Medical Judgment

by Richard L. Mabry M. D.

  She parked her car in front of the veterinary clinic and hurried up the walk. The receptionist greeted her with a smile. “Hi, Dr. Gordon. I think Prince will be glad to see you. Do you remember how to get to his kennel?”

  Sure enough, Prince welcomed her with a couple of yips, followed by enthusiastic wagging of his tail. She noted that the incision Brad had made to explore the gunshot wound and control bleeding was no longer covered by a dressing, and it appeared to be healing cleanly. Now she could see for herself that there were no external stitches to remove, or for Prince to gnaw at. It appeared the dog was indeed ready to leave the hospital.

  “Looks pretty good, doesn’t he?”

  Sarah turned and saw Brad coming toward her. As usual, he wore a knee-length white coat covering casual clothes. He stopped about a yard away. “I notice that you got here around noon again. Did you come prepared for me to buy your lunch?”

  “Aren’t you getting tired of taking me out to lunch every day?”

  “Not at all,” Brad said. “But I don’t want to come off too strong, either. If you’d rather not—”

  “No,” Sarah said. Then she added, “I was sort of looking forward to it.”

  * * *

  Around them, the noon rush of the restaurant provided a curtain of noise that shielded their conversation from anyone more than a few feet away. Despite this, Brad and Sarah were quiet. Usually, they found a great deal to talk about, but today seemed different. Brad Selleck knew why.

  He kept his eyes focused on his salad as he used his fork to move the same piece of lettuce from the right edge of his bowl to the left and back again.

  “If you really enjoy stirring vegetables around, you can play with my salad, too,” Sarah said. “You haven’t eaten more than a bite or two since we sat down. Is something wrong?”

  “Wow, I can’t put anything past you, can I?” Brad said. “I guess I’m trying to decide the best way to say this.”

  Sarah put down her fork and pushed her dish away. “The way you put it, it sounds like bad news. I’ve always found the best way to deliver news like that is to get it out there quickly, sort of like ripping off a bandage.” Her tone was light, but the expression on her face was serious.

  “Okay,” he said. “Here goes. You’re a beautiful, intelligent woman who happens to also like dogs. In other words, you’re three for three on my rating scale.”

  “I sense a ‘but’ coming,” Sarah said.

  “No. Well, maybe. I guess so. Remember, I told you I’m also a member of the First Community Church, so when you came here the first time, I knew you’d become a widow less than a year ago. I wanted to get to know you better, but because of your situation I tried to hang back, not be too forward. It was difficult—actually, almost impossible for me—because I sensed some interest on your part. And that made me hopeful. But I kept wondering if it wasn’t too soon for you.”

  Sarah nodded, but remained silent.

  Brad drank half his glass of iced tea, but his throat still felt dry. “We haven’t known each other very long, and you may not be ready to move ahead with dating anyone, but . . . ”

  Sarah raised her eyebrows and leaned forward. Apparently, she wasn’t going to make this easy on him.

  “But when you are,” Brad said, “I’d like to be a part of your plans.”

  He wasn’t sure how Sarah would take his declaration. It had taken courage for him to say what he had just voiced, and he’d tried to prepare himself for almost any reaction to his declaration—rejection, disappointment, anger, happiness—but what he saw took the wind out of his sails completely.

  Sarah pulled a tissue from her purse and gently wiped away two tears that slowly wended their way down her cheeks. Despite the tears, she wasn’t sobbing. Matter of fact, there was a hint of a smile on her face. After a moment, she reached out and covered his hand with hers. “I’ve wrestled with this situation since Harry died. For the first several months, I was certain I’d live alone for the rest of my life. After all, I’d lost my husband and baby daughter. How could I ever be happy again?”

  “I think I understand,” Brad said softly.

  She continued as though he had said nothing. “Then someone—we still don’t know who or why—but someone began to harass me. His actions became increasingly violent, and I leaned on one of Harry’s friends for support. But when that man started giving off signs that he wanted to be more than a friend, my first reaction was wondering whether moving forward with my life would be . . . ”

  After a moment of silence, Selleck completed her sentence. “Disrespectful to your late husband’s memory.”

