Joan Hess - Arly Hanks 11 (13 page)

She glowered at me, but fell silent and turned her attention to the TV set. I counted off minutes. It had taken me less than half an hour to drive from the hospital to the casino, and I wanted to be back there when Dr. Deweese arrived.

I was about to suggest we leave when there was a knock on the door. Wondering if room service had returned to repossess the coffee pot, I opened the door.

The woman in the hallway had noticeably bloodshot eyes and an ashen complexion. She put her hand to her mouth. "I am just so sorry for bothering you. I guess I have the wrong room."

"Is that you, Cherri Lucinda?" called Estelle.

The woman hurried past me, bent down to hug Estelle, and then sat down on the bed I'd recently vacated. "This trip is a nightmare? Everything's gone wrong. I wouldn't be surprised if that Miss Vetchling is some kind of nasty witch like the one that was going to eat Hansel and Gretel. If she was to walk into this room, I'd snatch the clipboard out of her hand and whack her over the head with it? I wouldn't be one bit sorry, either."

"I don't think she's responsible for Ruby Bee's ailment," said Estelle. "What's more, even though we didn't see any Shriners riding around Tupelo on their funny little motorcycles doesn't mean they weren't there. They could have been having their convention in another part of town."

Cherri Lucinda fell back across the bed. "That's not what I'm talking about. Don't you know what happened?"

Fearing that we were about to be treated to a lengthy discourse on the foolhardiness of high-stakes gambling or the effrontery of the male species, I said, "Estelle, we need to leave for the hospital."

"Didn't all the commotion wake you up?" persisted Cherri Lucinda. "I mean, I wouldn't be here if the cops weren't searching my room. I stood out in the hall for a while, but these ladies by the elevator started whispering and staring at me like I was some kind of freak just because the cops wouldn't let me put on makeup. They acted like they weren't gonna let me get dressed, either, but then the woman cop said I could if she stayed with me to make sure I didn't tamper with evidence. I don't see how I was supposed to do that when I don't know what evidence they were talking about."

"What are
you
talking about?" I asked.

"Stormy," she whispered.

Estelle's eyebrows shot up like missiles. "You don't mean she ... that was her down there ... ? Oh, Cherri Lucinda, I just don't know what to say. I am sick about this. Was it because of the spat she had with her boyfriend?"

"How should I know? It's not like we were best friends or anything. When she moved to Farberville, she called me on account of a mutual acquaintance giving her my number. I helped her get a job. We had a beer every once in a while, but we never pretended we were sisters. Well, once we did at a bar when these two geeks tried to pick us up. She told 'em our brother had laid claim to both our bodies and would chew the dick off any man who thought different. They skedaddled like a pair of possums. It was real funny."

"Wait a minute," I said as I stared at her. "Are you saying that a member of your tour group committed suicide?"

Cherri Lucinda sat up and shrugged. "All I know is that some lady found Stormy's body on the ground long about dawn, and the cops seem to think she jumped off the balcony in the room we were sharing. They're going through her things now, maybe thinking they'll find antidepressants or a suicide note."

"She didn't seem depressed to me," said Estelle, "but I didn't know her very well. She was nervous about something, though. Remember how she attacked Rex when we got here?"

There were too many names without faces, and it was nearly eight. "I'm sure the police will sort this out," I said as I stood up. "I'm going to the hospital. What about you, Estelle? Do you feel as though you need to stay here?"

"Oh dear," said Cherri Lucinda. "I forgot to ask how your friend is doing. Did they find out what's wrong with her?"

"Not yet," I said grimly.

Estelle told Cherri Lucinda to remain in the room as long as she liked, then followed me out into the hallway. No one whispered or stared at us as we waited for the elevator, descended to the lobby, and headed for my car.

"What a terrible thing," Estelle said, looking up at the facade of the hotel. "She wasn't more than thirty years old. She wasn't sweet like Taylor, or kindhearted like Cherri Lucinda, but she had spunk. You got to admire spunk."

Despite myself, I looked up at the balconies and then down at the unrelenting pavement. She'd had a moment when she must have realized what was about to happen. There'd been no opportunity to change her mind, no wings to spread, no bungee cord to save her.

"She'd had a fight with her boyfriend?" I asked as we got into the car and I backed out of the parking slot.

