by Julia Harlow
“Don’t worry about me, Ty. Just take care of Isabel. Please.”
“I will. But make sure Andrew goes home with you. Isabel would want him to be with you.”
He heard an exaggerated sigh on the other end of the phone. “Yeah, okay, I’ll ask him.”
“Good. One other thing—I need Clarissa’s number.”
“Oh, right. Shit! Do you want me to call her?”
“No, but I appreciate the offer. I just need her phone number.”
If Ty considered the call to Ellen difficult, it was nothing compared to the agony of relating the news to Isabel’s mother. The hand holding his phone was wet with sweat. After he’d first explained who he was and what had happened, as far as he had surmised, Clarissa broke down in uncontrollable sobs.
“Oh my beautiful, precious Isabel. What has that horrible monster done to her?” She choked the words out between convulsive gasps. “Why did I ever marry that bastard and put her through this hell? She begged me to leave him so many times I lost count.” And after a shuddering pause, she continued, “Mr. Griffin, please tell me she’s going to pull through this.”
Ty switched the phone to his free hand and wiped the other one on his slacks. “The doctors are doing everything they can for her, Ms. Beachwood. She’s at one of the top hospitals in the country. I need to go back inside to see if they know anything yet. Let me give you my cell number.”
After he’d given Clarissa his number—he had to repeat it for her three times—she continued to cry but finally managed a hoarse, “Yes, yes. Go. Please promise me you’ll let me know the minute you find out anything.” Ty heard sniffling, followed by her distracted words, “I’ll call the airlines to find out how quickly I can get a flight out there.”
He shoved one hand in his pocket. “Why don’t you wait until you hear from me before calling the airlines? I can arrange for you to fly out here on a private jet that will be much more convenient and faster for you. But let me talk to the doctors first.”
Even covering one ear to block the sounds of traffic rushing by on Parnassus Avenue, he had to strain to hear her last, softly spoken words. “Thank you, Ty. Please take care of my precious girl.”
“I will. I promise you that.”
Before Ty headed back inside the hospital, he bent over and held the dog’s head between his palms. “You’re a hero, Pilot. I’m sure you saved my sweet Isabel’s life. I need to go in and check on her now. You stay here, okay?” When he noticed the dog panting, his long pink tongue dangling from his mouth, it occurred to Ty that the dog must be thirsty. “Hold on. I’ll be right back.”
He remembered seeing a water dispenser in the family waiting area. Filling two cups, he carried them back outside and held them out for Pilot. The dog’s big tongue lapped up all the water in no time. It probably wasn’t enough, but it would have to do for now.
The moment Ty strode back inside, he thought he heard his name being announced over the sound system. He hurried to the information desk. “I’m Ty Griffin. Was someone paging me?”
A young woman with short blond hair, the tips dyed the color of pink Play-Doh, stopped typing on her keyboard to answer him. “Let me check, Mr. Griffin.” She swiveled in the desk chair to make a phone call and, after a minute, turned back to answer him. “Yes. A police officer was asking for you. He needs to speak to you about the patient you brought in. If you’ll just wait here, the officer will be with you in a moment.” Ty noted from the badge dangling from a navy blue lanyard around her neck that her name was Lily.
He wasn’t surprised about the police officer. In fact, he’d been expecting to be questioned by San Francisco’s finest. But the desperate need to know Isabel’s condition consumed him. “Do you have an update on Miss Beachwood?”
Lily smiled up at him and then turned back to the computer. “Let me see what I can find out for you.” Her fingers tapped on the keyboard, and then she said, “Nothing yet. She’s still in the emergency room. I’m sure the doctor will let you know soon.” Something about her smile reminded him of his sister, and he realized he needed to call Vicky to let her know what had happened to Isabel.
At that moment, a stocky man in a rumpled brown suit and loosened tie approached him. His graying hair was cut short, and his eyes were almost the same shade of brown as his scruffy suit. “Ty Griffin?”
“Yes.”
