Play Dead by Harlan Coben

surgery.
    The surgeon walked out of the makeshift surgery room, untied his mask and let it fall onto his chest. He approached his friend and business associate. The surgeon noticed that his friend was much more nervous this time than usual.
    But that was understandable.
    'How did it go?' the man asked the surgeon.
    'No complications.'
    The man seemed very relieved. 'I owe you one, Hank.' 'Wait until you get my bill.'
    The man chuckled nervously at the joke. 'What now?'
    'The usual. Don't let him do anything for at least two weeks. I'll check in on him then.'
    'Okay.'
    'I'll leave a nurse with him.'
    'But -- '
    'She's done this type of thing before. She can be trusted.'
    'This is a little different, don't you think?'
    The surgeon had to agree. This was most definitely different. 'I assure you she can be trusted. She's been with me for years. Besides, he has to have a nurse.'
    The man thought for a moment. 'I guess you're right. Is there anything else?'
    A million questions swirled through the surgeon's head but he had been in this business long enough to know that the answers to such questions could be dangerous. Even fatal.
    He shook his head. 'I'll see you in two weeks.'

    Chapter 4
    Judy Simmons, Laura's aunt, was packing for the trip to Boston when the phone rang.
    David is dead, Judy. Pretend all you want but you're to blame . . .
    She closed her eyes, struggling to shove the cruel voice away, but the accusations continued to echo across her mind.
    You could have stopped it, Judy, but now it's too late. David is dead and it's your fault . . .
    She refused to listen anymore. Judy had recently turned forty-nine, lived alone, had always lived alone, had never wanted to live alone. It wasn't her fault. It was just that when it came to men she had the luck of Wiley Coyote chasing the Road Runner. To be more precise, her relationships with the opposite sex ended up being disasters of Hindenberg-like proportions. Though she wasn't any great beauty like her sister Mary, she was attractive enough by most standards. Her face was pretty, if somewhat plain, and she had a very nice figure. Her most noticeable feature was her auburn hair, which she wore at shoulder length. Men had always liked her. The problem was that for some reason she always attracted the wrong kind of men.
    That isn't exactly true. I almost had the best. Twice.
    But that was a long time ago. Best forgotten. Besides, she was happy enough. She was an English professor at Colgate College and while the winters got cold, she liked the small community lifestyle. She was content, satisfied . . .
    Bored.
    Maybe. But a little boredom was not always such a bad thing. Right now, she hoped for boredom, begged for it. She wanted no new surprises.
    Her poor beautiful niece. Such an awful thing to have happen to Laura. But perhaps it was divine intervention, Judy thought, though it was strange for a woman who was in no way religious, for a woman who had always despised those 'comforting' words that glossed over tragedy as 'God's will,' to have such thoughts.
    But maybe that's what it was. God's will. Please let that be what it was. David's death had to be God's will. Or some bizarre, tragic coincidence. Or . . .
    The alternative was too horrifying to even consider. She placed her heavy sweater in the Samsonite as the phone rang again. Her hand reached for the receiver.
    'Hello?'
    'Judy?'
    It was her sister. 'Hello, Mary. How are you feeling?'
    Tears were her answer. 'Awful,' Mary said. 'Laura still won't talk to me. She hates me, Judy. I don't know what to do.'
    'Give her some time.'
    'She'll always hate me. I know it.'
    'Laura is in a lot of pain right now.'
    'I know that,' Mary snapped. 'Don't you think I know that? I'm her mother, for chrissake. She needs me.'
    'Of course she does.'
    'Judy?'
    'Yes?'
    There was a pause. 'I didn't tell you everything.'
    'What do you mean?'
    More weeping came through the telephone line. 'I should have called you earlier. I wanted to. Really. But