Lynn Osterkamp - Cleo Sims 03 - Too Many Secrets (18 page)

Monday

The 6:00 a.m. alarm yanked us both out of a sound sleep. We
were groggy from my middle-of-the-night panic, and I was kind of queasy. Pablo
grabbed a shower and said he’d pick up breakfast on his way to work so he
wouldn’t make my upset stomach worse with the smell of brewing coffee. I would
have liked to talk to him more about Lark, but I didn’t feel up to it at the
moment and I appreciated his thoughtfulness about the coffee.

He left, assuring me that he’d keep his phone on and be
available to come any time I needed him. I called the hospital to check on
Gramma and find out when her doctor would be coming. She was about the same.
They expected Dr. Bremer to come by around 8:00 a.m.

I ate some soda crackers to settle my stomach and took a long
hot shower. With all my focus on Gramma, I’d stopped thinking much about the
baby, but my pregnancy symptoms were a strong reminder. Although I was on
autopilot, I did what I needed to do. I knew my baby needed protein and by then
my stomach was calm enough to eat, so I scrambled some eggs with cheese. Then I
headed off to the hospital so I’d be there when Dr. Bremer came by.

Gramma opened her eyes briefly when I kissed her. “Hi
Gramma,” I said. “Are you feeling better?” She looked at me, but
I saw no sign that she recognized me. “It’s Cleo,” I said tearfully.
“I love you, Gramma.” Of course she couldn’t talk with the bipap mask
on. What was I thinking? She closed her eyes again.

Dr. Bremer came and checked her. “She’s not worse, but
she’s not better either,” he said.

“Is she going to be okay?”

“It’s hard to say,” he said. “We’ll know more
in a day or so.”

“She seems very sleepy. Is she sedated?” I said.
“She does always sleep a lot, but now she can’t seem to stay awake for
even a couple of minutes.”

“I have her mildly sedated,” he said, “so she
won’t pull out her IVs or pull off her oxygen mask. We don’t want to have to
use restraints to keep her still.”

“Can she move out of the ICU to a regular room?” I
asked, thinking this would be one way to get her away from Lark. “I think
she’d be more comfortable there.”

“No,” he said. “We have to keep monitoring her
in here for now.” His pager beeped. He looked at it. “We’ll talk tomorrow,”
he said over his shoulder to me as he rushed off.

I leaned over Gramma’s bed and spoke softly to her. “I
love you so much, Gramma. “I want you to get well so you’ll be around to
meet my baby when it’s born.” I sat next to her quietly gazing at her and
smoothing her hair.

Then worry crept in. I flashed back to a few days ago when
Lark, sitting at my kitchen table, had said, ” Most nurses don’t believe a
person in end-stage dementia who has no quality of life should be treated with
antibiotics.” I thought about Sabrina’s thirty-day plan, which said Lark
is violating her nursing oath. Would Lark somehow stop Gramma’s antibiotics? Is
that what she does? Is that what Sabina meant? Did Lark do that to Allie’s
mother?

I knew Lark would be back on duty in the ICU the next
morning. I had to find out before then whether she was a suspect in the death
of Allie’s mother. I had to ask Allie about it right now. I jumped up and
hurried outside to my car to call her so my conversation wouldn’t be overheard.

When I told Allie about Gramma and my fears that something
would happen to her in the ICU, she screamed. “Oh, no! Not again! Cleo,
that’s horrible! We have to keep your grandmother safe.”

“I know,” I said, tearfully. “I’m scared about
the pneumonia, but I’m even more scared that some nurse will stop the
antibiotics or put something deadly in her IV. The hospital must think it
happened if they offered you a settlement. I need to know what they know so I
can keep Gramma safe. Do you know any more about what they found out?”

Allie sighed. “No, they never said anything
specific,” she said. “They didn’t admit anything, just offered the
settlement.”

“Did you end up taking it?”

“I finally did.” Allie sounded resigned. “What
I really wanted was justice for Mom, but the settlement offer had a deadline
and my lawyer convinced me that it would be way too expensive to go ahead with
a suit against the hospital. My chances of winning weren’t good. So I took the
settlement. I’m going to take Mary Ellen’s idea and use the money for a
memorial to Mom, but I haven’t decided what yet.”

This wasn’t getting me anywhere. Time was slipping away and I
needed answers. Lark had made it very clear to me that she didn’t approve of my
choices for Gramma’s treatment. “Do you think your lawyer knows anything
more about what the hospital found out? Could I talk to him about it?”

