Illegally Dead Page 2

  Tony thought that odd. Jennifer didn't nap during the day, and he was concerned. Her voice sounded tired to him. He tossed the stack of mail in his hand at the kitchen counter and hurried down the hall to the master bedroom. He found Jennifer sprawled across the large bed.

  "Baby, you're home early," Jennifer said.

  He sat next to her on the bed and caressed her back. "What's wrong? You sounded like you needed help when you called."

  "I did, but your Mom came home earlier than usual and took the kids to the park. You can go back to the hospital if you need to."

  "I'll stay home." Tony slipped his hand under Jennifer's shirt and continued to rub her back. "Did you go see the doctor? What did she say?"

  "I didn't go. Corvasce wasn't working for some reason, though it isn't Wednesday. I made an appointment for tomorrow. I picked the kids up from school and came right home. I'm tired." Jennifer rolled onto her back and sat. The bedspread had creased her round face. She pulled her shirt off, stopping to untangle her long hair from the fabric. "Feel here." She guided his hand under her arm. "Do you feel it?"

  He palpated the area, rolling the pullet egg-sized lump around with the tips of his fingers before removing his hand. "Does it hurt?"

  "Not at all. I found it last night. I noticed it while I was shaving."

  "Why didn't you tell me last night?"

  "I thought it was my imagination. I decided to check again today. I didn't want to worry you without reason."

  "Have Corvasce check it tomorrow when you see her." Tony bent and kissed the cleavage between her ample breasts. Even after a long day, the smell of Chanel lingered on her skin. He handed her the shirt and stood. "You've had a cold. I think it's just a swollen lymph node from the virus. That's happened to you before."

  "You're right. But still, I'm tired. I was tired before I started this cold."

  "Rest. Ma and I will take care of the kids and get dinner ready. If you don't feel better later, I'll call you in sick for tomorrow."

  "I don't know about that. We're short in the operating room. They begged me to work overtime today, but I couldn't find the energy. Lots of people are on vacation. Today there was just me and five other nurses working."

  "Listen, if you're not well, they'll have to adjust. You rest." He motioned to her to lie down.

  As Tony covered her with a thin cotton blanket, he updated her on Warren Valentine's death, including Nick's belief Valentine was the victim of a sudden death heart attack.

  "And, I can't believe Thorne lost that case," he said. He had a lot of respect for Thorne. He remembered Thorne hovering over critical patients in the ICU. He also knew Thorne spent a lot of time with Jones before he died. Thorne had told Tony he didn't want Jones' wife to feel like she was in it alone.

  Tony removed his scrubs and reached for a pair of gray cotton shorts. He added a worn Florida Marlins tee shirt and grabbed a pair of short socks and his running shoes.

  She giggled. "My, you look tough half-naked, sexy."

  Ignoring her suggestive comments, he brushed his lips across her forehead, then kissed her lips. "I love you. I'm going to look at the mail, then run to the park and rescue Ma from the kids."

  As Tony left the room, he glanced over his shoulder at Jennifer before closing the door. She didn't look good to him. She was pale and losing weight. Had she been dieting? She hadn't mentioned it. Her breasts seemed less full. Maybe she hadn't wanted to make an issue of another weight loss attempt. Lost in thought, Tony straightened the family pictures hanging in the corridor as he made his way to the kitchen. He stopped in front of a recent photo of Jennifer with the kids, studying it, he believed her weight loss obvious.

  He grabbed a cola from the refrigerator, gathered the scattered mail from the kitchen counter, and sat at the table. For the first time since coming home, he noticed Bella, their almost year-old Golden Retriever, wasn't around. Usually, she was all over him when he came home, but he'd been too distracted to notice. Nonna must have taken Bella to the park with the kids, an ambitious undertaking for her. He tossed the first piece of junk mail into the nearby basket and smiled at the thought of Bella charging into the water and refusing to come out.

  "Trash. Trash. Trash." He flipped through the stack of mail, then stopped. He picked up a thick white envelope. As he read the return address, Valentine, Hansen, Henninger & Schmeck, A Professional Association, he felt his hands turn cold. A sinking sensation—as if the back of his tongue was dropping into his stomach—overtook him. He paused a short moment to still the shaking of his hands, then he opened the envelope and unfolded the small stack of paper.

