Plain Jane (15 page)
Authors: Fern Michaels
“I don't know. All I can do is try. What if . . . what if he calls or wants to see me?”
“Are you talking about the man you were living with?” Jane asked, perplexed at the question.
“Yes.”
“I don't understand why you're afraid of him. Call him up, tell him you don't want to see him anymore. Tell him it's over. People do that every day of the week. Is he a violent person? You said he didn't want to be near you or to touch you. That tells me it's over. Are you in love with him? You need to help me out here.”
Betty leaned back in the chair. She appeared exhausted. Talking seemed an effort.
“Brian was never physical with me. He does have a temper, though. He loses patience really quick when something doesn't go his way. No, I am not in love with him. I don't think I ever was. For a while he . . . dazzled me with gifts, flowers, and fancy dinners. He's incredibly smart. Book smart. He wanted me to marry him, but I wasn't ready. I'm twenty-nine, and I haven't done half the things I said I would do before I settled down. I agreed to move in and try it out. I think I knew it wouldn't work from the beginning. He tried to change me. He didn't like my clothes, didn't like my hair, didn't like the way I drove. I can't really cook, so he picked on that. I throw my clothes around, and he's a neat freak. I like to dance, and he doesn't. He flattered me, flashed his money, and I fell for it. The truth is, we had nothing in common. None of my friends liked him. I don't have those friends anymore, thanks to him. Except Chuck.”
Jane sucked in her breath. If she asked Betty now if the Brian they were discussing was Brian Ramsey, she would have to excuse herself somehow. Her mind went totally blank as she tried to remember what the professional rule was. She could feel the tremor in her legs start to work upward. If she didn't get hold of herself, she would fall apart in front of her patient.
Don't ask. Pretend you didn't hear the name,
she told herself. It wasn't the same Brian. Brian Ramsey was married. His problem was his wife. This girl wasn't married. There had to be hundreds of Brians in the three surrounding parishes.
Don't read something into this that isn't there. Move on, Jane.
Don't ask. Pretend you didn't hear the name,
she told herself. It wasn't the same Brian. Brian Ramsey was married. His problem was his wife. This girl wasn't married. There had to be hundreds of Brians in the three surrounding parishes.
Don't read something into this that isn't there. Move on, Jane.
“Is there anything else you'd like to tell me, Betty?”
“I think I covered it all.”
“Was there anything familiar about your attackers? Anything at all? Think. Was it hot or cold? What did they smell like? Did you feel the material of any of their clothes? Did any of them say anything or gesture in any way that you can remember? Was there anything about their hands that struck you? You don't have to come up with anything right now. But I would like you to think about it. If you're comfortable with your friend, talk about it with him. He's a guy and might be able to offer up some valuable input. You are going to have to relive it. I told you, this isn't going to be easy, but you have to do it. I'm going to give you my card. You can always reach me, day or night. If you need me, I'll be there for you. That's a promise. And, if you like, I can schedule you into my appointment schedule every single day. It might be at the end of the day or it might be the first thing in the morning or during the lunch break. No charge. Will you agree to that?”
“Why are you doing this for me? I'm not even your patient.”
Jane almost blurted out Connie's story. Instead she bit down on her tongue. “Because I want to help you. I want to see you get your life back. I want to see you go dancing again. I want to know you wake up with a smile on your face. The bad times are behind you. You have to go forward now. Your life is whatever you're going to make of it. You. Only you. I can help you, the women at the crisis center can help you, but you have to do the work. The fact that you're here tells me you don't like the way you're living. People care. They really do, Betty.”
“Tomorrow is Saturday and then it's Sunday. Weekends are bad. I don't know why that is.”
“Because families are together. Couples do things together. Everyone seems to be paired up. The weekends are two days of free time. I can open up my office tomorrow and you can come for a session. We can talk some more. How about if I go with you to the police station? I have to stop by Radio Shack and pick up something for my godmother first, but then we can go by the police station. I'll stay with you while you file the report. I can go with you to the crisis center and wait while they register you and assign a counselor to you. Then I can drop you off at home. Here's my card. Remember now, you can call me anytime, day or night.”
Betty reached for the card. Jane watched her as she eyed the three pill bottles.
“They're a crutch, Betty. Eventually you would have to throw away a crutch if you wanted to walk again on your own. I'll keep them for you. If you want them back, I'll give them back.”
“How long is this going to take?” Betty asked listlessly.
“I don't know, Betty. It's up to you and how hard you're willing to work.”
“Okay.”
“I have one last question. In your opinion, did Br . . . did the man you lived with love you?”
“I think so. He said I reminded him of someone. Someone he used to know. Is it important?”
