look at me like I’m crazy and take out a restraining order.
I can’t focus on the TV, so I turn it off. I can’t do the same with my mind, however, and I sit there torturing myself, wondering what Hurley and Tonya are doing now. It occurs to me that I could go back to his house and break things up by dropping in on the two of them. Then it also occurs to me that I could go back to his house and simply spy for a bit, to see where things go. This last idea feels wrong, but irresistible. Before I know it, I’ve changed into dark pants. I dig out my black coat and hat and some dark blue mittens, and tuck my hair up inside the hat to hide it. Disguise in place, I grab my half-charged cell phone from the charger, in case Izzy calls, and head back to Hurley’s neighborhood.
The hearse is a dark midnight blue, but hardly inconspicuous, so I park a block away and then walk toward Hurley’s house. The living-room drapes are still cracked open in the middle; but as I skulk my way across the lawn, cursing the streetlights, I see that the couch is now vacant. Cripes, had they hit the sack already? They have to be inside, because both cars are still here. So where are they?
I creep around the side of the house, until I reach the kitchen window. There are no curtains here, so I have a full view of the room, which is fully lit. Tonya and Hurley are standing at the kitchen counter, side by side, talking and sipping beers. I feel a brief sense of relief that they aren’t upstairs in the bedroom, but it doesn’t last long. As I watch, Tonya sets her beer bottle aside and comes around to face Hurley. She leans in close to him and his free arm comes up and snakes around her waist. And then my cell phone rings.
I duck down because the ring sounds frighteningly loud in the quiet night air, and I’m worried Hurley and Tonya might have heard it. I reach into my pocket and clamp my hand over the phone to try to muffle the noise. Afraid of getting caught, I hop and hobble as fast as I can back toward my car. My injured ankle is still a significant impediment to any fast getaways.
I answer the phone on the fifth ring, just before it switches over to voice mail. I assume it’s Izzy; but after I say hello, I hear Nancy Molinaro’s distinctive voice.
“Mattie, do you have a minute to talk?” She doesn’t bother with any greetings, or even say who it is. She is a woman who is used to being treated with awe, fear, respect, and deference.
“Sure,” I say, a bit winded. I’m half a block away; and after a quick glance over my shoulder to make sure Hurley and Tonya aren’t outside looking for or following me, I slow to a walk.
“I understand you talked with Collette today about coming back to work at the hospital.”
“I did. She said there are a couple of openings in the ER.”
“Yes, well, there is a small problem.”
“What?”
“Your husband.”
“David? Technically, he’s not my husband anymore. We are divorced now.”
“And therein lies the problem.”
“I don’t follow you,” I say, coming to a stop as if the brainpower needed for walking might be enough to stump me. “What problem?”
<
br /> “David said he doesn’t want you working here anymore.”
This momentarily stymies me. “I’m not asking to come back to the OR; I want to work in the ER.”
“I know.”
Silence follows for several seconds as I digest this. “Well, David will just have to tough it out,” I say finally.
“He was rather insistent. He said it would be too awkward to have you working here at all. It is a small hospital.”
“Are you saying you won’t hire me?”
“I’m sorry, Mattie. My hands are kind of tied.”
“You can’t do that, Nancy. It’s illegal.”
“We don’t have to hire you back, Mattie. You did leave with no notice when you were here before.”
“For a good reason,” I say, feeling myself grow angrier.
“And if need be, we can find enough issues in your old file to justify not hiring you back. Like that nipple incident, for instance.”
“That happened more than seven years ago,” I say in disbelief. “I can’t believe you’re doing this to me.”
“I’m sorry, Mattie. But your husband holds all the power at this point. And today he told me that if we hire you, he’ll leave. With Sydney Carrington gone, David is the only general surgeon we have on staff. We’ve been looking for a second one, but so far there aren’t any takers.”
“He’s bluffing, Nancy,” I say, thinking that the “MD” after David’s name stands for “Major Dickhead.”
“Perhaps, but it’s a risk I’m not willing to take right now. The hospital can’t afford to lose that kind of revenue.”
