The Plague Doctor (2 page)

Chapter Three

Before my father died, he and my mother had enjoyed what many think of as the good life. Most of their indulgences were kept within the realm of genteel good taste; however, my mother was guilty of excess in one area: bed linens. She loved the luxurious feel of soft, silky sheets. Pretty lace coverlets, warm cashmere blankets, satin duvets, and down pillows were her downfall. I could sleep on a wooden floor, but I must admit, I loved being the pampered recipient of the objects of her obsession.

The sheets on the four poster bed—the one I'd had since I was ten years old—were of the finest pima cotton in a lovely soft pink. Four plump down pillows graced the head of the bed, and a beautiful old Grandmother's Flower Garden quilt in shades of rose and green was folded across the bottom. The quilt just happened to have been made by my own grandmother from hundreds of pieces no bigger than a nickel. It was all the cover I needed at this time of the year. The big old house was up on a hill, and we always enjoyed a pleasant breeze from the direction of the lakes. At night I opened all three of the tall bay windows in my room so I could hear every note of the nighttime chorus of crickets and frogs.

I had fallen asleep listening to this symphony of nature shortly after ten. I was still snoozing soundly in my soft cocoon of luxurious pink comfort when Cassie banged loudly on my bedroom door at one o'clock in the morning. She flung it open without waiting for me to invite her inside.

“Mom! Wake up!”

She disappeared into the adjoining bath where I heard her blowing her nose. I struggled to disengage from the arms of Morpheus and make some sense out of the situation.

“Humpf, whatf, wah time is it?”

She came out of the bathroom swabbing her face with a handful of tissues. Her eyes and nose were red, making it obvious she had been crying.

“What in the world is wrong, Cassie? Is Gran all right?”

“Gran? Oh, I guess so.”

She sat down hard on the side of my bed and bounced me into a further state of wakefulness.

“Mom, we are in terrible, terrible trouble. Ethan has been arrested.”

She started crying again.

It was on the tip of my tongue to say that it was “he” who was in trouble not “we,” but that would have been an insensitive and provocative remark. Besides, I couldn't imagine that Cassie was right. What in the world could our mild-mannered Ethan have done to get himself incarcerated?

Most of the arrests reported in the weekly paper were for driving under the influence. Rowan Springs was in a so-called dry county, but the local moonshine trade was a thriving business. I'd bought the white wine and Cointreau we served with dinner at a specialty shop in Nashville over a year ago. Ethan, I remembered distinctly, hardly touched either. Speeding was my next guess, but in that funny little car? Forty-five miles an hour would be too much to expect out of that ancient VW engine.

Whatever it was, I was sure his offense could not be very serious. Reassured by my own thoughts, I pushed myself up to a sitting position and plumped two pillows behind me.

Cassie was still crying. Her shoulders were shaking with deep heartfelt sobs. Feeling certain that this was just another episode of the perils of motherhood in the post-teen years, I patted her arm and suppressed a yawn.

“There, there, Cassie, dear,” I sighed. “I'm sure we can straighten this out in the morning. I'll go talk to Chief Joiner and…”

She raised her head slowly. Her tear-filled eyes flashed sparks of indignation and outrage.

“Mom, this isn't just another teenage melodrama!”

She always had been able to read my mind. I closed my eyes. This was going to be one of those nights. The pillow was so soft and the sheets so inviting. Maybe if I kept my eyes closed she would go away.

“Ethan is in jail for rape and murder, and I don't know what to do!” she wailed.

I raised my head so fast I hit the lampshade. I had to make a lightning grab to keep lamp, bulb, and shade from falling to the floor.

“Oh, my God! Why didn't you tell me? Oh, crap! Does Mother know?”

Cassie looked at me with exasperation.

“Well, first of all, I have been trying to tell you for the last ten minutes. Secondly, all Gran knows is that we had a late-night phone call. I guess she wasn't too worried. She went back to sleep.”

“Nonsense! Call her in here and tell her what's going on. She might work herself into a stroke imagining things. I'll throw on some jeans.”

Five minutes later we were all sitting in the library drinking the hot coffee that Mother had brewed after the phone call. She didn't know the reason for the phone call, but she knew it might require caffeine, bless her heart.

“Let me call Andy Joiner now. I can find out in two minutes flat exactly what is going on and put an end to this dreadful speculation.”

“Mother, it's one o'clock in the morning. I'm sure every soul in Rowan Springs, including Ethan, is asleep. Let's not make matters worse by waking Joiner and his whole family up. A peeved Chief of Police is not what we need right now.”

