by Paula Boyd
“I’ve had it with all of them.”
I pointed to the pill cup. “My mom refused to take her pills too.”
His head popped up. “Did they try to give her shots instead?”
“No, I don’t think so,” I said, not liking where my thoughts were heading. “Did you refuse that too?”
“You’re damn right I did.” He scooted up in the bed and puffed out his chest. “They can just do their medication adjusting another way.”
I stepped over and peered into the little cup. It was about half full and at least two of the pills were pink. “Guess you showed ‘em.”
Waverman muttered something I couldn’t understand.
“You know,” I said, wondering if I should try to take the cup or not. “I’m kind of with you on this one.” I pointed to the cup. “My mom found out later they were giving her things that weren’t even prescribed for her.”
His eyes got wide. “You serious?”
“Yes, very.” I nodded to the cup again. “So are you going to take them?”
“They tell me I’ll die if I don’t.” Waverman frowned. “And they’ll start poking me with needles.”
I wanted to take the pills, but I didn’t want to keep him from having something he really needed. “My mom hid hers in the closet. Want me to put there for you—just until you decided for sure?”
His eyes darted from side to side then he sort of smiled. “Yeah. That sounds good.”
I took the pills and left the cup. I also handed him his mug of water. “Better drink some of this to make it believable.” While he did, I took the pills and tucked them under his clothes in the closet. I couldn’t be certain, of course, but it sure looked like the pink pills were the same ones that had been there for Doris. At least this way, they’d be in the room, surely that made them admissible and all that. “I better get going, but I’ll be back tomorrow and we can talk more.”
“I want that project…to keep moving forward,” he said, unable to hide his worry.
“I’m not making any decisions on what comes next right now. Gilbert’s going to get his part done and Finch will get the samples sent in—he really seems dedicated to that part.” I smiled. “You and I will get together and go over your plans before the next phase of the project needs to start. But right now, just focus on getting better, okay?”
That seemed to appease him, so I hurried out and headed directly to the parking lot. I wasn’t sure what I was going to do after I got there—except open the ice chest.
Chapter 31
Standing by the car door, I dug in my pocket for my keys. When I pulled them out, I realized I didn’t actually have a car key—I had a clicker thing with a BMW emblem on. Problem was, I was standing beside my mother’s Buick—only I wasn’t. It had been hell of a day, but was I really about to get into somebody else’s car? Yes, I was, and the implications regarding my mental state were not good.
I took a few steps back toward the front so I could see better and quickly located the silver BMW parked two cars over, next to a dark blue SUV. Relieved, at least about the car, I headed over to it. But what I felt otherwise was anything but relief. The confused jumble of thoughts I’d had when talking to Waverman were turning into really bad feelings.
I used the key fob to pop the trunk then opened the driver’s door to let the heat out. When I did, I saw the light blinking on my phone. Honestly, I hadn’t even remembered leaving it there. It was nice not being bothered, but I dreaded what I was going to find.
A quick look showed a long list of missed calls and text messages. Most of them were from Jerry—and the only surprise there was that I hadn’t checked my phone to get those messages before I went inside. What was surprising was who’d called almost as much—Gilbert Moore. Finch had probably explained what happened in a message to him, so maybe Gilbert was calling to defend himself, hoping to save face somehow. Logical, maybe, but not in character. I had six voicemails to wade through, but Gilbert had sent a text, so I pulled it up first. “Found more stuff. Get that ice chest to the sheriff. You’re in danger.”
More stuff? Danger? Another wave of dread swept over me. “Oh, shit, this is bad.” And I knew it was, I just didn’t know how or why. I started to shake, but I forced myself out of the car and back to the trunk.
Finally staring down the ice chest, I sort of froze. Part of me wanted to close the trunk and hand over the goods to Finch and continue believing all was right with the world. But I knew it wasn’t. Taking a deep breath, I leaned over into the trunk, unhooked the latches on the top and lifted the lid. Bags and bags of pills filled the ice chest. “Holy shit! He was right.”
