by Paula Boyd
And there it was—the real reason for the call. “Please tell Doctor Waverman to take whatever time he needs. I’ll contact him in a few days.”
“He wants to talk to you today, so call him on his cell phone.”
“Okay, if he’s up for it.”
“He’ll be calling you if you don’t,” she said with a little laugh. “We joke that Richard will be working deals until the lid on his casket closes.”
“Well, I’m glad we aren’t testing your theory today.” I said, forcing a light laugh, although I didn’t find any of it funny. The man had almost died right in front of me. Granted, she hadn’t been there to witness it, so I suppose from her perspective the whole thing was a non-event—or at least she was pretending it was. “Thank you again for letting me know he’s going to be okay.” I ended the call with the necessary pleasantries, then tossed the phone in the seat and stared at the front of the rehab center.
I had enough problems in front of me without having to deal with Waverman or his wife. Or Finch. How long would it be before I got a call from him? Gilbert Moore wasn’t going to sit idly by either. And what about the attorneys? They always had some fresh hell waiting for me for me as well. Of course, all of them collectively couldn’t hold a candle to the problem I had roaming the rehab halls with a gun strapped to her chest.
I don’t know how long I stared—or would have kept staring—at the front of the building if a car hadn’t pulled up under the covered entry and broken my gaze.
I blinked away the fog and saw an attendant come out the front doors with a wheelchair and head toward the car. The passenger side door opened and Lieutenant Daniel Perez maneuvered himself out of the car. Looks like “the plan” was still a go. “They were warned,” I said, shaking my head.
Perez winced and grabbed his bandaged left knee as he plopped himself down in the wheelchair. It wasn’t a Lucille-grade performance, but it was adequate.
Jerry’s professional plea to stop the madness had obviously been no more effective than my blunt and glib ones, so there was really nothing more to discuss. Still, he needed an update. Consequently, I composed a succinct text with an appropriate summary of the situation, which I followed up with a very inappropriate smiley face.
Plastering on my own fake smile, I killed the engine and headed right back into the rehab center. I don’t really know why. It certainly wasn’t to keep her from shooting someone—nobody could do that. Maybe I felt guilty leaving her as I had. Maybe I secretly thought I could get Perez to change his mind—or I’d finally lost mine. Whatever the reason, my feet propelled me forward—or backward—into the rehab center.
When I arrived back at Lucille’s room, she was already off to jump through the readmission hoops. Since Director Hall had basically ordered me to participate in Lucille’s recovery, I moseyed down to the big therapy room to start fulfilling my obligations. As I pushed through the double doors, I instantly homed in on my mother’s location amongst the other patients and machinery. No, it wasn’t my keen psychic abilities—I heard her.
Lucille sat in some kind of exercise contraption, working her legs. She was also working her mouth—loudly. She wasn’t howling or complaining though. No, she was just playing the part of the eager and compliant patient to the hilt. I think I preferred the grouchy version.
“Oh, so this is how it’s done!” she exclaimed, working her legs. “Well, now I see what you mean, Christine. And just look at me! Look what I can do! This is good, isn’t it?”
“Yes, Miss Lucille, it’s good,” the therapist said, eyeing her suspiciously. “What I don’t know is why you didn’t do this before.”
“Oh, well, it’s like I told you, I was just mad about everything back then.”
“You mean yesterday,” Christine said.
“Yes, well, it seems like forever ago. Besides, everybody was treating me like some old codger who wasn’t smart enough to come in out of the rain. Just because I’m of a certain age doesn’t make me stupid. And I didn’t get that broken leg from being old anyway. You know I got blown up and all…”
“Yes, Miss Lucille, everybody in the whole building, maybe even the city, knows.”
Lucile kept moving her legs as directed. “Even so, it still just upset me to wind up in a hospital bed, just so undignified. I just plain resented it and I wanted out. I’ll not be having people saying I’ll be an invalid the rest of my life or thinking I’m going to die because of a silly broken leg.”
