Deadly Dosage (5 page)

     The
wind rattled the windows as I walked the short hallway, causing an involuntary
shiver to run the length of my spine. Brandi had fallen asleep in the recliner,
while watching television and was softly snoring. I went up and nudged her.

     “Hmmm,”
she uttered.

     “Get
up, and go to bed.”

     She
nodded, grabbed her quilt, and knocked over the wine glass resting on the
coffee table. Oblivious to it, she retreated to her bedroom without a care,
while wine dripped from the table to the carpeting. Suddenly I had a strong
urge to suffocate her. Then I imagined the police hauling me off, while I
justified my actions saying ‘but look what she did to the carpeting?’ I sighed.
I retrieved a dishtowel from the kitchen and took my frustration out on the
stain.

     By
midnight, the stain lightened to pink and I was dog-tired. I put the soapy rag
into the sink, turned off the light, and called it a night.

Chapter 9

Monday,
February 13th

The
snowstorm picked up intensity overnight and by morning there was an additional
foot of snow in the parking lot. My alarm sounded thanks to batteries, but the
power was out. I heard the distant sound of snowplows. I knew the roads
wouldn’t be clear for at least another hour. I refused to go to work without
taking a shower, so I called work and left a message that I would be in later
when I had power back. The administrator would be ticked off, but hey, she
lived five minutes away and could walk to work if she had to.

     Brandi’s
snoring carried into the kitchen. I turned on my battery-operated radio to
listen to the weather and I lighted a few candles. They were predicting snow to
continue throughout the day and into the wee morning hours with a total
accumulation of twenty inches. The winds speeds were to lessen by midday. Currently
though, a blizzard warning was in effect. They started listing off the school
closings.

     I
wanted coffee and peanut butter toast, but I settled for leftover banana
muffins and skim milk. I saw Brandi exit her bedroom and go into the bathroom.
I heard the toilet flush and the shower start and then stop. The bathroom door
opened and Brandi looked at me sleepily.

     “Power’s
out,” I said. “Blizzard warning.”

     “Oh,”
she said. “I’m going to back to bed then.”

     I
watched her retreat to her bedroom. While I finished my muffins by candlelight,
a vision of Lloyd popped into my head
. Guess I
wasn’t going to be meeting him today after all.

He probably wanted to complain
about something anyway like his dad’s room being too small or the inefficiency
of the staff. Besides, did I really want to go out with a guy named Lloyd?
Sounded like a nerd.

I grabbed my novel and tried
to read. The candlelight was too dim. Maybe Brandi had the right idea. I
shuffled back to my bedroom and flopped on the bed. I felt a tad guilty not
attempting to get to work, but I reminded myself the job wasn’t worth an
accident. I closed my eyes and forgot about everything.

My ringing cell phone woke me. I took it from my
handbag on the floor and answered it yawning.

     “Where are you?” a cranky voice asked.

     “Where did you call?” I said back.

     “It’s 10:00,” stated my boss, Phyllis. “You were
supposed to be here at 7:00.”

     I got up and walked toward the window. “I called
and left a message. My power’s out, due to the storm. Blizzard conditions. ”

     “What blizzard? The sun is shining,” she said in
a manner dripping with sarcasm.

     I look out the window. Sure as shit the sun was
shining and the lot was cleared. Damn weathermen. I tried my light switch and
the room brightened. Crap. “Look, seems my power just came back on. I’ll be
there in an hour.”

     “You do that,” she said angrily and cut the
connection.

     Sheesh. Some people. I put the phone back, and
padded to the bathroom for a quick shower. Needed some time for the water to
heat up, so I brushed my teeth and flossed. I checked Brandi’s room but she was
gone. When the bathroom steamed up, I hopped in the shower. Ten minutes later,
I hopped out. I dried my hair and made a futile effort at getting some volume.
Flat as a pancake. It would have to do. I brushed on some powder blush, applied
a shimmery mauve lipstick, and headed for the closet. I pulled on my warmest,
cream cable-knit sweater, thick socks, and a pair of brown cords. I added a
long gold chain, a present from my mom on my twenty-first birthday. My brown
leather boots were waiting at the front door. I’d have to skip lunch today, so
I grabbed a couple of breakfast bars and an apple before I left.