Estelle took a tissue out of her purse and dabbed her eyes. "She didn't exactly spill out her heart to me. When I was cutting her hair, she just sat like a chunk of cheese, not so much as watching in the mirror. Afterward, she mumbled something, took her bag, and sailed out of the motel room without bothering to thank me for my expertise. I did a right fine job, mind you, but she acted like I'd gone after her with pruning shears. You'd think I'd deserved a word of thanks, considering I did it for free. Back home, I would have charged her ten dollars."

"I don't think you'll collect it," I said as I turned onto the highway.

The hospital looked smaller and shabbier in daylight. Estelle trailed after me as we made our way to the ICU, where a blond nurse with a sour expression had seized control for the day shift.

"I'm here for Ruby Bee Hanks," I said.

"Hanks?" she said, pulling out a chart. "Dr. Deweese saw her a few minutes ago. He wants to talk to the next-of-kin when he or she gets here. I guess that'd be one of you. She's over in that cubicle if you want to visit for a minute."

I'm not sure if Estelle was included in the invitation, but she was stepping on my heels as she followed me. Ruby Bee's eyelids fluttered open as we entered the curtained enclosure.

"What are you doing here?" she asked me in a whisper that was both hoarse and hostile. "I don't recollect asking anybody to call you."

Estelle crossed her arms. "I don't recollect you asking me not to. She's your own flesh and blood, Ruby Bee. Don't you think she has the right to know when you make a scene like that in the hotel and have to be brought to a hospital in an ambulance? It ain't like you do this every week, you know."

"She has a point," I said mildly. "How are you feeling?"

Ruby Bee turned her face away. "Not real good, to tell the truth. The bad pain's eased up, but I'm bloated and having cramps. I told that doctor the only thing I needed was a dose of bicarbonate of soda. He just kind of shook his head and walked out." She looked back with a tight frown. "I ain't sure he's a real doctor. If he tried to buy a beer at the bar and grill, I'd darn well make him show me his driver's license -- and I'd still have my doubts."

"Why don't you stay here until they run you out?" I suggested to Estelle. "I'll hunt down this impostor and find out what's going on."

I left them bickering about the extent of the so-called scene in the hotel lobby and asked the nurse how to find Dr. Deweese.

"His office is at the end of the main hall," she said. "The ladies auxiliary fixed it up and added all sorts of homey touches, but he seems to be in the cafeteria most of the time. I don't know why they went to the bother, and I'll be amazed if he sees much in the way of fruitcakes and cookies next Christmas."

I wandered down the hall and found the cafeteria, which was no more than a room with pea green walls, a long table, rickety wooden chairs, and an array of vending machines. The man who looked up was far from being a medical wunderkind; his eyes were blue and his smile guileless, but his wrinkles put him near my age. In that Ruby Bee doesn't believe I'm old enough to drive, I wasn't surprised by her assessment.

"I'm Ruby Bee Hanks's daughter," I said.

"Good." He put aside the journal he'd been reading and opened a manila folder. "Last night she was admitted with abdominal pains and fever. The white blood count indicated a low-grade infection. I started her on glucose and an antibiotic, and gave her some mild medication to ease the pain. Even though she claims to be better, I'd like to do an ultrasound and keep her under observation for a few days."

"Then it isn't anything life-threatening?"

"I don't think so. If the symptoms intensify, she can be transported to a hospital in Memphis in a matter of hours. I have to warn you that it'll be expensive, though, and Ms. Hanks told me that she has no health insurance. Medicare may cover some of it if she qualifies."

"She'd never admit it," I said. "You don't have any theories?"

"Gallbladder failure, food poisoning, pancreatitis, duodenal ulcer, blockage in the bile duct," he said rather casually, considering. "We'll keep her on a liquid diet and see what evolves. If it's nothing more than gall stones, we'll start her on some medication and she can go home. Surgery will be an option."

"An option?" I said. "Shouldn't she be having tests?"

Dr. Deweese regarded me for a moment. "Yes, she should. I'd love to order an MRI and tox screens and electrolyte analyses, but we lack the equipment. It's just as well, since most of our patients can't even afford a simple blood test. We do it anyway, and absorb the cost, but decent health care is for the wealthy. The tax benefits of these casinos have yet to dribble down to us. Look at the public schools in this community. Do you think we have computer labs and manicured soccer fields?"

