Code Blue pft-1

by Richard L Mabry

  "I'm sorry I got angry with you for not taking my side," Cathy said. "I realize that perhaps you really do think you should stay neutral in staffmatters. And I hope you will believe me when I say that the reason I keep turning your invitations down isn't because I don't like you. I do… but as a friend and colleague."

  "Just what every man wants to hear. So, things are serious between you and Will Kennedy?"

  Were they? Maybe they were. She didn't need to ask how Marcus knew about their relationship. People always knew one another's business in a small town. "I guess they are."

  "I'm happy for you. When my wife died, I didn't think I'd ever want to be with anyone else again. Although time dulls the pain, it doesn't take away the loneliness. I guess I thought you might be the answer."

  "God has someone out there for you, I'm sure. It just isn't me." Cathy's words shocked her. She had no idea where they had come from. She hadn't said anything like that since God killed her parents.

  But now she knew that God hadn't killed them. A senseless combination of speed and a rain-slick road had caused the accident. And maybe God had given her Will to take away her own loneliness.

  Late Monday afternoon, Cathy looked over Jane's shoulders and read the numbers on the bank deposit-a few checks from patients, but no large insurance payments. She would need to call Will tonight and give him the bad news: no way could she come up with the five thousand dollars plus more than fourteen hundred dollars in interest that the bank had demanded. She could only hope Nix would change his mind, but that seemed unlikely.

  Before sinking into her chair, Cathy shed her white coat and tossed it into the hamper. She tipped her chair forward and reached toward the bottom desk drawer to retrieve her purse when she saw the envelope centered on her blotter- a plain white envelope, no return address, postmarked last Thursday. A Post-it note stuck to the front that read "Elams brought this by" obscured the address. She removed the yellow sticky and noticed the envelope was addressed to her apartment.

  The only mail she ever got at that address consisted of circulars, catalogs, and junk pieces addressed to "Occupant." All her bills and important correspondence came to the office.

  Quickly, she slit the envelope open and pulled out a computer-generated letter on a single sheet of white paper. Her eyes were drawn immediately to the signature-Ella Mae Mercer. The missing suicide note.

  Dear Cathy,

  Forgive the familiarity. I know so much about you from my relationship with your father. When you read this I'll be dead. I know that sounds melodramatic, but it happens to be true. I'm guilty of a terrible wrong, and I need to put it right before I die. Then when I stand before my Maker perhaps He won't judge me too harshly.

  Cathy looked away, steeling her emotions. Here it comes- her confession that she had an affair with my father. Ella Mae felt so guilty that he prescribed a tranquilizer for her. Or maybe he broke it off, and she needed the medicine to get through that time.

  Years ago, I forged your father's signature to a check to pay for my mother's burial. The cost of care during her last days took every cent I had. I'd hoped to cover the shortage before your father found out, but I couldn't. He came to the bank to ask about it. It didn't take long before I broke down and confessed, begging him not to press charges. Instead, he pulled his checkbook from his coat pocket, turned to the check register, and wrote in the amount of the check I'd forged. Then he looked at me with nothing but pity in those gray eyes of his. "It's over. Now I'll pray for you."

  I know he needed the money himself, because I saw his account records and knew how much he spent every month for your mother's care. But he never said another word about it. That's when he wrote me a prescription to help me through my depression.

  My crime has eaten at me all these years. I thought I could ease my conscience by helping you out with the insurance company, but it wasn't enough. That's when I decided I had to make amends before I die.

  I hope that, like your father, you'll pray for me.

  Ella Mae Mercer

  Could it be true that she had misjudged her father so badly? He didn't have an affair with Ella Mae. He'd helped out the poor woman. And he'd probably talked with his pastor and asked him to pray for Ella Mae as he had promised.

  What about the difficult times her parents had gone through? Cathy could picture her father and Matthew Kennedy kneeling in the pastor's study, asking God for help in keeping that marriage together. Pastors keep a lot of secrets-so do doctors-but Cathy knew that husbands had no secrets from their wives. That must be the reason Dora could say with such certainty that Nolan Sewell had been faithful to his wife.

