Checked Out

by Sharon St. George

  “Why would he be available? He’s usually tied up for days at a time, flying Buck Sawyer off to some exotic destination.”

  “Buck and Delta are in Greece for three weeks on a second honeymoon.” Harry picked up his hard hat—a hint that our lunch was over. “Nick’s free. Call him. Unless you’re afraid you’ll weaken and fall into his arms.”

  After he stopped laughing, Harry looked out the door of his trailer. He whistled, and a foreman came running. After they conferred for a few minutes, the man ran back to his crew.

  “I’d better get back to work.” I said.

  “Me, too.” Harry gave me a hug. “I’m sorry, but I’m working almost around the clock here. If you need boots on the ground, call Nick. I can only help if it’s something quick and simple like the Game Boy connection. I suggest you find out where that horse is. Maybe it’ll tell you what happened.”

  “I can’t talk to a horse.”

  “Nick’s good with horses.”

  Back in my office, I wrestled with Harry’s suggestion. Nick was good with horses. He was good with a lot of things, but we hadn’t resolved our stumbling block to living happily ever after. That obstacle was his working relationship with Rella. I still struggled with doubts about their feelings for each other. Until I conquered those doubts, it wasn’t fair to either of us to pretend I had.

  Most women would see dating other men as a reasonable alternative, and Nick had even asked me if that’s what I wanted to do. I had told him no; all I wanted was to regain the trust I’d had in him before Rella entered our lives. Besides, Timbergate wasn’t exactly brimming with eligible bachelors. Jared Quinn, TMC’s administrator, was one of the most eligible men in town, but he was my boss, and would remain on my off-limits list.

  My musing brought me around to James O’Brien and Friday night. A date, but not really. Even so, I could see how it felt to be a single woman again. Then I remembered the O’Brien family’s pending lawsuit and changed my mind. Definitely not a date. James was going to have some explaining to do.

  I spent the afternoon and evening hoping to hear from Laurie Popejoy, but she did not call again and did not answer my calls. I wondered if she had decided to go to the police. I considered going to the police myself to report her missing, but what would I tell them? A woman suddenly quits her job, leaves a cryptic message about a horse that didn’t commit murder, and then doesn’t return my calls. I’d go straight into the flake file along with all the other crackpots. Plus, if the police were involved and the story got into the news, Laurie’s identity could be revealed, putting her in even greater danger.

  Meanwhile, I’d saved her messages, but I had no idea what to do with them. Could calls on old fashioned cassette tape message machines be traced? I didn’t have a clue, but Nick might. He seemed to know a lot about that sort of thing. It wouldn’t hurt to ask.

  I sent him a text with a terse message just before I went to bed. “Call me.”

  I could almost hear Harry chuckling. Shut up, I thought.

  Chapter 6

  I punched in Cleo’s number as soon as I got to work Friday morning.

  “What’s up?” she asked. “Any more calls?”

  “No. How about you?”

  “No. “

  “Have you had a chance to look for DeeDee’s chart?”

  “I tried early this morning, but either it wasn’t there, or it was misfiled. I told you, that place is a mess, and I only had a few minutes to look for it. I’ll go back again first chance I get.”

  “What about the minutes of her death review?” I asked.

  “Sorry, struck out there, too. I couldn’t find any mention of Deirdre O’Brien in death reviews during the month after her death.”

  I ended the call, saying I’d touch base later. Quinn had already threatened me with temporary, if not permanent, loss of my job if he heard I was poking my nose where it didn’t belong. So I got to work. First I followed up on Edna Roda’s request. A few minutes of searching located Duquesne University, based in Pittsburg. Edna was excited to hear about the school’s online forensic nursing program. I wished her luck getting funding approved. With that simple task out of the way, I tackled the more complicated and time-consuming chore of putting a CME program together.

  As the day wore on, my thoughts wandered to my evening with James O’Brien and my wardrobe. What message did I want to send? A classy outfit that said Look, but don’t touch? Or a little black something that might loosen his tongue? I wanted to know everything about the O’Brien clan, including the motivation behind the lawsuit. I decided to go with the little black something. Tell me all your family secrets, James.

  When I reached the employee parking lot after work, Cleo was waiting by my car, shifting her weight from one foot to the other.

  “Hi,” I said. “Do you have news, or do you need to pee?”

