A Killing Frost

by Hannah Alexander

  “So, Ted, what does the pain feel like?” Jama asked, pulling the blood pressure cuff around his arm.

  He peered over his glasses at her. “It hurts.”

  Jama rolled her eyes at him. “Describe the pain to me. Is it dull, or throbbing, or sharp and piercing?”

  He suddenly winced, bending forward. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead as his skin paled. “I’d say sharp.”

  “Where is it?”

  He pointed toward his left lower chest.

  Her concern increased a notch. This could be several conditions. Indigestion did not explain the fever, neither would simple pleurisy. If he had a left lower lobe pneumonia, it could hurt like the dickens. She should have sent him on to the nearest medical facility as soon as he’d been rolled in the door, but she hadn’t expected his problem to be so serious.

  “Takes your breath away?” she asked.

  “Not for long.” His grimace relaxed, and color returned to his face. “They never last long.”

  Jama tugged the stethoscope from her neck, pumped the pressure cuff, then released it. Not much change in his blood pressure. She pressed the bell of her stethoscope over his chest and watched his face as she listened to his heart. With the elevated temperature and sharp pains, it could be a simple respiratory chest pain due to his fever, but the fever wasn’t that high. Still, she’d like to know where it originated.

  “So tell me what you’re thinking,” he said before she could remove the bell of her scope from his chest, the boom of his voice returning via her earpieces.

  “I’m not thinking yet.”

  “Sure you are, you’re just not ready to tell anybody about it.”

  She straightened, then listened to his back. “Breathe for me.”

  “I haven’t stopped breathing all day.”

  “Deeper.”

  He did as she said.

  She couldn’t tell much by the sound.

  “Will I live?”

  “That depends.” She wrapped the stethoscope back around her neck.

  “On what?”

  “If you’re talking about another ninety years, maybe not. I’d feel better if I could do more thorough testing, but we don’t have the personnel for it right now, and as much as I learned in med school, I wasn’t taught how to operate a lab or take X-rays. I’d like to send you to another facility-”

  “When will this place be up and running?”

  “Next week.”

  “I’ll be back when you’re up to speed,” he told her.

  “I don’t think you should wait,” Jama warned. “You could have a serious problem, and if it isn’t caught in time-”

  “I know, I know, it could kill me.” Ted’s weathered face broke into a smile that shot Jama’s mind back to a time in the classroom, when she’d answered a question especially well. “Something’s going to get me sooner or later, Jama Sue. Who wants to live forever?”

  “Depends on the alternative.”

  “I’ve got a good one. It comes with a street of gold.”

  “Well, I’m going to do all I can to make sure you don’t hit the pearly gates prematurely. They might not have your mansion ready.”

  “Do what you need to, but just remember you’re not God.”

  “I bet you’re really popular with your regular doctor.”

  “I’m having my records transferred here next week. You’re my doctor now.”

  Again, Jama was struck by the enormity of what she was doing. Physicians were discouraged from treating family members, and Ted felt like family to her, as had so many people in this town when she was growing up.

  “I made that decision when you entered medical school.” He grimaced. Obviously, the pain had returned.

  Jama gave in and hooked him up to an EKG machine. In fifteen seconds, she saw the display on the monitor, which didn’t show any significant problem for someone his age. Still, with anything less than a perfect EKG, she could not totally dismiss the possibility that the pain was coming from his heart.

  She was wishing for a good phlebotomist and lab tech when Ruth stepped to the doorway of the exam room.

  “Dr. Keith, would you mind introducing me to our patient?” Ruth asked.

  “Ted Claybaugh,” Jama said, “meet Dr. Ruth Lawrence. She’s the director of the clinic.”

  Ted nodded.

  “Mr. Claybaugh,” Ruth said, “you need to go elsewhere for treatment.”

  Jama bit down on her tongue to keep from saying something she would regret.

  Ted looked at Jama. “I don’t care if she’s the President of the United States, Jama Sue, if you’ve been away long enough to forget about the stubbornness of the Claybaughs, then you’ve been gone too long.” He sounded as if he was addressing a football team after a fumble.

  Ruth crossed her arms over her chest and took a step closer to Ted. It appeared to Jama that in Tanzania, bedside manner had not been high on the list of priorities.

  Jama gestured to Ted. “Dr. Lawrence, meet our former teacher and football coach, who controls this town and everyone in it.”

  “He can call me Ruth.” She approached Ted’s side. “Very pleased to meet you, Doctor Claybaugh,” she said dryly.

  Jama was surprised to detect a glint of gentle humor in her director’s eyes, though she couldn’t be sure.

  Their patient raised his thinning gray eyebrows. “You can call me Ted.” He didn’t break Ruth’s stare.

  “Ted.” The gentleness of Ruth’s expression expanded into her voice. “As Jama has already explained, it is unfortunate that we don’t have the personnel we need to give you a proper medical workup today. The few tests we can do would not qualify as standard of care.”

  “And as I have already told Jama, I’m not too concerned about-” He winced again.

  Ruth looked at the chart the aide had brought in. “Ted, you have every right to go to whomever you please for your medical care, and we would be thrilled to have you as our patient as soon as we’re open for business.”

