'Bout to Dye in Birmingham, page 12
We could be making a bad situation worse.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
As we reached the back of the salon, the dirt road gave way to tan pea gravel, which formed an area for additional parking. By that point, I was sweating through my scrubs. A huge maple tree stood to the left of the building in the back of the lot. I aimed for the tree and parked Mrs. Castinelli behind the wide trunk, mostly to keep her wheelchair stable, but also to keep her out of sight—just in case.
I headed with purpose to the back door. If anyone besides Lula was inside, I'd just tell them I was having car trouble or I needed to use the bathroom. If it was only Lula, I'd help her with her mother any way I could. After that, I'd be calling the police.
I started to knock, but then I heard voices. I tried the knob. It turned easily, and the door opened a crack.
I stuck my head into the dark interior, which looked like a storage room and carried the vague scent of cleaning products. Shelves full of beauty supplies and out-of-season holiday decor were stuffed from floor to ceiling. A large trash can was pushed against the wall beside a utility sink with a gooseneck faucet. Beyond that, a connecting door only stood open about a foot, and I could see the pink sinks and chairs running down the left side of the room. The bell over the front door tinkled, and footsteps crossed the floor.
"I'm counting them now," said a female voice whose cold tone sounded familiar.
I slipped inside. There was movement in the mirrors over the sinks, so I crept towards the doorway to get a better view.
Patti Wright was behind the receptionist's desk looking down at the countertop, which was hidden behind a half wall. I couldn't see what it was she was supposedly counting. I could see her amethyst nose piercing, though, glinting purple like a fat, out-of-place booger.
"Did you hear me, Brittany?" she asked.
"Yes ma'am," came Brittany's meek reply.
"Lula better hope they're all here. I'll need her bookkeeping records too, so I can track everything."
"Yes ma'am," Brittany said again.
"Here, get rid of these bags. Did you bring the suitcase I asked for?"
"It's in my car," Brittany said. I could see her stoop behind the counter near Patti and gather up what looked to be discarded trash bags. When she had her arms full, she began walking in my direction. I spun around, crouched down behind the trash can, and squeezed halfway under the utility sink.
The door to the storage room swung wide, and Brittany flicked the overhead fluorescent light on. She dumped the armful of black plastic bags into the can right beside me. Then her eyes met mine and she froze. I put my finger to my lips. She frowned as if she was undecided then slowly nodded. I pointed towards the door that led outside, and she gave another small nod.
"Miss Patti?" she called. "I'm going to pull my car around back and bring the suitcase in this way. It's pretty big."
"Whatever," Patti answered with her usual unpleasant tone.
Brittany motioned for me to follow her out the back door, so I crawled out behind her. "What are you doing here?" she whispered in a terrified voice when we got outside.
"I could ask you the same thing," I whispered back. "There's some weird stuff going on around here, and I'm about sick of being dragged into it."
"So go home," she said.
"I can't. Where's Lula?"
She shook her head with alarm. "Not here. I haven't seen her."
I grabbed Brittany by the elbow and tugged her across the gravel to the maple tree where Mrs. Castinelli was still hidden on the other side of the trunk.
She gasped as I pulled her around from the side. "Oh, no! Mrs. C! Why are you here?"
Mrs. Castinelli looked even worse now. Her cheeks were intensely red again, and her eyelids looked heavy. "I don't know," she said. I worried that her speech sounded more slurred than usual.
"She needs to get out of here," I said. "Lula's car's back there, but it's out of gas. Mine's about two miles down the dirt road. I was trying to get her inside out of the heat. Lula said they were in some kind of trouble and her mother's not safe at home."
"Well, Lula's not here and you can't come in," Brittany said. "Patti's inside, and that's probably who Lula's hiding from."
"I'm about three minutes away from marching in there and calling the police," I said. "I'd have already done it if I hadn't left my phone in the car. And Mrs. Castinelli needs some water."
