Murder on Potrero Hill (Peyton Brooks' Series Book 1)

by Hamilton, M. L.

  The doctor finally met Jake’s eyes. “Yes. We fear the damage may be extensive.”

  Jake shook his head. For some reason, he wasn’t understanding this. “How could this happen? How could someone as young as Zoë have an aneurysm?”

  “Age has little to do with it. Many aneurysms are congenital, meaning they are present at birth. A weakness in a vessel that goes undetected until there is a stressor that triggers it.”

  “What could trigger it?” said Jake.

  The nurses at the desk looked over at him and he realized he was talking loudly. He didn’t care. His mind couldn’t grapple with the information Dr. Singh was providing.

  The doctor shifted weight again. “I think it’s best we go somewhere else to discuss this.”

  “No,” snapped Jake. “Tell me what you know. I don’t want to go somewhere else.”

  “Jake, you’re making a scene,” said Claire.

  Jake stared at her. What the hell was she talking about? Didn’t she understand what was happening? Her daughter was fighting for her life and would likely be impaired if she survived. Jake’s gaze shifted back to the doctor as his thoughts suddenly found focus.

  “She will make it, won’t she?”

  Dr. Singh twisted his gloves.

  “She will make it, won’t she?” Jake repeated louder.

  “We’re doing everything we can.”

  “That’s not what I asked you. My wife will live, won’t she?”

  Dr. Singh exhaled. “I just don’t know.”

  Jake leaned against the wall. White noise filled his head.

  Dr. Singh put a hand on his shoulder, steadying him. “You have to know the rest. You asked me what could trigger a rupture. Many things can be triggers. The vessel weakens over time, high blood pressure, but one of the most common triggers is pregnancy.”

  “What?” Jake’s voice sounded like someone else’s. “What did you say?”

  “I’m so sorry, Mr. Ryder, but we couldn’t save the baby.”

  “The baby? What baby?”

  Dr. Singh’s hand fell away. He took a step back. Jake stared at him, marking that black spots were dancing across his field of vision and it appeared the doctor was getting smaller, drifting further away from him.

  “You didn’t know your wife was pregnant?” The doctor’s voice came from a great distance, as if he were shouting down a tunnel at him.

  Cold sweat broke out over Jake’s skin and he pressed his palms flat against the wall, seeking the coldness of the cinderblocks beneath his fingers.

  “Jake?” Claire sounded like she was underwater, the pulsations of her voice drumming in his head.

  Jake felt himself sinking.

  “I need a crash cart.”

  Hands gripped him and held him up, but his legs had lost their strength. He found himself sitting on the ground. Dr. Singh had his hand on the back of his head and was pushing downward.

  “Put your head lower,” he ordered.

  Jake tried to shove him off. “I’m fine.”

  “Get me a blood pressure cuff.”

  He felt someone fumbling with his sleeve and he jerked his arm away. His vision was beginning to clear and the noise in his head was receding. “I’m fine,” he shouted, shoving the hands away.

  Dr. Singh’s worried face came into focus. Behind him was a crowd of anxious nurses.

  “I’m fine,” he said again, reaching up to brush a line of sweat off his upper lip. “Please leave me alone.”

  “All right,” said Dr. Singh to the nurses. “Go back to your stations.”

  They meandered away, giving him worried looks. Jake closed his eyes and took a deep breath. His shirt was plastered against his skin, damp with cold sweat.

  “I’m sorry. I thought you knew about the pregnancy.”

  Jake shook his head, pressing back against the brick. The pain helped chase away the lingering light headedness. “She never told me. How far along?”

  “We estimate three months.”

  Jake leaned forward. “Three months? Shouldn’t she be showing?”

  “That’s still early and she was thin. You didn’t notice anything?”

  Jake thought of her sickness this morning, but he should have known sooner. He should have seen the signs, but she’d been pushing him away the last few months. She wouldn’t let him get close to her. He’d believed it was because of her father, but maybe it was this. Maybe she hadn’t been sure about having a baby with him?

  He braced his head with his hands. “I can’t believe this is happening. How can this be happening to us?”

