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I read Mortal Fire
by C.F. Dunn and enjoyed it except for the cliffhanger ending. I like novels that
conclude with all questions answered, tidied up, and that leave me satisfied. This
book isn’t exactly like that.
When offered an opportunity by Kregel Publications to receive
a complimentary copy of Death Be Not
Proud by C.F. Dunn in exchange for an honest review, I jumped at the chance.
I expected to find answers to the questions left unsettled in Mortal Fire.
In Death Be Not Proud,
historical researcher Emma D’Eresby is recovering in England from the almost
fatal attack she experienced in Mortal
Fire. She’s still in love with Dr. Matthew Lynes, who frightened her away
with questions like: Why is he super
strong? Why do his wounds heal so quickly, and just how old is he? She
begins to search out information about him by investigating his ancestors, and
Emma isn’t prepared for what she finds.
Again, C.F. Dunn’s writing brings you right into the story
and captures your imagination. I enjoyed every page…right up to another abrupt
ending. Matthew and Emma are reunited, sort
of, but their future is left uncertain.
I suppose Ms. Dunn intends to write a third novel
and allow Emma to possibly integrate into Dr. Lynes’s family. Some of the
mysteries surrounding him are yet to be revealed, and at the very end Emma
witnesses something odd as she’s about to enter Matthew’s home. One more cliffhanger.
If you don’t mind leaving a book with more questions than it
answers, then you will enjoy this one. I suppose I’ll gravitate to her third
novel in the hope that all will eventually be revealed. — Gail Lewis
Product Details Series: The Secret of the Journal (Book 2) Paperback: 384 pages
Author, C. F. Dunn, weaves an intriguing tale of mystery, romance and danger. She had me hooked when the heroine, Dr. Emma D'Eresby, is given a bookcase for her office by an admirer and another admirer visits and asks her if it's new. Not willing to divulge where it came from, she avoids the issue by replying, "No, it's an antique, actually." Clever and humorous way to avoid answering.
Her first admirer, Dr. Matthew Lynes, was able to carry the heavy, antique bookcase to Emma's office without help. Yet, she and another young man are barely able to push it aside to retrieve something behind it. This might be the first indication that Dr. Lynes is more than he appears to be. He has abilities others don't have. Has she fallen in love with a superhero?
Author, C. F. Dunn
When Emma arrives in Maine, after leaving her position in Cambridge, she makes friends with some lovable characters, Russian born Elena and her significant other, Matias. However, she also meets Professor Staahl, and instantly dislikes him. She senses he is evil, and rightfully so.
Dr. Lynes rescues Emma twice, the second time saving her life. And, as time marches on Emma learns more and more about his remarkable abilities. What, or who, is he and why is he so adept at everything? I suggest you read this novel and discover for yourself.
We first met Madeline McAllister
almost two years ago in Katia, Bruce
Judisch’s delightful novel that details the harshness of postwar East Germany
and the fall of the Berlin Wall. At the time, Madeline was an exchange student
in Germany helping her Great Aunt Katia produce a memoir of life under
Communism. (See our review of Katia here.)
We’ve been looking forward to the
sequel and it’s well worth the wait.
For Maria fast-forwards several years and our young exchange
student is now Madeline Sommers, freelance journalist and working mother of
three. During the time she spent with her Aunt Katia, Madeline discovered some
amazing details of her grandmother’s past, details that continue to haunt her.
In 1939, when the Gestapo hauled
Izaak and Maria Szpilmann away to Ravensbrück, the soldiers left their twin
infant daughters behind to die. Izaak perished in the camps, but Maria
tenaciously survived Ravensbrück, Auschwitz, and Bergen-Belsen. She eventually
married a soldier, James McAllister, and returned to Montreal with him to begin
life over again.
These many years later, the fate
of the infant daughters Maria was forced to leave behind remains a mystery. Gentile
neighbors, Gustaw and Ròsa Dudek, rescued the babies and fled occupied Poland. Then
the trail ends…they were never heard from again. Against long odds Madeline
clings to the desperate hope that she can somehow reunite her grandmother with her
missing twin daughters. But unraveling the mystery isn’t her only stumbling
block. After all these years how can Madeline even be sure the twins are still
alive?
Set against the backdrop of wartime
Europe and deftly moving between past and present, For Maria tells the story of Madeline’s search for the Dudeks and
the missing twins. Meticulous research adds realism to the narrative and
careful plotting creates a twisting path with unexpected outcomes. Historical
fiction doesn’t get any better than this. Clear your schedule because once you
pick this book up, you won’t be able to put it down.
For Maria, is scheduled for release September 15. Look for it.
This intriguing novel was offered free from Amazon.com for Kindle. It sounded interesting and was free, so I downloaded it. It will definitely lead me to purchase others by this author.
Hostile Witness is the first in a series of novels by Ms. Forster and is excellent. The author's other books in her Witness series feature several of the same characters.
Josie Baylor-Bates is an attorney who gave up defending those accused of murder when a woman she successfully defended later kills again. She was guilty after all. Josie leaves her highly successful practice to join a small law firm defending lower-income people. When a former college roommate arrives at her home in hysterics, Josie agrees to visit the woman's teenage daughter, Hannah, in jail. She was arrested for the murder of her step-grandfather. Josie feels compelled to help the teen and agrees to defend her.
Did the teenager murder him because he was abusive, or was it someone else? Josie, with the help of her sweetheart, Archer, discovers the truth. Her lovable dog, Max, is a hero too.
The murder investigations and courtroom manipulations portrayed in this novel are fascinating. Ms. Forster does a wonderful job of it.
I thoroughly enjoyed Hostile Witness and didn't want to put it down. I am under no obligation to do a review, I simply want to.
Head's up: PROMISES, by E.G. Lewis is free
in its eBook version at Amazon.com today and tomorrow until midnight PST. Enter
"Promises, E.G. Lewis" to find it, or click this link:
A brave, moral female lead
character. Sexy romantic suspense, not erotica. It gets better and better as
she overcomes difficult teen years to become a successful model and get even
with an ex-husband who almost destroys her career. Lots of humor as well as suspense. An
entertaining and fun read.
Get a FREE copy of the exciting novel LOST by E.G. Lewis
Between May 20, 2012 and May 24, 2012 only
from Amazon.com
This is a special announcement! There is a Promotion for a FREE copy of the novel, LOST. That’s right, the
Kindle edition will be free on Amazon.com beginning this Sunday, May 20 through Thursday, May 24. No strings attached.
We urge you to follow THIS LINK on Sunday to download your free copy. If you don't have a Kindle, you can download an application for your computer or for other eReaders. Then, download LOST for free between 5/20/12 to 5/24/12.
Be sure to tell your friends.
Below is a synopsis and excerpts for this novel, as well as several reviews. It's not to be missed!
Three Good Ideas Converge to Form
One Great Catastrophe. LOST a story about love, a special love that binds two hearts together
transcending time and space. Told through parallel storylines, their point of
convergence is the disappearance of the cruise ship, Paradise Voyager, while
in Alaskan waters. The common thread linking them together is the impact they
had upon the life of Oregon newspaperman, Thomas Jenkins, whose wife and
granddaughter were aboard the ship.