  “Thank you. That’s what I intend to do.”

  “I understand that you mean to wait until Jama is able to take your case, but that wouldn’t be wise.”

  “I’ll take responsibility for that.”

  “Consider our position here,” Ruth said. “The future of this clinic depends on a strong flow of new patients. For that to happen, we need to keep a flawless reputation. How do you think our clinic’s reputation would fare if we tried to treat you today, and something went wrong? Or if we sent you away without treatment, and you grew worse?”

  “I would never blame this clinic for anything.”

  “If there is truly something wrong with you-and it appears that there may be-then that may no longer be up to you.”

  He studied her for a moment. “Nobody in my family would dream of suing this clinic.”

  “Symptoms suggest you could have a blood clot in a lung,” Ruth stated flatly. “Left untreated, that could be fatal.”

  Jama bit her tongue. Those symptoms could mean anything at this point. These were scare tactics, pure and simple.

  Ruth continued. “Word would get out about it. People don’t want to go to a clinic where the patients die because the doctors misdiagnose.”

  Ted frowned and looked down at his hands for a moment, then looked at Jama. “Your director’s been around the block a few times, hasn’t she? Handled a few crotchety old men.”

  Jama grinned at him. She had worked with other arrogant doctors during her residencies. From what the mayor had said earlier in the day, and from Ruth’s response to her husband’s call today, it sounded as if she might be going through a divorce. Jama might be hard to get along with, herself, under the same circumstances.

  Of course, she was dealing with comparable circumstances-actually, even worse circumstances. So maybe she was overly sensitive today, as well.

  Give it a better try, Jama.

  “I’ve got a lot of pride in this town,” Ted said. “And we can’t have something
going wrong for this clinic before it even gets up and running. So I guess I’d better do what the doctor orders,” Ted said.

  Jama felt a rush of relief, though she wasn’t ready to thank Ruth for bursting in and commandeering the patient. “Your family doctor is Stewart in Fulton, isn’t he?”

  Ted nodded.

  “I’ll call him and let him know you’re on your way to the E.R.”

  Jama walked beside Ted’s wheelchair out the door, hugged him goodbye and returned to her own office. She would call Ted’s physician, and give her erratic emotions time to settle before facing Ruth.

  How she missed her old relationship with Tyrell at times like these. In the past few months, she’d become accustomed to calling him to talk about whatever was on her mind. He’d always listened.

  Why had he gone and blown it all by asking her to marry him?

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Tyrell’s crew had the hay bales set and ready to light as soon as the temperature dropped far enough on the large thermometer mounted on the side of the nearest shed. He also had a cord of firewood scheduled for delivery any minute. The crew had stacked limbs for bonfires down by the peach and apple trees.

  There was something about dependence on God’s mercy for a livelihood that made a man realize just how puny he was in the scheme of the universe. And yet, God still showed that mercy.

  Tyrell’s cell phone beeped yet again.

  As he flipped open the phone, a truck entered the property through the front gate a quarter mile from the house. The wood was arriving.

  “Me again,” Renee’s voice informed him over the airwave. “You made a bunch of phone calls this afternoon, didn’t you?”

  “Everybody in my book.”

  “Calls have been coming in fast and furious. There are reports of a brown pickup speeding southeast of Columbia on H Highway near the Mark Twain National Forest, and one report of a truck with the same description headed east on Highway 94.”

  He felt a flare of hope. “That sounds as if the truck’s headed toward River Dance.”

  “That’s what I think, too,” Renee said, “but why?”

  “If they’re on their way to St. Louis, 94 is a good route to take to be less visible than on the interstate. Old farm trucks are commonplace in this area.” And Tyrell knew a lot of old farmers along the highway who could be on the lookout for that pickup.

  “Do you think Doriann could have somehow convinced her abductors to drive to River Dance?” Renee asked.

  “An eleven-year-old girl is not likely to convince these people of anything.” Tyrell waved to the driver of the wood truck to pull around to the back of the house. “Just because several people spotted a brown truck on 94 doesn’t mean it’s the truck driven by Doriann’s abductors.” Although that was exactly what Tyrell hoped. “That kind of thinking could mess up an FBI operation.”

  “Obviously, it isn’t going to mess up this one. No one is listening to me.”

  He heard the frustration in her voice. “Don’t feel bad. Police get faulty tips all the time.”

  “Three of them? All in the same area? And don’t forget the truck was spotted leaving I-70 suddenly.”

  “Wasn’t that because of information the abductors might have heard over the scanner?”

  “Merely supposition. Believe me, I know how capable Doriann is of making up very believable stories, and nobody knows if that truck was headed to St. Louis.”

  “I understand from the news reports that’s where these people came from in the first place.”

  “Well, maybe not both of them.”

  “What do you mean?” Tyrell asked.

  “Description of the woman with him has changed.”

  “You mean there may be three killers?”

  “It’s possible, Tyrell.”

  “That wasn’t reported on the news.”

  “It isn’t something the FBI wants to reveal yet. I’ve learned these agents do what they want when they want, and nobody changes their minds.”

