Deadly Dosage (9 page)

     “Hi, Mabel, what can I do for you?”

     “Edna and I are going to play bingo. We’d like
$25 in small bills. Edna said she’ll pay.”

     It seemed Mabel’s dementia centered mainly on her
imaginary friend Edna. Of course her fashion sense wasn’t improving, but she
still knew how to put her clothes on the right way.

     I keyed in some information on the computer and
viewed Mabel’s patient trust fund account. She still had over two hundred
dollars available after the deposit of her Social Security check. “Mabel, looks
like Edna’s out of money this month. Did you want me to take the money from
your account?”

     She looked to her right. “Edna, did you spend all
your money on that hat?” She paused and asked me if I liked Edna’s hat.

     “Yes, very pretty. I like the yellow flowers and
ribbon.”

Mabel looked perplexed. I
guess my embellishment mystified her. “I didn’t know it had flowers on it?” she
said, chewing on her green painted fingernails.

I ignored her to save time.
“So Mabel, did you want the twenty-five dollars from your account?”

     “Well, I better only take fifteen. If we need
more, I’ll be back.”

     “Okay. Just a minute.” I quickly walked back to
my office, pulled open my bottom drawer, and withdrew the cash box. I unlocked
it with a key I kept in my center drawer, and pulled out two fives and five
singles. I relocked it, replaced the box and key, slapped both drawers closed,
and took the receipt book back to the receptionist desk.

     I wrote out a receipt and had Mabel sign it. Then
I handed over the $15 dollars in cash. “Hope you win?” I said cheerfully.

     She nodded, folded the money in her hand, and
retreated down the hall in her beaded moccasins. Hopefully she didn’t lose the
money on her way back to her room. But I guess Edna would just have to pay her
back.

Chapter
13

At 3:00, I started watching the clock. I needed a
break so I thought I’d take a cruise down the Medicare wing and check on Mr.
Schroeder. Lloyd’s father was out of the room, probably having a shower.

     I went to his bedside. “Hi, Mr. Schroeder,” I
said, “are you feeling better today?”

     “Much. I had a big glass of milk and Carol
brought me some butter cookies,” he said. He offered me a cookie but I
declined. Carol Hansen treated the residents with respect and kindness; she
enjoyed her job as an RN and occasionally did duties others would leave for the
nurse aides.

     “That’s good to hear. When did you start feeling
ill?” It was an inappropriate question coming from a bookkeeper. However, I was
worried about him and most elderly people talked about their aches and pains
without encouragement.

     “I always seem to get a painful burning sensation
in my stomach soon after I drink my juice. My daughter, Amy, told me it was
probably an ulcer and that the juice had nothing to do with it. She told me
Carol insists I drink it for my diabetes. She thinks I’ll die if I don’t, so I
humor her.” 

     Carol wasn’t the type of nurse to have a family
member administer medication, even in the form of juice. If she hadn’t left at
3:00, I’d question her but it would have to wait until morning.

     “I’ll check with Carol, okay?” I told him. I did
not recall diabetes being one of his diagnostic codes. He seemed relieved and
ate another cookie. He offered me a cookie again and this time I accepted just
as his daughter entered the room.

     She stormed into the room and took the cookie out
of my hand. “What do you think you’re doing?”

     “I gave it to her,” Mr. Schroeder said angrily.

     “She can buy her own food,” she protested. With
that, she popped the cookie into her mouth.

     “Amy!” Mr. Schroeder said with humiliation.

     She rudely pushed me away from his bed and tossed
her huge, patchwork styled handbag on his bed. From its contents, she withdrew
a bottle of what looked to be orange juice.

     “Here’s your medicine Dad,” she said shoving the
bottle toward him.

     “Amy, I just had milk. I’m not thirsty,” he said.
I felt my presence brought him strength. He was not kowtowing to her.

     “Drink it!” she practically screamed at him.

     “Excuse me,” I said. “Did a dietary aide give you
that juice?”

     She squinted her eyes and frowned, elongating her
bulldog jowls. “Why don’t you go bill someone?”

     I wanted to slap her face. “Mr. Schroeder is on a
strict diet. You shouldn’t give him fluids unless his nurse okays it.”

     “Sunny, is that your name honey?” She put her
hands on her hips. “Leave, before I get the administrator. I could probably sue
you for tampering with a resident’s health.”

     Mr. Schroeder looked helpless but there was
nothing I could do. “I’m leaving because my work day is over, not because of
your threat. Mr. Schroeder, you don’t need to drink that.” I looked back at her
and dared her to make another sound. She turned toward her father and ignored
me.

     My watch showed five minutes before quitting
time. My stomach was in a knot and I was itching for a fight. Something was
wrong with that family. I went back to my office and called up Rodney
Schroeder’s admission face sheet. I scrolled down the page to diagnostic codes,
no diabetes. Why the juice? Tomorrow I planned to have a serious talk with to
Carol Nelson.

     I shut down my computer, turned off the lights
and left with my handbag and coat. I clocked out five minutes late and couldn’t
wait to get home.

Chapter
14

Ten minutes after I left work, the sun went down. Snow
softly fell from overcast skies. Occasionally I wished I lived alone, and this
was one of those nights. I just wanted to veg on the couch and listen to The
Moody Blues. Mr. Schroeder’s pitiful face blinded my reasoning power. I had
innocently stepped into a hornet’s nest, and there was no way out without being
stung.

     I made the turn into my apartment complex. My
headlights shone on the fresh fallen snow in the parking lot and it sparkled
like tiny diamonds. The temperature had climbed throughout the day and supposedly,
it was near thirty degrees. I parked without thinking and headed straight for
my apartment. I considered spending the whole night in my bedroom.