When
officials declare the Voyager irretrievably lost, Tom rejects their
conclusion and strikes out on his own. Assembling the unlikely team of two
Vietnam Vets, an Indian scientist and a supermodel, he goes on the offensive
and eventually unravels the mystery. When the final piece of the puzzle turns
out to lie not in the Gulf of Alaska, but in the Oregon woods Tom sets off into
the forest alone determined to save his wife and granddaughter...or die trying.
What reviewers are saying...
"Lost
is a character-driven mystery with touches of high-finance, science fiction,
love and ethics adding to its depth. Set solidly in the years leading up to the
millennium, in beautifully described countryside with forest, pine and
ocean, rain and sun, with a plot uniting elements from Indian mythology to the
local Chinese restaurant, it's a wonderfully evocative telling of high-jinks on
the high seas tempered with human care and concern."
"The author shows
enviable skill in building believable science without weighing down the story.
The humorous timing is as enjoyable as the well-drawn action and adventure.
A great adventure, some intriguingly imaginative concepts, wonderful
characters, and a beautiful sense of Southern Oregon scenery and community
(with touches of India, London, and more besides), this is a very enjoyable
novel which really does satisfy."
"Military secrets, corruption, greed, international
intrigue; tenderness, human frailty, devotion, and loyalty. All of these
describe Lost by E.G. Lewis. ...breathtaking descriptions of the Oregon
scenery, with touching glimpses into the emotional make up of the characters
flow seamlessly into scenes of high intensity action. It’s a mystery, romance,
action, thriller rolled into one. I highly recommend this book to readers
looking for a great mystery."
"A storyline you don't expect; a tale you won't forget. In Lost, Mr. Lewis treats us to glimpses of
the past, present, and a possible future, and ties them together in an
intriguing tale that juxtaposes deception with integrity, and grief with hope. Mr.
Lewis has produced a unique story that pits the staying power of love and
devotion against the forces of fate as manipulated by the intervention of
greedy men. Well researched and thoughtfully written, this is a story you'll
ponder well beyond the final page."
Wednesday, April 11, 2012 and Thursday, April 12, 2012, PROMISES by E.G. Lewis is available for download FREEto Kindle users from Amazon.com. This is a special promotion for two days only. The links below will help you find books by E.G. Lewis offered through Amazon.com. All his eBooks are inexpensive and most are also available in hard copy.
PROMISES is a commercial novel. Although the main character is moral, her "ex" is not. Expect suspense, humor and sex in this novel. Get it for free at Amazon.com for two days only, 4/11 & 4/12.
The concept for this book was an outstanding idea. If your child is dying and needs a heart transplant and there’s a match with a condemned prisoner of course you’d take it. But, what if that prisoner is innocent?
As the parent of a child with a congenital heart defect, this premise intrigued me, and I wanted to read Chris Fabry’s Not In The Heart the moment I heard of it. However, this novel is more about addictions and redemption than anything else. The condemned prisoner was a skid-row alcoholic before he was arrested and convicted of a murder. In prison he experiences a Christian conversion that leads him to want to do something good with his life, like donate his heart, or convert others.
The dying young man is primarily viewed through the main protagonist’s eyes…his father, Truman Wiley. Wiley is a journalist estranged from his wife, Ellen, and children Abigail and Aiden. He’s addicted to gambling and obsessed with the stories he follows around the world. Any money he makes goes to casinos or to internet gambling. He’s losing his home, his car and is pursued by dangerous people he’s borrowed from and can’t repay. Even his family is threatened.
Meanwhile, his estranged wife lures him into writing a book about the condemned prisoner who may save their son’s life. Although he accepts that assignment and loves his family, he won’t visit his son in the hospital. He’s very self-centered.
Tru Wiley, with his daughter Abby's help, ferret out clues to the murder missed by everyone else. Their evidence seems to imply that the man in prison probably shouldn’t be there…at least not for the crime he was convicted of.
Tru’s wife, son, and others repeatedly attempt to convince Tru and Abby of the value of believing in Christ. Both, of course, resist until the end. This is, after all, a Christian novel. Tru is a despicable character in my mind, yet not allowed to do anything too terrible. When Tru is being shot at in an attempt to kill him, his chosen defense is to shoot out the tires of his assailants. Really? They’re trying to kill him! But, apparently main characters in Christian books don’t kill anyone, not even very bad guys.
Tru is unkind and unfair to his family. Neither his personal angst, nor learning he was the child of an abusive alcoholic dad, made me feel empathy or sympathy for him. I also didn’t approve of the wife’s tolerance of her estranged husband’s behavior. Although presented as a strong woman when caring for her seriously ill son, Ellen doesn’t practice tough love in regard to the addict. I didn’t find her a likeable character either.
Chris Fabry does an admirable job of writing and weaving in suspense over who actually did commit the murder. However, the intent of the novel seems to be to show the advantage of Christian conversion and even makes a comment against “religion.” I take umbrage with that since it’s religion that has maintained Christian faith through the ages. Where would we be without religion? But, I digress.
This was a well-written novel of mystery and suspense, despite unlikeable characters. As expected, Tru improves toward the end of the book; however, the solution to the murder will surprise you. Whether Aiden survives or not, you’ll have to read to the last pages to find out.
Chris Fabry leads us toward a shocking, but excellent ending. The conclusion exceeded my expectations.
Thank you to B&B Media Group for providing us with a review copy of this engaging novel.
—Gail Lewis
PRODUCT DETAILS: Paperback: 432 pages Publisher: Tyndale House Publishers, Inc. (January 20, 2012) Language: English ISBN-10: 1414348614 ISBN-13: 978-1414348612
After reading Donna Fletcher Crow’s A Very Private Matter, I was eager to read A Darkly Hidden Truth, the second in The Monastery Murders series. I now look forward to reading her third, An Unholy Communion. I enjoyed A Darkly Hidden Truth even more than the first in this series and highly recommend it.
Ms. Crow has created a compelling mystery with the theft of an icon, incorporating murder and intrigue. She continues the subtle romance between Felicity and Antony, puts their lives at risk, and brings things to a surprising conclusion. Will Felicity reconcile with her mother, and also be reunited with Antony? Will Felicity become a nun in the end, or submit to her attraction for the admirable Antony who helps solve the mysteries they encounter … that is, if he survives kidnapping and worse? Will she accept the veil of a nun, or become a bride?
I enjoyed learning more about the rich heritage of the Christian religion, the wisdom of the saints, the inspiring Catholic liturgy and rituals, life inside a monastery, the liturgical calendar, the practices and missions of the church...all well explained.
Also enjoyable are the relationships that Ms. Crow explores. They literally flow through this novel, and the interaction between characters is well done. I particularly liked the complexities Ms. Crow attacks between Felicity and her mother, Cynthia. Felicity resents and judges her mother harshly, yet their relationship unfolds and is resolved in a touching way.