  Dr. Singh griped his shoulder. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Ryder. Is there anything I can do?”

  Jake looked at him through his hands. Behind him Claire was watching with a strange expression on her face, her hands locked around that damn green, leather handbag. He pushed himself to his feet and Dr. Singh helped him up with a hand under his elbow.

  “You’d better get back to her,” he said.

  The doctor released him and nodded.

  “Please keep me informed.”

  “Of course.” He started to turn away, but Jake reached out and caught his arm.

  “Please do everything you can to save her. Please.”

  The doctor simply nodded, nothing more.

  * * *

  Jake punched in the text to Sam, telling him that he wouldn’t be into work today. He didn’t wait for a reply, slipping the phone back in his jacket pocket. Rising to his feet, he walked to the sliding doors of the hospital, staring out at the parking lot. A couple of security guards manned a podium to the right of the door, both of them sipping at coffee. The sun was fighting to shine through the cloud cover, stray beams touching down on the bed of succulents lining the ambulance lane.

  It always struck him that life went on no matter what. It didn’t even pause. The sun still rose, people still drank coffee, and the hours paraded past. Hospitals, however, were like time warps – dead zones where minutes ticked by in seconds so slow you could almost see them.

  “Here,” came Claire’s voice behind him. He turned and accepted the paper cup. The heat of the coffee stung his fingers, but he ignored it, lifting it to his mouth. He took a sip and grimaced.

  “It’s pretty bad,” remarked Zoë’s mother.

  “Bad is a compliment,” said Jake, running his free hand through his hair. His suit was wrinkled, his face itched with stubble, and his hair probably stood on end. Claire, however, looked as pressed and polished as she had when she came in hours ago. Not a hair was out of place on her bleached blond head.

  Jake walked back to their plastic chair encampment and sank into the seat again. It had been 8:00PM when the ambulance arrived last night. It was now 8:00AM. Twelve hours had come and gone, upending all of their lives. Jake still couldn’t get his head around how much could change in such a short span of time.

  He took another sip of coffee and watched Claire perch on the edge of the chair next to him. She sipped at her own coffee, holding it delicately between her thumb and forefinger. Studying her features, Jake could see tiny lines around her eyes and at the corners of her mouth, but they were concealed under a heavy layer of makeup. Her nose turned up at the end and she had a bow-shaped mouth, accentuated with red lipstick. Studying her this closely, Jake had a hard time seeing Zoë in her features. Zoë looked more like her father, he guessed, but even then there was a roundness, an openness about Zoë that neither Claire nor Blake possessed. Zoë’s forehead was wider, her cheekbones higher, her eyes large and round, and blue. Jake frowned. Neither Blake nor Claire had blue eyes and Claire’s blond hair was an unnatural, brassy blond, not highlighted with golden brown strands like Zoë’s.

  Then there was Blake. Blake had been a bear of a man with huge hands. Jake always wondered how he performed the delicate operations he did with such blunt fingers; however, he was a premiere surgeon, top of his field.

  Both Claire and Blake had tried to make Jake welcome in their home. He couldn’t fault the
m for that, but Claire was so above his league and Blake frankly intimidated him. He remembered when he’d asked Blake for permission to marry Zoë.

  * * *

  He climbed the curved stairs and passed between the white columns beside Zoë. She smiled back at him and reached for his hand, her other hand holding the small, wrapped gift.

  “Relax. You’ve been here a hundred times.”

  He forced a smile for her benefit. Not quite a hundred, but every time he’d been here only reinforced that he and Zoë were not of the same social class. His parents’ home would fit in the entryway of the Harpers’ mansion.

  Zoë turned the knob and stepped into the foyer, pulling Jake behind her. The house reminded Jake of a museum and he always felt he should lower his voice. Zoë tugged him through the entrance to the hallway leading toward the kitchen.

  The Harper maid was bustling about the vast room, transferring hors d’oeuvre from a baking tray to a pewter platter. Zoë snuck up to her and threw her arms around her shoulders, bending to kiss her cheek.

  The maid gave a startled laugh and patted Zoë’s arm. Zoë showed her the present. “Feliz cumpleaños, Junita.”

