Body Parts (Rye & Claire Adventures) Read online

  “I was never the school slut,” Jan said reaching over the edge of the tub to set her empty beer bottle on the floor. “I always figured it was either you or Linda Neville, rumor was she kept a rubber tucked in her boot. But you had the biggest tits hands down, always showing cleavage and chewing that damn gum.”

  Crystal stuck out her lower lip again. “OK, I deserve that, but now I want to hear about your first time even more.”

  “Jesus, don’t you ever quit?” Jan said.

  “I’ll tell you my first time if you tell me yours,” Crystal said, handing Jan a robe and falling in behind her, ignoring the empty beer bottles.

  The two walked into the living room, Crystal making a detour into the kitchen while Jan sat on the futon. She came out with a pack of gum in hand and walked over to the giant beanbag chair in the center of the living room. “You go first, and I want all the details,” Crystal said, chewing the new gum vigorously.

  “Alright then. It started when my parents decided I was old enough to be left alone. My father was going on a business trip to Hawaii and decided to take my mother. I guess he didn’t want some teenager tagging along.”

  “I remember that you were really pissed about something, coach couldn’t figure you out, and asked me if I knew anything.”

  Jan ran her fingers through her hair. “Damn right I was pissed. I just wanted to get even with my parents for not taking me to Hawaii. Their worst fear was of me having sex, or getting pregnant. So, that was it. I wasn’t going to get pregnant but I sure as hell was going to have sex.

  Chapter Five

  It was 6:00 am; Rye was on the multi-station weight machine doing incline presses with 150 pounds while Claire began her core workout.

  The building that housed Mad Dash Ambulance was an old Victorian house. The bottom floor consisted of the two-car garage that housed the ambulance; the kitchen and workout area were where the living room had once been. Claire had converted the two downstairs bedrooms, the smaller one into a dispatch room, the other into a supply room. One of the upstairs bedrooms was used as a library and the other left as a bedroom.

  They worked three days on, four days off. On workdays they were on-call twenty-four hours. They worked out every morning, no exceptions, though often their workouts were interrupted.

  They were on their third day of work.

  When he finished his last set, Rye stepped away from the weight machine and turned to watch Claire work through her crunches. The sight of her working so hard reminded him of how hard it had been to get the business going—ten years just to get it started. They had been married five years when they jointly decided that they were tired of working for someone else. At age forty-nine, Claire had already worked her way up from emergency medical technician to trauma nurse in the emergency room of Medford General Hospital; Rye was a supervisor at Medford Ambulance Service. He gave an audible sigh at the thought of getting knocked down to the bottom rung, right back where they started.

  “What’s wrong, is my butt too high?” Claire said, executing another pushup.

  “Nah, your butt’s fine, I was just thinking. Olden can’t really afford to pull our license, that’s why he just reduced our status”

  She finished her forty-ninth pushup, one for every birthday, and rolled onto her back. “Great, when they finally do find Rusty we’ll get to work our way back to the top, what, another ten years. Shit, you’ll be sixty-three.”

  Rye just shook his head and started his core exercises. Claire began her kicks. She always brought up their age when she was upset. “At least it will pay the bills,” he said.

  A crackling sound interrupted their bantering. Both stopped what they were doing and looked expectantly at a speaker up in one corner of the room.

  Mad Dash Ambulance held jurisdiction over Jessel County; Medford Ambulance covered all of Jackson County. Mad Dash also represented search and rescue for both counties. Emergency calls were received by the 911 emergency center and dispatched to the appropriate ambulance service.

  Rye walked over and pushed the remote button on the wall that rolled back the huge double garage door and started the traffic signal flashing amber, slowing the traffic on Snoop Drive.

  “Unit 88, Code 3.” The voice paused and static continued to crackle from the speakers. They looked at each other knowingly. A Code 3 meant lights and sirens, 88 was Mad Dash.

  “Heart attack, 238 Wilshire Way, Cascade Circle Estates.”

  “Shit, I knew it,” Claire said, grabbing her towel and streaking across the room.

  “At least we’re still getting calls,” Rye said.

  Claire stopped, spinning to face him. “Right, back to the bottom of the barrel. You know how many false alarms have come out of that retirement community?”

  Mad Dash had visited Cascade Circle Estates dozens of times before acquiring Jessel County. Residents were prone to panic with every new ache or pain.

  They drove the five miles in silence, entering the circular driveway that passed in front of the retirement home where the manager, Jim Webb, met them. He always looked a little chagrined whenever they drove up. The facility had been the site of so many false alarms over the years that he felt embarrassed every time an ambulance pulled into the drive.

  Claire went around to the rear of the Beast, putting on the backpack that contained the oxygen and the AED defibrillator. Rye walked over to greet Webb.

  “Helen pulled her emergency cord. When I went up to her apartment she said she thought she was having a heart attack, She’s in room 208. I hope this isn’t another false alarm.” He looked at his feet and ran a hand through his hair. “God, what am I saying?”

  “Better safe than sorry.” Rye smiled at the agitated manager. “Never hesitate to call, really.”

  Claire was half way to the front double door when Rye caught up with her.

