Joanna wasn’t listening. As Vielle was talking she’d had it again, that teasing sense that she knew what “fifty-eight” meant. “Right, Joanna?”
“Oh. Yes. Tchaikovsky and Queen Victoria and P. T. Barnum. Anne Brontë said, ‘Take courage, Charlotte, take courage.’ This dip is not a dip. We do need a knife after all,” she said and escaped into the kitchen.
What had they been talking about that had triggered the feeling? Princess Di? Diabetes? No, it must have been something that echoed their earlier conversation. Joanna took a table knife out of the silverware drawer and then stood there with it in her hand, trying to reconstruct the scene in her head. They’d been talking about movie options, and—
“Can’t you find the knives?” Vielle called from the living room. “They’re in the top drawer next to the dishwasher.”
“I know,” Joanna said. “I’ll be there in a minute.” Could there be a movie with the number fifty-eight in the title? Or a song? Vielle had mentioned “Tell Laura I love her—”
“Joanna,” Vielle called, “you’re missing the movie!”
This was ridiculous. Greg Menotti hadn’t been trying to say anything. He’d been echoing the nurse’s reciting of his blood pressure, and she had only thought it meant something because of a fifty-eight in her memory, a fifty-eight their conversation had triggered. A line from a movie or a number out of her past, her grandmother’s address, her high school locker number—
High school. It had something to do with high school—
“Joanna!” Vielle called.
“If you don’t get in here,” Richard said, “our last words are going to be ‘Joanna, we’re starv— . . . argghh!’ ”
Something about high school and—. It was no use. Whatever it was, was gone. She took the knife into the living room and handed it to Richard. “You’re saying it wrong. Important words first. Like this. ‘Starving we argghh!’ ”
They all spread deviled ham dip on their crackers. “Maybe the best plan would be to decide in advance what you wanted your last words to be and then memorize them, so you’d be ready,” Joanna said.
“Like what?” Richard said.
“I don’t know,” Joanna said. “Words of wisdom or something.”
“Like ‘A penny saved is a penny earned’?” Vielle said. “I’d rather have ‘My side hurts.’ ”
“How about ‘So here it is at last, the distinguished thing’?” Joanna suggested. “That’s what Henry James said right before he died.”
“No, wait,” Richard said. “I’ve got it.” He spread his arms for dramatic effect. “ ‘There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.’ ”
“Water! Water!”
—LAST WORDS OF CAPTAIN LEHMANN, CAPTAIN OF THE HINDENBURG, DYING OF BURNS
HE DEFINITELY LIKES YOU,” Vielle said when she called between patients the next morning. “Now aren’t you glad I invited him to Dish Night?”
“Vielle, I’m busy—” Joanna said.
“He’s handsome, smart, funny. But that means there’s going to be a lot of competition out there, so you’re going to have to really go after him. And the first thing you’ve got to do is stop him from hiring Tish.”
“It’s too late,” Joanna said. “He hired her this morning.”
“And you let him?” Vielle squealed. “She flirts with everything that moves. What were you thinking?”
That, unlike Karen Goebel, who had been the only other applicant, Tish wasn’t a spy for Mr. Mandrake. And that since Tish’s chief goal was pursuing Richard, she probably wouldn’t endanger her chances with him by blabbing to Mr. Mandrake. And she was a very good nurse.
“I can’t believe you let him hire her!” Vielle said.
“Did you call for some reason, Vielle?” Joanna asked. “Because if you didn’t, I have background checks to run, I’ve got to interview the rest of our volunteers, and Maisie’s been calling me all morning wanting me to come see her.” And I need to try to remember what triggered that feeling of knowing what “fifty-eight” meant last night.
“You just answered the question I called to ask you,” Vielle said. “You don’t have time.”
“For what? An NDE subject? Did somebody come into the ER?”
