The Preacher's Dead!

By Elizabeth DiMeo

Among many other targets, famed televangelist Jerry Duran often criticizes medical facilities and their personnel severely. Now he's had to be admitted to a hospital even though he regards all such institutions as alien country. Will his prayers save him?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Wings ePress, Inc.
• Release date: Jul 23, 2023
• ISBN: 9781613091159

Book preview

What They Are Saying About

The Preacher’s Dead

The Preacher’s Dead is a new twist on the medical mystery—an instructor in a nursing program not only juggles a move to the unfamiliar South, the recent death of her husband, and a new job teaching young nursing students, but she is caught up in the shocking death of a famous TV evangelist who dies in the hospital where she supervises her students. Ellen Russo has been through a lot, but she picks up the pieces and with courage and determination forges on. Elizabeth DiMeo’s first book in the series leaves the reader yearning for more adventures with this intrepid amateur sleuth. A delightful read

Nancy Gotter Gates,

Author

With her first book for adult readers, it looks like Elizabeth DiMeo has a winner on her hands. One would have to hate books not to enjoy The Preacher's Dead! When nursing instructor Ellen Russo finds evidence that someone may have murdered Brother Jerry Duran of the Saving Grace TV Channel, the hospital finds itself in controversy. This cleverly written cozy lets the reader glimpse the ins and outs of hospital politics, with a murder mystery and a bit of romance thrown in.

Because the characters are well drawn and seem so real, it keeps one turning the pages to see what happens to them. I recommend The Preacher's Dead! to mystery lovers everywhere.

Lynette Hall Hampton,

Wings ePress Author

The Preacher’s Dead!

Elizabeth DiMeo

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A Wings ePress, Inc.

Suspense/Thriller Novel

Edited by:  Jeanne R. Smith

Senior Editor:  Jeanne R. Smith

Executive Editor: Marilyn Kapp

Cover Artist: Pat Evans

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All rights reserved

Names, characters and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher.

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 permission in writing from the publisher.

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Copyright © 2012 by Elizabeth DiMeo

ISBN:  978-1-61309-115-9

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Published In the United States Of America

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Wings ePress Inc.

3000 N. Rock Road

Newton, KS  67114

Dedication

To Armand

One

Ellen Russo, RN, tapped on the door of Room 517, Unit 5 West, Hobert Hospital. May I come in? she asked as she pushed the door open. In the far corner of the room a thin, worn-looking woman with faded brown hair slouched in a plaid upholstered chair. A tall, obese man with artificially black hair and sagging jowls lay in the bed. As Ellen entered the room, he glanced at her for a moment and then looked away.

She saw nursing student Debra Long standing beside the patient’s bed reading questions from the hospital admission form. Any childhood diseases? Debra asked.

Well, he had measles when he was about seven, and chicken pox at age nine, or maybe it was ten. I’m not sure which, the woman answered, drumming her fingers against the arms of the chair. She looked agitated.

Good afternoon. I’m Ellen Russo, Debra’s instructor, she said, taking a second look at the patient. He was either someone she’d seen on TV or his exact double. Could he possibly be the host on Southern Gospel Hour, that man with the strident voice who put down doctors and medical institutions as incompetent and money-grabbing every chance he got? His fans would be shocked to see him lying here in a hospital bed, scowling. When he wasn’t lambasting medical professionals or non-Christians, he wore a perpetual grin like a cartoon dog, every tooth showing.

Then she remembered this patient had been admitted from the ER with a urinary stone. He might have come in with pain, a lot of it, and been given medication which sedated him. So now he wouldn’t be feeling a bit rambunctious. She checked for his name on her fact sheet. Jerry Duran.

Welcome to Hobert Hospital, she continued. Your face is familiar. Could I have seen you on TV?

Probably yes, ma’am, the man grunted, you likely have. I’m just a simple ol’ country preacher who speaks the words the Almighty Lord gives me. I run a little program on Channel Twenty every Sunday afternoon. He spoke with deliberation. This was a man accustomed to projecting his message.

It’s nice to meet you, Reverend Duran, Ellen replied.

"Just plain ol’ Brother Duran, Miss Russo. Is Russo an Eyetalian name? You sure don’t look Eyetalian at all, not with that pretty red hair and blue eyes. Eyetalians have black hair and oily olive skin, and you’ve got delicate white skin. But these days you can’t ever tell about a person by his looks, can you?" The woman in the corner grimaced as he snickered.

Ellen felt her face grow warm. She started to speak, but he interrupted. "I’m here in for a little ol’ stone problem that there Indian doctor, what’s his name, Sharma, wants to watch. Hopes I get to pass it without any outside help.

My wife Rachel over there, he gestured toward the chair with his beefy hand, and me, we prayed hard for my relief, very hard. But the Lord’s ways are strange sometimes. The pain just didn’t, wouldn’t let up. In fact it got pretty bad, so He led me to come in here, even though I didn’t want to. You know a hospital is alien country for me and I pray He will lead me back out of here to safety, like Moses bringing the Israelites out of Egypt.

