Page 68 of The Woman Who Couldn't Scream
CHAPTER THIRTY
Kateri stumbled going into Rainbow’s dim hospital room. She caught herself before she fell, but the stitches and sore muscles protested, and she gasped at the pain.
Dr. Frownfelter turned away from the bed. He was rumpled, overweight, with bags under his eyes and he wore a white coat that needed to be ironed and white running shoes that needed to be cleaned. He was officially retired, and officially on duty whenever he was needed. “About time you got here. Let me look at those ribs.”
Kateri didn’t move. “Rainbow?”
“She’s still with us. Sit down. You look like hell.”
Kateri took her time getting to the chair and sinking onto the seat. “Long day.”
“So I heard. Unbutton that shirt.” Dr. Frownfelter pressed the nurse’s call button. “Peggy’s on duty. You two can catch up.”
After the tsunami, Kateri had spent so much time in the hospital she knew all the nurses from here to Seattle.
Peggy came through the door, and Dr. Frownfelter told her, “We need to examine Kateri’s injuries. I’m thinking pain relief, some disinfectant, a good-sized brick to knock some sense into her.”
Kateri tried to laugh and winced.
Peggy was sixty, tall, solid, practical and she didn’t crack a smile. “Of course, Doctor. Do you want the brick sterilized?”
“Dirty as hell should do it.”
Peggy headed out the door and Dr. Frownfelter sat down in front of Kateri. He watched her try to get out of the shirt.
Her fingers were shaking too much to deal with the buttons.
With a sound of disgust, he brushed her hands aside and finished the task. “Did you get him? I suppose not, or you would be less despairing.”
“We didn’t get him. John Terrance has been sneaking around the countryside delivering his drugs. He knows what he’s doing, and he’s smart.”
“Like a fox.”
“That’s a slur on all foxes. But yes. Sly and well prepared.”
Peggy returned with a tray covered with a white cloth, placed it on the small table and rolled it close to Dr. Frownfelter’s elbow. She knelt beside Kateri, carefully removed the adhesive, peeled the bandages back and muttered darkly.
Kateri didn’t ask what she had said. She was merely glad to get the adhesive off.
Dr. Frownfelter delved into his coat pocket and retrieved a bottle of Tums and a battered flashlight. He offered Kateri the bottle. “Want a Tums? Even if you haven’t got indigestion, they’re good for your calcium.”
Kateri took one, popped it in her mouth and shuddered. “That’s awful.”
“Probably a fruit flavor.” Dr. Frownfelter pointed his flashlight at Kateri’s ribs. “This looks better than I would have expected, considering. The stitches are holding this time. Whatever else you can say about the frog god, he gave you remarkable recuperative powers.” The doctor might not be Native American, but he knew the local legends.
Kateri craned her neck to see the red, jagged wound over her ribs. “If only that included pain relief.”
Dr. Frownfelter pulled on his gloves, lifted a syringe and prepared to inject it close to the stitches. “If the frog god had provided that, you’d simply do more stupid things to injure yourself.”
“I didn’t injure myself,” she snapped. “I was shot.”
“Most patients would lie down and recover. Itisconsidered the wise move to make. Let’s use some pain relief and clean this up.” He couldn’t resist adding, “Again.”
Peggy lifted the cloth off the tray and revealed an impressive array of instruments.
Dr. Frownfelter placed the syringe in the disposal container. “Mike Sun called me about the autopsy he’s doing. Asked me about Monique Ries, where exactly the slashing was relative to her face and neck, wanted to know what I thought had been used to cause the injury.”
“What did you tell him?”