“Yes. A Mrs. Woollam. They’ve already taken her upstairs. I tried to page you, but you weren’t answering. I thought if I had you paged over the intercom, Mr. Mandrake would descend—”
“—‘like a wolf on the fold,’ ” Joanna said, and stopped. There was that sensation again, that feeling of knowing what Greg Menotti had been talking about. What was the rest of that quote? “Something something purple and gold.”
“Joanna?” Vielle said. “Are you still there?”
“Yes. Sorry. What did you say her name was?”
“Mrs. Woollam. And, listen, she’s not just an ordinary NDEer. She’s a sudden deather.”
“Sudden deather?”
“Her heart tends to fibrillate suddenly and stop pumping. Luckily it also tends to start up again with a shot of epi and one good shock from the paddles, but she’s coded eight times in the past year. We’re talking experienced.”
“Why haven’t I met her before?” Joanna said.
“The last time she was at Mercy General was before you came,” Vielle said. “They usually take her to Porter’s. Her doctor just switched HMOs, though, so now they’re bringing her here. She says she’s had an NDE all but one time she coded.”
Someone who’d had several NDEs and could compare and contrast them. It sounded perfect. “Where did they take her?”
“CICU,” Vielle said. “They took her up about ten minutes ago.” And it would be another fifteen before they got her settled and allowed visitors in. Joanna looked at her watch. Mr. Kelso would be here in ten minutes. She’d have to wait till after his interview, and the one after that, with Ms. Coffey, by which time Mr. Mandrake would have convinced her she’d seen an Angel of Light and had a life review, but it couldn’t be helped.
“I’ll go see her as soon as I can,” she promised Vielle. “I’m sorry about my pager, but Mr. Mandrake keeps calling me. He says he’s got something urgent to discuss with me. I’m afraid it means he’s found out about my working on the project.”
“He had to find out sooner or later. But maybe he’ll be so busy descending on you, he won’t find out about Mrs. Woollam,” she said and hung up.
Descending like a wolf on the fold. “And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold.” That was the line. But where on earth had it come from? And what did it have to do with anything, let alone Greg Menotti’s murmuring, “Fifty-eight” ?
There wasn’t time to worry about it. She needed to look over Ronald Kelso’s file and get to the lab in case, unlike Amelia Tanaka, he was on time.
He was, and neatly dressed, in slacks, a shirt, and a tie. “I work at Hollywood Video,” he said when Joanna asked him to tell her a little about himself, “but I’m studying to be a computer programmer. I’m taking classes at Metro Technical College.”
“Can you tell me why you volunteered for this project?” Joanna asked.
“I want to know death.”
“Know death?” Richard said, turning faintly green.
“How did you know the project involved near-death experiences?” Joanna asked.
“One of the people in my chat room told me it did.”
“Who?” Richard asked.
“I don’t know. His on-line name is Osiris.” He leaned forward eagerly. “People in our society don’t understand death. They won’t even talk about it. They just pretend it’s not there, that it’s not going to happen to them, and when you try to talk about it, they look at you like you’re crazy. Have you ever seen the movie Harold and Maude?”
“Yes,” Joanna said.
“It’s my favorite movie of all time. I’ve seen it probably a hundred times, especially the scene where he hangs himself.”
Joanna said, “And so you think this projec
t . . . ”
“Will give me the chance to experience death firsthand, to look it in the face and find out what it’s really like.”
“We haven’t finalized our participant list yet,” Joanna said, showing him to the door. “We’ll let you know.”
“I can’t believe it,” Richard said after she’d shut the door. “Another one! And he looked perfectly normal.”
“He probably is,” Joanna said. “Harold and Maude’s a really good movie, and he didn’t say anything that wasn’t true. People in our society don’t want to talk about death. They do pretend it’s not there and it’s not going to happen to them.”
“You’re not seriously suggesting we should accept him into the project?” Richard said.
“No,” Joanna said. “He’s a little too fascinated by the subject matter, and his comments about the hanging scene were rather disturbing. And we’ve got a rule about movies with death in them.” She grinned at him.
“This isn’t funny,” Richard said. “How many volunteers are left on the list? Three?”