Cassie jumped up and began to pace back and forth in front of the open French doors. A breeze which smelled suspiciously of rain began to blow softly into the room.

“Mom's right, Gran. But I do want you to call first thing in the morning. Seven sounds reasonable, don't you think so, Mom?”

Her face was white and strained under her long, dark hair, and her big brown eyes betrayed her fear. I was beginning to get worried about her.

“Cassie, come and sit down, honey. If you get all worked up and emotionally exhausted you will not be able to help Ethan one little bit. We need to keep calm and think clearly.”

“You're right, Mom. I guess I'm overreacting. After all, it's probably some stupid mistake.”

She plopped down on the sofa next to me. “He just sounded so tired and worried. That's what upset me.”

“Dear, tell us exactly what happened,” urged Mother softly.

“Ethan always calls to tell me good night and, well, other things,” she blushed lightly under her summer tan. “Tonight he was late. I was a little worried, but not much. The phone rang about eleven-thirty, right, Gran?”

“Eleven thirty-three.”

“Anyway,” she continued, “it was Ethan calling from the police station. He said I was his ‘one phone call.' I was pretty upset, but I didn't let him know.”

“Excellent, my dear,” approved Mother.

“Wonder why he didn't call the CDC, or somebody in Atlanta?”

“He doesn't want anyone in Atlanta to know, Mom. He made me promise not to tell. He gave me his computer password. I'm supposed to go to his apartment tomorrow and send an e-mail to his office so no one will suspect there is a problem.”

“How very peculiar. I would have thought he would have been screaming for help from Uncle Sam. They probably have all sorts of legal eagles who help back up their people in the field. I'm sure Ethan isn't the first doctor from the CDC to ever get into trouble.”

Cassie was busy playing with the hem of her gown. Finally she looked up at me, her eyes shining with unshed tears.

“That's just it, Mom. He's apparently been in trouble before.” A tear escaped the corner of her right eye and slid down the smooth curve of her cheek.

“He's rather, well, he called it unconventional, in his approach to his work sometimes. He, uh, he has a police record.”

“What kind of record?” I asked pointedly.

“Breaking and entering, receiving stolen property, that sort of thing.”

“That sort of thing? My goodness, Cassie, we've been harboring a veritable Pepe La Moko!”

She looked at me tiredly, “Pepe La who?”

“Never mind. I can't believe that nice guy with the big warm smile is a hardened criminal!”

Cassie jumped up and stomped her bare foot with all the expertise of an angry toddler.

“He's not a criminal! Those were charges filed against him by a rogue drug company he was investigating two years ago.”

“Oh, dear, drugs.”

Cassie whirled around to face her grandmother.

“Don't you start, Gran! Oh, I should have known better than to count on you two for help. You never liked anyone I ever dated. But Ethan's different. I love him. I'll marry him even if he goes to prison. You'll see!”

She fled from the room leaving us staring at the empty space she had vacated.

“Paisley, what does one wear to a jailhouse wedding?”

“Stripes are definitely out,” I answered sourly.

Chapter Four

None of us got much sack time that night. Cassie locked herself in her room and cried inconsolably. Mother and I agreed that we couldn't go back to sleep, so we took turns making coffee and dealing hands of honeymoon bridge. We weren't exactly taking things lightly, we just didn't know what else to do.

The sun turned the horizon a rosy pink at around five o'clock. I added two bowls of oatmeal and some buttered toast to the coffee tray when it was my turn for kitchen duty.

“Have you been stacking the deck, Mother?”

“Paisley! How could you even suggest such a thing? One miscreant in the family is enough, don't you think? I'm simply having a streak of good luck, that's all.”

“Six hearts?”

“Fortune's smile.”

The warm cereal made me sleepy despite the caffeine in the gallons of coffee I had consumed. Somewhere in the middle of another of Mother's outrageous bids I fell asleep.

“Mom! Gran! It's seven o'clock. Time to call Chief Joiner!”

Cassie had to shake me awake this time. I was practically comatose.

“Stop shaking your mother, Cassandra. Her eyes look like they're getting a little loose. I'll call Andy Joiner.”

I fell limply back on the sofa cushions. Paralysis had set in from my hairline down; I could hear what was going on, but I couldn't move. I never have been able to function very well without a good night's rest.

Mother went to the kitchen to make the call. That big sunny room was her personal domain, and she always felt as though she had more control over any situation from that vantage point. Cassie followed behind her like a lost puppy.

