Malpractice in Maggody (10 page)

“Yes,” Myron said, trying to hide his delight. Toby had insisted on driving to Arkansas, which meant Myron had been obliged to listen to griping and cursing for an intolerable number of hours. But Toby’s lucrative deals provided much of Myron’s income, and putting up with an inflated ego was part of the job, along with being awakened at ungodly hours of the night to go to police stations with bail money.

After they parked, Toby grabbed a duffel bag from the backseat. “This psych evaluation thing doesn’t mean they’re going to attach metal gizmos to my head or something, does it? I saw this movie once with Jack Nicholson where they strapped him down and—”

“Nothing like that,” Myron said, slapping him on the back and secretly hoping the so-called metal gizmos were attached to Toby’s testicles, which were the cause of the problem. “You’ll just meet with a psychiatrist, relax, and get clean. You didn’t bring along anything that you shouldn’t have, did you? They’ll search your bag, so you might as well hand it over to me now.”

“What do you take me for—some kind of idiot?”

That was precisely what Myron took him for, but it didn’t seem wise to agree. “Do you want me to go inside with you?”

“Yeah, why not?” said Toby, gripping the strap of the duffel bag.

They went through the front door and stopped in the reception room. An attractive young woman stood up behind a desk.

“Toby Mann?” she said breathlessly. “Like, wow, I must be like your biggest fan. I’ve never been to a game, but I watch every single time there’s one on TV. I just love it when you pull off your helmet after a touchdown and the sun shines on your hair. My husband’s so jealous, I have to go to my sister’s house to watch your games. That game against the Vikings last year was so exciting I almost had an orgasm when you threw the touchdown pass with less than a minute left. My sister threatened to pour ice water on me.” She clamped her hand over her mouth. “Ooh, I’m supposed to pretend I don’t know who you are. You won’t tell on me, will you? I’d absolutely die if I got fired on my first day.”

“You work here?” Toby rewarded her with his famous boyish grin. “You gonna give me sponge baths in bed?”

“Don’t I wish?” she said with a giggle. “I’m just the receptionist and secretary, but if there’s ever anything I can do to make your stay more pleasant, all you have to do is ask. My name’s Molly.”

“A lovely name,” Myron said politely, although he had a real bad feeling about the situation. He would have felt a lot more confident if they’d been met by a scowling gorilla in dirty green scrubs. He jabbed Toby in the back. “Let’s find your room so that you can unpack.”

“You’re right down here,” said Molly. “And it’s not a room, it’s a really nice suite. I wish I could afford to furnish my whole house like it.”

Toby took her arm. “Well, why don’t we go have a look at it? The key’s in the car, Myron.”

Shrugging, Myron went back to the car. He adjusted the seat and the mirrors, since he was eight inches shorter than his client. As he drove away, he decided not to mention his misgivings to the team of lawyers.

“I feel as if I should welcome Dr. Dibbins to Fantasy Island,” Vincent said as he and Brenda stood at the edge of the pasture, partially protected by umbrellas.

“That’s where he’ll be wishing he was,” she said grimly. “I can hardly wait to see his expression when I explain his dietary regime for the next three months.”

“Tread gently, my dear. We can’t have him storming off and then publicly spouting outrageously false claims about the foundation. Our biggest assets are our obscurity and pledge of privacy.”

“You think someone like Dibbins would admit he was ever at a place like this? His book sales would plummet. Have you ever seen him on TV?”

Vincent’s smile held a trace of condescension. “I don’t own a TV. My practice and my social life keep me very busy. Whenever I have a few free minutes, I utilize them to read medical journals to keep myself informed of the latest innovations.”

“Your practice and your social life? What about the time you spend in court battling malpractice claims? That must be time-consuming, too. I heard that your license was revoked after some woman died from an infection caused by an error on your part.”

“That is a simplification of the facts,” he said stiffly. “The patient was clearly negligent in not informing me as her condition worsened. My lawyers are appealing the decision. What’s important is that I am licensed in this state.”

Brenda looked up as she heard a whirring noise. “That must be the helicopter.”

Vincent snapped his fingers at the two orderlies waiting nearby with a gurney. “Look alert,
muchachos.
”

The two men, one in his thirties and the other almost fifty, glanced at each other as they wheeled the gurney closer. Neither had a clue why they were out in the rain, but
el jefe
seemed to think it was a good idea. They stared as a
helicoptero
came through the clouds, circled, and then landed in the weedy expanse.

Vincent and Brenda ducked as they went under the rotors, their eyes stinging from the dust and bits of debris swirling around them. The pilot, a weathered man of indeterminate years, leaned out a window and said, “It may be a while. He says he’s changed his mind.”

From inside the helicopter, they could hear voices arguing. It was impossible to decipher what was being said, but clearly there was a great deal of acrimony.

“What should we do?” whispered Brenda. “Maybe you ought to intervene with your jovial banalities.”

“Or you could assure him that he’ll have all the alfalfa sprouts he wants for the next ninety days,” Vincent replied with a cool smile.

A distraught woman slid open a side door and looked at them. “Is one of you Dr. Stonebridge?”

