Whisper Park Lane

by Darren Swart

Overview

Dr. Cheryl Blumenthal is hired as Hospital Director for a rural North Carolina hospital. As she transitions from her role as doctor to administrator, she is shocked to find the hospital is in financial ruin. The situation worsens when she discovers embezzlement that may lead to members of her own staff.

She dives into uncovering who is behind the scheme. A death threat forces her to face the chilling prospect that the secret may be worth killing for. As she races to find answers she can't help but wonder if she will become a casualty before she discovers the truth. Can she save the hospital and herself?

Product Details

ISBN-13:	9781509226252
Publisher:	The Wild Rose Press
Publication date:	06/26/2019
Pages:	206
Product dimensions:	5.00(w) x 8.00(h) x 0.44(d)

Read an Excerpt

CHAPTER 1

Marge Hope walked Dalton over to the apartment next door. Miss Ruby had the door open waiting for them. Ruby sat in the cluttered living room with a plastic cup of orange soda beside her. An aging upright Kemble piano sat in the corner. Newspapers, magazines, dirty dishes, and old pizza boxes covered every surface of the room — everything except the Kemble. It was Miss Ruby's most prized possession. When Miss Ruby saw Marge, she smiled. Her eyes looked abnormally large through the thick lenses of her glasses. Miss Ruby cleared her throat. "Hey honey, do you think you could spot me a ten?"

Marge had twenty-five dollars to last until her next paycheck. It would be just enough to buy gas to get her back and forth to work and a loaf of bread for her and Dalton. She sighed, "Sure Ruby." She dug out a five and five ones and put the money in Ruby's hand. She couldn't say much; Ruby only charged her twenty-five a week to watch Dalton while she was at work, and Dalton could play the piano until nine. It was a good arrangement. Ruby taught piano her entire life, and Dalton loved playing piano. The old woman liked the boy's company and didn't charge, even though she coached him every night.

Marge hugged Dalton. "Be good for Miss Ruby, okay?"

Dalton looked up at his mom. "When have I ever been a problem?"

Marge gave him a faint smile and kissed him on the forehead. "You're right. How about, be helpful to Miss Ruby? Does that sound more like it?"

Dalton assured his mom, "I'll help her pick up the living room. How about that?"

Marge patted Dalton on the back. "That's more like it."

When Marge had left, Miss Ruby looked at Dalton. "Sweet boy, Miss Ruby needs to go to the alphabet store. Will you ride with me?"

Dalton had ridden with Miss Ruby to the liquor store just about every night he could remember. Every night it was the same conversation. Dalton nodded. "Yes, ma'am. I'll ride with you."

Ruby got up a little unsteadily, Dalton walked to her and steadied her. The old woman was almost the same height as Dalton, and he was only ten. She patted him on the arm letting him know she was okay and moved slowly to an armchair where her purse was nestled between a Fast 'N Fresh bag and a faded tapestry pillow. Ruby grabbed a burgundy shawl from the top of the chair and snuggled into the cover. She looked at Dalton. "Well, let's roll, partner." In what almost sounded like a Southwest drawl.

The wooden stairs creaked as the pair eased down one flight to the parking lot below. Ruby began to mutter to herself as she looked at the large four wheel drive truck parked beside her rusting minivan. She looked at Dalton and said, "Honey, you're going to have to let me pull out a bit because Rodriguez has parked his stinking truck too close to ol' Gertie again." Ruby always named her vehicles. Ruby tossed her purse in the passenger seat and cranked the ancient minivan. After about three attempts, Gertie roared to life, further reinforcing that a new muffler was in order for the near future. Ruby eased the minivan forward so Dalton could get in the front seat beside her. The boy opened the door which groaned in protest because of dry hinges. Ruby reached across to throw her purse on the floor. As she did, her foot slipped from the brake. The minivan lurched forward throwing Dalton back, and the door slammed shut on the boy's hand. All Ruby could hear was Dalton scream.

* * *

The phone chirped on the bed stand. Cheryl pawed for it blindly and knocked a stack of precariously placed books to the floor. She gripped the phone and jabbed the key with her thumb. "Hello?"

