by Paula Boyd
I asked her to talk to her mother and get all the details she could about when they’d taken her to the lab room, if she’d gone anywhere first, and what they’d done or had her do, such as swallow pills. Melody gave me a list of what Doris was taking, none of which were prescription drugs, just vitamins and natural products.
“Thank you for your help, Jolene,” Melody said, a little emotion catching in her throat. “I don’t know what I’d done if you hadn’t been there.”
“I’m glad I was, but you would have gotten your mother out of there one way or another.”
“I don’t know what’s going on in that place, Jolene, but it isn’t good.” Melody paused for a moment then said, “Do I want to know why you stayed behind in the lab room?”
“Probably not. But Melody, you really do need to keep a close eye on your mother. If you notice anything unusual, get her to the emergency room immediately.”
“Understood. I started detoxing her the minute we walked in the door. She’s really tired right now, says she just feels worn out. She also having some nausea and is a bit confused, but I think she’s okay.”
“Probably just from all the excitement,” I said, hoping it was true. “Just watch for anything unusual.”
I hung up the phone and looked over at Travis, still working intently, totally immersed in his mission. I heard a noise behind me and turned around to see Jerry walking into the room.
The little girl in me wanted to jump up, rush into his arms and let him tell me everything was going to be okay. Instead, I stood slowly, once again wondering how to explain what had happened and how it wasn’t my fault.
There were problems with both approaches. For one, I am not a little girl. And two, it was my fault. That vial of blood and those pills hadn’t exactly jumped into my hands on their own. And, oddly, I was okay with it. I didn’t need to apologize or try to convince Jerry of anything. Huh. What was up with that? “Thanks for arranging this.”
Before he could respond, Travis opened the lab door and motioned us forward.
“Just so you know,” I said, leading the way. “I stole a blood sample and some pills from the rehab center. I had good reason.”
He groaned.
“Seemed the thing to do after they rolled out the dead body and took my mom’s friend away for unscheduled testing.” I glanced over my shoulder and smiled. He did not smile back. “Oh, for godsake, Jerry, you knew it was bad before you got here.”
“Yeah, I knew, but it’s still always a surprise to hear the details.”
“I also helped the woman’s daughter sneak her mom out of the facility. Lucille refused to leave, because she’s Lucille and that’s what Lucille does. But also because she appointed herself your undercover mole—her words—and is going to get to the bottom of things.” Again, I smiled. It wasn’t a happy smile, just my usual “yes, I know it’s insane but I don’t know what else to do” smile. “Now, when did you say we were getting married?”
Travis had obviously overheard the entire conversation. “I can share a few specifics on the technical side of things,” he said to Jerry, closing the lab door behind us.
Jerry glanced at me then said, “More specifics would be great.”
Travis provided a concise summary of the situation in terms that made everything seem quite reasonable and my actions almost heroic. “Given the age and condition of the typical patient at a physical rehabilitation facility,” he said, “testing anything that would increase the potential for rhabdomyolysis would be contraindicated.”
“That’s logical,” I said, “but it’s sure what seems to be what’s happening to people—muscle damage and even destruction. You called it myopathy too, which I can pronounce. Is that correct to use?” He nodded. “Well, since the heart is a muscle, couldn’t it be affected too—with fatal results?”
“Rarely, but yes, and the risk increases with higher dosages, as well as when used in conjunction with other drugs. Liver and kidney functions would also be at risk.” Travis pressed his lips together for a second then said, “I worked on an R and D project several years ago where the side effects you’ve described were identified and documented for a particular class of drugs.” He looked directly at me. “Again, that’s a hunch, not a scientific analysis, but it does give me some things to check.”
“I really appreciate this, Travis,” Jerry said. “It’s above and beyond the call of duty.”
“It’s no problem, Sheriff. These sorts of unusual situations break up the monotony and I enjoy the challenge.” Travis nodded to Jerry. “It is going to take some time to look at the various possibilities and run analyses, so there is no need to stay here. A quiet dinner alone would seem appropriate.”
“It would,” Jerry said, “if I didn’t have to go capture my future mother-in-law.” He glanced over at me. “She’s not physically able to leave, is she?”
“She’s not supposed to be, but she is—long story—and she was demanding to do just that until this all happened. Now she doesn’t want to, which just screws everything up.” I ran my hands through my hair and pulled. “I want her to be safe, Jerry, really I do, but I don’t know what I’m going to do with her. I wasn’t counting on this. I wasn’t counting on any of this!”
“Jo…”
I twisted my hands and shifted from foot to foot. “I know how this sounds, but if I have to add being her fulltime caretaker to my list of things to do right now, I will go totally and completely insane. The stupid estate thing had me ready to combust before I found out about all of this,” I said, waving my hand around the lab. “And did I mention that I had a run-in with the jackass consultant who’s running the toxic waste project? Or that my ranch manager ran me down on a four-wheeler and tried to shoot me? Of course, then he took me up to see the house, but I froze and couldn’t go in, and now the attorneys tell me I have be living there by tomorrow because of some stupid reason in the stupid trust papers that I never read.” The tears were coming, but I was trying really hard to stop them. “I just don’t know how I can handle everything, Jerry, I really don’t…I can’t…I just can’t.”
