DIE BEFORE
YOUR TIME
by
Susan Polonus Mucha
Mason Dixon House
Pennsylvania/Georgia
Mason Dixon House
Copyright ©2010 Susan Polonus Mucha
Case Bound/Hard Cover: ISBN 978-0-9802271-1-6
Perfect Bound/Soft Cover: ISBN 978-0-9802271-2-3
1. Medical thriller — Fiction. 2. Amateur sleuths — Fiction. 3. Bermuda — Fiction. 4. Kiawah Island, S.C. — Fiction. 5. Connecticut — Fiction. 6. Cape Cod — Fiction. 7. New York City — Fiction. 8. Lima, Perú — Fiction. I. Title.
Library of Congress Control Number: 2010913601
All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without written permission from the author, except for the inclusion of brief quotations in a review.
This book is a work of fiction.
Cover photo by Pablo Illescas
Jacket design by Dragon's Teeth Design
Mason Dixon House can arrange for speakers for your live event. Contact the publisher at: publishing@masondixonhouse.com
Printed in the United States of America
Digital book(s) (epub and mobi) produced by: Kimberly A. Hitchens, hitch@booknook.biz
Also by
Susan Polonus Mucha
Deadly Deception
For Edgardo ~ still lighting up my world
In memory of my father, Harold A. Polonus,
the writer in the family.
Thanks for the genes, Dad.
“…So sweet the air, so moderate the clime;
None sickly lives, or dies before his time.”
– Edmond Waller 1645
Table of Contents
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
CHAPTER 29
CHAPTER 30
CHAPTER 31
CHAPTER 32
CHAPTER 33
CHAPTER 34
CHAPTER 35
CHAPTER 36
CHAPTER 37
CHAPTER 38
CHAPTER 39
CHAPTER 40
CHAPTER 41
CHAPTER 42
CHAPTER 43
CHAPTER 44
CHAPTER 45
CHAPTER 46
CHAPTER 47
CHAPTER 48
CHAPTER 49
CHAPTER 50
CHAPTER 51
CHAPTER 52
CHAPTER 53
CHAPTER 54
CHAPTER 55
CHAPTER 56
CHAPTER 57
CHAPTER 58
CHAPTER 59
CHAPTER 60
CHAPTER 61
CHAPTER 62
CHAPTER 63
CHAPTER 64
CHAPTER 65
CHAPTER 66
CHAPTER 67
CHAPTER 68
CHAPTER 69
CHAPTER 70
CHAPTER 71
CHAPTER 72
CHAPTER 73
CHAPTER 74
CHAPTER 75
CHAPTER 76
CHAPTER 77
CHAPTER 78
CHAPTER 79
CHAPTER 80
CHAPTER 81
CHAPTER 82
CHAPTER 83
CHAPTER 84
CHAPTER 85
CHAPTER 86
CHAPTER 87
CHAPTER 88
CHAPTER 89
CHAPTER 90
CHAPTER 91
CHAPTER 92
CHAPTER 93
CHAPTER 94
CHAPTER 95
CHAPTER 96
CHAPTER 97
CHAPTER 98
CHAPTER 99
CHAPTER 100
CHAPTER 101
CHAPTER 102
CHAPTER 103
CHAPTER 104
CHAPTER 105
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Chapter 1
“Until death do you part.”
They say your entire life passes before your eyes when you're about to die. Elia's life could have been written on a deck of cards and a Las Vegas dealer couldn't have flashed through the deck faster than she.
Not so for Luis. His vows two days earlier, “Until death do you part,” did flash by, however. He sent a quick message to God — an order, really. “No! Not again.” He grabbed for Elia who panicked and kicked against him flailing her arms. He held tight and helped her breathe. He began deflating his vest and slowly rose to the surface with his wife in his arms.
Two days earlier Dr. Luis Echevarria had gathered his new wife, Elia Christie, in his arms at the altar of the tiny seaside chapel in Bermuda, and buried his face in her mass of auburn curls. The words, “Until death do you part,” shook him. His first wife had died suddenly in an automobile accident, and Elia had almost died a year earlier in Perú.
He shook his head as if to clear it. He kissed her, a sweet, gentle kiss, then turned to their witnesses, her grandparents. “Señores, ‘ll cherish your granddaughter until the day I die.” He bent to kiss her grandmother.
Anna Maria Amauro reached up and laid her hand on Luis's cheek. She let her hand rest there for a moment. “She has said the same about you, mi hijo.” Then she looked at the couple and was silent for a moment. “Ustedes son muy bonitos.”
They were beautiful. Elia had her American father's fair skin and her Peruvian mother's understated elegance. She wore a short silk dress in a soft coral color, which hugged her slim body like a slip. A creamy camellia was tucked behind one ear.
Luis, too, had the fair skin of his ancestors, who had arrived in Lima, Perú, from the Basque country of Spain. His black hair and onyx-colored eyes affirmed his Peruvian blood.
Señora Amauro sighed, then smiled at the young couple, reached for Luis's free hand and gave it a squeeze. Luis, at six-foot-two, towered over the señora who appeared fragile, which was misleading; her strength had carried her family through sad times.
