Deadly Medicine Read online

  Table of Contents

  Synopsis

  By the Author

  Acknowledgments

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Chapter Thirty-two

  About the Author

  Books Available from Bold Strokes Books

  Synopsis

  Dr. Ward Thrasher is hoping her ex-partner, Dr. Jess Benson, will reconsider their breakup, and so she takes a new job to be closer to her. But Jess makes it clear that she’s moved on and urges Ward to do the same. Helping to mend her heart is feisty new friend, senior citizen Frieda Henderfield, and the beautiful hospital CEO Abby Rosen.

  Then Ward discovers fellow physician Edward Hawk has made a hobby of killing his patients, and she sets out to stop him. Before she can, Jess turns up missing, and Ward, Abby, and Frieda must save her from the psychopathic doctor. If Jess survives, will she rekindle the flame with Ward? Or has Ward’s heart already been stolen by Abby?

  Deadly Medicine

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  eBooks from Bold Strokes Books, Inc.

  http://www.boldstrokesbooks.com

  eBooks are not transferable. They cannot be sold, shared or given away as it is an infringement on the copyright of this work.

  Please respect the rights of the author and do not file share.

  Deadly Medicine

  © 2015 By Jaime Maddox. All Rights Reserved.

  ISBN 13: 978-1-62639-425-4

  This Electronic Book is published by

  Bold Strokes Books, Inc.

  P.O. Box 249

  Valley Falls, New York 12185

  First Edition: September 2015

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.

  Credits

  Editor: Shelley Thrasher

  Production Design: Susan Ramundo

  Cover Design By Sheri ([email protected])

  By the Author

  Agnes

  The Common Thread

  Bouncing

  Deadly Medicine

  Acknowledgments

  The ladies at Bold Strokes Books make my job as an author an easy one. Thank you to Rad, Sandy Lowe, Cindy Cresap, and Stacia Seaman for their hard work. Sheri created another great cover and I’m in awe of her talents. A special thanks to Toni Whitaker for ensuring that I receive my monthly sampling of new works from the many talented BSB authors. Finally, to my editor, Shelley Thrasher, who continues to teach me how to write with each edit we do.

  My background in medicine helped with this book, but if it wasn’t for Carolyn’s cousin Bobby, I would know very little about fishing, whether on ice or on land. Thanks, BC, for all the fun times. Thanks also to my alpha readers, Margaret Pauling and Nancy McLain, for their feedback. I also must thank Nancy for her help in creating the character of Frieda. Nancy lived much of Frieda’s very exciting life, and I’m grateful to her for taking me back in time with her.

  As always, everything I do is with the love and support of the three people who are helping to raise me: my beautiful partner, Carolyn, and our sons, Jamison and Max. Love you lots.

  Dedication

  To Shelley Thrasher

  If I hit a home run, it’s because you helped me with my swing.

  Thank you.

  Chapter One

  Discharged

  Edward Hawk sat perfectly erect in his chair, ignoring the pile of magazines on the table beside him and the woman at the desk before him. He reviewed the reasons he found himself in this waiting room, appropriately named, as he awaited his fate. His termination had obviously been decided, but the question that plagued him now was why. Why?

  Details, details. The devil lived there.

  Why was he here? He asked himself again, then realized he could add a few other questions. Who? Where? When? What?

  The question “Who?” could have seventeen answers. Seventeen names. Seventeen dead bodies—but which one had caused the bright light of suspicion to be cast onto his darkest secrets? Likely it was someone he’d recently encountered, but humans tended to trivialize details and rationalize unpleasantries, and it really could have been any one of them. Fuck! He had to find out. He needed to know what he’d done wrong, so he wouldn’t make the same mistake again. A person could change jobs only so many times before prospective new employers began to ask questions of their own.

  Shifting his position, Edward stretched his legs out in front of him, admiring his Cole Haan loafers. He noted a smudge that required buffing. He refused to be seen looking anything less than perfect. His fastidious nature was just one reason bullies had targeted him at school. Not now, though. Now, he chose the targets.

  Glancing casually at his Rolex, he noted that he’d been kept waiting for fifteen minutes. He had nowhere to go but that didn’t matter. His time was important, and his superior should show more respect.

  Edward was worried, irritated, and annoyed at the wait, at the imperfection on his shoe, at the mistake he’d obviously made to land him in his boss’s office. He was trapped here, awaiting the inevitable. But was more than termination in store for him? He felt a flicker in his chest as his pulse pounded, and he willed his heart and his breathing to slow. In a minute, he felt better.

  No one could prove anything, he told himself. They might suspect what he’d been doing, but not a shred of evidence existed that he’d done anything wrong. If there was, he’d be waiting to talk to the police instead of his boss. Edward knew—he’d been in this seat before.

