A Memory Worth Dying For (8 page)

Cynthia followed Skyler back into the reception area. “What’s got her nose out of joint this mornin’?”

Lydia rubbed her temple. “Beats me. Ever since the board named her head nurse, she’s been all uppity and thinks she’s better than everyone else. She’s just showin’ her real self this morning. I thought we were doing fine like we were—everyone sort of on the same level, you know?” She blew a puff of air up toward her graying hair to push the wispy bangs away from her eyes.

Cynthia laughed. “I guess the board didn’t think so. I thought maybe her hair was pulled up too tight in that bun on the top of her head, and that’s what was making her grouchy. She’s in a mood for sure this morning.”

“Well, she’d better not be throwing nothin’ of Ms. Mary’s away. If she does, she’ll have to answer to me.” Lydia sniffed and tightened her fists on the desk.

Cynthia laughed again. “Yeah right! You’ll stand up to her like you did a few minutes ago, huh?”

Lydia frowned at the young woman and turned to finish her report. She might not be much of a fighter, but she sure wasn’t going to let anything of Ms. Mary’s be thrown in the trash.

“Ms. Barnes?” A bellow came from the office down the hall, and it was followed by footsteps.

Cynthia and Skyler scattered again when they heard Clara roar.

Lydia wrinkled her nose and scowled.

Chickens.

THIRTEEN

“YIKES! LISTEN TO HER HOLLER.
What’s her problem, anyway?” Skyler leaned across the records desk and coveted the dangling earrings Cynthia was wearing as she bent over to straighten the shoestrings on her nursing shoes. She had to admit—jealousy was as much a part of her nature as breathing. She’d love to know where Cynthia found those three-tiered, gorgeous gold rings.

A snort burst from Cynthia’s nostrils. “You and I both know what has her nose up in the air—that promotion. She thinks she’s better than everybody else now.”

Skyler concurred. “She always did have a better-than-thou attitude, but I think being voted ‘Top Nurse of the Year’ last year added fuel to her snobbiness.”

“
Hmph!
If the board knew what I know, they wouldn’t have made that decision. A couple of months ago, I saw Ms
.
Top-Nurse-of-the-Year taking drugs from the locked medicine cabinet. Then later that day, I was grabbing more gauze from the storage room when I saw a man in a top-of-the-line suit meet her around the back of the clinic with a large yellow envelope in his hand. He handed her the envelope, and she handed him a shoe box wrapped in a shopping center bag. What do you wanna bet it wasn’t shoes, neither?”

Skyler pulled a piece of gum out of her pocket and stuck it in her mouth. “You think she was selling drugs?”

Cynthia shrugged. “Figure it out for yourself. I’m just saying that Ms. Top-Nurse-of-the-Year might not deserve to be at the top of anything.”

“Why didn’t you tell somebody what you saw?”

“And lose my job over something I couldn’t prove? No way. She’d have said she was selling him some of that perfume she peddles all the time.”

“Well, she’s helping with the orphanage fundraiser this year—she can’t be all bad. I think she’s actin’ this way ‘cause of the head nurse position. She’ll probably settle down.”

Cynthia shrugged and sat down in the filing cabinet chair. “I hope so. Are you gonna do a painting of one of the houses on tour this year for the fundraiser?”

Skyler paused to blow a bubble and pop it with her teeth. “You mean the plein air competition? Wow, I don’t know. Last year my painting sat there forever before someone finally made the first bid. Then it sold for a piddly ten dollars. Of all the paintings in the auction, it brought the least amount of money. It was kind of embarrassing when one painting sold for over six hundred dollars.”

“Yeah, I know. Mine sold for only fifty dollars. Even the small amounts add up though. I’m sure they appreciated the effort. I’m really not very good at painting, but I wanted to help the orphanage.”

“I know. Wasn’t that trip we took to Tennessee last year fun? All those sweet kids.” Skyler’s gaze strayed to the window and a far-away look filled her eyes. “Jaydn Holbrook and his wife Alana are an amazing couple. You can tell the kids love them to death. Can you believe they have over five hundred orphans living all under one roof?”

“You’re kidding! I had no idea there were so many.”

“That’s what Alana told me last year at the auction.”

