by Hanson
“Sandwiches and chips,” Elena repeated, not impressed with her son's idea of dinner but glad he’d fed Izzy before she went to the extra dance session.
She went to the kitchen and pondered what she should fix for Cesar. Before she could decide, he came in through the back door, stomping his feet on the doormat because it had started to rain.
“You’re home. It must be my lucky day,” he said in a disgruntled voice, as he came into the kitchen, his hair still wet from the shower.
“That isn't fair. I’m almost always here to fix your supper.”
“I suppose.”
“Did you have a bad day? You sound as cheerful as a grizzly bear.”
“Just the usual,” Cesar said, draping his coat over the back of a kitchen chair. “What's for supper?”
“I haven't decided. What would you like?”
“It doesn't matter.”
Elena gave him a puzzled look. Cesar always had definite ideas on what he wanted to eat.
“Then I’ll take a pizza out of the freezer.”
“Whatever.”
“You know I don't like that word! What is the matter with you?”
“It just irks me that I practically have to make an appointment to spend time with my wife. If you’re not out saving the world, you’re hunched over your sewing machine making a fancy dress for someone you’ve never even met.”
“It's only to help a patient. People recover better if they’re not stressed.”
“Is that in your nursing handbook?”
“It's common sense!”
Much to her surprise, he started laughing, a deep growly burst of humor.
“Why are you laughing?”
“Because you’re priceless. You care so much that I can't help but adore you.”
“Really?”
“Really!” He swept her into his arms for a big hug. “We don't have to have frozen pizza for dinner. Where are Rafael and Izzy?”
“At a dance rehearsal.”
“We’re alone then. I think I should take my best girl out for supper. Nothing fancy. We’ll go to your mother's restaurant. We haven't eaten there in a while.”
Elena smiled her approval.
“But before we go, you should know that I’ve been thinking about what we talked about earlier.”
“Oh?”
“The new class at church.”
“If you really object…”
“No, I know how much it means to you. Maybe I could go to the first class with you. I won't promise to go every time, but I’ll give it a try, just so I can spend more time with my wife.”
“Thank you, thank you.” Her eyes got teary, knowing how much of a concession this was from her husband.
“Get your coat. We’ll see what your mama has on special this evening.”
Her smile came from her heart. She was indeed blessed to be married to a man like Cesar.
“Oh, one more thing,” he said. “I’ve checked missing person reports for the whole county, and there's no one who remotely resembles your coma patient.”
“That's so strange. I would swear she's not a homeless person. Someone should be missing her.”
“If she lives on her own, her friends may be used to having her come and go whenever she likes. Eventually someone may notice newspapers piling up or an overflowing mailbox.”
“I hope so. It's just not right for her to lie there with no one to care.”
“You care, sweetheart. That's one of the reasons why I love you.”
He pulled her into his arms and reminded her that, come what may, they had each other.
Chapter Eleven
CANDACE ENJOYED HAVING THURSDAY OFF, EVEN though it had meant working last Saturday. This week, she had time for a morning dental appointment, a trip to the bank, and a chance to shop for Brooke's birthday gift. She also met an old friend for lunch and had her hair done in the afternoon.
“You’re in a happy mood,” her mother said when she got home.
“I got a lot done and had a nice lunch, but I’m especially pleased by the outfits I found on sale for Brooke's birthday. She really needs spring and summer clothes.”
Janet followed as she spread her purchases on the back of the couch for her inspection.
“What do you think? Will Brooke like them?”
“Oh dear, I don't know what she’ll like anymore. I’m afraid I took the easy way and bought a gift card. The pink shirt is really sweet, but I don't know whether she’ll like the balloon print on the yellow top. Some days she acts like a ten-year-old, and other times she could be going on twenty.”
“I know what you mean,” Candace said with a faint smile. “Well, we can return anything she doesn't like. It's fun to buy clothes for her, but she has a right to wear things she likes—within reason.”
She returned the outfits to the plastic shopping bags and took them to her bedroom to gift wrap, hoping her daughter wouldn't think the paper she had on hand was too babyish, her favorite word lately.
On impulse she decided to treat herself to a real luxury, an afternoon nap. She just had time to sleep for an hour or so before picking up the children at school, a job she enjoyed since her mother usually did it.
When the alarm woke her, she felt refreshed and eager to see her children. Howie's school dismissed nearly half an hour before Brooke's, so she had time to chat with him and take him home before picking up her daughter.
“How was your day?” she asked him as he fastened his seat belt in the backseat.
“Tim was bad. He wrote on the chalkboard when the teacher wasn't looking.”
The adventures of Tim, the class cutup, were a favorite topic with Howie. Although Howie seldom misbehaved, he was fascinated by the antics of his naughty classmate.
“Did he get in trouble?” Candace asked.
“No, he erased it before the teacher saw.” Howie sounded a bit put out that the crime went undetected.
“What did you do today?”