  “Helen Horwitz, Room 208.”

  When they exited the elevator on to the second floor Helen was standing, with the help of her cane, just outside her apartment door. Rye jogged up to her.

  “How’s the heart?”

  “Oh I’m so embarrassed. I took a Tums and my symptoms simply disappeared. It must have been the sausage.”

  “I’m glad to hear that, but as long as we’re here we could hook you up and look at the numbers. No cost, no problem.”

  Helen reached out and gave his arm a squeeze. “No thank you, dearie, I’m fine.”

  He smiled down at the tiny woman. “I’m glad it was a false alarm.” He gave his watch a quick glance. “Better find my partner, see if we can grab a quick brunch.”

  He looked around and spotted Claire at the end of the hall moving in his direction. He parked the gurney by the elevator, and headed up to meet her. He passed a couple returning to their room with the slow halting gait of the elderly.

  “Hello,” Rye said, as he came up beside them.

  The man stopped, seemingly happy for the rest, leaned on his walker, and looked up at Rye. “Did Helen have another case of indigestion?”

  “Looks that way.”

  The man turned to his wife. “Told you so.” Without another word, the couple continued on their way.

  When he looked up, Claire was standing next to him.

  “Someone up the hall need our assistance?” Rye said.

  “Just talking. The woman says her neighbor has been on a list for a liver replacement over a year, and is beginning to fade.”

  Rye reached for the elevator button marked 1, then hesitated. “Do you think we should pay her a visit?”

  Claire shrugged her shoulder to reposition the backpack. “Better not, we’re already in enough hot water.”

  “You’re right.” He pressed the button.

  As they exited the elevator Rye looked around for Webb, sticking his head in the office whil
e Claire pushed the gurney through the double doors. He soon joined her at the ambulance.

  She reached under the gurney and pulled the lever that dropped it from waist high to inches off the ground. “You find the manager?”

  “Nah, he’s probably dealing with some other crisis.” He bent, grabbing the rail of the collapsed gurney. “Two, three, lift.” Together they lifted the gurney and pushed it into the ambulance. “Did that woman say what her neighbor is going to do about the liver?” Rye asked, latching the gurney in place.

  “You won’t like the answer.” They walked around and climbed in the cab.

  “What’s she going to do?” Rye said, snapping his harness in place.

  “Apparently the son is going to buy a liver off the black market.”

  “You’re right, I don’t like it. I just read how black market organs are usually contaminated, and how a black market liver can cost up to three hundred thousand.”

  He started the engine but left it in neutral while two seniors crossed in front of the ambulance.

  * * *

  They tried to eat at the Plaza Café whenever they were in town because it had outside seating, and the food was good. Claire would set the alarm to lights and horn. It seemed they were always just beginning a meal when a call came through and suddenly the ambulance came alive.

  But on this day, Rye packed a lunch and set out to find a place to park, and as he liked to say, eat in. He pulled the ambulance under a huge Monterey cypress that hung over a corner of the parking lot of Ruby Park.

  Claire released her harness and leaned against the door. “Here we are brown-baggin’ it in a vintage ambulance with next to no chance of getting a call. What say we call it a day and head home?”

  Chapter Six

  First static, then a frantic voice—not the dispatcher. Rye reached across to the scanner, and cranked up the volume.

  “10-7 requests assist. Old Hanley Farm.” That was it, no repetition of the address, no lingering static, and definitely not dispatch.

  “Isn’t that Paul’s place?” Claire said.

  Lunch forgotten, Rye brought the ambulance to life with a twist of the key.

  The look in his eyes told Claire all she needed to know. She flipped on the lights and set all the sirens howling.

  Paul Casey was Rye’s childhood friend. They’d both been runners in school and had been running together at least once a week for thirty years. Paul was a Private Investigator retired by a bullet to the hip. Six months later, he lost his wife to cancer leaving him to raise their six-year-old daughter. Rye had set up an emergency dispatch trigger at the farm tuned to a special channel on his scanner both in the station the ambulance.

  Paul’s voice over the scanner had been tight with alarm.

  Rye turned onto Rural Ranch Road slowing to accommodate the potholes that littered the dirt track.

  “There’s Paul.” Claire pointed to a franticly waving figure standing between the farmhouse and the barn.

  Rye slowed the ambulance to a crawl and guided it next to the horse barn. He’d just shut off the engine when his door was yanked open, and he was confronted by a mud-covered figure.

  “Rye, thank God. It’s Amy she’s fallen down a well.”

  Claire circled around the front of the ambulance, stepping within inches of Paul to get his attention. “Are you OK?” She’d never seen him so distressed.

  “Oh Claire, she’s fallen down a hole. I can hear her but can’t see her.” His voice nearly broke, and he was beginning to shake.

  “Where? Paul, show me where.”

  She followed him while Rye got rope and a shovel from the lower compartment of the ambulance.

  They were a hundred feet behind the barn when Paul broke into a limping run, taking just ten steps then throwing himself face down onto the dirt where he crawled to what looked like a low spot in the ground.

  Paul cupped his hands around his mouth. “Amy baby, it’s Daddy.” He looked up at Claire, his eyes pleading.