  He read,

  You are hereby notified that Sheryl Carlson, as personal representative of the Estate of Milton Carlson, and Sheryl Carlson and Cara Carlson, as statutory survivors, intend to initiate litigation against you for medical malpractice.

  His eyes dropped to the signature line—Emily J. Schmeck. "Vaffanculo. Damn. I don't need this." Tony laid the stack of papers on the table, took a long drink of his soda, and stared through the bay window at the bike path and small lake behind the house. The screened pool enclosure was unusually tidy. "Damn." He lifted the papers and continued to read.

  After perusing the several pages, Tony concluded Schmeck named him in the suit because he had charted the patient's history of ulcers on the admission sheet, but he had not mentioned passing the information to the attending physician. Glancing down at the bottom of the page, he noted the name of the plaintiff's medical expert. Man's a jerk, he thought. He can't maintain a practice much less have the smarts to critique someone else.

  Tony laid the papers on the table, raising his eyes to the bay window, he watched several pure white egrets land next to the lake and begin feeding. He decided not to tell Jennifer about the letter until she felt better. The hospital insurance would cover his costs so the financial aspect of defending the suit wasn't a problem. He'd take the letter into the hospital in the morning. Maybe he'd try to get a look at Milton Carlson's chart, just to refresh his memory. Unless risk management had locked it up, that is.

  After putting the papers on the front seat of his Chevy Astro mini-van, he jogged around to the back of the house and south along the bike path in the direction of the park. He didn't break a sweat in the three block run to the park.

  Soon, he saw his children playing in the fenced playground. Jeffrey, the nine-year-old, perched on the top of a small slide. Monica, the three-year-old, sat at Jeff's feet, and Joey, the five-year-old, seemed intent on catching her at the bottom. His mother, Elena or Nonna as the children called her, stood by the edge of the wide canal. He glimpsed the top of her head just beyond the small rise bordering the water.

  It was obvious Bella had followed a Muscovy duck, a homely breed with dark plumage, blue eyes, white wing patches, and a cancerous-looking bill, into the water. The endemic ducks nested around the edges of the canal and called all of the local bodies of water home. Beware the brave soul who feeds them in his yard, thought Tony. They'll never leave once freeloading becomes habit, similar to a south Florida plaintiff's lawyer. He pushed the thought out of his mind and broke into a run, hurrying to rescue his mother from the dog's antics.

  "My son, I'm glad you're here. She won't come out of the water." Elena Conte motioned to the exuberant pup. Though she had immigrated to the United States with her husband forty years earlier, she still spoke with a slight Italian accent.

  Tony laughed and bent low to kiss his mother's wrinkled cheek. "Ma, this happens every time you take her to the park. You should learn."

  He snapped his fingers. "Bella, come." The dog turned her golden head in the direction of the sharp sound and swam toward the shore.

  "You'll have to teach me to do that."

  "You're right. Now that you're living with us you should be able to control all of the family pets." He waved his arm toward the play yard, including the children in his comment.

  "Don't be calling my grandchildren pets."

  Monica t
ook a huge swing, connecting with Joey's chin. Joey's wail broke the calm.

  "Mi scusi, maybe you know what you're talking about." Elena excused herself.

  "Va bene." Tony hugged the petite woman, telling her it was alright. "Listen, Ma, I'm worried about Jennifer. She showed me a lump under her arm. I don't like how it felt." He touched himself under his arm to illustrate the location of the swelling. "It hasn't been there for long."

  "Do you think it's serious?"

  "Non so," he really didn't know, "but it worries me. I told her it doesn't feel serious to me, but I lied. She's going to the doctor tomorrow."

  "You'll have to wait and see. Meanwhile, I'll help her as much as I can." Elena patted his arm.

  Bella emerged from the canal and sprinted in Tony's direction. He guided his mother away from the drenched dog, who shook violently, sending a shower of reeking canal water in every direction and soaking Elena's sleeveless cotton smock.

