The Incumbent (25 page)

“No ma’am. Visitors are not allowed in the ER.”

I hadn’t planned on this. “Look, I’m very concerned about her. I would like to be by her side.”

The woman shook her head. “I’m sorry, it’s hospital rules. We’re unusually busy today. The ER has been closed to everyone except patients and immediate family.”

Frustration bubbled in me. It was time to pull out my title. “As I said, I am Maddy Glenn—Mayor Maddy Glenn.”

“Really?” She smiled. “You’re mayor of Santa Rita?”

I blinked in disbelief. By now I should be used to the fact that less than half of the voting population can name the members of their city council. “Yes, I’m mayor of Santa Rita. May I come back?”

“No exceptions, Mayor. Rules are rules. You understand.”

“No, I don’t. I just want to be near my friend. I’m not going to cause any problems or get in the way.”

“If the hospital makes an exception for you, then it will have to make exceptions for everyone.”

I considered just marching through the door, doubting they would throw me out on my ear. But then again . . .

“You can have a seat in the waiting room. I’ll let you know when you can see her.”

I frowned but held my tongue. I’m sure the hospital had rules for a reason, and it was selfish of me to expect special treatment. Still, I felt I had a right to a measure of selfishness. I turned my back to the nurse and glanced around the waiting room. Impatient patients filled half the vinyl seats. I wondered how many viruses and bacteria made their home on the surface of those chairs.

I found a seat in the corner, where I could see the resolute nurse. Three chairs down was a toddler with mucus drying on his upper lip. A man in his forties held a bloody handkerchief to the palm of his left hand. He caught me looking at him and smiled. “Band saw. It’s just a nick. The price I pay for new kitchen cabinets.” I nodded and smiled back. I didn’t want to hear more. A grandmother- type sat in the opposite corner holding a crying child. The kid’s face was red, and she appeared to have been crying for some time. The lady gazed into space, oblivious to the caterwauling.

I pulled my cell phone from my purse and called the office. Fritzy answered cheerfully and I brought her up to date. She asked what she could do and I told her to take messages.

“Councilwoman Tess and Councilman Adler mentioned that they wanted to talk to you,” she said. “They asked me to tell them if you called.”

“I’m too drained for that now.” I was glad I hadn’t shared my cell phone number with them. Only family and certain friends have it. I prefer to keep office calls in the office.

“What shall I tell them?”

“The truth, Fritzy. They can do with it whatever they want.” I said goodbye and pressed the end button. Returning the phone to my purse, I settled in for an exasperating wait. Weariness settled over me like fog over the ocean. I was spent. What I wanted most was an hour in the tub, surrounded by hot water and scented candles. I closed my eyes and took several cleansing breaths. When I opened them, I saw a man in a white coat stroll through the entry doors of the ER. It took a second for my clouded mind to recognize him. He walked with his head down, as if looking for a lost quarter.

“Jerry!”

He stopped and turned toward me, then smiled. I stood as he approached.

“What are you doing here?” I asked.

He laughed. “I’m a doctor, remember? One of my patients had surgery this morning. I’m here checking up on the tyke.”

I felt foolish. “Of course. I’m not thinking clearly.” I rubbed my eyes.

“The important question is, what are you doing here? Are you ill?” He motioned for me to sit and joined me, taking my hand.

“No, I’m fine. It’s Randi; she was hurt.”

“How? What happened?”

I told the story in a voice just above a whisper and hated every moment of it. To tell it was to live it again.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes, I’m fine. Tired, worn out, but okay. I’m also a little confused. I’ve never seen Randi that confrontational before. She seemed like a different person.”

Jerry let his gaze slip back to the floor. I wondered what he saw. “Did something happen between the two of you?”

“What do you mean?”

“Did you have a fight, exchange words or something?”

“No—well, I was pretty rough on her about contacting Allen Dayton without my permission, but we didn’t argue.”

“But she took it personally?”

“She’s a very conscientious worker.”

Jerry nodded. “Randi may have been compensating. She disappointed you with the Dayton thing, and she may have been unconsciously trying to make it up to you by defending you.”

The fog lifted a little. “Of course, that must be it.” Randi had never done anything to cause me to question her loyalty. The whole affair with Dayton could be written off as youthful enthusiasm. I shook my head, beginning to feel guilty.

