The Lush Life (Samantha Jamison Mystery Book 8) (15 page)

Chapter 44

A Calculated Risk Gone Wrong

I glanced over at the larger home under renovation. It was flanked by a sizable moonlit pond that was backed by conservation land. It had a stone and stucco exterior. I heard they were expanding from the original, stately Bleak House located on this official arboretum. The hardwood floors were reclaimed chestnut and walnut. And the interior incorporated 300-year-old barn doors, and included the original stone walls and steel railings, with two newer wings at each end.

I then turned my attention to the deserted cottage Dr. Bleak was said to use as a clinic for his patients. It was a calculated risk, but I still kept walking on. The gravel crunched underfoot as I made my way via flashlight toward the front door. My bravado was slipping away with each footstep I took. I had to be nuts attempting this alone. But I didn’t want to scare them off if someone was possibly waiting. My determination to solve all this overrode any further hesitation on my part, so I kept moving.

I knocked three times, but heard nothing. I then tried the doorknob.
Unlocked
. I turned it, peeked inside, and called out. No response again. I glanced around noticing attempts over the years at modest upgrading, but in the dim light it felt dark and intimidating. I entered cautiously.

Were my nerves coloring its ominous appearance?

I walked by an imprinted tin panel on the kitchen wall, then through to a sitting room with fireplace and white-painted built-ins where Alicia had mentioned that Dr.
Bleak’s
medicines may have been stored and where he once saw his patients.

The rooms felt claustrophobic. Being dark outside didn’t help. I was about to go back to the kitchen when I noticed across the room a narrow doorway with a single step. I edged closer. It was a small landing. I peered in. To the left was a dimly lit narrow stairway leading upward. The treads were close-fitting and traveled up to ...where?
Should I
?

I carefully made my way to the top and peered over the railing. Two other rooms. Then across the small hallway was another very tiny narrow curved stairway going up to another small room. An attic room? I was about to step off the top step when I had second thoughts. I was letting my curiosity for this historic home distract me from the reason I was there: a possible note with the info downstairs.

I pivoted and made my way down the stairs, moving with caution. The treads were old and narrow to the foot. I was about to step off the last tread when I was shoved from behind. My right foot pivoted sideways and twisted hard off the step. I heard the crack of bone breaking. I crumpled, slamming into the wall directly in front of me and bounced back, dropping to the closed-in landing.

As much as I would normally have presence of mind to look and see who or what pushed me forward, when you are in excruciating pain and seeing stars, all that goes out the window. I rocked back and forth, my eyes squeezed shut, shouting in pain. Then I felt someone roughly brush by me. By the time I opened my eyes, it was too late. No one. All I heard was a door slam shut: the one I had used.

With my heart pounding and sweat now trickling from panic, I forced myself to look down to untangle my left leg and put it in front of me off the landing step. I tasted blood. I had bitten down on the inside of my mouth.

Boxed in, sitting on the tiny landing, I assessed my right ankle that I somehow managed to straighten out with my knee bent under my chin as I painfully set it down flat. I felt it. My right ankle bone was rapidly swelling in size.

I wasn’t chasing anyone out that front door.

The sight sickened me. “It’s got to be broken,” I cried.

A repetitive rocking motion restrained me from totally losing it. I had to remain calm, but the unbearable pain was indescribable. I stared up at the dimly-lit narrow staircase from the landing, incensed by the cruelty of someone.

“Are you happy now, you sick bastard?”

But I was yelling to no one. They were long gone.

Who pushed me? I was clearly set up and fell for it.

I tried standing, gripping the two walls on the narrow landing boxing me in, but fell back down. I wasn’t going anywhere in this condition. My right ankle was useless.

My cell phone!

I could call Clay, 911... I reached into my pocket.

Gone!

I scanned the room. My eyes honed in on it, well beyond my reach from where I collapsed. Nausea rippled through me in waves as I mentally tried to block the throbbing pain tearing through me. Then I stilled. An unmistakable sound.

My cell phone was ringing across from me, out of reach.

It rang then stopped then rang again...over and over.

That and the wrenching, unrelenting pain was too much.

“Help! Somebody, please help me!”

Chapter 45

The End & The Beginning

I heard a car door slam closed. Then the kitchen door opened. I held my breath.

Had they come back? Who was it? I was defenseless.

Then a familiar face appeared. My tears of relief spilled.

“Oh, my God, Sam!” cried Clay. “What happened?”

I tried to smile, but failed. “The stairs. I was pushed.”

He briefly took in my ankle I was supporting. “Damn.”

“My words exactly,” I said. “I feel sick and the pain...”

“It looks real bad, Sam.”

I grimaced then said, “It must be broken. I can’t use it at all. I can’t believe this time I broke my other ankle.”

Clay tilted my chin up. “Bear with me, okay, Sam?”

I don’t know how he did it, but in one swift, but gentle movement, I was up in his arms. He kissed my forehead.

“I feel dizzy...” My head then dropped to his shoulder.

“...Sam? Sam? We’re here.” It was Clay.

I squinted at an unfamiliar entrance. “...Where are we?”

“At Doylestown hospital. You passed out in my arms.”

Clay was standing at the opened car door. He eased me onto a wheelchair, and pushed me into the ER area, parked me, then spoke to a woman and returned.

A wave of fresh stark pain sliced through me. “...Clay.”

“You’re on deck. I’m parking the car. Be right back.”