Now what? I just stood there, staring, trying to figure out what to do. I sure couldn’t take the stuff to Finch, he was waiting on sampling supplies. Or was he? Did he know it was drugs? Did Waverman? Was Finch trying to get the goods back for Waverman—or before Waverman found out? “Shit!” I said again, because sometimes it just makes me feel better to say it. Not this time though.
If I didn’t show up around back soon, Finch was going to come looking for me. He expected me to give him the ice chest and that wasn’t going to happen. I didn’t know what his involvement was, and did not want to have a chat with him to him find out. And then, like a beam of enlightenment from above, it all became so simple and clear—go get Jerry. I had no problem interrupting him now that I’d seen the pills for myself. All I had to do was close the trunk and trot myself back inside the rehab center and calmly inform Sheriff Parker and Lieutenant Perez of my find.
As I reached to close the trunk, I thought I heard a vehicle in the distance. Finch? Was he coming after me? I had to hurry.
Then, I felt a sharp jab in my back. Every cell in my body jerked to attention.
“Yes, it’s a gun,” a firm voice said from behind me. It was low and gruff, but still a woman’s voice. “With a silencer and a very sensitive trigger.”
Who, what and why questions flooded in, but so did adrenaline. I was not getting shot. My heart raced and my body shook, but I focused my mind on options.
“Close the lid on that ice chest.” She poked me with the gun. “Slowly. Then lift it out and set it on the ground.”
Why? So there’d be room for my body in the trunk? I don’t think so. If I was going down, it was going to be on my terms. In the movies, the heroine would spin around, knock the gun away and take control. In this reality, I’d be dead in half a second. I had to be smart about making a move. I reached in slowly as directed to close the lid. As I did, I saw the pills again, the bags and bags of pills. Pink pills. Pills exactly like the ones Waverman had. Like the ones I’d taken to the lab.
These weren’t street drugs as Gilbert had thought. These were the unsanctioned cholesterol pills. But why had they been on my jobsite? And who the hell was this woman? What about Finch? It didn’t make sense. I closed the lid and pulled the ice chest forward to the edge of the trunk. “This is really heavy, I don’t think I can lift it out of there.”
“Sure you can,” she said. “You’re a resourceful girl. You managed to save my lump of a husband and destroy months of work in a matter of seconds. The retirement and insurance money wasn’t half enough for putting up with that self-centered bastard, but I still deserved it.” She jabbed me again. “But you didn’t best me. I’ll still get it.”
I hadn’t saved anyone. Then, the image of a big man puking in the bushes flashed before me. “Waverman? You’re Waverman’s wife? You’re MRS RJW?”
“Ha!” she said, with a derisive chilling burst. “I considered hacking him to death with those vanity plates—so fulfilling. But a massive heart attack will have to suffice. I’ll take care of that after I finish with you.”
Great. No question about her intentions—or the order of go on the executions. But it seemed she was waiting on something—or someone—before she killed me. I was plenty curious about what that was, but standing by passively to find out would be fatal. My best shot was doing something now. Whether it tur
ned out to be heroic or stupid depended on whether I lived to tell about it. “So, you’re just going to shoot me in the parking lot, in front of God and everybody?”
“No one is the least bit interested in what we’re doing—including God,” she said, with another cold chuckle. “It simply looks like I’m helping you move a patient in or out. When we’re done, I’ll close the trunk lid and no one will even notice you’re gone.”
I’d freakin’ well notice. But she was right about the rest of it. With the car facing the building and the trunk lid up, we couldn’t be seen from the front door. The side views from the patient rooms was probably obscured by cars as well. The large blue SUV on my left was a major visual block. The space on the right was empty, but a white sedan was parked in the next spot, which was a partial barrier, but there were no rooms on that side of the building anyway. On top of that, there was never much activity in the parking lot, so no one was likely to wander by either. If I wanted to be saved, I had to do it myself.