  Sarah nodded. “Maybe that’s it, although I don’t think I used those words. But at any rate, I didn’t think seriously about dating again until I met you. Then I really began wondering if it was too soon”

  “And what did you decide?”

  “I received the same counsel from two people I asked—ignore the calendar and ask myself if my late husband would want me to be happy. I’ve thought about it, prayed about it, and I think the answer is ‘yes.’ ”

  “So . . . ”

  “It’s too soon in our relationship to get serious, but it would be wonderful to have someone to talk with, someone I could share with. And, if you agree, I want that someone to be you. And as things progress . . . who knows?”

  * * *

  Prince lay quietly in the back seat of Sarah’s car, looking right and left as though he might be asked to describe the scenery or even guide her back to the veterinary clinic. When she had finally left there after a chaste hug from Brad and a promise to talk later, Prince trotted at her heels to the car. True, he’d moved a bit slowly, as though testing the strength of his surgical wound, but there’d been no hesitancy in his following her. Maybe he didn’t associate her with the shooting—or perhaps he’d forgiven her for any role she might have had in it.

  As Sarah turned down the last street before home, Prince sat up and gave a low growl. He didn’t bark, didn’t cower in a corner of the car’s seat. Rather, he seemed to sense trouble ahead and was warning her of it.

  “That’s okay, Prince,” she said. “The last time you were here, you encountered a prowler, and he hurt you. But he’s not here now. And I’m not going to let anything bad happen to you. I want you to know that. Just as you’ve been trained to take care of me, I’ll watch out for you, too.” She looked in her rear view mirror and noted that Prince had once more assumed a position lying in the center of the seat, turned toward the side of the street on which her house sat—a true guard dog position.

  Sarah went through the routine to which she’d almost become accustomed—disarm her security system, open the garage door, pull in, close the door, exit the car and rearm the system once she was inside the house. Prince came out of the car without coaxing. Once he was inside he took a quick tour around the kitchen, sniffed once at his now-empty food and water bowls, and then settled into a position facing the door to the garage.

  “Good dog,” Sarah said. “And when you need to go outside, I may go out with you.” She lifted her purse and felt the reassuring heft of the revolver in it. “And this time, I dare our mystery man to come around.”

  * * *

  Kyle Andrews had worked through the lunch hour, nibbling at a sandwich of indeterminate composition while plowing through a stack of legal papers. When he made the last note on the last page of the contract, he tossed the document into his “out” basket, leaned back, and heaved the contented sigh of a man who has just completed a task he’s been dreading for far too long.

  The clock on his desk, a handsome timepiece mounted in a mahogany square, had been a gift from some group to which he’d spoken—he couldn’t recall which one, and he didn’t want to lean forward far enough to read the inscription. He could see just enough to determine that the time was about half past three. Kyle had been doing a lot of thinking since his evening with Steve Farber, and some of his soul-searching hadn’t made him feel very good about himself
. Now it was time to pass on that information to another person. And he dreaded this even more than he’d dreaded the legal work he’d just completed.

  He should have called Sarah earlier, but the time had slipped away from him. Kyle tried to remember her schedule. Ordinarily, she’d just be getting started on her shift about now. On the other hand, if she were off today, this would be a good time to call. Well, either she’d answer or she wouldn’t. He’d let her response dictate his.

  Kyle picked his cell phone off the desk and chose Sarah’s number from his short list of “favorites.” She answered on the third ring.

  “Sarah, this is Kyle. Not working today?”

  “I’m . . . that is . . . no, I’m off today. Can I help you with something?”

  “I was wondering if I could come by in a few hours to talk with you, maybe take you to dinner. I have some things I need to discuss.”

  She hesitated for a moment, then almost blurted out her answer, as though she had to hurry before changing her mind, “I think I need to tell you some things, too. Why don’t you come to my house about six? I’ll fix us a bit of supper, and we can talk.”

