Off the Record

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Off the Record Page 9

by Jill Elizabeth Nelson


  “So nice running into you again.” The nurse smiled and waved, then left the shop.

  Kate stood still a moment, frowning. As helpful and reassuring as Peggy was, Kate couldn’t assume anything just yet. She’d have to keep asking questions on all fronts. But that wasn’t why she’d come to the ice-cream parlor in the first place.

  Regaining her smile, Kate turned toward Emma, who was filling candy jars. “Do you have a minute? I wanted to visit with you about the upcoming blood drive.”

  AFTER LEAVING the ice-cream parlor, Kate got into her car and was going to head for home, but her questions about Loretta’s history with doctors and lawyers wouldn’t leave her alone. What would cause Loretta to despise lawyers so much that she’d refuse to see one even when she was in trouble?

  Kate didn’t know a lot about Loretta’s past, except that Copper Mill was the diner owner’s lifelong home. It was a long shot, but she might uncover some clues in the microfiche records from the Copper Mill Chronicle that were kept in the reference room at the library. Whatever happened might or might not have rated a mention in the newspaper, but the search was worth a try.

  At the library, Livvy was busy with patrons, so Kate just waved as she went past the circulation desk. Just outside the reference room on the second floor, Kate met Jennifer McCarthy, the main reporter for the Chronicle.

  “Hi, Jennifer,” Kate said. “Raiding the back issues of the Chronicle, or are you doing some other kind of research?”

  “Just getting a few licks in on one of my ongoing projects—cataloging the morgue.”

  “The morgue? Here I thought I was in a library.” Kate chuckled. She knew very well what newspaper folk called their old, dead issues of newsprint—or microfiche, in this case.

  The young woman laughed. “It’s a slow go.”

  “I hope you’ve reached at least fifty or sixty years back.”

  Jennifer’s brows lifted. “In some areas. You might be in luck if it involves people with generational roots. I’ve given particular attention to the families with history around here.”

  “Sounds promising.” Kate rubbed her hands together.

  Jennifer walked away a few steps, then turned and wagged a finger at Kate. “If there’s anything newsworthy in this research you’re doing, let me know, will you?”

  “If it would interest readers of the Chronicle and won’t violate someone’s privacy, I will.”

  Kate got on the computer in the reference room and brought up the Chronicle reference catalog. She could see it was a work in progress, but hopefully there would be something on Loretta Sweet. A few minutes later, Kate sat back in disappointment. There was nothing on the diner owner any further back than when she opened her business, and none of the listed headlines looked likely to yield what she was looking for.

  Not holding out much hope for results, Kate tried a more generic search under just “Sweet.” A number of article headlines came up, most of them business-related, but one caught her eye. It was a lulu. Excited, Kate went to the microfiche reader and found the fifty-five-year-old newspaper issue associated with the headline, FREAK ACCIDENT INJURES LOCAL WOMAN. The article was all of two paragraphs long on the second page:

  Last Tuesday as Maybelle Sweet crossed Ashland Street, a parked milk truck came out of gear and rolled forward, knocking her to the ground and running across her legs. Mrs. Sweet, wife of local businessman Howard Sweet, was taken to Pine Ridge Hospital, where she was treated for one severely broken leg, cuts, bruises, and a sprained knee.

  The rest of the article contained a quote from the milk-truck driver, who was inside a home making a delivery at the time of the accident, and an editorial comment for people to be careful to make sure their vehicles were fully in parked gear before leaving them unattended.

  It made sense that Maybelle was Loretta’s mother, because she’d started to mention that something traumatic happened to her. And this certainly fit the bill. Plus, it could easily have involved a lawyer. The incident was a lawsuit waiting to happen. And if a medical error had occurred in Maybelle’s treatment, this could explain Loretta’s distrust of doctors. Maybe there was something more about the incident in a later issue.

  Kate searched the microfiched newspapers for several months after the accident but found no more references to it. Frustrated, she left the library and headed the car toward home. If Loretta’s lawyer and doctor phobia stemmed from the injury to her mother when Loretta was a young teenager, only Loretta would know the details. What would it take to get the diner owner to open up about what was bothering her...and hopefully get beyond it?

