Fran Rizer - Callie Parrish 05 - Mother Hubbard Has a Corpse in the Cupboard (14 page)

“How big is the storage area?” I laughed. “Or should I call it Mother Hubbard’s cupboard?”

His turn to laugh. “It’s adequate, but not large enough to count a bullet fired inside as ‘from a distance.’ Would you like to see the size? I can show you how the tents are partitioned.”

“Is this one just like the one where we found the body?”

“Exactly the same.”

“Then, sure, I’d like to have a look.”

Patel led me through the opening in the canvas between the dining area and the kitchen. The tent was a huge square with almost three-fourths of it taken up by dining area furnished with small tables and folding chairs. The back fourth was officially kitchen with over two-thirds of that space containing gas burners and refrigeration units.

On the far left side, which would have been comparable to directly behind where Jane sat in the other tent, a canvas wall divided the back area, creating a separate storage room stacked with cases of beer, crates of bread, and other supplies. If the killer had been inside that closed off section, no one would have seen him, but how and why would the victim or the shooter have gotten into the area without workers seeing him? Besides, the sheriff had said the bullet was fired from a distance longer than the inside of the storage zone, yet Patel told me that forensics people had checked the canvas walls and found no holes where the bullet had penetrated while traveling to the victim’s body.

“And you’re sure that the other tent is the same?” I asked.

“That’s what I said.” Patel’s voice wasn’t angry, but he didn’t sound pleased that I’d question him about something he’d already answered.

We went back to our table and talked about the teenaged boys we’d seen last night. I asked him to tell the sketch artist that if he needed me also, just let me or Sheriff Harmon know.

I said that, but I didn’t really want to be there when the artist arrived. He might tie me up with sketches that could take a significant amount of time. I didn’t mind doing it, just not right then. I’d learned what I wanted to know, and I was ready to get back to the hospital and check on the Profit family. When I explained to Patel, he told our server to bring us a bag of food for me to take to “her friend in the hospital.” I added that we only needed enough for one because Tyrone would be leaving with me, and we’d eat later.

Patel reached across the table and took my hand. “I’m sorry about your friends and their grandmother’s accident, and I understand you need to go, but I do hope we’ll see each other several more times before I leave.” He released my hand when the server brought the food back to me.

“I’d like that, too, but this is a bad patch of time for me with my work and being responsible for Tyrone. You made him very happy last night, and he hasn’t had much joy recently.”

“He seems to be a good kid, and he listens, which is important. He showed that by how he followed my instructions at both games. I wonder if he knows more about those boys last night than he says though. Did you notice that he made a conscious effort not to look at them?”

“I saw that.” I glanced down at my watch before standing. Patel walked me out of the tent. “I really have to go. Call and let me know if you learn anymore about who put that paint on your tent.” I touched his arm.
Dalmation!
I was impressed by the hard muscle I felt. “I’m sorry this happened in our town.” I stepped forward to walk back to the gate, but Patel stopped me, and the look in those dark brown eyes was as sincere as any I’ve ever seen.

“I want to tell you something. From the moment I saw you, I couldn’t stop looking. I would have come out and introduced myself if someone hadn’t needed me at another concession. You make me feel like a teenager myself—a sixteen year old who can’t keep his mind off a girl. I really want to see you again before we leave this town. Will you let me know if your friend’s condition improves and you have any time available to spend with me?”

Speechless. I’m hardly ever without something, sometimes too much, to say, but his declarations left me wordless for a minute or so. Finally, I nodded, and said, “I’ll do that.”

11

“Gone.”

Just like that ancient Ferlin Husky song Daddy used to listen to on his tape player.

They were missing.

When I walked into Maum’s room, she was gone.

No Rizzie or Tyrone either.

My heart dropped to my stomach, and I thought I would hurl. What happened?

A nurse stuck her head in the door. “They just left for pre-op,” she said and gave me directions to get there. I dropped the bag of food on the chair and tried to follow her instructions.

