Dr. Petersen, who signed the death
certificate, specified natural causes, but it seems completely unnatural to
us.”
Janet
nodded her agreement. “We don’t want to accuse anyone of anything, but for our
own peace of mind we need some clarity about this. Margaret was as fit as
either of us. She may even have been in better shape. She watched her diet like
a hawk, played tennis and golf, took yoga classes, got plenty of rest. She
traveled, had lots of friends and interests.” She looked at Bitsy. “What else?”
“That’s
about it, but you have to admit that with that profile, her death seemed
premature, to say the very least.”
I
smiled in what I hoped was a reassuring manner. “I can understand how upsetting
this must be for you, but physically fit people die unexpectedly all the time.”
“Remember
that young figure skater some years ago, Sergei Grinkov ?”
Margo chimed in. He was married to
another skater, a lovely young thing. He practiced for hours every day of his
life, but he just collapsed on the ice one day and died instantly of some
previously undiagnosed heart condition. So heartbreakin ’. Then there was that marathon runner
who died in his early fifties. It turned out that his arteries were almost
totally blocked despite all that exercise. I’m afraid death is the one thing
that none of us is immune to.”
I
stirred my coffee innocently and hoped my silence would spur them to a more
detailed account of their misgivings about Margaret’s death. When trying to
elicit information, I’ve found that silence loosens tongues far more
effectively than prodding.
“There’s
more,” Janet ventured after a few moments of tacit consultation with Bitsy.
“How so?” I asked, trying
not to let my eagerness show. Margo nudged me under the table.
“We
understand that some prescription medication was found in Margaret’s medicine
cabinet, the kind for pretty severe pain, but Margaret never once mentioned any
kind of problem to me.” She looked at Bitsy for confirmation.
“Nor
to me, and she beat the socks off tennis players in our league who were half
her age,” Bitsy mused.
“Perhaps
she didn’t want to make her infirmities common knowledge,” I suggested. “She
obviously took pride in her prowess and didn’t want her image to be diminished.
Some people are very private about their ailments,” I shrugged, hot flashes on
my mind.
Janet
and Bitsy laughed at that. “Are you kidding? Around Vista View aches and pains
and who’s seeing which specialist this week are the main topics of
conversation,” Janet scoffed. “A little pain wouldn’t even have raised an
eyebrow, but not to tell us, her closest friends? That seems very odd, don’t
you think?”
Bitsy
nodded. “And Dr. Petersen was so strange about it when I asked him. He wouldn’t
even confirm or deny that Margaret had a problem.”
That
got my attention. “You asked Dr. Petersen about it? When?” I cut myself short. There was that avid interest creeping into my voice again.
Fortunately, Bitsy didn’t seem to notice.
“Oh,
gosh, just a couple of days after Margaret died. It was my six-month blood
pressure check, and I was sitting there with that uncomfortable cuff wrapped
around my arm. It reminded me of what I’d heard about the meds in Margaret’s
medicine chest, and I told him how surprised everyone had been to learn she had
health issues. He got very huffy, all but told me it was none of my business.
He was so curt that my blood pressure shot up five points.” She laughed at the
memory. “Of course, he was perfectly correct. It was none of my business, but
really, the poor woman had passed on, and it wasn’t as if she had a social
disease or something embarrassing like that. It wasn’t exactly an invasion of
privacy at that point.”
“So
he didn’t say yes or no?” I asked carefully. “Doctors take that patient
confidentiality thing pretty seriously these days. HIPPA and the lawyers …”
Margo nudged me
certificate, specified natural causes, but it seems completely unnatural to
us.”
Janet
nodded her agreement. “We don’t want to accuse anyone of anything, but for our
own peace of mind we need some clarity about this. Margaret was as fit as
either of us. She may even have been in better shape. She watched her diet like
a hawk, played tennis and golf, took yoga classes, got plenty of rest. She
traveled, had lots of friends and interests.” She looked at Bitsy. “What else?”
“That’s
about it, but you have to admit that with that profile, her death seemed
premature, to say the very least.”
I
smiled in what I hoped was a reassuring manner. “I can understand how upsetting
this must be for you, but physically fit people die unexpectedly all the time.”
“Remember
that young figure skater some years ago, Sergei Grinkov ?”
Margo chimed in. He was married to
another skater, a lovely young thing. He practiced for hours every day of his
life, but he just collapsed on the ice one day and died instantly of some
previously undiagnosed heart condition. So heartbreakin ’. Then there was that marathon runner
who died in his early fifties. It turned out that his arteries were almost
totally blocked despite all that exercise. I’m afraid death is the one thing
that none of us is immune to.”
I
stirred my coffee innocently and hoped my silence would spur them to a more
detailed account of their misgivings about Margaret’s death. When trying to
elicit information, I’ve found that silence loosens tongues far more
effectively than prodding.
“There’s
more,” Janet ventured after a few moments of tacit consultation with Bitsy.
“How so?” I asked, trying
not to let my eagerness show. Margo nudged me under the table.
“We
understand that some prescription medication was found in Margaret’s medicine
cabinet, the kind for pretty severe pain, but Margaret never once mentioned any
kind of problem to me.” She looked at Bitsy for confirmation.
“Nor
to me, and she beat the socks off tennis players in our league who were half
her age,” Bitsy mused.
“Perhaps
she didn’t want to make her infirmities common knowledge,” I suggested. “She
obviously took pride in her prowess and didn’t want her image to be diminished.
Some people are very private about their ailments,” I shrugged, hot flashes on
my mind.
Janet
and Bitsy laughed at that. “Are you kidding? Around Vista View aches and pains
and who’s seeing which specialist this week are the main topics of
conversation,” Janet scoffed. “A little pain wouldn’t even have raised an
eyebrow, but not to tell us, her closest friends? That seems very odd, don’t
you think?”
Bitsy
nodded. “And Dr. Petersen was so strange about it when I asked him. He wouldn’t
even confirm or deny that Margaret had a problem.”
That
got my attention. “You asked Dr. Petersen about it? When?” I cut myself short. There was that avid interest creeping into my voice again.
Fortunately, Bitsy didn’t seem to notice.
“Oh,
gosh, just a couple of days after Margaret died. It was my six-month blood
pressure check, and I was sitting there with that uncomfortable cuff wrapped
around my arm. It reminded me of what I’d heard about the meds in Margaret’s
medicine chest, and I told him how surprised everyone had been to learn she had
health issues. He got very huffy, all but told me it was none of my business.
He was so curt that my blood pressure shot up five points.” She laughed at the
memory. “Of course, he was perfectly correct. It was none of my business, but
really, the poor woman had passed on, and it wasn’t as if she had a social
disease or something embarrassing like that. It wasn’t exactly an invasion of
privacy at that point.”
“So
he didn’t say yes or no?” I asked carefully. “Doctors take that patient
confidentiality thing pretty seriously these days. HIPPA and the lawyers …”
Margo nudged me
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