I rocked to tolerate the pain while staring at my elevated and swollen ankle. I was oblivious to everyone else in the waiting room. The pain had total control over my thoughts and movements at this point.
I needed the pain to stop.

Clay was back in minutes and knelt in front of me.

My tears trickled down. “Clay, I shouldn’t have gone...”

He took my jittery hands in his. “I’d be tempted too.”

A woman gestured for us to enter a small office. She asked what happened. I had presence of mind to lie, saying I slipped on a narrow 150 yr. old step. The rest I left unsaid. The less she knew about this the better. Clay and I both knew the ramifications of having to clarify the impossible.

She said she’d get the rest of my information later and called for a nurse to wheel me over to X-ray. Clay was allowed to accompany us. I was second in line, so the nurse left us by the wall to wait. Clay knelt in front of me to distract me with conversation. I heard nothing as my hands began to shake uncontrollably while I kept rocking.

He grabbed both hands firmly. “You’re in shock.”

I glanced up at his face. “What?” I asked trembling.

“Shock has set in. You’re system is on pain overload.”

I tried to smile, but my teeth began chattering.

Clay hung on tighter, whispering soothing words, but nothing registered. All I could do was stare down at our joined hands and rock back and forth. I couldn’t stop.

“What happened?” whispered Clay.

I looked up. “...It...it all happened in minutes.”

“Tell me while it’s still fresh in your mind.”

And so I did. By the time I was finished, a nurse was standing over us, asking to take me to x-ray. I stared at my hands which were no longer shaking in Clay’s calming ones. He had managed to distract me, while getting to the core of what happened, making my wait tolerable.

Next thing I knew I was brought to an ER room and another nurse. She said I was much better off staying in the wheelchair with my leg gently elevated on a pillow. It wasn’t necessary to cause more pain by moving me. I was deteriorating in the pain department, tapping my
good
foot.

A doctor appeared and drew Clay and me a diagram of my ankle and leg. The fibula on the right side had a clean break at the bottom vertically and on the left side, the tibia had a fracture angled horizontally up from my ankle for about six inches: like in a vein pattern.

He said the nurses would put on a temporary cast until I could see an orthopedic surgeon the next morning. He wasn’t sure whether I would need surgery or a permanent cast. He was emailing the x-rays onto the surgeon to study.

Two more nurses appeared. One gave me an injection for pain and nausea, while the other two prepared to put the temporary cast on me. They said to stay in the wheelchair. One gently took my leg and propped it up on the examining bed. She never let go and lightly held onto it, as the other nurse began wrapping it slowly, while I jerked and winced.

Clay stood right next to my wheelchair and firmly gripped my one hand the whole time, talking and joking to the nurses. His distractive banter helped as the shot slowly did its magic to dull my pain. I smiled for the first time that evening when Clay lifted my hand and softly kissed it.

It was after 11 p.m. on the clock when my eyes slowly drifted shut. “It’s over, Sam,” said Clay rubbing my hand.

“Not by a long shot.”
Who set me up and shoved me?

Chapter 46

Fiberglass, Wheelchair & More

When they unwrapped my temporary cast to put on the permanent cast at the surgeon’s the next day, my right foot was half deep purple, like someone had drawn a vertical line up the center. I was asked what color I wanted for the fiberglass cast: yellow, pink, blue, red... Very apropos and matching my ugly mood, I chose black.

I was also drugged out, taking pain meds for two days to temper the acute discomfort I was in. My new best friends were a set of crutches and a black wheelchair. I was instructed by the surgeon not to put any weight on my casted leg and to keep it elevated most of the time. The five swollen toes peeking out made quite the fashion statement.

My fiberglass cast weighed a ton and constantly threw my balance off every time I moved. When you added in the pain factor of all the bruising I suffered to my ribs, leg, and ankle from the break and fall, I was a colorful mess.

My senior crew fussed over me like mother hens. Mona too. Teddy was probably used by his
connected
family.
I doubted Tony or his momma confided in him their true intentions, Teddy being more interested in the money angle and his career. Teary-eyed Scarlett brought me tea, dying to finish our interview, but I was in no mood, so she didn’t push the matter further.

Luckily, the hallways were wide and Alicia’s office was spacious, accommodating my wheelchair nicely. I did have to keep my leg elevated while lying on the leather sofa in the family room quite a lot. But I’d be able to spend short painful times at my desk to write. I always knew it was time to lie down when my toes darkened a deeper purple.

“This bookcase is the last of them,” said Betty.

“Sure is disappointing we haven’t found it,” said Hazel.

“They probably found it first,” said Martha frowning.

The living room was the last room. Defeat loomed large as we checked and crosschecked books online. I was in the wheelchair with my leg raised, insisting on helping with my laptop for an hour. I needed a clear mind so I had switched to Advil four times a day.

“Clay left early this morning,” I said. “He was ripping mad. Tony hasn’t shown up, texted, or called since I was pushed. Clay is convinced
Tony’s
responsible.”

“Having him around was interesting,” mused Betty.

“To think we were focusing on his mother,” said Hazel.

“Maybe that’s who he’s out looking for,” said Martha.

“But if that’s the case, then he should call Clay,” I said.

Mona appeared in the doorway. “He’s gone.”

I nodded. “We already know
Tony’s
gone.”

“Not him, Teddy! His bags are missing,” she said.

“The family that keeps on giving,” muttered Martha.

“And taking,” I said.