Chasing Their Losses Read online

  “Why do you say that?” Cara knew there was no point in trying to lie her way out of this one, but she was not going to admit to anything.

  “My receptionist told me how you barged in here this morning. She was extremely upset.”

  Cara’s stuck out her jaw. “Well, then, you might understand why a physician would be upset when he orders a certain diet for a patient, then your friend Jeff barges into a patient’s room and tells her she shouldn’t be eating what’s on her food tray.”

  “Was the patient eating bacon?”

  “I believe she was.”

  Rozgonyi sneered. “Then he had every right.”

  “No!” Cara said. “The patient I’m referring to doesn’t have blockage or high cholesterol. Her heart condition isn’t related to her diet. And I’m warning you, if Jeff ever does such a thing again, Dr. Drakos will file a complaint.”

  “Oh, Dr. Drakos.” Rozgonyi’s voice trilled up and down. She leaned back and ran the tip of her tongue over her upper lip. “I understand you two are more than just friends. But I’m surprised he’s using you to fight his battles.”

  Anger spiked in Cara’s chest, threatening to shake her composure. That could not happen here. She concentrated on her breathing. In. Out. It worked; she felt calm again. “I’m only trying to defuse a potentially explosive situation,” she said. “If Dr. Drakos—or any physician—files an incident report to complain about a dietitian’s interference, it will go to the Quality Assurance Committee, and they could recommend disciplinary action. I know you don’t want that for Jeff.”

  Rozgonyi blinked twice. Her shoulders slumped. “It won’t be necessary for the doctor to file a complaint. I’ll talk to Jeff immediately.”

  Cara had scored a hit. The Quality Assurance Committee wasn’t afraid of anyone. As a new physician, it wouldn’t be smart for Rozgonyi to tangle with them. They could throw a cog in the wheel of her new program.

  Cara seized the moment. “Good. Now, while we’re talking, I think Jeff should have my approval before ordering food. And he is not to use my office when I’m not there.”

  Rozgonyi bit her lower lip. “You’re doing everything you can to sabotage us, aren’t you?”

  “Not at all. But we need to work together.”

  Rozgonyi’s facial expression softened. She said, “I’m sorry if we’ve gotten off on the wrong foot. It’s just that I feel very strongly about alternative medicine and the importance of a good diet.”

  “And you think I don’t?” Cara asked.

  Rozgonyi sighed. “I don’t know where you’re coming from. It’s just so frustrating in this place. No one seems to want to take the slightest risk in trying new things.”

  Although Cara disliked Rozgonyi, she now felt a certain kinship with the woman. She remembered how difficult it had been when she first returned from Miami and hit that brick wall of Midwestern conservatism. It can’t be done. It won’t work. How many meetings had she attended where her suggestions were shot down? She had since learned to make changes in small increments. But surely Rozgonyi had picked up on this negative mindset when she interviewed for the job.

  “So what brought you to Lewiston?” Cara asked.

  Rozgonyi’s voice faltered. “The usual reasons.” She rolled a pencil between her fingers, avoiding Cara’s eyes. “It seemed like a fine opportunity.”

  Why did she appear flustered? Cara was fairly certain she had touched a nerve but she hadn’t come here to make Rozgonyi squirm. Or had she? It seemed like a good time to end the discussion. She stood up and held out her hand. “Thanks for seeing me on such short notice.”

  Rozgonyi returned the handshake with her usual firm grip, but her fingers were icy.

  Cara felt rather smug as she walked across the street. Then she slapped her palm against her face. Damn. She had hoped to find out why Janie had been sitting in that office discussing her lack of co operation. Still, she had put Rozgonyi on the defensive, and she took some satisfaction in that.

  When she got back to the kitchen, she asked in the front office if Jeff was around.

  Debbie giggled. “No, he left as soon as you kicked him out of your office.”

  Casey, the diet clerk, tugged on her paper hat, uncovering a small flat ear. “He’s not gone,” she said. “I saw him upstairs a few minutes ago when I was picking up menus. He was wandering around the Coronary Care unit. That guy gives me the creeps.”