  Juanita threw up her hands and turned, hugging Zoë. Zoë looked at Jake over Juanita’s shoulder. Go on, she mouthed, nodding at the French door, which led to the yard.

  Jake drew a deep breath, then left the two women fussing over the little package. He opened the door and walked down the few steps into the Harpers’ enormous yard. A Greek-style swimming pool dominated the center of it, accented at each corner with a tall Cypress tree. A full outdoor kitchen took up the left side of the yard and smoke rose from a massive barbecue. To the right was a covered porch with an outdoor fireplace and black wicker couches arranged like a living room. A flat screen television blared over the fireplace and two football teams, one in gold and red, the other in blue and white, bashed each other on a brilliant green field.

  The Harpers and their guests lounged on the couches, watching the game, but everyone stood when Jake appeared. Claire was the first to hurry over to him. She wore white Capri’s and a pink, sleeveless blouse. She had her blond hair pulled up in combs.

  “Jake, I’m so delighted you came.”

  She took his hand and gave him an air-kiss.

  “Thank you for inviting us.”

  Blake lumbered up and held out his hand. Jake felt like his own hand disappeared inside the larger man’s. “How’s school?”

  “Good, sir. I finish this May.”

  Blake slapped him on the shoulder. “Good, good. Remind me that I’ve got some contacts for you when you get out.

  “Thank you, sir.”

  Claire slipped her arm in his and directed him toward the couches. An older couple and a young man with massive shoulders stepped forward to meet him. “You remember our dear friends and neighbors, the Dixons.”

  Jake shook each of their hands. “Nice to see you again.”

  They smiled at him.

  “And their son, Brandon.”

  Brandon crushed Jake’s hand in his, giving him a hard stare. “Hey.”

  “Hey,” said Jake, trying to extricate himself. He’d met Brandon once before. Zoë’s boyfriend from high school was the opposite of himself. Brandon had played defensive tackle in high school and then spent two years with a full ride to a college on the East Coast. After his second year, he dropped out and came home, declaring, according to Zoë, that college was for posers. Apparently work was for posers as well.

  “Let’s get you a drink, Jake,” said Blake, patting his shoulder.

  The Dixons went back to their game.

  Jake followed Zoë’s father to a full bar built under the windows of the kitchen. Blake slipped behind it and motioned Jake onto a stool at the front.

  “Where’s my daughter?” he asked.

  “She’s giving Juanita a gift for her birthday.”

  Claire followed them and perched on a stool at the end of the bar. “Make me an appletini, darling,” she said.

  Blake glanced over at her as he reached under the counter. “You didn’t tell me it was Juanita’s birthday,” he scolded.

  “I did, but you never listen to me.” She gave Jake a look that said her husband was senile.

  Jake studied the surface of the bar.

  Claire braced her chin with her hand. “Don’t worry. We sent her flowers and she has an extra day off next week.”

  Blake looked at her a moment, then turned back to Jake. “Beer?”

  “Sure.”

  Blake opened a glass bottle and placed it on the counter in front of Jake. Jake turned it so he could see the label. No domestic beer for Blake Harper.

  “My college buddy has his own microbrewery,” Blake said, reaching for the vodka.

  Jake nodded and took a sip.

  Zoë came out of the house and went first to her mother, kissing her cheek. “Hi, Mama.”

  Claire kissed the air.

  Zoë leaned on the bar and kissed her father. “Daddy.”

  “Hey there, kitten, what can I get you?”

  “Just bottled water.”

  “You sure?”

  She nodded, slipping in to Jake’s side and wrapping an arm around his waist. “It sure is a beautiful day.” She looked out at the late summer sun. “Perfect for a barbecue.”

  “Gotta love Indian summer in the City,” said Blake, shaking the martini.

  Brandon came up and gave Zoë a once over. “Hey, hot-stuff, you’re looking brown and beautiful.”

  “Thanks, Brandon,” she said, then turned back to her father. “So what are we talking about?”

  Blake smiled at her and reached for a handful of peanuts on the bar. “We were discussing Jake’s prospects after he graduates in May.”