I stepped around a cluster of machines and stopped beside the therapist. “So sorry I’m late.”
“See there!” Lucille said, triumphantly. “I told you’d she’d get over her snit and come back and help me like she’s supposed to, and now here she is. Isn’t that wonderful?”
Christine didn’t seem to find anything about the situation wonderful—we had that in common. But to her credit, she didn’t say so and got right back to work with Lucille. She patiently explained each exercise and how it would help build strength and increase mobility. I was an attentive helper, asking meaningful questions and being just as sweet as pie to my mother, all of which she seemed to absolutely hate.
The therapy session passed quickly, but that was only the beginning of the day’s fun. We spent the rest of the afternoon taking one for the team—or a bunch of things from the team, whatever. As we bounced from one evaluation to the next, I was doing my own assessing of things. For a while, I decided that everyone was suspicious and up to no good. Then, I was sure that everyone was just doing a great job and being extra helpful. Ultimately, I doubted the accuracy of either perspective. Along the way, I spotted a few cameras and garnered some judgmental glares, but nothing else of relative importance.
The visit to the lab had been nerve racking. Lucille and I both put on our “nothing’s wrong” faces in preparation for dealing with Nurse Linda, but she wasn’t there. We both nearly exploded in relief. Still, I watched the young nurse who was there like a hawk and made sure all she did was the basic blood draw and vitals checking.
The chat with the primary physician wasn’t much fun either. He was shocked and appalled that Lucille had d stopped the blood pressure medication. Her numbers were solidly in the normal range—he checked twice—but he still insisted on the pills. Things took another nosedive when I emphasized that our goal was to not take any drugs. He sort of started twitching since, apparently, everyone needs to be on some kind—or several kinds—of medications or they’ll just die on the spot. The doctor gave it his best shot, grilling us on pain, trouble sleeping, depression and a litany of other “common” maladies, but nothing stuck. He was determined though, so I had to bite my tongue as he wrote out a list of prescriptions make things work out in his own head—and to presumably to cover his ass. Since medication merry-go-round was pretty much standard procedure these days, I didn’t see anything particularly suspicious about what he did—reprehensible, but not suspicious. Still, it would all depend on what pills showed up in the little white cup.
There was good news though. Lucille was doing exceptionally well, and if she stayed on track, she’d probably be released for real in a few days. She was plenty happy about that, but the two-hour marathon had worn her out. When we got back to the room, Lucille did not argue about getting into bed and “stretching out for a minute or two.”
“You know, I’m pretty impressed with the rehab work they’re doing here,” I said, meaning it.
“Well, I suppose you would be since you’re not the one having to do it.” Lucille took a sip from a giant insulated mug then handed it back to me to set aside. “It might look easy to you, but it is mighty hard work. And then, of course, having to watch out for what’s going on, not to mention stay on my toes so I don’t get killed at the drop of a hat.” She frowned. “I’m getting worried about Perez. He should’ve been here by now.”
“Perez is here. He arrived just before I came back in.”
“You should’ve told me!” Then she caught herself. “Well, I suppose there wasn’t a
good time for that, but we still need to go see him now.”
“I thought you two were supposed to meet up at dinner.”
“Can’t wait for that. They know the police are coming. That Hall woman is calling everybody into her office one by one and schooling them on what to say. They’re all real nervous about it.”
“They know about Perez?” I said, wondering if we could automatically connect that dot. “They know he’s coming in and pretending to be a patient?”
“I don’t know about any of that,” Lucille said, shaking her head. “I just heard them say police. They know the police are coming.”
“Doesn’t matter, I guess,” I said, although it seemed like it did. “If the word is out, they’ve already started covering their tracks.”
“They won’t let me out without that hateful walker,” Lucille said. “So, you’re going to have to go by yourself.”
I was glad she’d made that call so I didn’t have to argue with her about staying in bed. “Get some rest and don’t worry,” I said. “I’ll find him.”