Ms. Crow has produced a modern mystery while incorporating fascinating history. I am a slow, methodical reader, and regret that time constraints forced me to hurry through this novel faster than I wanted to. In future, I will reread it, taking my time to ponder the many historical tidbits woven throughout the book.
A mystery that is both heartwarming and inspiring with characters you will begin to like and grow to love. A Darkly Hidden Truth is not to be missed.
We are grateful to Kriegel Publications for providing us with a copy of this book for an honest review.
If you’re looking for a book you won’t want to put down, it’s Beyond Molasses Creek. Nicole Seitz takes a unique idea and weaves it into a delightful tale that is a quick and easy read. I whizzed through it and enjoyed every page.
Author, Nicole Seitz
To tell you what I liked best about this novel would mean giving away the primary plot. The story begins with Ally Green in her 60’s returning home after the death of her father. Flashbacks tell you how she has lived her life. Gradually you learn she’s faced disappointment and that there was a terrible tragedy she’s tried to overcome, but it’s not clear what that is at first.
A parallel story evolves with events in the life of Sunila, who has grown up in a rock quarry in Nepal. The harshness of her life there, her courage and the ultimate outcome for her future will inspire you.
As a person who raises and loves birds, my only criticism would be that I wish Ms. Seitz had researched the birds she mentions in the book with more accuracy. I recognized a few faux pas about the behavior of some. However, most people won’t notice it, and I still greatly enjoyed this book filled with emotion, intrigue and believable characters.
The book’s Christian outlook is handled in a believable fashion with sensible characters who live and love as real people. Although a Christian novel, this one is not noticeably preachy, nor does it lose track of the story in an effort to convert, as some seem to.
I highly recommend Beyond Molasses Creek by Nicole Seitz and expect to read more of her novels.
We are grateful to Litfuse Publicity Group and Thomas Nelson Publishers for providing us with a review copy of this book in exchange for an honest review.
—Gail Lewis
Save the Date! 2/16!
PRODUCT DETAILS: Paperback: 320 pages
Publisher: Thomas Nelson (January 31, 2012) Language: English ISBN-10: 1595545050 ISBN-13: 978-1595545053
I’ve never read any of Stephen R. Lawhead’s other books, so I had no expectations for this one. It was the concept that excited me. When given an opportunity by Thomas Nelson, Inc. to review an unabridged audio version of this novel, I jumped at the chance and appreciated the opportunity.
The first in the Bright Empires series,and written by a British author, this audio version is also read by someone with a British accent. Nowhere on my CDs, or on the case, does it tell whose voice is recorded. At the beginning of the first CD, Ithink it says, “Read by Simon Bubb.” However, “Bubb” could actually be something that sounds similar.
I found the British accent sometimes difficult to understand and often too much of a monotone. As the novel progressed, and I became more familiar with him, it got better. The reader also seemed to add more voice inflections farther into the narrative. I suspect I’d have enjoyed reading this book more than listening to it, however. I had some difficulty following the story lines and found myself backing up the CD to re-listen on several occasions. It’s easier to do this by turning a page than searching on a CD.
The concept of time travel via ley lines was intriguing. The historical settings were interesting too. I wanted more time with the man who sported the tattooed skin map. He and the Asian woman he loved were more interesting than the main character, Kit, or his great grandfather. Kit never really appealed to me. He wasn’t fleshed out enough.
On the other hand, Kit’s girlfriend, Wilhelmina was very likeable. Her adventures were fun to listen to and I hoped she’d fall in love and marry the Austrian partner she opens a bakery and coffee house with. Will that happen in a later book? Better him than Kit.
I was disappointed by the deaths of two major characters, and even more so in the way the novel came to an abrupt halt. It didn’t satisfy and left everything unfinished. Okay, so there will be other books in the series and I’m going to want to read them. But, I wish it had not left so many loose ends. If only the author had at least tied up some of them.
In the next book, I hope we’ll be shouting, “Go Wilhelmina!”
—Gail Lewis
Product Details: Audio Edition
Listening Length: 11 hours and 24 minutes Program Type: Audiobook Version: Unabridged Publisher: Thomas Nelson, Inc. Language: English ASIN: B004CJL9U0
In 1954, Malcolm Taylor, a noted foreign-affairs journalist, kissed his daughter at the front door, said goodbye, and promised to come back. He didn't.
In 1967, Kristin Taylor, a budding novice journalist, followed her father's trail to find out why.
In Saigon, Kristin meets up − or rather, is forced into reluctant collaboration − with Luke Maddox, a photojournalist who irks Kristin in just about every way imaginable. And she reciprocates. Little do either of them know that Kristin's determination to follow through on a story her father had begun the previous decade, and Luke's hidden past are intertwined. Finally, her self-imposed assignment, an exposé on a secret war within a war, threatens to explode both of their worlds, which have now become one.
Professionally, Kristin excels in her honest portrayal of a conflict gone so wrong, endearing herself to the men she has come to respect and love. Personally, she doesn't do so well in shielding her emotions from the horror engulfing a nation she has also come to love. From the trauma of a blood-spattered field hospital, to the heat of battle at a forward fire base, to the precious and precarious existence of a Saigon orphanage, Kristin learns the hard way how to survive physically, mentally and emotionally in an environment man was never meant to endure.
Her love-hate relationship with Luke comes to a head, then Kristin is forced to return to the States. Like most veterans of that conflict, part of her she leaves in Vietnam, part of Vietnam she brings home with her. And life is never again the same.
Ms. West delivers an honest, compelling, and very well-written tale of war and the aftermath of war. But it's not a mere blood-and-guts story. It's one of hope. She shows us how love and faith have curious and unexpected ways of sprouting even in the most barren soil. Yesterday's Tomorrow will leave you very satisfied at its conclusion, but don't expect the path to be strewn with rose petals. Few paths to meaningful destinations are.
In LOST, Mr. Lewis treats us to glimpses of the past, present, and a possible future, and ties them together in an intriguing tale that juxtaposes deception with integrity, and grief with hope.
The story opens with an engaging monolog by a minor − or at least, not-as-major − character, who sets the stage with a glimpse into the past and its application to the present. Then we're off and running...
A brief visit to Delhi, India, where a top-secret scientific breakthrough launches us into the initial foray between deception and integrity. Dr. "Derek" has invented the capability every military commander in the world covets. Today, that translates to untold billions of dollars for the firm that can bring it from the laboratory to the battlefield. And Mr. Winston Ridgely of the RCI Corporation intends to do just that.
Skip to Pine Crest, Oregon, where Vietnam veteran, now newspaper owner/editor, Tom Jenkins and his wife, Marty share a quiet life − a life that is about to be turned upside down. Marty embarks on an Alaskan cruise as a member of a singing group. Then, only a couple of days out, the ship runs afoul of RCI's field-testing their newly acquired capability.
Enter grief vs. hope. The Coast Guard gives up on the chances that there are any survivors, but Tom can't let go of the feeling that Marty is still alive. His conviction sends him on a mission that ranges from the cruise line's home office in London, England, to Oregon's backwoods. Driven by his obsession, he ignores the sentiments piling up against him by well-meaning friends who counsel him to move on, that he must reconcile himself to his wife's death. He just can't do tha t− oh, did I mention his granddaughter was also on the cruise? Yeah. Now you see.
