Plain Jane (26 page)

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Authors: Fern Michaels

BOOK: Plain Jane
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“Who in the world could be calling us on Christmas Eve?” Trixie asked, a puzzled expression on her face. “Oh, I know, it's probably the police station. They called us last year on Christmas Eve, too, to thank us for what we'd done during the year. Be nice, Fred!” Trixie shouted.
“I'm always nice,” Fred shouted in return.
“Mike, would you like some coffee?”
“I would, Mrs. McGuire.”
“Mrs. McGuire was Fred's mother,” Trixie chided him. “Please, call me Trixie. Everyone else does. Jane, do you want coffee?”
“Yes. I can get it, Trixie.”
Jane was half out of her chair when Fred shouldered his way past the swinging door leading to the kitchen. “You were right, Trixie, it was the police, but they didn't want to talk to you. They want to talk to you, Janie.”
“Me! Why?”
“Betty—” He looked past Jane to his wife as if to say help me, here. Trixie immediately got up and came toward him. Fred put his hand on Jane's shoulder, his expression solemn. “She took her life, Janie. They think it happened yesterday or the day before. The neighbors called the police because the dog wouldn't stop barking. They want someone to take the dog.”
“Get our coats, Fred. Are you okay to talk to them, Janie? Do you want me to do it for you?”
Speechless, her body trembling from head to toe, Jane shook her head and made her way to the kitchen. She dropped the phone twice before she was able to get a grip on the receiver. “This is Jane Lewis.” She listened, her face draining of all color. When she finally managed to get her tongue to work, she said, “She was under the care of Dr. Sharon Thomas. You should call her. What is it you want me to do?” She waited for the answer. “Yes, I can be there in fifteen minutes.” She replaced the phone in the cradle with shaking hands. When she looked up, she saw Mike, Fred, and Trixie waiting for her to say something.
Her throat constricted and tears filled her eyes. “I knew something was wrong. I had this dream about Betty. I should have paid attention. I wanted to go there Friday night. I really did. She considered me her friend. I let her down. God, why did I listen to you, Mike? I should know by now to pay attention to my gut instincts. Every goddamn time I listen to someone else, things go wrong. Now look what happened,” Jane cried, wringing her hands.
“Jane . . .”
“Don't talk to me, Mike. Don't say anything because then I'll say something I will regret. I have to go there. Right now.”
“I'll go with you,” Mike said.
Jane wiped at her tears. “No. I don't need your help. I don't want your help. Are you coming, Trixie?”
“Of course I'm going with you. I'll drive.” She turned around. “You two clean up,” she said, pointing her index finger at Fred.
In the car, driving at breakneck speed, Trixie said, “You were a little hard on him, weren't you, Janie?”
“I wanted to go over there Friday night. He talked me out of it. I've had a bad feeling about Betty all week. Sharon telling me to keep my hands off her, and then Betty didn't call all week. That wasn't like her. I keep having these crazy dreams. I can't believe this, Trixie. How could I have been so stupid?”
“Just a minute, Jane. This is not your fault. Don't try taking the blame for this girl's death.”
“What did I miss, Trixie? Is it my own cowardice that made me knuckle under to Sharon Thomas? The hell with ethics. That girl was more important than some damn ethic Sharon thinks I violated. Then there's Mike and his way of doing things—don't get involved; it's none of your business after office hours; turn it on, turn it off. That's not who I am. Damn it to hell, it is my business! All I have to do is think about Connie Bryan, which I do every day of my life, and I realize it
was
my fault. I could have done something. I didn't try hard enough. I honored a stupid promise, and Connie killed herself. And now this girl is dead. I don't deserve to practice psychiatry. I don't even have the courage of my convictions, and that makes me exactly what my mother said I was, a big
nothing
!”
Trixie slammed on the brakes so hard, the Bronco skidded to the side of the road, jolting both of them forward. She turned to Jane. “Don't you dare say a thing like that again! It's not true! Don't you dare even
think
such a thing! Do you hear me, Jane? I will not tolerate it now or ever. Which apartment is it?”
“The one on the end.”
Trixie's angry expression softened a little. “When you say things like that or even think them, it means Fred and I failed you.”
Jane was immediately contrite. “Oh, no, Trixie. You didn't fail. I'm sorry. I try not to think like that. I really do, but then someone throws me a curve and sometimes I can't handle it. Come on, let's go inside.”
Jane prayed all the way into the building that the coroner would have taken the body away and it would be just the local police she would have to deal with.
The small apartment was crowded. Jane blinked as she looked around. Golda ran to Trixie and threw herself into her outstretched arms.
A young glum-faced man walked toward Jane. “Dr. Lewis, remember me? I'm Betty's friend Chuck. We met briefly that first day when Betty came to see you at the clinic.”
“Yes, of course. I'm so terribly sorry. Did they call you?”
“They said they did, but I was at a friend's house. I stopped here on my way home to drop off a gift. The police were already here, and so were these other people,” he said, pointing to Sharon Thomas, Brian Ramsey, and two other people Jane didn't recognize. Neighbors maybe. Two police officers stood on each side of the door. Jane fought the sobs in her throat.
“I warned you it might come to this, Jane,” Sharon said spitefully, her face furious. “What are you doing here anyway ?”
“The police called me to come over. What are you talking about, Sharon? Betty was your patient, not mine. You were the doctor of record. You were the one treating her on a regular basis, not me. Don't try blaming me for this.”
“I
do
blame you. I told you to stay away from her.”
“I did stay away from her, and this is the result. You need to look to your own motives here. What are
you
doing here, Mr. Ramsey?”