It’s natural to be concerned, Brother Duran, Ellen said, but you have nothing to be afraid of. While you’re here, everyone will take good care of you, you can be sure of that. That’s what hospitals are for. If he was trying to blame God for the pain of his kidney stone, she thought, he didn’t realize the state he was living in, North Carolina, lay in the heart of the Stone Belt as well as the Bible Belt. So he was at a higher risk for developing urinary stones here. Maybe it was due to diet and/or dehydration from the heat, but not to the inscrutable will of the Almighty. And urinary stones could be extremely painful.

Ellen checked her watch. Two minutes after three already. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Debra fidgeting as she stood there with the admission form. She could finish the questions without her. Ellen had to monitor medication administration, watch an abdominal wound irrigation and oversee a tube feeding, all before four. With eight beginning students all needing supervision, she often felt pressured, but preferred being rushed to giving in to grief or wishing she were back home in upstate New York. Here in the hospital she had no time to think about anything at all except her students and the patients they were assigned to.

It’s been nice meeting you, Brother Duran, and you, too, Mrs. Duran, Ellen said as she left the room. I’ll be looking in on you later this afternoon. Walking toward the medication cubicle, she passed Kimberly Moore, the hospital’s only day shift intravenous therapist, pushing her equipment cart down the corridor. Hi, Kim, she called. Going to start fluids in five seventeen by any chance?

Well, sure, honey, Kim drawled without pausing. Guess the preacher must have gotten dehydrated from vomiting. Doctor Sharma’s ordered them started immediately. And it certainly makes giving any IV medications a lot easier. So here I am. She stood outside Jerry Duran’s room, connecting tubing to a plastic bag containing glucose solution.

Ellen smiled. He’s one big man, you know. You may have to do some heavy searching for a vein. And with what he thinks about hospitals and the people who work in them, I don’t think he’s going to like lying still for all his fluids, or getting stuck with the needle.

Yeah, I’ve heard he believes we’re the enemy, along with a whole lot of other people. Too bad. He’ll probably think his IV was specifically designed by the hospital to torture him, but that’s his problem. Kim shrugged. He’ll just have to put up with it.

Two

Inside the medication cubicle, Ellen saw Sue Ann Caldwell reading over drug cards with an anxious expression on her face. Ellen heard her reciting dosages and side effects to herself.

Good girl, Sue Ann, Ellen said. Glad to see you’re taking medication administration seriously. I’d rather have a nervous prepared student than a relaxed one who doesn’t know the answers. But I’m sure you’ll do well. After quizzing her about the medications she would be giving, she watched as Sue Ann poured them and followed her down the hall to Room 514.

An elderly woman sat upright in the bed, smoothing back a lock of ash-blond hair with her coral-tipped left hand. Rather than the usual hospital gown, she was wearing a lavishly embroidered pale blue bed jacket with matching satin pajamas. Well hello again, Sunshine, she said to Sue Ann and turned to Ellen. Who is this you’ve brought with you?

This is my instructor. She...

Oh, this young lady is going to make a fine nurse, the patient interrupted. Anyone who can get along with me is bound for success. I’m one nasty old lady, believe me. She arched her penciled eyebrows and laughed. They used me as a model for that cranky old woman in the greeting cards. You know, the one who’s always criticizing something or someone. Maureen or Maylene, I think her name is.

I can’t believe that at all, Ellen responded. Not with your friendly smile. May we see your identification bracelet?

The patient extended her bony wrist and Sue Ann read it aloud carefully. Sarah H. Armitage. I have two pills to give you, Mrs. Armitage.

After scrutinizing the pills through her bifocals, Mrs. Armitage dropped them into her mouth and took a swallow of water. If I hadn’t been taking them every afternoon for years, I’d ask you to tell me why I’m getting them and how they work, just so you could show your instructor how smart you are.

She’s already done that, and scored one hundred percent, said Ellen.

I’m glad to hear that. You know the media is always warning us about hospital errors, and telling us to question every medicine we get.

Here in the hospital we all make every effort to prevent errors, but no one should mind being questioned. It’s an additional safe guard. Is there anything else we can do for you before we leave? Ellen asked.

Yes, there is. If I’m not mistaken, and I never am, I saw that awful televangelist Preacher Jerry Duran being admitted into Room five seventeen. Please be sure he’s kept in his room and doesn’t start wandering around the floor, popping into patients’ rooms, including mine. Mrs. Armitage shuddered.

The man is totally obnoxious, she continued. He really gives religion a bad name in general. Thank heaven he doesn’t belong to any recognized denomination. They’d have to disown him. When he isn’t criticizing hospitals and medical personnel, he’s promising hellfire for all Muslims or anyone who doesn’t believe exactly as he does. She paused as she sipped some more water.

I can tell you right now he’d better not try any of his nonsense on me, or he’ll get my brand of what for, I can promise you, she continued. He’s a self-ordained disgrace, a money-grabbing scoundrel, even if he does have a large following. What fools some people are to be influenced by the likes of such a phony, and I do mean phony. I wish he would just keep himself and his message inside that gorgeous mansion of his outside of town, where he’s probably got millions stashed away. Her voice shook.

