Deadly Medicine (2 page)

“May I ask why?” Edward made a game of it, meeting Sam’s gaze as if he had nothing to hide. He enjoyed games, and right now watching the director squirm amused him.

Fowler reached for a pen and began doodling on his desk pad, but from his angle Edward couldn’t determine the product of his efforts. His eyes remained down.

“We no longer need your services,” he said, then finally looked up.

Sighing dramatically, Edward shrugged. “As you can imagine, I’m quite surprised. Does something about my performance concern you?” Come on, he thought. Tell me where I screwed up!

“No, nothing,” Fowler said, but again he diverted his gaze.

Fuck! Edward thought. He’s afraid of a lawsuit. He pursed his lips, shook his head, and ran his hand across a closely shaved face. “I can’t think of anything, either,” he said honestly. Since his summons earlier that morning, Edward had gone back two years in his brain, reviewing all the particulars of the deaths of his patients. Nothing stood out. “And I’m sorry to leave. I’ve enjoyed my work here.” He had. It had been a wonderful place to work, with little oversight and tremendous opportunity to kill people. He paused, but Fowler didn’t speak. “I’d like to ask you for a letter, if I may. Saying something like ‘we parted on good terms.’ You know how things are, Sam. You could be fired tomorrow, and then when I’m looking for a job, no one will be around to explain why I resigned.”

Sam met his gaze and studied him for a moment, and Edward allowed his face to betray his emotions. He was upset, damn it, and he wasn’t trying to hide his feelings. Sam wasn’t very good at hiding his either. Doubt seemed to cloud his eyes, paving the corners with wrinkles. Good, Edward thought. Let him wonder.

“Sure,” Sam said after a moment, and then he stood, announcing the end of their meeting. He held out his hand and offered a weak handshake. “I’ll have Deb type it up. Just give her a minute.”

It took fifteen minutes, but it was worth the wait. The letter was so perfect, he might have written it himself. Sam made it sound like he was sorry to see him leave. Edward would have no trouble finding work. And he needed to work. He’d been killing people for many years, and murder was his addiction, a hunger greater than his need for food or water or any drug he’d ever used. He might last a month or two, but then he’d start to grow anxious and his need would drive him to do something stupid, something that might put him in danger of discovery. And he could never, ever be discovered. The bullies in prison would make the teenage boys he’d dealt with seem meek. No, he needed another job, in a hospital, where people die every day and no one suspects a thing. He’d put his assistant to work immediately.

He folded the letter, carefully placed it in the inside pocket of his jacket, and smiled sincerely at Deb. “You’ve been very kind,” he said. “Thank you for your help.”

Her hesitant smile slowly became full and warm. She’d known him for two years, after all, and he’d just been tossed into the frigid North Jersey cold at Christmas time. The least she could do was offer him a smile.

“Good luck, Doctor,” she said as he left the office.

It’s not about luck, Edward thought as he closed the door behind him.

Frostbite

Four inches of fresh snow, frozen by single-digit temperatures the night before, crunched beneath Ward Thrasher’s new boots as she walked out into the bright January morning. She’d found the boots in a catalog and had circled their picture, written her size in the margin, and discreetly left it in Jess’s briefcase. Lately Jess had been so out of sorts she needed such hints, and Ward was trying her best to be supportive. It worked. On Christmas morning, she’d found the boots beneath the tree, with a note from Santa, thanking her for the suggestion. Looking at them made her smile, one of the few things that could turn up the corners of her mouth on this blustery New Year’s Day.

Somewhere above the canopy of snow-covered trees sheltering the cabin, the sun was shining. Scattered rays filtered through and reflected off the ice, blinding her. She pulled her sunglasses from the pocket of her ski jacket, and they helped ease the pain of the light hitting her eyes. When she could finally see, she smiled again, at a picture so perfect it resembled a Currier & Ives.

Pristine snow covered every tree on the mountainside, shimmering where light hit the uneven angles created by the odd shapes of each branch. Gently sloping hills that led to the lake below also wore a clean coat of white, and the only colors were the perpetual greens of resistant pine needles and the cloudless, impossibly blue sky. She saw no sign that man existed, and the serenity filled her with a sense of peace she’d come to associate with her time in the mountains.