  "Oh, Daddy, I'm so sorry," she whispered. "I'm sorry I thought those horrible things about you. I'm sorry I let this come between us."

  When she folded the letter to replace it in the envelope, her fingers touched something else. She pulled out a stiff piece of paper just small enough to fit into the envelope. A note was clipped to it: "Principal and interest for my loan from your father. Paid in full."

  She removed the note and looked at the cashier's check for six thousand, five hundred dollars. She closed her eyes, swallowed hard, and whispered, "And here's the manna!" She could hardly choke out her next words. "Thank you, God."

  18

  Cathy looked down at the woman lying stock-still in the ICU bed. "How are you feeling this morning?"

  Ella Mae's only response was a slight shift of the head, turning her face toward the wall.

  "I asked them to offer you a liquid diet. Did you drink anything?"

  A nod of yes this time. Good.

  "I got the letter… and the check."

  Now Ella Mae turned her head toward Cathy. Her eyes were empty. There was the faintest movement of her lips, and then she compressed them tightly together.

  "I appreciate that you tried to make amends, but I don't think attempting suicide was such a good idea. Not for you. Not for anybody."

  "Sorry." The words came out as a croak.

  "Did you talk with the psychiatrist when he came by yesterday?" Cathy had read the consultation note, but she wanted to hear Ella Mae's version.

  Ella Mae shook her head. "No need. It's all in the letter."

  "No, the letter unlocks a lot of mysteries for me, but you've got some work to do to get yourself straightened out." Cathy pulled a chair to the bedside and sat. "If I let you out of the hospital, will you promise not to try to kill yourself again?"

  A nod.

  "I hope you realize I can't give you any more tranquilizers right now. Can you do without them?"

  "I'll try my best," Ella Mae whispered.

  "And if I discharge you, what will you do?"

  "I guess I'll go back to work."

  "Some of the people there probably know about what you did. Can you handle that?"

  Ella Mae nodded weakly. "It's no secret I've been under stress. That's what my job is all about. I can handle that." She fluttered a hand on top of the blanket. "But no one knows about the money I took."

  "And I won't tell them, either," Cathy said. "But you need some help getting your head together. Will you see a psychiatrist if I refer you to someone? How did you like the doctor who visited with you yesterday?"

  Ella Mae pointed to the carafe of water on her bedside table. Cathy poured a glass and handed it to her. Ella Mae finished the water and handed the glass back. "I didn't like him. He made me feel… small. Like, by attempting suicide, I'd forfeited the right to be human."

  "Would you drive to Fort Worth to see a psychiatrist? Someone I can recommend from personal experience?"

  Cathy could tell she had surprised Ella Mae. Most people thought doctors led a perfect life.

  "Would you?" Cathy asked again.

  Ella Mae managed a weak smile. "If you give him your personal seal of approval, that's good enough for me."

  Despite Will's desire to accompany her to the bank, Cathy insisted on going alone, especially since she no longer needed to negotiate with Milton Nix. She p
romised Will she'd bring him up to date that evening while they worked on her case.

  "I'd like to speak with Mr. Nix, please," Cathy told the teller.

  Apparently, the bank employees-along with everyone else in Dainger-knew about the malpractice suit. The woman stammered, "Do you think…? I mean… can someone else help you?"

  "No, this is bank business. I need to talk with Mr. Nix."

  Cathy took perverse pleasure in watching the drama unfold. The teller went to the desk of Nix's secretary and held a whispered consultation. Then the two of them looked back at Cathy, quickly turning away when she returned their stare. After a few more words, the secretary scuttled to the door of Nix's office and tapped lightly. In a moment she eased the door open and ducked inside like someone slipping into an air-conditioned room without letting the cool air escape. The teller waited nervously outside the office, obviously unsure whether she should return to her station or stay put. Finally, the door to the inner sanctum opened, and Nix appeared.

