A Good Man Gone (Mercy Watts Mysteries) (2 page)

“She’s wet for me, Al. Holy shit, look at that ass,” said the first voice.

 
I walked away from the construction, trying not to bounce, and into the ambulance bay. Once into the ER, I looked for someone I knew. I saw the charge nurse jogging down the hall from the direction of the lab.

“Hey Claire. You got a Gavin Flouder in here?” I asked.

“Thank God you’re back. I had three sick calls. Can you believe that? Hurry up and change. We’ve got two MVA’s coming in,” Claire said. She wasn’t much of a listener, but a damn good nurse. Maybe she loved it. She never seemed to go home.

“I’m not here to work. I’m looking for Gavin Flouder, family friend. His wife called and said he was here.”

Claire pursed her lips and put her hands on her hips. She glared at me through thick glasses and said, “What’s he in for?”

“Uh, I don’t know. She said he was dead.”

“Old white guy?”

“Yeah.”

“He’s in six. MI.” With that she did an about face, jogged to the desk, picked up a phone and yelled into it.

A myocardial infarction. Gavin’s heart stopped. I stood in the hall and absorbed the information. I expected a car accident or a fall off the roof. Gavin was putting the roof on the cabin he’d built for Dixie. He’d worked on that sucker for at least ten years. Until recently, he was too fat and out of shape to get much done. Dad said they’d both be dead before he finished. Now he was halfway to being right.

I walked toward Room 6, my stomach tightening with every step. I flashed back over the last two weeks. How many people had I seen die? Probably three or four. It’d been bloody, but I couldn’t remember much about it. Those people faded into a jumble of patients and rooms in the back of my mind. I forgot them quite easily and any pain I felt at their deaths wouldn’t be felt again. Room 6 wouldn’t be like that. I’d remember it and Gavin lying in there forever. I didn’t want the memory, but it was unavoidable. Dad would say it was my duty to go in there and get that memory. He’d be right because Gavin was like family and you don’t let family down. No matter what it cost you.

I walked to Room 6 and stood outside with my fingers pressed against the cold metal of the swinging door. I didn’t decide to go in, but before I knew it I’d pushed the door open and walked inside. The floor was littered with the paper smocks the staff used while treating Gavin. Thankfully, there was no blood. I guess there wasn’t a point in cracking his chest. His body, when I was able to look at it, was covered in a white sheet with the words St. James Mercy Medical Center printed in blue on it. I’d never noticed how many times they printed it on the sheets. Apparently they worried about theft, as if people were anxious to steal hospital sheets. Then again, maybe they were. People steal some crazy shit in hospitals.

I walked up to Gavin’s gurney and picked up the chart lying across his legs. It was Gavin and Claire was right. MI. He was dead before he got there, but they’d made a good effort anyway. I felt proud of the staff for trying. How many times did I see staff give up before even assessing the patient? Too many to count and I’d been in their number more than I cared to remember. Now Gavin was on the table and someone tried. I took note of the doc’s signature. Robert Guest. I didn’t know him, but I’d seen him around. He worked traumas and I was a temp, so I did all the crap the regular staff didn’t want.

I reached up and brushed the tears off my cheeks. I don’t know when they started. The front of my shirt was damp and I wanted my father, my mother, and Gavin most of all. His body didn’t look right under the sheet. It was too small, diminished from the man he’d been in life. Gavin, in my mind, would always have a potbelly. He was a big man. For a moment I imagined it wasn’t him. That there was a mix-up and he sat upstairs on the ward, eating pudding and rubbing his stomach fondly.

“Mercy.”

I jumped and turned to see Dixie standing in the doorway, her dark hair curled in soft waves around her pretty face. Her clothes looked like she was headed to a nice lunch with Mom. It was Dixie as she normally was, except that she held a cup of coffee, and it shook like we were having an earthquake. Coffee slopped over her fingers and dripped onto the floor. I put my arms around her. Neither of us said a thing. I felt the coffee’s wet warmth spread onto my back.

