Truth-Stained Lies (15 page)

“That would be Juliet,” Cathy said.

Juliet nodded, but Warren shook his head. “You people are so arrogant. Just because you think the world revolves around you does not mean that you’re the closest one to Jackson. He likes me. I’m staying with him.”

“Look, we don’t have time to fight about this,” the doctor said. “Work it out. It’ll be about an hour before any of you can see him, so you should take that time to gather the food samples.”

“All right,” Warren said. “Mom, I’ll be back shortly. Do you want to go home?”

“No,” she said. “I’ll stay right here.”

Warren pulled keys out of his pocket and headed down the hall.

T
he ICU waiting room was full of anxious family members who looked like they had been up for days. Groups clumped together, their belongings spread out as if they were trying to make a home out of the vinyl recliners lined up in rows. Holly touched her stomach as she looked around the room, wondering what kind of parent she would be if she had the baby and something went wrong with her child. Would she be like these others, keeping vigil all night long?

Yes, she would, came the answer. She was doing that for Jackson. She would do it for her own child, wouldn’t she? Maybe she did have a motherhood gene.

She snatched her thoughts back and tried to focus on her nephew. Warren was with him in the ICU, so the rest of them were exiled here. Mrs. Haughton looked as if she might not make it through the night. Her breath came out
in whistling releases, and periodically she would double over coughing, trying to catch her breath. She could barely hold her head up. She kept it leaned back against the wall behind her wheelchair, but now and then it would drop forward as she dozed.

A coughing spell woke her, and Mrs. Haughton labored to catch her breath. Holly went to sit beside her and touched her bony knee. Mrs. Haughton looked at her with yellow eyes.

“Mrs. Haughton, there’s nothing you can do for Jackson right now. They won’t let us see him until the next visiting time. Why don’t you let me take you home?”

“I have my car,” she rasped out.

“I know, but you could leave it for Warren since he came in the ambulance. I’m happy to take you home.”

Mrs. Haughton looked around, as if trying to think it through. She clearly wanted to stay, but sitting here must be agonizing. Finally, she gave in. “Guess I’m of no use here.”

Holly fetched Mrs. Haughton’s cane, which was propped against the wall. She hooked it onto the back of the chair, then grabbed the oxygen tank, still attached to the woman by a tube. Rolling the tank beside them, she pushed Mrs. Haughton down the hall. When Holly got her into the taxi with the oxygen tank at her feet, she put the cane in the back and returned the wheelchair to the lobby. As she came back to the car, she found Mrs. Haughton doubled over again in another fit of coughing.

The woman’s condition was much worse than Holly had thought. She should probably be in the hospital, herself. She got into the driver’s seat, touched the woman’s shoulder, and waited until she finished coughing again. “Mrs. Haughton, are you all right?”

Mrs. Haughton leaned back and took a long shallow breath. “No, I’m not all right,” she said. “It’s in my lungs, my liver …”

“I’m so sorry.”

Mrs. Haughton managed to pull in a long, uninterrupted breath. “We should have let him stay at Juliet’s. I knew I wasn’t up to it.”

Holly started the car. “Why do you think Warren wanted that?”

Mrs. Haughton shrugged. “I think he just wanted to do something for Annalee … since he feels so helpless. Taking care of her boy … was the only thing he could think of.”

Something about that didn’t ring true. Warren didn’t seem like the kind of person who would go out of his way for his sister.

“It’s so hard to believe.” Mrs. Haughton paused to get a breath. “The day before she died … Annalee and Jackson came over for dinner. We ate in the dining room … like it was Thanksgiving or something.”

Holly frowned. “Did Annalee cook?”

“No, Warren did. It was a feast. Roast beef and potatoes … everything we all like. We talked about … whether I should continue treatment … or surrender to hospice. We decided on hospice care. I was so sure … mine would be the next funeral.”

As her voice trailed off, Holly found her thoughts drifting back to that meal Warren had cooked. Today was Thursday, so that would have been Sunday, four days ago. Enough time for the E. coli to do its number on Jackson’s system.

Her mind raced as she drove. Was it possible? Could Warren have infected Jackson? If so, maybe he’d also murdered Annalee.