“I’m just guessing here but I’ve seen it before. In a sense, her exaggerated behavior is a compliment.”

“They won’t let me back to see her.”

“That’s not unusual. The ER is hard enough to navigate without nonessentials clogging the aisles. This hospital is pretty strict.”

“Could you check on her?”

“I can do better than that. Come on.” He stood. I sat, puzzled. “You coming or not?”

“But—”

“As long as you’re with me, things will be fine.” He extended his hand and I took it, rising from the chair. His hand was smooth but strong. It felt good and supportive. He led me to the door next to the admissions window, opened it, and went in as if he were walking into his own home. The matronly nurse spun in her chair, then stood. She saw Jerry and it was enough for her to hold her tongue. “We’ll just be a moment,” Jerry said with authority.

“Bay four,” the nurse said. “Doctor Knowles is there now.” She nodded toward the back of the large room.

The ER is a large rectangle. The bays the nurse referred to have light-blue curtains that hang from thin chains attached to ceiling rails. Several of the bays were closed off by the drapes. Bay four was open. A stout man with red hair stood next to a bed. His white coat seemed too small for his wide shoulders. Randi lay on the bed, her left leg elevated. She waved as she saw us approaching. The doctor turned to face us.

“Hey, Jerry. You’re a long way from peds.”

“Ted,” Jerry said with a nod. “I’m just checking on a couple things. Have you met our esteemed mayor?”

“Never had the pleasure. Ted Knowles.” He offered his hand and I shook it.

“Maddy Glenn.”

“Isn’t the patient supposed to be the center of attention?” Randi asked with a weak smile. “If not, I’m leaving.”

“No, you’re not,” Dr. Knowles said. “I’m keeping you overnight for observation.”

“How is she, doctor?” I asked.

“Hey, now,” Randi said. “Let’s not start talking like I’m not here.”

“Sorry. How are you feeling?”

Randi turned to Knowles. “How am I feeling, Doc?”

He laughed a little. “I was just getting ready to explain that. The good news is, you’re going to be fine; the bad news is that you won’t be roller-skating anytime soon. You have a radial fracture of the distal tibia and a pretty banged-up knee.”

“Banged-up knee?” Randi said. “Is that doctor talk?”

“Impressive, eh? You have some bruising around the patella and some swelling. That will pass in a few days. The X-rays show no permanent damage. The ankle will take longer. You also have a slight concussion. That’s why I’m keeping you overnight. I’m sending you over to casting. They’ll fit you with a really stylish new boot.”

“Oh, swell,” Randi groaned. “Do you know what that will do to my tan?”

“You shouldn’t be tanning anyway,” Knowles said. “It wrinkles the skin, and then there’s that whole skin cancer thing.”

“Now I feel better. At least I won’t have to mess with pantyhose. How long will I need a cast?”

“Six weeks or so. A short time in a young life.”

“I don’t feel young. I do feel foolish, however.”

I stepped forward and took her hand. “I’ll be here when they take you to your room. Is there anything I can get for you?”

“You don’t need to do that. You need to get back to the office.”

“I’ve already called Fritzy. She’s taking care of the calls and schedule until I get back. There’s nothing to worry about.”

“I’ve already been replaced.” She squeezed my hand, then spoke in choked words. “I’m sorry. Really I am.”

“I know.” I fought back a fresh batch of tears.

chapter 17

I
hadn’t gone straight home from the office. I needed some time to myself. The dream of Peter, the image of Lizzy’s body on the autopsy table as Detective West and the medical examiner discussed her demise in cold, emotionless terms, the encounter with Turner, Randi’s work behind my back, and her injury in the coffee shop confrontation—all of it ate at me. I was an emotional mess and I didn’t want others to know it. If I had made the short drive from office to home without some decompression time, my mother would have sensed my pain before I cleared the front door. Age had stolen nothing from her motherly intuition.

When I drove from the lot, I’d had no particular destination in mind. I was looking for the illusive nowhere, a place where I was not mayor, not employer, not daughter, not friend, and not target. I wanted precious moments of anonymity. Somehow I ended up on the pier.