“That son of a bitch,” I seethe.
“I’m sorry, Mattie, I really am. It’s unfortunate that you and David couldn’t work things out. Best of luck to you.”
And just like that, she’s gone, taking my life with her. I stand there, staring into space, my mouth hanging open, my breath creating giant steam clouds in the air. My first reaction is a screw-you-I’ll-sue-you attitude. But when I think about the logistics of it all, I know it would be a lost cause. Molinaro would never admit to saying the things she just told me, and David would never admit to his ultimatum. It would end up being my word against theirs, and Molinaro could easily say that the reason they didn’t hire me back was because I quit without notice last time. She’ll use that and a few other minor transgressions I had over the years, and put it all together as a legitimate excuse. I’m screwed. And I’m mad enough at David right now that I could kill him.
I get in my car and start to pull out, when I see Hurley and Tonya come out of Hurley’s house and get into his car. At first, I’m relieved, thinking he is taking her home, but then I remember that Tonya’s car is here. Why wouldn’t she just drive herself home? As they pull out, I follow, keeping back a ways. Hurley drives to the Peking Palace, where they both get out and head inside. Great, they’re having dinner together.
Pissed, I drive home and drop onto my couch in a state of stunned disbelief, wondering how my life could have gone so wrong, so fast. I quit a job I know I love, so I could be with the man I think I love, but now he’s with another woman. I’m unemployed, unattached, and unloved.
I need to call Izzy and tell him I’ve changed my mind. I grab my cell phone, speed-dial his number, and he answers on the second ring.
“Izzy, hey, it’s Mattie. Listen, I’ve been thinking about this whole job thing, and about Hurley, and I think I made a hasty decision earlier. I’ve changed my mind about quitting.”
There’s an uncomfortably long pause on his end before he says, “Your timing is astoundingly bad. I called Jonas this afternoon, right after you and I talked, and offered him the job. He accepted and he’s set to start in two weeks, maybe one if I can convince the PD to cut him loose early.”
I say nothing back to him at first. I can’t. I’m too stunned. After a long silence, he says, “Mattie, are you still there?”
“I’m here,” I manage to reply.
“Why the change of heart? Do you want to talk about this?”
God, no. I’d rather stab myself blind with a dull fork. How the hell did I manage to screw everything up so spectacularly in such a short amount of time? The last thing I need right now is someone feeling sorry for me. I don’t want Izzy to know how utterly devastated I am, or how utterly stupid I’ve been. So I pull myself together and say, “No, I don’t need to talk. I was just having second thoughts, some last-minute jitters and doubts. It will be fine. And we can talk about it tomorrow.”
“Are you sure? Dom and I are out for dinner, but we can come home if need be.”
“No, I’m sure. I’m fine.”
“Call me if you change your mind.”
“Thanks, Izzy. I’ll see you in the morning.” Before he can say another word, I disconnect the call.
Chapter 38
I drop my cell phone back into the charger and sit on the couch, staring at the wall, trying to digest everything. I’m angry as hell at David, at Hurley, at myself, and the whole frigging world. I’m angry at Barbie and her implied promises of a perfect life with Ken, and at Harriet for having such a good life with Ozzie. Somehow I’ve become a tragic figure in the soap opera that is my life, and I’ve hit an all-time low. I mean, what the hell else could possibly go wrong?
No sooner do I think this than there is a knock at my door. I’m afraid to answer it, thinking I’ve just tempted the Fates a little too much and a cloaked figure with a scythe will be waiting on the other side. I realize I’m overreacting and it’s most likely just Izzy; but to my surprise, I find Paul Fletcher standing there.
“Hi,” he says. He smiles, flashing those pearly whites at me. “I know this is a bit strange, coming to your house and all, but I understand that you have Lisa’s cat, Tux, here.”
“I do,” I say, wondering where this is going.
“Oh, good. I was worried about him.”
“He’s doing fine.”
“Good, good.” He shuffles his feet for a few seconds. “It’s a terrible thing that happened to Lisa,” he says. “She was a good employee, and a good friend.”