     The cold rudely slapped me in the face as the
door opened. I all but ran to my car. The engine turned over slowly and I
pumped the accelerator for an extra shot of gas for heck of it. I put the heat
on full blast and went back out to scrape the windshield and push the mountain
of snow off the roof, headlights and taillights--the fun of living in the
Midwest. I jumped back in my car and drove the twenty-five minutes to work in
silence.

     I arrived later than expected due to the slow
traffic. The parking lot displayed only one available spot, far away from the
building and narrowed due to a huge pile of snow. With some unknown skill, I
managed to squeeze in. Getting out of the car required sucking in my gut and
slipping out of a seven-inch gap with the door touching the neighboring
vehicle. I struggled to get my handbag out. Now I’d have to stay late just in
the hopes that the minivan parked next to me would be gone, or I’d have to gain
entrance to my car via the trunk. Don’t think I wouldn’t do it.

     The door alarm dinged my arrival. Shantel looked
up and smiled. Her smile was as dazzling as the fireworks on the Fourth of
July. It was a striking contrast to her rich, chocolate complexion, and I
envied her natural beauty. I saluted and stomped off to punch in. I passed
Phyllis on the way back to my desk and she mumbled something like ‘it’s about
time.’ No sooner did I sit down when I heard Shantel’s voice telling me I had a
call on line 2. I can’t even get my coat off at this place before I’m expected
to work.

     “Sunny,” I said into the receiver.

     “Hey, you made it in.”

     “Hi, Donna. Yeah, finally. I’ll have to skip
lunch today.”

     “Bummer. I’ll do some doctors’ visits then. Talk
to you later,” and she hung up.

     Shantel’s voice told me she had a hot sounding
guy waiting on line 5.

     “Summer Kramer,” I said again. Hot-tempered is
probably what she meant.

     “Miss Kramer?” 

     I just said so, didn’t I? “Yes, how may I help
you?”

     “It’s Lloyd Harper.” He paused and I held my
breath. “I was wondering if I could meet with you around four o’clock this
afternoon?”

     Lucky for me I was planning on staying a little
late. “Sure,” I said, “normally I leave by three-thirty but I’ll be here.”

     “I appreciate that.” He paused again. “Um, do I
just ask for you at the front desk?”

     “Yes, that’s fine. See you then. Bye.” I hung up
and took a deep breath. I took in my appearance and grimaced. I should have
worn a tight pencil skirt or at least heels. Damn weather! I didn’t think he’d
show up today.

     I turned on my computer and got to work. Before I
knew it, it was after two and I was starving. I called Donna but she wasn’t around,
so I left for the vending machine to get something to wash down my breakfast
bars.

     When I returned with my can of diet cola, Donna
was still out of the office. I closed my door, opened my can of soda, and
played a game of solitaire. Crumbs from my granola bar dropped on my sweater as
I ate. My computer clock read 2:15 and it was always five minutes slow. I stood
and brushed the crumbs off onto the stained, worn carpeting. I didn’t care to
make collection calls, so I thought I’d check the census. Phyllis did it this
morning since I was late, probably why she was in such a nasty mood. I grabbed
the census sheet off my wall and left my office.

I thought I’d start with the
Alzheimer’s wing, which I detested. I punched in the door code and the door
clicked. I let myself in, making sure the door closed behind me. I walked
directly to the nurse station. I didn’t recognize the heavyset nurse on duty,
so she probably was from the temp agency.

     “Hi,” I said, “just checking the census. Did
anyone go out to the hospital yesterday before midnight and not come back until
after midnight?”

     She shrugged and made no effort to check, or move
for that matter.

     “Do you mind checking? I need accurate
information.” 

