Die Before Your Time (Elia Christie / Luis Echevarria medical mysteries) Read online

  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: [email protected]

  Printed in the United States of America

  Digital book(s) (epub and mobi) produced by: Kimberly A. Hitchens, [email protected]

  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.