"Please Maggie," Mrs. Castinelli said, fighting to keep her eyelids open. "Let's just find Lula."
Brittany wrung her hands. "Okay, just stay here for a minute, both of you." She glanced over her shoulder at the back of the house. "Patti's almost done. I'll bring the phone out when she leaves." She wrung her hands again then gave me a little shove to move me farther behind the tree before turning to run back inside.
"This is bad, isn't it?" Mrs. Castinelli asked after Brittany had gone. When I sighed, she let out a quiet, hiccupping sob. I reached for her hand and squeezed it. "What should we do?" she whispered.
I didn't have the energy to answer and didn't know what to say anyway. I sank to the ground beside her wheelchair and leaned against the rough bark of the tree.
It was about ten minutes later when we heard the back door slam and Brittany finally came hurrying across the pea gravel carrying two bottles of water. "She's still here," she said, breathless. "But I snuck out to give you these."
I opened one of the cold bottles and handed it to Mrs. Castinelli to sip. Then I put the other bottle against the side of her neck to help cool her down as Brittany hurried back inside.
After another ten minutes, it occurred to me that with no idea of when Patti was leaving, we could be here all afternoon. Mrs. Castinelli was listing to the left in her chair and her eyelids were growing heavy again. "We can't wait any longer," I told her. "I'm going to get my car." I encouraged her to take a few more sips of water then turned and jogged down the dirt road, glad for the downhill incline.
When I reached Dolphina, I was completely wilted. I'd forgotten to lock the doors or even crack the windows, so it was sweltering inside. I cranked her up and set the AC on blast before pulling out of the weeds. Then I reached into the console for my phone to call an ambulance.
My phone wasn't there.
Had I dropped it when I'd gotten out?
I parked and walked back to search the ground. No sign of my phone. I crawled into the floorboard and peered under the seats. Nothing.
Maybe it had fallen out of my pocket around Lula's van.
I got back behind the wheel and drove on. Despite the demands I put on Dolphina, she had fast, cold air conditioning, and I angled the vent at my face. Coming to get the car had been the right decision. I'd get Mrs. Castinelli loaded first and start getting her cooled off. Then I could stop and check Lula's van for my phone on the way back out.
And after that? asked Shaina's voice. You know we're not supposed to be transporting patients. You've got a patient in distress. You better figure out how to call the ambulance.
With my lost phone? Also, there was the possibility of a COVID-filled emergency room. Maybe she didn't even need to go. I bit my lip. Strange times often called for extreme measures. I decided to take her to a walk-in medical center, get her checked out, and then take her home with me if everything was okay. It would be fine. Francis wouldn't mind one more guest. We could watch movies and play checkers, and Sam would probably want to make her a nice lemon pound cake or something. It would be fine, I told myself. Maybe I wouldn't even get fired over it.
Dolphina crested the hill into the gravel parking lot. I steered her towards the big tree where Brittany and Mrs. Castinelli were supposed to be waiting.
No one was there.
I hoped Brittany had taken her inside the salon. Except then I noticed that Brittany's car was gone, too.
Well, fine. Brittany had taken her someplace safe. She seemed like a responsible person. It was out of my hands. Time to get out of here.
I turned to the left and shifted into reverse to go back out the way I came in.
And that's when Lula's voice croaked from the hatchback, "You got anything to drink in here?"
After I finished screaming and nearly backing into the salon, I let Lula have it for getting me into whatever this situation was in the first place.
"Well, okay. I'm sorry," she said, peering over the back seat. "But you were the one who came to the house after we told you not to. It was your fault you witnessed all that business with that jerk Garrett to begin with."
"I'm a professional!" I yelled. "I thought your mother was in trouble. And you're the one who called me and asked me to get your mother's things from the house!"
In the rearview mirror, I saw her raise her head up enough to glance through the windows. "Is anyone following us?" she asked.
"No! This is crazy, Lula! Why are you in my car?"
