Max had listened to her recitation with growing amusement. Her question bumped him out of his passive listening. “Um, yes. Yes, it’s exactly like that.”
Give or take a billion dollars.
Chapter Nine
Peaceful Transitions
Dree
While Dree was telling Augustine the story about her Uncle Marny, her phone logged back into the hotel’s Wi-Fi and started buzzing in her pocket like a baby rattler had crawled in there, and they do.
When you grow up on a sheep ranch, you learn you’ve got to watch out for baby snakes in the spring and shake out your shoes before you put them on, but you should always do that anyway because of the scorpions.
She sneaked a surreptitious peek at her phone screen while Augustine went back over to the door and fiddled with the locks again.
The screen read that she’d had an incoming DM text from Sister Ann.
Dree pressed her finger to the back of her phone and swiped to find the text, which read, There is something wrong with Peaceful Transitions Hospice.
That was where Francis worked. He’d been working there ever since she’d met him, and he’d said that he’d been working there for five years before that.
Indeed, that was how she’d first met Francis Senft.
Another DM text was from Caridad Santos, a friend of hers from work, which read, Are you okay? Why aren’t you picking up your phone? The police came around and were asking questions about you. I wasn’t sure what to tell them, so I didn’t say anything.
Dree would have to buy Caridad some high-quality French chocolate before she went back to Phoenix.
She felt weird about sitting on the couch and ignoring Augustine while she texted these guys back about this stuff, so she excused herself and went to the bathroom.
She’d seen the bathroom earlier when she’d showered, but the gigantic, freestanding marble bathtub in the middle still shocked her. She’d never been in a tub that big. She made a note to add soaking in it to her bucket list on the napkin.
The two sinks were on one wall with ornate framed mirrors above. The shower stall was completely separate, as was the little toilet room with a door that closed, a bathroom within the bathroom.
Still so weird.
Dree couldn’t call Caridad on her phone because it was still work hours in Phoenix. Caridad might not have her cell phone with her, or she might be in the middle of a code and trying to pound someone back to life, which was always an inconvenient time to have your phone start buzzing and ringing in your pocket.
There’s never a good time to call a nurse when she’s working.
She didn’t want to tell Caridad that she was in France because then Caridad would have to lie to the police if they came around again. She wouldn’t put Caridad in that position. Lying to the police or anyone would upset Cari.
Dree texted Caridad back, What were the police asking?
She didn’t expect a reply immediately, but Caridad’s profile picture slid down the conversation on her screen, indicating that she had seen Dree’s text. The little typing icon began to rotate at the end of the line.
Dree waited, sitting on the cold edge of the bathtub and staring at her phone.
Caridad texted, They were asking about you and Francis. They were asking how long you’ve been dating.
Dree typed, Can you talk on the phone?
A second later, the app rang, indicating a video call coming through. Dree swiped the button up. “Hello?”
Caridad was holding her hands to the sides of the phone so it looked like she was talking through a tunnel composed of her brown palms. Her hushed voice and the weird echo behind it sounded like she was bent over and hiding the phone at the nurses’ station desk. “Hello, Dree? Are you okay? Is your phone number not working?”
“Um, there’s a problem with my regular phone number. What did the police ask you?”
She glanced to the side, a furtive look, then back. “All about Francis, like when he first showed up here and what kind of car he drives. They wanted to know about you, too, if you’ve bought a new car recently or moved house or been wearing a lot of jewelry or anything.”
Dree was making more money than most members of her family, but it was still a nurse’s salary, not a CEO’s. “That’s weird. Where would I get the money for all that?”
“I don’t know, but they seemed real interested in money and where you are. They sure wanted to know where Francis was, too.”
She’d better not tell Cari she was in France, then, so Cari wouldn’t have to lie. “Francis doesn’t even work at Good Samaritan Hospital. Why would they be asking you where he was? Unless it’s because he’s my boyfriend.”
“They were acting all weird. I don’t like how weird they were acting. They were acting like police back in the Philippines who want you to give money to make them go away.”
“Oh, Caridad. We don’t do that here. Sometimes people are just weird. Not everybody has good social skills.”
“Is Francis in some sort of trouble?” Caridad asked.
“You bet your sweet ass he’s in trouble,” Dree muttered.
“It sounds like Francis got you into some sort of trouble.”
Dree said, “No. No, I’m the victim here. Francis stole a bunch of stuff from me.”
“That’s weird, because that’s what he said you do.”
“Have you talked to Francis Senft?”
“Yeah, he come around here right after you came back and got your gym bag that one day. He wanted to talk to HR about how many hours you’d had since the beginning of the pay period and if he could get a check for that. He also said that you stole from him, and he was asking people to loan him money and said it was because you took all his money. Did you run out on him? And maybe take some of his stuff as revenge? Because that would be sweet. I never liked that guy.”
“You didn’t like him? Why didn’t you say something?”
