Mother-Daughter Murder Night(3)

“I have some images from the MRI and PET scans we conducted yesterday of your head and neck.”

“Can you just give me the highlights?” Lana gave him a brusque once-over, her fingers still moving across her phone. “I have somewhere I have to be. Had to be, three hours ago.”

“Ma’am, you’re going to want to see this.”

The doctor wheeled the portable computer terminal over to Lana’s chair. He clicked some windows into view. Then he angled the monitor and stepped aside.

It was strange to see her own head on someone else’s computer screen. The images were black and gray, with thin white lines delineating Lana’s skull and eye sockets and the top of her spinal cord. Lana rose to stand beside the doctor, getting as close to the screen as she could. He used the mouse to orient four different views into the four quadrants of the screen: from above, front, back, and in profile. Lana tried to follow his twisting motions, watching her gray blob of a brain rotate in the darkness, spinning in search of a solid foundation.

Once the doctor was satisfied, he hit a button. The gray blob went polychromatic. Clustered along the back of her skull were three bright smudges of orange with pink halos around them.

“What are those?” she asked.

“Those are the reason you’re here,” he said. “Have you been having headaches? Blurred vision? Any trouble finding words?”

A thin needle of fear pierced Lana’s confidence. But there was nothing wrong with her. Lana was the fittest, most active woman in her loose gaggle of friends. All single. All professional. All surviving dickwad ex-husbands with bank accounts and dignity intact. Lana was stiletto sharp. Lana was thriving.

At least, she had been until yesterday morning.

“Those bright blotches are tumors,” Dr. Scuffed Sneakers told her. “They’re causing swelling and inadequate blood flow to the part of your brain that controls your balance and large motor functions. That’s why you fell.”

“Tumors?”

He nodded. “They have to come out. As soon as possible.”

Lana lowered herself back into the stiff visitor’s chair. She lined up the points of her shoes and held herself taut, muscles vibrating.

“I have brain cancer?”

“Maybe. Hopefully.”

“Hopefully?” She fought to keep her voice from breaking.

“Sometimes, cancer originates elsewhere in your body and spreads to your brain. That would be worse, more advanced. We’ll biopsy the brain tumors once they’re removed to confirm the site of origin. And we’ll do a full body scan now to see if there are any more.”

She focused on his chapped lips, willing them to take back the words he’d just said. This couldn’t be happening. When Lana had breast cancer ten years ago, it wasn’t a big deal. Stage 0. Beth had come down for the initial surgery, but otherwise, she’d handled it on her own. After a few spins in the radiation chair and a reconstruction procedure she used to get a tad more lift, she was back to work.

Now this doctor was looking at her like she was an injured bird.

“Do you understand what I just said?”

“I’ve got to call my daughter,” she said.





Chapter Two




Beth took a swig of tepid coffee and considered her cell phone. Three missed calls from her mother. One voicemail, short, asking for help. The content was alarming, and more so, Lana’s voice. Was she drunk? Congested? Beth was used to her mom’s staccato messages, a mix of crowing and indignation, with a slug of guilt thrown in for good measure. This was different. Unfamiliar. Lana’s voice sounded lost, almost pitiful.

Beth left Amber in charge at the nursing station and walked out the side door of Bayshore Oaks. She gave a reassuring smile to the young man fidgeting by his car, clearly nervous about visiting the long-term care facility. Then she ducked around the corner, slipping into the grove of Monterey pines. She took a deep breath and dialed.

“Ma?”

“Beth, finally.” Lana’s voice came through in an urgent whisper. “Are you still working for the brain surgeon? The one with the big teeth?”

“The one with the Nobel Prize? You know I left two years ago to spend more time with—”

“Beth, listen to me. They’re telling me I’ve got tumors. Lots of them. In my brain. That I need surgery, right away. But you should see the shoes this doctor is wearing. I mean, how can he expect anyone to take him seriously?”

Beth’s face froze in a half smile. “Wait. Slow down. Where are you? Are you okay?”

“Besides being held hostage by a radiologist who can’t be bothered to brush his own hair, I’m fine. I’m at City of Angels hospital. They say I can’t check myself out. That someone has to take care of me. I need to get to a better facility. One with real doctors in decent suits. So . . .”

The non-question hung in the air.

If Lana had ever asked for Beth’s help before, she couldn’t remember it. Demanded her attention, sure. Assumed her acquiescence, constantly. But needed her help? Valued her expertise? If Beth weren’t so worried, she’d mark the day on the calendar with a gold star.

“Ma, of course I’ll come.”

Silence. Lana was never silent. For a moment, Beth pictured her mother in a hospital bed, alone, maybe even afraid. It was hard to imagine.