     “Here’s the log,” she said carelessly. “Put it
back when you’re done.” She strutted away down the corridor, her jellied behind
swaying as she went.

     I looked at the log. Three residents in the
hospital and they weren’t on Phyllis’s census sheet. I wrote down the resident
names, rooms, and hospitals on my sheet and returned the log. The numbers for
the day were wrong, screwing up everything. I punched in the code, opened the
door and a resident tried to sneak out with me. She held a messy doll close to
her breast, stroking its tangled, honey, blonde hair. I pushed her back making
apologies she didn’t understand and closed the door tightly. I felt sorry for
her, but man, she really freaked me out.

     The next wing held most of the Medicaid
residents. Here a relatively healthy resident could be roomed with someone at
death’s door. Room choice was based on occupancy, not necessarily suitability.
These residents tended to have smaller rooms with shared bathrooms. The
activity director did her best to liven up the halls with arts and crafts made
by the residents, most of whom were women. Occasionally their crafts were sold
to raise money to buy more supplies to make more craft items; a never-ending
cycle of tedium. No one was at the nurse station so I helped myself to their
log, checking the numbers. This wing reported everything accurately. Several
residents were in the hospital, which was typical for this time of year with a
new flu bug every time you turned around. So much for the flu vaccine.

     Finally, I came to the Medicare wing, where the
bulk of the money is spent. Rooms are bigger, prettier, and better staffed.
Even the nurse station has fresh flowers, thanks to me recycling the donated
funeral flowers. This wing is for rehab, where the residents come directly from
the hospital to heal before their return home. They are not usually happy
residents. They all fear they will not get better and will become permanent
residents. I’m sorry to say this happens. Sometimes it happens because the
family or spouse doesn’t want the person back in their home. Sometimes it’s understandable
and for the best, sometimes it isn’t. Sometimes family members can be cruel and
unsympathetic. I’ve seen it all.

     On this wing, I check all of the rooms, noting
who is in what room. Many times, they go out to the hospital for a day or two
and return to a different room. It’s hard to keep up with the changes. I looked
over the log at the nurse station first and updated my census sheet. Then I
walked up one side of the hall checking names against room numbers, and back
down the opposite side of the hall. Halfway down, I saw the physical therapist,
with Mr. Harper. From his medical records, which I looked at earlier in the
day, I discovered he was sixty-nine and recovering from a stroke. He looked
well but was having a little trouble walking.

     “Hi, Mr. Harper,” I said with a smile. “How’s he
doing Betty?”

     “Much better than yesterday. He’s a fighter.”
Betty owned her own company and came to Ageless Grace three times a week. She
studied and graduated in the U.S., but she was from India. She usually wore a
tentative smile and a white lab coat with smiley faces on it. She topped out at
five feet yet had amazing strength in fitness and character.

     “Sunny,” he said. “My son’s coming later. He’s
bringing me some whiskey.”

     Alcohol wasn’t allowed and he knew it. I played
along. “Is that right? I’ll stop by later for a shot.”

     He laughed and waved me off. I smiled and
continued my walk. When I reached Mr. Harper’s room I noticed his roommate, Mr.
Schroeder had visitors. They were quarreling. Rodney Schroeder’s problems
escalated weeks after his admission. He came from St. Luke’s after a bout with
pneumonia. He started in a vent, but recuperated quickly, possibly due to his
younger age of sixty-eight. When it looked like he was close to being
discharged, he started having problems with cramps and nausea. He had been to
the hospital at least twice in the last week. The doctors so far had not
determined the cause. There was talk of discharging him once the nausea was
alleviated.

     I pretended to write on my sheet and listened at
the door.

     “Dad, you can’t come home!” The woman looked to
be in her late fifties and had her arms crossed tightly around her chest. A
man, who appeared to be her husband, stood with slouched shoulders and nodded
in agreement. A small boy of around five ran back and forth, tugging on Mr.
Schroeder’s blanket. He pulled hard, fell down, then got up, and knocked downed
down Mr. Harper’s cards on the bedside table.