Jane thought for one wild, crazy instant that she could feel the blood start to bubble in her veins. “I'm not sure.”
Don't ask any more questions, Jane. Don't go down that road.
Don't ask any more questions, Jane. Don't go down that road.
“I'll tell Chuck you're going to take me home. Would you like to meet him?”
“Yes. Yes, I would, Betty. He must be a pretty special friend to take care of you like he does.”
“He's a good friend. Once I file the report, everyone in town is going to know,” Betty said, starting to cry.
“There's a good chance a lot of people will find out. But you have to remember that you didn't do anything wrong, Betty. I have an idea. See what you think about this. How about after the crisis center, we stop at the SPCA and get you a dog. A nice big one who will be grateful to you for taking him out of a cage and giving him a new life. Just the way you're going to get a new life. You know what else? I know just the person who can help you train the dog, but you're going to have to drive there. Every single day. The road to a new life takes many twists and turns. You up for this?”
“I'll give it my best shot. I really will. Promise me you'll stay with me while I make the report.”
“Every step of the way. And the crisis center? You can handle it?”
“Yes.”
“The dog?”
“That's the easy part. Yes.”
“Then let's go.”
7
It was ten o'clock when Jane let herself into the house, every nerve in her body twanging and twitching. She bolted for the kitchen and gulped from Trixie's bottle of Kentucky bourbon. Her eyes watered as she coughed and sputtered. Olive whined at her feet. The minute she stopped coughing, she fired up one of Fred's cigarettes and started to cough all over again. Olive pawed her legs in distress. “It's okay, Olive,” she choked. “I'm just going through a bad time. I need to unwind and settle down. I'll make some tea and we'll sit in my crooked living room and I'll tell you about my day.”
Olive lowered herself to the floor, her brown eyes never leaving Jane as she moved around the kitchen.
The kitchen was Jane's favorite room. It was a big, old-fashioned kitchen with little nooks and crannies that Jane thought were quaint and cozy. Today, however, all the quaint and cozy in the world wouldn't help her feel better.
She wondered if she should throw some logs into the fireplace or just go to bed. It would be nice to sit by the fire in the old rocker Trixie had bought her at a garage sale, sip herbal tea, and watch the flames. The rocker was big enough to hold both her and Olive. They could cuddle up together. All she had to do was fluff up the bright red cushions, and she would be set.
To do what?
her mind screamed.
To do what?
her mind screamed.
To read and reread Betty Vance's file.
Jane got the fire going, fixed her tea, grabbed a crocheted afghan, and sat down. Olive climbed up into the chair and lay halfway across her lap.
Jane was on her third read when she felt a hand lightly on her shoulder. She turned around, thinking it had to be Mike since Olive didn't even bother to glance up.
“You're onto something, aren't you, Miss Jane? I like this kitchen a lot. I sit in the rocker sometimes when you're at work. I wish I could help you.”
“Billy! I wish you could help me, too! It was a terrifying day in many respects. I'm starting to question my own judgment. For a person in my profession, that's not good. Listen, assuming I believe you're a ghost, which I don't, can you . . . can you . . . you know,
flit
around, check things out, and report back to me? I've always been told that in dreams you can do anything. Can you do that?”
flit
around, check things out, and report back to me? I've always been told that in dreams you can do anything. Can you do that?”
“Why?”
Billy asked, boosting himself up to sit on the kitchen counter. He swung his legs back and forth to a rhythm only he seemed to hear.
Billy asked, boosting himself up to sit on the kitchen counter. He swung his legs back and forth to a rhythm only he seemed to hear.
Jane closed her eyes. “Because something is going on. At least I think something is going on. I'm nervous that I might miss something or overlook a vital piece of information. I'm just jittery,” she said belligerently.
“Your patient isn't married,”
Billy said.
Billy said.
“Which patient? Betty Vance or Brian Ramsey?”
“Brian Ramsey is not your patient anymore. But he isn't married either.”
“How do you know that?”
“I know.”
It was said with such authority, Jane blinked.
“You're letting it get away from you. You need to be in charge. You shouldn't delegate. You lose when you aren't on top of things.”
It was said with such authority, Jane blinked.
“You're letting it get away from you. You need to be in charge. You shouldn't delegate. You lose when you aren't on top of things.”
“Do you think I don't know that? I know, trust me.”
“I wish you didn't dislike your job so much.”
“I don't dislike my job. It's just that sometimes I think I don't belong in this profession. So many people depend on me, and I find it difficult to be there for all of them. Not to mention trying to be in twenty places at the same time. I have too much on my plate. I'm tired, and I need a break.”