“Well don’t you be blowing his cover,” Lucille said. “Just chat real casual like. Talk to lots of other people too. Just start being real friendly to everybody.” She stopped and scowled. “Well, no, not too many people or that will look strange since you don’t ever talk to anybody.”
How these things became about my fault, I didn’t know, but they always did. “Yes, Mother. I’ll handle it.”
In the hallway, I realized that while finding Perez had sounded easy, it wasn’t going to be. This was a big facility, and finding him in the maze of hallways and rooms was likely to take a while. Figuring it wouldn’t hurt to stroll by the director’s office and see if I could overhear what she was telling people, I headed in that direction first.
As got near the door, I heard voices or more specifically one voice.
“I called you here to arrest this woman!” Director Hall yelled. “I showed you the videos!”
Dots were connecting quickly and I did not like the picture they were making. Taking a deep breath and swallowing the sick feeling lodged in my throat, I walked nonchalantly past the door and the window, glancing over as I went.
Lieutenant Daniel Perez sat in the chair in his casual shirt and shorts, arms crossed and scowling. He spoke, but since he wasn’t screaming, I couldn’t hear what he said.
Not to worry, Paula Hall was saying plenty that I could. “She is the only problem I’ve got. I don’t want you to watch her. I want her gone! Right now!”
I didn’t know if Perez’s cover had been blown or if the director had been in on the deal from the beginning. What I did know was that “arrest that woman” meant me and I had no desire to help fulfill her wishes. I scurried back to Lucille’s room.
When I opened the door and stepped inside, Lucille jumped, her eyes flying open wide.
“I didn’t mean to startle you,” I said. “But I probably need to be going now for sure.”
“Why? What’s wrong?” she said, scooting up in bed.
“Well, for one, I found Perez in the director’s office.” I walked over toward Lucille. “And it wasn’t a patient intake interview. She was ranting and raving about me, wanting me arrested. I’d rather not wait around to see how that plays out.”
“Well that just ruins everything,” she said, slapping a hand down on the bed. “If she’s in there squawking at Perez about that, then he’s already blown it. Nothing’s going to happen now.”
“Well, except my arrest.”
“Oh, don’t be silly. Nobody’s going to arrest you.” Lucille shook her head. “If Perez was going to do that, he already would have.”
“Actually, he can. I stole stuff from their lab. It’s a minor thing, but if she wants to push it, he might have to do something, or at least appear to.” I paced in front of the bed. “I better call Jerry and let him know.”
Turned out I didn’t have to because he’d sent me a lengthy message. I read fast and gave Mother the short version. “Perez has two other people here posing as employees. We’re not to talk to Perez, although he didn’t say why. And, confirming what I overheard in the hall, the only suspicious activity around here is mine.”
Lucille frowned. “You should go.”
“That’s what Jerry said.”
My phone rang in my hand. Another unknown local number. I glanced at my mother, sighed and answered. “This is Jolene.”
“Miss Jackson, this is Phillip Finch.”
“It’s Miz, not Miss or Misses.” Was everybody here still living in the 1950s? Yes, it was a rhetorical question since the answer was beyond obvious. “Just call me, Jolene, please.”
“Jolene, ma’am, we have a situation here.” He sounded very official and in command—or at least pretending to be. “We need you onsite immediately.”
“What’s going on?”
He cleared his throat. “I’d rather not say over the phone.” His voice wavered, betraying either his lack of confidence or his fear over something really bad. Yeah, probably both. “We were getting ready to shut down for the day and, well, we’ve had a situation that should be aware of.” He paused for a minute. “You should hurry.”
Click.
Chapter 26
I put the phone back in my pocket, gave Mother a quick explanation of trouble at the jobsite and then hurried out of the building. I wasn’t happy being summoned without an explanation, but I was also worried. I’d tried calling Finch back, but he wouldn’t answer. My first thought was that there’d been some kind of accident involving the drill rig. And since Gilbert Moore wasn’t answering his phone either, it only amped up my imagination and my anxiety.
