To Catch Her Death (The Grim Reality Series Book 1) (7 page)

He was quiet for a few seconds. “Sargent GR6.”

I bit the inside of my cheek to stop myself from asking anymore questions. There was no way my husband had made as much as the chart said. Or if he had, he didn’t spend it on the family. That led to the question, where the hell had all the money gone?

“I know it doesn’t seem like much, especially since you were used to Jeff’s salary.”

“No, actually it’s fine.”
Because I was never used to his frickin’ salary.

Not commenting further about Jeff’s pay, she pointed to the next chart down. “But we also give you a stipend each month for working in a remote location.”

My spirits lifted slightly at the extra four hundred dollars, but I had to push away the idea there was more money Jeff hadn’t brought home. I refocused on my present situation. “Anchorage is considered remote?”

Her brow furrowed and she looked at Nate. “I’d assumed Nate had briefed you on all the specifics of the job and your duties before having you accept the position.”

Now I looked—well glared—at him. “No, he didn’t.”

She sighed. “Anchorage is not considered remote, but the outlying villages are. You will be required to travel for GRS and reap souls whenever needed.”

“That presents a tiny problem considering I’m a single mother of three. I can’t just drop everything and fly out to Barrow or Dillingham. What am I supposed to do with my kids?”

“That’s precisely why I expected this to be explained prior to your signing.” She scowled at Nate again, but he seemed unrepentant. We were definitely going to have a few words after my orientation. “Fortunately, GRS does have in-home care for those who need it or we will supplement your sitting costs if you have someone you trust.”

I nodded. “I’ll have to think about this. I can’t leave my kids with just anybody.”
Specifically my mother
.

Mom would take them in a heartbeat, but I’d be indebted to her forever. Still, I needed a job and making that sacrifice would be worth it. On the flip side of the coin, if none of my kids became reapers, which I dearly hoped, then I wouldn’t be able to throw my martyrdom back in their faces when they blamed me for their horrible lives. I was looking at the big picture here.

“Let me know if you need any help setting things up. I can introduce you to our caregivers. They are ready at a moment’s notice and might be good to keep as a backup.”

“Thank you, Willow, I really appreciate that.” I liked her more and more. She was the first person at GRS who actually seemed human. “Do you have kids?”

“No.” She picked up her pen and tapped it on the desk. “But I raised my sister—until she died a few years ago.”

Instantly tears burned at the back of my eyes. I swallowed hard, reaching across the desk to cover her hand with mine. “I’m so sorry.”

From experience I knew nothing more needed to be said. After Jeff died people tried to console me by relating a story about someone they’d lost. Although they attempted to find a common ground and connect with me, I got so tired of trying to make
them
feel better. I ceased being the griever and became the comforter. It was very draining.

“Thank you,” she said.

I pulled my hand back and fumbled for a way to get back on topic. “I think meeting GRS’s caregivers is a good idea.”

“Great, I will set that up for us in a few weeks, after you get settled.” Her smile returned. “Now, onto bonuses.”

“I like the sound of that.” I glanced at Nate. For whatever reason, he didn’t seem happy. Maybe he and Willow had dated and she’d dumped his grumpy butt. I added that to my list of questions for him.

“After every twenty reaps you will receive a thousand dollar bonus. On your hundredth reap you will receive an incentive bonus of five thousand dollars.” She slid another sheet to me. “This is the breakdown beyond that.”

“Wow.” I glanced at the figures. “Twenty five thousand for a thousand reaps?”

“We’ve only had one person in Alaska receive that bonus.” Her eyes cut to Nate and back to me. “But all the reaps were not harvested in Alaska.”

He crossed his arms and continued to glare at Willow. I refrained from asking him how he reaped a thousand souls. Mainly because I didn’t want to know, figuring it was a horrific natural disaster or something even more gruesome. At this point ignorance was bliss.

“All righty then,” I said, trying to talk past the uncomfortable tension zinging between them. “How often do we get paid?”

Willow relaxed against her chair. “Every two weeks. We do direct deposit. We’re a paperless office whenever possible.”

“Recycle, reuse, and reap?” I asked.

