The Babbling Brook Naked Poker Club - Book One (30 page)

Dillingham hadn’t mentioned a gun being
involved, but then with the weekend, he’d not been able to speak
with the investigating officer yet. If there was a gun, that
changed the basic equation we’d been given so far.

Devi closed her eyes briefly and then looked
back at me, her eyes clear, her words calm.

“Do you believe me, Mac?”

“I do.”

“Will you help me?”

I thought about what helping her might
entail. A leave of absence. Questions from colleagues. A trip to
Chicago. Maybe a trial. And when that was all worked through, maybe
Devi and I . . .

But it was too soon to plan further than
that.

“Yes,” I said.

~ ~ ~

I caught a reflection of myself in a pane of glass as I was leaving
the hospital after Devi’s parents arrived. I could easily be
mistaken for someone homeless. Unshaven, rumpled clothes, tired
eyes, all outward manifestations of the bone weariness I was
feeling. I stepped into the weak winter sunshine but even that was
a shock, making me blink and my eyes water after so long spent in
semi-darkness.

I hated leaving Devi, but with her parents
here, I no longer had an excuse not to take a break. I’d held her
hand for most of the past two days, convinced on some deep,
irrational level that if I let go, she’d die.

But in the last eight hours, she’d made
steady progress. Waking up. Finally over her need for additional
blood transfusions. Almost past the window for developing an
infection that had been another worry.

She was still fragile, but she was going to
survive.

Thank God
.

Josephine

Monday, Lill and I spent most of the day at the hospital, although
since her parents were with her, we saw Devi for only a few
minutes. Before the call from the police, Devi’s parents thought
she was still living in Chicago. They were distraught, not only
because she was so badly injured, but also because she hadn’t
shared with them what she was going through.

“She thought . . . she didn’t want
us to worry,” her father told us. He’d seen us in the waiting room
when he’d left the unit to get something to eat, and he came over
to speak to us. “Can you imagine? Our darling girl going through
all that and not telling us, just so we wouldn’t worry.”

He shook his head and then lowered it into
his hands, and his shoulders shook. Lill and I moved next to him,
and we each put an arm around him.

~ ~ ~

Devi’s improvement was so rapid after her parents’ arrival, they
felt comfortable leaving her in our care and returning to Lawrence
to finish out the semester. But they planned to return to
Cincinnati to spend the Christmas break with Devi.

I’d just returned from driving them to the
airport when there was a knock on my door. I was expecting it to be
Lill since we had a date to go visit Devi. Instead, I opened the
door to find Jeff and a man I didn’t know standing there.

I blocked my doorway, staring at them,
waiting for an explanation for their presence.

“Mother,” Jeff said, stepping toward me and
kissing me on the cheek. “I’d like you to meet Dr. Anderson.”

“Hello, Mrs. Bartlett.” The man extended a
hand, which I ignored.

“We need to come in,” Jeff said.

“No, I don’t believe you do.”

I fumbled in my pocket for my phone. Then I
remembered. Mac wasn’t available. With Devi’s parents gone, he was
back at his post by Devi’s side. The thought that I couldn’t count
on Mac’s help flustered me for a moment, but then I remembered
Lill.

I clicked her number but before it could
ring, Jeff reached out and took the phone from my hand. As he moved
toward me, I backed away, and that allowed the two of them to step
into my apartment and close the door.

Feeling a wave of anxiety that I attempted
to hide, I moved over to stand by the window. Jeff and the other
man stood in the middle of my living room, staring at me.

“Mother, the reason we’re here is because
I’ve become quite concerned about your health and your state of
mind. I asked Dr. Anderson if he would examine you, and he
agreed.”

I didn’t believe Jeff was one bit concerned
about my health. No, this visit had to do with my wealth, and it
was what I’d feared would happen if Jeff were to learn I had
substantial assets. He’d obviously convinced this doctor, I’d
already forgotten his name, that I might be incompetent. And now
he’d set out to prove it.

“Are you a psychiatrist?” I asked the
doctor.

“Why, yes, yes, I am.”

“And my son told you what? That I’m losing
my mind because I bought a new car?”

