Victoria Houston - Loon Lake 14 - Dead Lil' Hustler (2 page)

“I see that.” Tucking the blanket tight around Cody’s shoulders, Osborne sat back on his heels to study the child. Something wasn’t right. It had to be over 80 degrees in the room—why was he so cold? A memory nagged at the back of his mind followed by a surge of adrenaline shot with fear.

“Anything hurt?” Osborne got to his feet.

“My head. My head hurts real bad.” Cody closed his eyes as he kept shivering.

“Headache, huh. Feel dizzy?”

“Kinda.”

“Okay, kiddo,” said Osborne as he reached to scoop Cody up by the shoulders. “I want you to sit up here. We’re going to check something.”

He pulled Cody into a sitting position so that he was on the edge of the sofa facing forward with his bare feet on the floor. Placing one hand gently against the child’s back, Osborne said, “Cody, I want you to touch your chin to your chest.”

The child made a slight movement. “Ooh… I can’t.” Cody looked at his grandfather with tears in his eyes. “It hurts.”

Osborne reached into his shirt pocket for his cell phone and dialed 911. “I need the number for St. Mary’s Emergency Room,” he said to the dispatcher who answered.

“Dr. Osborne?” asked a familiar voice.

“Dani? You’re working today?”

Dani Wright cobbled together two jobs as she studied for a degree in law enforcement at the local tech college. She worked part-time as the IT tech for the Loon Lake Police Department and, whenever they needed someone, as a 911 dispatcher for the county sheriff’s department.

“Yes. Are you okay, Doc?”

“I’m fine but I have a very sick grandchild and I need that phone number.”

“Here it is.” She repeated the number twice to be sure he had it.

On reaching the emergency room nurse taking calls, Osborne spoke fast. He gave his name and Cody’s and said that he was rushing over “with a very sick little boy. Please have someone meet us out front.” He didn’t wait for a response but clicked off.

Squeezing his grandson’s shoulder, he said, “I’ll be right back, Cody. Just need to put Mike in the backyard. Don’t worry, little guy. Everything will be okay.”

Osborne dashed down the front steps, opened the crate for Mike to jump out, and hustled the dog along the side of the house and through a side gate to the backyard. Two members of Erin’s family were waiting: Lucy, an aging golden retriever, and Barney, their new dachshund pup. The dogs looked up with interest at Mike’s unexpected arrival. After checking to be sure the dogs had plenty of water, Osborne ran up the back stairs leading to the kitchen.

He wrapped the coverlet tight around Cody and swept him up in both arms. With Cody’s head cradled against his chest, Osborne could sense how weak the child was. After carefully laying the boy down on the back seat of the Subaru, he sped through the streets of Loon Lake to the hospital’s emergency entrance.

Two blocks from the hospital his cell phone rang. “Doc, Dani just called me,” said Lewellyn Ferris, Loon Lake’s Chief of Police. “Who’s sick? One of the girls?”

“Cody. Could be spinal meningitis. Can’t talk now. I’m almost to the hospital. Wait, one thing, Lew. Mark’s in court—can you reach him and tell him to meet me here? And he needs to call Erin.” Osborne’s voice cracked.

“Done.”

• • •

During the three years that they had been seeing each other, Lewellyn Ferris and Paul Osborne had found themselves sharing memories of the most difficult times in their lives. For Lew, it was a hot August night when her only son was knifed in a bar fight. He died instantly. For Osborne, it was the winter afternoon when his mother turned deathly ill.

He was six years old, his mother just twenty-eight. He could remember the day, hour by hour, when she had fallen ill with a high fever and dizziness. Little kid that he was, he tried his best to help but there was little he could do except bring cold washcloths for her forehead. Insisting it was “only a flu,” she refused to call a doctor until his father got home. But his father was away at the Wisconsin State Dental Society’s annual meeting and not due back until the next day.

By the time Dr. Osborne, Sr. had returned and was able to rush her to the hospital, it was too late—the meningitis had escalated into encephalitis. Within forty-eight hours she was dead. Since that day, Osborne acknowledged that the meningococcal bacterial infection was not common and his worry was unreasonable—but he lived in such fear of spinal meningitis that he would apologize to his daughters’ pediatricians for bothering them every time one of his girls ran a high fever.