  Hospitals were too concerned with lawsuits to do anything more than quietly dismiss employees like him. If the hospital actively investigated the deaths of any of the patients who’d died under his care, a surviving family member might get wind of their concern and file a lawsuit. If the hospital harassed him in any way, he’d file one. Hospitals hate lawsuits—even ones they win—because they cost money and raise questions about competence and ethics and all other sorts of messy subjects. So, the people in charge would discreetly ask for his resignation and send him on his way, pretending nothing unusual had happened during his tenure.

  That he might do something questionable somewhere else didn’t concern the people in power. They just wanted him gone.

  Finding another job didn’t bother him; his personal assistant would handle it. Hospitals were always hiring, and he never had a bad recommendation, despite being asked to leave half a dozen places over a ten-year period.

  The secretary’s voice was muted as she addressed him, as if she was in on the conspiracy to keep his dismissal quiet. “Dr. F
owler is ready for you.” Edward buttoned his cashmere blazer as he stood, then carefully swiped away nonexistent wrinkles in his pants as he walked toward the door to the ER director’s office and entered.

  “Have a seat,” Sam Fowler said in a booming voice, and Edward did as instructed. The inner office contained no more color or character than the waiting area. Drab colors, institutional furniture, canned artwork. Blah, blah, blah. Only the Christmas cards, tacked with pins onto a cork message board, brought color to the room. Nothing like he’d decorate if his name were written on one of the most important doors in the building. Yet it suited the man, who wasn’t gifted with good looks or the ability to assemble a fashionable wardrobe. He was all business in the ER and took that same approach with Edward now.

  “I’m sure you’re wondering why I asked you here. I’ll get straight to the point.” He barely lifted his eyes from the blotter on the desk before him. “We’re letting you go. Effective immediately. I’ve typed a letter of resignation for you. That way your dismissal won’t appear as a blemish on your resume. Your salary will be paid through the end of the schedule, which carries you to New Year’s Eve. I’ll take your ID badge. Do you have anything in your locker you need to remove?”

  Edward wasn’t shocked that he was being terminated, but that Fowler offered no reason surprised him. That was typically the main focus of the parting speech, concerns about incidents and people talking and advice to watch himself. It was upsetting. He wanted—no, he needed to know what Sam Fowler knew—so he wouldn’t repeat his mistake. Was it the forty-year-old man having the heart attack or the teenage girl with diabetes? Or the little boy who’d been hit by a car? Had his method betrayed him, or had one particular coworker noticed something odd? Or, perhaps, had this just been too long a run? Maybe it wasn’t a single incident, but perhaps the accumulation of dead patients connected only by their association with him?

  “May I ask why?” Edward made a game of it, meeting Sam’s gaze as if he had nothing to hide. He enjoyed games, and right now watching the director squirm amused him.

  Fowler reached for a pen and began doodling on his desk pad, but from his angle Edward couldn’t determine the product of his efforts. His eyes remained down.

  “We no longer need your services,” he said, then finally looked up.

  Sighing dramatically, Edward shrugged. “As you can imagine, I’m quite surprised. Does something about my performance concern you?” Come on, he thought. Tell me where I screwed up!

  “No, nothing,” Fowler said, but again he diverted his gaze.

  Fuck! Edward thought. He’s afraid of a lawsuit. He pursed his lips, shook his head, and ran his hand across a closely shaved face. “I can’t think of anything, either,” he said honestly. Since his summons earlier that morning, Edward had gone back two years in his brain, reviewing all the particulars of the deaths of his patients. Nothing stood out. “And I’m sorry to leave. I’ve enjoyed my work here.” He had. It had been a wonderful place to work, with little oversight and tremendous opportunity to kill people. He paused, but Fowler didn’t speak. “I’d like to ask you for a letter, if I may. Saying something like ‘we parted on good terms.’ You know how things are, Sam. You could be fired tomorrow, and then when I’m looking for a job, no one will be around to explain why I resigned.”

  Sam met his gaze and studied him for a moment, and Edward allowed his face to betray his emotions. He was upset, damn it, and he wasn’t trying to hide his feelings. Sam wasn’t very good at hiding his either. Doubt seemed to cloud his eyes, paving the corners with wrinkles. Good, Edward thought. Let him wonder.

  “Sure,” Sam said after a moment, and then he stood, announcing the end of their meeting. He held out his hand and offered a weak handshake. “I’ll have Deb type it up. Just give her a minute.”

  It took fifteen minutes, but it was worth the wait. The letter was so perfect, he might have written it himself. Sam made it sound like he was sorry to see him leave. Edward would have no trouble finding work. And he needed to work. He’d been killing people for many years, and murder was his addiction, a hunger greater than his need for food or water or any drug he’d ever used. He might last a month or two, but then he’d start to grow anxious and his need would drive him to do something stupid, something that might put him in danger of discovery. And he could never, ever be discovered. The bullies in prison would make the teenage boys he’d dealt with seem meek. No, he needed another job, in a hospital, where people die every day and no one suspects a thing. He’d put his assistant to work immediately.