"Don't the hospitals in Memphis have to accept charity cases?"

"If the patient's spurting blood or in the act of delivering a baby, yes. Sophisticated tests, no. We can do a decent job here, Miss Hanks. I'll make sure your mother is comfortable until we know what's wrong. Odds are good that she'll get through this attack and be able to have a follow-up with her own physician."

"How good are these odds?"

"I'd put them at three to one."

"Dr. Deweese," I said, grinding out each syllable, "I may decide to put a quarter in a slot machine, but I'm not going to gamble with my mother's health. Perhaps we should have a second opinion."

"Go right ahead, but you may have to rely on a veterinarian. I'm the only physician in the county." He put the folder down. "Would you like a cup of coffee?"

I shook my head. "You're the only physician in the county?"

"The glorious state of Mississippi paid my way through med school in exchange for a few years of indentured servitude. Before I came, all patients had to be transported to Memphis. A lot of the heart-attack and stroke victims didn't survive the trip. The poor folks couldn't afford to go to Memphis, so they had no access to prenatal care or ongoing therapy. My staff and I do the best we can." He gave me a smile meant to be downright dazzling. "Let's make the odds two to one."

"Let's do," I said as left. I may have paused in the hall to remind myself of the purpose of my presence, but I resolutely returned to the ICU and found Estelle outside the door.

"That nurse has a mighty high opinion of herself," she muttered. "To listen to her, you'd think she hung the moon and most of the stars. She shooed me out like I was a hen and said no visiting until this afternoon. What'd you find out?"

"Not much," I said as we went outside. I gave her the high points of my conversation with Dr. Deweese, stressing his confidence without quoting actual odds. "Shall we go back to the hotel for a proper breakfast?"

"How can you eat at a time like this?"

"At a time like this, Estelle," I said, "I'd like to buy a gallon of chocolate ice cream, a two-pound package of Oreo cookies, and find a nice, quiet place where no one can disturb me. So which is it -- the restaurant at the hotel or a grocery store?"

Her sulky silence was answer enough. I drove toward The Luck of the Draw, for the first time seeing the bleak landscape scattered with shacks, abandoned gas stations, sickly trees that would never become mighty oaks, and litter attesting to the previous night's festivities.

"Tell me about the woman who committed suicide," I said, to take my mind off Ruby Bee.

Estelle was unable to resist the chance to make it clear she knew more about some things than I did. "Her name was Stormy Zimmerman, and she said she was an entertainer. I don't know exactly what she meant by that, but from the way she behaved, I doubt she was referring to singing in a church choir."

"Is that all you know about her?"

"No, it ain't. She said she had a tattoo. Now it's none of my business if a girl wants to have something like that done, but I don't see any reason to announce it in mixed company. Then she had the gall to make all kinds of vulgar remarks about Elvis, even though she should have known the whole reason for the tour was to see the most important sites in his life and pay respect for everything he accomplished in his forty-two years with us. It was like she was trashing kin. Even Cherri Lucinda started getting peeved at that point."

I turned onto the road back to the hotel. "You know, Estelle, there's something about Cherri Lucinda that seems familiar. I feel as though I've met her, but I have no idea when or where. It's been bothering me since I first saw her in the hall this morning."

"Me, too," said Estelle, nodding, "but I can't quite put my finger on it. When we were driving to Memphis, I noticed Ruby Bee giving her a funny look, like she was thinking the same thing. I wish I'd gotten around to asking her, but with one thing and another, it plum slipped my mind. I guess it's too late now."

"She's going to be fine." I parked between a Lincoln Continental and a Volkswagen Beetle, cut off the ignition, and grabbed my purse. "If you want to sit there and work on your eulogy, it's your business. I'm going inside to have some breakfast." Scowling like Genghis Khan on a bad hair day, I climbed out of the car, slammed the door, and hurried toward the entrance.

"Keep your tail in the water," Estelle said as she caught up with me. "Of course she's gonna be fine, Arly. She sounded like her old self this morning, complaining about how she'd wasted all the money for the tour and would miss seeing the Elvis impersonators tonight. I'll ask Baggins if you can use her ticket to the show."