  Kate cruised past the Faith Freezer house and came in sight of her own home. A battered Ford pickup sat in front. Why was Joe Tucker’s truck at their curb? This time of day, Paul would be at the church. Turning into the driveway, Kate spotted no one behind the wheel of the pickup. She pulled her car into the garage. Where was Joe? She’d better go inside and call Paul. Maybe those two went somewhere together. She couldn’t imagine where, though.

  She went inside through the garage door and was headed straight for the phone in the kitchen but the sound of a raised male voice in the living room altered her course. Joe? What was he so excited about, and who was he talking to? Two men looked her way, the younger from the overstuffed chair and the older perched on the edge of the sofa like an elderly eagle poised to take wing. At sight of her, Joe stopped ranting, and her husband sent her a vague smile.

  “Paul, what are you doing home?” she said. “It’s not suppertime yet.”

  He waved a pad of paper at her. “I hiked home to stretch my legs and get some notes I forgot and ran into Joe here.”

  “Hi, Kate.” Joe grinned and scratched his mostly bald knob. “I was just tellin’ your husband about the official commendation the State of Tennessee plans to award to the community that has the highest percentage turnout in a blood drive.” He smacked his bony knee. “There’s no reason Copper Mill can’t have that honor. We’d be a shoo-in if I could get that high-toned, meddlin’ female to quit messin’ things up with her fancy ideas.” Joe’s volume increased a good decibel.

  Paul cleared his throat and shot Kate a significant look. She closed her mouth on the words that were about to emerge, realizing that it was pointless to urge Joe to make peace with Renee and start working together.

  “Actually, Joe came by to see if I’d help at the intake table for the drive.” Paul rose.

  With the help of his walking stick, Joe did the same. “That’s right. He’ll be passin’ out the registration forms and givin’ verbal instructions about the process as people come in to donate. If that woman wants people to be at ease, I don’t know a much better setup than havin’ a pastor stationed at the first table.”

  He headed toward the door, and Paul followed him. Kate stayed where she was. Obviously, some significant conversation had happened before she arrived, and she thought she’d better let Paul handle whatever it was.

  In the foyer, Joe turned and thrust out a bony finger. “Mark my words. My secret weapon will bring in the most donors. Just watch and see!” With a wink to Paul and a nod to Kate, he hobbled out the door.

  Kate set her handbag on the side table. “Wow! A secret weapon? I don’t suppose you know what it is.”

  “I wish.” Paul sighed. “Joe’s playing it as close to the chest as his imagined archrival.” He crossed the room and kissed her on the cheek. “Thanks for the timely appearance. Joe was about to ‘bust a gasket,’ as he might say, over that surprise tactic Renee is bragging about all over town. Any appeal to reason would have fallen on deaf ears.”

  “I gathered as much.” Kate chuckled. “So when is Joe’s secret weapon going to be unveiled?”

  “Next week’s newspaper. He says that’s how Renee’s springing her surprise too.”

  “It’ll be amazing if they can keep everything under wraps until then.”

  “Depends on how motivated they are by rivalry.”

  Kate shook her head. “Too mu
ch, it would seem.”

  If those two could get the vision of working together, their extra efforts would have a positive impact on the blood drive. She sent a quick prayer heavenward that someone or something would get their attention.

  Paul returned to the church, and Kate turned on her laptop computer. It would have been faster to continue her research at the library, but she was home now and needed to find out a little bit more about the personnel at Orchard Hill. The facility Web site would be a good place to start.

  While the computer was booting up, Kate got on the phone to the Country Diner. Loretta was busy with several orders, so Kate kept the conversation brief, just letting her know that she was available to go along for moral support if she changed her mind about getting a lawyer.

  Loretta seemed touched. “I’ve been thinkin’ about everything you said. Really. And I don’t feel any differently about lawyers, but I have had somethin’ weighin’ heavy on my heart for a long time. I just might take advantage of a listenin’ ear.”