When I finally pulled off the highway and onto the property, I was a little surprised that nothing looked unusual—no smoke or sirens anyway. I slowed the Buick to a crawl to keep it from dragging high center on the ruts and crept toward the staging area behind the mesquites. As I headed into the last curve, I saw bits of red and white through the scraggly limbs. Emergency equipment was on the scene. When the white canopy tents came into view, so did a mass of vehicles, including the Bowman County Sheriff’s truck and a deputy’s car.
Finch was at my window before the car came to a stop. Parking, I stepped out of the car and asked the obvious. “What happened?”
“It looks bad,” he said, twisting his hands. “I don’t know when he got here.”
“Who?” I asked, walking toward the circle of vehicles with flashing lights. Then, I saw Waverman’s truck. “Waverman? Here? What happened?”
Finch nodded, still twisting his hands. “I was over with Gilbert at the drill site. I’d just brought some core samples back to send to the lab, and that’s when I saw him, sitting in his truck. I went over to see why he’d come out here when we have everything under control. Of course, he just said he had to, because that’s how he is.”
“And?” I said, encouraging him to get to the point.
“He started going over what needed to be done, nothing out of the ordinary. I explained that I had already taken care of everything, but he wanted to get out and go check for himself—that’s just how he is.” Finch took a shaky breath. “When he stepped out of the truck, he collapsed. Hit his head on the frame when he went down,” he said, shuddering, his beady eyes blinking rapidly. “Lots of blood. I...I…called 911.”
“Is he okay?”
Finch blinked some more then gave a quick shake of his head. “The EMTs rushed him off, but it was too late.” He looked at his feet. “I’m the site safety officer. I did everything I was supposed to do, but…”
But Waverman didn’t make it. Wow. Apparently, this morning’s episode had not been enough of a wakeup call for him and now he’d paid the ultimate price. I couldn’t help but wonder what was so important that he’d left the hospital and made a bee line back out here to deal with it. I glanced over at the cluster of vehicles. “Wait a minute. His truck was onsite this morning and he left in an ambulance. How’d he get the truck back?”
Finch’s head snapped up. “Oh…I….” His pale face became even paler. “I took it to him and left it in the parking lot. His wife brought me back out here.” He swallowed hard. “We didn’t have a choice,” he said pleadingly. “He wouldn’t stop badgering us.”
I didn’t doubt that last statement for a second. And, I could understand why Dr. Waverman, CEO, would want to make sure things were okay with the project since ultimately he was responsible. More specifically, he didn’t want anybody screwing up his money train. Even so, you’d think that nearly dying would’ve been a good enough reason to take the rest of the day off. Logical, but not palatable to an ego determined never to appear weak. I’d call it the macho-man syndrome, but my mother and her daughter have repeatedly proved the malady isn’t gender specific. All I could think of to say was, “I’m sorry.”
Finch’s eyes darted to the side. “I better go. Today’s samples won’t get to the lab by themselves.”
As I watched him scurry toward the tents, I noticed a familiar face heading toward me. I’d have preferred to talk to the sheriff, but he was nowhere to be seen. His deputy, however, was looking large and in charge as he marched toward me.
Deputy Leroy Harper stopped in front of me, shoulders back and belly forward, almost at attention. “Well, Jolene, looks like you’re in it again.”
No, not this time. Yes, I owned the property, but what happened had nothing to do with me. Unlike previous situations, however, I was not going to defend myself or explain why someone else’s poor choices were not my responsibility. “Where did they take Waverman?”
“Redwater,” Leroy said, frowning in an unspoken “where else?”
I suppose it made sense. The county coroner wasn’t going to do an autopsy. “Do you know what happened? Finch seemed pretty shaken up, so I didn’t get many details.”
Waverman checked himself out of the hospital and hightailed it straight out here.” Leroy narrowed his eyes at me. “His man Finch said he was real worried. Afraid he’d get fired if he didn’t.”
