At Witt's End (18 page)

"What did you do that for?” she shouted. “You know how much I hate loud music."

Rodney pointed at the driver as the man turned the radio off.

"I didn't do it. There's something wrong with this car."

As the man finished his sentence, Rodney reached for the lever on the steering wheel and spun the wiper dial, kicking the wipers into fast motion. He spread his arms and propped them on the front seats, swiveling his head back and forth between the couple who was now embroiled in a fiery argument.

"I told you not to rent a cheap car. You and your stupid budgets."

"If it wasn't for my so called budgets, we couldn't afford this vacation,” the man snapped.

"You can't take your money with you, if that's what you think.” She shot a nasty glare in his direction.

"Oh yes I can and there's not a single thing you can do about it. I'm going to install a hitch on my casket and take it with me.” The man wrestled with the knob and continued down the sun-speckled highway with the wipers engaged full blast.

Rodney's impatience with the time it took to change cars at the rental place put him in a spiteful mood. He waited until the driver parked the new rental car in the hospital parking lot before setting the windows in motion again. After he honked the horn and flipped the window washers into action, he noticed a man in a black suit and a round, white collar climb out of an adjacent vehicle. The man tucked a Bible under his arm.

"Maybe this will be my lucky day.” Rodney whistled through his front teeth. “Maybe I can end this stupid game."

The Bible-toting man appeared to be in a hurry. Rodney scrambled out of the back seat and hurried past the rental-car couple who tried to dodge the blue washer-fluid mist falling through the air.

Rodney followed the pastor through the front doors and stood behind him in the lobby. When the elevator doors opened, Rodney moved to the back of the elevator. Two other men joined them and one pushed the button for the fourth floor.

Rodney flicked the brim of one of the men's baseball cap with his index finger. It popped off his head and fell to the floor. The man looked sideways at the pastor before bending to pick it up and place it back on his head.

The pastor continued to stare straight ahead as the elevator made its ascent.

Rodney flicked the brim again sending the hat sailing off the man's head. It landed on the pastor's shoe.

The pastor grasped the Bible tighter and glanced sideways without moving his head.

The man again retrieved his cap and placed it on his head. He glared at the Pastor.

Rodney reached over and pushed the fire alarm, setting off a piercing alarm. An overhead page sounded, indicating a code red in the east lobby elevator. The page was repeated two more times. “That's this elevator,” the Pastor said with a gasp. Three pairs of eyes widened in alarm.

One of the passengers stared at the red button pushed flat against the panel. He tugged on it to dislodge it. Rodney held his finger firmly on the button.

The overhead paging system again indicated code red. As the elevator rose to the fourth floor, the occupants heard static from a walkie-talkie. A voice shouted, “It just got to the fourth floor."

The doors swooshed open. Several nurses and a security guard ran toward them with fire extinguishers aimed at the opening.

"We didn't push the button. I swear,” one of the passengers said. “I tried to make it stop, but it kept ringing."

As they exited the elevator, Rodney reached for the pastor's hand and placed it on the passenger's crotch.

"What the hell?” the man shouted. “What's wrong with you?"

Rodney fell into stride next to the pastor, who had paled. He followed him into a room and stood at the end of the bed while the pastor fought to catch his breath.

"I'm sorry I'm late. It's been quite a morning.” The pastor dabbed at the sweat beading on his face.

The woman smiled. “That's all right. Nothing could dampen my spirits today. The doctor just gave me my biopsy results and it appears the tumor was benign."

The pastor clasped the woman's hands. “Praise the Lord. I knew everything would be all right."

"Sheeeittt,” Rodney moaned. He kicked the air with his foot. “That sucks."

Walking down the corridor, Rodney fell into pace behind a doctor headed for the intensive care unit. The physician held his identification badge over a wall-mounted scanner and the doors retracted.

Rodney stood behind the doctor as the physician pulled up a patient's data on the computer. He leaned against the nursing station and listened to a number of conversations going on around the monitors. What he needed most was to hear about a patient in distress.

