The Doctor Rocks the Boat (20 page)

She did as she was told. “But we have to get out,” she muttered, her mouth against the crack. “What about the lock?”

“I think it's locked from the outside.”

“What?”

“Did you see a window when we came in?”

“Yes. Above the bed. But it's too small for us to climb through.”

“We could break the glass and at least get some air,” Fenimore gasped. “And maybe if we yell, Burton will hear us.” He crawled back to the bed, piled the pillows up, and stood on top of them. Now he could reach the window, but when he tried to raise it, it wouldn't budge. Back on the floor, he felt for his shoes. Finding one, he again climbed up, coughing the whole time. He hit the window with the heel. Unlike in the movies, the glass did not break at the first blow. He tried again. Nothing.

“That would work better with a foot in it,” Jennifer croaked.

“What?”

“Wait a minute.” On hands and knees, Jennifer crossed the floor to the other side of the bed, fumbled for one of her clogs, shoved it on, and climbed onto the bed next to Fenimore.

“What're you doing?”

“Can you lift me?” she asked.

“Sure, but . . .”He grabbed her around the waist and raised her a little.

“Higher.” When her feet were level with the lowest window-pane, she cried, “Watch out!” and kicked with all her strength.

There was a sharp crack, followed by the sound of falling glass.

“Nice save!” Fenimore cried, almost dropping the star goalie in his excitement. They pushed their faces up to the small opening and inhaled the feeble trickle of cold air that filtered through. “Let's yell,” Fenimore said. “Maybe Burton will hear us.”

Fenimore's yell was husky; the smoke had made him hoarse. Jennifer tried to yell too, but her voice was almost gone. The chances of Burton hearing them while he slept were next to zero.
If only I could locate the source of the smoke,
Fenimore thought. There didn't seem to be any flames. And he felt no heat. The smoke was thicker near the fireplace. Maybe the fire was contained in the chimney. But even if he found the fire, he had no way to put it out. There was no running water, Burton had stated proudly. “To hell with rustic living!” Fenimore said in Jennifer's ear, trying to keep her spirits up.

She didn't answer.

“Jen?”

No response.

With a shock, he realized the only reason she was still standing was because he was holding her.

Bang! bang! bang!
“Fenimore! Are you in there? Open up!”

Slowly Fenimore recognized the voice. Not Burton. Charlie Ashburn.

He shook Jennifer, but she remained inert. Fortunately she weighed little. He carried her down from the bed and over to the door. He croaked to Charlie, “It's locked from the outside.”

“Christ!”

A few seconds later he heard a key scrape in the lock and the door flew open.

Fenimore staggered out with Jennifer in his arms.

“Let me have her,” Charlie said.

Fenimore insisted on carrying her himself.

“Come on.” Charlie guided them through the woods with his flashlight.

“Where's Burton?” Fenimore asked after taking gulps of the cold fresh air.

“I don't know. He wasn't home and I smelled smoke. I followed the smell to the lodge. I have a key because Burton and I come here to hunt every fall.”

When they reached the house, Burton was just pulling up in his Land Rover. He jumped out. “What's going on?”

Charlie told him.

“My God!” He looked stricken. “I must have locked the door on the outside out of habit. My God,” he repeated, staring at Jennifer.

At that moment she opened her eyes and began to cough.

“The cold air must have brought her around.” Burton's relief was palpable.

“Let me down,” she said grumpily.

“Are you sure?” Fenimore asked.

She nodded.

He let her down, but kept his arm around her.

“Better call the fire department,” Charlie told Burton, “if you want to save the lodge.”

They all went inside while Burton made the call. Fenimore grabbed a throw from the sofa and wrapped it around Jennifer, who was shivering. It wasn't until they were seated and sipping straight whiskey from paper cups that anyone thought to ask Charlie why he was there.

“It's Caroline. She's asking for you, Fenimore.” He revealed that he had called Mrs. Doyle, waking her in the middle of the night, to locate him. When he didn't get an answer he decided to drive up.