Elia's grandmother, her mamama, looked like a classic Peruvian princess with her olive complexion and prominent cheekbones. Her black hair was pulled into an elegant twist complimenting the black silk suit she wore to her only granddaughter's wedding.
She looked from Luis to Elia, and then to Elia's brother, Father Rafael Christie, who had performed the ceremony. She tried to sweep all three into her arms. “Bienvenido a nuestra familia, Luis.”
Luis's parents were no longer living, so he drank in the love of Elia's family. He turned to Elia's grandfather, Bernardino Amauro, and gave him a warm Latino hug. Señor Amauro's smile was warm, but the sparkle in his eyes had gone out when his daughter and son-in-law died in a plane crash.
“Luis, Welcome. Elia's parents would have been happy with her choice.”
The only
guest at the small family gathering was Vicente Pereda. “We're so happy to have you, Vicente,” Elia said. “When we played together as children, would we have known you'd be here for my wedding?”
“I'm happy to be included.” Vicente turned to Luis. “I need to talk to you, Luis.”
“Sure.” Luis looked closely at Vicente. “What is it? Do you feel all right?”
“Yes.” He swiped his forehead with the palm of his hand. “Well, no. Maybe I'm just warm. It's something else. I need some advice. And some guidance. Maybe later? After dinner?”
“What is it?”
“I hate to bother you today. I think I have a problem.” He paused, then added, “at work.”
“We'll talk, Vicente, at dinner.”
Elia had tuned them out and stood looking around the church. There were ten pews on each side of the aisle with room for four people in each pew. The wood was dark and smelled of lemon, but it couldn't mask a musty odor that might lessen only when the weather remained dry and the clear glass windows were thrown open for a week of sunshine. It was the view that stopped the parishioners from installing stained glass. Through the windows, the Atlantic met the sky in jeweled tones of sapphire and aquamarine and turquoise.
Elia's eyes scanned the tiny church. “Where's Raf? He was here a minute ago.”
“Hanging up my vestments.” Raf came from the sacristy behind the altar, wearing a black suit and a Roman collar. “I couldn't go to the restaurant dressed like St. Patrick.” He pushed a shock of sandy hair off his forehead and put his arms around the newlyweds. “This is good.” He genuflected in front of the altar and left the chapel with his family.
The small wedding party drifted to the street where a horse-drawn carriage awaited the bride and groom. Hundreds of feet below the glistening sea stretched out before them.
“We'll meet you at the restaurant,” Elia said. “You'll get there before we do.” She kissed each member of her family — the only family she had, and hugged Vicente. To her brother, she said a simple, “Thank you, Raf.”
The carriage left the chapel, which overlooked Church Bay. The horses sauntered at a leisurely pace along the cliff road high above the sea. Elia and Luis had a slow-motion view of crystal-clear water. Dotting the Atlantic were countless sailboats tacking against the wind, their sails pregnant and white.
The road was narrow, a lane really. On the opposite side of the road, feathery tree branches reached the carriage and tickled it lightly. Steep banks were held back by weathered rocks. Lush ferns, flowering hibiscus and oleander grew in the crevices and flourished under the bright sky. Their sweet fragrance blended with the fresh scent of the sea.
Elia carried a silk wrap, the same coral color as her dress, but the afternoon was warm. She wouldn't have needed it anyway with her husband's arm around her. He pulled her close.
“You feel good,” Elia said and snuggled closer to Luis.
When they arrived at the restaurant, Raf was standing in front wearing an anxious frown. He ran to the carriage before it came to a complete stop.
“Luis, we need you inside. They've called for an ambulance, but maybe you can do something.”
Elia threw her hand to her heart. “Papá?”
“No, no, he's fine. It's Vicente.”
“What happened?” Luis asked. He jumped out of the carriage and turned to help Elia.
“He collapsed at our table.”
The three hurried into the restaurant where a group of diners and waiters stood in a huddle near the figure on the floor.
“This is a doctor, please let him through,” Raf said quietly; the small group parted as smoothly as the Red Sea. The Amauros were kneeling on the floor beside their young friend. Raf helped them to their feet and Luis and Elia took their places.
Vicente's face was mottled and gray and perspiration soaked his white shirt. Luis felt for a pulse, which was thready and rapid.
Elia got to her feet and addressed the maître d’, who stood nearby. “You called for an ambulance?”
“Yes, ma'am,” he said. He spoke with a clipped British accent. “It should arrive soon.”
“Would you please station someone out front to wait for it?” As Elia looked around the restaurant, people averted their eyes. She knelt beside her friend.
A look passed between Elia and Raf; he nodded and seated their grandparents at a table a few feet from the drama on the floor. “I'll see if I can help,” he told them and left to join the tableau on the floor.
Luis took the cushions off several chairs. “Help me raise his lower body,” he said to Raf. While Raf lifted Vicente's hips, Luis slid the pillows under him. Elia handed Luis some more, and he used them to raise their friend's legs. Luis put two fingers on the carotid artery at Vicente's neck. “Vicente, your blood pressure is low, but this position will help you. Take three deep breaths for me.” He watched while Vicente complied.