  Milton Nix was dressed as a bank president should be-or, more likely, as the wife of a bank president thought he should be. The way his three-piece gray pinstripe suit hung on him demonstrated that, no matter how much you spend on the clothes, the final image depends on the person wearing them.

  He beckoned to Cathy, who chose to ignore the gesture. Let him come to her. Finally, he ambled over to her. "How can I help you?"

  "May we speak in private?"

  "Of course." He gestured toward his office.

  Once they were seated, Nix said, "I'm not sure of the protocol of the situation, but should we be talking like this? With the suit pending and all? Shouldn't our lawyers be handling all the communication?"

  Cathy smiled as she recalled Will's comments to Sam Lawton. "The malpractice suit? Yes, my lawyer is handling that, including preparing the countersuit against you."

  Apparently, Sam Lawton hadn't shared this message with his client. Nix's face flushed. He tugged at his collar, and Cathy feared he would go into cardiac arrest again.

  "This is about the note I have with this bank. The note, I might add, that you assured me could be handled by paying only the interest when it came up for renewal, giving me a chance to establish my practice." She reached into her purse and pulled out the bank's letter. "May I ask what caused this change of heart?"

  "I… well, that is… the loan committee decided that recent developments called into question your ability to repay the money in a timely fashion. They thought that a five thousand dollar reduction in principal would serve as a good faith measure, allowing us to continue the loan."

  "If I pay that amount, will you draft a new note, maturing two years from now?"

  "I'm not sure the committee-"

  Cathy had a flash of insight. This wasn't about making her close her practice. This was all about Nix saving his own skin.

  "You know as well as I do," she said, "that you make these decisions, and the committee rubber-stamps your recommendations. I'll tell you what's going on. You figured the malpractice suit was the last straw for my practice, and you decided to pull the plug on the note to avoid criticism for making it. You could claim you saw how the situation had changed, so you acted to protect the bank's interest. Isn't that right?"

  "Well… uh," Nix stuttered. "We expect the bank examiners here next month, and we have some notes that aren't well-secured. I was afraid of what they'd say. Requiring you to reduce the principal would show that we were aware of the risk and had acted to lessen it." He pulled the tiny blue silk handkerchief from his suit breast pocket and wiped his brow. "Actually, we've done the same thing with several other notes. It's not just you, Dr. Sewell."

  Cathy leaned forward and thought she saw Nix shrink back in his chair. "I'll make you a deal. You renew the note for two years-at one point below prime this time-and I'll pay down the principal by five thousand dollars."

  "Why would I do that?"

  She smiled. "Because the other half of the deal is this. In exchange for a two-year note at interest one percent below the prime rate, I'll instruct my attorney not to file that countersuit against you and your wife."

  "Leave my wife out of this."

  "Why? As I understand it, and as we'll prove at trial, she's the reason behind this whole malpractice suit in the first place. It will be interesting when Will gets her on the stand, and it all comes out in open court."

  Nix looked as though he'd swallowed a bad oyster. "What comes out?"

  Cathy decided to sink the hook. "Mainly, how she tried to kill you. Actually, she would have succeeded if I hadn't saved your life."

  "I don't-"

  "She and her brother changed your dosage, then altered the prescription to cover it up so she could inherit everything you've got."

  "That's not true."

  "Maybe not. Or maybe it is. We'll just have to investigate and see, won't we?"

  Nix seemed to collapse inward on himself like a balloon with a slow leak. "I can't do what you're asking, but how about one year at prime plus one percent?"

  "Eighteen months at prime," Cathy said.

  Nix ran his hand around his collar. "All right. I suppose I could agree to those terms. But you'll still need to reduce the principal by-"

  "I know." Cathy brandished the cashier's check. "I believe you'll find that this covers that amount plus current interest, with a few dollars left over. Now I'll wait right here while you have your secretary prepare a receipt and the new note."

  "Where did this money come from?"

