Mercy (21 page)

“Did the hothead go for your throat?”

“No,” he said.

She grinned. “You sound disappointed.”

“I am,” he admitted. “I wanted to see their routine. Jim Carson’s in New Orleans for the day, but he’s supposed to be back in Bowen around six. Gary mentioned he was going to wait to tell his brother face-to-face instead of calling him on his cell phone, probably so he can get him foaming at the mouth before he sics him on me. My guess is that I’ll be hearing from Jim about five minutes after Gary imparts the news.”

“Did you happen to tell Gary where you were going to be tonight?”

He grinned. “I might have mentioned that I’d be at The Swan.”

She sighed. “You may get to shoot someone after all.”

T
he new high school football stadium was impressive. The football team, on the other hand, was anything but. They were, in Theo’s estimation, unbelievably bad.

The boys wanted to show off for him. They did have talent; they just didn’t know what to do with it. Conrad Freeland had to scream at the top of his lungs to be heard over the boys’ shouting matches. He used his whistle so often the kids pretty much ignored the sound. Practice was chaotic and deafening.

Conrad finally got the first string to cooperate long enough to line up. They then began running back and forth across the beautifully manicured field like chickens with their heads cut off.

Theo and Michelle stood next to the music teacher on the fifty-yard line watching. Beaming with pride, Conrad turned to Theo and asked, “What do you think of your boys?”

Theo ignored the “your boys” reference — he wasn’t about to claim ownership of this motley crew — and said, “Why don’t you run some plays, and Michelle and I will sit in the stands and watch. It’s been a few years,” he warned, “but maybe I can give you some suggestions.”

Conrad looked confused. Nodding toward the field, he said, “That was the play.”

“Excuse me?”

“You just saw the play.”

“
The
play? You only have one . . .” He was trying not to smile, because he didn’t want Conrad to think he wasn’t taking practice seriously.

The music teacher nervously tugged on his collar. He was dressed for a music recital in an immaculately pressed long-sleeve white dress shirt, pin-striped tie, and a navy blazer. The clouds were heavy with rain, and it was so sticky and hot that Theo thought Conrad had to be suffocating.

Michelle nudged him. “It’s a nice play, isn’t it?”

He didn’t answer. Then Conrad said, “We’ve only perfected that one play you just saw. We call it the stinger.”

“I see,” he remarked for lack of anything better to say that wasn’t a blatant lie.

“Good, isn’t it?”

Michelle nudged Theo again. He ignored her and turned to Conrad. He didn’t want to hurt the man’s feelings. It was obvious he had worked hard to get the undisciplined boys to cooperate, but Theo wasn’t going to start lying to him either, and so he simply said, “Interesting.”

“You’ve got to understand my position and the background of the team,” Conrad said, his voice earnest now. “Last year was our first year with a football team, and the coach . . . well, he just up and left in the middle of the season. Of course, he didn’t win any games. The boys don’t know what to do out there. I don’t know what I’m doing either,” he admitted. “Give me a flute, and I’ll teach you how to play it, but this,” he added with a wave of his hand, “is beyond me. It’s why we desperately need playbooks. I really have tried to do a good job.”

“I’m sure you have,” Theo agreed, trying to think of something positive to say.

“I even went searching on the computer. I can give you the history of football, but I can’t tell you how to play the game. I couldn’t make head nor tail out of all the drawings I found on the Internet. Lots of circles and arrows that didn’t make any sense to me.”

He removed the whistle from around his neck and offered it to Theo. “See what you can do, Coach.”

“I’m not . . .” Conrad had already jogged toward the watercooler. “. . . the coach,” Theo ended.

Michelle leaned into his side. “They’re really awful, aren’t they?” she whispered.

“Oh, yes,” he agreed.

She smiled. “I’ll go sit in the bleachers until you’re finished.”

Okay, he thought. One practice. He’d talk to the boys, tell them he’d send Freeland some playbooks and maybe a couple of films they could watch too, and that’s it. Then he was out of here. Yeah, that was
his
game plan.

Putting two fingers into his mouth, he whistled to get the boys’ attention and then motioned them over to him.

