Cheated By Death

by L. L. Bartlett

  “Can Jeff lie down for a few minutes?” Richard asked.

  “Oh, Sweetie, I’m sorry you’re not well. We all knew Chet’s time was short, but it’s still such a shock.” Ruby moved closer, touched my face. The swell of compassion she transmitted was too much for my battered psyche.

  I tried to push her hand away. “You don’t understand—” I started, but Richard cut me off.

  He shoved me forward. “Come on.”

  All eyes were on us as Ruby led us past the crowd in the living room to a bedroom off the side hall. Twin beds were heaped with coats and she and Richard cleared one for me. I shrugged out of my jacket and collapsed onto the chenille spread. Ruby lowered the shade at the window and discreetly left.

  “Sorry I dragged you here, Rich. I thought I could make it—”

  “We’ll leave as soon you’re able.”

  “You’re the best.”

  He pulled the door closed and left me alone.

  I lay there, breathing shallowly, desperate not to jostle my aching head, and trying not to listen to the muffled sounds of voices in the other room. My cheeks felt hot—humiliation at showing such weakness in front of all those strangers—my family.

  I was really tired of that particular emotion.

  I tried to blank my mind, but the image of Ray’s hate-filled gaze was burned onto my brain cells.

  What was it about Patty that inspired such passion in other men?

  I must’ve slept—undisturbed by dreams of the dead man—for when I cracked open my eyes the shadows on the wall were long. The mound of coats on the other bed was gone and the house was still. My back and neck ached from the too-soft bed and flat pillow, but the pounding in my skull had diminished.

  I found the bathroom and threw cold water on my face. I still felt like shit, but well enough to leave. I wondered about making an entrance and decided I was making too big a deal of my infirmities. After all, I never had to see these people again.

  The late afternoon sky was washed with pink near the horizon and lamps blazed in the living room. How long had I slept?

  Richard and Patty were together on the couch, huddled over a photo album, deep in conversation. Something about that irritated me. Jealousy? That didn’t seem right. Richard’s suit jacket was draped over the back of a chair. His loosened tie and rolled-up sleeves made him look more like a working class stiff than a wealthy physician.

  I staggered closer. The book was open to a black-and-white photo of an elderly woman. Her face was familiar, as was that of the child on her lap.

  They looked up. “Feeling better?” Richard asked.

  “Yes.”

  “You’ve been asleep for almost three hours,” Patty said. “But it’s given Richard and me a chance to become friends.” Her smile for him was sweet, or maybe beguiling.

  “Sorry to be so much trouble.” I couldn’t keep the edge from my voice. Hadn’t I made the same flip remark to Richard only days before?

  “Oh, it’s okay,” Patty said, her attention totally focused on my brother. “Richard explained all about your problems. It sure is nice to have a doctor in the family.” She beamed at him like a silly schoolgirl. But Richard wasn’t a member of her family. And what precisely had he been telling her?

  Richard obviously enjoyed the attention. And why not? She was almost half his age. I suppose she was attractive—in an incestuous kind of way.

  I leaned against one of the upholstered chairs and looked at my watch. “We should get going. Brenda will be worried.”

  “I called her,” Richard said. “Maggie’s picking her up at the clinic.”

  Patty’s hand snaked across Richard’s arm—he seemed mesmerized. And his disregard for Brenda’s safety bugged me.

  I cleared my throat. “I can handle the car ride now.”

  Patty’s short skirt was reduced to the size of a handkerchief, exposing a generous portion of her black-stockinged thigh. Was it my imagination, or did Richard’s gaze seem permanently fixed?

  “We need to get home to let Holly out,” I said, reminding him of Maggie’s dog locked in his house. “Unless you don’t value your carpets.”

  He looked up at me. “Oh, yeah.” He smiled at Patty, that stupid, sympathetic grin that had annoyed me earlier in the day.

  I turned away and found my coat. Ruby emerged from the kitchen. The goodbyes seemed interminably long. Richard received hugs from the women like he was the long-lost relative. I stood back while my ire continued to rise, making my head pound.