“Follow me, please, Dr. Osborne,” said the admitting clerk on the emergency desk, motioning for Osborne, Cody cradled in his arms, to follow her to a small waiting room with a gurney. No doctor in sight.

Osborne could feel his blood pressure rise as he asked, “Why are we in here? This child needs immediate medical attention. I called ahead for one of the trauma docs to meet us—”

“One of the team should be here shortly,” said the clerk, her voice flat. She turned and left.

Resigned for the moment, Osborne whispered, “Gently, gently, little guy,” as he bent to lay Cody on the gurney, tuck the coverlet around him, and smooth the child’s hair back from his hot forehead.

Sitting down on the one chair in the room, he waited. He checked his watch. Five minutes had passed since he walked through the automatic doors to the emergency room. He checked his watch again. Okay, he’d give it five more minutes. No. More.

At a rustling of the coverlet, Osborne scrambled to his feet. He looked down to see Cody’s teeth clenched and grinding from side to side. A second later the boy’s body went rigid.

Racing into the hall, Osborne shouted, “Help! He’s convulsing. Please, someone, help!”

Two nurses in blue scrubs came running out of nearby rooms.

“My grandson—he’s having a seizure,” said Osborne, pointing at the open door behind him. “Get a doctor.
Now
.”

The first nurse hurried into the room and leaned over Cody. “Looks okay to me.”

“A moment ago, he had a seizure,” said Osborne, struggling to control his fury. “I was a dentist for thirty years. I know a goddamn seizure when I see one. This is my grandson and I can tell you I
know
he had a seizure.”

Before the nurse could reply, a young physician rushed into the room. Osborne closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and tried to calm down. He told the doctor, “I know I’m overreacting but my mother died of spinal meningitis and these symptoms, Doctor…”

“I understand. I’m on the trauma unit, I know what to look for,” said the physician who appeared to be all of twelve years old. After checking Cody’s vital signs, he had the child sit up and try to touch his chin to his chest. Meantime, the first nurse had left and a second arrived to take her place.

Standing with his back to Osborne, the doctor spoke in a low tone to the nurse, “We need to move him to the ICU Isolation unit until we know if this is viral or bacterial. I’ll need tests run ASAP. Get someone else to cover other patients coming into ER.”

He turned to face Osborne. “Dr. Osborne, I’m Dr. Schrieber. I’ll be attending your grandson. Please, the waiting room is right around the corner. I’ll keep you fully informed but right now—”

“I’ll get out of the way,” said Osborne with a wave of his hand. “I have to reach his parents.”

Entering the waiting area, Osborne spotted Lew across the room talking with his son-in-law, Mark. He started toward them but before he had taken two steps, a tall, heavyset man blocked his way. “Hey, Doc, what’s up? You in for brain surgery? Always knew you had a screw loose.”

One look at Osborne’s face and Bud Jarvison backed off. “Sorry. Anything serious?”

“Later, Bud.”

“Okay, Doc. I’ll be here—got the old lady in recovering from surgery. Later, then, and sorry for the intrusion,” said Bud as he dropped his weight into a nearby chair.

A hulking, loquacious man with an alcohol nose, Bud had a habit of greeting Osborne as if he were his best buddy—until someone more important showed up. It had been that way since childhood. Osborne usually managed to find a polite way to exit whenever he ran into the guy. Today he had no time for good manners.

Relieved to get by Bud with no small talk, Osborne motioned for Lew and Mark to follow him into the hall and out of earshot of the people in the waiting room.

“I reached Erin on her way back from Wausau. She should be here any minute,” said Mark. “How bad is it?”

“Not sure yet. The doctor is running tests right now. I’m afraid it is meningitis but whether it’s bacterial or viral—we don’t know yet.”

“What difference does that make?” asked Lew.

“Bacterial can be treated with antibiotics, viral has to run its course. We have to hope that it’s viral—even with antibiotics bacterial can be deadly. That’s what my mother died of.”

“What’s going on, Dad?” Erin ran toward them with a look that should never visit the face of a mother. “Dad? Mark?” As she neared, she burst into tears. “What on earth? What did I do? Oh, my God…”

“Hey, hey, hold on,” said Osborne, folding his arms around his daughter. “You didn’t do anything. I’m sure Cody was not that sick when you left. But by the time I got there, his temperature had skyrocketed.”

Dr. Schrieber appeared in the hallway. “Are you the boy’s parents?” he asked Mark and Erin. “Come with me. You, too, Dr. Osborne.”