She pulled away, looked at the cup, and said, “I’m sorry. I got you all wet.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“You came.” She said it like there was a possibility I wouldn’t.

“Of course I did. Can I call anyone else for you?”

“Not now.” She smoothed her hair with her right hand. Her left continued to shake. I took the cup from her and tossed it into the trash. A nurse I didn’t know walked in and gave us the once-over. We must’ve looked like we had it together because she said, “We need the room, I’m sorry. I’m going to have to have Mr…”

“Flouder,” I said.

“Yes, sorry. Mr. Flouder transported to the morgue.”

Dixie covered her eyes at the word morgue.

“Fine. Is Guest around? I’d like to speak to him, if I could.”

“He’s with another patient. It could be awhile.”

“I’ll wait. Do you have the paperwork?” I put my arm around Dixie.

“Yeah, it’ll be at the desk when you’re ready.”

“Right.” I took Dixie’s arm and walked her out of Room 6. We kept going until we left the ER and entered the main body of the hospital. People hurried by, not giving us a second glance. They seemed happy compared to the way I felt, but they couldn’t be. Hospitals weren’t filled with happy people, unless you counted obstetrics. It was a different world up there.

We sat down on a fat sofa across from the information desk. I looked at Dixie and she at me. I marveled at how normal she looked. Aside from her red eyes, she looked like the same old Dixie I’d known forever. She was dressed in a silk blouse and pants set. The burgundy color set off her pale skin and dark eyes. There was a certain air about her that spoke of forties movie stars and elegance. It didn’t matter if she achieved it with makeup and scalpels. I looked at her and thought of Gavin lying on the cold table in Room 6. It seemed no more likely Gavin could’ve left Dixie than he should’ve had her in the first place.

Gavin was big, gruff, with hair everywhere but the top of his head. His language made men blush and if I ever saw him in a clean shirt, one without drips of ketchup, grease or ink stains, I don’t know when that was. Somehow he’d managed to marry Dixie. How was a mystery to me, and I’m not the only one who was puzzled about it. Dixie was the woman other women aspire to be. She sat beside me looking perfect, as she always did, and I wondered what it would be like to be elegant and serene. Sure, I stopped traffic, but next to Dixie I was showy and garish. I wanted to be classy like her. With a look like mine, it wasn’t going to happen.

“Do you want to tell me what happened?” I said.

“Sweetie, I don’t know. I went out for my walk this morning and he was fine. When I came back he was passed out in his office. When the EMTs got there, they said his heart was beating, but then it just stopped.”

“I thought he had everything under control?”

Dixie clasped her shaking hands together. “He did. I thought he did. We did every single thing Dr. Kahn told us to do. The diet, exercise, medication, everything. You saw him. He lost forty pounds. His last checkup was wonderful. They lowered his meds, he was doing so well.”

“When was that?” I asked.

“Oh, I don’t know.” Dixie pulled her iPhone out of her bag and punched a few buttons. “Three weeks ago on Friday.”

“And everything was good? Did they do an echo, stress test?”

“They did the full series. Dr. Kahn was very pleased, especially with the weight loss.”

“We’ll figure it out,” I said.

“Will we?” she said, brushing a fresh tear off her face.

“Definitely. I’ll take care of it. Do you want to go home now?”

“Home? What for?”

“Well, you could lie down for awhile or something.” I really didn’t know what to do. Dixie waited for me to decide, to tell her what was next, and I hadn’t a clue. I’d comforted people plenty of times before, but it was a short-lived operation. The bad news was broken, backs patted, calls made, coffee given, and they went on their way. I’d no idea what happened after they left the hospital. It wasn’t my business to know. Mom should’ve been there. She’d know what to say, what funeral home to call, everything. But Mom was incommunicado and I was on my own.

“Can I get you something, coffee or tea?” I sounded lame, even to myself.

“Tea,” she said.

I think she wanted to give me something to do, or maybe she wanted to be alone. I went to the staff lounge and rooted through the cabinets till I came up with some chamomile and lemon zest. I didn’t know which Dixie would want. I made the chamomile because that’s what Dad drinks after a bad day.