“Four,” Joanna said. “Ms. Coffey’s next. She’ll be here at ten.”
“The data systems manager,” Richard said, cheering up. “Great. She’s got an MBA and works for Colotech.”
That isn’t any guarantee, Joanna thought, although she had to agree with Richard. MBAs weren’t usually the Harold and Maude type, and Ms. Coffey looked extremely promising when she arrived. She was dressed in a stylish black suit, and her sleek haircut, her makeup, were the image of Corporate Woman. When Joanna asked her to tell her a little bit about herself, she opened her Corporate Woman day planner and pulled out a folded sheet of cream-colored vellum. “I know you have my application,” she said, “but I thought a résumé might be useful, too.” She smiled and handed it to Richard.
“Why did you volunteer for the project?” Joanna asked.
“As you can see on my résumé—” Ms. Coffey said and pulled out another folded sheet. She smiled. “I brought an extra one, just in case. In my job, details really matter.” She handed the résumé to Joanna. “As you can see, under ‘Service,’ ” she pointed out the place, “I do a lot of work with the community. Last year I participated in a sleep study at University Hospital.” She smiled warmly at Richard. “And when Dr. Wright described the project, I thought it sounded interesting.”
“Have you ever had a near-death experience?” Joanna asked.
“You mean where I nearly died and then experienced a tunnel and a light? No.”
“What about an out-of-body experience?” Joanna asked.
“Where people imagine they actually leave their bodies?” she said, frowning skeptically. “No.”
“Are you familiar with the works of Maurice Mandrake?” Joanna asked, watching her closely, but there wasn’t even a flicker of recognition as she shook her sleekly coiffed head.
Richard fidgeted, trying to catch Joanna’s eye. He was obviously convinced, and there wasn’t anything suspicious in Ms. Coffey’s background. “If we asked you to participate in the project,” Joanna asked, “when would you be available?”
“Wednesday mornings and Thursday afternoons,” Ms. Coffey said, “but Mondays would be the best for me. My psychic powers are strongest on days governed by the moon goddess. Because of the sympathetic harmonic vibrations.”
“We’ll let you know,” Joanna said. Ms. Coffey gave them each a copy of her business card. “My home and office numbers are there, and my cell phone number. Or you can contact me via e-mail.”
“Or via telepathy. My God!” Richard exploded as soon as the door was safely shut behind her. “Are they all crazy?”
I hope not, Joanna thought and pulled out Mrs. Troudtheim’s file. She made a note to ask her why she’d volunteered to drive all the way from Deer Trail to participate in a research project and hoped there was a rational answer. Rural Colorado tended to have more than its share of UFO abductees and cattle mutilation conspiracy theorists.
“Oh, but I’m not driving,” she told Joanna. “I have to have a whole bunch of dental work done, and you never know about the weather this time of year so I’m staying with my son till it’s all done. But you know how it is, living with your kids. I thought participating in a study was a way to get out of my daughter-in-law’s hair once in a while. And I hate just setting around doing nothing.”
Apparently. “Do you mind if I crochet while we talk?” she had asked Joanna at the beginning of the interview and, when Joanna said she didn’t, had pulled out yarn and a half-finished orange-and-yellow-green afghan and begun working on it with work-weathered hands.
Joanna asked her about Deer Trail and her life on the ranch. Mrs. Troudtheim’s answers were comfortable and matter-of-fact, and when Joanna asked her to describe the ranch, she was impressed with the detailed and vivid picture she gave of the land and cattle. If she participated in the project, she would be a good observer. Joanna was also impressed with her friendly, comfortable manner and her open face.
“You told Dr. Wright you’ve never had a near-death experience,” Joanna said, consulting her notes. “Have you ever known anyone who had one?”
“No,” Mrs. Troudtheim said, looping the yarn around the crochet hook and pulling it through the edge of the afghan, “the day before my aunt died, she said she saw her sister—that was my mother—standing at the foot of the bed, dressed in a long white dress. My mother had been dead for several years, but my aunt said she saw her standing there, plain as day, and that she knew she’d come for her. She died the next day.”
