Critical Affair, page 20
Michael met his friend’s eyes. “The psychiatric terminology in such a situation is head over heels.”
“Well, I’ll be damned. You of all people. Michael, you do realize it’s only been a week and a half?”
“It’s been five years.”
Ben stared at him, then nodded in tardy understanding. “Since you met her in the seminar. But you didn’t have a relationship with her then.”
“No.”
“That’s a hell of a long time to have felt a flame burning and done nothing about it.”
“Thanks for that insight. I might have missed it.”
Ben’s smile came and went. “How does she feel about you?”
“I think—I hope—the same.”
“You think? You hope? You don’t know? Geez, have you forgotten you’re a psychiatrist?”
“I haven’t forgotten that I have the legal power to sign an emergency order of commitment to a psychiatric hospital for an irritating lawyer who used to be my friend, if that’s what you mean.”
Ben chuckled. “Okay, I get it. You’re as clueless as the rest of us guys. Actually, that’s kind of comforting to hear. Does she know about Lucy?”
“She knows about Lucy.”
“And the beautiful TV meteorologist still wants to be with you? Maybe she needs to see a shrink.”
“She is seeing a shrink.”
Ben grinned. “When are you going to find out how the lady feels?”
“I’m trying not to rush her. She’s still dealing with her fiancé’s betrayal and death, not to mention being a prime suspect in his murder. And, as you say, she and I have only been seeing each other for a week and a half.”
“Your life is getting pretty damn complicated, Michael.”
“Thank you for pointing that out.”
“I’m not just pointing it out. I’m asking. Do you know what you’re going to do about it?”
“I HAVE TO TAKE YOU off the air,” Liz said. “I have no choice.”
Jennifer was sitting across from the news director in her office. The message wasn’t easy to take, but it didn’t surprise her. For the past twenty minutes, Liz had been telling her about the emergency meeting she’d had with the station manager that morning.
They’d been bombarded by negative phone calls and e-mail because of the newspaper article. And that wasn’t all. An administrator from the school where Jennifer was scheduled to appear next month had called to cancel her talk on meteorology to the children.
All the positive feedback generated by her interview with Hardrick had fizzled. The fact that she hadn’t been charged with anything didn’t seem to matter. In the minds of many viewers, she was a prime suspect in the murder of her fiancé.
Her boss was only doing what she had to do.
“Thanks for telling me in person,” Jennifer said, coming to her feet. “Getting canned by phone or fax would have been a lot harder to take.”
“Jen, you’re not fired. We just can’t renew your contract.”
Softer words. Same effect.
“Damn, I don’t want to lose the best TV meteorologist Timeright has ever had,” Liz lamented. “This is going to get cleared up. There are still two weeks left on your old contract. I want you in here every night getting the forecast together so Wally can read it in front of the camera. This couldn’t have come at a worse time, what with Ratings Book next week.”
They were in one of the four months during the year when viewers filled out a “book,” or list, of the shows they watched. Getting in that book was what it was all about in broadcast news.
“I’ve convinced Andrew and Ursula to let us announce their engagement next week,” Liz said. “That should get viewers tuning in. We’ll throw a party for them between the six and ten o’clock spots on Monday. I’ll call the Seacrest Café and get them to provide a spread for the celebration. Thanks for recommending them. The owner brought by some samples the other day that were to die for. Oh, I almost forgot.”
Liz pulled a bag out of her desk drawer and handed it to Jennifer. “She dropped off this bag of roasted coffee beans for you this morning and asked how you were. She seemed very upset when I told her I might have to put you on a leave of absence from the air for a couple of weeks.”
Alice Temple wasn’t the only one upset. TV personalities did not take leaves of absence. They were either on the air or out of work. Jennifer thanked Liz and left her office, fully aware that she was facing the end of her career in weather news.
AFTER HIS THIRD unsuccessful try to reach Jennifer on her cell phone, Michael left another message on her voice mail and continued his rounds.
The ethics committee had denied Ben’s request for a postponement. They had advised him that, represented by counsel or not, Michael was still scheduled to appear before them Friday morning.
After reviewing test results and adjusting medications where required, Michael made sure his chart notes were detailed in case the ruling went against him and his patients were assigned to a new doctor.
He didn’t have a specialty that was amenable to the quick fixes of a scalpel or a two-week course of antibiotics. For the most part his methods took time, plus a great deal of courage, commitment and trust from those he treated.
Gaining trust wasn’t easy. Several of the female patients he’d had to relinquish to other psychiatrists had suffered setbacks. A sudden change of doctors could prove detrimental for some of his male patients as well.
Walking into Gary and Leon’s room, he found the drape drawn between their beds. One look at Gary—bunched up and angry—and Michael retreated out the door.
He found Hazel at the central desk.
“I don’t know what’s wrong,” she said. “They were getting along great before morning visiting hours. After their families and friends left, I came in to ask what they wanted for lunch and found the curtain drawn between them. Haven’t been able to get a word out of either since.”