  “If the reported sighting was of the right truck, and if Doriann has actually been abducted-which is something we still can’t be positive about at this point-then the FBI will need to be prepared.”

  There was a pause, and he thought he heard a quick intake of breath. “You do at least think it’s possible they’re coming in your direction, then.”

  “It’s possible.” It was also possible, though not probable, that they could actually be coming to River Dance for some reason, as Renee suggested. But to think an eleven-year-old could convince them to come here? Not a reasonable idea.

  “What if the captors know about Doriann’s ties to River Dance?” Renee asked. “This could be an intentional plan then, not just an escape from the interstate.”

  “You’re jumping to conclusions again.” Tyrell circled the house to meet the delivery vehicle, where he found Daniel and the hired crew already unloading the wood.

  “Okay, you agree with me, then,” Renee said. “They’re probably headed toward River Dance.”

  “I didn’t say that. Don’t put words in-”

  “I need to have another talk with the agent at Mark and Heather’s place. Maybe he’ll listen this time.”

  “Does he have an alpha-male complex?”

  “That could be a problem.”

  “Then have Mark mention it to him.”

  “Okay,” Renee said, “here’s another concern. After the initial calls about the truck, there have been no reports of a sighting for a few hours.”

  “Have any other cars been reported stolen in this area?”

  “You’re suggesting the kidnappers might have ditched the truck?”

  Tyrell closed his eyes as the scent of freshly plowed earth settled over him. “I can’t say what I think right now. I can’t predict what killers will do. I do know you need to keep Heather from panicking. And don’t panic, yourself. Keep your wild ideas to yourself or talk to me, not Heather.”

  “You think my ideas are wild, you try coming up with some, yourself. And how am I supposed to keep Heather from freaking? She’s teetering on the edge already.”

  “How’s that?”

  “She expects to hear at any time that her daughter is dead.”

  Tyrell sank down on the top step of the back porch. “She can’t lose hope.”

  “Convince her of that. I’ve told her Daniel says everything is okay.”

  “Daniel didn’t say that,” Tyrell reminded his sister. “All he said was that he knew Doriann was still alive at the time we spoke.”

  “See what I mean? How am I supposed to encourage Heather when even Daniel can’t give us complete reassurance?”

  “You could remind her that God is in control no matter what, and that God does hear our prayers.”

  There was a soft sigh over the line. “I want to get out there and do something to help bring her back.”

  “I understand, Renee. It’s cruel to expect Doriann’s family to sit by and do nothing, and yet I know there’s little else that can be done right now.”

  She was silent, and Tyrell recognized a frustration in her that matched his own.

  “How can I have hope that Doriann will be safe through this when God hasn’t made that promise?” Renee asked. “We can’t expect our loved one to come through this alive, when the loved ones of millions around the world are lost every day, believers and unbelievers alike. We can have faith in God, but we can’t have faith in our own personal safety, or in the safety of our children.”

  Tyrell could empathize with her. He remembered a scene in The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe, where Mr. Beaver emphasized that God was not safe, but He was always good.

  What good could come of Doriann’s capture?

  Tyrell wanted to jump into his car and drive to the last place the stolen pickup had been seen, then track it from there. But he couldn’t do it. He wanted to rescue Doriann. As Renee had said, they had received no promises that the situation would end as the family desperately prayed i
t would.

  “We can’t see the big picture from where we stand,” he told her.

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means that this life isn’t the big picture. Eternity is.”

  “Okay, I want you to stop talking like that right now. You’re as bad as Heather. You’re implying Doriann could die.”

  “Haven’t you said the same thing in so many words?”

  “But I didn’t want you to agree with me, Tyrell.” There were tears in her voice now.

  “I’ve simply said that if her life does end on this earth, the time we’ll be separated from her will seem like a blip in the screen compared to the eternity we’ll spend with her.”

  This observation silenced Renee for a long moment, except for sniffing. Then she said, “I’ve got a call coming in. It’s probably Mom.”

  “Keep me posted.”

  “I’ll let you know if I hear more, but, Tyrell, please don’t say anything to Mom about-”

  “It’s what she told me after Amy’s death. Think about it, Renee. Our faith lies in God’s ability to guide us into eternity.”

  He said goodbye and disconnected, praying he’d said the right thing.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Doriann plunged into the shadowed safety of a hollow in the rocks above the dry creek bed. If she used her imagination, she might believe it was a cave. She and Uncle Tyrell had gone spelunking in a wild cave two years ago, and Doriann had loved it, even when she almost sat on a bat. Caves were places to hide, and she needed to hide.

  She wished now that she had not received her earlier wish-that Clancy would shut up and stop calling to her through the woods. His voice had creeped her out, but at least she’d known where he was.

  Now he said nothing, and the only way she knew he was still searching for her was when she caught sight of his shadow in the woods, or heard the rustle of leaves, or the sound of footsteps on rocks.

  But she knew something he didn’t know. These rocky creeks, where boulders sometimes split the streams in half, could be wild when storms flooded the area. And then they would carve out very handy overhangs in the rock cliffs above the water. Great places to hide.