But who is right: Tom or everyone else? What really happened to the Paradise Voyager, its passengers and crew?
Mr. Lewis toys with mysticism, but not too much; flirts with science fiction, but doesn't cross the genre line. What he does is produce a unique story that pits the staying power of love and devotion against the forces of 'fate' manipulated by the intervention of greedy men.
Well researched and thoughtfully written, this is a story you'll ponder well beyond the final page. − Bruce Judisch
FOR AN OPPORTUNITY TO WIN A FREE COPY OF A SOUND AMONG THE TREES, MAKE A COMMENT before December 1. Make it either here, or at the bottom of the Wild Card review below.
Contest is open to all USA or FPO, APO residents only. The winner, chosen randomly, will be contacted for their mailing address. A new copy of A Sound Among the Trees will be shipped to the winner. Good Luck!
Our Review:
From beginning to end, I didn’t want to put this book down.
A Sound Among the Trees is actually two stories in one novel. A contemporary heroine from Phoenix, Marielle, meets her future husband on the internet. She marries the widower with two children and moves into Holly Oak, an aging Virginia mansion. It belongs to his first wife’s grandmother, Adelaide, who lives there too. Although the two women get along well, ghost stories and old Civil War mysteries abound regarding the mansion and its former occupants.
I found myself hanging on every word. Surely the author wouldn’t espouse the existence of ghosts, would she? Yet, there were strange goings on.
The second tale begins after Marielle discovers a journal from her predecessor, Sara, and has a surprise visit from Sara’s mother, Caroline. It is Caroline who holds the key to solving all the mysteries and setting things back in order.
You will enjoy reading Civil War letters from Susannah, an ancestor of Adelaide, Caroline and Sara. Susannah’s involvement in the Civil War has been speculated and gossiped about for decades, and all of it intrigues Marielle. Susannah’s letters reveal many truths about Holly Oak and her life there. The italics used to print her letters in this book, however, caused me some eyestrain. They are approximately 1/3 of the novel. However, it was worth the reading in spite of blurry vision afterwards. This is the other tale told in Ms. Meissner’s book, and the one I especially relished.
We highly recommend this exciting novel and are grateful to Waterbrook Press for providing a complimentary copy in exchange for an honest review. We will be watching for more novels by Susan Meissner.
—Gail Lewis
It is time for a FIRST Wild Card Tour book review! If you wish to join the FIRST blog alliance, just click the button. We are a group of reviewers who tour Christian books. A Wild Card post includes a brief bio of the author and a full chapter from each book toured. The reason it is called a FIRST Wild Card Tour is that you never know if the book will be fiction, non~fiction, for young, or for old...or for somewhere in between! Enjoy your free peek into the book!
You never know when I might play a wild card on you!
***Special thanks to Laura Tucker of WaterBrook Press for sending me a review copy.***
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Award-winning writer Susan Meissner is a multi-published author, speaker and workshop leader with a background in community journalism. Her novels include The Shape of Mercy, named by Publishers Weekly as one of the Best Books of 2008. She is a pastor’s wife and a mother of four. When she's not writing, Susan directs the Small Groups and Connection Ministries program at her San Diego church.
A house shrouded in time. A line of women with a heritage of loss. As a young bride, Susannah Page was rumored to be a Civil War spy for the North, a traitor to her Virginian roots. Her great-granddaughter Adelaide, the current matriarch of Holly Oak, doesn't believe that Susannah's ghost haunts the antebellum mansion looking for a pardon, but rather the house itself bears a grudge toward its tragic past.
When Marielle Bishop marries into the family and is transplanted from the arid west to her husband's home, it isn't long before she is led to believe that the house she just settled into brings misfortune to the women who live there.
With Adelaide's richly peppered superstitions and deep family roots at stake, Marielle must sort out the truth about Susannah Page and Holly Oak— and make peace with the sacrifices she has made for love.
Product Details:
List Price: $14.99
Paperback: 336 pages
Publisher: WaterBrook Press (October 4, 2011)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 0307458857
ISBN-13: 978-0307458858
AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:
Excerpt
The bride stood in a circle of Virginia sunlight, her narrow heels clicking on Holly Oak’s patio stones as she greeted strangers in the receiving line. Her wedding dress was a simple A-line, strapless, with a gauzy skirt of white that breezed about her knees like lacy curtains at an open window. She had pulled her unveiled brunette curls into a loose arrangement dotted with tiny flowers that she’d kept alive on her flight from Phoenix. Her only jewelry was a white topaz pendant at her throat and the band of platinum on her left ring finger. Tall, slender, and tanned from the famed and relentless Arizona sun, hers was a girl-nextdoor look: pretty but not quite beautiful. Adelaide thought it odd that Marielle held no bouquet.
From the parlor window Adelaide watched as her grandson-in-law, resplendent in a black tuxedo next to his bride, bent toward the guests and greeted them by name, saying, “This is Marielle.” An explanation seemed ready to spring from his lips each time he shook the hand of someone who had known Sara, her deceased granddaughter. His first wife. Carson stood inches from Marielle, touching her elbow every so often, perhaps to assure himself that after four years a widower he had indeed patently and finally moved on from grief.
Smatterings of conversations wafted about on the May breeze and into the parlor as received guests strolled toward trays of sweet tea and champagne. Adelaide heard snippets from her place at the window. Hudson and Brette, her great-grandchildren, had moved away from the snaking line of gray suits and pastel dresses within minutes of the first guests’ arrival and were now studying the flower-festooned gift table under the window ledge, touching the bows, fingering the silvery white wrappings. Above the children, an old oak’s youngest branches shimmied to the tunes a string quartet produced from the gazebo beyond the receiving line.
Adelaide raised a teacup to her lips and sipped the last of its contents, allowing the lemony warmth to linger at the back of her throat. She had spent the better part of the morning readying the garden for Carson and Marielle’s wedding reception, plucking spent geranium blossoms, ordering the catering staff about, and straightening the rented linen tablecloths. She needed to join the party now that it had begun. The Blue-Haired Old Ladies would be wondering where she was.
Her friends had been the first to arrive, coming through the garden gate on the south side of the house at five minutes before the hour. She’d watched as Carson introduced them to Marielle, witnessed how they cocked their necks in blue-headed unison to sweetly scrutinize her grandson-in-law’s new wife, and heard their welcoming remarks through the open window.
Deloris gushed about how lovely Marielle’s wedding dress was and what, pray tell, was the name of that divine purple flower she had in her hair?
Pearl invited Marielle to her bridge club next Tuesday afternoon and asked her if she believed in ghosts.
Maxine asked her how Carson and she had met—though Adelaide had told her weeks ago that Carson met Marielle on the Internet—and why on earth Arizona didn’t like daylight-saving time.
Marielle had smiled, sweet and knowing—like the kindergarten teacher who finds the bluntness of five-year-olds endearing—and answered the many questions.
