Jane tapped on the open door of Cathy's office. "Want me to bring you back a sandwich?"
"No thanks," Cathy said. "I brought yogurt and an apple. I'll eat at my desk. I've got some stuffto do."
Cathy waited until she heard the outer door close and lock. Then she opened Microsoft Word on her computer and began typing. It took her several tries to achieve the right blend of threat and greed.
How many copies would she need? That depended. Who could have changed the prescription? Who had means, motive, and opportunity? She opened a new document and made her list.
The two pharmacists, Jacob Collins and Lloyd Allen, were the most logical suspects. They had ample opportunity. They had the knowledge. She wasn't sure what the motive might be, but maybe that would come out later. For now, she needed to be sure they got the bait.
Sherri Collins, Jacob's wife, also had access to the pharmacy area. She could certainly have done it, but would she know how to alter the prescription? Motive? No problem there. It seemed that everyone in town had something against Cathy, and Sherri was no exception. Then Cathy realized she couldn't send a note to both Jacob and Sherri, or it would be obvious to them that she was on a fishing expedition. No, it had to be Jacob. Leave Sherri offthe list.
How about Gail Nix? Cathy had been bluffing when she told Milton his wife had tried to kill him, but it was certainly possible. She'd have needed the assistance of her brother, Lloyd. If Gail and Lloyd talked, would a letter to each make them think Cathy knew they had collaborated? Would it make them more certain that their plot had been discovered? She decided to add Gail's name to the list.
She couldn't bring herself to believe that Milton Nix had altered his own prescription, but had he left it on his desk at the bank before getting it filled? If he had, who could have gotten hold of it long enough to make the change? Only his secretary and Ella Mae had easy access. Motive aside, Cathy couldn't believe that either of them possessed the medical knowledge to make the alterations. No, leave them off the list.
Any others? Her mind kept coming back to Marcus Bell. He had a black Ford Expedition. His attitude toward Cathy had been ambivalent, to say the least. A doctor would know how to change the digitalis dosage. How could he have gotten the prescription? It wouldn't be hard for a physician to visit the pharmacy department and use some pretext to gain access behind the counter. Maybe Marcus sent the pharmacist looking in the shelves for some weird drug, taking the opportunity to palm the prescription as it lay on the counter. A little work in his office, then another trip back. Maybe even hand the altered script to the pharmacist and say he'd picked it up by mistake. Much as she hated the thought, Marcus's name went on the list.
Was there someone else? Yes, there was-a person with medical knowledge and a definite grudge against Cathy. She didn't see how he could have carried it out, though. It was far-fetched. Or was it? With a sigh, she wrote down Robert's name on the list and transcribed a Dallas address beneath it.
She'd carefully avoided adding one name to her list, stepping around it as gingerly as she would have avoided a landmine. There was one person who had intimate knowledge of all her actions since the first day the black SUV had made that near-suicide run at her. A person who had a right to hold a grudge, however much he might deny it. Of course, he didn't drive a black SUV. He drove a pickup. What if he had two vehicles? She'd never seen inside his two-car garage. Maybe the other half wasn't filled with tools and Christmas decorations.
She sighed and chided herself. His name wasn't on the list of Expedition owners. And he said he loved her. However much her head told her not to blindly trust a man, she knew-knew for certain-that she could trust Will. No, she couldn't- wouldn't- suspect he was capable of such duplicity.
Cathy computer addressed five plain white envelopes, adding the notation "Personal." She stuffed copies of her letter into the envelopes, added stamps, and dropped the small bundle into her purse. She'd mail them on the way home. They should arrive tomorrow-Friday. Then came the hard part-waiting to see who would respond.
She hoped her simple message would be enough to flush out the person whose actions almost killed Milton Nix and threatened to destroy her professional career:
I KNOW HOW YOU MANAGED TO ALTER THAT DIGOXIN PRESCRIPTION. HOW MUCH ARE YOU PREPARED TO PAY FOR MY SILENCE? IF IT'S ENOUGH, I'LL LET MY INSURANCE COMPANY SETTLE THE SUIT. I'LL LEAVE TOWN AND NO ONE WILL KNOW WHAT YOU DID. COME ALONE TO MY OFFICE AT 9:00 SATURDAY NIGHT.