“What you need to do is pick one thing and see it through to the end. Mark your starting point and work on the problem till you see results. Do you have theories?”
“By the bushel,” she said, rolling her eyes. “You're right. I'm going to start with Brian Ramsey. That's where this all started. First thing tomorrow morning.”
“What about Dr. Sorenson?”
“What about him?”
“Are you going to enlist his aid?”
“I haven't decided. What time is it?”
“I have no idea. Remember, I told you before that time isn't an issue on this side.”
Olive barked and jumped off the chair. Jane woke with a start. She felt herself shrivel into the red cushions as she watched the back door open and Olive walk out. The door closed behind her. Glancing at the clock, she saw that it was fifteen minutes past midnight. How long had she been sleeping ? She wasn't exactly sure what time she'd sat down or how long she'd been reading Betty Vance's file, but she guessed two to three hours. Had Mike called? She craned her neck to see the answering machine on the counter. There was no blinking red light.
Going back to sleep is out of the question,
Jane thought as she peered through the kitchen window. She wished she could tune out the dreams with the boy named Billy Jensen. She sighed. She might as well make this time count for something. She fixed a pot of coffee, and, while it dripped, she turned on her computer and slid the snoop disk into the slot.
Jane thought as she peered through the kitchen window. She wished she could tune out the dreams with the boy named Billy Jensen. She sighed. She might as well make this time count for something. She fixed a pot of coffee, and, while it dripped, she turned on her computer and slid the snoop disk into the slot.
It was 3
A.M.
when Jane removed the disk and turned off the computer. In front of her was a stack of printouts. Because she had Brian Ramsey's social security number from his health insurance, she now had a skeleton profile of the man who had been her patient until a few days ago. It was no surprise that he'd attended LSU and had played with the Bengal Tigers. She already guessed that he'd been a football player because of his hands and his build. What was surprising, though, was that though he had attended school on a full-ride football scholarship, he had earned his Master's plus thirty.
A.M.
when Jane removed the disk and turned off the computer. In front of her was a stack of printouts. Because she had Brian Ramsey's social security number from his health insurance, she now had a skeleton profile of the man who had been her patient until a few days ago. It was no surprise that he'd attended LSU and had played with the Bengal Tigers. She already guessed that he'd been a football player because of his hands and his build. What was surprising, though, was that though he had attended school on a full-ride football scholarship, he had earned his Master's plus thirty.
Next to Ramsey's stack of printouts was Betty Vance's history, also courtesy of the snoop file and the Internet. It was considerably sketchier than Ramsey's but helpful all the same. At least she wouldn't be working totally in the dark now.
As she carried her cup back to the kitchen, visions of Mike flashed before her. Was he sleeping? Of course he was sleeping. It was after three in the morning. Was he dreaming about her? Why hadn't he called? He said he would. It wasn't like him to say he would do something and not do it. She rinsed out the coffeepot, filled it again for the morning, and sat down to smoke a cigarette.
When she saw the headlights arch on the kitchen wall, Jane was on her feet in a second. Mike! She ran to the kitchen door but instead of Mike, she saw Trixie's dilapidated police car squeal to a stop, red-and-blue lights flashing. When Olive came out of nowhere and started barking, Jane realized she'd forgotten to call her back inside.
“We're on night patrol,” Trixie bellowed over the screeching siren.
“No kidding!” Jane bellowed back. She walked over to the car and poked her head through the passenger window.
“Yeah. No kidding!” Trixie said above a loud static noise. She picked up the two-way radio. “I'm at Janie's, Fred. Yes, everything is fine. I'll be home in a minute. Over and out.”
“My God,” Jane said in wonder. “When do you two sleep?”
“We don't. We take naps.” She pushed the button to open the back door. “Go, Flash!” The huge dog sprinted off, Olive in hot pursuit.
“I thought you made a promise not to drive on open roads.”
“I did. And I didn't.”
“Huh?”
Trixie turned off the siren. “I did make a promise. And I didn't drive on open roads. I drove through the fields. So why aren't you in bed sleeping? Do you realize what time it is?”
“Yes, I do. It's just been one of those nights,” she told her. “By the way, before I forget, Betty, that young woman I brought byâShe found the nicest dog, a yellow Lab named Golda. Her owner died, and there was no one to take her. She took to Betty right away. A little schizy but she'll be okay. So you're going to have another dog for doggie day care to keep Flash company during training sessions.”
Trixie looked Jane in the eye. “You think I'm nuts, don't you?” Instead of waiting for an answer, she said, “I guess I don't blame you. But you know what? I don't care. I'm having the time of my life. Flash is so wired up he's amazing. He found the first bag of dope. Fred repackaged it and hid it again. He hid some money, too. While we're here, he's burying different duffel bags and suitcases with a few bucks in each one. Flash is a whiz when it comes to money.”