“I guess I’ll try another painting this year, but I sure wish we had a real artist to encourage participation from some of the other towns around this area. Our amateur paintings aren’t going to bring a whole lot. It’s a shame we’re lacking in talent here in Carson. The cause is such a good one.”

“Yeah, I hate it for the orphanage. I’m sure it takes lots of money to feed and clothe all those kids.” Skyler placed the last file in the metal cabinet. “I’ve run out of records to file, so I guess I’ll head back.”

Cynthia grabbed Skyler’s arm before she could head out the door. “Wait a minute! Have you forgotten Ms.
I-want-things-done-my-way
is still out there?”

“Oh, yeah. I forgot.” She peeked around the doorway, and shrugged when she saw Clara still at the front desk.
They both went back to straightening the files until the alarm alerted them to an ambulance backing up to the emergency door of the clinic. Time to get back to work.

FOURTEEN

IT TOOK CLARA WATTING ALL
day to get everything cleaned out of filing cabinets, the tiny closet in the office, and three of the desk drawers. When she pulled out the top middle drawer of the desk, she found it was full of pens, paper clips, notepads, and staples. A picture of Mary and her daughter was pushed up into the back corner of the drawer inside a small picture frame. Clara pulled it out and looked at the smiling face of her former boss.

Mary was standing beside Veronica in front of a six-star cruise line ship. Their luggage was spread around them, and they both looked extremely happy.

Clara felt a pinprick of jealously stab her heart. It was easy to be happy when you had money. If she had the money to take her own daughter on a cruise—maybe Tara would start speaking to her again.

Clara shrugged and laid the picture on the desk.

She emptied most of the contents of the top drawer into a box and pulled out the drawer to dump the dust and scrap pieces of eraser into the trash. As she turned the drawer upside down over the trash, a tiny corner of paper stuck out from under the drawer. Carefully, she laid the drawer on its top and pulled on the sheet of paper. The tape that held it firm was old and gave way easily. When she unfolded the piece of paper, she glanced at the title—trying to make sense of the contents.

She tilted her head to one side and rubbed her forehead. She walked to the other side of the room and then returned, still staring at the paper in her hand. What did it mean?

An idea occurred to her, so she left the large office and entered the room where the archived files were stored. A thorough search produced exactly what she was looking for. She carried the papers back to the desk in her new office and sat down, trying to make sense of the two identical pieces of paper . . . what it
could
mean . . . what it
would
mean to her future, if she had anything to say about it. A slow smile crossed her weathered lips, and she stood—pushing up her sleeves with precise movements.

She picked up the papers and slipped into the storage room. A peek around the corner told her what she wanted to know—the others were busy with new patients trickling into the clinic. Carefully, she placed the papers on the copy machine, one at a time, and pressed the start button.

Scared the others would hear the whir of the motor as it scanned the documents and prepared to print, she closed the door quietly, lifting the door slightly to keep the hinges from squeaking. When the copies were made, she pulled the papers from the machine and slipped back into her office.

The original documents fit into a pocket of her briefcase, and she placed the copies in an envelope and slid it into her bag. Then she picked up the phone and paused—the picture of her old boss stared up at her from the desk. Mary always did everything by the book and never thought about doing anything dishonest. Was what she was thinking about doing dishonest? Maybe so, but it wouldn’t hurt anybody, would it? She straightened her back and dialed the number on the phone. She was not Mary, and she needed the money.

When the call was picked up, she spoke softly.

“I need to see you, sir. No, it cannot wait. I have something you need to see, and I think you’ll be sorry if you don’t agree to meet me. Yes, I can meet you in thirty minutes at the town park.”

Clara hung up the phone and smiled. If this meant what she thought it meant, it was a windfall for her. Now, maybe things would finally go her way.

FIFTEEN

MARTI WAS TERRIFIED. SHE GLANCED
at the navy blue truck in her rearview mirror. It had been following her for miles, and now she wondered if she had reason to worry. She was sure leaving Tennessee would not go unnoticed by the person stalking her, but Sandra had insisted she make the trip and wouldn’t take no for an answer.