  Cara sat down beside Casey. “Why do you say that?”

  Casey made a face. “Because he’s a phony. Only friendly if he’s trying to con you. Like that first day he came down here and wanted me to get him logged onto our computer. He was like, ‘hey, I hear you’re the one who really runs this place,’ and patted me on the shoulder. Now, of course, he acts like I’m a cellophane woman, cause he knows…”

  Casey stopped speaking as the hospital emergency Code Blue came over the intercom for Room 2017. There was a moment of silence while she checked her computer screen to find out who was in trouble. “Agnes Sullivan” she said, then after a short pause, she mumbled, “Drakos’ patient.”

  Cara’s head swam. Yesterday, Agnes Sullivan had been on the road to recovery. Now, she was facing death.

  CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

  CODE BLUE

  CASEY ASKED, “What’s wrong? Are you related to Sullivan?”

  Cara’s felt a cold sweat breaking out across her forehead. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out.

  Casey’s eyes clouded with confusion. Cara could imagine what she was thinking: A Code Blue signal meant a patient was in serious trouble. But in truth, it happened often, and most health care personnel didn’t pay much attention unless, of course, it was someone they knew, personally. In that circumstance, professional detachment wasn't expected.

  Cara knew her reaction was giving the impression that Agnes Sullivan was a close relative or friend. She fixed a smile on her face, trying to dispel that notion.

  I’m sorry,” Debbie said, the giggle gone from her voice. “Can I get you a drink of water. Do you want me to call someone?”

  Cara shook her head and backed out the door. She had to get away before they thought she’d gone over the edge.

  She sat down at her desk and tried to focus her mind on paperwork. The gentle thrum of the ice cream freezers outside her office pounded at her temples like a jackhammer. Jeff’s grocery bill, which Lydia had carefully placed on the center of her desk, amounted to $515. If Jeff continued with his grandiose plans, their food costs could double. And did the average Hoosier really care about arugula lettuce salad and roast salmon with champagne sauce?

  Cara reached for an aspirin and crunched it between her teeth. Dragonflies of doubt circled in her head as she thought about Agnes Sullivan. Could Jeff and Dr. Rozgonyi have been right? Did a hunk of bacon fat clog up the little lady’s arteries and give her a heart attack? Of course not. Ridiculous. John knew what he was doing.

  Cara picked up the grocery bill and tried to concentrate, but she saw only a blur of figures. She threw the paper down and went out to the kitchen for a cup of coffee to wash away the bitter taste in her mouth.

  By now John would have been called to Agnes Sullivan’s bedside, and he would be there with the Advanced Cardiac Life Support Team, desperately trying to resuscitate his patient.

  At 4:30 p.m., Debbie came over the intercom. “Cara, I’m sorry to bother you. Can you take a call? It’s Hogan in Coronary.”

  From the undertone of sympathy in Debbie’s voice, Cara could tell the office people were concerned.

  “Of course I can,” Cara said, picking up the phone.

  Head nurse Wanda Hogan sounded stern. “You’d better get up here. One of your people is having an argument with Dr. Drakos. You need to straighten things out.”

  “Sure I’ll be right up.” One of your people. Cara took the service elevator with the words replaying in her head.

  Who could it be? Her clinical dietitians were gentle women who didn’t make a habit
of arguing with doctors.

  It had to be Jeff.

  Although Jeff was Rozgonyi’s protégée, he was a dietitian, so as far as the nursing staff was concerned, he was Cara’s responsibility.

  Typically, a pall hung over the unit after someone had died, and today was no exception. A knot of people clustered in the outer hallway included a few middle aged men and woman, a couple of teenagers, and a thin man with patches of white hair. But there was more than the usual tension in the air. The nurses weren’t engaged in their usual chit-chat, and a housekeeper silently mopped the floor with her head down.

  Cara went directly to see the head nurse. With her white buzz cut, rounded face, snub nose, and piercing dark eyes, Wanda Hogan reminded Cara of a wise old barn owl.

  “Your guy is in the conference room with Dr. Drakos,” Wanda said. “Seems they’re having a difference of opinion.”

