by Liz Turner
“Yes, being sued can be a terrible business. I don’t like your future being decided by a judge when you haven’t done anything wrong at all!” Gladys replied angrily. Abruptly, she rose and headed back into the kitchen.
“Gladys? Where are you going?”
No reply came from the other room, but promptly Gladys returned, carrying tumblers of ice. “This night calls for something a bit stronger than cocoa, don’t you think?” she said and tried her best to muster a joking smile.
“That it does, Gladys Dean. I could use something to warm me in a way that cocoa doesn’t,” Hallie replied lightly. She took a tumbler as Gladys went to a cabinet across the room and fetched a bottle of bourbon.
“Here we are!” Gladys exclaimed, pouring Hallie and herself a generous glass. She took a sip and closed her eyes, before popping one open and saying, “Now if that doesn’t cheer you up!” Then she fell silent, her chin resting in her hand. She knit her eyebrows together and tapped her temple. The snow had continued to come down, and now it seemed to be picking up speed. The view outside the window was obscured by swirling white. Finally, she said, somewhat reluctantly, “What about Alan Smith? Remember how you hired him about a year ago to help you get your finances in order after you began your position as a general practitioner?”
When Hallie had started her job at Warrenton Hospital, she had been immediately swamped with work, leaving her little time to move all her finances to a local bank, let alone begin the process of looking for a house of her own. So, she had hired her father’s former business manager, Alan Smith, to, in effect, set up her new life in Warrenton. He had been with her for the first few months, following her around, asking questions, searching on her behalf for the perfect home. She had found his methods a little invasive and discontinued—he was always writing down everything she said and asking for copies of every document that crossed her path—his services as soon as she could afford to. Why would Gladys mention him now? She wondered. Then it clicked. He had been with her during Mr. Lewis’ first consultation!
“Gladys! You’re brilliant!” Hallie exclaimed. “He met Mr. Lewis the same time I did. Do you think he’d be able to vouch for me that we did an x-ray and there was no fracture?”
Gladys leaned in toward Hallie eagerly. “I think he can do one better. If I know Alan, he was just like your father, taking detailed notes of every interaction he witnessed—claimed he just didn’t think clearly without writing down everything—and often making copies of anything he deemed important to his clients. I’d be willing to bet that if you took an x-ray in his presence, he’d have made a copy for his records.”
Hallie jumped up and kissed Gladys’ cheek, suddenly immensely grateful for Smith’s unorthodox methods. “If Mr. Smith has notes of Lewis’ first appointment and a copy of that x-ray, I’ll fly to moon, I’ll be so light!”
Gladys joined her friend in her reverie. “I think he still lives in town, so you shouldn’t have any trouble reaching him. I’m sure he’d be happy to help. He would have done anything for your father, and I think you reminded him of him a great deal.”
Hallie nodded quickly. “Do you have his telephone number handy? I’ll try to contact him right away,” Hallie asked.
Glady began rummaging around in a drawer. “I do somewhere, dear. Aha! Here it is.” She held up her address book, flipped open to a page in the middle. “Alan Smith. You’re lucky I never throw away anything.” Gladys gestured good naturedly to the drawer she had just been peering into. It was stuffed full of different papers and files thrown in among more pieces of charcoal and nearly empty tubes of paint. “Would you like his address, too?”
“I would, indeed. Gladys, you’re a doll! Don’t you ever change,” Hallie said, grinning. She took the book from Gladys and sat down at the dining table. Grabbing a pencil from Gladys’ stash, she quickly jotted the number and address down on a pad of paper she kept in her bag for taking notes during home visits for patients who were bedridden. Flipping her wrist to look at her watch, she said, “It’s a bit late to be calling him now, so I’ll ring him first thing in the morning. I hope he kept as detailed records as he promised! I never thought I’d be this grateful for his meticulous methods.”
“Hallie—” Gladys began, as she moved to arrange the dishes on a tray to take back into the kitchen.
“Yes?” Hallie asked without taking her eyes off her task.
“Before you go out of your way searching for these records, I’d consider something. It just occurred to me that Mr. Lewis is a very cunning con man.”