Holly got Mrs. Haughton home, helped her into the house, and got her settled on the couch. “Mrs. Haughton, do you think any of that food from Sunday is still in the fridge?”

“You can look, dear,” she said. “He stores leftovers in those blue plastic containers. But he probably took them to the hospital … to be tested.”

Holly went into the kitchen and threw open the refrigerator. It was almost empty. No blue containers. She’d have to find out whether he’d taken them in. She went back to the living room. “Mrs. Haughton, I would be careful with anything that’s left in the fridge. In fact, if you have friends who could bring you some food, that would be great.”

“I’ll be fine,” she said. “I have some canned soup … that’ll be more than enough.”

Holly nodded, hating to leave her alone. “Have you told your doctor yet? I mean, that you’ve decided to start hospice care?”

“Not yet,” Mrs. Haughton said. “I was going to this week … but then Annalee died …” Her voice trailed off.

Holly had assumed the woman was on chemo, fighting the cancer in her body. “If you don’t mind my asking, what’s your prognosis?”

Mrs. Haughton’s eyes grew dark again, and she stared at the oxygen tank. “Probably a few weeks, at best.”

“Oh no. Shouldn’t you be in the hospital?”

“I’m not going … to get better, Holly. Only worse. I hope I live … to see my grandson get better and see … justice for my daughter. But I’m at peace with dying. And Warren has really been here for me.” Tears pushed to her eyes, and she dabbed at them with dry, wrinkled fingers. “Jackson and Warren … are my only two left. I guess they’ll split everything I leave … when I go.”

Holly fell into silence, her mind racing. So Jackson and Warren were the heirs to her estate. Of course.

“How long has Warren been living with you?”

“Six months,” Mrs. Haughton said. “Before that I hardly ever saw him … a blessing that he came home … to take care of me. Never thought I’d see that. He has problems … with employment and everything.” She coughed again, pulled in a breath. “He’s always been a special boy. But it’s nice to see him have such attachments … to me and his nephew. I just hope he doesn’t lose this job … because he won’t leave Jackson’s side.”

Holly frowned, unable to match her picture of Warren with the one his mother painted. “Where is it he works now?”

“At PC Labs. He cleans up. Janitorial work … is so much less than he’s capable of … but he has to work somewhere.”

PC Labs? An alarm went off in Holly’s brain. “What is it they do there?”

“They handle most of the … hospital’s lab work.”

Holly’s throat closed. So Warren could have gotten samples of E. coli there?

She suddenly felt dizzy. She had to call her sisters … Michael.

Holly’s heart pounded as she sprinted back out to her taxi. She got into the car, sat behind the wheel again, staring at the dashboard. Could it be that Warren was waiting patiently for his mother to die, and just before she did, had killed his sister and tried to kill his nephew, so that he’d get the whole estate for himself? Could the man be that cruel? That selfish?

Was he a sociopath? If he didn’t have a conscience, if he could kill blood relatives for money …

She started the car and headed back to the hospital, her
mind racing ninety to nothing. If it was Warren, then he would have destroyed the tainted food. They’d been on the wrong track investigating the men who were angry at Cathy. Even Leonard Miller wasn’t to blame.

Suddenly it hit her. She’d had the answer since he appeared at the post office yesterday.

When she got to the hospital, she hurried up to the ICU waiting room, found Cathy and Juliet sitting with Michael. Michael had dozed off, and Cathy had her head on Juliet’s shoulder.

Juliet was wide awake. “Holly, that was sweet of you to take her home. Is she all right?”

Holly ignored the question and dragged her chair closer so she could talk quietly. “Guys, I need to talk to all of you.”

Cathy nudged Michael, and he woke up, rubbed his eyes. “Hey.”

“I need to tell you something I just thought of,” she whispered. “Something important.”

“What is it?” Michael said, leaning forward.

“Yesterday when I was staking out the post office, waiting for those men to show up, I never saw them. But guess who I did see? Warren.”

Michael’s eyebrows shot up, and Cathy stiffened.

“He shows up in the parking lot, knocks on my window, and says hello. Then he goes in.”