  Patty walked us to the door. She kissed Richard’s cheek, pulled back, looked at him, a seductive gleam in her eye. “Thanks for making this day easier on me.”

  He patted her hand. “I was happy to help out.”

  My anger flared white hot. “Good-bye, Patty.” I charged forward, and headed for the car.

  Richard still had my keys—I had to wait for him to unlock the passenger side door. Patty stood behind the storm door and waved as the car pulled away from the curb.

  Rush hour traffic choked Sheridan Drive. Every bump in the road conspired to jostle my battered brains.

  “What the hell got into you back there?” Richard spat at last.

  I eyed him coldly. “You. And her. The way she fawns over you. Can’t you see what she is?”

  “She’s a nice person who’s lost someone she loves. Why do you always think the worst of people?”

  My head ached fiercely. I was in no shape for a battle with Richard. I stared out the window.

  “Patty’s not so bad,” he continued. “You ought to give her a chance.”

  I squinted at him across the seat. “I don’t plan to see her again.”

  His voice hardened. “She’s your sister. As much as I’m your brother.”

  I didn’t want to discuss it.

  “What are you going to do about Hanukkah?” he pressed.

  “I’m not Jewish. I don’t celebrate it.”

  “Would it hurt you to go to Ruby’s party?”

  “I suppose Patty invited you?”

  “Yes, she did.”

  “How about Brenda?”

  “Of course she invited Brenda, too.”

  Was he so naive? Couldn’t he see what she was up to? How could so intelligent a man—so educated a man—be taken in by a bimbo like Patty?

  I took a breath, holding onto my temper. “Rich, I don’t feel well. I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “There you go, hiding behind your headaches to avoid any meaningful emotional contact.”

  “The reason I have headaches,” I reminded him, “is because I have too much emotional contact. And what kind of doctor are you to lay this shit on me when I’m ready to puke my fucking guts up!”

  “Go ahead, insult me. I’m immune to it.”

  He braked for a red light. I was tempted to get the hell out of the car and stalk off into the twilight. But I really was too sick to pull that kind of childish stunt.

  The light went green. The car surged forward.

  “Will you go to Ruby’s party?” Richard pushed.

  “Probably not.”

  “I think you’re making a mistake. They’re nice people. They care about you.”

  “Yes, they probably do.” I left it at that, closed my eyes, and sank back in the seat.

  Richard took the hint. We ignored each other for the rest of the ride home. But this wouldn’t be the end of the discussion. And I had a feeling that ridding myself of Patty wouldn’t be so easy, either.

  CHAPTER

  14

  I wasn’t up to another lecture from Richard, so instead of going over to get Brenda the next morning, I took the coward’s way out and called her. My car had been running for five minutes and the heat had finally kicked in by the time she came out of the house.

  Brenda hopped in the passenger seat, and buckled up. “Jeffy, you still look like shit.”

  “I don’t feel that great, either.”

  “Oh, hon, I can drive myself.”

  “It
’s not safe.”

  She shook her head and gave me a wry smile. “It looks like I’ll be the one protecting you.”

  I put the car in gear and started down the drive.

  “What’s bothering you?” Brenda said. She’s almost as adept at reading me as I am at reading her.

  I called her bluff. “Who says anything’s bothering me?”

  “You phoned instead of coming over. That’s not like you. You’d better tell me now—I know you don’t like to be nagged, and you know I will.”

  Eyes focused on the road, I gripped the steering wheel. “It’s Rich. He pissed me off yesterday.”

  “About Patty?”

  I nodded.

  “He did sing her praises for quite a while last night. But he still feels like he has to look out for you. It bothers him that you’re such a loner. That apart from us, and Maggie, you have virtually no friends—no support system. It’s okay, Jeffy,” she hurriedly continued, “that’s just the way you are. You have to do what feels right for you. And if that means staying away from Patty, then that’s what you have to do.”

