Sweetest Desires (A Sweetest Day Romance) (27 page)

“Oh, God,” she sighed heavily. “I feel so foolish. Cindy tried to tell me, but I just made a complete jackass of myself.” She shielded her eyes with her hand and wept.

* * *

Cindy lurked behind a huge tombstone, her umbrella protecting her from the drops of rain that splattered on the grassy field, turning it to mush. At first, she wasn’t certain it was Katharine she saw sitting in the midst of the small, private burial ground during a rainfall. Then, briefly at one point, Katharine looked straight ahead, and Cindy saw her face clearly.

Norman was buried there and Cindy had come to visit him as she often did, especially when her life became complicated. But what on earth was Katharine doing in her husband’s family plot?

Chapter 36

Katharine was preparing for her
appointment with Phoebe Hill who had traveled from North Carolina. Phoebe’s eighty-seven year old aunt had spent the last two years of her life at Berkley prior to her death. It was Phoebe’s first trip to the facility. Phoebe’s mother had previously handled the business with Berkley, but she’d taken ill herself.

“I’ve come to settle my aunt’s bill and to pick up her personal belongings,” Phoebe Hill said, her lemon-colored face pale with grief, her eyes dark from fatigue.

“Thank you for keeping your appointment,” Katharine said. “I know you’ve had a long road trip. Why don’t you come with me?”

Phoebe followed her into a room that held floor-to-ceiling bookshelves lined with a variety of finely crafted books. They passed a curved staircase leading to the second floor and entered a sitting room, adjacent to Katharine’s office, filled with Queen Anne furniture and collectibles. Two wingback chairs and a small sofa were arranged in a semicircle around the fireplace as if to encourage conversation.

Katharine pressed a remote control to an elegantly designed, large open hearth and a realistic-looking fire became visible. “Have a seat by the fire,” Katharine said. “It’ll help you to relax after such a long journey.”

Phoebe sat down in one of the wingbacks and Katharine sat in the other with a file folder in her hand. She placed it on the coffee table.

“We were terribly sorry to lose Mrs. Wellington,” Katharine continued. “She was an unusual woman, delightfully charming to the end.” She gave Phoebe a brief but friendly smile.

A staff member carrying a silver tray containing a variety of gourmet cookies, a long-necked silver cruet, and two teacups with matching saucers interrupted the one-sided conversation.

“I’ll take that, Lucinda.” Katharine rose and took the tray, holding it out to Phoebe, who declined the offer. She set the tray down on the table and picked up where she’d left off. “I’m afraid her time with us here at Berkley was costly. In the last two months alone, she required extensive medical treatments. I must assure you that none of this was superfluous. We only did what was necessary to maintain a degree of comfort and dignity.”

“I’m sure you did your best,” Phoebe sighed.

“Naturally we prefer payment in full, but, if necessary, we can arrange for you to pay in monthly installments.” Katharine hated this part of her job.

“How much do I owe you?”

Katharine riffled through the papers in the manila folder now on her lap.

“Let’s see . . . uh, here we are. Eight thousand seven-hundred and fifteen dollars. That’s after her private insurance and Medicare payments.”

Phoebe’s already pale face turned ashen. “But I don’t—I never expected—”

“I know it’s a shock, and I wish it were otherwise, but you were aware that the hospital wing was expensive. As I said, we’ll be happy to make financial arrangements to enable you to pay your obligation over an extended period.”

Phoebe nodded numbly.

“It’s one of the unfortunate circumstances of this business,” Katharine continued. “I’m sorry to impose a financial burden on you during this time of mourning, but I’m afraid I have no choice.”

“I understand.”

“Believe me, we’ll make every effort to accommodate you.” Katharine continued to talk while penning notes inside the folder.

For a long while, Phoebe sat staring at Katharine, obviously wondering where she would find eighty-seven hundred dollars. Finally, her eyes shifted to a five-by-seven photo of Carson encased in a plain black frame with a thin gold strip connecting the four corners. She caught her breath in a wave of surprise.

“I don’t mean to be intrusive, but is that your boyfriend or husband?”

“My husband,” Katharine said. She couldn’t bring herself to say “ex-husband.”

“I just asked because he looks exactly like a man I photographed a few months ago. Excuse me for saying so, but I never forget a good-looking man like that. You two must make a handsome couple.”

“Thank you. We’ve been together for a long time.” Katharine had thought about removing the pictures of Carson, but she hadn’t informed her staff of the divorce yet.

“It’s amazing. The resemblance is eerie. Well, let me tell you, Mrs. O’Connor,” Phoebe said in a gossipy voice, “your husband must have an identical twin roaming around somewhere.” She stared at the photo as if recalling the moment. “I’m not very good remembering names, but I think it was something like Lawson. But like I said, I never forget a handsome face.”

Katharine almost swallowed her tongue. “What was the name again?”

She put her index finger on her lips and stared into the air as if trying to recall the name. “Lawson or Dawson or something like that.” She maintained her pose for another second or two. “Well, anyway,” she said as if she’d thought it over, “I keep all my negatives, and I could email you a copy of the picture of him. You and your husband will get a kick out of seeing it. Are you sure he wasn’t a twin and separated at birth?”