Michael thanked Hazel and used the phone on her desk to call down to X-ray. A couple of minutes later a technician stepped off the elevator and rolled a wheelchair over to him.
“Who’s the patient to be x-rayed, Dr. Temple?”
“Warren, I need you to do me a favor. Take Gary down to X-ray and keep him there for the next hour. Sit him in front of the TV in the waiting room and hand him the remote. I’ll call and let you know where to take him from there.”
Warren shook his head. “You practice some of the strangest psychiatry I’ve ever seen. But what the hell. Always seems to work. Sure, I’ll baby-sit your boy for a while.”
Michael thanked Warren and watched as he collected the sullen Gary from his room and rolled him onto the elevator.
Their families and friends had visited several times since Leon and Gary began sharing a room. There’d never been a problem before. But something had happened that morning to set the two men at odds.
Leon had always been more open in expressing himself. Michael was counting on that to still be true. But he needed him to feel secure that whatever he said, Gary would not hear. And that was why Michael had made sure Gary would be gone for the next hour. Leaving word at the nurse’s station that he and Leon were not to be disturbed, Michael let himself into the room.
“No need to get up, Leon, it’s just me,” Michael said jokingly to the young man with only one leg as he closed the door behind him.
EVEN BEFORE NOTING the collecting clouds on the satellite link and the downward march of millibars being recorded out in the Pacific, Jennifer sensed the impending storm.
She turned to her instruments in the weather center, consulting them as she made her predictions. In about forty-eight hours, Courage Bay was going to see some serious wind and rain.
After completing the maps for the next two days’ forecasts and the copy for the weather spots that night, Jennifer stood behind the camera and watched Wally fumble through the six o’clock report.
She called in her forecast to the radio station, only to discover that they had no plans to put her on the air, either. Disheartened, she headed for home. As soon as she veered onto the canyon road, her cell phone rang.
“Hi,” Michael said.
Just the sound of his voice lifted her spirits. They’d been missing each other’s calls all day, but she’d smiled every time she’d listened to his messages.
“No doubt you’ve seen the newspaper?” he asked.
She let him know about Liz calling her in and taking her off the air.
“Are you okay, Jen?”
“There’s always the National Weather Service,” she said blithely. “That woman newspaper reporter was outside your place this morning when I was leaving. Fortunately, she didn’t see me. So, what are they doing to you? Padded cell? Strait jacket?”
“They’ll never commit me. I know all the answers to their trick questions.”
She chuckled, feeling better by the second.
“Since you don’t have to appear for the second broadcast tonight, how about inviting me over?” he suggested.
“I’m about ten minutes from home. When should I expect you?”
“About ten minutes. I’m right behind you.”
Jennifer saw the blink of headlights in her rearview mirror.
“How long have you been following me?”
“Since you pulled out of KSEA’s parking lot. When I couldn’t reach you by phone, I decided to swing by. I brought dinner. Hungry?”
“Starved.”
“Damn. I guess that means we’ll have to take time out to eat.”
Laughing, she disconnected the line.
The emotional commitment she was making should scare her. It did. By choosing to be with an unattainable man, she was closing the door on marriage. That had been a hard decision. But giving him up would be harder.
She hadn’t lied to Michael when she’d told him that if the need to be with him was an addiction, she didn’t want a cure.
IT WAS A COUPLE OF HOURS later when Michael finally brought the assortment of finger sandwiches, salads and containers of whipped chocolate pudding to Jennifer’s bed. They snuggled against each other and ate contentedly.
They hadn’t talked about the new problems that faced them. They hadn’t talked at all. What they had been doing had put all thoughts out of Jennifer’s head. She hadn’t been the only one who’d bought condoms today.
“This food is too good to have come from anywhere but your parents’ place,” Jennifer said as she licked the last of the chocolate pudding off her spoon. “Makes me wonder why you ever left home.”
Taking the empty container from her hand, he set it on the tray with the other discarded remnants of their meal and drew her to him. “Man does not live by food alone.”
“Really?” she said, feigning surprise. “And what else could he possibly need?”
Michael was eager to show her, yet again.
As she lay beside him afterward, she felt too happy to worry about anything. The words to an old song kept playing through her head, the meaning of which had never really resonated with her until this moment.
Sometimes, all I need is the air that I breathe and to love you.
“What is that you’re humming?” Michael asked.
She didn’t realize she had been. “Sorry, it’s copyrighted.”
“Ah, let me see if I can guess. An old or new song?”
“Very old.”
“‘Folsom Prison Blues’?”
She laughed. “No need to ask what you’ve been thinking about. Any new thoughts on the murder?”
“Maybe one or two. Remember when Caroline told you she drove Kevin both to and from the hospital that night and that he was with her the entire time?”
“Yes.”
“If he didn’t return to the hospital as she and his poker-playing buddies contend, how did the back rub request for Russell get on Nettie’s list?”
“That’s a very good question. Do you think it might have been a mistake, a confusion of room numbers?”
