No Cure for Murder (22 page)
Tommy smirked and left the room.
When Sharon Brickman returned to Mildred Kaysen’s room the next morning, Paige Sims stood with her hands on her hips, demanding, “Well, what did you find?”
“Nothing so far. Her cardiogram’s okay, but we need to run some other tests to find out why your mother went into heart failure.”
Paige sneered. “Isn’t it obvious? Weizman did it when he stopped her medication. Don’t tell me otherwise.”
Sharon stared at the woman. “Eight times out of ten, when I bet against Jacob Weizman, he comes out ahead. He’s a great doc.”
“I’m sick and tired of everyone defending that old man.”
Mildred grabbed Sharon’s arm and led her down the corridor. As she looked back at her room, she whispered, “Don’t listen to her. She’s an unhappy spiteful woman.”
“I had another word in mind.”
Mildred leaned close to Sharon’s ear. “You mean the ‘B’ word.”
Sharon smiled and nodded, then walked back to the room. “I’m ordering a heart scan. We’ll take a look at your mother’s heart and its blood supply.”
“Do what you need to, Doctor. Just keep Weizman away.”
The next afternoon, Sharon sat with Mildred and Paige. “The scan shows the strong likelihood of coronary artery disease. We need to do an angiogram and maybe an angioplasty.”
“An angio what?” asked Mildred.
“It’s a fancy word that means if we find narrow parts of the arteries to your heart, we’ll open them one way or another.”
In the recovery room the next day, Sharon stood next to Mildred’s gurney. Paige held her mother’s hand.
“You had a major narrowing of one main vessel and two smaller ones, Mildred. We were able to open them. You should be fine.”
“Thank you, Doctor,” said Paige. “We’re so grateful. Does this explain what happened to Mom?”
“It’s likely that her heart failure started when the heart muscle didn’t get enough blood, and she had a mild heart attack.”
“That damned Weizman. I knew he did this.”
Sharon turned to face Paige Sims. She had to control her hands that contracted repeatedly in choking moves as she imagined them around Paige Sims’ throat.
“You’re a disturbed person, Mrs. Sims,” said Sharon. “You’re a bigot and an idiotic one at that!”
“Well, I never...” Paige gasped, turning red.
“You believe that aging makes one stupid, incompetent, or both. We call that ‘ageism’ and it’s just as deadly as any form of racism or anti-Semitism. Jacob Weizman, he’s too good for the likes of you, Mrs. Sims, and just for the record, if your mother’s heart attack happened when she was on digoxin, it would have made things worse. Maybe, thanks to that ‘incompetent old man’ your mother is still alive.”
Mildred applauded. “I love it,” she laughed. “That’s the best thing I’ve heard in years. Come over here, Sharon, and give an old lady a kiss.”
Chapter Thirty-Eight
When Lola entered Jacob’s small staff lounge, she wrinkled her nose at the acrid burnt coffee smell. She quickly removed the brown-bottomed carafe from the coffee maker and turned off the power. She settled into the aged sofa once the centerpiece of their family room. Lola stretched out on the cracked leather to read The New Yorker while waiting for Jacob to take her to lunch.
Lola was well into an article by Seymour Hersh when the door opened. Zoe came in and plopped herself in Jacob’s lounge chair.
Zoe looked up. “Lola. How nice to see you. I didn’t notice you when I came in.”
“You look tired.”
“I am. I had to go in again last night. Don’t know how Jacob did it all these years.”
“Jacob has one trick that served him well, he can fall into deep sleep in an instant and get its restorative benefits. I call him the grandfather of the Power Nap.”
“The call schedule is rough on a marriage,” said Zoe. “Byron hates when I have to leave our bed in the middle of the night to go to work. How did you handle it?”
“You know Jacob. He loves his work and I think he thrives on those nighttime emergencies when his patients need him the most. I love Jacob and if that’s what it takes to keep him happy, it’s a small price.”
Lola caught herself. Don’t be a shrink. “I hope this isn’t a serious problem for your marriage, Zoe.”