– Cathy Sewell, M.D.
19
M ERCURY VAPOR LAMPS BATHED THE BARREN ASPHALT OF THE PROFESsional building's parking lot in blue light when Cathy pulled into her reserved space on Saturday night. Her throat tightened when she saw that the security light nearest the door had burned out, creating a tunnel of darkness she'd have to negotiate. She locked her car and hurried toward the building, shivering despite the mild breeze. The tingle between her shoulder blades made her tighten the muscles, as though that action could protect her from a bullet or a knife.
Once inside, Cathy hurried down the dark corridor to her office. She fumbled with her keys and slid inside, slamming and locking the door behind her. She stood for a moment with her back against it, breathing deeply and trying not to hyperventilate.
Quickly, she threw a switch and bathed the outer office in light. Despite her fear of an attacker, she eased past the reception desk and raced from room to room, turning on lights to reassure herself that no one lurked behind a closed door.
In her office, she slipped into her white coat and finished her preparations. She looked at her watch. Eight o'clock. Soon she'd know the truth. But, the more she thought about it, the crazier her scheme seemed. And if it did, could she handle the person who showed up, whoever it might be? She breathed a silent prayer, surprised that it seemed as automatic as though she hadn't stopped praying more than three years ago.
The ring of her cell phone interrupted her thoughts. She picked her purse offthe desk and pulled out the cell."Anonymous caller," read the ID. Was it one of her suspects? Only two of them had her cell phone number: Marcus and Robert.
She took a deep breath, held it, and blew it out in a sigh before she answered. "Dr. Sewell, this is J. C. Dunaway. I got your cell number from Will Kennedy. I hope I'm not calling too late?"
Cathy realized her hand cramped from gripping the phone so tightly. She switched the instrument to her right hand and flexed the fingers of her left. "No, no. You just startled me."
"I wanted to bring you up to date on our search for the driver of your black Ford Expedition-let you know we're still on it."
"Do you have a suspect?" she asked.
"Afraid not. As of this afternoon, we thought it was Kenny Johnson."
"Who's Kenny Johnson? And what would he have against me?"
"Nothing," Dunaway said. "Kenny's just a teenager who got hold of the spare key to his dad's SUV and decided it would be cool to ditch school and go joyriding with a buddy from time to time. One of my deputies stopped the pair this afternoon for reckless driving. He recognized the vehicle as the type we were interested in. He asked a few questions, and the boys acted so guilty the deputy decided to bring them in and let me talk to them." Dunaway chuckled. "Didn't need the bright lights and rubber hose to get the truth out of them. I put them in two separate rooms, and Kenny's buddy ratted him out in about five minutes."
"But you said he wasn't the one who's been hounding me."
"Nope. Unfortunately, they weren't out by Big Sandy or on the road to the cemetery when you had your run-ins. Already confirmed they were in school both those times. No doubt about it."
Cathy cleared her throat. "So you're no closer to finding out who's trying to kill me?"
"We've eliminated a bunch of folks, and we're still working on it. Thought you'd like to know."
Why didn't that make her feel better? The sheriffcould still be "working on it" during her funeral. Maybe it was truly up to her to put an end to this thing.
Cathy thanked the sheriffand hu
ng up. Someone in a black SUV tried to kill her. Someone-maybe that same mysterious stranger-set fire to her apartment. And someone altered one of her prescriptions and caused an incident that involved her in a malpractice suit while adding fuel to the derogatory rumors circulating about her in town.
"I'm not paranoid," she whispered like a mantra. "Someone really is out to get me."
Cathy settled down to wait. She was half asleep in her chair when the buzzing of the office phone awoke her. She wasn't on call this weekend. When the answering service didn't pick up, she noticed that the call was on her private line. She lifted the receiver and punched the lighted button.
"Dr. Sewell."
"Cathy?" At the sound of the voice, Cathy had to fight the urge to hyperventilate. She'd never appreciated how accurate the expression "Her blood ran cold" was until that moment.