“I fell down at recess; but I didn't bleed, so I didn't have to see the nurse. Can I watch Captain ’Magination?” he asked, and Candace stifled a laugh at his quick change of subject. The boy was so easily distracted.
“Do you mean Captain Imagination? Does Grammy let you watch him?”
“Sometimes,” he said evasively.
“It's a cartoon, right?”
“Yeah. But Captain ’Magination helps people learn about stuff like flying to the moon.”
“We’ll see what Grammy says.”
Candace was careful not to contradict any rules her mother established. It wasn't fair to her or the kids to send mixed signals.
“She’ll ask if I have homework,” Howie told her glumly.
“Do you?”
“Just a tiny, tiny, tiny bit. I can do it in a minute.”
“Maybe, but can you do it well if you work that fast?”
“I guess not.”
She went in the house with Howie long enough to check with her mother on cartoon viewing. Janet was strict about limiting how much Howie could watch. He was delighted when his grandmother agreed that Captain Imagination was a cut above most cartoons and had some educational value. Candace went off to get her daughter, leaving a happy little boy at home.
When she got to Brooke's middle school, the children were just spilling out of the building. She spotted her walking with several other girls, all of them so engrossed in their conversation that the group nearly walked past her car. Knowing how Brooke would hate it if she honked to get her attention, Candace slid out of the car and called her name just loud enough to get her attention.
At first Brooke didn't seem to hear her, so Candace called her name again somewhat louder. She turned her head this time and said something to the girl next to her. Candace was behind the steering wheel and buckled in before her daughter ran back and got into the car beside her.
“How could you yell at me like that in front of my friends?”
“You walked right past me. I didn't think you saw me.” Can
dace tried not to show her frustration, but so many conversations with Brooke seemed to start off badly these days.
“Mother! How could I not see a car right in front of me? I was just walking Tiffany to her father's van.”
Candace bit back a sarcastic comment about not being a mind reader and let a moment pass in silence while she pulled away from the curb.
“Tiffany is definitely having boys at her birthday party,” Brooke said in a more conciliatory tone.
“That's her parents’ decision.”
“Next you’ll tell me I can't even go to her party!”
“We’ll talk about that another time.”
“Mother, her birthday is in May. It's only two months away.”
“Brooke, I need to concentrate on driving. You know how children dart out between parked cars by your school.”
“They’re not children,” Brooke corrected her. “That's your problem, Mother. You don't realize that I’m practically grown. There's no reason at all why I can't have boys at my birthday party. My friends won't even want to come if I don’t.”
“I’m sure they will. You’re going to have a nice party.”
Brooke was silent for several minutes, but Candace knew she wasn't going to give up. She was sulking, trying to think up more arguments in favor of a coed party.
Candace's objection was one her daughter would never accept: She was rushing into adulthood, wanting to be eighteen instead of thirteen. What would her father have done? Candace was sure Dean wouldn't have approved of dating at Brooke's age, and wasn't that the next step after a boy-girl party?
Brooke was silent until they pulled into the driveway and then she tried again.
“If you let me have boys at my party, I promise I won't fight with Howie for two months—no, six months.”
Candace smiled to herself at her daughter's attempt at bargaining, but as the mother, she had to take it seriously. Brooke couldn't be allowed to get her way by making a promise she couldn't keep.
“They’re two separate issues. One has nothing to do with the other,” she said as gently as possible, turning off the engine but making no move to go inside.
“You’re just doing this to punish me.”
“Sweetheart, I have no reason to punish you.”
“Then why can't I have a party with boys?”
“It doesn't seem like a good idea this year.”
“That's not a reason to ruin my party.”
Before Candace could say more, Brooke jumped out of the car without closing the door and hurried into the house.
What else could she have said? Candace was at her wit’s end, feeling almost as if her daughter were a stranger. Did all parents of teens go through this period of alienation? How could she be the parent and make the hard decisions without losing something precious between her daughter and herself?
She sighed, got out of the car, and closed the door Brooke had left open.
Chapter Twelve
THE SEVEN MEMBERS OF JAMES'S TASK FORCE committee met at noon, bringing sack lunches. Maxine Newman met with them for this important meeting to plan the hospital's response to a major epidemic. They all agreed that a drill was essential so that everyone would be prepared for the worst.
The county health nurse apologized for scheduling it during their lunch break and brought homemade brownies for them to enjoy while they worked, but she let James take the lead.
“I made a chart of the goals we discussed previously,” James said, holding up a sheet of poster board with neatly lettered points. “In any disaster, not only an epidemic, we have to be ready for a mass influx of patients because Hope Haven is a level II trauma center. Fortunately, we have Dr. Weller helping us. He was involved in a full-scale disaster drill during his internship.”
He turned the meeting over to the Emergency Room doctor, who wasted no time getting down to business. The tall, slender doctor ran his hand through his somewhat unruly dark brown hair and launched into plans for the simulated epidemic.
“Local law enforcement and several service organizations are already on board. The trick is to use real people as mock patients without letting things get chaotic. We need good press so the public understands what's going on and why.”
