Too Much at Stake (15 page)

"Do you want a cup of coffee? A pop?" the night nurse asked softly.

After arriving home from the show, Pat had been called to the hospital to sit with an elderly parishioner.

"No, thanks," Pat responded, looking up from the chair beside the bed with a smile.

Pat didn't mind these calls in the night. It reminded her of times she would get up with her children when they were small. After they were fed or changed, she would sit for a while, content to just hold them or rock them.
It's that twilight time,
she thought,
when the barrier between heaven and earth is thinnest. Quiet waiting time. Beginning and ending time.

Taking the elderly woman's hand, Pat smiled. "Eleanor, can I get you something?"

"No, honey. I suppose I should call you 'Pastor,' but you're just like a friend to me." Patting Pat's hand she smiled a broad smile that shone no less for the lack of her bottom bridge. "I'm through wanting anything at all. But it surely is nice to have you here waiting with me."

"Waiting?"

"Oh, come on now, this is no time for pretending. I know I'm dying, and so do you. I've lived a long life. Some good and some not so good. My John's been gone for ten years now, and Josh, my boy, is living in Seattle and has given me three wonderful grandbabies. You know there is a time for everything. My best friend, Sadie, went two years ago. I swear I miss her every day. It's time." She paused a moment to catch her breath. "She'll be waiting for me, you know. Can you keep a secret?"

Pat nodded and leaned in to listen. "Oh I've been known to keep a few for special people like you."

"Well, last Sunday after church, I went home and had a nap on the couch, just like usual."

"Am I making my sermons too long for you?" Pat teased gently.

"No, dear, I'm just winding down. I'm like the grand old pocket watch that was my father's. No matter how well I kept it up, it finally stopped. You'll see that Joshua gets it, won't you? Anyway, about last Sunday. I was napping, and suddenly, right there before me was Sadie. Only she was young and strong, like when we first met. And I said, 'Sadie, what are you doing here?' I was a little afraid, to tell you the truth. After all, I knew she was dead. But she said, 'Why are you afraid of me after all these years? I came with a message. The truth is, I asked to come. I've so missed you these two years.'

"So I said, 'Are you here to take me up?' But no, she just sat right down beside me, asking me about the grandbabies and the neighbors, just like we used to do. Finally, she kissed me on my forehead and said, 'Here's the message, friend. It's almost time. Don't be afraid. I'll be waiting for you at the gate.'" Eleanor looked up at Pat. "So I expect she'll be waiting for me, with John by her side."

Pat leaned closer. "Do you really think there is a gate to heaven?" she asked.

The old woman chuckled. "I don't know. I don't even know if there is a heaven. But I do believe that there is something, and I'm thankful for all I had here. And whatever it is, those two will be waiting for me. Not logical, I suppose, but I just know. Still, it's a comfort having you here. And I thank you."

"Let me wipe your lips," Pat offered. "They look dry." Gently, Pat dabbed the old woman's lips with a damp sponge.

"Thank you kindly. That's what my mother always said. Now, can you do two favors for me?"

"Sure." Pat's heart beat a little faster. Last requests, she'd found, could be tricky.

"First, I want you to tell my son it's okay that he didn't get here to see me off. I know that he loves me, and I will love him forever. Okay?"

"Sure." Pat took a deep breath and wiped at the tears forming in her eyes.

"And next, I want you to sing that Jesus song at the funeral. Make sure Susie plays it on the piano, not on the organ. Nice and loud, do you hear?"

"Of course," Pat agreed.

"As a matter of fact, I'm feeling a little tired. Could you maybe sing it for me now? And I'll just rest a bit." She let out a long relaxing sigh.

Pat wondered what other people in the beds around them thought as she softly started to sing. "Jesus, Jesus Jesus, there's just something about that name..." She hoped it would soothe their pain, whoever they were.

Her midwife job done and the woman delivered, Pat drove home as the sun began to peek out in the east. Her thoughts drifted to Mac.
He didn't get to live his life to a ripe old age of ninety-two, or see his son marry, or bounce grand-babies on his knee. No one held his hand at the end times. I don't care what Salvadore says. If I can do anything to find his killer, I will. No one should have to die alone.

He found himself once more sitting on the familiar wooden chair.

"Silly cops ... so far they haven't even figured out how he died."

He dragged a stick on the dirt floor and couldn't keep his eyes from that corner.

"Although I suppose it could have been anything handy."

Abruptly, he felt a chuckle gurgle up in his chest and burst out of his mouth. He was shocked at his own reaction in this place.

"In this place, of all places, get a grip," he told himself. "Who would have thought that it would be so easy to kill someone?"

He almost laughed again. Rocking the chair back and forth on its rear legs, he repeated his mantra:

"It's going to be okay ... okay."

"Only ten more minutes left this hour to meet our goal of seven new pledges! Get on the phone now and call 888-218-1212 to donate to Wisconsin Public Radio's spring fund drive."

Carl Carlson's rich bass voice woke Deb the next morning. She flailed her arm toward the radio next to her bed, saying with obvious irritation, "Quick, Marc! Turn that thing off! I can't stand to wake up to all that noise!" She rolled over and put the pillow over her head.

Marc turned off the radio and bounced out of bed, heading for the shower.

