Читать книгу The Plague Doctor - E. Joan Sims - Страница 5

Chapter Three

Before my father died, he and my mother had enjoyed what many think of as the good life. Most of their indulgences were kept within the realm of genteel good taste; however, my mother was guilty of excess in one area: bed linens. She loved the luxurious feel of soft, silky sheets. Pretty lace coverlets, warm cashmere blankets, satin duvets, and down pillows were her downfall. I could sleep on a wooden floor, but I must admit, I loved being the pampered recipient of the objects of her obsession.

The sheets on the four poster bed—the one I’d had since I was ten years old—were of the finest pima cotton in a lovely soft pink. Four plump down pillows graced the head of the bed, and a beautiful old Grandmother’s Flower Garden quilt in shades of rose and green was folded across the bottom. The quilt just happened to have been made by my own grandmother from hundreds of pieces no bigger than a nickel. It was all the cover I needed at this time of the year. The big old house was up on a hill, and we always enjoyed a pleasant breeze from the direction of the lakes. At night I opened all three of the tall bay windows in my room so I could hear every note of the nighttime chorus of crickets and frogs.

I had fallen asleep listening to this symphony of nature shortly after ten. I was still snoozing soundly in my soft cocoon of luxurious pink comfort when Cassie banged loudly on my bedroom door at one o’clock in the morning. She flung it open without waiting for me to invite her inside.

“Mom! Wake up!”

She disappeared into the adjoining bath where I heard her blowing her nose. I struggled to disengage from the arms of Morpheus and make some sense out of the situation.

“Humpf, whatf, wah time is it?”

She came out of the bathroom swabbing her face with a handful of tissues. Her eyes and nose were red, making it obvious she had been crying.

“What in the world is wrong, Cassie? Is Gran all right?”

“Gran? Oh, I guess so.”

She sat down hard on the side of my bed and bounced me into a further state of wakefulness.

“Mom, we are in terrible, terrible trouble. Ethan has been arrested.”

She started crying again.

It was on the tip of my tongue to say that it was “he” who was in trouble not “we,” but that would have been an insensitive and provocative remark. Besides, I couldn’t imagine that Cassie was right. What in the world could our mild-mannered Ethan have done to get himself incarcerated?

Most of the arrests reported in the weekly paper were for driving under the influence. Rowan Springs was in a so-called dry county, but the local moonshine trade was a thriving business. I’d bought the white wine and Cointreau we served with dinner at a specialty shop in Nashville over a year ago. Ethan, I remembered distinctly, hardly touched either. Speeding was my next guess, but in that funny little car? Forty-five miles an hour would be too much to expect out of that ancient VW engine.

Whatever it was, I was sure his offense could not be very serious. Reassured by my own thoughts, I pushed myself up to a sitting position and plumped two pillows behind me.

Cassie was still crying. Her shoulders were shaking with deep heartfelt sobs. Feeling certain that this was just another episode of the perils of motherhood in the post-teen years, I patted her arm and suppressed a yawn.

“There, there, Cassie, dear,” I sighed. “I’m sure we can straighten this out in the morning. I’ll go talk to Chief Joiner and…”

She raised her head slowly. Her tear-filled eyes flashed sparks of indignation and outrage.

“Mom, this isn’t just another teenage melodrama!”

She always had been able to read my mind. I closed my eyes. This was going to be one of those nights. The pillow was so soft and the sheets so inviting. Maybe if I kept my eyes closed she would go away.

“Ethan is in jail for rape and murder, and I don’t know what to do!” she wailed.

I raised my head so fast I hit the lampshade. I had to make a lightning grab to keep lamp, bulb, and shade from falling to the floor.

“Oh, my God! Why didn’t you tell me? Oh, crap! Does Mother know?”

Cassie looked at me with exasperation.

“Well, first of all, I have been trying to tell you for the last ten minutes. Secondly, all Gran knows is that we had a late-night phone call. I guess she wasn’t too worried. She went back to sleep.”

“Nonsense! Call her in here and tell her what’s going on. She might work herself into a stroke imagining things. I’ll throw on some jeans.”

Five minutes later we were all sitting in the library drinking the hot coffee that Mother had brewed after the phone call. She didn’t know the reason for the phone call, but she knew it might require caffeine, bless her heart.

“Let me call Andy Joiner now. I can find out in two minutes flat exactly what is going on and put an end to this dreadful speculation.”

“Mother, it’s one o’clock in the morning. I’m sure every soul in Rowan Springs, including Ethan, is asleep. Let’s not make matters worse by waking Joiner and his whole family up. A peeved Chief of Police is not what we need right now.”

Cassie jumped up and began to pace back and forth in front of the open French doors. A breeze which smelled suspiciously of rain began to blow softly into the room.

“Mom’s right, Gran. But I do want you to call first thing in the morning. Seven sounds reasonable, don’t you think so, Mom?”

Her face was white and strained under her long, dark hair, and her big brown eyes betrayed her fear. I was beginning to get worried about her.

“Cassie, come and sit down, honey. If you get all worked up and emotionally exhausted you will not be able to help Ethan one little bit. We need to keep calm and think clearly.”

“You’re right, Mom. I guess I’m overreacting. After all, it’s probably some stupid mistake.”

She plopped down on the sofa next to me. “He just sounded so tired and worried. That’s what upset me.”

“Dear, tell us exactly what happened,” urged Mother softly.

“Ethan always calls to tell me good night and, well, other things,” she blushed lightly under her summer tan. “Tonight he was late. I was a little worried, but not much. The phone rang about eleven-thirty, right, Gran?”

“Eleven thirty-three.”

“Anyway,” she continued, “it was Ethan calling from the police station. He said I was his ‘one phone call.’ I was pretty upset, but I didn’t let him know.”

“Excellent, my dear,” approved Mother.

“Wonder why he didn’t call the CDC, or somebody in Atlanta?”

“He doesn’t want anyone in Atlanta to know, Mom. He made me promise not to tell. He gave me his computer password. I’m supposed to go to his apartment tomorrow and send an e-mail to his office so no one will suspect there is a problem.”

“How very peculiar. I would have thought he would have been screaming for help from Uncle Sam. They probably have all sorts of legal eagles who help back up their people in the field. I’m sure Ethan isn’t the first doctor from the CDC to ever get into trouble.”

Cassie was busy playing with the hem of her gown. Finally she looked up at me, her eyes shining with unshed tears.

“That’s just it, Mom. He’s apparently been in trouble before.” A tear escaped the corner of her right eye and slid down the smooth curve of her cheek.

“He’s rather, well, he called it unconventional, in his approach to his work sometimes. He, uh, he has a police record.”

“What kind of record?” I asked pointedly.

“Breaking and entering, receiving stolen property, that sort of thing.”

“That sort of thing? My goodness, Cassie, we’ve been harboring a veritable Pepe La Moko!”

She looked at me tiredly, “Pepe La who?”

“Never mind. I can’t believe that nice guy with the big warm smile is a hardened criminal!”

Cassie jumped up and stomped her bare foot with all the expertise of an angry toddler.

“He’s not a criminal! Those were charges filed against him by a rogue drug company he was investigating two years ago.”

“Oh, dear, drugs.”

Cassie whirled around to face her grandmother.

“Don’t you start, Gran! Oh, I should have known better than to count on you two for help. You never liked anyone I ever dated. But Ethan’s different. I love him. I’ll marry him even if he goes to prison. You’ll see!”

She fled from the room leaving us staring at the empty space she had vacated.

“Paisley, what does one wear to a jailhouse wedding?”

“Stripes are definitely out,” I answered sourly.