It was almost enough to make up for the fact that she was here with Zeke Benson, and not his daughter Jessica. Almost.

“Can you give me a hand with this?” Zeke asked.

Despite her slim build, Ward was strong and easily lifted the back end of the toboggan, using both hands to steady the old wooden frame and prevent the contents from spilling. It was packed with wood for a fire, folding chairs, tip-ups, a power auger—all the necessities for a day on the ice, and some extras, too. Zeke lifted his end and together they transferred it to the bed of his truck, then climbed up front for the quarter-mile ride down to the lake. It would have pleased Ward more to jump on the toboggan and take the short route, but she was there for Zeke, not her own amusement. Maybe, though, on their next day off, she and Jess might come out and play. And then go back to the cabin and find creative ways to warm up.

They’d only gone a hundred feet when Zeke interrupted her daydream. She blushed at where her mind had been, but Zeke didn’t notice as he pointed at a spot in the woods. “That’s the original road to the cabin,” he explained. “Before they built the highway, we had to come up over the mountain.”

Ward followed his gaze and could barely discern a path leading into the mature forest. Or was it her imagination? Covered with snow, it looked to be a treacherous venture, nearly straight up the mountainside. “When was that?” Ward asked, showing more respect for her father-in-law than interest in his response.

“Sixty-one.”

“Well, I guess you don’t use it at all now. It’s really grown in.”

“No need. Besides, they built that damn palace on the other side of the mountain, and those city slickers don’t want anyone near their land. They closed off the access road to keep us out. Can you imagine? They bought land next to a hunting club and call to complain about the gunfire!”

“Good thing you’re the sheriff, Zeke.”

“I don’t understand people.”

She could certainly relate. It was why she kept to herself, listened instead of speaking, and tried to mind her own business. She had many acquaintances but few true friends. Zeke’s daughter was the best of them, and her lover of six years. Jess was working today, and so Ward had volunteered to babysit Zeke.

If only they could stay in the truck, or even the cabin, instead of venturing out into the cold. The dashboard thermostat read twenty-two degrees Fahrenheit. Brrrr. In the warmth, she’d listen to Zeke babble all day long, and then she’d take him out for dinner and they’d stop off at the hospital and feed Jess. It sounded delightful. Well, maybe not, but at least it would be warm.

“How long have you been coming up here?” she asked as he coasted down the hill from the cabin.

“All my life, seventy years. My father and his friends bought the place before I was born and incorporated the club. Towering Pines Sportsman Association. Sounds impressive, doesn’t it? Farms were startin’ to get divided up, even then, and they figured if they bought this spot they’d always have somewhere to hunt and fish. The land can’t be sold for profit. If it ever came to that, where we couldn’t pay the taxes or no one’s left who uses it, the land will be donated to the Boy Scouts. And it may come to that. Not many of us left that use it. So many of our children left home. Like Jess.” There was regret in his voice, and perhaps sadness, too.

Ward’s partner, Dr. Jessica Benson, had left home at eighteen and hadn’t been back. Not until recently, anyway. After four years at Pocono Mountains University for her undergrad degree, she spent another four at medical school in Philly. Ward had met her there, when they were both emergency-medicine residents. They’d been together for six years now, worked in downtown Philadelphia and owned a house nearby. Their jobs and their travel agenda left few chances to come back to Jess’s hometown of Garden in the mountains of Northeastern Pennsylvania.

The hills melted into the lake and Zeke coasted into a small clearing. He parked the truck, and once again she helped him with the toboggan. This was his show; she was just along for the ride. She’d never even fished before coming home with Jess. She left all her gear—gifts from the Bensons—here at the cabin for their visits. Now, as she felt the frigid air, she was happy her in-laws had insisted on the warm coat and gloves, and that Jess had given her the new boots. It was going to be a long day.

Her face was the only exposed flesh on her body, and with each of her steps on the unyielding surface of the ice, her cheeks grew numb. Avoiding holes in the ice slowed them down. When she dared to look up, she saw the same view as the one behind and to either side: blurry mountains became snow-covered trees that blended into hills of ice that bled into this frozen lake below her. For a second she feared getting lost out here in the wilderness, where everything truly looked the same. She might never find her way back. Zeke would, though. This was his home.