“Did you follow him?” Cathy asked. “Did you see what box he went to?”

“No, I was in the parking lot, waiting in my car. I was going to go in if I saw any of those other men. It didn’t occur to me to go in for Warren. He had some letters in his hand, so I assumed he was just mailing something. I mean, it makes sense that he would use that post office. He lives in the area.”

“Did you see him come back out with mail?” Michael asked.

“No, I got a call and had to leave. But get this. I was just talking to Mrs. Haughton, and she told me that he served dinner to Annalee and Jackson Sunday. And here’s the kicker. He’s working as a janitor at PC Labs.”

Cathy’s mouth fell open.

“Jackson and Warren are Mrs. Haughton’s only two heirs left.”

Juliet slowly got to her feet, her hand over her mouth. “That’s a big estate. They have a lot of money. Do you think …?”

Michael nodded. “I think we’ve hit on something. He’s taken out his sister, and now he’s trying to take out Jackson before his mother dies. Think about it. If Jackson’s alive when she dies, then Jay will be in charge of Jackson’s part of the inheritance. Warren would never get it.”

Juliet turned her panicked gaze to the door. “We’ve got to get him out of there! He could kill him while he’s sitting with him!”

“Call Max,” Cathy told Michael. “Tell him everything!”

“I’m on it. Cathy, if I were you I’d call the judge again. Go to his house if you have to. Make him understand that we have to get Warren away from him.”

Cathy was already heading for the door. “I’ll try to catch him at home.”

J
ay didn’t get the message in jail until seven o’clock that morning when the guard came to wake the inmates. As he passed out bowls of tasteless oatmeal from a rolling cart, the guard called out, “Cramer? Jay Cramer?”

Jay stepped forward, hope lifting his heart. “Yeah?”

The guard didn’t even look at him. “Got a message. Your son’s in the hospital.”

Jay’s stomach dropped. “What’s wrong with him?”

“They said he had an intestinal thing. He went to the emergency room last night. That’s all the message said.”

Jay lunged for the door. “I need to go call … I’ve got to talk to the sheriff. They’ll let me go for this, won’t they? My son needs me!”

“Back up!” the guard barked out. “You don’t got bail yet. You’re staying right here.”

“But can I at least call?”

“No phone calls till eight. That’s when the phone comes back on.”

“Not the pay phone. Can’t I use the phone downstairs? I can only get landlines on this one. I need to call my sister’s cell phone.”

“Nope,” the guard said, and rolled the door shut. Jay broke out in perspiration, his heart hammering. What could be wrong with Jackson? He went to the phone to wait for eight o’clock, but two men were already there waiting to use it.

“Please … I need to use it first,” he said. “My son is sick. He’s in the hospital. I have to know —”

“I was here first,” the burly man who went by the name A.Z. said. “Get in line, pal. I gotta call my wife.”

“But my son could be in trouble. He’s only five and he’s sick!”

Anthony, the next one in line, grabbed the sleeve of Jay’s jumpsuit and pulled him back. “You got a problem hearing? Wait your turn. You ain’t gettin’ the phone until we’ve made our calls.”

Jay had no choice, so he waited, fidgeting. As soon as the clock said eight, A.Z. grabbed up the phone and called his wife to cuss her out for not posting bail for him. Jay couldn’t imagine why the woman had accepted the collect call that was clearly from the jail. Hopefully, she would hang up on him and cut this short.

After a few minutes, the next guy called his mother and had a fight equally blood-curdling, F-bombs flying.

Jackson in the hospital. What could have happened? The guard said it was his intestines. Had he eaten something bad at his grandmother’s? Was he just sick from the stress? How bad must it be for one of his sisters to call the jail and get this message to him?

When he was finally given his chance at the phone, he called Juliet, but only got voice mail. She must be at the hospital.

Now what? Jay racked his brain. He couldn’t call the hospital. He didn’t have a number. He tried to think of someone who still had a landline and could fill him in. Michael used his cell phone mostly too, but he did have a landline in his office. Since he lived there, maybe Jay would catch him in. He closed his eyes, tried to remember Michael’s office number. Two repeating digits … 4545?

“You gonna make a call or what?” a guy who’d just come up behind him asked.