She’d said it as a joke, but Katharine was too engrossed in the coincidence to see the humor in it. “You say you photographed this man a few months ago?”

“I’m a freelance photographer. On weekends, I take costume photos at a resort in Asheville.”

Katharine looked at her, puzzled. “Asheville, North Carolina?”

Phoebe nodded. “The guests come into the shop and choose from a variety of vintage and modern costume to dress up in. Then I pose them and take their pictures.” She clicked an imaginary camera.

The photograph of Carson and Cindy in wedding clothes came into Katharine’s mind. “Oh, really?” A sudden excitement surged through her.

“Yup,” Phoebe said. A bit of color had come into her cheeks. “He and his wife—at least I thought she was his wife,” she shrugged—“dressed up in the bride and groom outfits. Their daughter was there, too, dressed as a junior bridesmaid. I remember the girl because she looked so pure. A chunky little kid, but she reminded me of myself as a girl.”

Katharine nearly slid out of her chair.

“Are you okay, Mrs. O’Connor?”

“Yes, I’m okay. Just a little tired.” She shook herself from a brief muse.

“I can understand that. I’m a lot tired myself.”

“I’m sure you are,” Katharine responded. She was anxious to think this through and decided to cut the meeting short. “I apologize, Ms. Hill.” She rose from her chair. “I didn’t mean to distract you. Will you still be in town tomorrow?”

Phoebe nodded wordlessly.

“Good. Why don’t you take some time to assess your situation and come back tomorrow? We’ll work out the arrangements at that time and have your aunt’s personal items ready to take with you.”

Phoebe looked uncomfortable but managed a polite smile as she stood to leave.

“Oh, one more thing before you go,” Katharine said.

Abruptly, Phoebe’s smile faded.

Katharine gathered from Phoebe’s rigid expression that leaving a deposit or something would be asked of her. Actually, Katharine wanted to ask what the woman and the girl looked like, but decided against it. “Never mind. I’ll talk with you tomorrow.” She picked up the manila folder and escorted Phoebe to the front entrance.

Asheville
, Katharine thought as Phoebe disappeared from sight. The place where they’d spent their honeymoon. How could he? Why had he gone there with Cindy? She’d pondered the thought some more, and then it became clear to her.

“That home-wrecking hussy,” she said to the air as she entered her office and closed the door. The wedding pictures, the divorce and marriage papers . . . . It was all starting to add up. Cindy was a scurvy little spider spinning a web of lies and deceit.

She needed to talk to Carson. No telling what other schemes Cindy had concocted. Almost fully, though not one-hundred percent convinced, she pieced it together—Cindy, a sneaky, conniving, hissing snake—the lowest form of existence. But she’d have to put more thought into it first.

Chapter 37

All night Katharine could think
of nothing but the future of the O’Connors at the hands of a venomous Gaboon-Tree viper—the most beautiful and explosive of rattlesnakes. It was a perfect summation of Cindy.

She opened the front door to retrieve the morning newspaper. In a few minutes, she’d have to get the children off to school. She tossed the paper on the kitchen countertop. Her hand trembled as she reached for the glass of water and raised it to her lips and sipped. She poured the remaining into the sink and left the empty glass in the stainless steel bowl. She sank into a chair, slumped forward and held her stomach. A queasy feeling overtook her. She wasn’t sure if it was from abandoning yesterday’s lunch and dinner or the shocking information about Cindy. Deciding it was a combination of both, she forced herself up and searched for the keys in her purse.

CJ and Bethany waived at Katharine as they boarded the school bus. She waived back and paused for the bus to leave before returning home to get dressed for work.

Katharine’s skin felt strange to her fingers as she splashed cold water over her face. Her fingertips seemed to have become extra-sensitized, as if she could feel every pore of her skin. She gazed at herself in the mirror as she dried her face and brushed back her hair, holding it at the nape of her neck with one hand and reaching for a clip with the other. Her eyes fell to her breasts. It was as though she’d become someone else, and she simply could not recognize the woman reflected in the mirror.

How, she wondered, could she have done such an unnatural thing? Her hand trembled, and she dropped her hairbrush. Earlier, she’d dropped the soap. Her hands wouldn’t work properly. Oddly, her lower lip was quivering too. Something was wrong. She felt a surge of panic.

For the past several weeks, Katharine had experienced a variety of unusual health problems, including a breakout of hives, a sensation of warmth, and cramping. She’d also suffered more headaches than usual.

Sadie had begged Katharine to return to Dr. Cordova, but she’d shaken it off, attributing the headaches to her marital woes and the other symptoms to delayed side effects of her surgery that would soon go away. Sometimes they did, but in an hour or so, they would return. Now, though, she felt much worse, too ill to go to work. She was trembling and could hardly breathe. She started to call Sadie but decided against it. Sadie would give her the
I told you so
judgment, which now was not the time for it.

She thought about calling Carson. She wanted to ask him about Asheville, about the divorce decree and the marriage certificate, but she could hardly tell a man who might be married to Cindy that she was ill.