Jerry stepped toward me, looped an arm around my shoulder and pulled me to him. “One thing at a time, Jo. One thing at a time.” He held me for a few long seconds. “Let’s go have a chat with your mother then we’ll decide what to do.”
Chapter 11
I’d left the Tahoe parked at the gas station and had ridden with Jerry in his new truck—a black shiny tricked-out four-door with those sneaky incognito blue lights—that had arrived while I was gone. He’d told me it was coming, but with the litany of other things on my mind, I’d forgotten until I saw it at the morgue. It gave us something to talk about in the sixty seconds to the parking lot other than what was once again on the agenda—dealing with my mother.
In light of the earlier incidents—and my roles in both—Jerry had gone in alone to see Lucille. That was a relief on a number of levels, at least for me. Not so much for the sheriff, who was striding toward the truck with a scowl. Apparently things had gone as they usually did with Lucille—poorly.
He climbed in and closed the door, giving me that familiar look of dismay. “Apparently, I have a mole on the inside. At least until tomorrow afternoon. I told her we would both be back to discuss what to do next.”
“You think she’s safe until then?”
He nodded. “We took a walk down the hall and every person within earshot now knows her future son-in-law is the Bowman County Sheriff. That should keep her out of immediate danger tonight, but we need to have a plan for tomorrow.”
“Yes,” I said, adding yet another heavy sigh with it. “She seems like she’s doing very well, but I can’t just take her home and leave her alone. And if I have to stay there with her twenty-four-seven, I’ll have to kill her myself. And besides that I have to—” My cell phone rang, so I picked it up from the console, looked at the ID and said, “Deal with all the estate crap.”
“You don’t have to answer it,” Jerry
said, watching me not rush to answer. “However, the attorney probably wouldn’t be calling this late unless it was important.”
“Yes, and that is exactly why I don’t want to answer it.” But I did. “Hey, Ed, what’s up?”
“Jolene, this is Grant. I just had an email come in from Doctor Waverman. It was sent earlier today, but I just now got it.” I rolled my eyes. “Let me guess…oh, hell, I can’t guess and I don’t want to. What does he want?”
“The equipment he needs for the second phase of work became available sooner than expected and he wants to start in the morning. He’ll be onsite at seven.”
“Okay, and?”
“He can’t do anything unless you approve. You took the contract to review this afternoon, remember?”
“Yes, I remember, now, dammit.”
Grant chuckled. “Rough day?”
“It was a rough day before I got to your office. It became amazingly worse after I left.” I sensed he was about to ask questions or offer condolences, so I said, “Trust me, you don’t want to know.”
“Perhaps, but it might still be prudent. Still, that’s for another time. For now, we need to keep the project moving.”
I felt manipulated, but in reality I didn’t have much choice but to go ahead and approve whatever Waverman wanted to do. His proposal looked professional and did seem to be keeping the environmental police happy, so I promised to review it—or at least sign the damn thing. “Tell him he can stop by my mother’s and pick up the contract before he goes to the site.”
“No.”
“No?”
“That’s why you have to be living on the property. Trying to run things from your mother’s house isn’t a good idea.”
Again, I had plenty of reasons to support that theory, but I doubted they were the same as his. I preferred not to discuss either though. After I hung up, I said, “Seven in the morning, Jerry. I have to be at the property at seven to sign a contract with the consultant.”
“You could let the attorneys handle it.”
Could I? Oh, I suspect if they could have they would have just as they were with the plastics factory stuff. “Shit. I thought I was being all possessive with ownership and whatnot on the land, but that wasn’t it at all. They were letting me think that, then glossing over all the other business dealings because they could handle those.”
Jerry ran a hand through his dark wavy hair. “You think they’re handling things improperly?”
“No,” I said, shaking my head. “I think it’s all spelled out in the terms of the trust.” I saw his look and answered his unspoken question. “It’s an inch thick. I skimmed it…sort of. And I was in shock. Seriously, Jerry, I think I still am. And I am not having any warm fuzzies for my mother or Bob Little over this mess either. And then let’s talk about what’s going on at the rehab center and what if Travis’ tests show she’s right? Then what? And how am I going to get my stuff moved, especially when I don’t want to, and I have to do it by tomorrow.”
Jerry reached over and placed his hand over mine. He had the nicest hands, strong yet gentle, neat with long firm fingers. His simplest touch said far more than words. “It’s going to be okay, Jo,” he said, his deep voice adding a different layer of comfort. “Just take things one at a time and do your best, whatever that may be. I’ll help however I can.”
I swallowed down the emotional overwhelm that had tried to lodge in my throat. “I really don’t know what I’d do without you.”
He smiled and his eyes softened. “Can you think of anything you’d like to do with me?”
“Well, I’d really like for you to just hold me.” The center of the truck was filled with all kinds of gear, so I would not be snuggling up to him at the moment. “Tonight.”