  * * *

  Sarah’s phone rang about five thirty. Was this Kyle, saying he’d be late . . . or not coming?

  “Sarah, this is Hunter Gordon. I’m sorry to call so late, but when I told you I’d come by I completely forgot I had an obligation this evening that I can’t skip. Would it be okay if I come tomorrow about mid-morning? That is, if you still want me to bring Prince back here to the farm to continue his convalescence.”

  She closed her eyes and shook her head at her forgetfulness. When Sarah invited Kyle to come for supper, it had slipped her mind that her father-in-law was going to come by and pick up Prince this evening. Oh, well. This would be better. “Sure. Prince will be glad to see you then, and I’m sure he and I will do fine this evening. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Thanks for understanding. Put on a fresh pot of coffee about mid-morning. I’ll see you then.”

  Sarah went back into the kitchen, and as soon as she came into the room Prince slowly got up, walked to the door leading to the backyard, and stood there, looking up at her. His expression clearly said, “I’m glad you remembered me. Now would you please open this door?”

  She did just that, then hurried to the living room and grabbed her pistol out of her purse. Sarah felt foolish holding the pistol at her side when she stepped into the backyard, but she figured she’d feel even more foolish if her stalker chose that moment to come by and take another shot at Prince.

  The dog moved a bit more slowly than usual, but otherwise showed no evidence of his recent injury. Prince took a few moments to accomplish his business, strolled around the yard a couple of times as though to make certain nothing had changed, and then headed back inside.

  Back in the house, Sarah dropped the pistol inside her purse, but before she could decide what to do next, there was a knock at the door. Was Kyle early? Had Hunter decided to come anyway?

  She opened the front door and said, “This is a surprise.” She was about to say more, but stopped when she saw the gun pointed at her.

  25

  Sarah’s voice showed the surprise she felt. “Tom, what are you doing with that gun?”

  Tom Oliver edged past her and closed the door behind him. He gestured with the pistol he held. “I’m going to kill you, of course. But first, why don’t we go into the living room? I think that will be a good place for what I have in mind.”

  “Tom, why are you behaving this way? I’ve never seen you act like this before.”

  “That’s all you’ve seen,” he said. “Acting. I put on a great performance so you’d never suspect me.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Actors have what they call ‘method acting.’ They talk about ‘motivation.’ Well, that’s what I’ve had. That’s why I’ve been able to act like a normal contractor for the time I’ve been working at your house. I’ve had motivation.”

  Sarah wasn’t sure how to handle this, but for now she wanted to keep the man talking. That way she could buy a few more minutes of life. “I don’t understand. What motivation? Why are you doing this?”

  “Revenge, of course.”

  “Revenge for what? You can’t be angry about my drawing the blood alcohol on your son.”

  “Oh, no. That has nothing to do with this. My son got straight after that little incident, and he enlisted in the Marines.” Tom used his gun to wave her to the couch. “Why don’t you move over there? I think it will be better, and—”

  “Wait,” Sarah said. “I’ve seen the car my stalker drives, and it’s a dark sedan. You drive a red pickup. Where did the dark car come from?”

  “My wife’s,” he said.

  “You mean she knows what you’ve been doing?”

  “Oh, I suspect she understands. So does Tommy. So does the Hawkins family.”

  “What do you—”

  “Sarah, are you here?” Kyle’s voice moved closer with every word. “No one answered my knock, and the front door was open.”

  Perhaps she could warn Kyle before he walked into the room. Sarah raised her voice as much as she dared. “Tom, please put that gun away!”

  Over Tom’s shoulder, Sarah saw Kyle appear in the doorway. He dropped to one knee and reached down for his ankle holster. At the same time that Kyle moved, Tom whirled and fired at him. Kyle’s change in position turned what would have been a bullet in the attorney’s body into a shot that hit his left shoulder—not a fatal wound, but enough to put him out of commission for the moment.

  Blood began to flow from Kyle’s left shoulder, leaving a dark stain on his suit coat. He straightened up in a series of jerks and grabbed the injured area with his right hand, pressing to hold pressure against the wound.