Speaking of which, Aggie had been abandoned by her mistress of late and had adopted me as her significant other. The puppy had spent the night curled up at my feet. She was licking my stockinged toes in an effort to arouse me enough to let her out for her morning walk.

There is nothing quite as uncomfortable as warm doggie spit going cold on your feet. After about ten minutes of her efforts, I pushed myself off the sofa with a mighty effort and staggered up to open the French doors.

The morning breeze refreshed me somewhat as it whisked away the mental cobwebs. I slipped loafers on over my wet socks and went out in the yard with the dog.

A late-night rain had soaked the ground, and the sidewalk was awash with earthworms in various states of decomposition. The few birds that had not yet gone south for the winter were out, chomping away with a vengeance on this unexpected slimy buffet.

Aggie hated getting her feet wet, which is probably the reason she knew to lick mine. She hurried through her morning ablutions and raced back to my side looking vastly relieved and more than ready to return to the warm, dry comfort of the house.

Mother and Cassie were filing back into the library. They both looked like they had lost their last friend.

“Looks like de news ain't so hot.”

“Mom, please don't make fun. You always try to make light of the most serious things. Please don't this time.”

I went over and gave her a hug. She tried to resist, but I persisted, and soon she was sobbing against my shoulder.

“That bad, huh?”

“It looks quite dreadful, dear. I couldn't get many details out of Andy, but from the little he said, Ethan seems to be in a lot of trouble. I left a message on Bruce Hawkins' answering machine. The good doctor will be needing a good lawyer.”

“I still think we should call his office at the CDC. Surely there's something they can do.”

Cassie rose up quickly and wiped her face on her sleeve.

“No!” she entreated, “I promised Ethan. No calls to Atlanta. I can't do anything but send the message he asked me to until I talk to him again.”

She looked at me through a wash of tears.

“Mom, will you help me log on to his computer and send the e-mail? I know how, but I don't want to make any mistakes, and I'm still a little upset.”

“Of course, Cassie. I'll go with you.” I yawned hugely, “I'm in tip-top shape myself.”

“Take a shower, Paisley. You'll feel better. I'll have some nice hot tea ready when you get dressed,” offered Mother. “And you all had better go before Chief Joiner decides to visit Ethan's room and confiscate his belongings as evidence.”

“Wow! I hadn't thought of that. You're right, Gran. Hurry up, Mom”

The shower helped and so did the Earl Grey with four teaspoons of sugar. If we were lucky, we'd be back home before I crashed from my sugar high.

I let Cassie drive Watson, my mean green Jeep Wagon. I'd bought it the year before, when we'd first gotten involved in what Mother called “capers.” It had all the necessary equipment for what I had imagined I would be needing for sleuthing. So far, all we had used was the oversized cooler under the jump seat in the back.

Dr. Ethan McHenry had been in Rowan Springs for about six weeks. He and Cassie had met in the beginning of August at our annual “Bright Leaf Festival.” Our town is in the middle of the most fertile tobacco growing country in the southern United States. We've celebrated our prosperity and good fortune every year since 1935 with a street festival, square dance, beauty pageant, and arts and crafts show.

This year an antismoking wag wrote a letter to the editor of the local paper suggesting that we add a phlegm spitting contest and a chest x-ray exhibition to the festivities. Even though I was amused, I had to agree. I'd given up cigarettes the minute I knew I was pregnant with Cassie. Nevertheless, we all dutifully attended each event and unashamedly enjoyed the ice-cold sparkling apple cider, tender delicious funnel cakes, and gloriously fat-filled, indigestible deep-fried corn dogs.

Cassie had met Ethan at the quilt exhibition. They struck up a conversation in front of a particularly beautiful, intricately quilted Log Cabin design. Ethan asked her to accompany him to the square dance at the high school, and she had invited him out to lunch the next day to meet her family. We had all liked him immediately—even Aggie. They had been seeing each other for at least some portion of every day since that first night.

I never dared to ask Cassie how intimate their relationship was because it was none of my business. I yearned to know, but I had always tried to respect her boundaries. She had never been so serious about a young man before. Cassie wasn't exactly fickle, but she did have very high standards and was usually bored with her gentlemen callers in a matter of days. She would probably have tired of Ethan had he not come to need her so desperately.