"Robert? How did you get this number?"
"I have connections. What's this about my altering a prescription? I know your mother was psychotic, but I never saw any indication of it in you until this. Are you all right?"
Cathy took several calming breaths. "Robert, it's a long story. The short answer is that I'm not paranoid. Someone really is out to get me."
His familiar laugh made Cathy's heart clench. "Just like we said in medical school, huh?"
"It's not funny to me. But I do appreciate your calling. I'll write you and explain it after it's all over."
"Anyway, I'm glad you haven't gone around the bend."Robert cleared his throat. "And I'm sorry about sending you that clipping and note. I did it without thinking, and now I realize it was a terrible thing to do. Can you forgive me?"
Cathy's first impulse was to simply hang up. But then she recalled something she'd heard in church recently- forgiving others the way we want God to forgive us. "Robert, I forgive you… for everything. And I wish you and your wife happiness."
She hung up and sat with her head in her hands for a long time. Then she pulled her list toward her and drew a line through Robert's name. One down, four to go.
Cathy leaned forward, her elbows on the desk, trying without success to concentrate on an article in one of her medical journals. A faint tap on the glass of the outer office door caught her attention. She tiptoed to the waiting room and edged up to the Venetian blind that covered the door. She separated two slats far enough to identify Marcus Bell standing in the hall outside, shifting from one foot to the other, his eyes darting back and forth down the hall.
Marcus? Had she been right? Was he the one behind all this? She tried to swallow a softball-sized lump in her throat, but it wouldn't budge. Her hands shook as she unlocked the door.
Marcus rushed in as though he were being chased. "Cathy, what's the meaning of this note?" He pulled a wrinkled piece of paper from his shirt pocket and thrust it at her. "You know I didn't change that prescription." He squinted at her, as though seeing her for the first time. "Are you-? Do you think someone's out to get you?"
Cathy stifled a wry laugh. Poor Marcus. He thought she'd gone offthe deep end. "No, Marcus. I don't think that. I know they are. I'm not paranoid. I'm not delusional. But I do know that someone changed Milton Nix's prescription to guarantee that he'd wind up with digitalis intoxication. I still don't know if what they did was aimed at me or at him, but whatever the motive, we both suffered the consequences."
"And you think I did it?" Marcus said with righteous indignation.
Cathy decided to bluff. After all, he was here. Maybe he was the guilty party. "It's possible. You could easily have altered that prescription."
Marcus shook his head. "I don't know what you're talking about. Cathy, I'm sorry to say this, but when the credentials committee meets on Monday, I'll recommend that your hospital privileges be suspended until you undergo psychiatric evaluation." Abruptly, he turned and stormed out the door, closing it firmly behind him.
She drew a line through another name. Two down, three to go. Who would it be? Cathy turned offthe lights in her office and moved back into the waiting room, settling into a dark corner to watch for her nightmare to walk through the door.
She didn't have to wait long. A tentative tap sounded on the door. She eased over and peeped through the blinds. What she saw allowed her to eliminate two of her three remaining suspects. The figure standing in the shadowed hall was a woman. She had her back turned to the door, looking nervously around, but Cathy had no doubt who it was. It had to be Gail Nix.
So Gail had been in league with her brother, Lloyd. He must have altered the prescription. Cathy guessed that the two of them planned to split the money Gail inherited if Nix died. And Cathy would get all the blame. Death by medical misadventure.
She took a deep breath and opened the door.
20
"Sherri!"Cathy staggered backward as Sherri Collins forced her way past her and slammed the door.
"Lock it," Sherri said. When Cathy didn't move, the woman pulled a snub-nosed revolver from the purse slung over her shoulder. "Lock it, I said. Then move back to your office."
Cathy did as she was told. Where did Sherri fit into the picture? Was she here on Jacob's behalf? Had Jacob reacted to Cathy's letter by doing something rash? Suicide, perhaps? Was that why Sherri was so angry?
Cathy started to sit behind her desk, but Sherri waved her to one of the patient chairs, then stood over her, the gun steady in her hand.
"Why are you here?" Cathy asked.