  "Phew, go see Jennifer. That'll wake her up!" Tony held his nose and backed away. "You'd better get dried off. It's getting chillier by the minute. Another cold front is on the way. I don't need you sick, too." He took a sniff of her duster. "Shower, too, why don't you? I'll bring the kids home with me."

  Tony watched as his mother crossed the grass to the bike path. She stood under five feet and wore her short salt and pepper colored hair clipped close to the neck. He suspected she groomed it with the same hair tonic his father once used. Her usual attire was slip-on sneakers and print sleeveless dusters she insisted on buying at a discount store.

  I'm going to need her, he thought. His gut told him Jen was sicker than she let on and had been for a while. Dr. Thorne was an excellent diagnostician. He'd suggest to her she make an appointment with him.

  Tony snapped his fingers. "Heel." He patted Bella on the head. "Good girl, Bella."

  Having second thoughts, he decided to have Jennifer see her regular physician, Mary Corvasce. Jennifer trusted her.

  The smell of wet dog mixed with reeking canal water drifted up to his nose. Tony found a hose near the playground and rinsed the odor from Bella's golden coat. She stood, leaning into his massaging hand. He moved away, and she, as if on cue, shook. "Good girl. Now stay out of that damn canal."

  He knew he was barking in the wind. Bella loved the water and followed the ducks whenever she could. The day was approaching when she'd catch one of them. Tony contained the dog in the playground with the children before joining them in their play.

  Monica climbed onto a swing and held on, her fingers turning white from her strong grip. She smiled at her father. As she wiggled around in the late afternoon sunshine, bits of color danced off the light brown ringlets covering her head. With the help of Jeff, he kept the two smaller children in perpetual motion for thirty minutes, giving Jennifer time to have a good rest.

  A sudden breeze felt chilly. The hair on his arms stood erect in gooseflesh. Tony hurried the children out of the park and down the path to the house. The smell of simmering pasta fagiole welcomed them home.

  Later that night, cuddling in bed, Tony said, "Jen, how you feeling?"

  "Better. The rest helped, and your mother's very thoughtful. She wouldn't let me touch a thing with dinner. After you took Jeffy for karate class, she cleaned the kitchen and refused to let me help. She got the little ones ready for bed. All I did was read them their story." She snuggled close to his chest and ran her hand through the sparse hair on his chest and over his firm stomach. "Make love to me."

  "Babe, are you sure you feel up to it?"

  "You're the one who has to feel up to it." She laughed, running her hand further down his body and under the elastic on his boxer shorts. "And, I see that you do."

  "Cute, very cute." He turned on his side and nuzzled her soft neck. He slid his hand under the short top of her pajamas and touched her breast. Feels like she's losing weight. He'd ask about it later. He slipped her top over her head, tossed it aside, then took a nipple in his mouth and pulled, running his tongue around the edges.

  "That feels nice," she murmured.

  "I aim to please."

  "And please you do."

  Three

  Tony respected Abigail Stern, a south-Florida-born-and-raised blond with a round face and stylish wire-framed glasses. After her divorce, she became absorbed in her profession and was, without title, his right hand in maintaining order in the Emergency Department. A seasoned emergency nurse in her mid-thirties, she chatted with Tony in the middle of the ED's nurses' station.

  Amidst the banging doors, squeaky stretcher wheels, and beeping monitors—typical early morning bustle in the department, Tony leaned close to Abigail and lowered his voice. "What did Chamberlain say about the verdict?"

  The aroma of fresh brewed coffee permeated the air and mixed with the smells of alcohol, Betadine, and bodily excretions.

  "Man, you can imagine. He's very angry. He's talking about finding something else to do and leaving medicine."

  "That would be a shame." Tony raised his eyebrows. "Do you think he will?"

  "Not right now, but he's on the verge. To make matters worse, yesterday Valentine and his partners served Chamb with another notice of intent to sue. Can you imagine? On the same day he tried to save the man's life, he gets another letter." Abigail's eyes darted around the ED.

  "For the Carlson case, right?" Tony told Abigail about the letter pulling him into the same case. "I hand carried the letter to Eva Grear in Administration, and she sent me to Risk Management. They're setting up a meeting for me with the hospital's attorneys. They've assured me I've nothing to worry about, but it'll be aggravation and will consume a ton of work and family time."

