Coldwater Revenge by James Ross (e novels to read online TXT) 📗

When she tried the hospital, she got the run around. Finally, as the sky began to lighten over the hill above the cabin and the nuthatches began to appear at the kitchen feeder, she pulled herself to the end of the couch, picked up the phone and called Herbert. He had a car. And if he wasn’t awake yet…well, he should be.

“They’re boys, Mary,” the sleepy voice soothed. “They get busy and they don’t think.”

She assumed her friend’s soothing voice and patient demeanor had more to do with living in the Coldwater Senior Center, a place where women outnumbered men six to one, than it had with his Southern upbringing. But it was wasted on her. “Fine. I’ll get a cab.”

“There’s no need, Mary. Just give me an hour.”

An hour? “It’s not the Senior Prom, Herbert. How’s your back?”

“Depends what you have in mind, Mary.”

“Don’t be fresh. Can you carry a suitcase?”

“Of course! Too much family?”

The hearty bravado might have charmed some, but she was in no mood. “Joe’s in the hospital.”

“Oh dear.” His voice lost the banter. “I’m sorry. Is it serious?”

“I don’t know yet. That’s why I called. He got sick at Trudy’s Diner last night. Tommy took him to the emergency room; but I haven’t heard from either of them since. She and the girls will be up soon. I was hoping you could drive me to the hospital so I can find out what’s going on.”

“Be right over. He won’t need a suitcase just yet. Pajamas and razor should be enough for a while.”

“The suitcase is for me, Herbert. If Joe’s sick, I can’t stay here.”

“I thought your daughter-in-law was there, and your other son, too.”

“She has children, Herbert, and now a sick husband. Tommy has to go back to work in a few days. I don’t want him doing double duty or thinking he has to stay longer.” And getting involved with that Pearce piece of work.

“Give me twenty minutes.”

* * *

By the time Mary hobbled to the polished green sedan and arranged her plastered leg under its dash, it was more like an hour. Bonnie had looked frightened when Mary told her Joe was in the hospital. Bonnie hurried the children through a quick breakfast, saying she’d drop the girls at school and go on with Luke to the hospital.

Attempting to suppress her irritation at Herbert’s geriatric driving, Mary looked away from the gnarled fingers that gripped the steering wheel at precisely ten and two o’clock and at the watery blue eyes that scanned the rear and side view mirrors every fifteen seconds. The cream colored slacks held razor creases and the Hugo Boss blazer was spotless. Thick white hair streamed from a tanned forehead and small, groomed ears lay flat against a wide skull. Herbert Ball was a handsome old peacock. But he was infuriatingly precise in everything he did. Mary stared out the window as the lake shore houses drifted past at a soporific thirty miles an hour.

She briefly considered placing a flirtatious hand on Herbert’s bony thigh and asking him to speed it up. But then she wondered whether an eighty year old man who takes a full day’s rest before and after every excursion might overreact, now or later; and she decided that she didn’t need another complication right now.

A half hour later, the Buick rolled to a stop in front of Coldwater Hospital and Herbert wheeled her inside. At the end of a hallway lined with open doors and noisy family gatherings, they found Tom talking to a doctor in a white lab coat. “Where’s your brother, and what’s wrong with him?”

Tom planted an air-kiss on the top of her head. “Hello, Mother. Joe’s asleep. Bonnie and Luke are up in his room. Dr. Sayed here gave him something to knock him out. He was up all night.”

“Looks like you both were,” said Herbert.

Mary lifted her face to the man in the white coat. “What’s wrong with my son, Doctor?” She saw Tommy move his head slightly left and then right.

“Dehydration, arrhythmia, gastrointestinal distress. I was explaining to your son that we’re running tests to try and isolate the cause. I’ve already spoken with his wife.”

“I thought it was food poisoning,” said Mary.

“We haven’t ruled that out.”

She looked at him suspiciously. “Do you think it’s something else?”

The doctor looked at Tom, who shrugged and nodded. “Food poisoning doesn’t usually last this long, Mrs. Morgan.”

Mary ran her fingers across the top of her scalp. “He was in here a month ago, throwing up and all the rest. He said he’d been exposed to some kind of weed killer.”

“Yes, I treated him then as well.”

“Could it be the same thing?”

The doctor lifted his shoulders. “There are gouges on his arms that I haven’t had a chance to discuss with him. But they’re clean and seem to be healing. I’m afraid we just have to wait for your son to stabilize and for the lab results to come back.”

“Hellers,” said Mary, turning to Tom. “Your brother said they put something on their marijuana plants now. You two were up there the other night, weren’t you?” She searched Tom’s face, and he looked away like he was ten years old again and she had asked him if he had brushed his teeth. “He took his gun, Tommy. You weren’t out for pizza.”

“We drove to the junkyard, Mom. Lots of rust. No crops.”

Dr. Sayed interrupted, “Could your brother have been exposed to an industrial chemical at this junkyard?”

“Actually, he went into the house next door, not the junk yard. He told me later that he was in the kitchen the whole time, talking with the owner.”

“He left you outside?” asked Mary.

“To watch his back.”

“This is more of that Billy Pearce business, isn’t it?”

“Joe getting sick?”

She waved the back of her hand and turned to the doctor. “When can I see my son?”

“He should be awake this evening.”

“I’ll take you home,” said Tom. “We can come back tonight.”

She looked at him closely. “You need to