“I have a plane to catch,” she said, sounding almost bored. “I do wish Phillip would hurry up. This will be so much easier to manage with the truck.”
Her getaway plans did not interest me, however, that she was waiting on Finch to manage my dead body did. Since he was evidently the deciding factor in when I died, now seemed to be the perfect time for some ingenious heroics. Too bad I didn’t have any.
What I did have was a coldblooded killer pushing a gun into my back, about an inch from my heart. I couldn’t move faster than her finger on the hair trigger or the speeding bullet it would release. I was going to get hit, and somehow accepting that fact made things easier. I didn’t have to figure out how to get away from the bullet, just get my heart out of the direct line of fire. I might wind up just as dead, but the theory gave me hope. All I had to do was distract her for just a millisecond. Give her something to think about while I moved and her trigger finger didn’t. It might give my vital organs a desperately needed split second edge. “So, you really had sex with Doctor Dickhead and Finch?” I said, with as much incredulity as I could muster. I couldn’t see her face, but I could sure feel the revulsion my words had triggered.
She twisted the gun into my back. “I didn’t fuck Finch,” she said, her voice betraying her disgust. “His fantasy of it is what got him into this. Weak little man left his wife in hopes I’d take over and tell him what to do. So, I did.”
The sound of an engine revved somewhere off to my right. I didn’t dare turn my head to look, but odds were extremely good that it was Finch. And that meant there was no more time to think. I had to do something, even if it was wrong. Linda had obvious disdain for Finch, but she loathed Waverman. If I said the right thing about him, maybe she would react and I could make my move. It wasn’t a great plan, but it was the only one I had. “How could you stand it?” I said, injecting my own loathing and judgment. “Him and his big old belly climbing on top—”
“Miss Lucille!” a panicked voice yelled, the voice coming from somewhere in front of the car. “You can’t be out here! And you don’t even have your walker!”
Mother? Oh, shit! Everything shifted into slow motion. I was both in my body and outside of it, watching. My shoulder spun to the right and my fist slammed into my captor’s arm.
Zing.
The gun had gone off, but I hadn’t felt the bullet enter my body. Dropping down, I lunged for her legs.
She kicked me like a football. “Stupid bitch!”
I lost my footing and fell. My shoulder slammed into the asphalt. My hip hit next, then my head, bouncing like a ball. A black curtain waved across my vision. Stabbing pain shot through my body in all directions. I couldn’t move, but I had to.
I pushed myself up and looked around to see where the woman was.
Time stood still as Nurse Linda planted her feet and swung the gun back toward me.
Bang, Bang, Bang.
I stared up at her, the nurse in the blue scrubs holding the gun, the same nurse who’d taken Doris to the lab, the same one who’d been in Waverman’s room—his wife. Thoughts moved fast, but nothing else did.
She’d shot me. I saw it. I heard it. But I couldn’t feel it. I wondered where the bullets had hit me, what body parts had holes in them. I also wondered how many more rounds she could pump into me before I could make my body move—or even if my body still could move.
As I stared at her, she began to sway and took a staggering step forward. The gun wavered back and forth. She tried to keep it pointed at me, but she couldn’t.
Run. I had to run.
I scrambled to my knees and scuttled to the side of the car, away from Linda.
Zing.
A bullet ricocheted off the asphalt just behind me. I scurried toward the front of the car. Off to my right, I saw Finch’s truck heading toward us, gaining speed.
Bang, Bang, Bang.
The front of the truck exploded, shooting steam up into the air, then it jerked to the side and crashed head-on into the concrete pillar of a lamp post.
I couldn’t see inside the cab very well, but it looked like the airbag had inflated. I hoped that would keep him captured for a while, because I sure didn’t have it in me to try to chase him down, assuming that was even an option.
“Jolene!” yelled a voice. Jerry’s voice. “Stay down!”
