Authors: Sharon Woods Hopkins
Killerwatt (14 page)
She spotted her iPhone dancing across the edge of
the sink to a tinny rendition of the
William Tell Overture
. She put
down her toothbrush and grabbed it.
Woody. She’d changed his ring tone to the Lone
Ranger theme because Woody liked to refer to himself as the Loan Arranger. She
thought it was cute. Woody preferred
Who Let the Dogs Out,
but she wasn’t
persuaded to change it.
“Hey, what’s up?” she said, doing her best to sound
cheerful, while chewing her fingernails in worry.
“Good morning to you, too,” Woody said, his tone
light.
This is a good sign.
If Randolph had taken a bad
turn, Woody wouldn’t sound so cheerful.
“Someone wants to talk to you.”
Before she could answer, she heard a raspy voice
that she immediately recognized.
“Hi,” was all he said. She didn’t have to ask who it
was. Relief flooded her and she sank into the chair near the bed. The towel
slid to the floor.
“Hi, Sweets, how are you? It’s so good to hear you.”
“I’m…I’m okay,” he said, his voice ragged.
“I’m getting ready to come to see you.” She glanced
down then, and pulled up the towel. “I’d better get dressed first. I just got
out of the shower and I’m still naked.”
“I love it when you talk dirty,” he said and
coughed.
She laughed. It felt good to laugh. “I’ll be right
there.”
“Come as you are,” he said and began to chuckle. He
coughed again.
“Okay, my dirty old man, I’m on my way.”
“He’s awake, hungry, and giving me grief.” Woody was
back on the line. “I’ll stay until you get here.”
“Thanks. I’ll be there soon.” She flung aside the
towel, and disappeared into the walk-in closet. She came out wearing a pair of
soft faded jeans, a pale green tee, and white tennis shoes.
*
* *
Since
her stomach was rumbling, Rhetta veered through McDonald’s drive-thru and
ordered a bacon-egg-and-cheese biscuit and a large coffee. She balanced the
coffee between her thighs since Cami didn’t have a cup holder, praying
fervently she wouldn’t have to stop suddenly and wear the coffee. Evidently, no
one ever drove while eating or drinking back in the 70s.
The pleasure and excitement from speaking to
Randolph soon waned as Rhetta remembered the barbiturates and the blood alcohol
test. She was more determined than ever not to leave Randolph alone while he
remained in the hospital. What she couldn’t figure out was what Randolph was
caught up in. It became clear that someone wanted to make sure Randolph didn’t
go home. Was it connected to the schematic? She lost her appetite. She tossed
the still wrapped breakfast biscuit aside.
*
* *
Pulling
into a nearly empty hospital parking lot, Rhetta concluded that Saturday
morning mustn’t be a busy time for visitors. She easily snagged a good spot
close to the door. Balancing the coffee, her purse, and her keys, she started
to push the driver door closed when she caught sight of the breakfast bag lying
on the seat. She ducked back inside to retrieve it for Woody. Woody could eat
anytime.
While she stretched to reach the sack, the heavy car
door continued closing and caught her squarely on her butt. The coffee exploded
out of her hand and spewed onto every surface inside the car, all over the
white upholstery, front and rear, white door panels, the inside of the
windshield and the top of the dash. Cursing under her breath, she groped for
the box of tissues she kept in the back seat and began to mop up the mess.
Why does coffee expand
exponentially when spilled? There must be a mathematical equation for that. How
else could sixteen ounces of coffee cover the entire interior of a car?
She glanced up then and saw light
brown spots on the white headliner.
She sighed, put her purse on the concrete floor of
the parking structure, along with the coffee cup that amazingly still had about
a third of the liquid left, and dug in the console for the baby wipes.
When the interior was sufficiently clean so that
Rhetta felt there would be no permanent stains, she wadded up the fistful of
used wipes and toted them to a nearby trashcan.
She’d have to live with the baby powder smell for a
while. She wrinkled her nose.