  “My ears are open anytime.” Kate held off mentioning what she’d discovered about Maybelle. It wasn’t a good time to open an old wound while Loretta was at work. She’d wait until the woman was ready.

  The computer was up and humming now, so she went to the Orchard Hill Web site. First, she cruised through the “Key Staff” page, but no photos were posted, only names, titles, and contact phone numbers. Carolyn Pritchard was listed as the Director of Nursing. Kate checked out a few more pages but didn’t find what she wanted, and then she clicked on the link to the newsletter archives. The newsletters were chock-full of photos of staff and residents in various activities. No mystery lady in sight, and very few shots of Nurse Pritchard. Were they both camera shy?

  Kate noticed a section on the site welcoming new employees. Photos always accompanied those sections, and if she was willing to spend a little time at it, going back month by month, she might find her mystery woman—or not. But this was important.

  Two months back, Kate found Carla Trexler’s welcome blurb and photo. The young nurse was a native of The Volunteer State, growing up in the medium-sized community of McKenzie, Tennessee, a few hundred miles to the west. Were there really no kinfolk left there for her?

  She found Stephen Hancock’s welcome announcement another month prior to that. Then she continued skimming and went back over two years of newsletters. A kink began to develop in her wrist from all the scrolling and clicking. Maybe she was wasting her time. The woman she’d seen going through the chart and typing at the computer wasn’t young. She could have been at Orchard Hill for a long time—possibly predating the oldest online newsletter in the archives, around ten years ago.

  She opened the next newsletter, and Nurse Pritchard’s stern face stared back at her under the banner headline, DIRECTOR OF NURSING CELEBRATES THIRTY-FIVE YEARS IN THE CHATTANOOGA HEALTH SYSTEM. One thing for sure, Nurse Pritchard had been around for a long time. One quote from the woman stated that nursing was her “whole life.” Kate pursed her lips. How far would Nurse Pritchard go to preserve that life? She’d have a long career at stake if she made a charting error that nearly cost a resident her life.

  Kate went to the next newsletter and hit pay dirt again. In the Welcome to New Employees section, a familiar face with Coke-bottle glasses stared back at her. The mystery lady’s name was Margo Meyers, and two years ago in April, she became the Director of Health Information Management.

  The woman was a little high on the totem pole to be hustling through paperwork on the nursing floor. In fact, Nehemiah had said she rarely showed her face down there. Why had she chosen to do so at the exact moment of Shirley Kraemer’s medical crisis? Coincidence? Or did that muttered conversation with Nurse Pritchard about fixing a file point to a planned effort to save their hides?

  Chapter Thirteen

  At five thirty the next morning, Kate was in her rocking chair in front of the empty fireplace with her Bible in her lap and a cup of gourmet coffee steaming on the side table. A little while later, Paul tiptoed through the living room, and Kate heard clattering in the kitchen.

  When she finished her quiet time, she laid her Bible aside and wandered into the kitchen. “Smells good.” She took a deep whiff of the bacon and eggs Paul was putting on the table.

  On the way to her place at the table, she parted the curtain and looked out on her backyard. “Maybe the weatherman got it wrong today. The sun is pouring blessings all over the maple tree and my half-dug flower beds.”

  Paul chuckled. “I guess I don’t have to ask what you have planned for today.”

  “I like to finish what I start, but that includes finding more answers about medical errors. Loretta was minimal help, and I still don’t know enough to come up with a decent theory. Maybe a little gardening will help me think.”

  They finished breakfast, and Paul went into his home office. Kate made herself throw another load of laundry into the washer in the garage and put away a dry load. That tedious chore out of the way, she grabbed up her gardening supplies. Humming, she headed through the living room toward the sliding-glass doors. The shrill ring of the phone arrested her in the middle of the room. She changed course and answered the call in the kitchen.

  “Hanlon residence.”

  A sniffle answered her. “Mrs. Hanlon? K-Kate? It’s Carla Trexler.”

  Kate set the gardening tools down. “Carla, what’s wrong?”

  “Just about everything.” A quavery sigh punctuated the statement. “A representative from the Board of Nursing called yesterday and asked a few questions. I could tell he thought I was a bad nurse.” Another little sniffle came over the line. “They’re going to interview me in person, but it looks bad.”