You don’t have to worry about him walking around, Mrs. Armitage. With an IV running, he’s not likely to be roaming the halls. But I’ll tell them at the desk, though, that you’re concerned about his visiting you. They can keep an eye out to stop him, Ellen assured her as Sue Ann picked up the medicine tray. We’ll see you again tomorrow.

Outside Mrs. Armitage’s room, Ellen turned to Sue Ann. You don’t often hear a patient telling staff members he or she dislikes another patient, especially in such strong language. But if you ever get involved in that kind of a situation, be tactful and don’t get flustered. And let the nurse in charge know so the staff makes sure they don’t come into contact with each other.

Yes, ma’am. Did I do okay passing medications? Sue Ann asked.

Fine, Sue Ann, just fine. You did very well. Ellen smiled. She’d forgotten a cardinal rule for instructors. A beginning student needed feedback about how she or he is doing before focusing on anything or anyone else. Sue Ann seemed oblivious to Ellen’s comments on Mrs. Armitage’s feelings about Preacher Duran and probably was.

I’d better let them know at the front desk about Mrs. Armitage, though, Ellen thought. A chance meeting of two such strong personalities was not advisable.

Three

An hour later, Ellen tapped on the door of Room 517. As she entered, her right foot brushed against a small object lying on the floor a few feet from Brother Duran’s bed. Bending over, she picked up a nurse’s watch with a sweep second hand. Was it Debra’s? Ellen looked at the back for a name or initials, although nursing students rarely bothered to label their scissors and watches. She saw MRN engraved in delicate script.

It couldn’t belong to Debra unless she’d been wearing someone else’s watch. After placing it next to the Bible on the bedside stand, Ellen glanced over at Brother Duran, who was asleep.

Propped against two pillows, he never stirred as she stood beside his bed. He twitched and gave a loud snore. From his partly open mouth, a thin trickle of saliva ran down the right side of his chin. Ellen smiled. His TV audience would be quite shocked at how undignified he looked at this moment.

Rachel Duran had gone, leaving her shabby blue sweater in the chair. Probably happy to be away from her husband for a while. Or maybe she enjoyed a subordinate role, content to serve a celebrity. If she was, she didn’t look happy about it, not a bit. Ellen didn’t envy her. As lonely as widowhood was, marriage to someone like Brother Duran had to be worse. She shook her head as she left the room.

~ * ~

Ellen and her students reported off to the nursing staff right after seven. They all crowded into the small elevator in the hall beyond 5 West, heading for the cafeteria in the basement.

When she got home from the hospital on Monday evenings, Ellen usually felt too tired to prepare a meal. And after Tom had been killed in a hit and run accident last June in the mountains near Morganton she kept only toaster tarts and milk in the apartment, even though eating out cost too much and didn’t always offer a variety of good nutritional choices. Like tonight’s menu: $4.15 for pork chops or liver and onions, and no fresh vegetables or fruit with any of them. There were a few salads displayed, but they looked tired and unappetizing. The fresher, more nutritious choices were long gone by this time of the evening.

Ellen sighed. No wonder her clothes felt a lot tighter. Picking up a tray and silverware, she moved down the line. Only one chop, please, Lorene, she said to the thin, middle-aged woman serving the entrees.

We’re gonna have to charge you the same for one or two, so you might better take them, Lorene said, ladling a generous portion of rice on top of the pork chops and adding gravy. The side dish tonight is fried okra, and there’s peach cobbler for dessert. They all come with the chops.

Too tired to argue, Ellen took her loaded tray to the cashier. Paying her bill, she looked around for an empty table. Plenty of them tonight; it was almost closing time. She saw Dr. Perry Glasser sitting alone over in a corner. She had to be sure to avoid that area. He’d tried to get overly friendly with her already, to say nothing of coming on to some of her students.

Ellen eased into one of the four tables opposite the mirrored wall near the cafeteria entrance. As she bent over to loosen her shoe laces, Debra, Sue Ann and Laurie Pegram, another clinical student, approached the table. Can we sit here with you, Ellen? Sue Ann asked. Ma’am for the clinical area, Ellen for the cafeteria.

She sat up slowly and nodded. What could nineteen know about being twenty-seven with aching feet, a bruised heart and a deep desire for solitude? Hoping she didn’t look as grim as she felt, she moved her empty tray from the table to make room for them. Hurry up and get a little more gracious, she told herself. If nothing else, their light blue pantsuit student uniforms provided some welcome color in this antiseptically white room. Their chatter would probably help too.

As soon as they sat, Debra started talking. Ellen, admitting Brother Duran this afternoon was a really different experience. He never said anything, not one word. His wife answered every single question for him, not just the routine stuff like who to contact in case of emergency, but all his medical questions, too, like she knew all the answers and he didn’t know anything. All he did was lie there in bed and look at his Bible once in a while. Weird. She frowned as she began to butter her bread.

You know he may have been given pain medication in the ER and could have been groggy. And there are some people who deny their illnesses, Ellen said. "Maybe he’s