She never had any children, nor had she ever baby-sat
much when she was a teenager, therefore had never acquired a fondness for the
baby powder fragrance. She’d looked for unscented wipes the day she picked
those up at the supermarket, but baby wipes was all she could find.
Back at her car, she slid her purse onto her
shoulder and retrieved the Styrofoam cup. She downed the last of the coffee and
headed for the hospital door. She tossed the coffee cup into the trashcan along
with the coffee stained wipes.
Once inside the main door she turned right and
ducked through the now familiar AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY doors.
And came face to face with Doctor Kenneth Reed.
“Rhetta, what are you doing here?” Kenneth Reed
said, frowning.
“I’m on my way up to see Randolph. Do you have a
minute to talk to me about him?” She figured that the “here” he was referring
to was her AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY violation, not the fact that she was in
the hospital. She let it go.
He consulted his watch, a Rolex, Rhetta noticed as
he bared his wrist.
“Yes, I, uh, wanted to get with you too. I don’t
have Randolph’s chart with me. I’ll come upstairs and meet you in his room.”
“You don’t need a chart to remember that Randolph
was drugged, do you?” Rhetta never hesitated speaking her mind. She didn’t
understand Kenneth’s attitude. He was supposed to be their friend. He studied
her briefly before answering. She wasn’t sure of his expression, but she hoped
he clearly understood hers.
“I haven’t had the opportunity yet to read all of
the notations in Randolph’s chart, but I understand that there was an issue
with some barbiturates.”
“Issue my butt!” she exploded. “Someone dosed him
with barbiturates, he could’ve died, and you call it an ‘issue?' For God’s
sake, Kenneth, Randolph is your friend.” Rhetta groped into her purse for a
tissue. She hated it when she got so mad that her eyes teared up. She wasn’t
going to cry, and she wasn’t about to let Kenneth think for a moment that she
was. She blew her nose instead.
For just a second, he looked properly chastised, but
he recovered quickly. “Of course Randolph is my friend, as are you, Rhetta.” He
rested a fine-boned hand on her shoulder. “I don’t think we need to jump to
unwarranted conclusions.”
She shrugged his hand away, her temper rising. “Then
act like his friend, Kenneth,” she snarled at him. She fought the urge to pop
him, just for the hell of it, for his cold, supercilious attitude.
“I know how upset you’ve been since the accident.
Please trust me. I will check into all of this myself.” He put both hands on
her shoulders and bent his slender frame to stare into her eyes. “Please
believe me, Rhetta. We all want to get to the bottom of this.”
Rhetta closed her eyes and sucked a deep calming
breath. She couldn’t find her quiet place. Measured breathing would have to do
instead. “Yes, of course you do, Kenneth,” she said, exhaling.
“Go up to his room and I’ll be there shortly.”
Kenneth consulted his watch again.
“Nice watch,” Rhetta said, eyeballing his timepiece,
then angling for the stairs. She trotted up the next three floors. Kenneth
never did chide her for using the private stairs.
*
* *
Rhetta
pushed open the door and found Randolph sitting up in bed, but still connected
to several machines. His color had vastly improved, and his eyes, although
still swollen, were open and alert.
He slowly turned toward her and smiled. Woody used
the distraction to snatch the remote and change the channel. “I can’t take any
more Court TV.” Woody scowled. “You’d think he would’ve had enough court in his
life.” Woody found
The Food Channel
.
“Hi, Sweets.” Rhetta folded her arms carefully
around his neck and gently kissed his bruised face. Woody mumbled.
She tilted her head toward Woody. “What did you
say?”
“Nothing.” He grinned.
Handing Woody the bag containing her breakfast
sandwich, Rhetta said, “Thought you might want this.”
“What happened to the bag?” Woody held up the coffee-stained
sack.
“Don’t ask.” She tugged a chair alongside Randolph’s
bed and tucked one of his hands into hers.
“Just one?” Woody feigned disappointment after
upending the bag. Instead of more food, only napkins floated out.