I returned, measuring my strides, not anxious to get back. A group of nuns crossed my path and I felt the warmth of the tea comforting me through the cup as I waited. Hot drinks did it for me. Whether it was a hot chocolate, mulled wine, or one of Dad’s yummy hot toddies, I felt better the moment the cup hit my hands. Then a feather-light touch on my shoulder brought me out of my revelry.

“Mercy?”

I looked up into the ancient face of Sister Francis. I wondered how long she’d been standing there. She touched my shoulder again and said, “Are you alright, dear?”

I choked on the word yes. My throat was too hot and tight for words. I wished she hadn’t asked. Her asking made me feel worse.

“Come sit down with me,” she said.

I shook my head and said, “No.” It came out more like a croak, but Sister understood.

“Please, dear. You don’t look well.” She took me by the elbow and guided me to the waiting room. She was strong for the world’s oldest nun. I made the punch for her ninety-fourth birthday party last year. She was also the tallest, maybe six two in bare feet. My great aunt Miriam once told me Sister Francis joined the order because she was too tall to get married. Aunt Miriam and Sister Francis weren’t the best of friends.

Great Aunt Miriam. I don’t know why I didn’t think of her before. She would know what to do. Shit. I was stupid. It was her job. She was a Sister of Mercy, too.

“Aunt Miriam,” I said.

Sister Francis started and said, “Miriam? Has something happened to Miriam?”

“No. Sorry. I just realized I need to talk to her. Do you know where she is today?”

Her face hardened, then she said, “I wouldn’t know. I believe she has a cellular phone.”

Sister Francis didn’t believe in cell phones. She thought they made a person too self-important. She was probably right, but then again Sister Francis didn’t believe in microwaves either.

“Thanks, Sister. I have to go.”

“What’s wrong? What’s happened?”

“Family friend died. I have to call Aunt Miriam.”

I found Dixie and gave her the tea. “I’ll be right back.”

Dixie probably had her cell phone on her, but it didn’t seem polite to ask. I, of course, had a dead cell phone. It spent at least fifty percent of the time dead. Long battery life, my ass. Lucky for me none of the hospital volunteers were on duty at the information desk and I didn’t have to explain using the phone. Those ladies in pink were surprisingly territorial about their phone. I’d been told off more than once.

I did have my little address book that Mom insisted I carry because technology can’t be counted on. I hated it when she was right. I dialed Aunt Miriam’s number and waited. Aunt Miriam was notorious for being unable to find the on button on her phone. Her service invariably picked up. Once I called back four times before she figured it out. Aunt Miriam isn’t as old as Sister Francis, but she’s getting up there.

“Hello.” It was a miracle, only two tries.

“Aunt Miriam, it’s Mercy. Are you busy?”

“It’s Tuesday. You know I’m at the council meeting and they’re waiting,” she said.

I didn’t know. Why would she assume I kept up with her schedule?

“This is important,” I said.

“I’m sure it is.” Aunt Miriam sniffed.

“Gavin Flouder died. I’m at the hospital with Dixie.”

“I’ll be right there.” She hung up without ceremony and my chest flooded with relief. Aunt Miriam would take over and I was off the hook.

Chapter Two

BEFORE I KNEW it, I was staring at Aunt Miriam’s shoes instead of the stained bit of carpet I’d been eying. My eyes went up from her black gum-soled shoes, past her compression hose, her dove gray A-line skirt with matching sweater to her wrinkled, thin face crowned by her veil. For me, her face wore an expression of critical appraisal. When she looked to Dixie, it softened to gentle concern. I wouldn’t get that expression unless critically injured. Aunt Miriam sat down between us, put her arms around Dixie and gathered her into her bony chest. Dixie took a huge breath and her body began to rock with the slow rhythm of grief.

“I need to speak to the doc,” I whispered to Aunt Miriam. She nodded in reply and I left.

Dr. Guest sat in the lounge doing chart review and drinking a chocolate diet drink. From the look of him, he needed to forego the candy bar next to the drink.