“A car was mentioned.”

“Perhaps he also mentioned a painting worth
a great deal of money?”

Jeff looked at the Demeri painting and then
back at me.

His eyes narrowed. “Where’s the Hopper,
Mother?”

“As I believe you so aptly pointed out the
last time you were here, it wasn’t safe for me to keep it here at
Brookside.”

“That doesn’t answer the question.”

“Sorry, I don’t remember.”

Jeff turned red, but the doctor cocked his
head, his eyes bright and probing. “How interesting.” Then he
turned to Jeff. “Inability to remember recent major events is one
sign of possible incompetence. I agree that this requires more
investigation. My suggestion is that we get her admitted to
Hopesprings for a comprehensive evaluation.”

At the mention of Hopesprings, my heart
started a dull, heavy pounding. It’s a resident treatment center,
hospital if you like, for the mentally ill. And it would have
privacy rules. When Lill or Mac eventually figured out I was
missing, it was unlikely they’d think to look for me in such a
place.

I wanted to resist, but I worried that if I
did, the doctor would drug me, since he had a medical bag with him.
Either he was in cahoots with Jeff, or Jeff really had managed to
convince him I was mentally fragile.

“Do I get a phone call?”

“I don’t understand.”

“I believe you do. It’s what all prisoners
are allowed, is it not? One phone call. You are planning to
incarcerate me, after all. In a hospital, but with HIPAA rules
being so strict, you should have no difficulty keeping me hidden
away while you take control of my assets.”

“Now, Mother. You won’t be incarcerated. I’m
only trying to make sure you’re all right. You’ve made some very
peculiar decisions lately. This Babbling Brook Perpet
. . . um, Fund for one.”

“Perpetuity.”

“Perpetuity.”

“What?”

“The Babbling Brook Perpetuity Fund.” So Mr.
Souter had been reporting on me to my son, had he?

“And you’re planning to pay the expenses of
a woman known to be a thief?”

I shrugged.

“See,” Jeff said to the doctor.

“Yes, indeed I do. Seniors are extremely
vulnerable to scams. It’s yet another reason they may need someone
to assist with their financial affairs.”

“Interesting, isn’t it,” I said. “That the
senior here actually has sufficient
affairs
to make a
takeover attempt worthwhile. While the younger person has
squandered millions. I think that shows I should be handling his
affairs, not the other way around.”

“You’re delusional, Mother. You need my
help.”

“There’s a major flaw in your plan,” I
said.

“But I don’t have a plan, do I? I just want
what’s best for you. What Dad would want me to do.”

“Of course. By all means, bring your father
into the discussion.”

“Mother, please. I’m not your enemy.”

I cocked my head and gave him a look, and he
had the grace to blush.

“I need to be assured you’re all right.
Humor me, okay? I’ve been worried.”

“Of course you have. But I know what you’re
mostly worried about is the painting. So let me assure you it’s now
safely part of a trust. And the trustee is well aware that one of
my concerns was this very scenario.”

Although I tried to appear confident, I was
still nervous. The painting wasn’t completely safe. Not yet; the
paperwork was still being drawn up.

“First things first, don’t you think? We get
you checked out, then we’ll worry about the painting.”

“Can I get your coat for you, Mrs.
Bartlett?” the doctor said.

I again debated whether to make a fuss, but
decided it was better to pretend to go along quietly, for the
moment. Surely there would be a sympathetic nurse who would call
Mac for me. And even if Mac didn’t want to leave Devi’s side, he
could take five minutes to dispatch someone to help me.

Mac

Lillian called me at the hospital Wednesday morning to say
Josephine was missing, and she was worried. I figured Lillian was
being alarmist, but she insisted she and Josephine had made a date
to come to the hospital to visit Devi, and that Josephine would
have let her know if there was a change in that plan.

After I hung up, Devi asked me what was
going on, and I told her.

She frowned. “It’s not like Josephine to
disappear. She’s been afraid her son might try to get his hands on
her money . . . I think you need to find her.” Her voice was
getting stronger, but she winced in pain on the last word.

“I don’t want to leave you.”