  I felt her eyes on me, but couldn’t bear to look at her.

  “Something about her repels me.”

  “Are you getting some kind of psychic message on her?”

  I shook my head. “My father gave off strong impressions, but she’s a blank, just like Rich.”

  Brenda was quiet for a moment. “Maggie thinks something bad happened when you were a child.”

  My hands tightened on the steering wheel. “She doesn’t know what she’s talking about.”

  “I think she does.” Her voice was gentle, full of compassion.

  “She’s wrong. I don’t remember much about those days, and I don’t want to remember.” That sounded like major denial, even to me.

  “Did your father hit you when you were little?” Brenda pressed.

  “No.”

  “You can tell me. I’ve been there, remember?”

  I braked for slowing traffic. “There’s nothing to tell.”

  She touched my shoulder, and looked like she wanted to say so much. Yet she knew me well enough not to push.

  We drove the rest of the way in silence.

  Half a block from the clinic I saw a familiar car parked along the curb. Pennsylvania license plates.

  “Shit. Willie’s here.”

  Brenda’s eyes widened in panic. “Oh my God! How could he know where I work? Do you think he’s been following me?”

  “Let’s not panic,” I said, trying to calm her. “Maybe, maybe—” There really wasn’t a good explanation. Had Detective Wilder let slip where Brenda worked when she’d questioned him? At least Willie wouldn’t find Brenda alone.

  “Maybe he just wants to meet you on neutral ground,” I said.

  “I don’t want to see or talk to him!” she said, her voice teetering on hysteria.

  “You don’t have to.” I found a parking space, and then looked up and down the street. There was no sign of Willie, but the protesters with their placards still marched on the sidewalk across the street. Maybe he was inside the building—or worse, lying in wait for Brenda.

  I unbuckled my seat belt. “I’ll go look for him. Stay in the car. Don’t open the doors or windows. If he tries to get in, blow the horn and don’t let up.”

  I locked my door and slammed it.

  Willie came out the clinic as I approached. He saw me and picked up his pace to intercept. “Where’s Brenda?” he demanded.

  “She doesn’t want to see you.”

  “Why’d she tell the cops to come after me?”

  “It’s their job to protect the public. Someone’s harassing her. We had to tell them you’re in town. If you aren’t responsible, you’ve got nothing to worry about.”

  “The hell I don’t! I just started a new job. My boss was pissed when a couple of cops showed up at the office yesterday. Where is she?”

  The protesters had slowed in their circuit. Lou Holtzinger was among them, watching me with hawk-like interest.

  “She doesn’t want to see you,” I repeated.

  “No law says I can’t talk to my ex-wife,” Willie insisted, and stepped around me.

  I darted into his path. “No, but there are anti-stalking laws.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “She’s terrified of you.”

  “Why?”

  “Think about it. How many times did you beat her senseless?”

  Willie’s eyes flashed in anger. “That was a long time ago.”

  “Yeah, well, Brenda hasn’t forgotten. And what’s the idea of sending her black roses?”

  “What do you care—she’s not your wife.”

  “And she’s not yours, either.”

  “I’ve got a right to see her,” he grated, moving forward.

  I stepped in front, blocking him again. “No, you don’t—”

  Without warning, Willie’s fist plowed into my face. I stumbled and he batted me aside like an annoying insect, knocking me to my knees.

  Blood poured from my nose. My vision grayed and doubled. Blurry shapes danced around me. Someone helped me to my feet and dragged me onto the heath center’s concrete steps, where I collapsed against the banister. I looked up, blinked at two Emily Farrells.

  “Sit back.” She pressed a wad of tissues into my hand, and held it against my bloody face.

  “Brenda! Where is she?”

  Heavy footsteps thundered. “Are you okay?” a deep voice said near my ear.

  “That big black guy punched him out!” Emily said.

  I blinked at the uniformed security guard standing over me. “He’s after Brenda Stanley. She’s in a white Chevy Malibu down the block.” I waved toward my car and the guard took off.