“I think all marriages are a compromise, don’t you?” Without waiting for a response, Zoe continued. “...Except, of course, you and Jacob. You guys have it together.”
“People imagine we have an ideal relationship, but nobody outside really knows what’s going on. Don’t you agree that’s how it is in a marriage?”
“I guess so, but I’m afraid my expectations were too high. I mean Byron is a great guy, but we don’t have much in common.”
“Having a lot in common is overrated, I think, especially if you two make the best of the time you have together. Do you go to temple?”
“That’s a laugh, Lola. Byron wasn’t even Bar Mitzvahed and for a while, I was a member of Jews for Jesus...that became a joke. I even dabbled in Kabbalah...me and Madonna.”
“Your family must have loved that.”
“They didn’t give a damn except for my grandfather Bernie...he went crazy...he lost it. It surprised me. I didn’t know what the big deal was about.” Zoe stretched and ran her fingers through her hair. “It really bothered me. He was my biggest fan then...”
“Why did that surprise you?”
“I don’t know. The whole Jews for Jesus thing didn’t mean much to me, except for the idea of Jesus. Even non-Christians must recognize his unique appeal.”
“Come on, Zoe. You’re an intelligent woman. You know Bernie’s past history. He’s a holocaust survivor. Religion had little or nothing to do with his reaction. Just like Jacob, it’s his cultural identification as a Jew and all the paranoia that goes with it.”
“I guess I should have known. It was no big deal.”
No big deal? Lola thought.
“Bernard Spelinsky loves you, Zoe. He would have done anything for you. Joining Jews for Jesus was an act of betrayal for your grandfather.”
“Well, it didn’t last long. I got caught in the mystique, but when religious doctrine became dogma, and I realized they were fanatics, that was enough.”
“You lost your interest in religion?” asked Lola.
“No. Just in zealots.”
“Bernie must have been relieved.”
“He was, but things were never quite the same.”
Zoe hesitated a moment. “Jacob’s been having problems with some nurses and physicians.”
“From what I hear, he always has.”
“It’s getting serious. People are talking about his age and his methods. I know you don’t like to hear it, but complaints have a way of escalating into formal inquiries. I don’t think we want any part of that.”
Lola reddened. “Let me be clear, Zoe. I know Jacob. He has more intelligence, more compassion, and more integrity than the whole lot of those small-minded people at Brier Hospital who suddenly find him wanting. If you don’t know that...well, I’m disappointed.”
Zoe’s face hardened, then her eyes filled. “Oh no, Lola. I love Jacob. I’m his biggest fan. I owe him so much. I’d never do anything to harm him.”
Suddenly, the door opened and Jacob entered. “I’m sorry to be late, sweetie. No consideration, these patients.” Turning to Zoe, he asked, “Can you join us for lunch?”
Zoe checked her watch. “Sorry, Jacob. I’m late for a meeting.”
At Classico, an outdoor café near the Rockridge Bart station, Jacob and Lola sat under a multicolored umbrella that protected them from the noon sunlight.
“That looked like more than a casual conversation,” said Jacob. “Is everything okay?”
“It’s hard to break old habits. You can take the shrink out of psychotherapy, but can you take psychotherapy out of the shrink?”
“Get real, Lola. You can’t separate the therapist from the person. In either role, you’re smart, perceptive, and have a little experience.”
“Get real? You sound like one of my teenagers.”
“You mean I’m not too old to learn?”
“How is Zoe doing?” Lola asked.
Jacob raised his hand until he finished chewing on a wedge of sourdough bread. “She’s smart, beautiful, well-trained, and with my sage advice, how could she go wrong?”
“If you don’t want to get into it, say so. I’ll understand.”
“Easy there, Grandma. What did she say that got you so concerned?”
“Not so much what she said, but how she said it.”
“What does that mean?”
“You know the expression, ‘too good to be true’, well that’s how I feel about Zoe. Maybe I’m getting cynical in my old age, but something’s missing from that pretty picture. Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed anything.”
“No, not really.”