She smiled again. “I like that motto. We might have to adopt it for our conservation program.”

Nate stood. “Is that all?”

Willow didn’t look at him, but stood and held out her hand again. “It was great meeting you, Lisa. Let me know if you have any questions.”

“Thank you, I will.” I shook her hand.

“I hope you like it here. I’m sure you’ll be a great asset to GRS.”

“Finally, somebody with vision.”

Nate harrumphed and left without waiting for me. “Is he always like this?”

“Oh no, just around me.” She sighed. “I’m sure he’ll be somewhat human with you.”

“One can only hope.” I gave her a consoling smile and left. Something had definitely happened between him and Willow. Call me an office gossip, but I was already devising a plan to squeeze that info out of him. I skipped a few steps to catch up with him. “What’s next?”

“Time to find out if you’re pregnant.”

CHAPTER SIX

I skidded to
a stop. “Excuse me?”

Nate turned to face me. “Your medical exam is next.”

“Oh.” I started walking again. The only way I’d be pregnant was through an immaculate conception, which I was beginning to believe could actually happen. Who knew which of the things I once considered fantasy could possibly be true. “You’re not going to be in my exam with me, are you?”

He stopped at a glass door. A metal sign engraved with
medical office
hung beside it. “Thankfully, no.”

Thankfully indeed.
“Are we finished after this?”

Nate checked his watch. “I’ll come back and check on you in about an hour. We can catch some lunch after that.” His eyes did a quick track up and down my body. “You must be getting hungry.”

Wow, he’d so effortlessly insulted me with his judgmental scan. I had questions for him about the job, so I bit my retort and plastered on a smile. “Sounds great.”

Without any more discussion, because seriously, my self-esteem had already taken a beating today, I entered the office and shut the door in his face. Cherry wood and rich plum walls decorated the outer lobby. The warm mood directly contradicted the utilitarian world that existed beyond the door. I prayed the doctor was a woman. Of all the employees I’d met so far, women seemed to be the only ones with an ounce of compassion.

I walked to the counter and tapped the bell. A feminine voice answered from somewhere beyond my sight. “I’ll be with you in a second.”

So far so good. At least the nurse or receptionist was a woman. Another minute passed and the doctor finally appeared. She was around fifty and had black hair with two thick streaks of white racing down each side, as if they’d been painted on.

“Hi, I’m Dr. Jensen, but call me Candace.” She held open the door with her hip and extended her hand. “You must be Lisa.”

“That’s me, the new recruit.” I gave her hand a quick shake, relief washing through me. I didn’t know how far up into my sweet junk she was going to get, but I felt much more comfortable discussing my girl problems with a female doctor. “Nice to meet you.”

“Come on back.” She led me to the first room on the right and pulled a file from the pocket next to the door. “I’ll need to get some history before we start the exam.”

“Great.” I sat in a plum colored chair that was incredibly comfortable and would look fantastic in my living room. She took her place at a small writing desk. “Doesn’t a nurse usually do this part of the exam?”

“I’m the doctor, nurse, receptionist, and sometimes janitor.” She looked up from the file and smiled. “Besides new recruits and the annual medical exam on the employees, I don’t see a lot of action here.” She shrugged. “I used to be an ER doctor in Detroit. I loved it for a while but the constant crisis tends to take its toll. Here there’s rarely any drama and a lot of my day is free to work on other projects.”

“Sounds like a dream job. I’d like getting paid big bucks and having everybody basically leave me alone.”

“That surprises me. Most reapers like to be in the thick of things.”

I held out my arms to the side. “Do I look like your typical reaper? I have three kids, one of them being a teenage girl. The most excitement I’ve had over the past year was the convenience store robbery that landed me here.”

“Yes, I heard about that.” Thick black lashes framed her dark blue eyes. “I think you’re the first recruit I’ve had that accidentally became a reaper.”

I sighed. “Once you get to know me you’ll see how fitting my initiation was.”

She laughed. “I’m sure you’ll be a great reaper.”

I harrumphed. “You’re either being incredibly diplomatic or gullible.”