  “Tom, please. Don’t shoot again,” Sarah called.

  Tom’s voice was flat. He showed no emotion. It seemed as though he were outside the scene, observing the action. “Well, this complicates things a little, but I can improvise. That’s what marks a good actor, you know. I can improvise, handle any situation.”

  Sarah moved toward Kyle. “You need to let me look at that wound,” she said. A wave of Tom’s pistol stopped her. She almost shouted, “Don’t you realize he could bleed to death?”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Tom said with a strange smile. “You’re both going to die anyway.”

  “Tom—” Kyle said in a weak voice.

  “Shut up!” Tom snapped. He motioned with the gun. “Get over there by the doctor,” he said. “I wish I could have strung this out a bit longer, but I think it’s time to end it. All it will take is three shots.” He pointed with his free hand—first at Sarah, then at Kyle, then at himself. “After that, none of us will have any worries.”

  Sarah heard a faint sound from the kitchen. As Kyle moved toward her, still holding his bleeding shoulder, she edged to her right to get a better view of the doorway.

  Prince stopped and crouched there in a position of readiness. The fur on his neck was standing up. His mouth was slightly open, his teeth bared, but he made no sound. The dog stared at Tom Oliver, and Sarah could almost hear him asking if he should attack, begging for her to give the command. Could she do that? Could she ask him to risk being shot once more? She decided she had no choice.

  In a sharp voice, she called, “Prince. Fass.”

  With two giant bounds, the dog, showing no evidence of his recent gunshot wound, leaped at Tom’s gun hand, clamped his teeth onto it, and tugged. Tom tried to turn the pistol on Prince, but the German shepherd was too strong.

  While this was happening, Kyle released the pressure he was holding on his shoulder wound long enough to pull his pistol from its holster on his right ankle. But when he extracted the pistol, Sarah saw that Kyle’s right hand was visibly shaking. He was going into shock from blood loss.

  Fearing that Kyle was about to drop the revolver, Sarah took it from him and pointed it at Tom. “Drop the gun,
then kick it over here.”

  Tom hesitated only a moment before he complied. “Get this dog off me,” he called.

  Sarah stooped and picked up Tom’s semiautomatic pistol. Now, with a gun in either hand, she spoke again in a firm voice. “Prince. Aus.” Upon that command, the dog released his hold. Tom immediately cradled his injured right hand under his left arm.

  “Prince, Wache.”

  Prince assumed a guarding position. Tom kept his eyes fixed on the dog, but made no movement.

  “Hello? Anyone home?” Bill Larson came through the door of the living room. As soon as he took in the situation, he crouched and drew his gun, but didn’t seem sure at whom to point it.

  “Bill,” Sarah said. “Tom Oliver tried to kill both of us. Prince made him drop the gun. Cuff him while I call an ambulance for Kyle.”

  When Larson approached Tom to handcuff him, Prince growled. After Sarah gave the command Lass, the dog relaxed and backed away, but remained watchful.

  “There’s a word in German I’m supposed to use that means ‘good dog,’ but I forget what it is,” Sarah said.

  “I think the tone of voice will let him know what we mean,” Larson said. After he’d cuffed Oliver, the detective reached a tentative hand toward Prince’s head, patted him, and said, “Good dog.”

  * * *

  Sarah went around her kitchen table, pouring coffee for the three men sitting there. She filled her own cup and turned back to the counter where the coffee maker sat. This was Saturday morning—fifteen days since the fire, twelve days since the first shot was fired at her, less than three days since Tom Oliver came very close to killing her and Kyle. So much had happened in her life in the past few weeks. Most of it was bad, but now things seemed to be looking up.

  Hunter Gordon lifted his cup and blew across the surface. To Hunter’s right was Bill Larson, a thin manila folder before him. Across from Hunter sat Kyle Andrews, his left arm in a sling, looking a bit wan. Sarah replaced the coffee pot on its warming plate, then took the remaining chair at the table.

  “I’m glad you asked me to be a part of this meeting,” Hunter said.