“I don’t know. Maybe it’s generational. I prefer individuals who embrace the people in their lives with passion. I don’t feel that with Zoe, especially when she talks about Byron, her grandfather, and even you, Jacob. It’s an ambivalence or a vague sense of discomfort...I don’t really know.”
“I’m not looking for trouble, and I don’t see any.”
“How does Margaret feel about Zoe? She’s a good judge of character.”
“I don’t know, but that’s a good question.”
Carleton Dix stared at the sleeping form as he entered the room. She looks so peaceful. He slipped his hand into the pocket of his white coast, but pulled it back as she stirred. Sensing an intruder, she raised her wrinkled lids, the pupils of her bright blue eyes dilating with fear.
“I’m so sorry to disturb you. I’m Reverend Dix, Mrs. Charles. I’m the chaplain for Brier Hospital.”
Edna Charles sighed in relief, although her pulse still raced. Edna was an eighty-one-year-old retired high school principal. She was one of Jacob Weizman’s patients from the first day he opened his doors and Lola’s oldest friend. Four days in the hospital for a fractured hip became three days too many for Edna. Each extra day at Brier rendered her more testy. Her reputation as a sweet old lady was in jeopardy.
“I’m sorry, reverend, but did Dr. Weizman ask you to call on me?”
“No. I stop in on almost everybody just to see if I can help in any way.”
“That’s sweet of you, chaplain, but I’m not much into religion.”
Carleton laughed. “It’s nondenominational help of course. I make my services available to anyone, regardless of religious affiliation. We all are children of God, aren’t we?”
What’s Lola’s favorite word? Edna thought. Chutzpah...the guy’s got chutzpah.
“I don’t want to be impolite, chaplain, but my religious beliefs are more in line with Dr. Weizman’s.”
“It’s just...” he began when Mary Oakes, the charge nurse, entered the room.
“Excuse me, chaplain, but what are you doing here? You know how Dr. Weizman feels about you seeing his patients without his permission.”
“I overheard your nurses saying how Mrs. Charles was upset about being here. I came in to help.”
Mary turned to Edna. “Excuse us.”
She escorted the chaplain into the corridor and closed the door. “This is deliberately provocative, chaplain and I don’t like it. The last thing I want is to have Dr. Weizman on my case about you seeing his patients. He’s made it clear to us that he doesn’t want it. We respect his wishes and so should you.”
“Listen, Mary. I’m just doing my job and neither you nor the esteemed Dr. Weizman should interfere.”
“Look, chaplain. You’ve been helpful to us and to many patients, but do you really want to force yourself on patients and physicians who don’t want your assistance?”
“It’s that damned Weizman...he has it out for me, God knows why. I’m sick of tiptoeing around that man. Maybe it’s time to bring this to a head.”
“Don’t take this personally, chaplain. It’s not you. Before you came to Brier, we had chaplains of many denominations. We even had a rabbi. Jacob is not anti-chaplain, he’s against anyone interacting with his patients without permission. Many patients, especially the elderly and the survivors in his practice, carry the emotional baggage of a lifetime. Jacob simply wants to protect them.”
“I’m only trying to help but he won’t let me.”
“You’re going to tell Jacob Weizman what’s best for his patients? That’s a laugh.”
Mary stood, and headed for the door. “Be smart, chaplain. Find patients and physicians who want your help. If Jacob’s patients need chaplain services, come through nursing or get Jacob’s permission first.”
“We’ll see about that,” said Carleton Dix. He turned and stumbled into a nurse’s aide carrying a tray of food that bobbled and crashed on the floor.
That same afternoon, in Jacob’s office, Zoe couldn’t wait for the day to end. After the phone calls through the night, she’d managed only three hours of sleep and she was feeling it. Two of the four thick office charts had been on her desk for days, the others for at least two weeks. They needed letters and referral notes.
The intercom and Margaret’s voice interrupted her musings. “Byron’s on the line.”
Zoe frowned then pushed the flashing button.
“Hey, Zoe. Just want to know when you’ll be home tonight. I thought I’d take you to dinner.”
“You know I had a bad night last night...or don’t you remember?”