They ran like lumbering overweight foals. One kid fell down, got up, ran a couple more yards, and tripped over his own feet again. Theo hoped he wasn’t going out for the position of running back. They squeezed in around him as they pressed him with questions. Theo didn’t say a word. He simply held up one hand and waited. The noise finally died down.

In a low voice, he told them to remove their helmets and sit down on the grass in front of him. They actually obeyed. When they dropped to the ground, Theo swore he felt the earth move underneath him. Then Elliott Waterson shouted, “Where’s your gun, Coach?” And the noise started all over again.

Theo didn’t say a word. He simply stood there with his arms folded across his chest, waiting for them to catch on. It didn’t take long. Within a minute it was quiet again.

In a near whisper, he said, “Elliott, my gun is in a safe place, but I swear, the next kid who interrupts me while I’m talking is going to get clobbered. Understood?” He was forcing the boys to sit still and strain to hear what he had to say. “Now, here’s what we’re going to do.”

Michelle sat on the hard bleachers watching the transformation. She was astonished at how easily Theo had taken control of the boys. The team sat with their legs folded underneath them, their helmets in their laps. Every eye was on Theo, and the boys seemed to be hanging on his every word. Conrad looked impressed. He had walked back to Theo’s side and was nodding every now and then.

“Excuse me, ma’am?”

Michelle turned at the sound of the voice and saw a tall, slightly overweight, dark-haired man standing just outside the tunnel that led to the locker rooms. He looked vaguely familiar to her.

“Yes?”

He walked forward. The stranger was dressed in khaki shorts and a matching short-sleeve khaki shirt with the word “Speedy” sewn above the breast pocket. There was a name tag dangling from the clip below the pocket. He carried a Speedy Messenger package — she recognized the label — but he was too far away for her to read his name.

“I’m looking for a Dr. Michelle Renard. Would you happen to know where I can find her?”

“I’m Dr. Renard.”

The messenger beamed. “Thank heavens. I’ve been all over this town searching for you.”

He tucked the package under his arm and hurried up the metal stairs.

“Do you have something for me?”

“No, Doctor. What I’ve got is a problem, but I’m hoping you’ll help me solve it before Eddie gets himself canned.”

“Excuse me?”

The messenger smiled. “Eddie’s the new guy with our company, and he screwed up big time,” he said. “My name’s Frank, by the way.” He extended his hand to shake hers. His palm was damp, his grip weak.

“How did your friend screw up?” she asked.

“He delivered the right packages to the wrong people,” he said. “But he really needs the job because his wife is expecting, and if Eddie gets fired for messing up, he’ll lose his insurance. Eddie’s only nineteen,” he added. “And I feel responsible because I’m the man who trained him, so I’m using my day off to try to fix this before the boss finds out about it.”

“That’s very nice of you,” she said. “How can I help?”

“You see, Eddie picked up a package from a law firm in New Orleans on Monday, and he should have filled out the label and put it on the package right then and there at the receptionist’s desk, but Eddie didn’t do that. He took it back to the company van. Now, he’d already picked up another package from Belzer Labs, and he hadn’t put the label on that package either. He figured he’d sit in the air-conditioned van and fill out both labels, but he stuck them on the wrong packages. The only way I found out about the screwup was when a secretary from another law firm called to say she had gotten the wrong package. When she opened hers, she found a bunch of literature about a new drug the company was going to be selling. Fortunately for Eddie, I was the one who happened to answer the phone. If that secretary had talked to the boss, I hate to think what would have happened. Speedy Messenger Service prides itself on being fast and reliable, and I swear that this is the first mix-up we’ve had in over three years. Anyway,” he added as he shifted from foot to foot, “I was hoping you could give me the package you got by mistake, and I’ll deliver it to the law firm today.”

Michelle shook her head. “I’d like to help you, but I don’t remember receiving any special deliveries. When and where was it delivered? Do you know?”

“Eddie took it to the hospital.”