The night nurse responded, "Hey, Cheryl, it's Louise. I hate to bother you, but we have a young patient with serious trauma to the right hand."

Cheryl covered her mouth as she yawned. "Can't Dr. Wise handle it?"

Louise replied, "Oh, he can handle it all right; he told the mother that it's best to amputate. His mama is asking for a second opinion."

Cheryl sat up in the bed and forced her eyes wide open. "How old is the patient?"

Louise responded, "He's ten; his mother said he's a very talented piano player."

Even being half-asleep, Cheryl could hear a woman wailing in the background. She took a deep breath to keep from saying what she was thinking; slowly and calmly she said, "I'll be there in fifteen. Would you be a dear and keep Dr. Wise in a holding pattern?"

Louise replied, "I'll take care of him; be careful coming in. You just got off a double shift."

Cheryl responded, "Thanks, Louise."

Cheryl rolled her feet over the side of the bed to the coolness of the floor below. She could just make out the rumble of bass guitar at the party two doors down. Max grumbled at the interruption and opened one eye; he stretched and rolled over. She slid her hand over the silky tiger-striped fur along his back and was immediately rewarded with the sputtered purr reminiscent of an old Evinrude. He kneaded the cover and rolled into the warmth she left behind. She scowled. "You swine; try not to drool on the sheets."

The ugly yellow glare of the bedside lamp made him cover his face with a striped yellow paw. Cheryl stretched and shrugged off the numbness as she wandered to the bathroom. The toothpaste lay conveniently on the sink edge dripping into the basin, no lid to be found. An unopened make-up compact lay to the side buried under a toilet paper wrapper. She moved a hand towel to the side to find her toothbrush underneath. As she moved closer to the vanity, she stubbed her toe on a stack of dog-eared surgical technique books; colorful vellum markers gave the manuals festive colors despite their seriousness. For the hundredth time she made a mental promise to clean up the bathroom, along with the rest of her condo. She had been here two years now and unopened boxes acted as end tables for her worn couch. It didn't matter, Max didn't seem to care; besides, she spent most of her time at the hospital anyway. She wouldn't have it any other way.

She climbed into her old Alfa Romeo. A brisk wind foretelling an early North Carolina winter caught the door, and she struggled to close it.

Fifteen minutes later, Louise placed a cup of hot coffee in her hand. She sipped the fresh coffee. After twenty years as the night supervisor, Louise was feared by many, loved by most. The fear was well earned; she was a no-nonsense RN. Louise was built like a shot putter. Her powerful shoulders, short neck, and broad face made her look like she was ready to take the field.

Louise handed Cheryl the charts.

Cheryl scanned top down on the form. "Let's have a look, shall we?" She scowled at Dr. Wise's admission notes. "This is serious, but repairable. Why the rush to amputate?"

Louise looked at her over reading glasses. "Uninsured patient; we're almost out of beds."

Cheryl took a cleansing breath as she said, "Is the patient prepped?"

Louise removed her glasses. "Dr. Wise has him in pre-op; he's preparing for surgery himself."

Cheryl replied, "Fine, stall him long enough for me to talk to the mother."

Louise's pearly teeth lit her face. "I'll be happy to, Doctor."

She turned on her heel and walked like a drill sergeant to the OR. Cheryl sipped the strong black coffee as she reviewed Dr. Wise's notes and X-rays on her way to the waiting room. A frail woman clutched a threadbare blue sweater to her chest as she hovered at the window, staring at nothing in the blackness outside. Cheryl's voice was low. "Ms. Hope?" She jerked around, startled at the sound of Cheryl's voice. Her pale blue eyes looked drained; dark rings gathered under her eyes. Her bony fingers dragged frizzy strawberry split ends out of her eyes and tucked them behind her ear.

Cheryl extended a strong capable hand. "Ms. Hope, I'm Dr. Blumenthal. Everyone here calls me Cheryl."

The woman had an ice-cold grip that sent chills up Cheryl's spine, but there was quiet strength in it from such a fragile-looking woman. Strength born of desperation. Tears welled up in her eyes again. "It's my fault. If I had been there, none of this would have happened."