“I’m Detective Armstrong with the San Francisco Police Department. I have a few questions to ask you about what happened this evening at the York Street loft.” He pulled a badge from his inside jacket pocket and showed it to Ty.
“I relayed everything I knew to the 911 operator when I called.”
The detective nodded. “Yes, I’m aware of that. But I need to go over some of the details. Let’s step over here where we can talk privately.” Ty followed him to a deserted area in a corner by the front windows and turned to face him. “The man in the loft is dead. Do you know who he was?”
“I’m fairly certain it was Willard Daniels, father of Ellen Daniels, the owner of the loft. He was the former stepfather of Isabel Beachwood. As we speak, she is fighting for her life from an overdose of sleeping pills and alcohol she was forced to ingest at gunpoint.” His fists balled at his sides, and Ty couldn’t help the emotion that caused his words to falter.
“Okay. That confirms the information we got from the daughter. What we aren’t sure of is how Mr. Daniels died. Can you shed any light on that?”
“I don’t know. I wasn’t there. When I came in, he already appeared to be dead.”
“Uh huh, well, how do you think he died?” The detective slipped a notepad from inside his jacket pocket, opened it, and flipped through some pages.
Ty rubbed his fingers over his temple. “Miss Beachwood has a dog, a trained German Shepherd.”
“Are you saying the dog attacked Mr. Daniels?”
“He might have.”
“Where is the dog now?”
“Here. At the hospital.”
“Where exactly?”
Ty hesitated a moment before answering, “Out front.”
“Why did you bring the dog with you? Why not leave him at the loft?”
“With a dead man and all of the chaos of the investigation? I don’t think so. We’re talking about a highly trained dog completely loyal to Miss Beachwood. It would have been nothing short of cruel to leave him there.”
“Look, Mr. Griffin. Two of my best buddies are K-9 officers, so I understand where you’re coming from. These dogs can become, well, more than dogs to their owners. Would you take me to him?”
Ty clenched his fists at his sides. “Why? Are you going to charge the dog with murder and have him put to sleep?” He felt his face heating and was sure his blood pressure had rocketed off the charts.
“I just need to see the dog, Mr. Griffin.”
Ty shook his head, forcing himself to hold his tongue. Willard Daniels had clearly planned to murder Isabel and was going to shoot her dog before she’d no doubt signaled Pilot to attack in self-defense. So why did he sense that Pilot was somehow the accused here?
“You did hear me say that Daniels forced Miss Beachwood to take narcotics and drink vodka at gunpoint, right? Obviously premeditated murder.”
Detective Armstrong clicked his pen and tucked it in his wrinkled jacket pocket along with his notebook. “We’re just trying to tie up loose ends here, Mr. Griffin. Where is the dog?”
Ty stalked out the front entrance of the hospital with the detective trailing behind. He stopped in front of Pilot and patted the top of the dog’s head. “Here’s the hero who saved Isabel Beachwood’s life.”
“I get it. No one is blaming the dog for what happened.” The detective knelt before the German Shepherd, holding out the back of his hand for Pilot to sniff. “You’re a brave boy, aren’t you? And very handsome too.”
After Pilot sniffed Detective Armstrong’s hand and apparently determined he wasn’t a threat, his tailed brushed a tentative arc in the grass, flatte
ning the blades. The detective got back to his feet while he posed his next question. “So you and Ms. Beachwood are engaged?”
Ty’s throat closed up as if he were about to choke at the memory of Isabel’s lifeless body in his arms. He stalled by making a production out of clearing his throat. “Yes, we’re going to be married. We were planning to fly to Cincinnati this coming weekend to break the happy news to Isabel’s mother.”
Detective Armstrong stood up and faced Ty. “I’m really sorry about this, Mr. Griffin. I’ll leave you alone. The only other thing I need is your contact information.”
Ty rattled off his address and phone number and then turned to go back inside. The detective called after him, “I’ll pray for Ms. Beachwood’s full recovery.” Ty raised his hand in the air to acknowledge he’d heard him. He couldn’t turn around because of the tears sliding down his cheeks.
After swiping away the tears with the back of his hand, he headed to the information desk where Lily was waiting for him.
