Power of Attorney

A CARRIE MAE MINI-MYSTERY

by

BETHANY MAINES

Go to
www.bethanymaines.com
to collect a free digital story from Bethany Maines.

Sand Trap

Dead Horse

Tara

Vietnam

Oysterville

L.A.

Da Nang

Kansas

“It’s a good thing you were with him,” said the doctor and Nikki nodded, twisting her ridiculous plaid beret round and round between her fingers. She was wearing the full plaid knickers in an utterly un-Scottish tartan of pink and green and a matching button-up and tall pink socks.

“If it hadn’t been for your quick thinking, he might not have made it.” Nikki nodded again, knowing it was expected. “Apparently, you really know how to drive a golf cart.” Nikki stared at the doctor, hating the formless baggy shape of his scrubs and their cheerful martini glass print. “The paramedics said you did a 360 burnout and had Mr. Merrivel in the back before the ambulance had even come to a complete stop.”

“I know how to drive,” said Nikki, deciding that if she moved quickly she could strangle him with his stethoscope before he said anything else.

“I guess so,” said the doctor smiling cheerfully as he flipped open the chart. “I understand that his wife is out of the country?”

“Istanbul,” said Nikki. Why wasn’t he telling her that everything was going to be fine? Why wasn’t he telling her that adorable, grandfatherly, husband of the best boss Nikki had ever worked for, Mr. Merrivel was going to be fine. Why wasn’t he saying that it was a mild heart attack and that with medication everything would be better?

“Istanbul?” repeated the doctor raising his head from the chart. “That’s adventurous.” His tone managed to imply that Istanbul was against doctor’s orders.

“For some people,” answered Nikki stonily. She could have added that it was a crucial negotiation and that Mrs. Merrivel was the only one with the contacts to pull it off. She could also have added that she wasn’t entirely happy that the company had chosen to use a different team to back-up Mrs. Merrivel. But since coming to work for Carrie Mae, the at-home make-up sales giant and top secret espionage organization with the goal of helping women on a global scale, Nikki had learned that there were a lot of things she didn’t get to say.

“Well, I think it would be best if she returned early.” The doctor was being careful now, she could see it in his posture. He was going into awkward truth mode.

Nikki’s heart froze. Then carefully, she licked her lips and restarted her heart. She needed to think clearly now.

“What is Mr. Merrivel’s condition?” she asked, pleased to hear that her voice reflected none of the hops, jumps and back flips that her stomach was doing.

“Mr. Merrivel has a lot of scar tissue around his heart from, ah,” he consulted the chart again, “previous medical issues. The heart attack only complicated matters. He needs surgery. The surgery will be dangerous, particularly in his condition, but I don’t think we can wait.” The doctor spoke calmly, but quickly, as if trying to get the bad news out fast. She could see by the way his spine stiffened that he was preparing for her to burst into tears.

“How soon?” she asked, eyeing the hand he was extending to pat her shoulder.

“Er,” he withdrew the hand, “soon. I’ve put in a call to Dr. Colmar. He’s the top heart surgeon in the city. If he’s got an opening I’d like to get Mr. Merrivel in as soon as tomorrow or Wednesday. The problem is that during, and even after, surgery we may encounter situations that require a next of kin or someone with power of attorney to make decisions. It would be best if his wife could return now.”

“She won’t be back until next week and even if she caught a flight now, she wouldn’t be back until Wednesday.” Nikki wasn’t really talking to the doctor, she was trying to weigh out the relative value of Mr. Merrivel’s life and marriage, against the lives that were at stake in Istanbul.

“We might be able to put it off as much as a week, but I don’t recommend it,” said the doctor looking irritated. “Does he have any children who could make decisions for him?”

“Yes, he has a son, two step-children and a daughter — Kate — with Mrs. Merrivel,” answered Nikki, reciting the facts off her mental dossier. “Kate is a three day hike away from a phone in Africa somewhere doing AIDS research for the UN.”

“Oh,” said the doctor looking impressed.

“The two step-children are in Kentucky and Oregon respectively. They could both be here by tomorrow.” She had met Darrin and Sean. Darrin was doing computer programming in Oregon and Sean was raising horses in Kentucky; they were both good guys who would fly out immediately, she had no doubt.

“Blood would be better,” said the doctor, uncomfortably.

“That would leave Brett. He’s in Virginia.”

“You’d better call him,” he said, which was when Nikki knew it was serious. Up until then, it had simply seemed like family would be a safety net, but the look in the doctor’s eyes told Nikki that this was beyond safety and into required equipment.

