Plain Truth. Debby Giusti

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      “They were asleep, as was their mother.” Ella pointed to the hallway. “The girls were in the first treatment room, on the left. Their stepfather got here before the ambulance. He wanted to check on his wife, since she and the girls had been gone quite a while. He was distraught when he saw her, of course, and called the grandparents. They arrived not long ago and took the children home.”

      “Am I correct in assuming the girls weren’t injured?”

      “Thankfully, they slept through their mother’s attack.”

      “Could you start at the beginning, ma’am?”

      She glanced down at her scraped hands. Dried blood stained her fingers. Rust-colored spatters streaked across her shirt. “I’ve been treating the girls for a debilitating disease, called CED, or childhood enzyme deficiency, for the last few months. They’ve improved, but when the gastrointestinal problems started, their mother was concerned. She called and asked if I could see them tonight.”

      “Was this a normal occurrence, Doctor?”

      She narrowed her gaze as if she didn’t understand the question. “If you mean do I see patients at night, then no, it’s not the norm. But the girls are five years old, Mr. Swain. Their physical and fine motor abilities had been compromised by the disease. Less than two months ago, I was worried about their failure to thrive.”

      “You didn’t expect them to live?”

      She nodded. “They were becoming increasingly compromised.”

      “But you recognized the symptoms and started them on the proper medication?” Zach asked.

      “More or less.”

      Now he was the one to pause and raise an eyebrow. “Meaning what?”

      “Meaning my husband led the team that first identified the condition. I called the research center where he had worked to ensure the protocol he established almost a year ago was still the treatment of choice.”

      “And was it?”

      “Yes, so after talking to the head of the Harrisburg center, I made changes in the girls’ diets, prescribed the enzyme needed to overcome their deficiency and checked on their progress repeatedly.”

      “The girls improved?”

      The doc nodded. “Improved and indeed began to thrive.”

      “Yet they got sick with the stomach ailment.”

      “Which had nothing to do with the genetic disease. As you can imagine, their mother was anxious. I assured her the girls would be fine with fluids and time. Antinausea drugs helped. I’ll check on them again in the morning, but I feel sure they’ll make a full recovery.”

      The doctor glanced at an area near her desk where blood stained the tile floor. “I wish I was equally as convinced of their mother’s prognosis.”

      “You don’t think she’ll survive?” Zach asked.

      “Mary Kate lost a lot of blood. A whole host of complications could develop. The next twenty-four to forty-eight hours will be key.”

      “Why would someone harm Mrs. Powers?”

      The doc shook her head, a bit too quickly.

      Zach leaned closer. “Is there someone who might have reason to attack the girls’ mother?”

      “You’d have to ask Mary Kate, although I doubt you’ll be able to question her for the next day or two.” Dr. Jacobsen glanced again at the floor. “Even then, I’m not sure...”

      “I’ll contact the hospital,” Zach volunteered.

      She glanced up at him, her eyes wide with hopeful optimism. “Would you let me know her condition?”

      “Of course.”

      She almost smiled.

      Zach let out a breath, checked the notes he’d made and tried to get back to his questioning. “Could you tell me about your husband, ma’am?”

      “My husband?”

      Any positive steps he had made took a backward dive as her frown returned.

      “You mentioned that he had worked at a research center in Pennsylvania,” Zach prompted. “Where is your husband currently working?”

      “My husband...” She pulled in a ragged breath. “Quin died eight months ago.”

      Not what Zach had expected. “I’m sorry, ma’am.”

      “Thank you. So am I.”

      “You lived with him in Pennsylvania?”

      “I did. That’s correct.”

      “And after he passed away...” Zach let the statement hang.

      “After his death, I moved to Georgia and opened this clinic.”

      “Georgia must not be home, ma’am. I don’t notice a Southern accent.”

      She tilted her head. “I’m originally from Ohio. I met and married my husband in Columbus when I was attending medical school at Ohio State. He was doing research for a private company.”

      “What brought you South after his death?”

      She touched the ring finger of her left hand as if searching for the wedding band she no longer wore.

      “I came to Freemont because of the Amish who live in the area. Some of the families migrated here from Pennsylvania, a few from Ohio and Alabama. Seems everyone—even the ‘English,’ as they call us—wants a bit of the simple lifestyle. Land up north is hard to find, which forces young Amish farmers to settle new areas, away from the urban sprawl that has become a problem.”

      “So you were looking for an Amish community?”

      “I’m a pediatrician.” She sounded tired. Perhaps from too many questions. “I wanted to open a care clinic for Amish children.”

      “But the Powers twins aren’t Amish.”

      “Mary Kate grew up around here. As you probably know, her husband—the girls’ stepfather—is military and was deployed to the Middle East. Mary Kate and the girls moved home to be with her parents. My clinic is closer than going to town for medical treatment.”

      Zach studied the notes he had taken. Something didn’t add up. “Your husband worked with the Amish in Pennsylvania?”

      “Amish children. He specialized in newly emerging, genetically acquired diseases, as well as established conditions that impact the Amish.”

      “What specifically?”

      “Metabolic disorders such as pyruvate kinase deficiency, Crigler-Najjar syndrome, maple syrup urine disease.”

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