“I can do that,” he said, squeezing my hand again.
And with just that simple gesture, for just a moment, everything seemed okay.
Chapter 12
The evening with Jerry was way too short and morning came way too soon. And while waking up next to Jerry was just getting better and better, the up-with-the-chickens timing of it was not. Six in the morning is not my time to shine, but he was already up, showered and gone. That would have been fine if I could have gone back to sleep, but I couldn’t. Still, it did make it easier for me to make it to the property to me with Dr. Waverman. And, if I could just keep floating in the blissful mind-blanking moment I was having right now, I might even show up with a smile.
I pulled up to the gate a couple of minutes before seven. It was open so I drove over the cattle guard and followed the red dirt road through the mesquites. I presumed Waverman was already there and waiting for me to bring him the contract. Most of it was boiler plate kind of stuff with the expected consultant weasel words, however, there were no estimated costs and it was basically an open-ended ticket for him to do whatever he wanted to—and charge accordingly.
It was true that we didn’t know what we were getting into, but I had the feeling he would cheerfully bill for whatever he thought he could get away with. So, I wrote across the bottom of the contract my own terms and conditions of how things would be if he wanted to get paid. In short, he had to keep me in the loop about everything—no exceptions. The request for a weekly report, including technical, regulatory and financial details, was going to be more work, but I figured he’d hop on board once I pointed out he would be billing me for it. He wasn’t going to let this big money project get away from him.
Smaller roads veered off in both directions, but I followed the most traveled path that seemed headed toward a row of large holding tanks off to the right. As the road curved around, a big open area sprawled out before me and I sucked in my breath at the sight. Directly in front of me, backed up against a patch of mesquites, were four white canopy tents with tables and equipment under them. To the left, a field of bare red dirt covered with a crusty salt-like substance spread out toward the tank battery. Little colored flags on small wire rods clustered across the salty clay, swaying in the breeze. Sort of reminded me of an outdoor art display I’d seen once that had bulbs on spring rods in a field of grass. Only there was no grass and this wasn’t art. I pulled up beside the other trucks and parked.
Waverman popped out from under one of the covered areas wearing a hardhat and marched toward me.
I grabbed the papers from the seat, stepped out of the Tahoe and walked to the front of the truck. “I have the contract for you.”
“Good,” he said guardedly. “We’re ready to get started as soon as the rig gets here.”
“There are a couple of things I added to the scope of work,” I said, handing him the contract. “You’ll need to look those over and initial them.”
Waverman looked down his nose at me as he took the papers. “That proposal was written for flexibility. We’ve got to move fast and get this done.”
“Absolutely.”
He cut his eyes toward me. “You don’t want to do anything that would cause more agency officials to show up and start asking questions.”
“No, Doctor Waverman, I certainly don’t. That scenario would likely not work out well for either of us.” I paused and smiled—a little. “Your professional reputation is on the line right along with my money, so I know we are both going to make decisions and take actions that move this project forward as smoothly and ethically as possible.”
He frowned, unsure if I was suggesting he might not be ethical, which I was. “Of course,” he said, looking back down at the papers. “That’s how I handle all my projects or I wouldn’t still be in business.”
I didn’t know about that, but I did know I was going to have to—at least to some degree—pander to his ego. My ego didn’t like it, but I didn’t like the idea of being locked in a perpetual pissing contest with an insecure bully with questionable morals either. So, I appealed to his pocketbook and pride to coax him off his high horse—or at least get it heading in the right direction. “You come highly recommended, Doctor Waverman, and I sincerely apprec
iate your efforts in pulling all this together on such short notice.”
He glanced up warily, wondering if I was being sincere.
“It was very fortunate you had time to take this on. And, as you said, it is quite complex, so the additions I made to the contract are simply tasks to facilitate my understanding and will actually increase your budget.”
The tension in his face lightened and he nodded then went back to reading my additions to the contract. He frowned a little at one point then remembered he’d be billing me for it all and the corners of his mouth actually turned up in a smile. “Yes, well, I think this certainly seems fair,” he said, then laid the contract on the hood of the Tahoe, initialed my changes and signed his name to both copies of the contract. As he handed me my copy, his eyes darted over the top of my head and his smiled faded. Scowling, he grumbled, “What the hell does she want?”
I turned around and followed his gaze to a shiny silver sedan that was pulling up beside his truck over by a tent. I couldn’t see who was behind the wheel, but it wouldn’t have mattered if I could because my eyes were locked on the car’s license plate, which read: MRS RJW. “You have got to be kidding me.” Yes, I think I said it out loud, but Waverman didn’t seem to notice. He apparently had his own issues with the Mrs. “I-have-no-identity-of-my-own” Waverman.
Huffing, sighing and grumbling, Waverman stomped over to the car. Between his bulk, the road noise and the distance, I couldn’t see or hear what was going on. But when he turned back around with a cooler in his hand, it was good bet that his wife had brought him lunch. He walked over to his truck and stuck the cooler inside then came back to me, carrying a large white binder. “If you’re going to be onsite, you need to study this and have training.”