  "You weren't involved. All you did was admit Carlson to the ED and do his assessment."

  "The legal bastards include everyone. Carole in Risk Management told me the lawyers use a shotgun approach. They try to include as many individuals as possible in hopes big money will fall out of the case and into their laps. The plaintiff's attorney gets a huge percent of the take."

  "What did Jennifer say about you being sued?" Abigail ran her fingers back through her short blond hair, then rearranged it, returning it to near perfect style.

  "I haven't told her."

  "Why?" Abigail touched his arm.

  "She saw Mary Corvasce two days ago, on Tuesday. Mary thinks the lump is due to a swollen lymph node from the chest cold Jen's been fighting. She wants to recheck it in a couple of weeks, but I saw her in the hall yesterday and she's concerned. The lump feels rubbery, and it's painless, not even tender. She told me to be sure Jen follows-up."

  "What's she thinking?"

  "She didn't say, and I didn't ask," Tony said, looking around the department. "I guess I don't want to know her suspicions yet." Tony pointed toward room six. "Mark Olson just went in to see the patient in six."

  "He's my patient. I'll give him a few minutes to check things out and then go in. You know Doctor Olson. He likes to make sure we hear everything he says to a patient."

  "He likes a witness. When is his case settling?"

  "Chamb talked to him yesterday. Olson said he refuses to settle out of court. The case is scheduled for trial in a couple of weeks. The poor man has taken so much time away from his patients to fight the law suit. He should have settled and made it go away."

  "Why do you say that?"

  "Chamb said the plaintiff offered Olson the opportunity to settle for a hundred grand. Olson refused, but he should have accepted the offer and cut his losses. He did have a problem with the patient. The nurses called Olson in the middle of the night, but he refused to come into the hospital. The lawyers contend it was Olson's responsibility to check the patient himself. The patient's hand swelled in the cast, but the color of his fingers was okay, and they were warm to touch. Olson told the nurses to elevate it, and he'd check it in the morning. Chamb doesn't think the five-hour delay caused real inconvenience or discomfort to the patient."

  "That's what Olson believes." Tony ho
oked a tall stool with his foot, dragged it close, and leaned on it.

  "Olson counter offered, or his insurance company did anyway. The family refused, and now he's headed to court. The plaintiff, Wallace Cray is his name, is asking for a million dollars."

  "Because his arm puffed, and the cast pinched for a few hours. Wow!" Tony rolled his eyes and shook his head.

  "Cray claims his hand is numb in places, that he suffered nerve damage, and now can't do certain things with that hand." Abigail wiggled her fingers and glanced through the doorway of her patient's room where Olson was evaluating the woman's fractured arm.

  "Merda, what things could be worth that kind of money? What is he, a brain surgeon or something?"

  "Cray's a rich stock broker. The suit says he can't build his model ships any longer. He claims he lost the fine coordination in his left hand and needs that particular hobby to handle the stress of his job. Now he says since he can't manage his stress, he's experiencing a loss of income."

  "It reminds me of the case a few years ago when the jury gave the lady in Miami thirty-thousand dollars because she had a little pain in her toe."

  "It's the same idea, except the stock broker has no pain and minimal loss of function."

  "Who's the lawyer?" Making a fist, he muttered, "Stronzo." Tony thought all malpractice lawyers were bastards. "They're out to get us."

  Abigail, who was accustomed to Tony's muttered Italian curses, ignored the comment without taking offense. "Valentine, Hansen, Henninger and Schmeck. Who else?"

  "You're certainly current with the subject."

  "Chamb and Prentice play golf with Mark Olson every week. Have for years. Olson is a computer nerd like Ray Prentice. They have a lot in common. Both manage the financial end of their group practices and stuff like that." Abigail hurried down the hall and disappeared into the room where Olson was examining his patient.

  A few minutes later, Abigail reappeared with Olson. He was an unusual looking man, homely, with thinning light brown hair, a matching goatee and mustache, and a too pointy nose and chin. He wore his customary wrinkled surgical scrubs and a hospital issued disposable lab coat.