The restaurant was small with only eight white linen-covered tables. Near the door, a few patrons waited in a cozy alcove with several chairs and a love seat.
“May we have that please?” Elia asked the maître d’, pointing to a quilt that was draped over the loveseat. He handed it to her and she covered Vicente, whose black hair was damp and plastered across his forehead. She brushed it off his face with her hand.
“It's my belly. It's killing me.” There was panic in Vicente's eyes.
“Have you ever had an ulcer?” Luis asked, as he palpated Vicente's abdomen; he hoped it was an ulcer and not an aneurysm.
Vicente grabbed his abdomen. He waited a moment before answering. “Six months ago. The symptoms disappeared with treatment. Was nothing like this.”
“I think the ulcer's bleeding.” Luis appeared calm. “Take a couple more deep breaths; an ambulance is on the way.”
Vicente tried to push himself up on his elbows and grabbed the lapel of Luis's suit. “I can't go to the hospital.” He emphasized each word. His respirations increased, and he became even more restless.
“You're a doctor. You know you have to get treatment.” Luis took Vicente's hands off his jacket and held them in his own.
“Outpatient, then. I have a meeting tomorrow. I have to be there.”
They heard the siren of the approaching ambulance.
“Vicente, maybe you'll only be in the hospital a few hours. We'll meet you there.” Elia looked up at Luis as she spoke.
“Better yet, we'll ride with you,” Luis said.
Luis met the attendants at the door and gave a quick history and preliminary diagnosis.
A paramedic took Vicente's vital signs. “Eighty-five over fifty,” he said. He took it again. “No better.” He began applying small patches with attached wires to strategic spots on Vicente's chest. A portable monitor came alive with the beat of Vicente's heart.
The Amauros left their table and came to stand behind their grandchildren, who still knelt beside their friend. Despite worried expressions, they both seemed calm.
The second paramedic started intravenous fluids. Then the two of them lifted Vicente onto the gurney and rolled him out to the ambulance. Luis and Elia followed.
“ Elia, Luis, thank you for going with him,” Señora Amauro said.
Luis nodded and helped Elia into the ambulance. An attendant entered after them. Raf got on for a moment to bless Vicente, then stepped off.
“We'll be right behind you,” Raf said. He backed away from the ambulance, made the sign of the cross, and the ambulance pulled smoothly into the street.
Chapter 2
“Please,” Vicente whispered, “please.” He took hold of Luis's jacket and again tried to pull himself up.
“No, no. Lie down.” Luis gently pushed him back. He adjusted the gurney so his friend's head would be lower than the rest of his body.
“No. Luis, I have to ask you something.”
He tried to sit but the arm with the IV was strapped to a board and the other arm collapsed under his weight.
Luis put pressure on Vicen
te's shoulder. “You need to lie down.”
Vicente looked at the attendant. Luis followed his gaze and frowned. “Take a deep breath for me.” Luis's voice was calm, a sharp contrast to Vicente's. The paramedic moved over to Vicente and took his blood pressure. “One hundred ten over sixty.”
“Good.” Luis fingered Vicente's pulse and looked at the monitor. “Still fast. A hundred and thirty.”
“Why? If his blood pressure is better, why is his pulse still rapid?” Elia asked.
“He's still bleeding. His pulse won't slow until his blood volume increases — until the bleeding is stopped.”
Elia looked at Luis, her frown showing her fear. “Can we talk with him?”
Luis nodded.
“Do you mind if I move in here?” Elia asked. She had given her place to the medic.
“Yes, ma'am.” He took one more look at his patient and moved to the foot of the stretcher.
“Vicente, tell us,” Elia said.
“I can't go to the hospital.” He tried again to sit up.
“No. You're going.” Elia's voice was firm. She looked at Luis, who kept his fingers on Vicente's pulse. Vicente's eyes shot to the paramedic. The medic turned away and looked out the back window.
“I don't know how to handle this.” Vicente looked at Luis. “Have you had patients die?”
“Of course, Vicente. I'm not God. Patients do die, but you're not dying.”
Vicente shook his head. “Not me, Luis, not me.”
Luis frowned, but before he could ask Vicente what he meant, the ambulance slowed. It came to an easy stop in front of the emergency entrance, and the paramedic swung open the doors and jumped out the back. “Doctor, we'll take it from here.”
Vicente raised his head; his eyes sought Luis's. “We'll be right here,” Luis said. “They're going to give you more fluids, maybe blood, and probably Zantac. It won't take long. We'll see you soon.”
The paramedics pushed the gurney into the ER and past the open door of the waiting room. They stopped to speak to a nurse, who motioned them through a wide, brightly-lit hallway toward a treatment room.
Elia paused at the waiting room. There were about two dozen plain wooden chairs lined up against two walls. An admitting clerk sat behind an opened frosted window at the third wall. They hurried to catch up with Vicente and reached him as he was being wheeled into the treatment room.