As best as I could tell from the mirror, she had the decency to look ashamed. "I was hiding out in the woods, waiting for Patti to leave so I could get in there and get Mom some water. When I saw you pushing her up the road, I figured you were going to barge right in on Patti and she'd know I was out here somewhere. That's why I hid."
"So Patti's the one threatening you?"
She shrugged and put her face in her hands. "I don't know," she said. "Maybe. Probably." I thought of that horrifying picture and the message on the back. I'd be scared, too.
"Can you at least take me to get some gas?" Lula asked in a small voice. "I'll be out of your way as soon as I can get my van cranked." Her head disappeared again behind the seat. "Thank you for bringing Mom's stuff," she added.
"You're welcome," I said, somewhat mollified. "I guess Brittany has your mother with her. I told your mom I'd be right back to pick her up, but now neither of them are here. Your mom wasn't looking good."
"What do you mean?" I could hear the panic in her voice, but I didn't even care.
"I mean, you can't take a ninety-three-year-old woman out into the countryside, scare her to death, dehydrate her, and make her sleep in the woods without her medication."
Lula sat all the way up. "Oh, God," she choked. "Just take me back up to the salon. I'll call the police and wait for them. I don't even care if Patti's here. This has gone far enough."
"You better believe it has," I said. I pulled around to the front of the building and skidded to a stop to let her out.
"Patti's car's still here," she whispered.
Just then, Garrett's big tan truck roared into the parking lot and slammed on the brakes. He got out and slammed the truck door with so much force, it sounded as if it could've bent the metal doorframe. He paid my car no attention as he stormed towards the front steps. It was at that moment that Patti came out the door carrying a large black suitcase.
Lula squeaked and ducked behind the seat again.
As a person who hated confrontation, I wasn't eager to see these two forces of nastiness clash. Still, it held the same type of fascination as watching two animals of the species fight for the alpha position on the Animal Planet channel.
They both started yelling, roaring at the tops of their lungs, really. I cracked a window to try to make sense out of what they were saying, but it was mostly cursing and name-calling.
And then Garrett rushed the stairs and pushed Patti backwards. She lost her balance, dropping the suitcase, but now her hands were free to push him back, which she did. "Keep outta my business!" she yelled. "She signed for it, the money's spent, and there's nothing you can do about it!" She knocked him hard in the chest again and again until he stumbled backwards down the stairs, hitting the pavement and sprawling in front of my car in the parking lot.
"You'll pay for that," he screamed, plus some more threats that made my eyes go wide because they contained strings of words that were so creatively interwoven, it would've made a rapper proud. He certainly was adept at getting his point across.
Patti ran over as he got to his hands and knees and kicked him in the thigh several times. Then she ran back for the suitcase and threw it in her trunk. Finally, she turned to me. "What are you doing on my property?" she screamed. Her eyes had drawn into slits, and the amethyst piercing in her nose drew in and out as her nostrils flared with each breath.
I swallowed and lowered the window. "Just looking for a bathroom," I said.
"We're closed," she screeched. "Maybe for good!"
Garrett hobbled back to his truck and climbed in. He shot her two halves of a peace sign, one finger on each hand, and burned out of the lot. She followed.
Lula climbed into my back seat, opened the door, and got out of my car. I was already speeding away as she slammed it shut.
I didn't even look back.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
I drove away from Lula's Locks, fuming. How had I let this happen? This ought to teach me never to take advice from a patient! If I hadn't listened to Mrs. Castinelli's opinion about my home dye job, I'd never have made an appointment at Lula's. I'd never have gotten a botched cut and color. I'd never have had to know anything about purple hair, Patti Wright, or dead-and-nekkid Winston Mathison. A wig! I'd thought Mrs. Castinelli had fabulous hair thanks to Lula, but she'd been wearing a wig this whole time!