“And what did you think of that?” Joanna asked.
“Oh, I don’t know,” she said, pulling out a length of yarn thoughtfully. “The doctor had her on pretty heavy medication. And I can’t see my mother in a long dress. She hated draggy skirts. People sometimes see what they want to see.”
But I’ll bet you don’t, Joanna thought, and asked her what times she had available.
“She’s the most promising subject yet,” she told Richard after Mrs. Troudtheim had crammed the afghan back in her tote bag and departed. “She reminds me of my relatives in Kansas, tough and kind and realistic, the type who can survive anything and probably have. I think she’ll be perfect for the project. I was especially impressed with her observational skills.”
“Except that she’s obviously color-blind. Did you see that afghan?” Richard asked, shuddering.
“You obviously have never been to Kansas,” Joanna said. “That one wasn’t half bad.”
“Whatever you say,” Richard said.
Joanna grinned. “I say she’ll make an excellent subject.”
“I’d settle for just a subject.”
Me, too, Joanna thought, relieved that she had finally found someone she could okay. She looked at the schedule. Mr. Sage was next, and then Mr. Pearsall, but not until one-thirty. If Mr. Sage’s interview didn’t take too long, she should be able to get down to see Mrs. Woollam. There wouldn’t be time for a full interview, but she could at least run down and meet her, get her to sign a waiver, and set up an interview for this afternoon. If Mr. Sage wasn’t long-winded.
He wasn’t. In fact, she had trouble getting anything out of him. Mr. Sage gave brief, bitten-off answers to everything she asked, which worried Joanna a little. She wondered how forthcoming he would be about what he’d seen in the NDE. But he wasn’t a psychic, or overly interested in death. And he had the best answer yet for why he had volunteered for the project: “My wife made me.”
“What’s your opinion of near-death experiences?” Joanna asked him.
“I don’t know,” he said. “I never thought much about them.” Good, Joanna thought, and asked him about his schedule.
“He was awfully silent,” Richard fretted after he’d left.
“He’ll be fine. People vary in their descriptive powers.” She stood up. “Richard, I’m going to go—” she began, and her pager went off.
She had already gotten in trouble with Vielle today by not answering it?
??she’d better at least see who it was. She called the operator, who gave her Maisie’s number. “She said it’s an emergency and you need to call her immediately. I, for one, would appreciate it if you did,” the operator said. “She’s been calling all morning, pestering me to page you on the intercom.”
“Okay,” Joanna laughed, and did.
“You have to come down right now!” an agitated Maisie said. “Ms. Sutterly found out about the crewman on the Hindenburg like you wanted, and you have to come down so I can tell you.”
“I can’t right now, Maisie,” Joanna said. “I have an appointment—”
“But I’m going home, and if you don’t come right away it’ll be too late! I’ll already be gone!”
She sounded genuinely upset. “Okay, I’ll be right down,” Joanna said. “I can only stay a couple of minutes,” she added, though there was no chance she’d get away in time to go see Mrs. Woollam. She’d have to wait till this afternoon.
“I’m going down to tell Maisie good-bye,” she said to Richard. “She’s going home.”
“What about the interview with Mr. Pearsall?”
“If I’m not back when he gets here, page me,” she said, waving her pager at him to show him she had it, and ran down to fifth and over to the walkway, but it was blocked with a saw-horse and more yellow tape.
“They’re laying new tile,” a lab tech heading the other way said. “Are you trying to get to the west wing? You have to either take the elevator up to seventh or down to the third-floor walkway.”
Joanna started back toward the elevators and saw Mr. Mandrake coming toward her. There was nowhere to go, no stairway she could duck into, not even an open door, and, anyway, he had already seen her. “Hello, Mr. Mandrake,” she said, trying not to look like a cornered rabbit.
“I’m glad I ran in to you,” he said. “I’ve been trying to reach you all morning.”
“This isn’t a good time,” Joanna said, looking pointedly at her watch. “I have an appointment.”