The admission made Cheryl pause, but she dodged the comment. "I am going to assist Dr. Wise in a second opinion in Dalton's case. It is a very complicated surgery; if we are successful, it could take him several months to recover from this."

Ms. Hope released her hand from her sweater and removed a tissue from her pocket. She dabbed her eyes, "Whatever it takes; if I have to wash windows and scrub toilets for the rest of my life, I'll do anything to pay for this. I work two jobs now, but I can squeeze in something somehow."

Cheryl focused on the task at hand to avoid the emotional wellspring. "Let's not worry about that right now. I think it would be best to focus on Dalton's recovery. When was the last time you slept?"

Ms. Hope blinked as if not comprehending the question. "I don't know, why?"

Cheryl replied, "Dalton will need you to be strong for him to get through this. He will be in surgery for several hours. I'm going to shut the door and let security know you are in here. You will be safe, so get some rest. I'll let you know when Dalton's out of surgery."

A degree of the angst left Ms. Hope's eyes. "So you'll come talk to me as soon as the surgery is done?"

Cheryl responded, "First thing; I promise. Would you like me to flip off the lights?"

Ms. Hope replied, "No, I don't like the dark; I can sleep with them on."

Cheryl replied, "Try not to worry."

Ms. Hope responded, "I'll try." She almost fell back on the couch.

Cheryl walked swiftly from the waiting room toward the OR. She met Willie, one of the night shift guards, as she hustled down the hall; she smiled at him. "Just the man I wanted to see. There's a Ms. Hope in the Surgery waiting room; I asked her to get some sleep. Could you check on her, get her a blanket and pillow, and maybe see if Andre has anything he can whip her up in the cafeteria?" With a linebacker's build, he leaned over and returned the smile. "That's a tall order, Dr. B, but since it's you, I'll make sure it happens."

She kept walking and turned her head. "As always, my knight in shining armor."

A strong chocolate hand tipped the black ball cap. "Always."

* * *

Dr. Wise's brow furrowed deeply as she entered the room. It wasn't that he didn't respect her as a doctor; it was that he didn't like her. She always seemed to side with the patient, never considering that the hospital was a business. His tone was brusque. "Why are you here?"

Cheryl didn't blink. "The mother asked for a second opinion. I'm here to assist with that."

"I'm perfectly capable of handling this, thank you."

Cheryl narrowed her eyes. "Without a doubt, Doctor. But let's take a second look."

She stepped up to the X-rays. Wise didn't move. She moved next to him almost touching her shoulder to his arm. He glared down at her; she could see small patches of red forming in his widow's peak. Cheryl arched her eyebrows in response. His lips thinned as he stepped back. She studied the panel intensely for a moment; she could see the trauma quite clearly beginning at the pinky and radiating to the center finger. She methodically studied the patterns at the ligature points in the joints and surrounding the tendons. "I don't understand why we need to amputate; I do need another series of X-rays here and here." She pointed to anterior portions of the finger. "These are worthless. Who took these?"

Dr. Wise replied, "Don did. Why?"

Cheryl pointed at the film. "They're not what we need. Have him run another series; I want to see this before we go in. Is the team assembled?"

Dr. Wise replied, "Yes." His voice almost hissed as he said it.

Cheryl looked up. "Good. Are you available to assist?"

Dr. Wise's eyes were slits now. "Since when did you become the chief surgeon?"

Cheryl replied calmly, "Since I specialized in plastic and reconstructive surgery at Riverside. It's why you hired me, remember?"

Dr. Wise responded, "Well, it doesn't sound like you need me to assist, then. The patient is your responsibility now; it will most likely end up in a malpractice lawsuit judging by the looks of the mother. Look, Cheryl, the world doesn't care about the individual — it only cares about the majority."

Cheryl furrowed her brow. "Maybe it's time for us to care about the individual, Doctor."

* * *

Her team performed flawlessly during the hours it took to repair the hair-like veins, muscles, bones, and nerves in Dalton's fingers. The post-op orders put him in the burn ward to reduce the risk of infection. Louise made it clear that if the boy contracted a staph infection on her shift, every nurse would be drawn and quartered, regardless of who was at fault. The entire ward smelled like a bleach factory. Louise paraded the halls like a warden after lockdown. So long as their young ward was under the scrutiny of Louise the Hun, he would be fine until she could check back with him.