  “Help me out here,” Cara said. “I’d like to know what’s going on before I walk into that room.”

  Wanda sighed. “None of us saw it coming. Sullivan’s vitals were fine, heart monitor looking good. Then all of a sudden, she was gone. The family’s in shock. They’d just been in the room with her, talking to Jeff, and they were in such good spirits that they decided to go down to the cafeteria for a cup of coffee. Now, it makes it worse for them, knowing they left her all alone moments before she died. So naturally, they’re wanting someone to blame.” Hogan tilted her head. “Go on in there before those two come to blows.”

  Stomach tightening, Cara walked into a small conference room. The smell of tension was in the air. Under the bright overhead lights, John’s face looked sallow as mustard and Jeff’s was the color of parchment. John stood facing Jeff with his hands balled into fists.

  Cara stepped between them, afraid of where John’s anger might take him. “What’s going on?”

  John’s chest rose and fell under his shirt. “I told Jeff this morning to stay away from Agnes Sullivan. But he came back to see her this afternoon right before she died.”

  Jeff’s lip curled with disdain. “What are you saying? That I gave her heart failure?”

  John’s taut mouth was white with outrage. An orderly passing by stopped to gawk, and Cara moved quickly to shut the door. John’s eyes followed her movement. “Don’t shut it,” he said. “I’m leaving.”

  John wagged a finger in Jeff’s face. “You had no right to upset my patient. I’m going to file a complaint.” Before Jeff could reply, he turned on his heel and walked away.

  Jeff turned to Cara, no longer smiling. “I was only trying to help out. The family remembered me and liked what I was telling her.”

  Cara shook her head. “The patient was having a pacemaker replaced. That didn’t call for a restricted diet, especially since she had such a poor appetite.” Looking over Jeff’s shoulder, Cara saw the Sullivan family walking away from the unit, still hunched over and choking on sobs. She had seen cases where not a single tear was shed when an elderly person died. It was evident Agnes Sullivan had been a much loved wife, mother, and grandparent.

  A plump woman with short curly gray hair spotted Jeff and entered the conference room to grasp his hand.

  “Thank you for caring about my mom,” she said. “I’ve never known anyone in a hospital to spend the time you did with her. She was beginning to believe you were right--that a vegetarian diet might save her life.”

  “She was a fine, intelligent lady,” he said. “If only we’d met a year ago….” He paused and bowed his head.

  A fresh flood of tears streamed down the daughter’s face. “All these doctors want to do is dope people up with medications. But I know you’re right. Alternative medicine is the answer. I’m going to write a letter to the hospital administrator. He should know what a fine young man you are.”

  “Oh, please, no.” Jeff said, patting her shoulder. “I was just doing my job, that’s all.”

  When the family had left, Cara turned to Jeff. “You know as well as I do that coronary patients can’t have long visits. From what that woman said, it sounds as though you were with Sullivan much longer than the allowed ten minutes.”

  Jeff shrugged. “You heard her daughter; she wasn’t upset by my visits. Look, I’m trying to introduce a new way of eating and living to this community. The time and place to start is when the patient is in the hospital and highly motivated. I thought we were going to work together on this effort.”

  “We were, but we don’t go against standing orders. You can spend all the time you want with Rozgonyi’s patients, if that’s what she authorizes. But you’re going against hospital protocol when you tell another doctor’s patient that their prescribed diet is all wrong for them.”

  Jeff narrowed his eyes. “Dr. Drakos is going to be very sorry after all of this is over.”

  “He’s already sorry. It’s difficult losing a patient. I’m sure you know that.”

  “But I was offering him a chance to polish up his tarnished image.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with his image. Where did you get that idea?”

  “Small town like this, you hear talk.”

  Cara leaned her back against the wall. “Oh, come on. Dr. Drakos has a full practice.”

  “Things can change,” Jeff said.

  “What is that supposed to mean?”

  Jeff stroked his beard and looked at her sideways. His long straight nose and protruding teeth made her think of the rat she’d found on the dish room floor. He said, “I hear he’s in some trouble with the police.”