“The police called me. My name was in Betty's address book. I told them everything I know.” For such a big man he looked visibly shaken.
“I'd like to go home now,” Sharon said. “It
is
Christmas Eve!”
“You go home when I say you go home, Dr. Thomas,” one of the police officers said coolly. “I need a written statement from all of you. We can do it here, or down at the station.”
“Then let's get on with it,” Sharon said. “I'd like to go first so I can get out of here.” She walked over to a worn yellow chair. She looked at it for a moment before she perched herself on the arm.
Jane sat down on the matching sofa next to Brian Ramsey. She had a clear view of the kitchen, where she could see Trixie cleaning up Golda's mess. Poor thing. She turned to Ramsey. “Why did you tell me you were married? Why did you think it necessary to lie? What was that all about?”
Ramsey threw his head back against the sofa. “I thought—Oh, shit, I don't know what I was thinking. I did love Betty. In the beginning, anyway. I should have known it wouldn't work. I'm settled, and she was young. I didn't want to party, and she did. I couldn't accept what happened to her, and yet I couldn't let her go. I wanted to. I did try to help her in my own bumbling way, but it was too late. I don't know the why of anything. What I do know is she's dead, and part of it is my fault. I don't know how I'm going to handle that.”
Trixie came into the living room. “I'm going to take Golda back to the farm. She'll do better when she sees Flash and Olive. I'll come back, Jane.”
Jane nodded.
“You must be Dr. Lewis,” a woman said, pulling a chair up next to the sofa. “I'm Inez. I live next door. I knew something was wrong when the dog wouldn't stop barking. Golda is usually so well behaved. Betty loved that dog. I walked her when Betty was at work,” the woman said. Jane nodded. “Betty kept this place neat as a pin. I gave her cuttings from some of my plants. Look at them now. They're thriving. I thought she was, too. She told me what happened to her.”
“Did she say anything to you that would indicate something had upset her?” Jane asked.
The woman shook her head. “She seemed just fine. She was right in with the Christmas spirit, even bought that little tree over there and decorated it.” She nodded toward the window. “She said she was invited out for Christmas dinner, to some farm. She was real excited about going. It doesn't make sense.”
“Do you know why they called me?” Jane asked.
“I heard the officers talking. I think it was because she left you a letter. Let me tell you something, Doctor, Betty treasured your friendship. Not like that one over there,” the neighbor said, jerking her head in Sharon's direction. “Betty didn't like her at all and was going to stop going to the clinic. She said the people at the crisis center helped her more, and they always called her back when she called them. She said what they told her conflicted with what the doctor told her.” She glanced up. “I think it's my turn now.” She patted Jane's hand reassuringly before she got up and walked across the room.
Jane watched as Sharon Thomas slipped into her coat. Cashmere. Maybe she should introduce her to Todd Prentice. Everyone in Rayne knew Sharon Thomas had a highly lucrative practice. Jane closed her eyes to think and snapped them open a moment later when she sensed a presence in front of her. Sharon glared down at her. Trixie always said, never let anyone stand over you and talk down to you. Instantly, she was on her feet.
“This isn't the end of it, Jane. I want to see what's in that letter.”
“Get out of my face, Sharon, before I do something I'll regret. Just the fact that you're standing here breathing is pissing me off. If Betty left me a letter, and I don't know that she did, it's mine, not yours. I don't have to show you anything. You said you were in a hurry to leave, so leave already.”
“Another thing, Jane, don't even think about trying to saddle me with that misfit's funeral.”
Something in Jane snapped. She drew her arm back, clenched her fist, and punched Sharon square on the nose. Blood spurted in every direction.
“Jeez, Doc, I didn't know you had that in you!” Ramsey said in awe.
“You saw what she did,” Sharon screamed at Ramsey. She held her hand over her nose as she grappled for a tissue in her pocket. “You broke my nose, you bitch!”
“Good,” Jane muttered.
“I didn't see anything,” Ramsey said.
When Sharon looked at Chuck, he shrugged. “Sorry, I didn't see anything either.”
Sharon glared at the three of them. “You think you're all so smart. The cop saw it,” Sharon said, turning to the officer, only to find that he had gone. She swung back toward Jane. “You're going to pay for this, you bitch! I'm going to sue your ass off. I'll pick your bones clean.”
“You're getting blood all over that nice cashmere coat,” Jane said.
“Hey, Ramsey, you're next,” the cop said, coming out of the bedroom.
Moments later Trixie returned. “What happened to Dr. Whats-her-name? She was bleeding.”
“I popped her one,” Jane admitted with a smile. “I never enjoyed anything so much in all my life.”
“No kidding,” Trixie said, looking at Jane with a new kind of respect. “Are you all right, honey?”
“I'm fine. Never been better.”
“Mike is just sick over this, Janie.”
“He damn well should be sick over this,” Jane replied sharply.
Trixie gave Jane a hard look. “Jane, I love you more than life itself, but we both know if you wanted to come over here bad enough, you would have done it regardless of what Mike said. You need to deal with that.”
Jane felt well chastised. “I'm trying, Trix. I'm trying. They said she wrote me a letter, but they haven't given it to me yet. I don't think she has any relatives other than an aunt with a bunch of kids. Do you think I should make the funeral arrangements?”
“Do whatever you have to do, Jane.”
“This is killing me, Trixie. Is the dog okay?”
“Golda is fine. She's in a good place. This is not your fault.”
“Get off it, Trixie. Of course it's my fault. Just like Connie was my fault. You are absolutely right about Friday night. If I'd wanted to come here bad enough, I would have. So you see, that's how I know this is my fault. For the moment it was easier to blame it on Mike. Call him, Trixie, tell him I can't go with him to his parents' house.”

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