His hands, she noticed, shook as he flipped through the pages of his notebook. He was nervous and couldn’t quite look her in the eyes. She thought that was odd but then decided he was embarrassed because of the mix-up.

“I already went over there, hoping I’d find you, and one of the nurses was kind enough to look at the weekly log. She said there was an accident late that afternoon and that you were in surgery when Eddie made the delivery, but that doesn’t make any sense, since you signed for it.”

“Oh, yes, I remember the accident. I was on the surgical floor, up to my elbows in charts I had to finish before I could leave. I did get a call from ER telling me there was a package for me. I don’t remember getting it, though.”

“Maybe it will jog your memory if I tell you that you signed for it.”

“I did?” She certainly didn’t remember doing that.

Frustration crept into his voice when he said, “Yes, Doctor, you did. We always keep a copy of the receipt in our offices and mail the original back to the sender, and I’m telling you,” he added, his anxiety not quite masking his anger, “your signature is as clear as can be.”

“It won’t do you any good to get angry,” she said. “And if you could read my handwriting, then I definitely didn’t sign for it. No one can read my writing. I do think I know what must have happened,” she added. “The staff secretary down in ER signed my name. That’s pretty much standard procedure.”

She racked her brain, trying to remember the sequence. Exhausted from being up most of the night before, she had made up her mind not to leave on vacation until every one of her charts had been dictated. “I did go down to get the package.”

“Where?” he asked urgently with a hasty look over his shoulder at the football team. “Did you go to admitting or to the emergency room?”

“ER,” she answered. “And that’s when the paramedics arrived.” She shrugged then. “I went right back up to surgery and did two cases back-to-back.”

“So you never opened the package, did you?” He was smiling and sounded relieved.

“No, I didn’t open it,” she said. “I certainly would have remembered doing that, especially if there were papers from a law firm.”

“You can understand how anxious the attorneys are to get those papers. They were going to another law firm. It’s all confidential stuff. I could drive over to the hospital right this minute and get the package from that secretary, couldn’t I? What’s her name?”

“Elena Miller, but she won’t give it to you unless I tell her it’s okay.”

“Could you call her now? Eddie already picked up the package meant for you and is on his way here now. I sure would like to get this finished today. I’ve got my phone with me.”

He moved closer so he could hand her the phone. Michelle could smell his aftershave. He’d used a heavy hand, but it didn’t mask the odor of sweat.

He was acting like a nervous twit. No wonder he was sweating. He kept looking over his shoulder at the field, as though he expected one of the boys to hurl a football at him. She dialed the hospital, asked for Elena, and was put on hold.

“He has them mesmerized, doesn’t he?” she remarked as she waited for the secretary to pick up.

“What?”

“The coach. He has those players hanging on his every word. I noticed you were watching them.”

“Oh . . . yes, yes, he does.”

Elena Miller picked up a phone in the emergency room, and in her usual harried voice snapped, “Miller here.”

“Hi, Elena. It’s Dr. Renard. Am I interrupting you in the middle of something important?”

“I’m always in the middle of something important, Doctor, and you forgot to finish your charts. You left two,” she said. “And you left your mail untouched. Your ‘in’ box is brimming over, Doctor. Now, aren’t you glad you called? What can I do for you?”

“I did finish my charts,” she argued. “Every last one of them, so if Murphy thinks he’s going to put me on report, you tell him I’ll have his hide.”

“Relax, Doctor. Murphy’s on vacation too. What can I do for you?” she repeated.

Michelle explained about the mix-up with the packages. “Do you remember signing for a package that was delivered around five o’clock Monday?”

“Right this minute, I can’t even remember what I ate for supper last night. I do remember Monday was one of those hellacious days in the ER. We had a rush of accidents, and then there was that real bad one out on the highway. There were at least twenty mothers and fathers jamming the halls while the doctors worked on their kids. I certainly don’t remember signing for anything, but it doesn’t matter if I remember or not. If I signed for it, then I put a yellow sticky on your locker telling you I had a package for you. I would have put it inside your locker, but you still haven’t given me your combination.”

“Sorry about that,” she said. “I keep forgetting. Do you have any idea where the package is now?”