"If you were married, you'd know that marking a letter 'private' won't keep a spouse from opening it. I intercepted your little blackmail letter to Jacob." Sherri pulled the other patient chair out and sat, careful to stay out of Cathy's reach."I'm not here to pay you a dime. I'm here to kill you. And I have lots of reasons."
"I don't understand."
"You should. I've hated you since high school." Sherri's eyes narrowed. "Didn't you think I'd find out about the rumors you spread just so you could be Homecoming Queen? Without that I would have won fair and square. And my boyfriend wouldn't have dumped me. The only boy who would date me after that was Jacob."
"But I-"
Sherri brandished the gun. "I would have done anything to get out of this hick town. Jacob told me he planned to apply to medical school. I thought I'd spend the rest of my life as a doctor's wife with no worries."
"But Jacob's a successful pharmacist. Surely, you have a good life."
"I wish," Sherri said. "Our house is mortgaged to the hilt. The same goes for this professional building Jacob built. I know that he hated to lease the space to you, but he's so deeply in debt he needed the money. Of course, if your father hadn't refused to help him get into medical school, he'd be a doctor, making lots of money, and I wouldn't have to scrimp to get by and keep up appearances."
Cathy wasn't sure she could reason with this woman, but she had to try. "Sherri, my father wouldn't write a letter of recommendation for Jacob because his grades weren't good enough for medical school. His MCAT score was borderline at best. He never would have made it beyond the first interview."
"Don't blame it on Jacob's Medical College Admissions Test. He told me how he figured that test was rigged. Your father probably had some of his cronies falsify Jacob's grades because he didn't want too many doctors coming back to Dainger. There might not be room for his precious daughter to practice here."
"Are you the one who tried to kill me with a black SUV?" Cathy recalled the closed doors of the three-car garage at the Collins house.
Sherri cackled. "Thought I had you a couple of times."
"But there's no black SUV registered in your name."
"Of course not. It belonged to my father, Frank Clawson. He died six months ago, and the registration's still in his name."
Cathy couldn't believe this. "Did you change that prescription so I'd get sued for malpractice? Did you want me to fail-want me to leave Dainger?"
Sherri laughed again, just like the patients Cathy had heard on the psychiatric ward during her training. "What I wanted to do was get Milton Nix out
of the way. Then your prescription gave me the opportunity to throw suspicion on you at the same time. I mean, you ruined my life. Why shouldn't I ruin yours? If he died, you might be charged with manslaughter."
"How did you make the change?"
"Good timing and good luck," Sherri said. "I saw the prescription on the counter, waiting to be filled. I laid my purse down next to it, and when I picked up my purse, I had the prescription too. A little work with the copier in the office, put the new prescription back, and no one was the wiser."
"How did you know how to change it?"
"You don't think Jacob got through pharmacy school on his own, did you? I helped him study. Every night. Every subject. I could pass every test before he could. It was easy."
Cathy tried to make sense of it all, but the pieces wouldn't fall into place. "But why would you want to harm Milton Nix?"
"Nix's bank holds the mortgages on our house and the professional building. Three weeks ago, Nix called both the notes. He insisted we pay down the indebtedness before he'd renew them. Jacob showed me the letters. If we didn't comply, the bank would foreclose. We'd lose everything. I knew we couldn't meet the deadline, but I figured if Nix were sick or dead, the bank would back offin all the chaos. I hoped it would buy us the time we needed to get the money together."She looked at the gun in her hand. "Funny. I couldn't bring myself to shoot Nix, but I don't think I'll have any trouble shooting you."
"Wait. I've got to know. Did you set fire to my apartment?"
"Of course. Apparently, I didn't do a great job with the fire, though. Otherwise, you wouldn't be here."
"And is Jacob in on this? Does he know you changed the prescription?"
Sherri shook her head. "No, he wouldn't have the guts. If it weren't for me, he'd just whine about the past. I'm the one who has the courage to strike back at you and your father."
"Why are you so bent on revenge? My father's dead. Isn't that enough?"
"Oh, I had some revenge on your father even before he died. Remember those old tools displayed on the shelf in the pharmacy? The mortar and pestle, the scales, the pill press?"
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