Hallie looked at Gladys silently for a moment. “Yes, I know. I knew as soon as he came into my office this evening that he was trouble. What are you saying?”
“Well, it’s all too convenient that his files were burned in that storage fire. I think someone started that fire on purpose and calculated carefully to make sure his x-ray was destroyed. This is a well-planned trick…. I wonder if he is working alone.”
Hallie couldn’t agree more. She had been thinking something similar, and Gladys had just voiced her concern out loud. What else might this man be willing to do to prevent me from proving his deceit—to force me into paying him? “I know,” she said soberly. “As certain as I am that these records will prove there was no fracture, I’m just as certain this Mr. Lewis is a dangerous man.”
***
As soon as the snow stopped falling, Hallie began her drive home. Although she was reluctant to leave the warmth of Gladys’ home, she was determined to get up tomorrow and telephone Alan Smith right away. The road was coated with the soft snowfall, and the frozen trees reflected the light from her headlights as she drove. She was careful to keep her eyes on the road and drive slowly, as this time of year was conducive to motor accidents, caused by the slick roads and limited visibility from the fog. Suddenly, Hallie saw a jagged movement some feet in front of her in the middle of the road. Slamming on her brakes so as not to run over whatever that was, she sat breathless in her car. She could see where the snow had been disturbed in the road.
A glance in the rearview mirror assured her she was not being followed, but the relief was not long-lived. That meant, Hallie was alone out here—except for whatever, or whoever, had just darted in front of her car. The snow was beginning to fall again. It’ll even cover my tire tracks, Hallie thought dumbly. Aside from Gladys, no one knows I’m out here. She was still ten miles from town.
Steeling herself, Hallie approached the spot in the road where she had seen the movement. As she neared, she suddenly stood up straight and laughed out loud. Lying in the snow was a tree branch, broken from the tree under the weight of the snow. Hallie must have seen the movement through the thick fog and assumed the worst. My, I am jumpy tonight, aren’t I? Hallie thought, trying to be amused. She couldn’t shake the conversation she had had with Gladys. As much as she told herself that Lewis was a con man, a sleazy swindler just after her money, she couldn’t help but wonder if she hadn’t seen something else in his eyes that evening. Something other than greed…. She shuddered and hurried back to her car.
The rest of the drive was uneventful though Hallie had no trouble at all staying awake. Her mind was racing, and she felt adrenaline trickling through her veins, making her unable to sit still. When she got home, she brewed a cup of chamomile tea and attempted to sleep, only to lie awake for hours. She double checked the locks on her doors, rapped on every window in her home to ensure their security, and switched on all the downstairs lights. Finally, she pulled out one of her favorite books and settled on her couch to read. Finding herself finally nodding off right as the night lost some of its darkness in the early morning hours, she dragged herself up to her bedroom and fell asleep to the sound of birds chirping their welcome to the morning.
Chapter 4
The Complication
H allie awoke to the smell of coffee brewing. Lumbering out of bed, she pulled back the curtains. Snow was falling again, and even with the sun shining full force from in between the clouds, t
he day’s temperature was sure to stay below freezing. Shivering, she wrapped herself in her wool robe, slid on some cozy house slippers, and trotted out to the kitchen to see who was behind that heavenly smell.
“Good morning, sweet,” Dr. Livingstone greeted her cheerfully. He had a light gray suit on, his coat flopped over the side of one of Hallie’s kitchen chairs, and he had been busy making a breakfast of pancakes and bacon, and of course, coffee.
“James! Why, to what do I owe the pleasure?” Hallie could feel herself warming. She was suddenly ravenous. Leaning over Dr. Livingstone, she plucked a sizzling piece of bacon from the frying pan. “Ow!” she cried, dropping the piece and rushing to run her burned fingers under the tap. “I’m a bit overeager, it seems.”
“You’re forgiven, my dear,” James said, deftly covering some ice from the freezer with a wet cloth. “Here, let me see.” He cradled her palm and, upon inspecting her forefinger and thumb, declared her to have merely a mild burn. “Nothing that won’t go away after an hour or so. That is—if you can keep your hands off more hot bacon,” he added with a wink.