Mojave asters. She didn’t know how to play bridge. She’d never encountered a ghost so she couldn’t really say but most likely not. She and Carson met online. There’s no need to save what one has an abundance of. Carson had cupped her elbow in his hand, and his thumb caressed the inside of her arm while she spoke.
Adelaide swiftly set the cup down on the table by the window, whisking away the remembered tenderness of that same caress on Sara’s arm.
Carson had every right to remarry.
Sara had been dead for four years.
She turned from the bridal tableau outside and inhaled deeply the gardenia-scented air in the parlor. Unbidden thoughts of her granddaughter sitting with her in that very room gently nudged her. Sara at six cutting out paper dolls. Memorizing multiplication tables at age eight. Sewing brass buttons onto gray wool coats at eleven. Sara reciting a poem for English Lit at sixteen, comparing college acceptance letters at eighteen, sharing a chance letter from her estranged mother at nineteen, showing Adelaide her engagement ring at twenty-four. Coming back home to Holly Oak with Carson when Hudson was born. Nursing Brette in that armchair by the fireplace. Leaning against the door frame and telling Adelaide that she was expecting her third child.
Right there Sara had done those things while Adelaide sat at the long table in the center of the room, empty now but usually awash in yards of stiff Confederate gray, glistening gold braid, and tiny piles of brass buttons—the shining elements of officer reenactment uniforms before they see war.
Adelaide ran her fingers along the table’s polished surface, the warm wood as old as the house itself. Carson had come to her just a few months ago while she sat at that table piecing together a sharpshooter’s forest green jacket. He had taken a chair across from her as Adelaide pinned a collar, and he’d said he needed to tell her something.
He’d met someone.
When she’d said nothing, he added, “It’s been four years, Adelaide.”
“I know how long it’s been.” The pins made a tiny plucking sound as their pointed ends pricked the fabric.
“She lives in Phoenix.”
“You’ve never been to Phoenix.”
“Mimi.” He said the name Sara had given her gently, as a father might. A tender reprimand. He waited until she looked up at him. “I don’t think Sara would want me to live the rest of my life alone. I really don’t. And I don’t think she would want Hudson and Brette not to have a mother.”
“Those children have a mother.”
“You know what I mean. They need to be mothered. I’m gone all day at work. I only have the weekends with them. And you won’t always be here. You’re a wonderful great-grandmother, but they need someone to mother them, Mimi.”
She pulled the pin cushion closer to her and swallowed. “I know they do.”
He leaned forward in his chair. “And I…I miss having someone to share my life with. I miss the companionship. I miss being in love. I miss having someone love me.”
Adelaide smoothed the pieces of the collar. “So. You are in love?”
He had taken a moment to answer. “Yes. I think I am.”
Carson hadn’t brought anyone home to the house, and he hadn’t been on any dates. But he had lately spent many nights after the children were in bed in his study—the old drawing room—with the door closed. When she’d pass by, Adelaide would hear the low bass notes of his voice as he spoke softly into his phone. She knew that gentle sound. She had heard it before, years ago when Sara and Carson would sit in the study and talk about their day. His voice, deep and resonant. Hers, soft and melodic.
“Are you going to marry her?”
Carson had laughed. “Don’t you even want to know her name?”
She had not cared at that moment about a name. The specter of being alone in Holly Oak shoved itself forward in her mind. If he remarried, he’d likely move out and take the children with him. “Are you taking the children? Are you leaving Holly Oak?”
“Adelaide—”
“Will you be leaving?”
Several seconds of silence had hung suspended between them. Carson and Sara had moved into Holly Oak ten years earlier to care for Adelaide after heart surgery and had simply stayed. Ownership of Holly Oak had been Sara’s birthright and was now Hudson and Brette’s future inheritance. Carson stayed on after Sara died because, in her grief, Adelaide asked him to, and in his grief, Carson said yes.
“Will you be leaving?” she asked again.
“Would you want me to leave?” He sounded unsure.
“You would stay?”
Carson had sat back in his chair. “I don’t know if it’s a good idea to take Hudson and Brette out of the only home they’ve known. They’ve already had to deal with more than any kid should.”
“So you would marry this woman and bring her here. To this house.”
Carson had hesitated only a moment. “Yes.”
She knew without asking that they were not talking solely about the effects moving would have on a ten-year-old boy and a six-year-old girl. They were talking about the strange biology of their grief. Sara had been taken from them both, and Holly Oak nurtured their common sorrow in the most kind and savage of ways. Happy memories were one way of keeping someone attached to a house and its people. Grief was the other. Surely Carson knew this. An inner nudging prompted her to consider asking him what his new bride would want.
It is time for a FIRST Wild Card Tour book review! If you wish to join the FIRST blog alliance, just click the button. We are a group of reviewers who tour Christian books. A Wild Card post includes a brief bio of the author and a full chapter from each book toured. The reason it is called a FIRST Wild Card Tour is that you never know if the book will be fiction, non~fiction, for young, or for old...or for somewhere in between! Enjoy your free peek into the book!
You never know when I might play a wild card on you!
***Special thanks to Julie Dowd (Abingdon Press) for sending me a review copy.***
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Richard L. Mabry, MD, is a retired physician and medical school professor who achieved worldwide recognition as a clinician, writer, and teacher before turning his talents to non-medical writing after his retirement. He is the author of The Prescription for Trouble Series, one non-fiction book, and his inspirational piesces have appeared in numerous periodicals. He and his wife, Kay, live in North Texas.
An epidemic of a highly resistant bacteria, Staphylococcus luciferus, has ignited, and Dr. Sara Miles' patient is on the threshold of death. Only an experimental antibiotic developed and administered by Sara's ex-husband, Dr. Jack Ingersoll can save the girl's life.
Dr. John Ramsey is seeking to put his life together after the death of his wife by joining the medical school faculty. But his decision could prove to be costly, even fatal.
Potentially lethal late effects from the experimental drug send Sara and her colleague, Dr. Rip Pearson, on a hunt for hidden critical data that will let them reverse the changes before it’s too late. What is the missing puzzle piece? And who is hiding it?
Product Details:
List Price: $13.99
Paperback: 288 pages
Publisher: Abingdon Press (October 2011)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 1426735448
ISBN-13: 978-1426735448
AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:
No one knew the man’s name. White male, probably in his late seventies, found unresponsive in an alley about two o’clock in the morning and brought to the emergency room. Just another homeless derelict, another John Doe.
“Pneumonia, late stages,” the intern said. He yawned. “Happens all the time. Drank himself into a stupor, vomited, aspirated. Probably been lying in that alley for more than a day. Doesn’t look like he’ll make it.”
“Labs cooking? Got a sputum culture going?”
“Yeah, but it’ll take a day or two to get the results of the culture. The smear looks like Staph. Guess I’ll give him—”
“Wait. I’ve got access to an experimental drug that might help. Let me start him on that.”
The intern shrugged. It was two in the morning. He’d been on duty for more than twenty-four hours straight—why’d Johnson’s wife have to go into labor today?—and he was bushed. The bum probably didn’t have a snowball’s chance of surviving anyway. Why not? “You’ll be responsible?”
“I’ll take it from here. Even do the paperwork.”