  Cara felt her jaw drop. Jeff must have heard that John was questioned about Doug’s kidnapping. But how had he found out?

  “Why don’t you go back downstairs?” she said. “I need to talk with you about the bill from Earthen Foods.”

  Jeff’s face darkened at Cara’s pulling rank, but she had the upper hand. If he refused to leave the unit, she could accuse him of insubordination. He shoved his hands in his pocket and headed toward the elevator.

  “See you in a couple of minutes,” she called after him, making it clear that she expected him to go straight to the kitchen.

  Hogan stood at the nurses’ station, waiting for Cara. “Did you get things straightened out?”

  “Pretty well, I guess.”

  Hogan put a hand on Cara’s arm. “Come into my office for a minute.”

  Cara followed the nurse into the small cluttered cubicle from which she conducted her supervisory duties. She closed the door. “This is just between you and me and Dr. Drakos,”

  Cara pressed her hand to her mouth. “Scout’s honor.”

  “The family is upset. I heard the son talking about calling his lawyer.”

  “Whatever for?”

  Hogan’s voice deepened. “What do you think? Malpractice.”

  “How could they possibly hope to win such a case? It’s not unusual for an octogenarian’s heart to stop.”

  “Whether they can or not, it’s what they’re talking about. Dr. Drakos is pissed at your dietitian right now, but when he calms down, you ought to tell him about it. He might have to order a hospital autopsy to determine the cause of death.”

  Cara sensed that Wanda Hogan knew more than she was telling. “What do you think actually happened?”

  “I’m not really sure.” Hogan said. “But when a patient dies unexpectedly, and the family starts talking malpractice, we have to believe they’re serious.”

  Cara’s throat swelled, remembering her own episode with salmonella, and everyone thinking she had been negligent. And John’s image had also been tarnished when Janice Carson had been caught writing prescriptions for oxycontin and signing his name. Now, if the Sullivan family decided to sue, it would make newspaper headlines in the Lewiston Star.

  CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

  TIM

  THE TRAFFIC WAS far worse on the highway leading to Texas than Tim had expected. Aggressive drivers of trucks and SUV’s dominated the interstate stretching across the underbelly of the United States. Setting
a hectic pace, they honked horns, tailgated, zigzagged, and zoomed around Tim like he was a farmer who’d wandered onto the Indy 500 racetrack by mistake.

  Even in Indianapolis—the biggest city Tim had ever been to before—people were patient if you slowed down to read a road sign or got mixed up about what lane you were supposed to be in. But from the minute they’d hit Highway 10 coming down from Jackson, Mississippi, Tim knew he was going to be run off the road if he didn’t speed up and keep his mind on what he was doing.

  Both he and Jose were jittery. They took the edge off with a steady intake of beer and benzedrine. Once, they’d been followed for several miles by an Alabama state trooper until the police car finally gave up and turned off in another direction. After that, they stopped at a dump in Louisiana and found an abandoned car with license plates that they could exchange for theirs.

  At the last stop, Tim had caught Doug with a can of pop and knocked it out of his hand. “You can’t drink that stuff,” he said. “If you do, you’ll be wanting to pee.”

  “What’s wrong with that?”

  “Every time we stop, there’s a chance someone could recognize us.”

  Doug whimpered as snot ran from his nose and dribbled across his upper lip. “I’m thirsty,” he whined. “I could pee along the side of the road.”

  “Shut up and quit your crying,” Tim told him. He had never known such a spoiled kid. Early last night Doug had cried when he found out they wouldn’t be spending the night in a Holiday Inn. Claimed he’d never, ever had to sleep all night in a car. Tim had been tempted to tie him up and stuff a sock in his mouth, but he’d been told to treat Doug as well as possible, at least until they were sure of getting the money.

  Finally, after yet another motorist had flipped them off for not getting over fast enough, Tim decided he had to do something. He stopped at a McDonald’s, went inside for Cokes, and mashed up two of the Ambien pills he taken from his mom’s stash and put them into Doug’s drink.

  It worked. After fourteen hours of driving, with Tim and Jose taking turns, they pulled into Beaumont, Texas, and Doug was still passed out in the back seat.