Deadly Deception. Brenda Gunn
damn, he’s going to hit on me. She turned back to face him and took a deep breath. “Mr. Morgan, I’ll need to draw some blood.”
“Mine is sapphire blue just like my Jaguar, which is, by the way, right out front in case you’d like to join me for lunch.”
Brenda shook her head, jabbed a needle in his arm and started drawing a blood sample. All the while, Morgan was staring at her. “Looks red to me, Mr. Mor—”
“Ah, ah, ah,” he admonished, wagging his finger at her. “You can call me Russ.”
She quickly labeled the vials of blood and stuck them in her medical case.
“You like sushi?” he asked.
“Can’t say that I do, Mr. Morgan,” she said, quietly. Brenda put away her tools and peeked over at the EKG printout of the peaking chart.
“I love it. I missed it bad in prison. They don’t serve inmates sushi. It’s such a shame. My favorite is eel. O-o-ow e-e-e-e! It’s as good as sex and I’m extra hungry. But maybe not as good as you.” Morgan smiled and reached for her. But she was quick and slipped away. Oh great, not only is he a pervert, he’s an ex-con pervert. Well, I’ll fix him good.
“Please put your hand up here and close your eyes,” Brenda told him.
He obeyed her every command. Brenda switched the EKG machine to CODE BLUE. She lightly touched one of the paddles and Mr. Morgan’s hand at the same time. The machine sent an electrical charge through her and into him. He jerked around, as if he were having a seizure. Brenda pressed the STOP button on the machine and removed her finger from the paddle. Mr. Morgan stood there.
“O-o-ow e-e-e-e-! That’s pretty potent!” he said and collapsed onto the sofa. Grabbing a cigarette from the end table, he lit it and inhaled deeply. Without another word, Brenda finished packing her equipment, walked out and slammed the door.
When she strode out of the building, she saw a blue Jaguar parked in the loading zone and figured it had to be Morgan’s. “Well, at least he was right about the color,” she murmured. She walked around to the back to get the license plate number. “Oh, that’ll be easy to remember,” she laughed under her breath. The vanity plate read MORGAN.
She felt unnerved when she came home later that evening and told Glen about her unusual patient. His response was immediate. The vein in his temple began throbbing, and a diamond shaped patch on his brow turned white. She had never seen him so angry before. The rest of his face was bright red, except for the patch. “I think I’ll go over there and teach that guy some manners right now,” he said.
“Thank you for wanting to protect me, but it’s alright, darling. I shouldn’t be surprised by anything. Not everyone I deal with behaves professionally, but this guy was a bit of a nut.” She winced. “Anyway, I make a lot of money even if some problems come with the territory.”
His eyes had narrowed. “I don’t like some jerk hitting on my wife.”
“I don’t like it either,” she said, “but I have this house to pay off and all the rest of the stuff. Look, I’m sure you’ll be getting a great position very soon and then maybe I can pick and choose my clients.” She put her arms around him. “Let’s forget my day and concentrate on us.” He nodded and they walked arm and arm toward the bedroom.
But the next morning when she got into her car to drive to work, she didn’t like what she saw in her rearview mirror. It was Mr. Morgan’s Jaguar. He grinned and waved as he drove past. Brenda ignored him. It’s best not to react in any way to this sort of thing. If I act scared or angry it gives him power over me and will probably encourage him. If I ignore him, he might just go away. He’s probably just infatuated with me. I think he’ll give up pretty soon if I don’t encourage him.
When she saw Morgan’s car had rounded the corner and was out of sight, she began to slowly back out of the driveway. She thought of going back to tell Glen, but he had reacted so badly the night before she didn’t want to upset him again. Anyway, I’ve handled other guys who’ve tried to put the moves on me. I can handle this one.
The rest of her workweek inched by. Late on Friday afternoon, she went to see her favorite client, Almeira Punchak, who had been in Florida with her cousin. She’d missed her. Brenda stared sadly at Mrs. P.’s green bedroom door. She knew her client was dying of cancer. They both knew it, but Brenda had grown to love the old lady over the past years. She couldn’t bring herself to call her Mrs. Punchak anymore. It seemed too formal.
When they’d first met, Mrs. P. had been a strong, dynamic, single woman buying insurance. Though there’d been a huge age difference between them, they had bonded and become friends. Brenda had watched her weaken in the last year. She had given away most of her valuable jewelry, paintings, antique furniture and oriental carpets. Brenda had even called an attorney to come to Mrs. P.’s bedside to write her Last Will and Testament and she’d helped Mrs. P. make the arrangements for her funeral. Looking at her now, Brenda saw that she’d worsened. All that was left for Brenda to do was to make her friend comfortable, help her keep what dignity she had left and bring some human warmth to her otherwise drab days.
Brenda sucked in her breath. The place smelled of disinfectant and Brenda made a mental note to bring Mrs. P. some perfume. She prepared herself for what awaited her on the other side of the door and entered in a swirl of gaiety.
“Good morning, Mrs. P. How was your night? Close your eyes,” Brenda said. She threw back the wooden shutters and shafts of light streamed into the room.
As was her routine, she flipped on the coffeepot and radio, which were kept on the bedside table so Mrs. P. could easily reach them. Soft classical music spilled into the farthest corners of the bedroom. Brenda turned to face her patient. She took Mrs. P.’s bony wrist in her hand and began to take her pulse.
Mrs. P. was in her late seventies, although, when asked, Mrs. P. said she was sixty-nine and three-quarters. It was her way of letting people know it was none of their business. Of course, she’d been sixty-nine and three-quarters for almost a decade now.
Brenda looked at her friend today. Even though it was a familiar site, she was still a bit horrified. The woman had skin cancer, which had attacked her nose. The doctors had cut away as much of the disease as they could and sent her home. They’d mentioned getting a prosthesis, but Mrs. P. figured it was a useless expense if she was going to die soon anyway.
Brenda peered into the old lady’s soft-brown eyes and smiled, “How are you feelin’ today?”
Mrs. P. mustered a weak, “Okay.”
It was a lie and Brenda knew it by looking at the dark circles under the old woman’s eyes. She suspected Mrs. P. probably had gotten almost no sleep. The coffee maker began dripping. The smell was making Brenda hungry and her stomach growled.
“Skip lunch again?” Mrs. P. asked.
Brenda nodded and let her eyes travel down to the woman’s wounded nose. The entire right nostril was gone. A bloody membrane outlined the groove that used to be covered by the outer nose. Yellowish mucous clogged the nasal passage where it went into the head and when the old lady exhaled, the mucous formed a gooey bubble. Then when she breathed in, it retracted. Brenda snatched a tissue from the bedside table and wiped the mucous away.
“Did you take your antibiotics last night?” Brenda asked.
Mrs. P. nodded that she had.
“You sure are quiet today.”
“Got nothing new to say,” Mrs. P. mumbled.
“Well, I’ve got good news. The Doctor’s coming to visit around dinnertime.”
“On a weekday?”
“Yep.”
“Does he have bad news?” Mrs. P. asked. Brenda could tell she was trying to keep the worry out of her voice.
“Nope,”