“Between you and me I think the reapers could use a little more estrogen on their team.” She tucked a hank of thick hair behind her ear and looked at the chart. “It seems to me reaping should be handled with finesse and compassion instead of acting as if they’re tossing a log on the fire.”

“Oh, you’ve met Nate then?”

She laughed again and nodded, but made no further comment on the subject. “So, first question. Are you pregnant or is there a possibility of being pregnant?”

Several answers popped into my head but I refrained from saying them. “No.”

“Do you have any old injuries that are giving you problems or periodically act up?”

“Well, I sprained my ankle in a horrible gardening accident last year.”

She looked up, her brows lifted. “A horrible gardening accident?”

“I was talking on the phone and carrying a potted tomato plant out my front door when I tripped and fell.” It had been awful and humiliating. Repeating the sordid details again dredged up what a Mrs. Magoo I could be. “I landed on the pot, tossed the phone over the side of the patio, and buggered up my ankle.” Perhaps it was from the painfully embarrassing memories, but my ankle began to throb. “It aches when the weather changes or if I walk on uneven ground for a long time—or talk about it.”

“Did the tomato make it?” she asked, scribbling a few notes down.

“Nope, but it was a lost cause to begin with. My plants always die.” It was true, I’d yet to own a plant I was able to nurture and get to flourish.

Continuing to write, she said. “That’s probably because you’re a reaper?”

“Seriously?”

She looked up. “Most reapers have a tough time with plants and small animals like fish.”

“Wow, I always thought I’d inherited my mother’s anti-green thumb.” We never had plants growing up. When I got my own place I’d been determined to get a little green in my life. Alaskan winter days were dark and plants seemed like the perfect touch of life during the cold months. But no matter what I tried, I couldn’t get the darn things to grow. Now I knew why. “Remind me not to clean my boys’ fish tank.”

“I’ll make a note here to start you on physical therapy. I can help you strengthen your ankle.”

“A physical therapist too?” I liked Dr. Jensen. She didn’t just listen to what I said, but seemed genuinely interested in helping me.

“I started my medical career as an assistant to a physical therapist.” She smiled. “It made me want to become a doctor.”

“Where would we do my physical rehab, here?” Lord knew I could use it on more than just my ankle.

“Yes. One of the benefits of working at GRS is deep pockets. I’ve got better equipment and supplies than most hospitals in Alaska.” Her gaze tracked down the form. “Do you smoke?”

“No.”

She made a checkmark. “Do you drink alcohol?’

“Yes.”

“How often?”

I hated these questions. They always made me feel like I’d done something wrong. “Two to three times a week?”

She scribbled another note. “Hard liquor? Wine? Beer?

“Yes.” Realizing that sounded rather alcoholicish, I added, “But I prefer beer.”

Another smile spread across her face. “A girl after my own heart.”

The woman had sophistication coming out her ears and I had a difficult time picturing her downing a cold one. “I pegged you as a wine drinker?”

“One of my claims to fame in college was being the two time beer drinking champion at my sorority’s Oktoberfest.”

“Impressive.” The connection between Dr. Jensen and I tightened a little more. “But only two years?”

She flipped around a picture frame that had been facing away from me and pointed to a Muffy-looking blond. “Belinda Mayer stole the title my senior year.”

The good doc stood out amongst the sea of Barbies. “She looks really—perky.”

“Don’t let her looks fool you. The girl could drink like a fish.” She set the picture back in its place and returned her attention to the questions. “Do you use any recreational drugs?”

“Define recreational?” When she looked up with her eyebrow lifted, I rethought my answer. “No, besides the occasional swig of cold medicine to help me sleep, I’m clean.”

“Do you have trouble sleeping?”

“For the first six months after Jeff died I did, but I’m getting better.” I still woke some nights thinking he was beside me, but it didn’t cause me the jolt of depression anymore. Usually I just rolled over and fell back asleep. “No need for a prescription if that’s what you’re asking.”

“It was.” She ticked off another box. “Are you taking anything for depression?”

“Despite the opinion of others, no.”

“Tomorrow you’ll be given your psych exam, which includes a little chat with GRS’s psychiatrist. He’s good but a little pill happy if you know what I mean.” She set down her pen and looked at me. “My suggestion is to take the prescription if he writes one, toss it when you get home. It’s better to look cooperative than having to defend you mental competence.”