When the doctor didn't discuss his patient's condition, Rodney wandered away from the nursing station. He lingered in each doorway, hoping to pick up signs of death.

"Oh, not you,” he whined, noticing Lora sitting with a patient tethered to tubes and monitors. “Just what I need. Something else to ruin my day."

"Go somewhere else, Rodney. I was here first."

He crossed his arms over his chest. “I'm not going anywhere. I've got just as much right to be here as you do.” Rodney blocked her path when she tried to step around him. “You're not going anywhere either."

Lora slapped at his hand and he grabbed her arm. “I told you not to do that.” He raised his other hand and she cringed.

Rodney's taunting laughter was interrupted by two women and a man who entered the patient's room. They sat in the chairs at the foot of the bed. One of the women said, “What should we do about Mom's dog?"

The man placed a tray on his lap and eyed the food he had selected from the cafeteria. He passed out sandwiches, chips, and sodas to the others before contemplating the question. He took a swig from the soda can. “How old is Ranger?"

"I'd say about twelve or thirteen. Mom already had him when Eric was born and he's eleven now."

A nurse brushed past one of the women and checked the monitor's digital readouts. After checking the catheter bag, she shook her head. “I don't see much output. It looks like they're shutting down again."

Tears welled in one of the women's eyes. “Do you think Mother's in much pain?"

"I doubt it. The doctor increased her pain medication this morning.” The nurse patted the daughter's hand. “I think she's comfortable."

The trio silently dwelled on the years they had spent cradled in their mother's love. The man wadded up what was left of his sandwich and wrapper and tossed it into a wastebasket. “I suppose we need to have Ranger put down. It's the most humane thing we can do. He's got arthritis so bad he can barely walk."

The youngest daughter said, “I don't think anyone else would put up with him. From what I understand from Mom's neighbor, he's been peeing on the carpet.” She began to sob. “Will you take him to the vet? I just can't bring myself to do it."

"I suppose I'll have to,” he said.

Rodney clapped his hands and jumped up in the air, causing Lora to shout out in fear. “Put the old mutt down. Put it out of its misery.” Balling both fists into the air, Rodney shouted, “Yahoo. Why didn't I think of that?"

Lora slipped past Rodney and ran down the hall. She turned the corner and looked back.

Rodney caught up to her. “Didn't you hear what they said? Put the dog out of its misery.” He feigned a pistol shot.

Lora wrenched away and continued down the corridor.

He matched her pace, walking beside her. “Don't you see? That solves everything."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Think about it. Put the old dog out of its misery."

"What do dogs have to do with anything? It doesn't make sense.” She pushed at his stained hand when he reached to grab her.

"Yes, it does. What old dog do you know that should be put out of its misery?"

"No,” Lora said. “You can't do that. Belly hasn't done anything to you."

The panic in Lora's eyes excited Rodney. He backed her against the wall. “You are really dumb, aren't you? It's not that stupid dog. It's Sadie. I'm going to put that old crone out of her misery."

"What,” Lora gasped.

"I've got a rifle hidden in the woods behind Sadie's old fuel tank. Now we don't need to look for someone on the brink. When I finish with Sadie, I'm taking you to the parallel world."

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Nan closed the folder and tapped her pen against her desk. “Oh, it's you,” she said, a weary sigh escaping her lips. Paul walked toward her through the mortuary lobby.

"I'm glad to see you, too.” Paul embraced Nan from behind and nuzzled his lips against her neck.

She leaned into the embrace. “I'm not enthusiastic about anything, I'm afraid. I have another body to prep. Then I've got a family coming later this afternoon for their first viewing."

"You can't continue to do everything yourself. You need to get someone to help you."

"I have someone. Mr. Bakke does a good job. I can't afford anyone else."

Paul turned her chair and knelt in front of Nan. “I'm taking you out to dinner tonight."

"Not tonight, Paul. I'd be lousy company."

"That's not true.” He ran his thumbs over her hands as they rested in her lap. “You're always good company. And besides, I have a surprise for you."

Rising, Nan said, “I hit another dead end trying to locate information about that man my father was searching for."

"What man?"