“Oh, no, no, no. You can’t do that.” Allie said,
her voice shrill. “Remember I told you the whole settlement thing is
confidential. I had to sign a non-disclosure agreement that said I’d keep
everything about the settlement secret. You can’t tell my lawyer I told you
about it.”

“Well, could you ask him if he knows anything else?’

“I could but I’m pretty sure he doesn’t know anything
else. The hospital was very close-mouthed about the details.”

“There’s one nurse in particular that I’m worried
about,” I said. “Her name is Lark Dove. She keeps pushing me on
whether I want all this treatment to keep Gramma alive, given that she has
Alzheimer’s. Was she one of the ICU nurses who took care of your mother?”

“Tall, blonde, athletic-looking, right?” Allie
said. “Yes, she was in the ICU with Mom.”

I felt my chest tighten. Bad news. “That’s I was afraid
of. I wish I could find out if the hospital suspects her. Maybe I’ll talk to
the Patient Advocate.”

“Just don’t mention me around the hospital, okay?”
Allie’s voice shook. “I could be in big trouble if they know I talked to
you about this.”

I assured Allie that I wouldn’t betray her confidence. Then I
hung up and went back to Gramma’s bedside.

She looked the same. I sat with her for a while, then decided
to go get lunch and afterward try to talk to the Patient Advocate. I found the
Patient Advocate’s office on the first floor and waited about fifteen minutes
before I got in. Her name was Edith Wales. A sensible-looking woman in her
sixties, with gray hair and shrewd blue eyes. “How can I help?” she
asked.

“I’m worried about my grandmother in the ICU,” I
said. I told her about Gramma’s pneumonia and that she had Alzheimer’s, then
got to the more delicate part. “Lark Dove, one of the nurses there is
being very pushy about Gramma not having an advance directive,” I said.
“She wants me to make choices that I’m not ready to make.”

“We do have to ask you about choices and we encourage
all patients or their surrogates to complete an advance directive,” she
said. “We can help you understand the pros and cons of each possible
decision. But it’s up to you what decisions you make. Would you like me to go
through the choices with you?”

“Not today,” I said. “Maybe later. That’s not
why I came. It’s about that nurse. She scares me.”

“Can you tell me more about her and how she scares
you?”

A neutral therapeutic question. This woman was sharp.
“Okay,” I said. “I’m assuming this is confidential.”

“Of course.”

I should have felt my way more carefully with her, but I was
tired and scared, so I dove right in to the impact zone as Tyler would say.
“Her name is Lark Dove and I know her outside of here,” I said.
“I know she doesn’t believe that patients with Alzheimer’s should be
treated with antibiotics for pneumonia, and she keeps pushing me to make that
choice. I’m starting to worry that if I decide to keep having my grandmother
treated, Lark will make her own decision to do something to make Gramma die.
I’ve heard of that happening in hospitals sometimes.”

Edith Wales’ face shut down like a post-office clerk’s window
at 5:00 p.m. “Not at our hospital,” she said coldly. “I know
it’s worrisome to have your grandmother so ill, but you need to control your
imagination. Do you have someone you can call to be here with you?”

“That’s not the issue here. You’re the patient advocate.
Here’s what I need. I need to have Lark Dove not be in the ICU while my
grandmother is a patient there.”

“I’m sure you realize we can’t shift staff around at the
request of patients or family members,” Edith said. “Is there
anything else I can do? I’m happy to go through that advance directive with
you.”

“Never mind,” I said, standing up to go. What was I
thinking? She’s just a bureaucrat. I was so frustrated and angry that I really
lost it with my parting shot. “You seem more like a hospital advocate than
a patient advocate to me,” I said, as I walked out the door.

I went back to Gramma’s bedside and sat for a long time
listening to the steady high-pitched beep-beep-beep of the machines she was
connected to. Sometimes there would be a series of lower-pitched bongs or a
louder scritchy ding. Then a nurse would come in, check the machines and touch
the controls until the tones stopped. Gramma slept on and I dozed off too.

I woke up with a jolt from a dream where Lark as Gramma’s
nurse came in to check the machines and surreptitiously injected a deadly
liquid into Gramma’s IV drip bag. I shivered. If that happened, Gramma wouldn’t
have a chance. Her heart would stop and that would be it. My own heart pounded
at the thought. My chest tightened so much I could hardly breathe. I knew this
was a panic attack, but I also knew I had a sound reason for my terror.