Hallie feigned indignation. “I’m a doctor, too, you know! I think I can diagnose my own mild surface burn.”
“Then I would think you would understand the limitations of skin to protecting itself from extreme heat…such as from meat sizzling in oil,” James was quick to rebut. Hallie bit back a smile, opting instead to plant a fast kiss on his cheek. Even this early in the morning, James was at his best. Hallie loved that about him; he never failed to show up, mentally armed with a cheerful wit.
“I’ve made us breakfast to make up for missing out on our plans yesterday. I know you’ve been busy with your practice lately, and I wanted to be sure to see you this week. The only time I can be certain you’re not working or worrying about a patient is these early morning hours,” James continued. He chuckled and handed her a cup of the strong brew. “My first patient won’t be in until eleven, so I’ve got hours to spend with you this morning.”
Hallie beamed, but his words had triggered her worries from last night. “Darling, what did I do to deserve you?” After forcing a playful grin, she sighed and took a long drag from her mug. Tapping her fingers on the countertop, she finally said, “Unfortunately, there is a patient I’m worried about this morning.”
“Oh, who’s that?” James frowned.
Hallie chewed her nail. “Oliver Lewis.”
James thought for a moment, then shook his head. “No, I can’t say I know the fellow. Never treated him myself then. Is he terribly ill?”
“Oh, no! He simply is trying to convince everyone he is. And that I’m a fraud,” Hallie replied. Springing to the telephone in the kitchen, Hallie added, “And he might just succeed if I don’t prove he’s lying before the end of the day today.”
James put his hand on Hallie’s back soothingly, and asked, using the tone Hallie knew was usually reserved for erratic patients, “Hal, slow down. Why would this man want to make you out as a fraud?”
Her words came out all in a rush as she explained that Lewis was blackmailing her. Not waiting for James’ response, she dialed the number for Alan Smith.
“I can’t believe this!” James exclaimed, fuming. “You are the finest doctor I’ve ever worked with. There’s no way you made a mistake like that. And, I think you’re absolutely on target about the storage fire, Hallie. This Lewis character is desperate that’s clear as day to me. Now, wait a minute. Who are you calling at this hour?”
Hallie hung up the phone after receiving no answer. “I know, dear—oh, Smith didn’t answer his telephone,” Hallie said in a huff. She rubbed her fingers in a circular motion on her temples.
“Alan Smith, as in your old business manager?”
“Yes, I’m sure he has a copy of that x-ray I need to prove that Lewis didn’t have that fracture when I treated him eight months ago. Gladys gave me his number last night.” Hallie paced the kitchen in agitation.
James nodded carefully. “Well, you know how Gladys is with her, ‘organization,’ she might have given you an old number. Or perhaps, Mr. Smith is simply still sleeping this morning. It is only eight o’clock.”
“James, of course! I’ll just go over there and speak to him in person. I’ve got an hour or so before I’m due at the hospital. Plus, Laura will be there this morning to greet any patients. This way I can get the files right away! No time to lose.” She darted back to her bedroom to change her clothes, her hunger forgotten.
“Be careful, Hallie. Lewis could be dangerous!” James called after her. He sighed and slid the last pancake onto the towering stack on the counter and turned off the stove.
***
Smith’s house was only a short drive from her home. She was nearly at the address Gladys had given her when a car seemed to crystalize in front of her out of nowhere, zooming at a break-neck speed straight for her. It was dark blue and looked brand new—and it was going the wrong direction. The one-way street left Hallie with no room to move out of the way. Hallie pushed on her horn repeatedly, but the blue car didn’t seem to notice! It showed no signs of slowing. Frantically, Hallie braked, hoping the other car would stop before it crashed into her. Scanning all her mirrors for routes of escape, Hallie made a snap decision: she threw her car into reverse and, pushing hard on the gas, yanked the steering wheel to the right. Her car flew onto a neighbor’s lawn with an ominous grunt, and the dark blue vehicle continued, unflinching in its speed, down the street in the wrong direction. It had missed Hallie by seconds.