Natalie. The thought had crossed her mind, but she quickly dismissed it. Her head was beginning to spin and she felt almost too weak to stand, but somehow she managed to press the buttons to call Freeman’s number. His answering machine picked up.

“Hi, Walt. It’s Katharine.” Her voice quivered. “Call me back as soon as you get this message. Thanks.” She fumbled to place the receiver in the cradle, but her fingers were growing numb. The phone fell to the floor.

The room started spinning. Katharine closed her eyes, rubbed her forehead, and tried to focus her vision, but the room spun faster like a high-flying carnival ride.

Suddenly the room went pitch black.

* * *

As soon as he’d received the message, Freeman returned Katharine’s call, only to get a busy signal. After calling several times back to back getting the same busy signal, he had a sour feeling in the pit of his stomach. She sounded distressed. His detective instincts told him something wasn’t right. He rushed to his car and, moments later, pulled into Katharine’s driveway.

He rang the doorbell three times, impatiently. When she didn’t answer, he raced around to the back of the house. He knocked again and turned the doorknob, but the door was locked. After looking through the windows and finding that everything looked normal, he returned to the front door. To his surprise, it was unlocked. He drew his gun and crept through the house.

When he reached her bedroom, he found her lying crumpled on the floor. He felt for a pulse, found one, barely, and immediately called in a nine-one-one STAT. The ambulance arrived within minutes, and the paramedics carried her on a stretcher to the ambulance. Freeman followed in his unmarked car, with his headlights flashing and his siren wailing.

At the hospital, the paramedics hustled Katharine onto a gurney and into the emergency room. Freeman tried to follow, but a nurse intercepted and directed him into a waiting room.

“I’d like to be with her, if you don’t mind,” Freeman said, straining to watch the disappearing gurney.

“I’m sorry, sir. You’ll have to wait out here. She’s getting the best medical attention possible.”

Freeman nodded and sat down for a few minutes, tapping his fingers against his leg, but the waiting seemed interminable. He began to pace.

After about an hour, a doctor came out of the emergency room and walked up to him. “Mr. O’Connor?”

Freeman didn’t want to lie, but he didn’t want the doctor to send him away without telling him what was wrong, either. “What’s happened to her?” He listened quietly, intently, as the doctor began his explanation.

“It appears she’s had an allergic reaction to the silicone in the implants,” the doctor said. “Allergic reactions can cause symptoms ranging from swelling and watery eyes to vomiting, diarrhea, and loss of consciousness, which has obviously happened in this case. Some individuals have what’s called a biphasic reaction, systems that go away but return two or three hours later.” He looked at Freeman resolutely. “Other than the loss of consciousness, has your wife experienced any of these symptoms?”

Freeman’s heart skipped a beat.
Your wife
had a nice ring to it, but he couldn’t think about that right now. He shook his head. “No, sir. Not to my knowledge.”

“Has she had any difficulty breathing? Any cramping or loss in blood pressure?”

“Not that I know of. I—I still don’t really understand what’s happened to her.”

The doctor glanced at him sympathetically. “Let me see if I can break this down for you in civilian language.”

“Please do,” Freeman said.

The physician placed his hand on Freeman’s shoulder, led him to a chair, and took the empty seat next to him. “The silicone has acted as an antigen—a substance that causes the immune system to produce antibodies against it.” He paused to observe Freeman’s expression. “Are you following me?”

“You mean her body is rejecting the implants?”

“Yes,” the doctor said. “As you probably know, the immune system produces antibodies in response to foreign substances such as chemicals, viruses, or bacteria that may threaten the body.” He paused again. “Are you still with me?”

Freeman nodded.

“Mysterious symptoms that resemble arthritis, fibromyalgia, and/or immune dysfunction seem to be associated with implants. Also, typical symptoms associated with silicone include dryness in the mouth, kidneys, eyes, and lungs. Other indications include joint and muscle pain, incapacitating fatigue, swollen lymph glands, skin problems, headaches, and central nervous system disorders similar to multiple sclerosis.

“So what’s the end result, doctor? I mean, what’s her prognosis?”

“Well, the first thing we’ll have to do is to remove the implants. From the looks of the X-rays, they appear to be leaking.” He looked around the room as if contemplating his next sentence. “We want to take her into surgery as soon as possible before the implants rupture. The symptoms I just described tend to go away when the implants are removed.” He studied Freeman’s face and smiled kindly. “There’s no need to be nervous, Mr. O’Connor. We have a highly skilled plastic surgeon on staff, and I’m confident Mrs. O’Connor will recover one hundred percent under his care.”

“Thank you, doctor,” Freeman said. All he really wanted to do was to just hold Katharine in his arms and assure her everything would turn out right.

The doctor shook Freeman’s hand and left him alone to reflect on the diagnosis.

Freeman prayed silently, knowing that God specialized in miracles and healing.

He spent several long moments gathering the courage to phone Carson only to be informed that Mr. O’Connor was in a meeting. He didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed.

“Please, ma’am. Can you get a message to him right away? It’s an emergency.”

“Yes, of course.”

“Tell him his wife is in the ER at Scarsborough General Hospital.” He hung up.