“I don't think you're crazy,” Jane said in her own defense. “A little eccentric, perhaps, but not crazy. I think what you're doing is wonderful! You saved a police officer's life. I've never seen a happier dog, and you tamed him in the bargain. I've never seen you happier either, Trix. That's what it's all about. You're lucky you can afford to do this. You and Fred have my vote,” Jane said, reaching inside the car and grabbing Trixie's hand to squeeze it.
“Where's your fella?”
Jane shrugged.
Trixie waved her hand dismissively. “A little mystery is good for a romance.”
Jane opened the passenger door, climbed inside the car, and rolled up the window. “I was going to call you first thing in the morning to ask a favor. But since you're here . . . I'd like Betty Vance to spend the weekend on the farm with you and Fred. She's not stable, and I don't want her to be alone. I'd have her stay here except I want to drive up to Baton Rouge and snoop around LSU. I had this dream, and I realized I need to follow all my threads to the end of the spool. That means I have to go back to what I call the scene of the crime. I'll take Olive with me so she won't get in your way with Betty and a strange dog. If either of you need me, call me on my cell phone. I think if she's with you, she'll be okay. I don't want her to think I'm out of reach. She's a little brittle, but she has an inner core of strength I'm hoping she draws on. She needs to know people care about her. You're just what she needs, Trix.”
“That's one of the nicest things you've ever said to me, Janie, girl. I am having the time of my life. At my age, this has to constitute some kind of miracle in itself.”
They sat together in the police car, waiting for the dogs, listening to the voices coming over the police scanner. Off in the distance they could hear the sound of eighteen-wheelers on the highway.
Jane gathered her thoughts. She had something else she wanted to ask Trixie, but she didn't know how her godmother would react. There was only one way to find out: ask. “Trixie, what would you say if I told you I want to get out of this business, that I don't want to practice psychiatry anymore ?” She held her breath, waiting.
Trixie's eyes searched Jane's, reaching into her thoughts. “Since most shrinks are nuts anyway, I'd probably say what took you so long? Life is short, Janie. In order to be happy, you have to do what you want to do. If you can't whistle on your way to work, you don't belong in that job. That's a Dutch saying,” she said smartly. “I guess I would have to wonder why, though.”
Jane bent her head and looked down at her hands. “I think I went into it for all the wrong reasons. It wasn't like I had a calling or anything. Now, Mike, he said he just knew he wanted to be a psychiatrist and that it all kind of evolved. I never
knew
anything of the kind. I forced it, out of guilt, I think.”
knew
anything of the kind. I forced it, out of guilt, I think.”
“Guilt for your college friend?” At Jane's nod, Trixie asked, “If you give up your practice, what will you do with yourself?”
Jane sighed. “I don't know. All I know is that a medical career isn't for me. I should have realized it a long time ago when I couldn't decide on which branch of medicine to go into. First I wanted to be a pediatrician, then a general practitioner, then a psychiatrist. I settled on psychiatry because I thought in my own way I would be doing something to help Connie Bryan, but I've failed. I know that now.”
“Oh, Janie, girl. What on earth have you been thinking?”
Jane shook her head. “I don't know what profession is for me, but at the moment it doesn't matter. Before I do
anything,
make any decisions, I have to keep my promise to myself and do something to help Connie. The fact that she's dead doesn't enter into it. I have to do it the same way you felt you had to do something for Flash. God, look at the lengths you're going to for that animal. I didn't get past square one where Connie was concerned, and she's human.
Was
human.” Jane turned her head toward the window to be alone with her thoughts.
anything,
make any decisions, I have to keep my promise to myself and do something to help Connie. The fact that she's dead doesn't enter into it. I have to do it the same way you felt you had to do something for Flash. God, look at the lengths you're going to for that animal. I didn't get past square one where Connie was concerned, and she's human.
Was
human.” Jane turned her head toward the window to be alone with her thoughts.
“Janie,” Trixie said softly, “Fred and I were going to come over here on Sunday to talk to you about something.” Jane turned back, her eyes moist. “You know we've made tons of money over the years, and it's all in different trusts that will go to you after we pass on. We were wondering if you would mind if we took some of that money, leased some of your acreage, because it connects with ours, and set up a school for K-9 dogs. A real school that we would fund. We'd hire trainers, buy the dogs ourselves, then donate them to different police departments around the country. When they get to be retirement age like Flash, we take them back and let them spend their remaining days here at the farm.”
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