     Brandi rushed past me as I opened the door and I
nearly wiped out.

     “Sorry, Sun, got called in to work. Be back at
midnight. Bye!”

I thanked God for my good
fortune. I hung up my coat and placed my cell phone on the kitchen counter. I
stood still for a moment just enjoying the peace and quiet. Unlike Brandi, I
didn’t need the noise from the television. I heard noise all day long at
Ageless Grace. The bustle of the staff, slamming of doors, food trays, phones
ringing, doors dinging, overhead pages, and the never ending talking or
squealing of visiting children was enough to drive me insane.

     In the bathroom, I washed my face and scrubbed my
hands. I changed into jeans and a light sweater and went back into the living
room where I popped in my Moody Blues CD. My dad bought it for me, since I was
always borrowing his. I enjoyed the music from his era over mine. “Nights in
White Satin” drifted from the speakers, and I swayed gently as though I was
slow dancing. I danced my way into the kitchen and pulled the red wine from the
fridge. I chose a real wine glass, meant for special occasions, and poured
three-quarters of a glass. I drained half of it and refilled it to the rim. Not
bad for six bucks.

The freezer held a variety of
TV dinners and I selected a chicken pasta dish and placed it in the microwave.
A hot meal in just three and a half minutes. Brandi left the sink full of dirty
dishes, but I only needed a fork and thankfully, there was one clean one in the
drawer. Ding! Dinnertime. I pulled open the door, took my nuked meal out, and
carried it to the dining room table. With a fork and wine glass in hand, I
returned to the table and sat down, pulling one leg up and under the other, in
a half-Indian style sitting position. The meal, though skimpy, turned out to be
remarkably satisfying. The wine took the edge off and I went to lie down on the
couch. I kicked off my shoes, got comfortable, closed my eyes, and nodded off.

     At six-thirty, my cell phone rang and I jumped
up, slamming my left knee into the cocktail table. After reciting every swear
word in the book with emphasis, I moved slowly forward, massaging my kneecap,
limping my way to the kitchen so I could grab my phone off the counter.

     “Yeah,” I said rather unpleasantly. I limped over
to my dining room chair and sat down. There was no response. I heard breathing.
“Hello?” I said impatiently.

     “Thought I got a wrong number,” Lloyd said
cautiously. “Did I disturb you?”

     “No, I just smashed my knee into a table.”

     “Ouch. Are you okay?” he asked with concern.

     “No, but I’ll survive.” It still hurt like a
hell.

     “Good, then it’s still on for Friday.”

I thought about his big date
for tonight. “Sure, unless you’ve changed your mind?”

     “If I changed my mind, why would I be calling
you?”

He had a good point for which
I had no clever response. “So, what are you up to? Big plans tonight?”

     “Actually yes, so I don’t have much time. I just
called for your address and arrange a time to pick you up.”

Of all the nerve! It would
serve him right if I told him to get bent. It’s not like I couldn’t find
something else worthwhile to do on Friday. Well…maybe. Who was I kidding? I’d
be stuck in this apartment by myself or worse with Brandi.

     “Hello? Sunny?”

     “Sorry, phone cut out,” I fibbed. “Where’s the
game playing?”

     “The Bradley Center downtown,” he said, “and you
live where?”

     “Deer Creek Apartments, off of Howell Avenue, ten
minutes south of the airport. About twenty minutes from downtown with no
traffic. I’m in the first light blue building on your left, apartment 303,
faces south.”

     “Okay, I can find it. I’ll pick you up at 6:45.”

     “I’ll be ready.”

     “Listen, Dale and the girls are waiting for me. I
gotta run.” He hung up.

I stared at the phone and put
it down. Not even a goodbye. So Lloyd did have a date. I wondered if she was
the same girl I saw, or a different one. Jeez, how many girlfriends did the guy
have? Great, I got to spend St. Valentine’s Day by myself. For a desperate moment,
I considered calling Sam, but decided on another glass of wine. Wine and
cheese. No, chocolate. I rummaged through the kitchen cabinets and found a
Hershey bar. With a full glass of wine and my chocolate bar, I could face
anything.

Chapter
15

Wednesday,
February 15th

The sound of the shower pounding woke me before my
alarm and at first; I thought I was still dreaming. My eyes were glued shut
with sleep. After some effort, I managed to open one eye enough to read my
alarm clock, which read 4:00. Four o’clock! Leaping lot lizards, fine time for
Brandi to take a shower. I groggily sat up and felt around with my feet for my
slippers. I stood and shuffled my way to the door in the dark, with
outstretched arms, determined not to trip and fall.

     A slip of bright light glowed from underneath the
bathroom door. I pushed the door open and stepped inside the steamy room.
“Brandi,” I complained, not trying to hide my annoyance. “It’s four a.m.!”

     Before I knew what was happening, the shower
curtain was drawn back, exposing a naked, hairy man with a tattoo of a snake on
his forearm. My mouth dropped opened and I staggered backwards. I put a hand up
to my mouth and could do little but stare.

     “Take a picture,” he said with amusement. He
grabbed my favorite, fluffy, turquoise towel and roughly blotted off the water
first from his black hair, down his chest, moving ever lower as I watched
petrified against the wall.

     Nice morning treat, not. I’d have to burn that
towel. “Who are you?”

     “Felipe Hernandez, Brandi’s friend with
benefits,” he said. He came closer, twisted the towel, tossed it around my neck,
and pulled me close to him. He planted a wet, sloppy kiss on my lips and I
slapped him and wiped my mouth on my sleeve. He laughed and wrapped the towel
around his waist. I stormed out of the room and went straight to Brandi’s bed,
and yanked the covers off her.

     “Get UP!” I practically screamed.