“Can I talk to Mr. Merrivel, please?”

“Yes, he’s asking for you, but don’t take too long. He’s very tired.”

Nikki went behind the white curtains and found Mr. Merrivel looking nearly as pale as the curtains. His shirt had been taken off and Nikki glimpsed two large scars running diagonally in jagged bands across his chest before the nurse tucked a blanket up to under his chin.

“Hey kiddo,” said Mr. Merrivel, in a small voice. “Sorry to have given you a scare.”

“You know I’ve always wanted to drive through a sand trap,” replied Nikki with a shrug and reached out to hold the hand that wasn’t swaddled in blankets.

“What’s the doctor say?” he asked, his voice still paper thin.

“He says you’re going to die if you don’t have surgery and that you might die if you do.” Nikki caught the nurses startled expression as she pulled the curtain closed, but ignored it. Things were serious – it was no time for soft-pedaling.

“And I might get hit by bus walking out of the house,” he said, twitching. Nikki watched in fascination as the graph on the heart monitor picked up the pace.

“He says there might be decisions to be made while you’re under that require a next of kin,” she said, as the monitor settled back down.

“You’re not to call Miranda home. Nikki, did you hear me?” He squeezed her hand.

She looked away from the monitors and into Mr. Merrivel’s hazel eyes. “Yes,” she said, relieved that she didn’t have to make the decision. “I’ll call Brett in Virginia and he can fly out and you can go into surgery tomorrow.” Mr. Merrivel was silent and the way his lips twisted and puckered she knew he was thinking.

“No, call Angela at the firm first. Have her come here.”

“I’m not calling Angela,” said Nikki. Angela was Mr. Merrivel’s assistant at his law firm. “I’m going to call Brett.”

But Mr. M shook his head, then looked at Nikki’s stubborn expression and sighed. “All right, go ahead and call him. Call all the kids. Leave a message for Katie, for when she gets out of whatever hell-hole she’s in. Tell them their old man’s in the hospital and going in for surgery. They’ll be upset if they don’t get called. But first call Angela. She’s going to come over and draw up a power of attorney for you.”

“For me?” Nikki frowned; she didn’t want that responsibility.

“Yes. Look Nikki, I don’t really talk about it much, but Brett and I, we don’t get along very well. He doesn’t think I’m much of a father.”

Nikki was shocked. Mr. M was a fountain of wisdom and encouragement. He had rained fatherly pride and love on countless youngsters who had crossed his path. He was doted on by the young and not-so-young lawyers at his firm. His step-sons and daughter adored him and Nikki, well, Nikki worshipped him. How could anyone not think Mr. Merrivel the best of all possible fathers?

“He’s not wrong,” said Mr. M, gazing out at something only he could see. “I wasn’t there much when he was growing up. I had a different life then. But you see…” he paused and Nikki could see that he looked tired, more tired than when she had entered. “It’s bad, I know,” he said, his voice sunk to a whisper.

“What’s bad?” asked Nikki.

“I don’t trust him, Nikki,” he said squinting up at her, pain in his eyes. “He’ll poke and pry and he won’t let up until he’s got his pound of flesh.”

The doctor came brushing through the curtain, took one look at Mr. Merrivel and frowned at Nikki.

“I think it’s time you were going,” said the doctor firmly.

Mr. M eased back on his pillows.

“Call Angela, tell her to do what I said.” Nikki held still a moment, trying to decide if she really would do it or if she was going to lie. “Nicole!” he said sharply, clearly reading her thought process as if it was written on her face.

“Yes, I’ll do it,” said Nikki, bowing her head.

“There’s my girl,” he said, patting her hand. “Knew I could count on you.”

“You know,” said Angela, as Nikki signed, flipped the page, and signed again. “Mr. M sometimes jokes that I’m too efficient to be working for him and that really I should be working for his wife.”

“And what do you say?” asked Nikki, scanning the document one last time. Jane was hovering a few steps away, trying not to intrude, but the way she clutched her iPad to her chest, Nikki knew that whatever she wanted was urgent.

“I usually say something about being afraid of estrogen poisoning, but I have to say,” Angela took a moment to look around the lobby of the Carrie Mae building, “You guys look like you’re doing pretty well for yourselves.”

“We do ok,” said Nikki, smiling. “And I suppose it didn’t occur to Mr. M to mention that we also get free make-up as a perk?”

“Oooh,” cooed Angela, then laughed. “Nah, I could never work in the non-profit world. I don’t mind having a mission and all that, but I can’t stand all the touchy feely crap.”