I only got lost twice on the way, but everyone I asked answered courteously just like the employees at Publix when I ask how to find some unusual grocery item for some new recipe Jane wants to cook. When I reached the pre-op cubicle, Maum lay on a narrow bed with Rizzie standing on one side and Tyrone on the other. She was awake and she looked as scared as I felt. Maum was ninety years old—not a great age to undergo a major operation.

“Dr. Redmond, the cardiologist, has okayed the surgery, but he doesn’t want her to have general anesthetic.” Rizzie’s voice squeaked. When I’m scared, I get nauseated. Usually throw up. When Rizzie is frightened, her tone rises steadily. “He’s sure a nice doctor. Acts like he really cares about her. He teased her that she’ll be dancing in no time, and he winked at her. She smiled.”

Maum shuddered and said something, but her voice was so soft that I didn’t understand. I leaned over close to her. “They’re going to cut me while I’m awake,” she whispered, and her fear was so thick I felt like I could touch it.

“You won’t know it,” Tyrone assured his grandmother. “The anesthesiologist said they’ll be giving you medicine so you can’t feel a thing below the waist.”

“What if the building catches on fire while I can’t feel anything? I won’t be able to get out.” Maum looked more frightened by the moment.

Tyrone laughed. “First, it’s not gonna happen. Second, if it did, they’d carry you out just like they would if you were asleep.” He paused. “If they didn’t, I would.”

A very tall man in scrubs came in and stood at the foot of the bed. “I’m Dr. Sparrow,” he said. “You can remember my name by thinking of a bird. I’ll be doing Mrs. Profit’s surgery.”

“I didn’t know they scheduled surgery this late,” I commented.

“Surgeries take place twenty-four, seven,” the doctor said, and then frowned and added, “but I’m glad this is my last one for today.”

“Are you assisting Dr. Midlands?” Rizzie’s tone mimicked her puzzled expression.

“No,” Dr. Sparrow answered, “we both finished cases about the same time. I ran into him in the hall and told him about my last one for today which is a very difficult procedure that I know he’s had quite a bit of luck with in the past. He said that this was a simple hip replacement, and I talked him into trading.”

I didn’t like it. Not one little bit.

I didn’t like those doctors switching patients like little kids swap marbles, and I didn’t like him referring to “luck” with operations. Luck wouldn’t do any good if the surgeon were less than competent. But Maum needed the surgery as soon as possible, and like so many people, I’m a little in awe of medical professionals. Besides, as much as I loved Maum, I wasn’t related, so, contrary to my usual behavior, I kept my mouth shut while the doctor walked out.

When I’d been with relatives before they went to the operating room, medicine was injected into their IV lines to make them groggy before they went under. Since Maum wasn’t being put to sleep, I wasn’t surprised when masked and gowned attendants took her away on her gurney while still wide awake. I assumed that in addition to her lower body being numbed, Maum would have some of that medicine that makes the patient forget without going to sleep.

“Come with me,” a nurse told us. “I’ll show you the waiting room. The doctor will come out and talk to you there as soon as the surgery is over. Mrs. Profit will go to recovery when it’s completed, and you’ll be able to see her for a few minutes then.”

Don’t know where I got the idea that surgery was a nine-to-five job. The waiting room was full of families watching television and pacing around the room. A gentleman asked us the name of our patient and gave Rizzie a slip of paper with a number on it.

Suspended from the wall was a television screen with patient numbers in a column on the left. Beside their numbers, messages showed like “in prep,” “in surgery,” or “in recovery.” A lot of them displayed “back in room.” Using the number Rizzie had, we could track Maum’s progress.

“Is there a cafeteria here?” Tyrone asked the lady at the desk.

“It’s closed, and I’m sorry to tell you the snack machine is empty, but there’s a drink machine over there.” She pointed.

“I’m starving,” Tyrone complained.