She sighed. “All right, I’ll confess. I didn’t think
of you at all. I bought that for myself. I lost my appetite and didn’t eat it.
If you don’t want it, give it over. I can eat it now.” She reached toward him,
waggling her fingers, palm up.
“No deal, sister.” He unwrapped the sandwich and
stuffed it between his grey whiskers. “Umm,” he said after he swallowed.
“Thanks.”
Randolph, who had begun chuckling at the banter
between Woody and Rhetta, coughed. Rhetta handed him a tumbler of water, which
he slurped noisily, and without a straw, she noted.
Randolph handed her back the plastic glass, and
asked Woody, who was snarfing up the last morsel, “Are you still hungry?”
Woody dabbed his beard with one of the napkins that
had dropped from the bag. “Those other two breakfast sandwiches were at least
thirty minutes ago.”
Before Rhetta could retort, Kenneth strode into the
room.
With his arms thrust into the pockets of his
starched white lab coat, Kenneth stopped alongside Randolph’s bed. He withdrew
one hand and patted Randolph’s arm. “How’re you doing? Do you feel like eating?”
Without waiting for Randolph’s answer, Kenneth turned on the bedside computer
and began typing. When he finished, he glanced back at Randolph.
Woody strolled to the window and stood gazing out.
From his stance, Rhetta knew he only pretended not to be listening.
Randolph pointed toward the hanging bags of liquid
dripping medicine and nutrition steadily into his arm. “That sure doesn’t taste
like steak.”
Rhetta could tell from the return of his sense of
humor that Randolph was feeling better.
“I don’t know about steak, but you can order from
the limited menu.” Kenneth pointed to the plastic meal card on the bedside
table. “You need to build up your strength.”
Kenneth returned to the computer, keyed in some
data, then turned it off. Even craning her neck, Rhetta was too near-sighted
without her glasses to decipher what he’d typed.
Kenneth’s sunken eyes gazed from Rhetta to Randolph.
“All in all, the surgery went well, and you’ve been
recovering as you should.” He held up a hand, stopping Rhetta before she could
speak. She’d started to sputter in protest. “The setback of the barbiturates
wasn’t great. You should be well enough to move to the regular unit today. No
one prescribed those drugs, Randolph, and there is no record of who
administered them,” he continued, focusing on Randolph. He ignored Rhetta.
“This is an unfortunate hospital error. We’re investigating and will get to the
bottom of this.”
Rhetta wasn’t to be ignored. She grabbed Kenneth’s
arm. “This was meant to be more than a setback, and you damn well know it.”
Kenneth flinched slightly. He stared pointedly at her hand. She removed it.
Kenneth finger combed his grey-tinged hair. “I don’t
believe anything of the sort.” His direct stare pierced her gaze. “There was a
mistake made, and we will find out who made it.” He strode to the door,
hesitated, and turned around. “Rhetta, I know you think someone tampered with
the blood alcohol test, and that there is someone after Randolph. You’re
working too hard, and I believe you’re under too much stress. You’re acting
paranoid.”
He turned to the door, pushed it open, then marched
out. The door glided silently shut.
“Paranoid? I’ll show him paranoid.” She stomped her
foot.
“What the heck was that all about?” Woody said,
leaving his position near the window to come to Randolph’s bedside. His gaze
shot from Rhetta to Randolph.
“Damn if I know what’s going on with Kenneth,”
Rhetta said, recovering from the doctor’s sharp comment.
Randolph said nothing, merely closed his eyes, and
lay back against the pillow.
Crooking his finger at Rhetta to follow him, Woody
edged back toward the window.
“I haven’t told Randolph about Peter LaRose yet,” he
whispered. Rhetta’s stomach fluttered. She wasn’t sure she could hold up telling
Randolph right now. She nodded to Woody, and then sidled back to Randolph. She
grasped one of his hands with hers. With her free hand, she tugged the nearby
chair closer to the bed. She sank into it.
“I love you,” she said, covering Randolph’s hand
with both of hers.
He winced. “I love you too.”
Rhetta took a deep breath. There was no easy way to
break the news, except to tell it like it was. Randolph was a strong man.
“I have bad news. Peter La Rose is dead.” She
exhaled.
Randolph merely blinked.
Did he hear me?
“And I was the one who found him in his apartment
yesterday afternoon.”
Randolph gripped her hand. His strength surprised
her. He whispered, “What happened?”
She patted his hand, then left his bed and went to
the bathroom in search of water—for herself this time. She splashed water on
her face and dabbed it dry with paper towels. When she returned, she perched on
the side of the bed.
She told him everything that had happened.
When she finished, Randolph frowned. “Do you know
how Peter died?”
“No. The coroner said there would be an autopsy. I
know I sure couldn’t tell anything. I didn’t stay in the bedroom very long and
I sure didn’t want to examine him. There’s the matter of messing up a crime
scene. That is, if it’s a crime scene.”
Randolph pushed a button on the panel of his bed,
making the head of the bed rise slowly.
“Are you all right?” he asked, after he squirmed
into a more comfortable position.
“Yes, but I gotta tell you, I’m still feeling
queasy. That was almost as bad as seeing you with a bolt sticking out of your
head.” She took in a deep breath. “Sweets, if you’re up to it, we need to talk
about that damn schematic. I have to know what Billy Dan told you. Did he know
what all the markings signified?” Rhetta reached behind her husband and plumped
his pillows.
“Can you get me some ice?” Randolph licked his lips
then swallowed. “My throat is still sore.” Rhetta located the pitcher and
poured some of the melting ice and water into the plastic cup, and held it for
him. He slurped the icy mixture. Nodding at her when he was satisfied, she set
the tumbler on the tray near the bed and waited.
He leaned back against the pillows. Slowly, he
related everything that he and Billy Dan had discussed.
After he finished, Rhetta asked, “A cascading power
failure occurs when too many substations go out at the same time?”
“Billy Dan said if that happens in a concentrated
area, then the power can’t be taken up by any other station, and the grid could
go down and maybe cause the entire Midwest grid to fail.” Randolph closed his
eyes briefly, then opened them and stared at her earnestly. “If the Midwest
grid should fail, then the other grids could also start to fail and soon, the
entire country could be without power.” He sighed and closed his eyes, his brow
furrowed as though in pain.
“So…what you’re telling me is that with the Midwest
grid down, it could be lights out everywhere?”
She turned to Woody. “Think about what the
ramifications of that would be, besides the immediately obvious. Should there
be a national blackout, then our entire monetary system, national security
systems, satellites, telephones, cell phones, all communication….” She trailed
off. “Everything crashes.”
Woody just stared back at her silently.
She didn’t wait for Woody’s opinion. She turned back
to Randolph, her voice cracking. “Could that be what they’re up to, Randolph?”
She stood, not waiting for her husband to answer. “The sons-of-bitches are
going to take us without even firing a shot.” She left the bed and began
pacing. “What can we do?”She snatched her purse and began searching for her
phone. “I need to call Billy Dan.”
Randolph touched her arm. “And the FBI.”
“Sure, the FBI. Why not? They were so helpful this
morning.” She told him about her earlier call.
“You need to call them again. This is urgent.”
“Of course, you’re right. I’ll call them. She rose
to leave with the phone clutched in her hand when the door opened, and Doctor
Marinthe appeared. She slid the phone back into her bag.
“Good morning, Mrs. McCarter,” he said, making his
way slowly, his limp more pronounced this morning. Turning to Randolph, he
said, “Good morning, Mr. McCarter,” and continued toward Rhetta.
Clearly, he was not here to see Randolph.
“Doctor Marinthe, it’s good to see you,” Rhetta said
and plopped into the chair she’d just vacated. Stopping beside her, he turned
to face both her and Randolph.
“I have some news.” He leveled his brilliant blue
eyes at her.