Maybe I’d driven there because it was a public place but not usually crowded. Maybe I wanted to watch the sunset over the distant horizon. Maybe it was because they had found Lizzy’s body below the very deck upon which I stood. That was it. I had come to say I was sorry, to apologize to a woman who died because of her connection to me.

I’d parked in the lot and strolled along the creosote-soaked boards that make up the decking. They are black-brown and worn from years of foot traffic. Heavy spikes hold the planks in place. I walked as if carrying cement on my shoulders, my head down, my eyes fixed to the surface. Each step took me farther over the water. I could see between the planks; small gaps allow water to drain off during rainstorms. Below, blue water was turning green and becoming capped with white foam as waves churned their way through the support posts.

I wondered which post they had found Lizzy tied to. The thought chilled my soul and filled me with the heat of nausea. I continued toward the pier’s terminus. My feet felt weighted, as if heavy mud were accumulating on my shoes. A chilly wind skipped off the ocean, and the waves rose and rolled in beat with the breeze. I felt goose bumps pop up on my flesh. I kept my head down to shield my face from the wind and to avoid making eye contact. I passed the Fish Kettle but paid it little mind. My appetite was dead.

I reached the end of the pier and leaned against the wide wood rail. The weather has worked the wood over, like a boxer pounding a body bag until it is misshapen and taped to hold its guts in. The grain of the dark wood has risen in response to years of direct sunlight, ocean spray, and wind, leaving the surface rough to the touch. Several carved initials and a few obscenities mar the rail. I’ve never understood the latter. I can appreciate why someone would feel compelled to etch the initials of their great love into the soft wood, but scratching offensive words seems a waste of time, merely concrete and public proof that one has nothing better to say.

The edge of the rail also has a string of V-shaped grooves notched into its edge. Those I understand. Local fishermen notch the wood so their poles won’t slide to one side when they lean them against the railing. It is still defacement, but at least it serves a logical purpose. I felt an awful lot like that rail—battered and carved up.

Overhead, white gulls circled and studied me with practiced eyes. Seeing I carried no bait that might serve as an easy meal, they moved on. The air was thick with salt, and the sky shifted hues from blue to slate gray. The sun dipped to the edge of the horizon, yielding the sky to the press of night.

“I never get used to it.”

The voice startled me. I turned and saw Paul Shedd two steps away, wearing a waiter’s apron. He smiled. “The sunset, I mean. I never get used to it and I pray that I won’t. I don’t like taking things for granted, especially creation.”

“Hi, Paul,” I said, trying to sound normal. I failed. He glanced at my face, then stepped forward and leaned his arms on the rail, his face toward the undulating ocean.

“I come here when the work gets to me,” he said as if we had been talking for the last half hour. “I love the Fish Kettle. Buying it and leaving the banking world is one of the best things I’ve ever done. Still, it gets to me from time to time and I need some fresh air. This is the best place for it.”

I turned my gaze to the water. “Working over the ocean has its advantages.”

He nodded but said nothing.

I started to tell him I was in no mood for company or conversation, but I didn’t. I’m not sure why. I came here to be alone and now I had company. I couldn’t bring myself to protest.

“I’m sorry you’re going through so much,” he finally uttered.

How could he know what I was going through? It took a moment for me to realize that the local paper had carried a short article about the abductions. It took another moment for me to make another connection: Paul Shedd owned the Fish Kettle, a restaurant smack in the middle of the pier. There was a good chance he had seen the police recover Lizzy’s body.

I nodded. “It’s been a strange journey . . .” I needed to correct myself. “It
is
a strange journey.”

“I can’t even imagine.” The conversation paused, and then he surprised me. “I owe you an apology.” His voice was tight, as if he had to push the words out. He rubbed his hands together as though trying to remove a stubborn spot.

“An apology? I can’t think why.”

“I may have wronged you, but there was no way for you to know that.” He let his eyes drift down to the darkening water. The breeze picked up. It felt colder. “How long has it been since Peter left us?”

Left us? That was an odd phrase. It sounded like Peter’s death had been a choice. “I can never decide if it was an eternity ago or the week past. It seems like a long time, but it hurts like yesterday.” That was more than I wanted to reveal. I chastised myself. “Eight years ago.”