Heart pounding, Hallie unhinged her fingers from their death grip on the steering wheel. She rubbed her face vigorously, her hands shaking. Who was that? She wondered furiously. Staring down the street the car had disappeared, she thought hard. Had she seen anything that could identify the driver or the owner of the car? She hadn’t been able to tell much in her panic to get away. Only that it was a dark blue Pontiac, and the driver was a blurry figure hunched over the wheel. If only she had managed to get a clearer glimpse of that reckless driver!
She stepped out of her car and surveyed the damage. The tires were embedded into the deep, frozen snow on the lawn, and, upon peering under the car, Hallie noted a pipe hanging a bit lower than it should be—no doubt having been banged loose as the bottom of the car hit the curb. She’d have to take the car to a mechanic, but it didn’t look too serious. She was shocked that there was no major damage. Either someone was in a great hurry, or I’ve just been given a clear warning. Surveying the car perched haphazardly on the snow-covered lawn, she mused wryly, I must be one lucky woman today. She turned the key in her car and eased back out onto the street.
***
The gate was open. That was the first thing Hallie noticed as she rolled in the drive for Mr. Smith’s small house near the center of town. That’s odd, she thought with a pang of alarm. She scanned the yard for Poppy, Smith’s little terrier that was usually stationed on the front porch. The fence and gate were there mainly to keep Poppy from escaping. Hallie knew Smith wouldn’t have just left the gate wide open for Poppy to run out of. When she didn’t see the dog, she hoped Smith had just thought the weather too cold for the little fellow and kept him inside. Her stomach felt hollow.
Walking up through the gate, Hallie noted the footprints lining the snow up to the front door. She quickened her steps when she saw that the front door was slightly ajar. In this cold, no one could be forgetful enough to leave their front door open to the elements. A light dusting of snow had been swept inside by the wind. Hallie restrained herself from barging in unannounced. I’m just being unnecessarily jumpy again, she told herself. She knocked on the door, being careful not to swing it open wider.
“Mr. Smith?” She called. “It’s Dr. Malone. I have a favor to ask of you.”
When she received no answer, she gingerly pushed the door open and walked inside. “Mr. Smith?”
The house was almost completely covered with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. Smith seemed to have transformed his home
into one grand library, complete with dusty books, ornate carpets covering most of the wooden floors, and gold gilded frames hung here and there with paintings of landscapes or notable figures. Hallie noticed one painting in particular and couldn’t stop herself from smiling despite her nerves—this was one of Gladys’, she was sure of it. It depicted Boston pre-Civil War, snow covering the old city. In the corner was Gladys’ telltale scrawled signature and date, only a few months before. Absently, she wondered why Smith would have commissioned a painting from Gladys, and moreover, how he would have known Gladys painted in the first place. It was mostly a hobby for her, and not one she advertised to acquaintances.
Hallie tread further up the hallway. The door to Smith’s study was ajar. Nervously, she poked her head inside. She gasped. Smith was there, lying on the ground, face down. Spreading out from his head was a pool of dark red blood, seeped deep into the plush carpet.
Shock subsiding, Hallie immediately threw off her coat and rolled up her sleeves. She crouched beside him and felt for his wrist. When she touched him, she grit her teeth. Cold. And her fingers on his wrist confirmed the lack of pulse: Smith was dead.
“A single blow to the temple,” Hallie muttered, gently moving Smith’s gray hair to reveal the deep wound. Poor Mr. Smith. Quickly, her medical examiner instincts kicked in. From the temperature and stiffness of the body, she could tell that Smith had been dead at least four hours. She scanned the room, looking for clues as to how and who had murdered him.
A gold bookend, carved in the shape of a moon, was on the floor next to Smith, bloodied. Hallie glanced up. A matching bookend stood on a bookshelf by the door. Some books had fallen off and lay haphazardly on the floor. The drawers to Smith’s desk were wide open. Peering inside, she found them full of disorganized documents, as though someone had shuffled through them carelessly. Smith’s chair was angled toward the desk. Judging by his position on the floor, it appeared that whoever had smashed his head must have snuck up behind him after grabbing the bookend from the shelf. Smith had fallen promptly out of his chair, dead.