Nikki shrugged and smiled again.

“You’re going to see him tonight, right?” asked Angela, taking the signed power of attorney back. “I’ll get this filed and make sure it’s on record at the hospital,” she said, as Nikki nodded. “I just... I really hope he comes through this ok.” Angela smiled awkwardly, trying to hide the depth of her emotions.

“He has to,” said Nikki. “We need him.”

“Right,” said Angela. “We’ll just stick with positive thinking. Anyway, don’t hesitate to call if either of you need anything.”

“Thanks,” said Nikki.

Jane inched forward and cleared her throat.

“Mm, I know what that means,” said Angela, eyeing Jane. “I’ll let you get back to work.” She shook Nikki’s hand, before walking to the door, her high heels making an echoing click on the tile floor.

Ellen pushed through one side of the double-doors as Angela pushed out the other. Jenny, following Ellen so closely that Nikki assumed that they had arrived together and that Jenny’s car must be in the shop again, checked out Angela’s shoes.

“Jane, put Angela on the long-range outreach list,” said Nikki.

“I thought Mr. M’s peeps were on the no-touchy list,” said Jane.

“Mr. M. is only planning on working for another five years tops. Long-range outreach is three to seven. By the time they reel her in, she won’t be working for Mr. M anymore.”

“Or maybe you think Mr. M will be dead,” said Jane, her voice rough in anger.

“Mr. M isn’t going to die,” said Nikki, as calmly as possible. “But I might if I have to listen to Legal bitch one more time about how no one’s recruiting lawyers with real world experience.”

“Was that Angela from Mr. M’s firm?” asked Ellen. Ellen was dressed in a casual sweater, collared shirt, black pants and loafers. Privately, Nikki always thought she looked as though she had just come from boating.

“Nice shoes,” said Jenny. “$350, if they were a dime.”

“What was she doing here?” asked Ellen, shaking her head at Jenny.

Jenny shrugged, letting her palms turn up as if to say “What?” The tall blonde was dressed in a mini-dress of black and white stripes and a coral jacket over it, with nude heels. Nikki suspected that if she put on the same look she would like a demented Rainbow Bright, but Jenny looked like a movie star.

“Mr. M had a heart attack,” Jane blurted out. “And he has to have surgery and he’s signing over power of attorney to Nikki.”

“What?” Ellen looked from Nikki to Jane for verification. “Won’t Mrs. Merrivel take care of everything?”

“She won’t be home soon enough,” said Nikki. “The surgery is on Wednesday.”

“She could be home by Wednesday,” said Jenny, effortlessly doing the time zone math. “I mean, you’d have to call her now, and it would depend on what flight she caught. It would probably be late Wednesday, but she could do it.”

“Possibly,” said Nikki, turning and walking to the elevators, “but I’m not calling her.”

“Why aren’t you calling her?” demanded Ellen.

“Thank you!” exclaimed Jane, sotto voce.

“Because,” said Nikki, entering the elevator. “Are you all coming up?” she asked, looking at her friends standing in the lobby.

“How can you not call her?” asked Ellen, pulling herself together enough to get on the elevator. “He’s her husband. He could die.”

The elevator shut and Nikki pressed the button for top floor — where Mrs. M’s office was. The elevator didn’t move, but a little panel slid open revealing a speaker.

“Nikki Lanier, Ellen Marston, Jenny Baxter, and Jane Rozmarek. Passcode: How doth the little crocodile improve his shining tail, and pour the waters of the Nile on every golden scale.” The elevator whirred into motion and the panel slid shut.

“I hate to agree with our elder stateswoman,” said Jenny.

“I’m going to start flicking you every time you said ‘elder,’” said Ellen.

“But she has a point. This is important shit. You’ve got to tell Mrs. M.”

“No,” said Nikki. “Mrs. Merrivel is the lead negotiator on something... well, let’s just say, if it goes wrong, there’s going to be a pile of dead bodies, and we’ll be lucky to keep the Carrie Mae name out it.”

“Well, ok, so she doesn’t come home,” said Jenny, “But you’ve still got to call her and tell her. Right?” she asked, looking to the other women for support.

“You don’t think she’s under enough stress right now without knowing about this?” asked Nikki. “We can’t afford to have her lose focus over there, and besides, Mr. M doesn’t want me to.”

Ellen grunted in a Marge Simpson way, voicing her dissatisfaction. “What about his kids?” she asked, as the elevator doors opened.