I closed my eyes and focused on my breathing, taking slow
deep breaths to get back in control. Then I walked out to the ICU waiting area
for a little break. The room was empty and I stretched out on a plastic-covered
couch to try to relax. About twenty minutes later, Pablo walked in. I flew into
his arms. I told him about my talks with Allie and the Patient Advocate, and my
horrible fears about what could happen to Gramma. “You have to help
me,” I sobbed. “Make them tell me what they know. Make them keep Lark
away from Gramma.”

Pablo held me and comforted me until my crying subsided. Then
he pulled back and gave me a tissue to wipe my face. “You’re exhausted,
Cleo,” he said. “And you’re pregnant and you’re not eating right. You
need a rest, a good meal and some time way from this hospital.”

I protested, but he was insistent, and I was too tired to
object any further. Besides, Lark was off-duty for the night. We went back in
and checked on Gramma and then he took me home, with a brief stop at nearby
Ideal Market to pick up some groceries.

He made spaghetti and salad and we both stuffed ourselves. I
felt better but I was still worried and I wanted his help. After we cleaned up,
I pulled him over to the couch. “We still need to talk,” I said,
trying to sound calm. “I need to do something about Lark. I can’t let her
take Gramma from me. What right does she have? Like you said, it’s not for her
to decide.”

In spite of my attempt to stay cool, I was fidgeting and my
voice was rising. “She’ll be back on duty at 6:30 in the morning. The
hospital won’t do anything. You’re a cop. Can’t you make them keep her away
from Gramma?”

Pablo sat still, looking at me with gentle eyes.
“No,” he said patiently. “I have no jurisdiction there, and even
if I did, I have no evidence that points to a crime or even a potential crime. What
evidence do you have that this nurse, Lark, is planning to harm Martha?”

I went though the whole story again, about Allie and her
mother, about how Lark had told me that nurses have issues with treating
pneumonia in Alzheimer’s patients, and about Lark pressuring me to discontinue
Gramma’s treatment. “Can’t you see? I have to stop her.”

Pablo wrapped his arms around me. “Cleo, you know that’s
not evidence,” he said. “I know you’re worried about Martha, and I
know her condition is serious, but I really don’t think she’s in any danger
from the ICU nurses. You just need sleep. Come on, let’s go to bed. You’ll feel
better in the morning.”

No point in pleading my case any further. I was tired and I
did need sleep so I could get to the hospital early in the morning. It looked
like it was going to be all up to me to stop Lark. I set the alarm and went to
bed, but I tossed and turned a long time before I finally fell asleep. My
thoughts tormented me. I couldn’t lose Gramma yet. It was too soon. I needed to
be able to hug her and hold her and spend time with her. I needed her to be
able to see my baby and hold it when it was born. I couldn’t let Lark cheat me
out of all that.

I got up at 5:00 a.m. Tuesday morning to make sure I’d be at
Gramma’s side before Lark came on duty. Pablo was still asleep. I got dressed
quietly and left him a note.

Gramma looked the same—barely alive lying there so tiny
and fragile in the hospital bed, eyes closed, still hooked up to machines, the
IV dripping slowly into her arm.

Lark came on duty at 6:30 and checked all Gramma’s beeping
machines. I avoided making eye contact so as not to encourage conversation, and
thankfully she didn’t stop to talk to me about choices.

I was afraid to leave Gramma’s side even for a minute. I needed
to watch Lark—even though I didn’t ever know what she was doing, what she
was putting in the IV. Once I asked her what she was adding to it. “It’s
her antibiotic,” Lark said. “Don’t worry Cleo, we’re doing everything
we can for your grandmother.”

Her comment didn’t reassure me one bit. What did she mean by
“everything”? And how could I know if she was telling the truth? I
wanted to confront her with my suspicions, but I knew she’d deny it. And maybe
she could get me thrown out of the ICU so I wouldn’t be able to watch anymore.
So I just sat and agonized.

Mid-morning a woman in a suit and high-heeled shoes, wearing
a hospital ID badge stuck her head into Gramma’s cubicle and asked Lark to come
out for a minute so they could talk. Lark looked surprised and not particularly
pleased, but she followed the woman out to the central desk. Their conversation
quickly became intense with scowling faces and hands waving. But they kept
their voices low enough that I couldn’t hear what they were saying. Then they left
the ICU together.

About ten minutes later, a tiny young dark-haired nurse
appeared next to Gramma’s bed and checked her chart and machines. “Hi, I’m
Helen,” she said. “I’ll be taking care of Martha today.” I
introduced myself and asked her where Lark had gone.

“I don’t know,” she said. “She had to leave
unexpectedly.”

“When will she be back?”

“I don’t know, but they asked me to finish her shift
today.”

I wondered whether my talk yesterday with the chilly Edith
Wales had made some difference after all. But, whatever the reason, it was a
relief to have Lark gone. Still, she might be back tomorrow, or even tonight. I
needed to find out more about what she was actually up to.

It occurred to me that if Gayle could contact Sabrina, she
might find out more about Lark from her. Maybe Sabrina would tell her what she
meant in her thirty-day plan about Lark violating her nursing oath.

Gayle’s contact session had been set to be our next step
before Gramma got sick. But I had cancelled it. Now that Lark was gone for the
day and I could leave Gramma for a while, I could re-schedule. I called Gayle
and Paige and set it up for 1:00 p.m. at my office.

§ § §

Gayle was eager to go into the chamber. I suggested she find
out whatever else she could from Sabrina about the thirty-day plan and about
what happened to her at the wilderness journey. I didn’t want to prejudice the
outcome by putting specific ideas in Gayle’s mind, so I didn’t mention my
suspicions about Lark.

Paige and I sat quietly in the counseling room, listening to
music while Gayle was in the chamber. When she came out, her face was
tear-stained, but her body was relaxed. She walked slowly into the room,
collapsed on the couch, and closed her eyes. I got her some water. She opened
her eyes, sat up, took a big gulp, put the glass on the table in front of her,
and smiled at us.

“I saw her, I really saw her,” Gayle said. “It
was amazing. I knew right away that it was her spirit, so that meant she was
dead, but it was okay. She walked right out of the mirror and hugged me. She
said, ‘I’m fine and I love you and I know you’ve been trying to help Ian. I
want Ian to be with you.’ I told her that as long as there’s no proof that
she’s dead, Brandi will keep insisting that she’s only missing and Brandi will
be able to keep Ian. I told her we need to know what happened to her so we can
prove she’s really gone. Then she said, ‘A house in Nederland.’ Gayle stopped
and gave us a bewildered look.

Gayle’s account of what happened and her reactions rang true
to me, unlike the last time when she merely pretended she’d contacted Sabrina.
This time I believed her. After a minute, I prompted her to tell us more.
“What did she say about the house?” I asked.

Gayle slouched in her seat, like she was digging deep to
dredge up a memory. “Not much,” she said finally. “She’s in a
white room in a house in Nederland.”

Paige twisted a lock of hair around her finger. “Did she
say who put her there?” she asked. “Was it Erik and Brandi?”

“She didn’t say,” Gayle said, perking up a bit.
“But we have to find that house.”

“But how, if all we know about it is that it has a white
room? Pretty much all houses have white rooms,” I said.

Gayle shook her head and rubbed her eyes. “Wait, wait,
wait—I just remembered—she said something else—I’m trying to
remember. Oh, I know. She called it Busbee’s house. We need to find Busbee’s
house.”

“We should ask Lark,” Paige said. “She lives
in Nederland. Maybe she knows the Busbees.”

Alarm bells rang for me. No way I wanted to involve Lark. But
I couldn’t tell them what I suspected about her. She was their friend, and I
had no evidence, and even Pablo thought I was imagining the threat. So I tried
a softball. “That’s probably not a good idea,” I said. “Remember
on Sunday Lark said she was through with Moxie and she didn’t want to talk
about Sabrina anymore until there was real evidence of what happened to
her?”

“I think she’d feel differently if we told her about
Gayle’s talk with Sabrina, and that we need her help to find the house,”
Paige said. “Let’s at least give her the chance.”

“Look,” I said. “This may sound strange, but I
don’t feel comfortable with Lark right now. She’s been my grandmother’s nurse
in the ICU and she’s been pretty much telling me she thinks Gramma shouldn’t be
getting treatment for her pneumonia because she has Alzheimer’s. It’s really
upsetting.”