“Deal,” the intern said, and ambled off to see the next patient.
Three hours later, John Doe lay on a gurney in a corner of the ER. An IV ran into one arm, a blood pressure cuff encircled the other. Spittle dripped from his open mouth and dotted his unshaven chin. His eyes were open and staring.
“Acute anaphylaxis, death within minutes. Interesting.” He scratched his chin. “Guess I need to make some adjustments in the compound.” He picked up the almost-blank chart. “I’ll say I gave him ampicillin and sulbactam. That should cover it.”
* * *
The woman’s look pierced Dr. Sara Miles’ heart. “Do you know what’s wrong with Chelsea?”
Chelsea Ferguson lay still and pale as a mannequin in the hospital bed. An IV carried precious fluids and medications into a vein in her arm. A plastic tube delivered a constant supply of oxygen to her nostrils. Above the girl’s head, monitors beeped and flashed. And over it all wafted the faint antiseptic smell of the ICU.
Chelsea’s mother sat quietly at the bedside, but her hands were never still: arranging and rearranging her daughter’s cover, twisting the hem of her plain brown skirt, shredding a tissue. Sara decided that the gray strands in Mrs. Ferguson’s long brunette hair were a recent addition, along with the lines etched in her face.
Sara put her hand on the teenager’s head and smoothed the matted brown curls. The girl’s hot flesh underscored the urgency of the situation. Since Chelsea’s admission to University Hospital three days ago, her fever hadn’t responded to any of the treatments Sara ordered. If anything, the girl was worse.
“Let’s slip out into the hall,” Sara said. She tiptoed from the bedside and waited outside the room while Mrs. Ferguson kissed her sleeping daughter and shuffled through the door.
Sara pointed. “Let’s go into the family room for a minute.”
“Will she be—?”
“The nurses will check on her, and they’ll call me if anything changes.” Sara led the way into the room and eased the door closed. This family room resembled so many others Sara had been in over the years: small, dim, and quiet. Six wooden chairs with lightly upholstered seats and backs were arranged along three of the walls. Illumination came from a lamp in the corner. A Bible, several devotional magazines, and a box of tissues stood within reach on a coffee table.
This was a room where families received bad news: the biopsy was positive, the treatment hadn’t worked, the doctors weren’t able to save their loved one. The cloying scent of flowers in a vase on an end table reminded Sara of a funeral home, and she shivered as memories came unbidden. She shoved her emotions aside and gestured Mrs. Ferguson to a seat. “Would you like something? Water? Coffee? A soft drink?”
The woman shook her head. “No. Just tell me what’s going on with my daughter. Do you know what’s wrong with her? Can you save her?” Her sob turned into a soft hiccup. “Is she going to die?”
Sara swallowed hard. “Chelsea has what we call sepsis. You might have heard it referred to as blood poisoning. It happens when bacteria get into the body and enter the bloodstream. In Chelsea’s case, this probably began when she had her wisdom teeth extracted.”
I can’t believe the dentist didn’t put her on a prophylactic antibiotic before the procedure. Sara brushed those thoughts aside. That wasn’t important now. The important thing was saving the girl’s life. Sara marshaled her thoughts. “We took samples of Chelsea’s blood at the time of her admission, and while we waited for the results of the blood cultures I started treatment with a potent mixture of antibiotics. As you can see, that hasn’t helped.”
“Why?”
Sara wished the woman wouldn’t be so reasonable, so placid. She wished Mrs. Ferguson would scream and cry. If the roles were reversed, she’d do just that. “While we wait for the results of blood cultures, we make a guess at the best antibiotics to use. Most of the time, our initial guess is right. This time, it was wrong—badly wrong.”
“But now you know what’s causing the infection?” It was a question, not a statement.
I wish I could. “The bacteria causing Chelsea’s sepsis is one that . . .” Sara paused and started again. “Have you heard of Mersa?”
“Mersa? No. What’s that?”
“It’s actually MRSA, but doctors usually pronounce it that way. That’s sort of a medical shorthand for methicillin-resistant Staphylococcus aureus, a bacteria that’s resistant to most of our common antibiotics.”
Mrs. Ferguson frowned. “You said most. Do you have something that will work?”
“Yes, we do. Matter of fact, when Chelsea was admitted I started her on two strong antibiotics, a combination that’s generally effective against MRSA. But she hasn’t responded, because this isn’t MRSA. It’s worse than MRSA.” She started to add “Much worse,” but the words died in her throat.
Sara paused and waited for Mrs. Ferguson to ask the next question. Instead, the woman crumpled the tissue she held and dabbed at the corner of her eyes, eyes in which hope seemed to die as Sara watched.
“This is what we call a ‘super-bug,’” Sara continued. “It used to be rare, but we’re seeing more and more infections with it. Right now, none of the commercially available antibiotics are effective. These bacteria are resistant to everything we can throw at them.”
Mrs. Ferguson’s voice was so quiet Sara almost missed the words. “What do you call it?”
“It’s a long name, and it’s not important that you know it.” Matter of fact, we don’t use the proper name most of the time. We just call it “The Killer.”
“So that’s it?”
“No, there’s a doctor at our medical center doing trials on an experimental drug that might work for Chelsea.” No need to mention that Jack is . . . No, let it go.
“Can you get some of this? Give it to Chelsea?”
“I can’t, but the man who can is an infectious disease specialist on the faculty here at the medical center. Actually, he helped develop it. Notice I said ‘experimental,’ which means there may be side effects. But if you want me—”
“Do it!” For the first time in days, Sara saw a spark of life in Mrs. Ferguson’s eyes, heard hope in her voice. “Call him! Now! Please!”
“You realize that this drug isn’t fully tested yet. It may not work. Or the drug may cause problems.” There, she’d said it twice in different words. She’d done her duty.
“I don’t care. My little girl is dying. I’ll sign the releases. Anything you need. If this is our only chance, please, let’s take it.”
Lord, I hope I haven’t made a mistake. “I’ll make the call.”
“I’m going back to be with my baby,” Mrs. Ferguson said. She stood and squared her shoulders. “While you call, I’ll pray.”
* * *
“Mr. Wolfe, you can come in now.” The secretary opened the doors to Dr. Patel’s office as though she were St. Peter ushering a supplicant through the Pearly Gates.
Bob Wolfe bit back the retort he wanted to utter. It’s Doctor Wolfe. Doctor of Pharmacology. I worked six years to earn that Pharm D, not to mention two years of research fellowship. How about some respect? But this wasn’t the time to fight that battle.
He straightened his tie, checked that there were no stains on his fresh white lab coat, and walked into the office of the head of Jandra Pharmaceuticals as though he had been summoned to receive a medal. Never let them see you sweat.
Dr. David Patel rose from behind his desk and beamed, gesturing toward the visitor’s chair opposite. “Bob, come in. Sit down. I appreciate your coming.”