“You can follow me when I leave to meet Vivian, and if your stalker’s around, he’ll think you’re going to the art sale with me. Then when we get to my sister’s house in Vick, you can keep on going. I mean, it’s on the way, isn’t it? And only about five hours from my sister’s house. You can go see Daniel, have your conversation, and be back before this beastly bloke even knows you’re gone.”

The simple decision to drive to Texas in a day had turned into a scary dream. Now someone was following her, and her fear ballooned into something monstrous, making it hard to breathe. Was it her stalker or just some stranger—glad to have company on the lonely road?

She swerved right onto the next gravel road, and the truck kept on going. A sigh of relief relieved the tense silence in her car. To be safe, she took the next two left turns, and after driving for a couple of miles, jerked her car into a small rundown restaurant nestled in the middle of a huge stand of tall Texas pines. She sat staring down the smoky road she had come from. When nothing stirred up the dust on the lonesome road, she took a shaky breath and pulled out her cell phone.

The drumming of the rings wore on Marti’s nerves until Sandra finally picked up the phone.

“Sandra? Are you all right?”

Marti heard a heavy sigh. “Marti, this is the third time you’ve called me today. Will you stop worrying? I’m fine. I’m here with my sister at the art show. So stop worrying. Wade’s keeping an eye on the gallery in Landeville, and everything’s fine.”

Marti slumped in the seat. Her face relaxed.

“I’m sorry. I thought someone was following me, and I guess I’m a little paranoid.”

“I know you gave up on God, Marti, but if you’d turn to Him—”

“Stop, Sandra! We’ve had this discussion before. I’m not ready to trust Him again.”

“All right, Marti. But, try okay? He really is there for you.”

Marti ground her teeth. “I have to go. I’ll call you when I get there. Be safe.”

Marti hung up the phone. Sandra was never going to give up.
Hashtag: tenacious
.

She glanced around the parking lot. Only four cars sat in the small lot of the restaurant, and everything was quiet. She grabbed her purse and hurried inside the restaurant, keeping her eyes on the road.

She would get something to eat, and maybe by the time she left, the blue truck would be miles away. Shakily, she sat down and ordered a hamburger and fries. When the meal arrived, it tasted like sawdust. The french fries stuck in her throat, and she didn’t even attempt to force the rest of the burger down. She asked for a to-go box before heading to the check-out counter to pay for the food.

“How was your meal, sugar?” The hostess smacked on a piece of gum and smiled at Marti as she pulled out her money. The woman’s bright red hair was a chocolate brown at the roots and was pulled back into a loose ponytail. Gold earrings at least three inches long jangled as she made change from the antique cash register.

“Fine. It was fine.”

The cell phone beside the cash register rang and vibrated across the counter. While the hostess turned to answer the call, Marti searched the parking lot for a dark blue truck. The smoke filling the parking lot and surrounding area had increased, and Marti strained to see the mountains through the gray haze in the air.

The redhead hung up the phone and barked out a loose cough. She turned back to Marti. “I’ll be glad when they get this wildfire under control. Ten miles is too close for me. All this smoke is rough on my asthma.”

Marti tried to make polite conversation and ignore the sense of uneasiness filling the air. “I heard about the wildfire on the radio. How many acres has it burned?”

“I think about five thousand so far. It burned a couple of farms plumb to the ground. Sure is sad.” The waitress shook her head and handed Marti her change.

Marti tucked her to-go box under her arm and peered out the door. It began to rain during her meal, and a brief downpour spread dust as each drop hit the dry ground. She carefully searched the area before running to her car.

As she fumbled with the keys and slid into the seat, thoughts of the man’s threats in the alley popped into her head. She would have pulled all her teeth to keep from returning to Texas and putting Sandra and Wade in danger—at least until she opened that shocking letter.

Now, she touched the same crinkled letter in the seat beside her, and once again numbness crept into her veins when she absorbed the meaning of those three words.

Daniel is dying
.

The word
death
left her cold, but the sentence rattled around in her brain until it finally took root in reality. After a divorce and three years of silence, it was surprising that Daniel’s father would ask her to return. She wondered if the request had come from Daniel.

Thinking back to the art reception two weeks ago, Daniel’s odd behavior at the gallery now made sense—could he have treated her like a stranger because of a terminal illness?