“I left messages for Brett and Katie,” said Nikki leading the way to Mrs. M’s office. “I talked to Darrin and Sean. Darrin’s a keynote speaker at a symposium in Hawaii and will try and fly out Wednesday night after his speech and Sean’s in Canada at a rodeo. He said that he’d fly out as soon as he could find someone to take care of his stock.”

“I didn’t know he did rodeo!” exclaimed Jenny, her Southern accent tripling in strength on the word rodeo. “What events?”

“Not him,” said Nikki. “His horses. Apparently, he’s got some horse named Sidewinder that’s doing quite well.”

“For real?” gasped Jenny. “Sidewinder is a total killer. God, I’d pay to see him in person. I’ve watched all his rides on YouTube.”

“Rodeo slut,” said Ellen, pretending to cough.

“Gun whore,” said Jenny.

“Can we get back on topic?” asked Jane, tapping her fingers impatiently on her iPad.

“Sure,” said Nikki. “Just what is the topic?”

“The topic is that Miss Drake called while you were downstairs. She wants an update on the John Merrivel situation ASAP.”

“Miss Drake called?” repeated Ellen, her eyes going wide.

“Why is Miss Drake calling you?” asked Jenny.

“Nikki’s covering for Mrs. M while she’s in Istanbul,” snapped Jane. “Mrs. M reports directly to Miss Drake, ergo now Nikki reports to Miss Drake. Don’t you guys get it? This is a thing. It’s a big thing.”

“How does she know about Mr. M, in the first place?” demanded Nikki.

Jane shrugged. “How does Miss Drake know about anything? She’s Miss Drake.”

Nikki sighed and rubbed her temple. This was beginning to feel like the kind of situation that went from a gentle breeze to a sucking cyclone of destruction in a matter of moments. She wondered idly if this was what all of Mrs. Merrivel’s days were like. She had to say that being the acting Director of the West Coast Branch kind of sucked. Sure she wasn’t getting shot at as much as normal, but the paperwork alone had probably taken years off her life.

They had barely entered the office when one of the bustling secretaries, whose name Nikki had yet to memorize, appeared in the doorway.

“Miss Drake is on the monitor,” she gasped, looking nervous.

“Thanks, Jane and I will take it from here,” said Nikki, and the secretary bolted for her desk. Jenny and Ellen weren’t far behind her. No one wanted to be noticed by Miss Drake.

Jane flipped on the big screen TV and Miss Drake’s pointy face could be seen.

“Nicole, congratulations on a well-run week as acting director. I was sorry to hear about John Merrivel — so unfortunate. The transfer papers are in your inbox. Please have them filled out by the time Mrs. Merrivel is back in the states.”

“You’re pulling Mrs. Merrivel out of Istanbul?”

“She’s emotionally compromised by this situation with her husband. You don’t think the wisest course of action would be to remove her from the mission?”

“Well, if she knew about her husband’s heart attack, then I’m sure that would be the wisest course of action.”

Miss Drake leaned back in her chair, and tapped a pen thoughtfully on her desk.

“You haven’t told her?”

“No,” said Nikki. “And I don’t intend to.”

“Why not?” asked Miss Drake. She looked thoughtfully at Nikki as if examining a new specimen.

“She can’t affect the outcome here. She can affect the outcome in Istanbul.”

“And what about her husband? Will he not miss her?”

“John supports this decision and specifically asked that we not call her home. He has also granted me power of attorney to assist in any decisions that need to be made.”

Miss Drake’s pencil tapped a staccato beat on her desk. “You realize that if he doesn’t survive... This is the kind of thing that Mrs. Merrivel might never forgive you for.”

“I’ve assessed the risks,” said Nikki.

Well, for your sake, I hope so,” said Miss Drake. “Please let us know if there’s anything you need from the corporate level to support you during this effort.”

“Thank you, Director,” said Nikki. “I believe we have it all under control.”

“Famous last words,” said Miss Drake, smiling faintly.

The screen went black, and Jenny and Ellen popped back into the room.

“You can’t ask for anything,” said Jenny without preamble. “I heard the Ohio director asked her for assistance once, and two weeks later she was the director of the Carrie Mae branch in Deadhorse, Alaska.”

“We don’t have a branch in Deadhorse,” said Jane.

“Exactly,” said Jenny.

“Are you making up names again?” Ellen looked around the room for Mrs. Merrivel’s globe.

“I don’t need to ask for assistance,” said Nikki. “We don’t need anything. We can handle this.”

“Miss Lanier,” said the secretary over the intercom. “There’s a Brett Merrivel on line one.”