I pulled onto Interstate 20 and thought through my options. If I went to the police, how much of what I knew was a HIPAA violation? Everything that had happened at the salon had nothing to do with providing healthcare for Mrs. Castinelli. Everything that had happened at her house, though, unfortunately did. Now the two scenarios were entangled together in an ugly mess, and I couldn't figure out how to tease them apart.
I needed the internet to research HIPAA violations and law enforcement. I considered taking the next exit and doing it right now on my phone. That's when I remembered my phone was still unaccounted for. I couldn't even call anyone and ask for their advice.
There was no help for it. I'd have to go to the home office and talk to my manager. I shuddered. Tanya Warnock wasn't a warm and comfortable person. I had to admit she ran a tight ship, though. She had to. Healthcare administration wasn't for sissies.
The home office was in a large industrial building off of Acton Road. Metal and windowless, aesthetically it left a lot to be desired. Like the building, everyone who worked inside seemed to have a steely exterior and a windowless soul. Also, the fluorescent lighting appeared to age everyone at least ten years, which likely pissed them off even more. The whole building definitely had bad feng shui.
I parked in the field staff parking lot and tried to remember the door code, which changed with irregular frequency. Shaina told me they had to change it every time someone was no longer an employee, which left me wondering who had quit or been fired each time a new code was announced.
In short, I hated going to the home office. It felt like a giant sucking hole of negative energy. I usually only snuck in to replenish my medical supplies when necessary.
I put on my face mask, got the code punched in correctly after only three tries, and slid into the gloomy hallway. The place was oddly silent, no doubt because there were so few patients to deal with. The copier wasn't running, and I couldn't even hear any voices on the phone requesting doctor's orders or medical records. In fact, several offices were dark, probably because the staff was working from home, the lucky ducks.
Tanya Warnock's office was at the end of the hall. I could tell her door was open because a rectangle of pale light was lying across the gray industrial carpet in front of it. As I approached, I heard a phone receiver return to its cradle, and Tanya's voice said, "She's not answering. She's probably with a patient."
I stopped outside the door to make sure I wasn't barging in on a private conversation. A male voice answered, "No worries. We can swing by her house later."
It sounded as though Tanya's chair rolled back, and she must've stood up. "I'd rather be present when you speak with her," she said with authority.
I chose that moment to stick my head around the door and wave.
"Oh!" she said. "Maggie! I was just trying to call you." She gestured toward the man in the chair in front of her desk who had his back to me. "Officer Reynolds needs to speak with you about one of our patients."
My new friend, Short Lebron, turned and looked at me. Even though he was wearing a mask, I could tell he was smiling by the way his eyes crinkled at the corners. "Looks like we meet again," he said in a friendly voice.
"Well, thank God," I answered. I came into Tanya's office and plopped into the other chair in front of her desk. "I was coming here specifically to ask Tanya how to handle this."
Tanya frowned her best administrative warning at me. "Okay, but don't forget, we have patient privacy rights to uphold…"
I held a hand up to reassure her. "I know, I know. That's why I wanted to talk to you. Now that Officer Reynolds is here though, maybe I won't have to tell everything twice."
Her frown got even deeper. "It sounds like you have a lot to say," she said. I couldn't tell if she was trying to give me a warning or if she was just concerned. "What I don't understand is why I'm just now hearing about this." Ah, so it wasn't a warning or concern over my well-being. It was executive alarm at not being in-the-know.
I turned to look at Officer Reynolds. "I'm sorry, but can I have a few minutes with my manager to review what I'm allowed to say?"
He whipped out a piece of paper from beneath the leather-bound notebook on his lap. "I've printed the guidelines right here," he said. "We run into this a lot." He handed them to Tanya, and I went behind her desk to read them over her shoulder.
"As you can see," he continued, "your answers are required by law. That could mean a court order, a warrant, a subpoena, or an administrative request. What we've got here today is an administrative request." His eyes twinkled again in an open, relaxed way which made me want to tell him everything. He was obviously quite good at the part of his job where he needed people to talk.