For the first time, Fenimore looked carefully at Charlie, and was struck by how much he had aged since he had last seen him.

“She tried to take her own life tonight,” he said.

Fenimore studied his old classmate and his former animosity dissolved. “How?”

“Pills. She keeps saying she has to talk to you. That's why I'm here.”

“Well, what's holding us up?” Fenimore stood.

Burton came back from his call.

“We have to go,” Charlie said. “I'm sure your volunteers will soon have everything under control. I'll help you rebuild the lodge, if it comes to that.”

“Sure, but don't you want to stay? I have plenty of room.”

“No,” Fenimore said quickly, “but thanks for your hospitality.” He wasn't being sarcastic. He was muttering banalities because he was too exhausted to do anything else.

Looking bewildered, Burton walked them to their cars. Jennifer, still clasping the throw around her, started to peel it off.

“Keep it. Please.” Burton thrust it back at her and helped her into the car.

Charlie backed up his Chrysler, turned it around, and took the lead. Fenimore followed in his Chevy. The two cars sped toward Philadelphia.

W
hile Fenimore drove, Jennifer slept. He wasn't sleepy anymore. As soon as he began to drive he woke up. His mind was sharp, and he was beginning to see things clearly for the first time. Why had he agreed to visit Burton? He had sensed there was something phony about his invitation from the beginning. Partly to get Jennifer out of town, but also to find out more about Burton. And he
had
learned more about the doctor. He had a luxurious spread, more than most country doctors could afford, and he indulged his fine tastes in food, wine, and travel. Not to mention his expensive wood carving hobby. Then there was that private zoo he maintained.

There's no crime in any of that, Fenimore.

Unless you acquire the means for this affluent life illegally,
he answered himself,
by doing unnecessary medical procedures, for example.

He would like Jennifer's opinion. He glanced over at her. Head tilted back, the moonlight flickering across her face, a faint smile on her lips, she looked so vulnerable. He couldn't bring himself to disturb her. She had been through a lot and needed to rest.

What if Charlie hadn't come? He gripped the steering wheel. That didn't bear thinking about. Why had the door been locked
from the outside? Was that really an accident? None of this would have happened if Rafferty hadn't planted that seed of doubt in his mind. Suggesting that Jennifer might be getting tired of him!

With a sigh, Jennifer turned her face away from him, toward the window.

The entrance to the Northeast Extension loomed ahead. Following Charlie, he eased into the E-ZPass lane. Once on the turnpike, his thoughts returned to Burton. He went over his contacts with him, from their first meeting—when he had gone to see him for a checkup. The doctor had seemed competent and professional. He had taken his time, but he hadn't dawdled, supplying the right amount of innocuous small talk. Fenimore had been the one in the wrong. He had come under false pretenses—and he had rifled the doctor's files. But the knowledge he had uncovered had soured his opinion of Burton. What kind of hanky-panky was he involved in? Why had he diagnosed Chuck as an SCD candidate when there were no clinical signs he had such a condition? Had he based his diagnosis on a mere genetic possibility? Because Chuck's father was SCD prone? To recommend an ICD implant on such flimsy evidence was highly unorthodox. Then, to hide the truth from Chuck's mother . . .

At the Valley Forge interchange, Fenimore passed a lumbering oil truck to keep on Charlie's tail. When he caught up with the Chrysler, his thoughts flipped back to Burton. When had he last seen him?

At that cardiology meeting at HUP—the day Chuck collapsed. He had spotted Burton at the back of the room. Knowing he was Chuck's doctor and an old friend of the Ashburns, he had gone over—against his better judgment—and told him about the boy. He had seemed genuinely upset, and he had planned to go to the CCU after the lecture to look at Chuck's lab tests. But the lecture had been long, and when it was over Burton had decided he had to get home. Fenimore had thought it a little odd at the time. . . . And when Fenimore had returned to the CCU, he had found Chuck had died.

A screech of brakes behind him. In his rearview mirror, Fenimore saw an angry trucker shaking his fist and cursing. Jennifer woke up briefly and immediately fell back to sleep.