“I’ll wait here,” said Lew. Osborne nodded and followed the trio down the hall into a small office.

“Mr. and Mrs. Amundson, Dr. Osborne,” said the physician. “Here is all we know right now. Meningitis is an inflammation of the lining that surrounds the spinal cord and the brain. Symptoms can come on so fast and seem so ordinary—fever, headache, stiff neck, and a rash. You may have thought it was just a cold or flu,” he said to Erin. “I would have thought the same if one of my kids looked like that earlier today. Has anyone else in the home or your neighbors been sick recently?”

“Yes, some of the boys on Cody’s T-ball team have had the mumps,” said Erin.

“That could be it,” said the doctor. “Could be a virus hit your son’s immune system and it reacted this way. We’ll be running tests to see what we have. Meantime, we have to keep Cody in isolation because we may not know for several days…”

“Know what? How many days?” asked Mark.

“Not sure, five, six maybe.”

“But you won’t know
what
?” asked Erin.

The doctor paused, then said, “If he’ll make it. Your son is a very sick little boy. All we can do right now is keep him stable. There are a number of different strains of meningitis. Some we can treat, some not. The risks run from hearing loss to brain damage to limbs that may need to be amputated.”

“That bad,” said Erin, trying hard to keep her composure. “That bad, really?”

“I wish I could tell you more. We’re bringing in a specialist from Madison and he may be able to answer your questions better than I can. Oh, one question—I have two residents on the team who are studying infectious diseases. Do you mind if they run some additional tests? They will meet with you first and tell you what and why.”

“Anything. Everything,” said Erin, trying to talk through her tears.

Mark put an arm around his wife. “Can we see him?”

• • •

Osborne left the office and walked back to the waiting room. With a quick glance through the doorway he could see Bud Jarvison still parked in an easy chair near the magazine rack. Once again he motioned for Lew to join him in the hall. The last person he needed asking questions right now was Bud.

“Lew,” said Osborne. “They don’t know how sick Cody is. Could be…” A sudden pressure of tears made it difficult for Osborne to continue. Lew put a comforting arm around his waist and waited. “Well, it’s not good. Some strain of meningitis and we have to hope that it’s viral. If it’s bacterial…” Again Osborne choked up, pressing his fingers against his eyelids.

Watching his face, Lew could tell the news was everything he did not want to hear. She also knew how helpless he must feel. “Would you like me to stay, Doc? Until you know more.”

Osborne inhaled deeply, “No, this could take a while, Lew. You have a police department to run.”

“Things can be canceled…” She pursed her lips as she looked up at him.

“Really?” Osborne managed a small smile. “You can tell a bunch of jabones to put their bad behavior on hold?”

“Well, no, but I can ask Todd to take over for a while.”

“No, Lew, it’s okay. You can go.”

She squeezed his hand and stood on her tiptoes to give him a peck on the cheek. “Call if you need me, okay?”

“Thanks, I will.” As she walked off, Osborne watched her go, thinking as he often did these days how lucky he was that she had invited him into her life.

He turned around to find Bud standing at the entrance to the waiting room, hands on his hips and his big head thrust forward. “I didn’t know you knew Chief Ferris, Doc,” said Bud. The knowing grin on his face irritated Osborne. “How long has this been going on? What have I missed?”

“It’s business, Bud, all business,” said Osborne with a dismissive wave. “For the last couple years, I’ve been asked to fill in for Pecore when he’s, ah, you know, out of sorts as they say. You know what I mean—on occasion. The county and the police department like to have a health professional as coroner when they can and I have the time so—there it is.”

The grin hadn’t left Bud’s face so Osborne heard himself rattle on, “I had to call 911 this morning and Chief Ferris wanted to be sure that there hadn’t been an accident—that’s all.”

“You called 911?” asked Bud, raising his eyebrows.

“Yeah, my grandson’s got some virus or something. Not sure, yet. No big deal, Bud.”

Heading toward the exit, Osborne gave a weak grin and waved goodbye, hoping that would satisfy Bud, for the moment at least.

After the race to the emergency room with the siren on and lights flashing, Lew decided to take her time driving back to the station. She wanted time to think over the crisis facing Doc and his family.

How could the life of that rambunctious little boy be in such danger? And without warning? One minute he’s a child coming down with a cold and then…