“Because you seemed so happy when he was swanning around here, bringing you flowers. I don’t think it’s any good thing when a boy talks to you once in your office and then sends you flowers like that. He wants something.”
“Oh, come on. He didn’t want something.” It sounded hollow in her ears even as it came out of her mouth.
“All boys want same thing,” Caridad snarled.
“Francis was not like that. We dated for four months before—you know.”
“Then he one of those guys who just likes oral and doesn’t like anything else.”
“Caridad! He did not! I mean, I did not. I mean, okay, some, but he liked me.”
Dree wondered when she’d started talking about the only serious relationship she’d ever had in the past tense.
“Yeah, but he was all smarmy right after you met him. He send you flowers. He sent to chocolates. He send you stuffed puppies. I always thought stuffed puppies kind of weird, like a mafia thing.”
“They weren’t taxidermied real dogs. They were hundred-dollar stuffed animals from Build-a-Stuffie.”
“I never like that guy, Dree. I think you’re better off without him. Whatever he took, let it go. Consider it tuition in the University of Real Life, where guys are always after whatever they can get.”
“I probably should. And I’m not chasing after him. As a matter of fact, I’m totally done with him. Really, I am. I should just consider everything to be tuition in the University of Real Life, like you said. That was some pretty expensive tuition, though.”
“I’m sorry he broke your heart. You will find another man. Plenty of fish in the sea. I think good riddance to bad rubbish.”
They said goodbye and hung up. Dree should have seen the signs that Francis was going to betray her, and she was stupid for missing them. Even Caridad had seen them. God, Dree was stupid. Shit.
The time was eleven o’clock at night in Paris, which meant that it was—Dree mathed and hoped she was doing it the right direction—probably two o’clock in the afternoon in New Mexico. Sister Ann taught h
er Sunday School Latin classes in the morning.
Dree called her through the app again.
After a few rings, Sister Ann answered with, “What do you know about this Peaceful Transitions Hospice he works at?”
“Um, hi to you, too, Sister Ann. He’s been working there for years. It’s a ninety-bed hospice, so it’s one of the largest in the area.”
Sister Ann’s squint seemed suspicious. When she turned her head, she was wearing her red barrettes to keep her hair pulled back in her bun, so she must have been feeling saucy that day. “That’s not what Father Thomas said.”
Dree tried to remember, but she’d never been to Francis’s hospice. “What do you mean? I’ve seen ads for them on bus stop shelters and such. It’s huge. It’s over in Maryvale.”
“That’s what you said, and that’s why Father Thomas was confused when he was there a few months ago and there were only three beds.”
“No,” Dree said, laughing. “There can’t be only three beds. First of all, I’ve seen their brochures and their website. They talk about the ‘comprehensive end-of-life care’ and ‘over ninety private rooms, plus counseling and religious areas.’”
“Father Thomas saw none of that,” Sister Ann said. “He said it was a tiny operation, and he was less than enthused about the care the three patients were getting.”
“That doesn’t make any sense. They order a ton of narcotic painkillers and other drugs through Good Samaritan Hospital.”
Sister Ann tilted her head on the phone screen, and she frowned. “That’s odd. Hospices shouldn’t have to do that.”
“After the government’s opioid crackdown, Peaceful Transitions couldn’t get enough painkillers for their terminally ill patients, who have only days or weeks to live once they transition to hospice care. I mean, what are they going to do, get addicted?” Dree chuckled. “Reducing their pain with every measure you can is the only humane thing to do. That’s how we met.”
Sister Ann looked up at the phone to stare her in the eyes. “I beg your pardon?”
Dree repeated, “That’s how Francis and I met. He was working at Peaceful Transitions when the crackdown came through last year, and they couldn’t order enough narcotics for palliative care for their dying patients.”
“So, he’s getting them—”
“Through Good Sam,” Dree repeated. “I do the purchasing for Good Sam’s ER. Francis came to see me a year ago because Peaceful Transitions was running low on narcotics, and he asked if Good Sam could transfer some over there. We transfer pharmaceuticals and supplies all the time to other hospitals and healthcare facilities in the network. Surgical supplies, bandages, PPE, whatever somebody is low on. There’s an established protocol with paperwork, but it’s so much faster than ordering through a supplier when you need something quickly. Peaceful Transitions is in our network, so I released some fentanyl, hydrocodone, and oxycodone to them. They pay us cost for them. It’s totally routine.”
“And he kept coming back,” Sister Ann said, lowering one of her eyebrows.
Dree brightened, thinking about those first few times they’d talked in the supply office. “Francis was nice. Working in an ER is tough, and it seemed like he understood me, you know?”
“Yes,” Sister Ann said. “Nice. All men seem so nice until you get to know them.”
“And Peaceful Transitions just had a tough time getting practically any of those restricted narcotics.”
“That’s odd. I don’t like odd.” The older nun scratched her chin, picking at some little bit of dry skin there.
“I don’t know why they had such trouble,” Dree said, ruminating on it. “They’re an approved provider. It seems like they should be able to get all they need for whatever size facility they’re rated, but the government crackdown hurt small hospices and pain management clinics.”