“Yes. Just give me a minute.” He dialed the number, waited, praying. Miraculously, Michael picked up. “Michael Hogan.”

Relief washed over him. Jay waited as the prison system’s automated voice told Michael he had a collect call from the jail and asked if he would accept the charges. When it came time, Jay spoke his name into the phone, waited. Thankfully, Michael said yes.

Finally, the call connected them. “Jay, are you there?”

“Yes,” Jay said. “I can’t reach my sisters. I got a message that Jackson’s in the hospital. Do you know what’s going on?”

Behind Jay, the waiting man tapped his shoulder. “Hurry up, I got an emergency.”

Jay shrugged the man’s arm away and plugged his ear so he could hear.

“He was really sick, had bloody diarrhea last night,” Michael was saying. “Mrs. Haughton called an ambulance. They tested him and discovered he has E. coli.”

Jay had to steady himself on the concrete block wall. “E. coli
?
Is he gonna be all right?”

“I just left the hospital,” Michael said. “He’s still in ICU. I can’t lie to you, man. It’s bad.”

The man tapped his shoulder again. Jay spun around, shooting him a death look. Sweat dripped into his eyes, even though it must be fifty degrees in the room. “How did he get E. coli? You can die of that!” he bit out. “Is he awake? Is someone with him?”

“Warren is with him.”

It just kept getting worse. “Warren? No, I want Juliet to be with him. Michael, you guys have got to get me out of here. Tell Cathy to talk to a judge, get him to set bond. I’ll pay anything.”

The man behind him tapped him again, and rage erupted. Jay swung around. “Back off!” he shouted.

Michael hesitated. “Jay, are you all right?”

Jay felt the blood pounding in his face.

“Jay, calm down, buddy. Don’t get into a fight. It’ll make things worse for you.”

Jay knew he was right. He drew in a deep breath, tried to calm down.

“We’re working hard to get you out, or at least to get Jackson back with Juliet.”

The man shoved Jay and knocked the phone out of his hand. Rage exploded in Jay’s head. He started to fight back, but instead, raised his hands in the air. “Come on, man. We don’t want to fight. Just let me finish my call.”

The man who had come in sometime during the night looked wild-eyed and dangerous, but he was about fifty pounds smaller than Jay. When he swung, Jay caught his fist, but the guy threw a quick left hook, catching Jay on the cheekbone.

Inmates gathered around and began rooting them on, as if they’d waited days for such entertainment. In a flash, he
thought he could kill the guy. But what about Jackson? They wouldn’t let him out of here if he jumped the man, even in self-defense.

He forced his hands to his sides, determined not to feed the fury.

“Punch him!” someone shouted, and others bellowed agreement.

“I’m not fighting with you, man!” Jay yelled. “These guys want trouble, but you’re the only one making it.”

The door slid open, and two guards broke up the cluster of men egging the fighter on. Jay kept his arms at his sides, praying they’d see that he’d done nothing wrong.

One of the guards wrestled the rabid little guy out of the pod as men yelled insults and mocked him. They would turn on him next, he thought, and he’d have to make a decision how far he’d go to defend himself.

The guard still in the room backed to the door and called out, “Cramer? Get over here.”

Dread stooped him. With one last look at the hanging telephone, he crossed through the loud men and faced the guard whose name tag said
Davis
. “You need to see the nurse?” the guard asked Jay.

Jay blinked and stared at him, surprised at the question. He raised his hand to his cheek, realized it was bleeding. He could go to the nurse and get out of this madness for a while. But then he couldn’t finish the call. “No. I’m okay,” he said. “I just need to finish my call. That’s all I want.”

As he turned back from the door, he saw that someone else had already grabbed the phone.

The guard clanged the door shut. Jay brought his hands to his face and went to a bench, wiped the gash with the sleeve of his jumpsuit. How could this happen? His wife dead, his son dying? And him here in jail, powerless to help.

Why was God allowing everything in his life to be stripped away? It didn’t line up. There was no sense to be made of it.

Still, he fixed his eyes on the stupid orange flip-flops they’d issued him, while he sent up desperate prayers for the life of his son.