The air was still, and quiet, and the only sounds disturbing the peace were the hissing breaths escaping their lungs and the swish of the toboggan Zeke pulled behind him. A complaint about the cold came to mind, but she kept quiet as she tried to keep pace with the man nearly twice her age. Instead, Ward thought back a few months to a blissful Saturday afternoon when she and Jess had spent the day kayaking on this lake. They’d just moved to Garden, returning to help her mother die peacefully. The chemotherapy was killing Pat Benson more quickly than the cancer, and she’d decided to stop treatments and just enjoy her remaining days.

Jess had seen the crisis coming, and they’d planned the sabbatical from their jobs in Philly months before they actually changed their address. Garden was the largest city in the county, with a population of five thousand, and home of the only hospital in a wide and rugged radius. Luckily, the hospital needed ER doctors, and after a decade of practice in the inner city, both she and Jess were well qualified. They never worked together now, but they were on duty only three or four days each week, so they still had some quality time as a couple.

In the beginning, they had spent much of that time at Pat’s bedside, but since she passed away at the beginning of December, their mission had been to fill Zeke’s hours. He’d lost his partner of forty years, and although his job as the local sheriff kept him busy, he was still hurting. Jess had the day shift in the ER, and so Ward found herself on this frozen lake on the first day of the year, with only memories of that other day and the woman she loved keeping her warm.

They walked on silently, carefully, until suddenly, Zeke stopped. “Here,” he said, and turned to the toboggan. “You set up the tent and the fire. I’ll get the auger.”

Ward knelt on the ice and felt the cold in her knees, even through three layers, but she’d be warm soon enough. She knew what to do. Zeke had taught her.

Ward had grown up just outside Trenton, New Jersey, and never held a fishing pole until Zeke put one in her hands on her first trip home with Jess. She never could have imagined how much she would come to love fishing. It wasn’t the fish—she usually threw them back. It wasn’t a desire to outsmart the little guys—they usually won that battle. She suspected it was the solitude she enjoyed, alone with the towering pines and a plethora of thoughts. At home in Philly she sought other solitary activities to occupy her time—visits to museums, hikes through parks—past times that nourished her body and her mind. Fishing seemed to refresh her spirit.

Ward placed the worn, aluminum sledding disk on the ice and set a few small logs in the center, atop a mound of kindling and paper. She threw a match into the pile, and a minute later she was warming her hands above the blazing fire. The tent practically set up itself, and within a few minutes, Zeke was seated next to her at its entrance, their feet stretched out toward the flames as they watched the ten flags over the holes in the ice. When a fish nibbled on the bait, it would tip up the flag, indicating they might have a catch. Or maybe just an empty hook, but it didn’t matter to her. She wasn’t here to catch anything but peace.

“Ice is a foot thick. Strong enough to hold a car’s weight.”

“Good thing you have that power auger.” It had been a gift from her and Jess a few Christmases back.

“You’re not kidding. Used to take a half hour just to open the ice with the hand auger.”

“See, Zeke, everything modern isn’t bad.” She knew how he felt about electronic gadgets.

In response, he cleared his throat. “I guess you’re wonderin’ why I brought you all the way out here,” he said as he handed her a steaming cup of coffee he’d poured from the thermos.

Ward unwrapped her peanut-butter sandwich and studied him. “Actually, Zeke, I thought you brought me out here to ice fish.” Something told her she’d been terribly naive in her assumption.

“Hmmfp, ha,” he said, and Ward knew from experience he was laughing. “You’re such a kidder, Ward. You always know how to get a chuckle out of me. We’re pals. And that’s exactly why I need your help.”

“With what?” she asked. Taking a bite of her sandwich, she studied him cautiously. Something strange was going on.

“With Jess. I know you two are more than just friends. We’ve known about Jess’s lesbian phase since college.”

His pronunciation of lesbian required only two syllables and sounded like something that might be served in an upscale restaurant.
Thin slices of roasted duck on a fresh baguette, served with a side of lez beans.