“You said it wasn’t small. You said it was huge.”
“It’s huge for a hospice. They have ninety beds. Good Sam Hospital has over seven hundred, and it’s a level-one trauma center, but Peaceful Transitions probably uses as many heavy-duty narcotics as we do. A lot of our patients don’t take those for more than a day but then stay for five days. Their patients need high doses and increasingly higher doses the whole time they’re there.”
And then they didn’t need any pain relief, ever again.
Dree shivered and swallowed hard. She was used to that, though.
“But the government would take that into account,” Sister Ann said.
“They made rules before they understood people’s needs. A lot of people with documented pain diagnoses can’t get the medication that keeps them functional, let alone dying patients who can sometimes need quite a lot right at the end to control their pain. Again, what are you going to do, worry about an addiction problem in a patient who has hours to live?”
“So, why was Francis going around and begging for drugs for them?”
“He’s in supplies and purchasing, same as my secondary position at Good Sam.” Dree had those additional duties in addition to being an ER nurse.
Sister Ann pursed her lips. “Well, he should have just bought enough of it rather than troubling you so much.”
“Restrictions. Rationing. They were supposed to reduce their narcotics use and use less-addictive drugs instead. But they’re a hospice! They shouldn’t have to say to a dying patient, ‘why don’t you take this Tylenol instead of something that will actually control your pain because the facility is using too much fentanyl.’”
“So when they didn’t have enough, they got it from other sources. You were one of their suppliers.”
“Hospice care is important work. Everybody has to die sometime, so we’re all going to need a hospice at some point.”
“But why would they need such a large amount of drugs?”
“Because they’re huge. They have a solarium,” Dree said, remembering the brochure Francis had given her.
“Father Thomas was very adamant that they only had three beds and no chapels or counseling.”
“Maybe he wasn’t at Peaceful Transitions. Maybe he was at another hospice with a similar name. There aren’t a lot of good names for hospices. I mean, there’s Spirit of Life, Calm Reflections—”
Sister Ann’s frown deepened. When Dree was in high school, Sister Ann could really frown at naughty students, and the eight years since Dree had graduated had given Sister Ann a whole new set of lines to utilize in her disapproving frowns. “Father Thomas was absolutely sure. They had those brochures, and he asked where the rest of it was. They laughed at him. Why would they need so many narcotic drugs if they only have room for three patients?”
There was only one reason why anyone would want millions of doses of untraceable opioid narcotics.
Dree’s scalp and back turned cold like she’d lain down on a bed of ice. “Oh, my God.”
“Language!”
“That was a prayer, Sister Ann. That was a prayer to God the Father and the Son and the Holy Ghost and Mother Mary that this isn’t happening.”
“What isn’t?”
Dree asked her, “Could you please confirm with Father Thomas one more time that he was in the right place? Please? Just to make sure, because I’m praying this isn’t happening.”
“All right,” Sister Ann said, still frowning. She paused, chewing on her lower lip, and then she said, “You know, child, if you were ever in trouble, there are Catholic Charities assignments all over the world. Just like I asked around and found you that job at Good Sam and a place to stay, I could discreetly inquire about a placement for you somewhere far from Phoenix. Catholic Charities always needs medical staff and would appreciate your skills. They’d appreciate medical skills so much that we could erase any trail that led to you.”
Dree gasped, and she clenched her eyes shut. “Thank you, Sister Ann. I’ll keep that in mind.”
She hung up the phone and took a few minutes to freak out that Francis had been involved in some sort of a narcotic-dealing scheme a
nd had suckered her into it. Her heart kicked in her chest like a jackrabbit.
After a few minutes, she told herself that she simply must calm down. There was nothing she could do about it now, and it was late Sunday night in France.
She would call the police tomorrow and tell them everything she knew.
Okay, she was okay. She didn’t want Augustine to know how upset she was. It was not her job to dump a bunch of angst on him. Her job was to screw him every way he wanted, and she had to admit that having sex with a hottie like him was the best job she’d ever had.
If someone told Dree that for twenty bucks, she could sleep with the hottest, nicest man she’d ever met, who could probably curl a fifty-pound barbell with his tongue, she would have been halfway to the ATM before they could draw a breath to tell her they were just kidding.
So, why should she be all concerned if the money were flowing in the other direction? She needed the money. Augustine seemed like he had plenty of it.
She would just stuff all crazy down into the happy box in her head and act like nothing was wrong.
Besides, she’d gotten barely a peek at the black-inked tattoo that covered his back, and she wanted to know what it was.
Chapter Ten
St. Augustine’s Curse
Maxence
Maxence typed the following texts into his phone:
To Quentin Sault—What the hell are you doing? Did you send those commandoes after me? Who ordered them?
To Julien Bodilsen—I haven’t seen anything. Have you gotten her out yet? What is Hannover planning?
And the last one.
Rogue Page 11