  “You shouldn’t eat those, Blake,” scolded Claire. “Your blood pressure’s through the roof.”

  “Really?” asked Zoë in concern.

  “It’s fine. I’m taking my medication. Besides, it’s a party. I can cheat a little on a party day.”

  “So, you been tanning or something?” asked Brandon, ignoring the gist of the conversation.

  Zoë gave him an annoyed look. “I guess.” She turned back to her father. “Have you seen the doctor lately?”

  Blake scratched at the back of his neck. “Of course. I’m fine, kitten. Let not worry about it today.”

  Claire climbed off the stool. “Let me show you the new curtains I got for your room, Zoë.”

  Zoë allowed herself to be led away from the bar.

  Brandon watched her go, then leaned on the bar next to Jake. “You like football, Ryder?”

  Jake took a sip of his beer and placed it on the counter. “I’m more of a baseball fan.”

  “Wussy-ass sport, baseball,” said Brandon, laughing for Blake’s benefit. “Real men play football, right, Dr. Harper?”

  “Sure, Brandon,” said Blake, then he gave Jake a conspiratorial wink.

  Brandon leaned on Jake’s shoulders. “Why don’t you come over and I’ll explain the game to you. Unless you’d rather look at curtains with the women.” He laughed and grabbed the beer Blake held out to him, returning to the couches and throwing himself onto one.

  Jake exchanged a smile with Zoë’s father.

  “It’s good to see Zoë’s taste has improved with age,” said Blake.

  Jake studied him a moment, then looked down at the bar and fingered a water stain. “Actually, sir, there was something I wanted to ask you.”

  Blake leaned back against the windows and took a drink of his beer. “Really? Well, go on, young man.”

  Jake glanced up, trying to meet Blake’s stare. “Your daughter is the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

  A loud cheering exploded from the Dixons and Jake glanced over. Brandon was on his feet, pumping his fist.

  Jake shifted on his stool. “Dr. Harper…”

  “Blake.”

  Jake met his gaze then. “Blake, I’d like your permission to ask Zo
ë to marry me.”

  Blake bit his inner lip and studied Jake intently. Another cheer went up from the couches, but he ignored it. “Here’s the thing, Jake,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest. “You gotta understand that in my mind, no one will ever be good enough for my little girl.”

  Jake dropped his eyes to the bar again and slowly nodded.

  “But…” he continued, “if I had to pick someone for her, I’d probably pick you.”

  Jake took a relieved breath and exhaled.

  “You have my permission, son.”

  “Thank you, sir…” he began, but at the same time, Brandon reached over and hi-fived his father with a celebratory whoop.

  Blake glanced at them and sighed. Turning back to face Jake, he gave him a wry smile. “But you’d better hurry and seal the deal, son. God knows I could wind up with door number two over there.”

  Jake laughed and reached for his beer, feeling a flush of pure happiness.

  * * *

  The swinging door next to the nurses’ station opened and Dr. Singh stepped out. He looked around the waiting room with heavy, dark eyes. He had removed his surgeon’s cap and his salt and pepper hair was mussed.

  Jake set the coffee down on the end table and rose to his feet. His heart was pounding, his mouth felt dry. Dr. Singh’s eyes settled on him and he exhaled. That one motion was enough. Jake knew. Jake knew.

  He sat down hard again and stared at his feet. Claire gave him a puzzled look, then glanced over her shoulder at the doctor moving toward them.

  “Dr. Singh?” she asked, rising to her feet and clutching her handbag.

  Dr. Singh put a hand on her shoulder and guided her back to Jake. “Sit down, please,” he said, then hunkered down before them.

  Jake could see the doctor’s hands, clasped in front of him, large hands with a sprinkling of fine black hairs across the back. He couldn’t make himself look the doctor in the face. His stomach was trying to push its way out of his mouth, his heart was banging against his ribs. So much blood rushed to his head that he felt flushed and chilled at the same time.

  “I’m so sorry,” began the doctor quietly. His fingers tightened and then relaxed. “Sometimes the damage is so extensive, there’s nothing modern medicine can do.”