Cheryl plopped back on the bench in post-op; she reached up, pulled the surgical cap from her head, feeling her hair plastered to her scalp by sweat. Fatigue rolled across her like breakers at the beach; she closed her eyes just for a moment. When she snorted fifteen minutes later, it was loud enough that she woke with a start. Embarrassed, she looked around; she was the only one in the room. She hauled herself up from the bench and left post-op. She met Willie at the nurse's station nervously fidgeting with his radio. Cheryl powered through the numbness. "How's Ms. Hope?"

Willie dropped his head. "I'm sorry, Dr. B; she left."

Cheryl glared. "How could we just let her go like that?"

Louise looked up. "Honey, this is a hospital, not a prison."

Cheryl responded, "But he doesn't have anyone here."

Louise came around the corner of the counter and placed her hand on Cheryl's shoulder. "She said she would lose her job. The boy will have to leave here some day; it would be nice if he didn't have to move into a cardboard box when that day comes."

Cheryl snorted. "She could find another job."

Louise replied, "Maybe if you are one of the best doctors in the country, but not if you're a convenience store clerk earning minimum wage and there are four other people trying to take your job."

Cheryl rubbed the back of her neck. "I'm sorry; you're right. I need to see his chart."

Louise placed a gentle hand on her back. "Sweetie, why don't you go home and get some sleep? I'd say you've done enough for one night. I'll make sure they call you if there is a problem."

Cheryl replied, "I will, but there is one more thing I need to do."

* * *

The sun peeped over the horizon casting a crimson glow on the lone sugar maple in front of the hospital. The air was brisk as she walked out the main lobby doors toward her car. She snuggled deeper into her jacket as she braced against the chilled air. The leather seats of the Alfa Romeo felt cold even through the fabric of the scrubs. She coaxed the old car to life as it sputtered and complained about being asked to perform so early. Her mechanic warned her it would always be a "bit cold-natured." He was right. She looked across the faded hood thinking once again she really needed to get a new paint job. That was hard to do when you took patients pro bono, like her mechanic's son. She had corrected his cleft lip; in exchange he provided her with free labor on her car. She still had to pay for the parts.

Ms. Hope had listed her contact location as Night Shift Clerk — Fast and Fresh Food Store. There was nothing fresh in the neighborhood where it was located. The streets were deserted in the early morning hours except for an occasional underweight dog. Still, as she pulled into the parking lot, she locked her car under the neon glare. Cheryl hurried past the barred storefront windows and wondered how anyone could work in a place like this. She looked down as her foot clinked against an empty crack vial on the sidewalk; she almost jumped in response. She walked toward the front doors and looked down at a lump beside the door.

The lump looked up with bleary eyes and asked, "Hey lady, you gotta smoke?"

Cheryl replied, "No, I'm sorry, I don't smoke."

The lump dropped his head once again. She couldn't explain why she had apologized to the man for not smoking when she admonished her patients for it. Inside, Ms. Hope stood behind the counter trying to keep warm in the frigid store. It almost felt colder inside the store than it did outside. The smell of cigar smoke reached her; it almost made her ill. Cheryl looked away from Ms. Hope to see a greasy man smashing bread onto the shelf; even in the coolness of the store, she could see the sweat glistening on his forehead. He glared back at her but kept stuffing. Cheryl reached out and touched Ms. Hope's hand gently. "Hello, Ms. Hope."

Ms. Hope looked at her with watery eyes. "Please call me Marge."

Cheryl began again, maintaining her composure. "Thank you, Marge. I just wanted to let you know the surgery went very well. Dalton will be in the burn ward for about five to seven days —"

The large man with thick greasy hair standing in the bread aisle spoke loudly, "Lady, you botherin' my clerk?"

Marge looked at him. "It's okay, Big Mike. She's a doctor; she operated on my boy last night."

(Continues…)

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Excerpted from "Whisper Park Lane"
by .
Copyright © 2019 Darren Swart.
Excerpted by permission of The Wild Rose Press, Inc..
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

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