"How come you don't remember the man? Mr. Bakke remembers. We were talking about it a few days ago. It's that man who took dad's invention and filed a patent. Dad thinks he took all the credit. I'm guessing the man made a fortune and dad found out about it."

Paul rolled his eyes. “I don't know why you torture yourself like that. That's in the past. If your father couldn't find him, what makes you think you can?"

"I won't find him if I don't try.” Startled by her shrill tone, Nan reached for Paul's arm. “I'm sorry. I'm taking it out on you and it's not your fault."

Paul pulled Nan into his arms.

She reveled in his strength. If she lingered there forever, her troubles might evaporate. What was wrong with her? Paul had offered to help, yet she couldn't generate the enthusiasm necessary to commit. Had marriage to Clay ruined her?

"Everything that could go wrong today went wrong. I didn't need another hurdle.” She breathed deep as if one hearty intake would replenish her resolve. “I'm concerned about Aanders. He's too chipper and he refuses to talk about Tim's death."

Paul tipped Nan's chin upward. “He's dealing with it the best he can. It's going to take time, so let him set his own pace."

"I'm thinking about booking an appointment with a counselor. Maybe he'd open up to a professional."

"You don't want to waste money on that,” Paul said. “You've got more important things to think about."

"Waste money?” Nan pulled back from his embrace. “Aanders’ wellbeing is my priority. I don't consider that a waste of money."

She drew in another fortifying breath. “But you're right. Money is an issue. It keeps me awake. After Sadie told me about Carl's lawsuit, I haven't been able to sleep."

"That's another thing you don't need to waste your time on,” Paul said.

"How can you associate with a monster like Carl?"

"He's been my friend since high school. I don't necessarily agree with him, but I'm not going to end the friendship because we have a difference of opinion."

Nan wriggled free from Paul's embrace and moved toward the lobby. She sorted through a stack of stray brochures scattered over the credenza. After placing the brochures in the appropriate slots on the display rack, she gathered several boxes of tissues and placed them on the end tables.

"If Carl's such a good friend, why can't you talk some sense into him?"

"I've tried. Believe me, I've tried,” Paul said. “But you know Carl. He thrives on controversy."

"I can't believe he'd do that to two old women. They've lived there all their lives."

"That's what I said, but he didn't care. He also said he's got plans for this building when he wins the lawsuit."

"You mean the mortuary?” Shocked, Nan dropped onto a long, tan sofa that separated the two visiting clusters. “Can't you tell him I'm trying to buy the land the mortuary sits on?"

"I did. But he won't listen. He's got a marketing plan ready to go."

"Carl's disrupting four lives and he could care less. What a creep."

"Quit worrying about the Witt sisters. They'll take care of their own problems. If the judge rules in Carl's favor, you've got a decision to make. I hope to be part of that decision.” Paul perched on the back of the sofa and pulled Nan between his legs. He rested his chin on her head. “It'll get better. I promise."

"It doesn't seem like it.” Nan tipped her head as Paul massaged the back of her neck. “It's one thing after another. Do you remember when I sent that letter to the patent bureau to see if a patent had been filed using the drawing I sent them?"

Paul nodded.

"Their reply came today. It's on my desk.” She waved her hand toward the office. “They can't help me unless I can cite a patent number."

"I'm not surprised,” Paul said. “Think of the volume of patents they process. They probably don't have time to sift through those files."

Paul never displayed an interest in her attempt to locate the information. His lack of empathy concerned Nan. “There's got to be a way to get that information. That was Dad's handwriting on the patent application and his drawings, so I know he designed the apparatus. I sent them sheet three of four. I never found the other three sheets, so I don't know what the device was. From what Mother said, she thought the man stole the idea and filed the patent in his name about six years ago."

"But you don't have the guy's name,” Paul said. He drummed his thumb against her shoulder. “There's not much you can do without a name or a patent number. And you said your mom didn't seem to think it was important."

"Nothing about Dad was important to Mom. I already told you that. It was a love-hate relationship. All I want to do is talk to the man and find out what happened. Maybe it was just an idea that never materialized."