“I think it’s something we should make an effort to find out about. Are you tired?”
“Not at all.”
He glanced at the clock on the nightstand. “How would you feel about driving over to the hospital and talking with Nettie about it now? It’s late enough that Batton and Chaska shouldn’t be around.”
She nodded as she swung her legs off the bed. “Would you like to come back here afterward to spend the night?”
“Every time I’m asked,” he answered, catching her before she could get up, and punctuating his words with a mind-numbing kiss.
He’s giving me everything he can. Maybe it will be enough.
CHAPTER TWELVE
“NETTIE HASN’T COME IN yet,” Vivian told Michael and Jennifer when they arrived at Oncology. “She called around eight, said she was going to take a later bus.”
“Did she say why?” Jennifer asked.
“The ingredients for a lotion she’d been out of for more than a week had just been delivered to her home. She wanted to refill the bottle before coming in so she could put it in the storeroom with the others.”
Vivian turned to Michael. “Speaking of bottles, Clarence Castle died in his sleep on my shift yesterday. Thanks to that nonalcoholic beer you sent down to me, his last few nights on this earth were a great deal more pleasant for us all. You should have seen him smile when I sneaked the bottle to him each night for what he thought was a belt. Not even Nettie’s massage made him happier.”
Michael acknowledged the words with a smile.
“Nettie told us that you give her a list of patient requests when she arrives each night,” he said. “When do you compile the information for the list?”
“The patients let me and the other nurses know what they want when we make our initial rounds. That’s if they haven’t already passed the information to the day staff.”
“And the new patients?”
“I tell them about Nettie and what she offers.”
“When do family members make requests on behalf of a patient?” he asked.
“Generally during visiting hours. The nurses give the slips to fill out, like those on the desk.” She pointed toward the pad of slips and the box labeled “Nettie” where the completed slips had been placed.
“On the night that Russell Sprague died, did any of his family members make a request for him?” Jennifer asked.
Vivian shook her head. “I didn’t even have time to tell them about Nettie, much less take requests.” Her eyes went to the wall clock. “She should have been here by now. There might be a problem with the bus. It’s been late before.”
“Want to try to reach her at home?” Michael suggested.
The nurse nodded and went to the phone on the desk. After consulting a list of numbers beside it, she located and punched in Nettie’s. She listened quietly for a minute before hanging up the receiver.
“No answer.”
“Do you know what bus she takes?” Jennifer asked.
“The schedule should be here someplace,” Vivian said as she leafed through some papers on the desk. “A couple of the nurses’ aides ride the buses, as well. Here it is.”
She lifted the schedule out of the pile, scanned down the list and pointed at a number two-thirds of the way through. “That’s the bus Nettie takes. Number nine. It runs every half hour.”
One of the call monitors on the desk began to beep. Vivian raced off to check on the patient.
Referring to the number at the bottom of the bus schedule, Jennifer entered it into her cell phone. After wading through a long automated phone tree, she finally got a recorded announcement saying that the bus she was inquiring about was on time.
“It’s not a bus problem,” she said, flipping the phone closed.
“If an emergency came up involving her son or grandkids, she may have had to leave suddenly,” Michael suggested.
“Yes, but I still think she would have called to let Vivian know,” Jennifer said. “The patients here seem very important to her.”
Michael nodded. “Let’s swing by her house.”
NETTIE DIDN’T ANSWER the bell or respond to Michael’s knock. But he could hear what sounded like a radio and see light coming from within. Off to the side was a gate leading to the backyard.
“I’m going to take a look around,” he called to Jennifer over his shoulder as he started toward the gate.
When he’d reached it, he found she’d followed him.
“Jen, if a neighbor is watching and decides to call the police as I go through this gate, I’d like to think you’d at least be free to bail me out of jail.”
“Think again. If you’re going to jail, I’m going with you.”
She bent forward to unlatch the gate. “Ladies first,” she said, before stepping in front of him and sweeping inside.
Wearing an appreciative grin, Michael followed her through and closed the gate behind them.
Jennifer was already on her tiptoes, trying to peek into the high window of the lighted room at the back of the house, when he reached her.
“I can’t see much,” she said.
Stepping up to the window, Michael surveyed the room from the advantage of his greater height.
Countertops were layered with pans of cookies. Off to the side was an open door leading into what looked like a bathroom. The music coming from the out-of-view radio was a soft instrumental.
“The kitchen appears to be deserted,” Michael said. “She may have gotten a call from a family member and left in a hurry.”
“I would have automatically turned off the lights and music on my way out.”
“Leaving them on could be her attempt to let a potential burglar think someone’s at home when she’s away.”
“If that’s what she intended, she would have left the light on in an interior room where someone couldn’t see into a window, and she would have tuned the station to a talk show so muffled voices would be heard.”
“And here I thought you were just a brilliant meteorologist,” Michael said, aware that her logic was dead-on. “How did you come up with that so quickly?”