“Oh, Mr. Griffin, Dr. Cheng has been looking for you. I told her you were talking to the police. Hold on a minute and I’ll page her for you.”
Chapter 26
Ty closed his eyes and exhaled a deep breath as he leaned against the information desk. When he opened his eyes a moment later, the diminutive figure of Dr. Cheng stood before him. He noticed a lilt to her voice when she took his forearm and said, “Come with me, Mr. Griffin.”
She led him to a series of small consultation rooms and opened the door to the first one that was available. The interior was sparse: only two sage-green diamond-patterned upholstered chairs on either side of a round laminate table holding a box of tissues. She drew her small hand to the side of her body in a graceful gesture indicating that he should take a seat. He would have insisted that she sit first, but he was far too distracted by Isabel’s condition.
Dr. Cheng’s petite body seemed to float down like a swan’s feather in the opposite chair. She placed her delicate hand on top of his. Despite the green scrubs she wore, she seemed as elegant as a member of Asian royalty.
“Mr. Griffin, let me say first of all that your fiancée is a valiant fighter. The sleeping pills she ingested are called Seconal. Seconal belongs to a class known as barbiturate hypnotics. This barbiturate is no longer prescribed by any reputable physician because it is one of the most effective barbiturates known to achieve a swift death when taken in excess of the prescribed dosage.
“Ms. Beachwood regained consciousness a few moments ago. I want you to know that yours was the first name she spoke. She gave her consent for me to talk to you about her condition.
“It was most fortuitous that you brought the prescription bottle with you. We performed gastric lavage immediately—pumping her stomach—and then administered activated charcoal by endotracheal intubation to absorb the remaining drugs in her system. It was also fortunate that you got her to us so quickly after she’d ingested the barbiturates.
“IV fluids flushed out any remnants of the drug in her system and aided in re-establishing the balance of fluids in her body. We were prepared to perform hemodialysis, a form of blood washing, to filter out the remaining drugs from her body.
“The key fact that Ms. Beachwood is not a small woman worked in her favor. Had she been less than one hundred thirty pounds, we would be facing a very different outcome. Plus, the fact that she’d eaten a substantial meal shortly before the barbiturate ingestion helped her to dodge a grave outcome. Because of that, her body was able to fend off the most deleterious effects of the barbiturate.”
Ty heaved an audible sigh of relief. He was tempted to wrap the tiny doctor in his arms and squeeze her to him in a burst of sheer gratitude. Instead, he forced himself to ask the question that had been plaguing him. “So, is she going to recover from this?”
“Well, that’s a relative term, isn’t it? What I can tell you is that Ms. Beachwood has dodged the most severe side effects. I’ll spare you the specific details, but those side effects are life-threatening. As it is, she’s going to feel very weak and sick for a time.”
Ty leaned forward in the chair, resting his elbows on his knees, and didn’t hesitate to ask, “When can I see her?”
“We’re finishing up with Ms. Beachwood now, and then she’ll be transferred to intensive care where we’ll monitor her vitals. Once she’s in intensive care, you may see her, but only for a short time.”
“I want to stay with her.”
Dr. Cheng shook her head and her expression softened. “If she were in a private room, then it would be permitted. Unfortunately, our intensive care facility is not set up to accommodate family staying overnight.”
Ty scrubbed his fingers across his forehead. “Well, I’m staying here if I have to sit in the waiting room all night. When can I take her home?”
“That will depend on how she does in the next twelve hours.”
“I’ll hire a private doctor and nurse around the clock to care for her.”
Dr. Cheng rested her petite hand on his forearm. “Mr. Griffin, it’s obvious that you are prepared to care for her. Let’s just get through tonight, and I’ll assess her condition in the morning.” She rose and moved toward the door.
“How will I know when she’s been transferred to intensive care?”
“Check with the information desk. It should be within the next thirty minutes.”
Ty rose from the chair. “One last question before you go, Dr. Cheng. Isabel has a therapy dog. Would it be all right if I brought the dog in to see her?”