  Without hesitation Claire flopped down next to him, shading her eyes in an attempt to see down the hole. “Amy this is Aunt Claire. Are you hurt?”

  She turned her head to catch any sound that might come out of the hole. The tremulous tones of a child’s voice drifted to the surface.

  “Aunt Claire?”

  “I hear you Amy. Your daddy is going to get you out.”

  Claire rolled onto her back. Paul was still looking down the hole, as though if he stared long enough he’d be able to see his daughter.

  “How long has she been down there?”

  “I’m not sure, maybe thirty minutes. I just don’t know.” He pushed himself up onto his knees.” I saw her playing by the barn and when I came out to get her for lunch she was gone. I nearly fell down the hole myself. I found her blanket by the edge.”

  Rye jogged up, dropping a rope and climbing harness by the edge of the well. Looking first to Paul then at Claire, “How far down is she?”

  “Hard to tell. She must be pretty deep judging from the sound of her voice,” Claire said.

  Rye separated what looked like tent stakes with an eye at the top from the harness. “I need a hammer.”

  Paul leapt to his feet and limped to the barn, disappearing through the large, double front doors.

  Kneeling next to where Claire still lay on her back, Rye took her hand. “We’ll get her out.”

  Claire squeezed Rye’s hand. “I know we will.”

  Rye began clearing sticks away from the opening, careful not to knock any dirt into the hole. When Paul returned with the hammer, Claire ran the rope through the top of the stakes like a thread through the eye of a needle.

  Spacing each steak about five feet from the next Rye pounded them into the ground, taking a double wrap around the last one with the rope. But when he walked back to the edge of the hole, Claire was stepping into the harness.

  He took her arm. “Are you ready for this, what with the dreams and all?”

  She pulled the top of the harness up around her waist and buckled it. “I hope so, besides you and Paul are too big.”

  “This isn’t going to work,” Paul said, holding a clump of dirt in one hand. “This is from the side of the hole. If we try to slip over the edge it’ll dump dirt onto Amy, maybe cause a cave in.” He stepped back from the opening throwing the dirt to the ground with a curse.

  Claire stared at the opening of the hole and suddenly spun to face Paul. “I need three four-by-fours. No, wait,” Then turning to face Rye. “How strong are the tripods for the floods?”

  Claire and Rye often shared the same thought without saying a word. He understood immediately. “Strong enough.”

  Paul looked on, puzzled by the exchange, and then walked over to Claire as Rye ran back to the ambulance. “What’s he doing?”

  “We’ll put a tripod over the hole and lace the rope down the middle. I’ll simply step out over the center of the hole and lower myself down.”

  Rye returned with a huge tripod. The legs were made of a stout aluminum. At the top was a large opening designed to hold the spotlight mounted on a post that dropped into the reinforced hole at the top of the tripod.

  “Let’s set it up over here.” Claire said, stomping out a flat spot. “And see if it’ll support my weight.”

  Rye separated the legs to their widest point, dropped the rope down the middle and looped it a couple of times through the hole. The top of the tripod stood about five feet. Claire had to crawl between the legs, then reach up and grab the rope pulling her knees into her chest to get her feet off the ground. There was an audible groan as the feet of the tripod sank into the dirt.

  Rye turned to Paul. “Great, looks like it will hold. Get on the far side of the hole and I’ll hand it across.”

  As soon as she
lowered herself to the ground, Rye pulled the rope from the top and carried it to the hole. Paul grabbed the legs of the tripod as Rye opened them up, snuggling them into the ground.

  “Hold on, I’ve got an idea,” Paul said

  He went to the barn and retrieved three large construction bricks to brace against the legs. As Paul put the bricks in place, Rye passed the rope down through the top of the tripod so it hung over the middle of the hole. He reached out and grabbed it, tying off the end through a metal loop set into the front of Claire’s harness.

  Paul wrapped an arm around one of the legs and leaned out over the hole. “Amy this is Daddy, Aunt Claire is coming down to get you.”

  All three stopped what they were doing and listened, nothing.

  Claire stepped to the edge of the hole, Rye reached across and grabbed the back of the harness, Paul grabbed the front. When she pushed off, they slowly released their grip and let the tripod take the strain. They watched Claire swing suspended only by the rope, then ran to where the rope was lashed to the last of the five stakes and together began lowering her into the hole.

  She desperately fumbled with her headlamp, until she could hold up her hand and see it was on. When her head dropped below ground level she could feel the air being sucked out of her lungs. Her knuckles were white from holding the rope too tightly. Then a head appeared from above, partially blocking out the light.

  “Can you see her yet?” Paul yelled.

  Claire knew his question was silly, but was born of concern. She squeezed her eyes shut and quickly tilted her head so the light shined down, then opened her eyes. She couldn’t see a thing. “Not yet.” Realizing she was yelling down the well she closed her eyes and tilted her head up. “Not yet,” she repeated. They began to lower her again.

  She counted breaths to stay focused. Suddenly her gradual progress stopped, bouncing her to a sudden halt. She squeezed her eyes shut. Each breath became audible now as she fought to stay calm, the sound of her heart pounding in her ears.