Not much choice, was there? Wolfe studied his boss across the expanse of uncluttered mahogany that separated them. Pharmaceutical companies seemed to be made up of two groups: the geeks and the glad-handers. Patel typified the former group. PhD from Cal Tech, brilliant research mind, but the social skills of a tortoise. Patel had been snatched from the relative obscurity of a research lab at Berkeley by the Board of Directors of Jandra Pharmaceuticals, given the title of President and CEO, and charged with breathing life into the struggling company. How Patel planned to do that remained a mystery to Wolfe and his co-workers.
Patel leaned forward and punched a button on a console that looked like it could launch a space probe. “Cindy, please ask Mr. Lindberg to join us.”
Steve Lindberg ran the sales team from an office across the hall. Lindberg could memorize salient scientific material and regurgitate it with the best of them, but Wolfe would bet the man’s understanding of most of Jandra’s products and those of its major competitors was a mile wide and an inch deep. On the other hand, Lindberg had his own area of expertise: remembering names, paying for food and drinks, arranging golf games at exclusive clubs. No doubt about it, Lindberg was a classic glad-hander, which was why he had ascended to his current position, heading the marketing team at Jandra.
Wolfe hid a smile. Interesting. The President of the company and the Director of Marketing. This could be big. The door behind Wolfe opened. He deliberately kept his eyes front. Be cool. Let this play out.
“Hey, Bob. It’s good to see you.” Wolfe turned just in time to avoid the full force of a hand landing on his shoulder. Even the glancing blow made him wince. Lindberg dragged a chair to the side of Patel’s desk, positioning himself halfway between the two men. Clever. Not taking sides, but clearly separating himself from the underling.
Wolfe studied the two men and, not for the first time, marveled at the contrast in their appearance. Patel was swarthy, slim, and sleek, with jet-black hair and coal-black eyes. His blue shirt had a white collar on which was centered the unfashionably large knot of an unfashionably wide gold-and-black tie. Wolfe wondered whether the man was five years behind or one ahead of fashion trends. He spoke with a trace of a British accent, and Wolfe seemed to recall that Patel had received part of his education at Oxford. Maybe he wore an “old school” tie, without regard to current fashion. If so, it would be typical of Patel.
Lindberg was middle-aged but already running to fat—or, more accurately, flab. His florid complexion gave testimony to too many helpings of rare roast beef accompanied by glasses of single malt Scotch, undoubtedly shared with top-drawer doctors and paid for on the Janus expense account. Lindberg’s eyes were the color of burnished steel, and showed a glimmer of naked ambition that the smile pasted on his face couldn’t disguise. His thinning blond hair was combed carefully to cover early male pattern baldness. The sleeves of his white dress shirt were rolled halfway to his elbows. His tie was at half-mast and slightly askew.
Patel, the geek. Lindberg, the glad-hander. Different in so many ways. But both men shared one characteristic. Wolfe knew from experience that each man would sell his mother if it might benefit the company, or more specifically, their position in it. The two of them together could mean something very good or very bad for Bob Wolfe. He eased forward in his chair and kicked his senses into high gear.
Patel leaned back and tented his fingers. “Bob, I’m sure you’re wondering what this is about. Well, I wanted to congratulate you on the success of EpAm848. I’ve been looking over the preliminary information, especially the reports from Dr. Ingersoll at Southwestern Medical Center. Very impressive.”
“Well, it’s sort of Ingersoll’s baby. He stumbled onto it when he was doing some research here during his infectious disease fellowship at UC Berkeley. I think he wants it to succeed as much as we do.”
“I doubt that.” Patel leaned forward with both hands on the desk. “Jandra is on the verge of bankruptcy. I want that drug on the market ASAP!”
“But we’re not ready. We need more data,” Wolfe said.
“Here’s the good news,” Patel said. “The FDA is worried about The Killer bacteria outbreak. I’ve pulled a few strings, called in a bunch of favors, and I can assure you we can get this application fast-tracked.”
“How?” Wolfe said. “We’re still doing Phase II trials. What about Phase III? Assuming everything goes well, it’s going to be another year, maybe two, before we can do a rollout of EpAm848.”
“Not to worry,” Patel said. “Our inside man at the FDA assures me he can help us massage the data. We can get by with the Phase II trials we’ve already completed. And he’ll arrange things so we can use those plus some of our European studies to fulfill the Phase III requirements.”
Lindberg winked at Wolfe. “We may have to be creative in the way we handle our data. You and I need to get our heads together and see how many corners we can cut before the application is ready.”
Wolfe shook his head. “You say this drug will save us from bankruptcy. I don’t see that. I mean, yes, it looks like we may be in for a full-blown epidemic of Staph luciferus, but we won’t sell enough—“
Lindberg silenced him with an upraised hand. “Exposure, Bob. Exposure. If we get this drug on the market, if we’re the first with a cure, our name recognition will skyrocket. Doctors and patients will pay attention to our other drugs: blood pressure, cholesterol, diabetes. Our market share will go through the roof in all of them.”
Wolfe could see the salesman in Lindberg take over as he leaned closer, as though to drive home his point by proximity. “We’re preparing a direct-to-consumer push on all those drugs, ready to launch at the same time we release Jandramycin.”
The name didn’t click with Wolfe for a moment. “I . . . Well, I’ll certainly do what I can.”
“Do more than that,” Lindberg said. “Jandra Pharmaceuticals is hurting. We’re staking everything on Jandramycin.”
That was the second time Wolfe had heard the term. “What—“
“Stop referring to the drug by its generic name,” Patel added. “From now on, the compound is Jandramycin. When people hear the name Jandra Pharmaceuticals, we want them to think of us as the people who developed the antibiotic that saved the world from the worst epidemic since the black plague.”
Lindberg eased from his chair and gave Wolfe another slap on the shoulder. “This is your project now. It’s on your shoulders. The company’s got a lot riding on this.”
And so do I. “But what if a problem turns up?”
Patel rose and drew himself up to his full five feet eight inches. His obsidian eyes seemed to burn right through Wolfe. “We’re depending on you to make sure that doesn’t happen. Are we clear on that?”
* * *
Sara leaned over the sink and splashed water on her face. The paper towels in the women’s rest room of the clinic were rough, but maybe that would put some color in the face that stared back at her from the mirror. Her brown eyes were red-rimmed from another sleepless night. Raven hair was pulled into a ponytail because she could never find time or energy for a haircut or a perm. Get it together, Sara. She took a deep breath and headed for the doctor’s dictation room, where she slumped into a chair.
“Something wrong, Dr. Miles?”
Sara turned to see Gloria, the clinic’s head nurse. “No, just taking a few deep breaths before I have to make a call I’m dreading.”
Gloria slid into the chair next to Sara. The controlled chaos of the internal medicine clinic hummed around them. The buzz of conversations and ringing of phones served as effectively as white noise to mask her next words. “Is it one of your hospital patients? Got some bad news to deliver?”
“Sort of. It’s Chelsea Ferguson.”
“The teenage girl? Is she worse?”
“Yes. The cultures grew Staph luciferus.”
Gloria whistled silently. “The Killer. That’s bad.”
“The only thing that seems to be working in these cases is that new drug of Jack Ingersoll’s.”