“Hopefully what we learn from this drill will carry over into other kinds of disasters,” James added.
“We’ll have extra staff and ambulances on hand,” Dr. Weller said. “Mercy Hospital in Granville is going to cooperate one hundred percent.”
James listened carefully, added his ideas, and took careful notes. His job would be to coordinate all the units inside the hospital. It was a heavy responsibility, and he prayed that he was up to it. If an epidemic did hit Deerford, the plans they were making now could mean the difference between life and death for some victims.
After the meeting, the rest of his day seemed quietly routine. The closest thing to a crisis was a patient who accused an LPN of stealing his wristwatch. James found it under his pillow and soothed the hurt feelings of the staff member.
After work he had one more meeting. He didn't have much hope that the pet detective would find Sapphire, but he was curious to see how she worked. His boys and the Scouts had papered the town with posters, even offering a reward to the finder. What more could be done to locate one lost cat?
He didn't want to get Fern's hopes up for nothing, so he’d asked the pet detective to meet him in the hospital cafeteria. There weren't many people there at this time of day, but he was told to look for a woman in a purple jacket. He spotted her immediately at a table on the far right, but she wasn't at all what he’d expected.
“Mimi Zonn,” she said, standing when he walked up to the table.
She shook his hand with a firm grip and looked him directly in the eyes, not difficult since she was as tall or taller than his five eleven.
“Mr. Bell, I understand your kitty has gone AWOL.” She settled her statuesque form on a chair that seemed too small for her larger-than-life presence and pulled out a sheaf of papers from a large briefcase. “I have your case history here and the copy of the flier that you faxed to our office.”
“Then I guess you know about all there is to know about Sapphire,” he said, wondering where this was going.
“Not quite. Does she have a history of wandering off?”
“Definitely not.”
“You recently moved to a new neighborhood?”
“Yes, but she’d had some time to get used to the new yard,” he answered.
“She was your wife's companion?”
“Yes, my wife has MS. She doesn't get out much during the day, so it would mean a lot to her to have Sapphire back. If that's possible, that is.”
“Our agency has a ninety-two percent recovery rate,” Mimi said, her large face beaming optimism.
She brushed aside a heavy swatch of dark brown hair that didn't quite go with her pale blue eyes and took out a glittery ballpoint pen to make notes.
“Are there other cats in your neighborhood, especially any that regularly roam around?”
“Not that I’ve noticed.”
“Any dogs that have harassed her?”
“No.
“Is she a mouser? Does she like to chase birds?”
“No to both.”
“Does she bring home little presents, say a shrew or a snake?”
“No, fortunately. She's pretty much an indoor pet. Where is all this going?”
“Just getting some background on your cat's personality.”
James felt as if he’d tumbled into a grade-B detective movie. “I called you as a last resort.”
“Yes, people always do. Would you say that your Sapphire would come home if nothing prevented her from doing so?”
“Yes, definitely,” he said.
“So you would characterize her as a happy house pet?” she said, continuing her line of questioning.
“Of course.”
“Then what we need is a plan of action. You need to form a search committee.
”
“My sons and the Boy Scouts have already looked all over town. I don't know what more I can do.”
“You can knock on doors,” she said decisively.
“I thought you—”
“Yes, clients always expect me to do all the footwork, but it doesn't work that way. What our agency does is lay out a plan. If you suspect that your cat is being held hostage, then we step in and do the dangerous part; but the preliminary work is up to you. You wouldn't want to pay our fees if we canvassed the neighborhood for you.”
“I suppose not.”
“Here's what you do,” she said leaning across the table and speaking in a husky whisper.
“What will that accomplish?” he asked, more mystified than reluctant after she finished outlining her plan.
“Sapphire hasn't been left at animal control, and there's no evidence that she's been hit by a car. We have to assume that someone found her and took her home.”
“She has an identity collar. Wouldn't the finder try to contact us?”
“Not if they want to keep her, but let's assume her collar was missing for some reason. There are people who will take in any number of strays. Your cat could be the prisoner of a cat lover.”
James shook his head. This was not at all what he expected.
“I picked up a map of Deerford on my way here,” Mimi said, spreading it out on the table and taking out a mechanical pencil. “If I have it right, your house is right here.”
“Approximately,” he said.
“We’ll divide the immediate neighborhood into grids. I’m talking house-to-house canvassing here. Work in teams, especially the boys if you decide to enlist them. One asks the questions. The other tries to get a look inside. If there's any reason to believe there are multiple cats inside, use some excuse to get a better look. Ask for a drink of water or something.”
“I can't see myself going to neighbors’ houses and asking for water.”
“I didn't say this would be easy, but I have a hunch about this case. We’re not talking about a common alley cat here.” Mimi lowered her voice even more. “The better the breed, the more likely it is that someone decided to adopt her.”
What she said made sense, even though it wasn't what he’d expected from a pet detective.