Vincent stood up despite his innate fear of decapitation. “I am he. And you are…?”

“Deb Ables, Dr. Dibbins’s literary agent. We have a small problem.”

“I understand Dr. Dibbins has some reservations,” Vincent said tactfully.

A voice from inside roared, “No, no, no! I will not subject myself to this! Close that door and get this contraption back in the air! Do you hear me, you sniveling succubus! How many times must I say it?”

The agent glanced back, then stepped out into the weeds. “He indeed has some reservations, but he also has a five-million-dollar contract for his new book. It specifies that he must participate in the promotion or return the advance. In his current condition, he cannot handle a twenty-seven-city book tour and national media appearances.”

“If you don’t tell this lummox of a pilot to take off, you’re fired!” Dibbins howled. “To hell with the book, and to hell with you!”

“Sedation?” suggested Brenda.

Deb thought for a moment. “A bottle of bourbon might work. I don’t suppose you have one on the premises, this being a rehab facility, but it would calm him down.”

Vincent pulled Brenda aside. “Get a fifth from the cabinet in my apartment. Crush twenty-five milligrams of Valium and mix it in.”

“A curse on you and your children and their children!” continued Dibbins. “May they be born with green scales and slitted tongues! May they grow up to be perfidious, scheming ingrates!”

“Make that fifty milligrams,” Vincent murmured. “We’ll get him inside, one way or another.”

The Mexicans grinned as Brenda hurried by them. As soon as she’d gone inside, they lit brown cigarettes and sat down on the gurney to watch.

“
Los doctores americanos son locos,
” one of them said.

The other nodded.
“Muy locos.”

S
aturday morning was dreary, but pretty much every day in Maggody is, so this wasn’t remarkable. I’d stopped by Ruby Bee’s for breakfast. She was still giving me the cold shoulder, but this time it was accompanied by cold hash browns and burned toast. I didn’t know if she was peeved because I hadn’t rammed my car through the formidable gates of the Stonebridge Foundation, or just cranky because of her spat with Estelle. I knew better than to get into the middle of that one.

I walked across the road to Jim Bob’s SuperSaver Buy 4 Less to buy a package of cookies to sustain me until she simmered down. The store was bustling with people doing their weekly shopping. Joyce Lambertino was trying to stop her older children from playing touch football with a cantaloupe, while the baby in the cart bawled. Eula Lemoy was wandering about with a shopping list held three inches from her nose. Darla Jean and Heather eyed me nervously while they skittered by with a bag of chips; the dip was probably in one of their purses. Raz was reading the labels on cans of smoked oysters and anchovies; whatever he selected would find its way into his coat pocket. At this time of year, shoplifting was more popular than baseball.

I was trying to decide between Oreos and Fig Newtons when a hand timidly touched my shoulder. I turned around and snapped, “What?”

Kevin shuffled his feet for a moment before he looked up. “Have you found my ma?” he asked plaintively.

He looked bad, which is saying a lot, since even at his best he doesn’t look especially good. His eyes were bloodshot, the dark circles under them purple. Bits of toilet paper were stuck on his jaw and chin, and his shirt was smeared with grape jelly. He had a sour odor about him, like milk that had gone bad.

“No, I’m afraid not,” I said. “But there’s nothing much I can do, Kevin. She’s a grown woman, and she left of her own free will. Things rough at home?”

His shoulders drooped. “You could say that. I invited Pa over to supper yesterday, thinking it might do him some good. He didn’t appreciate Dahlia’s cooking, and said so. All of a sudden the two of them was goin’ after each other like mud wrasslers, and—” He broke off and wiped his eyes with his frayed cuff. “I don’t know how much more I can take.”

“I guess your pa hasn’t heard from her, then?”

“I reckon not. All he does is sit at the kitchen table and mumble. When I git home, Dahlia’s usually sobbing in the bedroom. The twins ain’t bathed and fed, so I do that, while her granny hides behind the furniture. I used to try to wheedle her out, but now I just let her be.”

“Sounds bad,” I said, trying not to visualize the scene. “Do you know if your pa called the bank yesterday to check the balance in the account?”

Kevin shrugged. “Not likely, being that he’s been drunker’n Cooter Brown since the morning she left. You got to get her back, Arly. Dahlia’s darn near going out of her mind, now that she cain’t even drop Rose Marie and Kevvie Junior off for an hour so she can have a break.”

“There is something you can do to help. Today or tomorrow, go over to your pa’s and get the information about his bank account. Also, find out if your ma has a credit card, and if she does, write down the information. If she’s using the card, we might be able to find out which way she went.”

“And that’s gonna help?”

“Well, if she’s staying in a motel, you could call her and try to persuade her to come back.”

Kevin gave me a doleful look. “If you was her, would you come back?”

“I don’t know,” I said evasively, “but you might as well give it a shot. Call me as soon as you can.” I hurried to the checkout counter. Idalupino was too busy smacking her gum to do more than count out my change and stick the cookies into a sack. I walked back to the PD, made a pot of coffee, and resumed my contemplation of South American geography.