Paige was silent for a minute, looking inward. Then she spoke
softly, “I know what you mean,” she said. “My brother—the
one I borrowed money from Sabrina to help—has Down’s Syndrome. One time
Lark told me I was wasting money on his education. I wanted to hit her. I can
understand why you’d rather not be around her right now, but we can’t just go
around Nederland knocking on doors and asking if it’s Busbee’s house and if
they’re hiding Sabrina.”

“Let’s get the Nederland police or sheriff or whatever
they have up there to check out that house,” Gayle said.

“How?” I asked. “By telling them her spirit
said that’s where she is? They’d laugh at us.”

“Wait,” Gayle said, brightening. “I can
probably find the house in my firm’s real-estate database. Then we can get
directions and go right to it.”

“It could be risky to go to the house,” I said.
“Someone might be there.”

“Who?”

“Who knows? The Busbees or someone they hired. We don’t
know anything about them. Maybe they’re friends of Erik and Brandi.”

Paige looked at me as if I’d lost my mind. “What can
they do to three of us?” she said.

“Shoot us if they have a gun,” I said. “And
they probably have one. Most mountain people do. I’ve been surprised a couple
of times in the past year when someone tried to shoot me. Maybe we should have
a gun. Do either of you have one?”

“I do.” Gayle said. “A group of us local real
estate agents took a concealed-carry class last year and I have a gun and a
concealed carry permit.”

Paige’s jaw dropped. “You carry a concealed gun,
Gayle?” she said.

“It can be risky being a real estate agent,” Gayle
said. “We meet strangers at empty houses, sometimes in remote locations,
sometimes at night. You never know what might happen.”

“Do you have your gun with you?” I asked.

“It’s in my car,” Gayle said. “We’ll take my
car anyway and we’ll have the gun with us. But first I need to find the house
in our database. Let me sign on to it on your computer, Cleo.”

I got her set up and she was into the database with a couple
of clicks.

“While you’re doing that, I’ll call Diana and Hana and
tell them what happened so they can come with us,” Paige said.

Gayle jumped up from the computer and grabbed Paige’s
shoulder. “No you won’t,” she said. “Remember how hateful they were
at your studio on Sunday? We don’t need them with us and we don’t want them
with us.”

“But they’re part of Moxie,” Paige said. “They
deserve to know about Sabrina and they deserve a chance to join our search if
they want to.”

“No!” Gayle said. “Now look. I need to get
back to my database and find that house. And as soon as I do, we need to get
going with no more delays. Once we get there, if we find Sabrina, we can call
them from there.” She sat back down at the computer and returned to her
search.

Paige frowned. “All right, Gayle, I’ll wait until we’re
up there, but you have to promise I can call them if we find out anything at
all.”

“Cross my heart,” Gayle said. “Oh, here it is.
The address is 3420 Ridge Road. We just go up Canyon to Nederland and Ridge
Road is off Hurricane Hill Drive.

“I’m going out to my car to get my water-proof boots and
my hat,” Paige said. “And I also need to call my kids and tell them
I’m going to be home late. I’ll let them order pizza. They’ll be happy.”

§ § §

About an hour later the three of us were in Nederland. We
easily found the Busbee’s house—a wood and stone modern perched on a
steep hillside, surrounded by evergreens and rock outcroppings. An unplowed
driveway led off from the road to the garage. Gayle pulled off onto the side of
the road into some icy tire tracks. The house looked empty, like it was closed
up for the winter. “Must be summer people,” Gayle said.

We waded through knee-deep snow in the driveway to the front
door, where we rang the bell and knocked loudly. No response.

“Finding the house doesn’t do us much good if we can’t
get in,” Paige said.

“Luckily I came prepared to pick the lock,” Gayle
said, pulling out what looked like a pocketknife, but was actually a set of six
tiny picks that folded into a handle. She inserted one into the lock, jiggled
and twisted it, then took it out and stuck in a different one. We heard a
click, Gayle grabbed the door handle, tried it, and opened the door.

I was impressed, but a little worried about the breaking and
entering. I hung back. “We’re breaking into private property,” I
said. “It’s illegal and unethical. What if we get caught?”

“Not likely,” Gayle said. “Look how remote
this place is. And it’s clearly closed for the season. “But if anyone
shows up, I’ll say I was checking on a potential listing and the door was
unlocked. They can’t prove I picked the lock.” She stepped in. I followed.

Paige grimaced, but came along behind us. “It makes me
nervous, too,” she said. “Let’s get this search over with before
someone does show up.”