What Doesn't Kill Her (Cape Charade #2)(74)
Max hugged Kateri and handed her a flute of sparkling water. “Thank you for coming to meet with us.”
“It’s not you, Max.” Kateri accepted the water and sipped. “It’s Kellen, and the opportunity to have a meal with Leo and Annie, created by their excellent chefs.”
“Amen.” The doctor stepped through the door. “Best food within a fifty-mile radius of Virtue Falls.”
“What about Virtue Falls Resort?” Annie asked.
He chuckled. “Let’s not start a war.” He headed toward the bar where a variety of appetizers were laid out.
Kellen had never met Dr. Frownfelter before.
DR. WALTER FROWNFELTER:
MALE, 70? YO, 6'2", 240 LBS, ALBERT EINSTEIN HAIR, RUMPLED WHITE COAT, RESEMBLES A BASSET HOUND. BRIGHT BLUE EYES; TOO OBSERVANT. TREATED WITH RESPECT; OBVIOUSLY WELL LIKED BY THIS COMPANY. LONELY.
While speaking with him, Kellen reached the conclusion he was lonely; he talked to himself too much and looked at the past with too much longing. That was the reason why, after their pleasant dinner was over, she wandered out onto the deck with him.
They were fourteen stories up. It was dark. They could hear the beastly roar of the ocean waves, smell the salt, the seaweed, the damp sand and up here, feel the truth of all the days of the world.
“I’m the reliable old Virtue Falls physician. Everybody likes me.” Dr. Frownfelter made fun of himself in a rough, gravelly voice. “But I suspect I was brought here for more reasons than to fill my belly. You’ve got quite a scar on your forehead.”
Maybe he had been warned. Probably he had noticed. He’d been brought here for her, and instinctively she trusted him, so she told him everything about the bullet, the scar, the gray.
When she was finished, he contemplated the great darkness at the edge of the world where the ocean roared and chewed at the land. “I’m not going to tell you what to do, but I would suggest that you’ve had one medical opinion, from Army doctors. They think that bullet’s going to move, and you’re going to die.”
“That’s right.”
“With all due respect to my military colleagues, I think you’d be wise to seek a second opinion. Medical technology improves every day. And the military medical establishment has different priorities than civilian medical establishment has—triage if possible, but nothing fancy.”
“Right.” She had suspected that, but the Army had been in such a hurry to get rid of her, and had given her such bad odds for surgical extraction of the bullet, she hadn’t been in a hurry to get that second opinion.
Dr. Frownfelter continued, “Here in the States, sometimes a doctor is such a good specialist, she can change your diagnosis and save your life.”
“Sounds like you have someone in mind.”
“I might. In Portland.” He heaved a sigh that made his broad belly rise and fall. “It seems like, with a daughter and a husband, finding out exactly what could happen with the proper surgery is the right move.”
“Instead of just dying?” She rubbed her arms. Up here, even in the summer, the wind off the ocean chilled her.
“We’re all born with an expiration date, but God doesn’t print it on the side of our milk cartons.”
She shouldn’t laugh, but it was funny. And true. “But if surgery doesn’t work, if I go into a coma and don’t come out...you doctors won’t let me die in peace, and I’m not going to live the next forty years hooked to an IV and a breathing tube, without motion or mind, while the world goes on around me.” That was her nightmare, to be trapped in a living death.
He patted her arm. “It’s all in the paperwork. Let’s get you checked out and see what the specialists think. Then you can make an informed decision.”
“I won’t be a burden on Max and Rae.”
“But Max and Rae are who you’re doing this for.”
“Yes.” Yes. “I’ll think about it.”
“Don’t think too long, Kellen.” He looked closely into her face. “The decision needs to be made soon.”
She wanted to ask him what he saw, but Max opened the door. “Kellen.” Just the one word, but he wanted her inside.
She walked past him into a room of grim faces. “What is it?”
“I finally spoke to the right person at the Portland hospital,” Sheriff Kwinault said. “Roderick Blake is dead. Overdose of morphine.”
“Tampering is suspected,” Max added.
“Dead like those other men on the mountain.” Kellen shivered, still chilled from the balcony. “Who is doing all this? And why? There has to be a reason.”
The next morning, Max decided to drive the winding coastal highway toward Portland, a short distance with many turnouts and high views of the Pacific Ocean where the sun glinted on the eternally rolling waves. He said they needed some stress-free moments, although she noted that he kept an eye on the rearview mirror and observed every car and every driver. That last sniper shot had left them both wary and watchful.
Still, she relaxed and enjoyed watching him drive. After her years in the military, directing transport, she appreciated a man with driving skills. He took the turnouts when she asked, smiled at her when he thought she didn’t notice, and best of all, he was easygoing enough that he only swore at one slow tourist.