I turned toward the sound and saw the sheriff crouched down and running from the front of the building toward me. Lieutenant Perez was doing the same, ducking between cars for cover as he ran toward Finch and the truck.
As Jerry approached, he gave me a quick glance, but he didn’t slow down. I shifted around to see where he was going. He crouched low at the back fender by the trunk, then moved forward slowly. He gave a quick look each way then stood and walked a few feet past the back end of the car.
Still crouching, I eased forward along the side of the car until I could see.
Nurse Linda lay sprawled across the asphalt, unmoving, her blue scrubs soaked in crimson, the gun still in her hand.
Jerry kicked the gun away then leaned down to check for a pulse, but her open glazed eyes that stared into nothingness told the story. Nurse Linda was dead.
I slumped down against the side of the car. How could she be dead? She was the one that had the gun. She’d shot me. I knew she had. Was I dead too and just didn’t know it? Was that why Jerry hadn’t stopped to check on me?
I leaned back and started patting myself down, stopping to check my palms for blood. When I grabbed my shoulder, I found a little splotch, but it was just from where my shoulder had scraped against the asphalt. I had plenty of tender spots that were not going to feel or look good, but best I could tell, I didn’t have a gunshot wound. It was a relief, but confusing.
“Are you okay?” Jerry said, kneeling down beside me.
“I guess so. I was certain she’d shot me, several times, but I can’t find anything.”
Jerry looked me over then nudged me forward so he could inspect my back. “I don’t see anything, but stay put until the EMTs arrive. I’m going to check on your mother.”
I sat there for a few seconds, processing his statements. Then, his words hit. My mother! I hadn’t actually seen or heard Lucille, but she’d been there. That was what had caused me to move. I jumped to my feet.
The ground wobbled and my vision flashed to black again, but it passed quickly. I grabbed hold of the car to steady myself then edged my way toward the front in the direction Jerry had gone. By the time I made it to the hood, I was doing a little better and managed to grab on to the SUV next to it. Making my way to the side, I saw her, standing near the back of the SUV, her shirt pulled up, exposing her upper torso—and her empty bra holster. Her right hand still pointed the gun. She stared straight ahead, her eyes fixed on nothing.
A nurse stood several feet behind her, frozen in place, her hands clasped over her mouth.
“Lucille,” Jerry said soothingly, approaching her from the side. “Are you okay?”
“Of cour
se I am, Jerry Don,” she said, convincingly. However, her eyes still stared blankly off in the distance. “Why in the world wouldn’t I be?”
I wanted to run to her, but I knew better. She was in shock. And with the gun still in her hand, the last thing I wanted to do was startle or upset her. There had been more than enough gunfire for one day—or a lifetime.
Jerry eased closer to Lucille, close enough that he could have grabbed the gun, but he didn’t. “Everything’s okay now,” he said. “You can put your arm down now. You don’t need the gun anymore.”
Lucille’s brow wrinkled and she stopped waving the gun, but she didn’t put it down.
“If you’ll hand me the gun, I’ll take care of it for you.”
She stared for a moment more, then blinked and sighed. “Well, I suppose so. It needs to be cleaned and reloaded anyway.” She lifted her left hand to her chest and deftly unsnapped the holster then pulled it away from her bra. She blinked a few times then looked down and shoved the gun in the holster and held it out to Jerry. “It’s very convenient, but not very comfortable.”
Once Jerry had the gun, Lucille started to crumple. He reached out and grabbed her. Then, the nurse came out of her own shock and she ran up to her as well. Within a few seconds, another nurse and a wheelchair appeared. Lucille didn’t argue as they guided her to sit down.
“You will all need to give statements,” Jerry said, nodding to the nurses. “But under the circumstances and Miz Jackson’s medical issues, you can take her back inside now. However, you will all need to remain with her in her room until the officers have taken your statements. Understood?” The nurses nodded. “It shouldn’t be long.”