That was one great show last night,
Deb thought. She relished savoring the experience of the night before as long as possible. She wanted the musical high to extend at least into the next day. The last thing she wanted was to start her day with Carl making her feel guilty about not donating enough money—as if she needed anything else to feel guilty about.

Even beneath the pillow, Deb was jarred into the day once again by the sound of the phone ringing.

Why isn't the maid getting that?
Deb mused.
Right. I don't have one.
It was no use waiting for someone else to pick up. She could hear Marc in the shower, and she knew that a volcano could erupt in the house and Bruno and Eric wouldn't hear it.
I've got to train the dog to answer the phone.

"Good morning," Deb said, mustering her most cheerful morning voice. She was surprised to hear Linda's strained, muffled voice on the other end.

"Deb? Did I wake you? I just really need to talk to you right away." She seemed to shudder and then continued in a torrent of words. "I don't know how much more of this I can take. There's a limit to how much one human being should have to endure. I desperately need your help . I need an attorney."

Deb listened intently as she mentally ticked off all the work responsibilities that lay ahead of her in the day. She took a deep breath as she let go of the notion that she was in control of her life or even of this new day.
As if I ever am,
she thought
.
"Okay, Linda," Deb said soothingly, "you sound really upset. Can you meet me at the Black Cat this morning? Pat and I usually meet there every day. I don't know if I can help you, but I'll make time to listen."

"I'll be there in an hour!" Linda replied cheerfully, although the cheerfulness seemed forced.

"Great, see you soon," Deb answered. "Meantime, remember, Linda, things are never as bad as they seem." As Deb hung up the phone, a little voice in her head said,
Sometimes, they're worse!

After a hot shower to boost her spirits, Deb sat down to breakfast with Marc and quickly discussed their plans for the day.

"Don't forget that I want to take
Hot Sauce
out on the bay this afternoon for a maiden voyage," Marc said, His tone was one of unadulterated joy. "I took the afternoon off. You know I've been waiting all winter for this. It's time to get tuned up for the regatta in Lake Geneva in a few weeks."

If that boat was a woman, I'd have to be worried,
thought Deb.

"Now that the Tent is up, there won't be many chances for me to get you out on the lake with me," Marc continued. "True enough," Deb agreed.

Deb and Marc had learned the fine art of trade-offs that inevitably evolve between long-married couples. He raced his sailboat on weekends more than she liked, and she went to the Tent more often than he preferred, each of them conceding the passions of the other.

Just then, Bruno danced into the kitchen. "Yippee! I'm going sailing later. Dad's taking me out, too!"

Another man lost to the boat!
Deb sighed.

By the time she emerged from her house for the five-minute walk to the coffeehouse, Deb was a renewed woman.
Maybe I'll just jog the four blocks.
Marc had already left for his twenty-five-mile commute to the medical clinic in Red Cliff. Eric and Bruno had headed to the tennis court for a leisurely match.

What is it about boys that they can go so easily and quickly from dead sleep to out the door without as much as a transition? It seems as natural to them as breathing,
Deb thought. She inhaled deeply, trying her best to be aware of her surroundings.
What a gorgeous day!

There was a fresh, cool crispness in the air that foretold an afternoon that would be sunny and bright. The morning bird chorus of cardinals was alive and well, singing a symphony. Deb noticed the tulips emerging from the small front-yard gardens and the buds popping from the trees on the boulevard as she walked down Chapple Avenue to the Black Cat. She could smell the scent of the big-lake water, even though it was nearly half a mile away.

Pat, as usual, was already waiting as Deb walked contentedly into the coffeehouse. The usual gang was missing this morning—the big front table was empty.

Thank goodness,
Deb thought.
I don't need to feel any more guilt about sitting with Pat and not joining the crowd. Heaven knows it's becoming harder and harder to have any private time to talk uninterruptedly without being joined by one of our coffee klatch friends. Today is not going to be a good morning for that. No time for small talk and politics today. Not when there is a dead body to talk about.

Deb had just enough time to give Pat a heads-up about Linda's phone call before she spotted Linda pulling up outside in her rusty green Ford pickup. Linda rushed through the doors, looking like a crazy woman. Her normally calm and well-put-together appearance was visibly shaken. Her hair was tousled, she wore no makeup, and her upper lip was taut.

Lord, she looks ten years older,
Deb thought. She felt relieved that her wise friend, Pat, was there to help her in this situation. Pat always seemed to know the right thing to say in times of crisis. And today, something was dreadfully wrong in Linda's world.

Deb got up and grabbed a mug from Nathan's waiting hands and threw four bucks on the counter. "I'll need another one today," Deb said, reaching for the second mug. "Keep the change." She turned and called out to Linda, "Have a seat. I'll pour you a cup. What will it be today: dark, light, or decaf?"

"Make it as dark as you can, thanks, and straight up," Linda replied flatly, holding her head in her hands.

Deb rejoined Linda and Pat at the table by the window. Cradling Linda's elbow tenderly, she put the steaming mug down in front of her.

"Thanks, Deb and Pat. I am so glad you're both here," Linda blurted out.

"You sounded really worried. What's going on?" Deb asked.

"It's about Forrest. He was taken into the Sheriff's Department yesterday for questioning about his dad's death. They came to the house and asked him to come in voluntarily, and they took him away in the
squad car,"
Linda wailed, breaking down as she said the last word. "Can you believe it?"