Fenimore had slowed down, to the consternation of the trucker, because he had a new thought. A disturbing one. Could Burton have left the lecture—and come back later?

Why not? The lights were out. He was sitting in the back. He could have slipped out and gone to the CCU. The lecture had gone on for over an hour, plenty of time for Burton to find a white coat, a syringe, and some potassium. Doctors were always moving in and out of the CCU. No one paid any attention. For someone who knew what he was doing, it would take only a few seconds to inject something into an IV line. Then all he had to do was drop the syringe into a trash can, stash the coat in a closet or rest room, and hightail it back to the lecture. It would be tight, but it could be done. A vivid picture of Burton came back to Fenimore: standing up, giving a big yawn, relaying his opinion of the lecture.

Could he have yawned
after
killing Chuck?

It had never occurred to Fenimore to suspect Burton, because he had the perfect alibi. He was at the lecture with
him
! His mind moved with lightning speed now, jumping from one conclusion to another. What about the masked man—his own attacker? Could that have been Burton too? But why would Burton want to kill him? Could he have found out I'd been into his files? His nurse seemed suspicious. But how would he have known I planned to go rowing that day?

Because you told him, jackass!

With horror, Fenimore remembered casually mentioning that a row on the river might clear his head.
The goldfish was rapidly turning into a shark!

Once again a horn blasted behind him. He speeded up, focusing on the car in front. A black Honda had replaced Charlie's black Chrysler. He'd lost him. So what? They were going to the same place. He'd catch up with him at the hospital.

Reminded of his destination, Fenimore's thoughts switched from Burton to Caroline. Why had she attempted suicide? Because of Chuck's death alone? Or was there something more?

“Where are we?” Jennifer asked groggily.

“The Schuylkill Expressway.” He looked at her tenderly. “Are you okay?”

“As well as can be expected, after being almost murdered.”

“Murdered?” He had come to the same conclusion, but had wanted to protect Jennifer from the knowledge.

Jennifer stared at him. “Don't tell me you thought that was an accident?”

“Well . . .”

“Give me a break.”

“How did you come to that conclusion?”

“Instinct. I didn't like him from the start. Such ego! All that stuff about exhibiting in London and Paris. And the choice of wood making the difference between mediocrity and a masterpiece. Oh
please.
”

“Lots of people have big egos, but they aren't murderers.”

“True, but most murderers have big egos. Whatever gets in their way, they get rid of. Zap!”

“Why did he want to get rid of us?”

“You. I just happened to be along. You must be a big threat to him. Do you know something about him that could hurt him if it came out?”

Fenimore frowned.

“Something that might damage his career?”

“Burton must have known I would find out that Chuck didn't need an ICD implant and that he, as the boy's family physician, had recommended it. There was no evidence of any SCD tendency in the boy's echocardiograms or his autopsy. If this came out, he could lose his license,” Fenimore said, “and he could never practice again.”

“Bingo!”

“So he locked the door on purpose, set the fire, and—”

“And . . . if we weren't burned to a crisp, there was always the chopping block.”

“Chopping block?”

“Never mind.” Jennifer shuddered.

D
awn was breaking over the skyline as the two cars entered the city. It was a rosy-fingered dawn, full of promise—completely out of sync with the moods of the people from Pine Lake. They were grateful for one thing, though. They had beat the rush-hour traffic. The streets of Philadelphia were deserted. They made their way quickly to the hospital and found street parking easily.

The daily bustle had not yet begun. The vast lobby was silent and empty, except for a stoic security guard standing near the entrance and a sleepy receptionist, sitting behind the information desk.

Jennifer said, “I'll wait in the lobby.”

The two men headed for the elevators.

When they reached Caroline's room, Charlie went in first while Fenimore remained in the corridor. Charlie came out quickly. “She's awake,” he said.

The only light in the room came through the window—from the sun's early rays. Caroline was propped up in bed, staring into space.

He moved to the end of the bed.

“Thank God,” Caroline whispered.