Maybe not as good as you think.
“Anyway, I thought I’d come by and offer to take Tux off your hands. I’ll be happy to take him home with me. I think it’s what Lisa would want.”
Great. I haven’t had nearly enough losses tonight. I want to tell him no, but I really don’t have any grounds to do so. Tux isn’t my cat; and while he isn’t Fletcher’s, either, he probably has more of a claim to him than I do.
“Yeah, all right,” I tell him. “Come on in.”
Fletcher steps inside and I shut the door. Hoover walks over and tries to sniff Fletcher’s pant leg, but Fletcher pushes him away with his foot and mumbles, “Get off me, dog.”
I call Hoover over and he scurries to my feet and sits.
“I think Tux is in the bedroom. Hold on and I’ll get him for you.” I call to Hoover to follow me and he does so. I find Tux asleep on my bed on one pillow, Rubbish on the other. I scoop Tux up and he settles into my arms and starts to purr. I tell Hoover to stay and carry Tux out to the living room, holding him out to Fletcher. “Here you go.”
Fletcher is hesitant at first, looking as if he’d rather do anything than take the cat, but he finally reaches for him. As soon as he touches him, Tux tenses up, hisses, and wriggles himself loose, scratching Fletcher’s gloved hand in the process. Tux hits the floor, running, and dashes back into the bedroom.
“Sorry about that,” I say. “He’s been through a lot. I think he’s just spooked. Let me get the carrier I use for my cat. If I can get Tux into it, you can use it to take him home, and I’ll get it back from you at a later date.”
Fletcher nods and I head for my bedroom again. The carrier is in the back corner of the closet. I drag it out and leave it open and ready before approaching Tux again. He is now sitting between Hoover’s front legs. Talking softly in easy, sibilant tones, I pet Tux for a minute or two before picking him up. He is complacent i
n my arms and lets me slip him into the carrier without any further ruckus. Remembering how he freaked out in Hurley’s car, I realize I should have had the carrier with me when I took him from Lisa’s place.
Then it hits me. How did Fletcher know Tux was here?
I pick up the carrier and head back out to the living room. Fletcher is standing in the middle of the room, with his gloves off, rubbing at a nasty-looking scratch that is bleeding slightly. “Here you are,” I say, holding Tux out to him.
He takes the carrier, walks over toward the door, and sets it down on the floor. Then he turns back to me. “I’ll need his litter box, too,” he says.
“How did you know I had him?”
“What?”
“How did you know Tux was here?”
“Oh, um, I went by Lisa’s place right before I came here and talked to one of her neighbors, a lady named Tonya. She told me you took him in.”
My first thought is that Tonya seems determined to ruin my life tonight. My second thought is that I think Fletcher just lied to me. Even if he has the time wrong and he talked to Tonya some time ago, how would she know I took the cat in, as opposed to taking him to the pound?
“You just saw Tonya?” I say.
“Yeah, like ten minutes ago.”
“She was pretty shook-up the other night. How is she doing?”
Fletcher shrugs. “She seemed fine.”
Yes, she did, damn it.
Clearly, Fletcher is lying to me. The question is why? Why does he want Lisa’s cat?
“Um, the litter box?” he says.
“Oh, right,” I say. “It’s in the bathroom. I’ll get it for you.” I head into the bathroom, look inside Tux’s litter box, and see a rock-hard, dry-looking turd inside. I use a scooper to remove it and toss it into the toilet, thinking that Tux might need a kitty enema soon if this is what his output looks like.
And with that thought, I realize Jack Allen didn’t have to get his alcohol through an IV; he could have gotten it via enemas. The rectal mucosa absorbs medications and nutrients just as well as, if not better than, the gut. And when I think back to the condition of Jack’s body, the lower part of his torso was burned much worse than the upper. At the time, I thought it was just because of where the fire was in relation to his body, but now I realize it might have been the flammability of the alcohol in his intestines that caused it.
Lucky Stiff Page 30