When he'd arrived in Rowan Springs, Ethan rented a garage apartment behind the home of two of my late grandmother's friends, the Parsons sisters. Miss Lolly and Miss Hannah were in their seventies. Their father had made a fortune in the 1920s selling lumber, and the sisters still lived in the big home Papa Parsons had built for the family in his heyday. Neither of them had ever married, although there were rumors that one of them had nurtured a secret obsession for a married man for decades.

The Parsons' house was covered with gingerbread millwork. Curlicues and arabesques dripped from every eave and soffit. The difficulty in later years was finding someone willing to paint all the doodads and what-nots. Gradually, the house deteriorated, and the sisters grew into suspicious old ladies who peered from behind frayed lace curtains as the rest of the world passed by.

I was really surprised that Ethan had been able to persuade them to rent him the apartment. They seldom went out anymore and rarely opened their doors to strangers. I finally decided that Doc Baxter had arranged it. He was one of the few people they saw. Doc still made house calls for some of his older patients, and he was especially fond of the old ladies. Their mother had been a good friend of his mother's. Ties of family and friends were strong in our little town, and people had long memories. That alone was reason to behave yourself and not do something “unforgettable.”

Ethan's apartment was above the garage and consisted of two rooms originally intended as servant's quarters. The stairway to the entrance was discretely turned away from the main house so that neither master nor maid could observe the after-hours activities of the other. For this I was very grateful because I did not wish to be seen or questioned by anyone. Cassie apparently hadn't thought beyond the immediate necessity of meeting Ethan's request. I wanted to keep us from being implicated as accessories after the fact.

Cassie reached up under the eaves on the landing and retrieved the door key. The room inside was sparsely furnished. A wooden table had been placed in front of a large window in the corner. That was the sunniest spot in the whole place. The rest of the living room and the smaller adjoining bedroom, really only an alcove, was shrouded in shadows and gloom.

Cassie pulled me over towards the table by the window where some expensive computer equipment was neatly arranged. Most of the stuff was state of the art and very sleek and compact. The computer itself was a laptop like mine, but newer and with more memory. The printer was a dilly—small and portable, it looked more like a ladies black plastic purse. There was also a scanner and something very unusual on the floor next to the table—a paper shredder. I wondered if the sisters Parsons had rewired the place for all of Ethan's electronic goodies.

Cassie turned on the computer, and I sat down in a rickety old wooden chair next to her to observe as she tentatively pushed buttons.

“I think I've done it right. I wish I weren't so nervous.”

She wiped her palms on her jeans and typed in Ethan's password. I didn't ask and she didn't tell me what it was. The screen flashed with a network logo, and then the letters “CDC” and a menu. Cassie read each selection carefully before she made her decision.

“Here we go.”

She moved the mouse and pointed at one of the titles on the screen.

“Infectious Diseases Branch of the NCEH.”

Another menu popped up and she breathed a sigh of relief. “I'm in, Mom. Now I'll just type in his e-mail password and his user ID, and then I can send the message to his supervisor. Damn!”

“What, what?”

“I made a mistake…wait, there I backspaced…okay!”

Dr. Ethan David McHenry's mailbox opened up like a neon rose. There were at least thirty entries, but Cassie ignored everything except the messages from a Dr. Eloise Haywood.

I was surprised that his boss was a woman. I had assumed that like most government agencies, the CDC was an old boy's club. I can be sexist, too.

Cassie moused over to the most recent message from Dr. Haywood and clicked. A brief message flashed on the screen.

“Ethan, here's the info you requested. State's getting antsy. Try to have something concrete for us ASAP, but CYA. E.”

“Now Mom, here's the part I'm not sure about. He said just ‘reply.'

Where is…?”

I squinted at the top of the screen and saw it as soon as she did.

“Aha!”

Another mousey click and the screen changed again. She got busy on the keyboard and typed in Ethan's message.

“Doing fine. Wish you were here. Hot on the trail. Let you know soonest. AC. E.”

“That's it? That's the big message? That had to be sent this morning?”

“Please, Mom, don't freak on me. I have to exit the right way, or I'll mess up.”

I stood up and stretched my weary limbs. I was worn out and fed up. “Freak? Freaking message, that's what,” I huffed under my breath.

I glanced out of the window and saw one of the Misses Parsons peeking in Watson's windows. Just at that moment, she turned and caught me staring back at her. I gave her a goofy grin and waved back, then, impetuously, I grabbed all of the floppy discs I saw on the table and stuffed them into my big leather handbag.

“Quick, Cassie, unhook the modem and the laptop and put them in my bag. We've got company.”