  Kate’s heart broke for the young woman’s pain, but what could she say? If Carla had done what she was accused of doing, this was part of the consequences. But if she was innocent...“Hang in there. It’s not over yet.”

  “And that’s not all,” the young woman continued. “My six-year-old is home from school with strep throat now. Since I lost my insurance when I lost my job at Orchard Hill, it took nearly all my extra cash to get her seen at the clinic and fill her prescription. Plus, I have a job interview lined up for one o’clock today, and the babysitter won’t take sick children. What am I supposed to do?” Sniff. “Money’s already tight, and if I can’t get a job, we’re not going to make it.”

  Kate looked at her gardening utensils. Oh well. “I’ll be there around eleven thirty with a hot meal in hand.”

  By ten thirty, Kate was on the road, accompanied by the scents of fried chicken and mashed potatoes and gravy in plastic tubs, a nutritious chicken broth for the sick child, and a hefty crate of groceries she’d picked up at Faith Freezer.

  Cloud cover rolled in as she drove toward Chattanooga. Maybe the weather prediction would turn out to be right after all. She reached Carla’s apartment building before the rain fell, but the sky hung low, angry, and dark. With the tub of chicken and other meal fixings in a small box, she hurried into the foyer of the apartment building and was buzzed inside.

  A haggard Carla opened the apartment door. Her long hair was unkempt, and dark circles under her eyes betrayed a sleepless night. Kate remembered well those days of caring for sick children. The young woman’s smile brightened her pinched face.

  Kate deposited the still-warm food on the kitchen counter. “There’s another box in the car from a food program some of us started in Copper Mill. I’ll go get it.”

  “I’ll help.”

  They both went downstairs. Cool droplets of rain splashed against Kate’s face as they stepped outside.

  “We’d better hurry.”

  By the time they got the box of groceries into the foyer, they were both damp and laughing. Kate gave thanks that some of the shadows had fled from Carla’s eyes. Amazing what a little evidence of caring could do for someone.

  Up in the apartment, Carla began putting the groceries away. “Tell those Copper Mill folks thanks. Thi
s will get us by until I can start bringing in a paycheck. That is”—she halted with a box of pasta in hand—“if I get this job at the department store.”

  “People are praying.” Kate smiled and went into the living room to greet the children.

  A little girl with hair like her mother’s lay curled up on the threadbare brown sofa. Her frilly yellow pajamas showed above a light blanket across her slender form. She gazed at Kate with big blue eyes that must have come from her father. Her face was pale, but her cheeks wore a pink flush.

  “Hi, Mandy, I’m Kate Hanlon. I’ll be staying with you while your mommy goes out today.”

  “Hi,” the little girl croaked.

  Kate felt the child’s forehead with the back of her hand. Fever. Not surprising with strep throat. “Are you hungry?”

  Mandy shook her head.

  “Well, maybe I can coax you with a little warm chicken broth after a while. It might feel good on that sore throat.”

  “Okay.”

  Kate went back to the kitchen, where Carla was just finishing with the groceries. “Why don’t you hop in the shower while I put a meal on the table? Where’s your little boy?”

  A thump and a laugh from a room up the hallway answered the question.

  An hour later, Kate was finishing up the lunch dishes while Carla got ready to go out the door. Rain pattered a steady rhythm on the windows.

  “Remember an umbrella,” Kate cautioned the young woman.

  “Yes, Mom.” Carla smiled and waved the implement as she whisked past. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  The gentle thud of a closing door let Kate know she was on her own with the children.

  Ryan bounded into the room. “Can we play Hide and Seek?”

  “Sounds like a plan.” Kate smiled.

  This should be a snap. How many places could there be to hide in this small apartment? She quickly found out that there were many ingenious nooks for a pint-sized boy to keep himself out of sight. If he hadn’t had this habit of giggling whenever she came close, she might not have found him a couple of times. While she was “seeking,” she noticed a framed diploma on the wall in the hallway. Carla had graduated from the University of Tennessee right there in Chattanooga.

 

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