“I’ll worry until I know she’s okay. Please,
Mac.”

I called Dillingham and asked him to meet me
at Brookside. When I arrived, we walked into Souter’s office
together.

“Gentlemen, what can I do you for this
morning?” Souter said, rubbing his hands together.

“We’re here to check on the whereabouts of
Josephine Bartlett.”

Souter blinked. “Is she missing?”

“Lillian Fitzel was supposed to meet her,
but when she went to Josephine’s apartment, Josephine wasn’t
there.”

“I thought the police didn’t check on
missing adults until at least twenty-four hours has passed.” He sat
back, looking from Dillingham to me.

“This is more of an unofficial check. By a
friend, if you will. Do you know where she is?”

He cleared his throat. “I’m afraid I can’t
say. Privacy rules, you know.”

I thought about that for a moment. “You mean
Brookside privacy rules?”

Souter shook his head. “Patient privacy
rules.”

“You’re saying she was taken ill and removed
by ambulance?”

“No, no. She’s fine. I can vouch for that.
You don’t need to worry about her. She’s with her son.”

“With her son where?” I said.

“He didn’t say. But he’s been worried about
her. Felt she needed to have a medical evaluation. Can’t say I
disagree.”

“And where did he take her for this
evaluation,” I said, putting the full force of my official
authority into the words.

But Souter refused to say anything
further.

~ ~ ~

As we left Souter’s office, we encountered Edna Prisant, who looked
surprised to see me, but then gestured for us to move away from
Souter’s door.

“Maybe you can help me,” she said. “I was
just coming to speak to Mr. Souter, but it may be better if I speak
with you. It’s about Josephine. I’m worried about her.”

“Why is that?”

“I saw two men taking her away, and I don’t
think she wanted to go.”

“What makes you say that?”

She looked away, her cheek twitching. “Well,
it’s just that I happened to hear them talking about Josephine as
they walked down the hall toward her apartment. I was curious. So I
followed to see what was going on. When she answered the door,
Josephine obviously recognized the men, but it didn’t look to me
like she wanted to let them in. They kind of pushed her aside. So I
waited. After five minutes or so, they came back out. One of the
men had hold of Josephine’s arm, and the other man said he’d take
his own car and meet them at Hopesprings.”

“And you’re telling us this because?”

She shrugged. “Josephine has treated me
decently. If I can return the favor, well, I’d like to do
that.”

“As it happens, we’re here because Lillian
asked us to check on Josephine.”

“Then you better check.”

I gave Dillingham a questioning look.

“Happy to come along,” he said.

We both knew calling Hopesprings to ask if
Josephine was there would be useless. HIPAA privacy rules would
prevent the hospital from giving out that information. We once had
a frantic mother come in, claiming her son-in-law had murdered her
daughter, only to find out the daughter, who was manic depressive,
was in the hospital. Since the hospital refused to tell the mother
that, she’d assumed the worst. I’ve sometimes thought HIPAA makes
hospitals more effective at anonymous incarceration than jails.

Dillingham got into my car, and we drove to
Hopesprings.

“I’m here to visit Josephine Bartlett,” I
told the woman at the reception desk. While I knew they wouldn’t
tell me if Josephine was there, they would respond with room
information if asked about a specific person.

She tapped on her keyboard, then looked up.
“I’m sorry. Mrs. Bartlett is not receiving visitors. Are you
family?”

“Grandson,” I said, knowing I might look too
old for the role if I were standing next to Josephine, but since I
wasn’t, I should be able to get away with it.

“I’m afraid you’re not on the list of
approved visitors.”

“I bet that’s a short list, am I right?”
Must be, since she didn’t ask my name.

“Only Mrs. Bartlett’s son,” she said with a
sweet smile.

“Of course. Dad. He didn’t know I was
coming.”

“I’ll have to clear a visit with him,” she
said.

“Could you do that?”

While the woman and I talked, Dillingham had
sidled around until he had the correct angle to look at her
computer screen. She picked up the phone, and Dillingham nodded to
let me know he had the room number. Meanwhile, the woman finished
speaking and hung up the phone.