  He folded the letter, carefully placed it in the inside pocket of his jacket, and smiled sincerely at Deb. “You’ve been very kind,” he said. “Thank you for your help.”

  Her hesitant smile slowly became full and warm. She’d known him for two years, after all, and he’d just been tossed into the frigid North Jersey cold at Christmas time. The least she could do was offer him a smile.

  “Good luck, Doctor,” she said as he left the office.

  It’s not about luck, Edward thought as he closed the door behind him.

  Chapter Two

  Frostbite

  Four inches of fresh snow, frozen by single-digit temperatures the night before, crunched beneath Ward Thrasher’s new boots as she walked out into the bright January morning. She’d found the boots in a catalog and had circled their picture, written her size in the margin, and discreetly left it in Jess’s briefcase. Lately Jess had been so out of sorts she needed such hints, and Ward was trying her best to be supportive. It worked. On Christmas morning, she’d found the boots beneath the tree, with a note from Santa, thanking her for the suggestion. Looking at them made her smile, one of the few things that could turn up the corners of her mouth on this blustery New Year’s Day.

  Somewhere above the canopy of snow-covered trees sheltering the cabin, the sun was shining. Scattered rays filtered through and reflected off the ice, blinding her. She pulled her sunglasses from the pocket of her ski jacket, and they helped ease the pain of the light hitting her eyes. When she could finally see, she smiled again, at a picture so perfect it resembled a Currier & Ives.

  Pristine snow covered every tree on the mountainside, shimmering where light hit the uneven angles created by the odd shapes of each branch. Gently sloping hills that led to the lake below also wore a clean coat of white, and the only colors were the perpetual greens of resistant pine needles and the cloudless, impossibly blue sky. She saw no sign that man existed, and the serenity filled her with a sense of peace she’d come to associate with her time in the mountains.

  It was almost enough to make up for the fact that she was here with Zeke Benson, and not his daughter Jessica. Almost.

  “Can you give me a hand with this?” Zeke asked.

  Despite her slim build, Ward was strong and easily lifted the back end of the toboggan, using both hands to steady the old wooden frame and prevent the contents from spilling. It was packed with wood for a fire, folding chairs, tip-ups, a power auger—all the necessities for a day on the ice, and some extras, too. Zeke lifted his end and together they transferred it to the bed of his truck, then climbed up front for the quarter-mile ride down to the lake. It would have pleased Ward more to jump on the toboggan and take the short route, but she was there for Zeke, not her own amusement. Maybe, though, on their next day off, she and Jess might come out and play. And then go back to the cabin and find creative ways to warm up.

  They’d only gone a hundred feet when Zeke interrupted her daydream. She blushed at where her mind had been, but Zeke didn’t notice as he pointed at a spot in the woods. “That’s the original road to the cabin,” he explained. “Before they built the highway, we had to come up over the mountain.”

  Ward followed his gaze and could barely discern a path leading into the mature forest. Or was it her imagination? Covered with snow, it looked to be a treacherous venture, nearly straight up the mountainside. “When was that?” Ward asked, showing more respect for her father-in-law than inte
rest in his response.

  “Sixty-one.”

  “Well, I guess you don’t use it at all now. It’s really grown in.”

  “No need. Besides, they built that damn palace on the other side of the mountain, and those city slickers don’t want anyone near their land. They closed off the access road to keep us out. Can you imagine? They bought land next to a hunting club and call to complain about the gunfire!”

  “Good thing you’re the sheriff, Zeke.”

  “I don’t understand people.”

  She could certainly relate. It was why she kept to herself, listened instead of speaking, and tried to mind her own business. She had many acquaintances but few true friends. Zeke’s daughter was the best of them, and her lover of six years. Jess was working today, and so Ward had volunteered to babysit Zeke.

  If only they could stay in the truck, or even the cabin, instead of venturing out into the cold. The dashboard thermostat read twenty-two degrees Fahrenheit. Brrrr. In the warmth, she’d listen to Zeke babble all day long, and then she’d take him out for dinner and they’d stop off at the hospital and feed Jess. It sounded delightful. Well, maybe not, but at least it would be warm.

  “How long have you been coming up here?” she asked as he coasted down the hill from the cabin.

  “All my life, seventy years. My father and his friends bought the place before I was born and incorporated the club. Towering Pines Sportsman Association. Sounds impressive, doesn’t it? Farms were startin’ to get divided up, even then, and they figured if they bought this spot they’d always have somewhere to hunt and fish. The land can’t be sold for profit. If it ever came to that, where we couldn’t pay the taxes or no one’s left who uses it, the land will be donated to the Boy Scouts. And it may come to that. Not many of us left that use it. So many of our children left home. Like Jess.” There was regret in his voice, and perhaps sadness, too.