  "Now, Mr. Nix," Cathy said. "You of all people should know better than to ever ask that question. Money is anonymous. All that cash you have in your vault has no history, no scruples, and no identity. Just add this to your little pile, revise my loan, and I'll be on my way."

  Cathy thought the day would never end. It was nearly dark when she opened the front door of the Kennedy house. As soon as she stepped inside, she slipped out of her shoes. Holding them in one hand, with her briefcase in the other, she padded into the living room. The shades were drawn, and the lights were off. She reached for the light switch when a voice stopped her in her tracks.

  "I remember that about you. Not fond of wearing shoes."Will flipped on the lamp beside the couch where he sat.

  Cathy recoiled. "Will, you scared me to death." She took a couple of deep breaths. "Where are your folks?"

  He eased offthe couch and greeted her with a hug and kiss.

  "Mom and Dad have already left for a meeting at church. They've eaten, but they left some supper in the oven. Join me?"

  When they were settled at the kitchen table, Cathy said, "I went by the bank today. I used the check from Ella Mae to pay what they demanded."

  "So you're square with the bank? You renewed the note?" Will helped himself to another of his mother's biscuits."What did Nix say?"

  "Not much, after I brought up the possibility of a countersuit and a trial where his wife's history would come out."

  Will almost choked. "You know when I mentioned that to Sam I wasn't serious."

  Cathy smiled. "I'm not a lawyer, so I guess I can be excused for not understanding that. Anyway, Nix agreed to give me a new note at prime, renewable in eighteen months by paying the interest only."

  "What happened to the woman who wanted my help because she didn't know where to turn?"

  "You know, I think she's learning that she's pretty capable. That doesn't mean she can't use some help from time to time, like a white knight riding by in his pickup to rescue her when her trusty steed crashes."

  "I was thinking more in terms of legal help," Will said."But I'm glad you look at me that way. I'd like to make the arrangement more permanent. Have you thought about it?"

  "Not… really." Cathy's heart pounded, and she took a moment to calm down. "We were awfully close a few years ago, and I'll admit that I had a vision that we'd eventually marry. But that was then. A lot has changed."

  Will shook his head. "Nothing could have happened that would make me stop lovin
g you. There, I've said it. I love you."

  "Nothing will change the way I feel" had been ambiguous. But this was "Nothing would make me stop loving you." How Cathy had longed to hear those words. More than that, she longed to say them back to Will. She wanted to, but somehow she couldn't. How could she explain this to him? And how could he possibly understand?

  "Two men have already told me they loved me. They said they wanted to marry me. I thought I loved them. I told them so. Then they let me down. I'm still working on healing those wounds."

  "And-?"

  "And I promised myself that the next time I told a man I loved him, I would be one hundred percent sure."

  "You're not sure about me?"

  "At this moment I am. But I don't want to make another mistake. It would only hurt both of us. I'm almost there- maybe even ninety percent. Can you be patient with me a little longer?"

  Will pushed back his plate. "Would it help if I withdrew as your lawyer? Honestly, it would be hard for me to do, because I want to help you, but I'd do it."

  "No, I need your legal help. More than that, I trust you."The words just came out, but as she heard them, Cathy knew she really meant them.

  "Okay, I'll try to be patient."

  Cathy could see Will make a visible effort to shift into professional mode. "If I'm still your lawyer, we need to talk about our defense of this malpractice action. As I see it, it hinges on showing that someone tampered with that prescription and that you weren't responsible for Nix's overdose. And, of course, in the end you were the one who saved his life."

  "That's all well and good," Cathy said, "but we have no proof, just suspicions."

  "Maybe if I file for a continuance-ask for more time."

  "No!" Cathy slammed her hand down on the table, and the silverware rattled. "I'm tired of having this hanging over my head. I've been thinking about it all day, and I believe I know how to smoke out the person responsible."

  "How?"

  She shook her head. "No, it's a one-person job, and the less you know about it, the better."