“Oh, I get it. That’s the call you don’t want to make.” Gloria touched Sara lightly on the shoulder. “When will you stop letting what Ingersoll did ruin the rest of your life? I can introduce you to a couple of nice men who go to our church. They’ve both gone through tough divorces—neither was their fault—and they want to move on. It would be good for you—”
Sara shook her head. “Thanks, but I’m not ready to date. I’m not sure if I can ever trust a man again.”
Gloria opened her mouth, but Sara silenced her with an upraised hand. No sense putting this off. She pulled the phone toward her and stabbed in a number.
* * *
Dr. John Ramsey found a spot in the Visitor’s Parking Lot. He exited his car and looked across the driveway at the main campus of Southwestern Medical Center. When he’d graduated, there were two buildings on the campus. Now those two had been swallowed up, incorporated into a complex that totaled about forty buildings on three separate campuses. Right now he only needed to find one: the tall white building directly across the driveway at the end of a flagstone plaza. The imposing glass façade of the medical library reflected sunlight into his eyes as he wove past benches where students sat chatting on cell phones or burrowing into book bags. He paused at the glass front doors of the complex, took a deep breath, and pushed forward.
There was a directory inside for anyone trying to negotiate the warren of inter-connected buildings, but John didn’t need it. He found the elevator he wanted, entered, and punched five. In a moment, he was in the office of the Chairman of Internal Medicine.
“Dr. Schaeffer will be with you in a moment.” The receptionist motioned him toward a seat opposite the magnificent rosewood desk that was the centerpiece of the spacious office, then glided out, closing the door softly behind her.
John eased into the visitor’s chair and looked around him. He’d spent forty years on the volunteer clinical faculty of Southwestern Medical Center’s Department of Internal Medicine. For forty years he’d instructed and mentored medical students and residents, for forty years he’d covered the teaching clinic once a month, and today was the first time he’d been in the department chairman’s office. He swallowed the resentment he felt bubbling up. No, John. You never wanted to be here. You were happy in your own world.
John couldn’t help comparing this room with the cubbyhole he’d called his private office. Now he didn’t even have that. The practice was closed, the equipment and furnishings sold to a young doctor just getting started. John’s files and patient records were in a locked storage facility, rent paid for a year.
He wondered how many of his patients had contacted his nurse to have their records transferred. No matter, she’d handle it. He’d paid her six months’ salary to take care of such things. What would happen after that? He didn’t have the energy to care. Things were different now.
For almost half a century he’d awakened to the aroma of coffee and a kiss from the most wonderful woman in the world. Now getting out of bed in the morning was an effort, shaving and getting dressed were more than he could manage some days. Since Beth died . . . He shook his head, trying to clear the cobwebs that clogged his brain. The knowledge that he’d never again know the happiness of having a woman he loved by his side made him wish he’d died with her. What was the use of going on?
But something happened this morning. He’d awakened with a small spark of determination to do something, anything, to move on. He tried to fight it, to roll over and seek the sleep that eluded him. Instead, he heard the echo of Beth’s words: “You’re too good a physician to retire. People need you.” He remembered that conversation as though it were yesterday. She’d urged, he’d insisted. Let’s retire. I want to get out of the rat race and enjoy time with you. Retirement meant the travel they’d put off, the time to do things together. Only, now there was no more together.
This morning, he’d rolled out of bed determined that today would be different. It would be the start of his rebirth. As he shrugged into a robe, as he’d done each day since her death he looked at the picture on their dresser of him and Beth. She’d been radiant that spring day so many years ago, and he wondered yet again how he’d managed to snag her.
He’d shaved—for the first time in days—with special care, and his image in the mirror made him wonder. When did that slim young man in the picture develop a paunch and acquire an AARP card? When had the thick brown hair been replaced by gray strands that required careful combing to hide a retreating hairline? The eyes were still bright, although they hid behind wire-rimmed trifocals. “You’re too old for this, John,” he muttered. And as though she were in the room, he heard Beth’s words once more. “You’re too good a physician to retire. People need you.”
Fortified with coffee, the sole component of his breakfast nowadays, he’d forced himself to make the call. He asked his question and was gratified and a bit frightened by the positive response. John dressed carefully, choosing his best suit, spending a great deal of time selecting a tie. He’d noticed a gradual shift in doctors’ attire over the past few years. Now many wore jeans and golf shirts under their white coats. But for John Ramsey, putting on a tie before going to the office was tantamount to donning a uniform, one he’d worn proudly for years. And he—
“John, I was surprised when I got your call. To what do I owe the pleasure?” Dr. Donald Schaeffer breezed into the office, the starched tails of his white coat billowing behind him. He offered his hand, then settled in behind his desk.
“Donald, I appreciate your taking the time to see me. I was wondering—”
“Before we start, I want you to know how sorry we all are for your loss. Is there anything I can do?”
Perfect lead-in. See if you can get the words out. “As you know, I closed my office four months ago. Beth and I were going to enjoy retirement. Then . . .”
Schaeffer nodded and tented his fingers under his chin. At least he had the grace not to offer more platitudes. Ramsey had had enough of those.
“I was wondering if you could use me in the department.” There. Not the words he’d rehearsed, but at least he’d tossed the ball into Schaeffer’s court.
“John, are you talking about coming onto the faculty?”
“Maybe something half-time. I could staff resident clinics, teach medical students.”
Schaeffer was shaking his head before John finished. “That’s what the volunteer clinical faculty does. It’s what you did for . . . how many years? Thirty? Thirty-five?”
“Forty, actually. Well, I’m still a clinical professor in the department, so I guess I have privileges at Parkland Hospital. Can you use me there?”
Schaeffer pulled a yellow legal pad toward him and wrote a couple of words before he pushed it aside. “I’m not sure what I can do for you, if anything. It’s not that easy. You have no idea of the administrative hoops I have to jump through to run this department. Even if I could offer you a job today—and I can’t— I’d have to juggle the budget to support it, post the position for open applications, get half a dozen approvals before finalizing the appointment.” He spread his hands in a gesture of futility.
“So, is that a ‘no’?”
“”That’s an ‘I’ll see what I can do.’ Afraid that’s the best I have to offer.” Schaeffer looked at his watch, shoved his chair back and eased to his feet. “Coming to Grand Rounds?”
Why not? John’s house was an empty museum of bitter memories. His office belonged to someone else. Why not sit in the company of colleagues? “Sure. I’ll walk over with you.”
As the two men moved through the halls of the medical center, John prayed silently that Schaeffer would find a job for him. With all his prayers for Beth during her final illness, prayers that had gone unanswered, he figured that surely God owed him this one.
Our Review:
Richard Mabry has done for Medical Suspense what John Grisham did for the Legal Thriller. Lethal Remedy has all the components of a great novel: evil corporate executives, a egotistical medical researcher, a courageous doctor who risks his life to save others, and a team who are trailing the bad guys as they unravel the tangle of clues. He tops it off with an unidentified double-crosser who appears just often enough to keep the reader guessing. There are only four possibilities, but Mabry structures his story to make you wonder about all four. The last shoe doesn't drop until the final pages of the book. I'd rate this a must read. Once I picked it up, I couldn't put it down!
-E G Lewis