“There’s a bag of food up in Maum’s room. Patel sent it to Rizzie,” I said.

“Did you bring me one?” he asked.

“No, I thought you and I were going home and have dinner together.”

“Go back and get the bag,” Rizzie told him. “I’m still full of the food Jane and Frankie brought us this afternoon when they stopped by.”

The surgery took forever. The clock didn’t say that, but it lied.

“What’s happened?” Tyrone said when he brought the bag of goodies down from Maum’s room. “There are people in the room packing up Maum’s stuff.” He burst into tears. “Did she die?”

“No,” I consoled him. “They’d tell us if something like that happened.”

An older man on the couch beside where we sat looked over at us, obviously listening to every word.

“What floor was the patient on?” he asked.

“Fourth, the cardiac floor.”

“Did I hear y’all say she’s having a hip replacement?”

“That’s right.”

“They’ll move her up to the orthopedic floor then. It’s been remodeled and is extra nice. She’ll go there from recovery. Don’t worry. They’ll tell you where she’s going before she comes out of recovery.”

“How do you know?” Tyrone asked, and Rizzie must have thought his questioning the man was rude even though Tyrone’s tone wasn’t disrespectful, because she frowned at him.

“I know since my wife has heart trouble and had her left hip replaced last year, but she fell again, and now she’s getting a new right one, too.” He sighed. “The worst part of it is rehab. She’ll have to go back to a rehab center for physical rehabilitation. Last time, she just wanted to go home so bad, but she had to do rehab. They always make hip replacement patients go to rehab.”

“Is it here in the hospital?” Rizzie asked.

“No, there are several places for it. The social worker will go over what’s available with you, and the family or next of kin gets to decide which one.”

Next of kin? That brought thoughts I didn’t want to think.

I was hoping the man would tell us more, but a woman in green scrubs came and told him his wife was in recovery and he could see her, so he followed the attendant away.

Tyrone wolfed down a corndog and a sausage dog while Rizzie and I watched some boring documentaries on television. The three of us jumped up when Dr. Sparrow came into the room and looked around. He spotted us but didn’t walk over to us. He spoke from a distance.

“Oh, there you are,” he said. “The surgery is over. She did fine, and she’s in recovery now. Once they get her situated, a nurse will come for you and you can see her for a few minutes.”

“Did …” Rizzie began.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” the bird said and left. His name was “Sparrow,” and he was a big, tall man, and he made me think of a buzzard.

We waited and waited, then waited some more. Finally, someone came and told us to follow him to recovery.

Maum tried to smile when she saw us, but she wasn’t very successful. “I could hear it,” she said softly. She grimaced. “I could hear them sawing my bone.” A tear slipped down her cheek. “And now I can’t move my legs.”

“You’ll be able to move your legs when the medicine wears off, but it’s over now,” Rizzie said. “They’ve fixed your hip. When that heals, you’ll get some rehab and be good as new.”

“Rehab? Rehab?” Maum whimpered. “That’s a nursing home. I don’t want to go to a nursing home. I want to go to our house.”

“Don’t worry. We’ll get you home just as soon as possible.”

A nurse checked the monitors that showed Maum’s blood pressure and all kinds of

things. They’d put a morphine pump on her, and it was obvious Maum didn’t understand about pressing the button when her pain was too bad. Maum kept trying to touch her nostrils. The oxygen prongs in her nose must have been uncomfortable.

I didn’t see what harm we were doing just standing there, but after a few minutes, the nurse hurried us out. As we left, I heard Maum say, “Can’t they stay with me just a little longer? I don’t want to be alone.”

“Don’t worry, Maum. We’ll be waiting for you,” Rizzie called back to her as they hustled us out and told us Maum had been assigned to room 803 and to go up there and wait for her.

When we got off the elevator, we saw a small open alcove with drink and snack machines. They worked, and we bought a ton of stuff to eat and drink.