“GRS has a psychiatrist on staff?” I shifted in my chair. “That makes me a little nervous.”

“Let’s face it; this isn’t your ordinary nine-to-five. He’s a great therapist and you might find yourself needing to talk about something that happens on the job.”

I widened my eyes. “Can’t I just come and see you?”

She gave a little snort. “Psychiatry is not on my list of specialties, but I will admit I give my best advice after a few beers.”

“Me too. I’m a veritable font of wisdom after a six pack.”

There had been several times over the last year when Vella and I solved the world’s problems. With each bottle we became more brilliant. But, as with reality, by the morning my genius had been replace by self-loathing and a monster headache.

She scooted her chair forward and pulled a blood pressure cuff off a hook on the wall. “You’ll need to take off your jacket.”

Obviously there was no way I was getting out of revealing my sweatshirt. This was a good lesson for me. I’d dressed like a frump for so long I’d become immune to it. Already this job was forcing me to give myself higher standards. I slipped off the jacket and pushed up my sleeve, resting my arm on the chair. Candace didn’t comment on my poor clothing choice and I didn’t bring it to her attention.

After positioning the cuff, Dr. Jensen pushed a button. The whir of the machine kicked in. The band tightened. I attempted a few calming breaths, trying to make my blood pressure as low as possible. I had no idea what state my health was in after the year I’d just gone through. I was willing to try anything that gave me an edge. The pressure reached that painful point when my hand felt three times its normal size.

A second later a tiny puff of air hissed, releasing pressure every few seconds. I mentally tried to slow my heart rate. Not having any real medical training besides what I learned from television, I didn’t know if that had anything to do with my blood pressure, but figured it was worth a try. A quiet ticking clicked from the machine. The painful throbbing ebbed to a tolerable level. After another few seconds, the cuff gave a loud sigh and deflated.

“One twenty over eighty.” She yanked on the strap, and with a loud rasp of Velcro, freed my arm. “Perfect.”

Relief, and I’ll admit, a little surprise washed through me. “Great.”

She hung the cuff back up and stood. “Now, your weight.”

I groaned. “Do we have too?”

“Sorry.” She indicated a fancy scale the size of my treadmill. “It’s required.”

“That thing looks big enough to weigh livestock.” She laughed. I plodded to the scale, shoulders slumped. Before climbing on I kicked off my shoes. Like I said, any edge I could give myself. I doubted it would matter when it came to finding out just how fluffy I’d become.

I stepped on and stared at the digital reading. The numbers scrolled quickly upward and landed on a nice round one hundred and fifty. “Holy crap.”

Candace wrote the weight on the file. “Listen, it’s natural to put on weight during a time of grieving, but you’re young and the weight shouldn’t be too difficult to take off.”

She sat back at the desk and I plopped down in the plum chair. “I didn’t realize I gained thirty pounds.”

Instead of making me feel better, her consoling smile drove home just how much I’d played into the grieving widow. Though perhaps not consciously, I’d used putting my kids’ needs before mine a few times too often.

“I guarantee you’ll drop some weight once you start your training.” She closed the file. “Until then, try to eat better. I recommend cutting out sugar, which includes limiting your drinking.”

“This job just keeps getting better and better.” I let out a sigh.

“Well, we’re done except for—” She opened her drawer and pulled out a plastic cup with a blue lid. “Getting a sample.”

I wrinkled my nose. “There’s no way I’m pregnant.”

“Drug testing.”

“Oh—right.” I took the cup. “Bathroom?”

“Straight across the hall.”

I exited the office. The bathroom mirrored the other room with its elegant granite countertops and tiled floors. I really needed to give my house a makeover. The 1970’s harvest gold bathtub and black laminate counters hadn’t been changed since the day the previous owners installed them.

I mentally added yet another project to my growing list. After doing my business, I handed Dr. Jensen the cup. My stomach growled. I hoped we were finished. I got cranky if I went too long between meals. And after facing the harsh reality of my weight, I was definitely feeling a little grouchy. “Anything else?”