Mrs. Jim Bob went into the Assembly Hall and made sure there were enough paper plates and plastic forks for the Wednesday-evening potluck supper, wrote a note to buy coffee filters, then went outside and across the lawn to the rectory.

She rapped on the door, waited a moment, and opened it. “Brother Verber? Are you here?”

“Why, Sister Barbara, what a pleasant surprise,” he said as he stumbled into the living room, tugging up his trousers. “I was just thinking about you.”

She averted her eyes as he fumbled with his zipper. “This is not a social call, Brother Verber. I have something to discuss with you.”

“Can I offer you a glass of freshly brewed ice tea before we get started?”

She suspected from the purple dribbles on his shirt that he’d been sipping something other than tea, but let it pass without comment. She sat down on the edge of a chair and took a notebook out of her purse. “I happened to be across the road from that insane asylum this morning when I saw several unsettling things.”

“You did?” Brother Verber’s eyes were wide as he sank down on the couch.

“I do believe that’s what I just said. At eleven-fourteen, a limousine pulled up to the gate and was admitted. There were two people in the back. One was dressed in a suit and tie. The other was a young woman, and from the unhealthy look about her, a patient. What’s more, the driver carried in three large suitcases and a smaller bag, implying that she’ll be there for a long while. After no more than five minutes, the man in the suit got back in the limousine, and it left.”

“You could see all this from where you were parked?”

Mrs. Jim Bob bristled. “I did not say I was sitting in my car, Brother Verber. I’d gone out there to pick some persimmons to make a pudding, and I realized I might have better luck if I climbed up in the tree. I happened to have my binoculars with me.”

Brother Verber was overwhelmed with admiration for her mettle. He wished he’d been there to boost her up to the lowest branch, his hands on her firm buttocks to steady her till she could cling to the branch with her thighs. He realized she was still talking and pulled himself away from the image.

“—a rather plain young man escorted her up the stairs like she was made of china,” Mrs. Jim Bob was saying. “She had white hair pinned up in a bun, and was wearing an expensive suit. It was hard to imagine her as a patient, but she stayed inside when the man left. I think it’s likely she’s one of those black widows.”

“You mean a spider?”

“No, I do not mean a spider in the literal sense, Brother Verber. If she had eight legs, I would have mentioned it. I am speaking of women who kill their husbands, usually for money. She had a very hard, calculating look about her. I could tell she wasn’t a Christian.”

Brother Verber slipped to his knees and clutched his hands together. “Then our souls are in peril, Sister Barbara. Who knows what will happen to us with this satanic killer in our quiet little community?”

Mrs. Jim Bob flipped to the next page. “At a quarter past twelve, two men arrived in an expensive foreign car. One was tall and muscular, the other short and scrawny. I wasn’t at all sure which was the patient, but within a minute, the little weasel came out to the car and drove away.”

“My goodness.” Brother Verber got back on the couch and took out his handkerchief to wipe his neck. “How many more of them came? Are we to be infested with lunatics and killers?”

“It’s hard to know for sure. I was climbing out of the tree ’long about one o’clock when a helicopter landed in the pasture out behind the building. I drove down the road a piece, but I still couldn’t see what was going on. I would have stayed, but I’d invited Lottie and Elsie for dessert and coffee, so I had to go home.”

“This is very disturbing,” said Brother Verber. “I’m sorry to have to say that my seminary did not provide any guidance in how to deal with a crisis like this. We can pray for the Good Lord’s protection, of course, but He may be occupied elsewhere.”

“You’ll have to warn folks tomorrow at church. Tell them to keep their doors and windows locked, report any strangers wandering around town, keep a loaded gun handy in case of intruders. This is not the time for a sermon about being a Good Samaritan, Brother Verber. If the law won’t protect us, then we’ll have to do it ourselves. I’m going to take it upon myself to organize a citizens’ committee so we can monitor what’s going on out there. I’m assuming that you in your role as spiritual leader will want to participate.”

“You mean sit in a tree with binoculars?” When she merely stared at him, he cleared his throat and added, “But it’s real important that I make myself available for lost souls in need of counseling and prayer. You wouldn’t believe the number of times I’ve been called out in the darkest hours of night to rush to the side of a widow woman hovering on the brink of death. Why, only last week Maybelline Buchanon’s boy got snockered and threatened to kill hisself. I was there most of the night, telling him how he’d be facing eternal torment in the fiery furnace of damnation if he went through with it. Just as the sun came up, he relented and asked me to pray with him. Maybelline was so grateful that she fixed a mighty fine breakfast for me. I could tell you many such stories, but I can see you’re busy. Rushing to the aid of sinners—that’s my sacred mission, Sister Barbara, and I can’t shirk it.”

“Then I’ll put you down for the morning shift, say six to ten.” She scribbled a note, then put away her pad and stood up. “I’m glad you share my feelings about the importance of protecting ourselves.” She nodded gravely at him as she left.

He’d already poured himself a glass of sacramental wine before her car pulled back onto the road.

From the journal of Dawn Dartmouth:

From the journal of Toby Mann: