Free Death Spiral by James W. Nichol Page A

what if the thing Frank had found out had nothing to do with the will? What if he’d found out about Adrienne herself, that she was always at the house, always around his father? He’d become suspicious. More than that. Paranoid. That’s why he’d asked Mary for her key, and by last Saturday he couldn’t stand the not knowing any longer. He banged on the front door expecting that his father, as usual, wouldn’t answer, but the old man stepped out on the porch and all the suspicion and paranoia and hurt spilled out of Frank, and his father began to shout back that if he didn’t quit haranguing him he damn well would leave everything he owned to Adrienne O’Dell, she was the only one who really cared a damn about him anyway. How would Frank like that? Him and his cow of a mother? How would they like that?
    Wilf opened the car door. He had to lift his burning leg over the ledge. He sat there sideways, staring up the steps toward Doc Robinson’s house and seeing instead the old man on his porch and his furious son and snowflakes beginning to fall all around.
    What Frank didn’t know, of course, was that his father, in his resurrected passion, in his dotage, had already done exactly that. He’d written out a new will. But Frank was more than alarmed now. His body felt charged. Overcome by something.
    Wilf pushed himself out of the car and began to climb the steps. The waiting room was filled to overflowing. After an hour it was Wilf’s turn. Doc Robinson was standing in his examining room fixing something with a strip of white tape.
    “I just stepped on my glasses.”
    Wilf eased himself down into a chair.
    “How long have you been waiting?”
    “Not long.”
    “If Diane had told me you were out there, I would have brought you in before all those old women. That’s why I see them two at a time. There’s never anything wrong, they just drop in here for something to do.”
    Doc, whip-thin, hollow-chested and perfectly bald, tried on his wounded glasses. There was a ball of white tape wrapped around one of the hinges. “How do they look?”
    “Like you need new glasses.”
    “I don’t have time.” Doc sat down behind his desk and took a long look at Wilf. “I see you’ve recovered from yesterday.”
    “It didn’t have much to do with me.”
    Doc nodded but continued staring. Wilf looked away.
    “Well, what can I do for you, Wilf?”
    “I was just wondering about Mr. Cruikshank. What you thought once you had a better look at him. And I guess the family will need death certificates.”
    “I was surprised to see that your father put you to work so soon.”
    “My idea. I want to keep busy. Get back to normal. You know.”
    “You said the other day you were planning to go back to college.”
    “Right. As soon as I can. Can’t wait.”
    “And you’re connected in with the Veteran’s Hospital in Burlington? The doctors there?”
    “That’s right.”
    “That’s not too convenient though, is it? Anything you need in the way of prescriptions, anything you want to talk about, I’m here.”
    “I appreciate that, Doc. Okay.”
    Doc took off his glasses and examined his repair work. “The gentleman in question is resting peacefully in the basement at the hospital. As soon as the family gives the word and he’s sent off to a funeral home they’ll be able to obtain copies of the death certificate from the funeral director. That’s the normal procedure.”
    “I see. So everything’s fine then? Nothing out of the ordinary?”
    “Sam Cruikshank had been my patient for some time. Had to hospitalize him twice. So a full stop myocardial infarction was not too surprising. He struggled though. It wouldn’t have been a pretty death.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “Just the amount of water coming out of his lungs. A major heart attack can sometimes paralyze you. It’s like being in a vice. He must have slipped under the water.”
    “You mean he was still alive when he went under?”
    “For a gulp or two.