“Certainly. A therapy dog will be quite beneficial to her recovery.”
Ty moved toward the doctor and pulled her in for a hug, leaning down and speaking in a low voice, “Thank you, Dr. Cheng. Thank you for everything you’ve done for my sweet Isabel.”
The doctor smiled, reaching up to pat his muscular shoulder, and left the consultation room.
As Ty strode back toward the information desk to wait for word about when he could see Isabel, he spotted Ellen and Andrew already at the desk. Ellen wore her usual black leggings, white top, and those God-awful clunky boots she always wore. Andrew, still in his suit and tie, looked as if he’d just recently come from work.
The moment Ellen saw Ty she began to bombard him with questions. Ty motioned for them to follow him to the area by the front windows where he’d spoken with Detective Armstrong. After he shook Andrew’s hand, he relayed the basics of what Dr. Cheng had just told him.
“When can I see her?” Ellen, whose complexion was more chalk-white than Ty had ever seen it, pressed him.
“She’s going to be moved to intensive care in thirty minutes or so. We can see her there but only for a short time.” He took a moment to survey Ellen. “How are you doing?”
“Not the most pleasant day when your father attempts to murder your closest friend and stepsister, and then said father dies from having his throat ripped open by a dog.” Andrew draped his arm around Ellen’s shoulders. Ty thought he noticed her lean into him ever so slightly.
Ellen rolled her eyes and sighed. “To be perfectly honest, I haven’t had a relationship with my father for a really long time. He’d always dreamed of having a son. For years, I tried to fill that role, playing military games with him, watching War and Peace with him, and going on trips to Civil War battlefields with him, only to realize in the end that I would never be enough for him.
“Willard has had a death wish for years. Even though he knew he had serious heart problems, he continued with his deplorable habits. He drank buttermilk by the quart, scarfed down cheese Danish two at a time, chain-smoked, and drank copious amounts of alcohol. Exercise was anathema for him.
“I’m sure it will take some time for all this to sink in. But for now, Isabel’s welfare is my only concern. And I feel so guilty for not recognizing Willard’s ploy. He gave Queenie the chocolate bars to get me out of the loft. Why didn’t I realize that, and why in the hell didn’t I recognize what his motives were?” Her obstinate countenan
ce seemed to falter somewhat.
Andrew pulled her close, kissing the top of her head. “Don’t blame yourself, Ellen. Who could have guessed Willard would do what he did?”
Ty seconded those sentiments, reaching over to pat Ellen’s shoulder. “Hindsight is 20/20. No one would have suspected that Willard planned to do that. Don’t beat yourself up over this, Ellen.”
There was an awkward silence. Ty rushed to fill it. “How’s Queenie?”
Ellen cracked a small smile for the first time since he’d seen her at the hospital. “Good. She’s made a full recovery. And it only cost me five grand at the vets’.”
“Whew! Really? That much?” Ty welcomed the chance to get off the dreadful topic of Willard.
“Yeah. Vets have gotten excessively expensive over the past two decades or so. They’ve ramped up services to match the wishes of pet owners who think of their pets as family and won’t bat an eye at spending whatever it takes, even going into debt to ensure their pet’s welfare. Speaking of pets, where’s Pilot?”
“Out front. Want to go and see him?”
“Sure,” Ellen answered, and she and Andrew followed Ty outside.
“Hey, Ellen, would you happen to have a leash with you?”
~*~
The only sounds in the dark room were the continuous beeping and pinging of monitors on the wall above her head. If Isabel had been run over by a truck, twice, she didn’t think her body or her head could hurt any worse.
Her nose itched as if a mosquito were flitting above it, but the effort to lift her hand to scratch it required more effort than she could summon. Besides, there were so many tubes attached to her arm she was afraid to move. Wafts of isopropyl alcohol and hand sanitizer filled the room.
The petite doctor had been in to check on her a few minutes ago. Or maybe it had been longer than a few minutes. The doctor had a soft voice and a gentle touch. Isabel remembered she had lowered the lights before she left the room so the glare didn’t shine in her eyes.