  “Let’s get you inside,” Emily said, grabbing my arm, hauling me to my feet.

  “No. I gotta help Brenda.” I straightened and wobbled until I got my bearings. My eyesight wavered then cleared.

  Brenda stood next to my car, shouting, waving her arms, and told the security guard to go after Willie. The Altima took off with a screech of tires, and flew past them.

  I waved off Emily as Brenda caught sight of me, and ran to meet me on the sidewalk. She wrapped an arm around my shoulder. “My hero,” she said. Her laugh sounded more like a sob.

  “Some hero. Looks like I’m a pipsqueak after all.” I wiped at my still dripping nose.

  “Are you okay?”

  “I don’t think it’s broken.”

  “Anything else?” she asked, serious.

  “No.”

  “Let’s get you checked out anyway,” she said, already dragging me up the sidewalk.

  “This is a women’s health center—I’m a man!”

  “Don’t be so damned picky.”

  We left Emily behind as Brenda guided me up the steps. Within minutes I was being quizzed, poked, and prodded by one of the staff, a Dr. Newcomb. My skull fracture less than a year before made me a prime candidate for a concussion. I lucked out, although she warned me I’d probably have a nice black-and-blue mouse under my left eye if I didn’t put some ice on it.

  Brenda was waiting for me when I came out of the treatment room. “I’m taking you home.”

  “No, you’re not. You’re staying here. I’m going to the Amherst Police Station and file a complaint. I’ll try to talk with Detective Wilder, too.”

  “But—”

  “No buts. I’ll pick you up at four. Don’t be late.”

  “Yes, sir.” She walked me to the clinic doors. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “Yes. But I feel crummy. I let you down.”

  “You did not. You kept that horrible man from getting to me and I’m damned grateful. But what’re we going to tell Richard?”

  “The truth. But don’t get crazy and call him. It can wait until he gets home from work to hear this news.”

  She nodded. “I love you, Jeffy.” She kissed my cheek and threw her arms around me. “Thank y
ou.”

  I wrapped my arms around her, buried my nose in her neck, held her tight, closed my eyes and thanked God she was safe.

  She stiffened in my embrace.

  I pulled back, stared into her deep brown eyes—fought the almost overwhelming urge to kiss her.

  Her confusion swelled, fear trickling in.

  Backing up a step, I laughed nervously. “Get to work, now.”

  She forced a smile and saluted me. “Aye, Captain,” she said and turned.

  I watched her slowly head down the corridor, wondering what had just happened between us. I turned to leave.

  Pausing at the top step, I watched the protesters circle in front of the building. Emily hurried across the street to meet me on the sidewalk.

  “Your jacket’s ruined,” she said, pointing to the bloodstains that marred my coat.

  “It’ll wash. Thanks for helping me.”

  Her eyes shone and she smiled. “What’re friends for?”

  It was my turn to force a smile. “I promised to take you for coffee. When’s a good time?”

  “My lunch break’s about one.”

  “I’ll see you then.”

  “I’m glad you’re okay.” She squeezed my arm, turned, and then looked both ways before crossing the road and rejoining her companions.

  Lou Holtzinger glared at me.

  Why did I feel like I’d been caught doing something wrong?

  Bonnie Wilder frowned. “I would’ve sworn Willie Morgan was a reformed character.”

  I looked up from the paperwork before me. I’d gone straight to the Amherst Police Station and found the detective in. “Why?”

  “He’s been clean for eight years. Not even a parking ticket.”

  “Have you talked to the cops in Philly?”

  She nodded.

  “Tell me about the years when Willie wasn’t ‘clean.’”

  She settled on a chair across the table from me. “Assault. He did thirty days in the county lock-up.”

  “Domestic abuse?”

  She shook her head. “Against a co-worker.”

  “There’s no record of him beating Brenda?”

  She shrugged. “Apparently your sister-in-law never filed a complaint.”

  “She was probably too ashamed.”

  “I’ve heard that story too many times. I’m still digging.”