  “Both, but the news is, Laurie Popejoy was definitely Cody O’Brien’s nurse the night he left the hospital. He checked himself out against medical advice while Laurie was busy with the change-of-shift report. No one saw Laurie after she reviewed her patient notes with the nurse coming on duty, and no one realized Cody was missing until after Laurie left the hospital. Apparently, he filled out an AMA form and left it on his hospital bed.”

  “But someone must have known. Doesn’t the form need his physician’s signature?”

  “Yes, and a witness. O’Brien signed and dated the patient line, but the rest of the form was left blank.”

  “Do you think Laurie gave him the form?”

  “Seems likely, but my source couldn’t confirm that.”

  I mulled over Cleo’s information on my drive home, convinced Laurie was involved in the mystery of Cody’s death and wishing she would call me again.

  The old message machine in my apartment indicated no new calls. I wondered why Laurie hadn’t called my cellphone until I realized the old landline number was the only one she could get by calling Information. TMC’s HR department had my cellphone number, but they couldn’t give it out without my permission.

  I raced through my evening chores, throwing hay, cleaning and filling watering troughs, and inspecting dung piles to make sure none of the llamas were showing signs of digestive problems. All the fresh droppings looked like large, shiny coffee beans—a good indicator that everyone was healthy.

  With that out of the way, I barely had time to shower and dress for my date with James O’Brien.

  Margie’s Friday night crowd was warming up to a recorded Miles Davis rendition of “You Go to My Head” when I walked in a few minutes after eight. Spicy aromas and heady perfumes mingled in the air. I spotted James at a table near the back wall. He wore classic New York casual attire: black slacks and a long-sleeved cashmere pullover in charcoal-gray that probably cost as much as every stitch of clothing in my closet.

  James waved me over and appraised my black dress. “Nice,” he said. “Let’s plan our wedding.”

  “Let’s get reacquainted first. I don’t even know if you’re single.”

  “I am now.” For a fleeting moment the merriment left his eyes. A bad divorce, I guessed.

  “I made it to the altar once,” James said. “I might tell you about it after a few more beers. What about you?”

  “Same answer as yours. Single, that is. Except I never made it to the altar.”

  “But you came close?”

  “They say close only counts in horseshoes.” I regretted my words immediately, since James had been told that his brother’s death was caused by a blow from a horse’s hoof.

  A young waitress with bobbed brown hair and enormous false eyelashes stopped by our table. “Hi there,” she said. “Care to try our complimentary fried favas flavored with Spanish paprika?” She placed a bowl on our table. “A Margie’s snack special. They’re yummy.”

  James ordered another beer for himself. I asked for a soda and surveyed the growing crowd while I munched a fried fava. The waitress was right. Yummy.

  “Looks
like a good turnout.” I reached for another bean.

  “Have you heard this combo before?” James asked.

  “A few times. They have a new female vocalist tonight. Looks like they’re starting soon.”

  Lights came up on a small elevated stage. Phyllis Poole emerged from a corridor in the back of the restaurant. I couldn’t see her face, but I recognized the pale flesh and white-blond hair hanging straight to her shoulders. She wore a glittering red strapless dress that accented curves never seen in her everyday work clothes. She seated herself at the piano and lifted her face up to the spotlight. I heard myself gasp. Her transformation was stunning. She wasn’t Mary-Kay-makeover pretty, but radiant—her face was supermodel gorgeous.

  “Damn,” James’s jaw dropped. “Who is that?”

  “She’s the new one. Vocals and piano. You might want to close your mouth.”

  “Sorry. I see beautiful women at the theater every day, but her face is made for a spotlight.”

  “Hey, don’t apologize. I was shocked for a moment, too. I see her at the hospital all the time without makeup. I had no idea she could look like that.”

  Poole’s fingers flew across the keyboard, filling the room with boogie-woogie as she glanced toward the corridor and smiled. The other musicians emerged and took their places on stage: Quinn at drums and harmonica, Edna Roda on bass, and Tobias Fausset, who sang and played lead guitar.

  The combo slipped into a mellow rendition of “Driftin’ Blues,” with Tobias doing the vocal. A few couples leaned together on the tiny dance floor, swaying to the sensual sounds.

  The next number featured Poole on piano and vocal in a jazzy version of “What a Little Moonlight Can Do.” Ella Fitzgerald must have willed her voice to this normally pale, uptight woman. What had Ella been thinking?

  Next, Tobias Fausset took the mic again and crooned “I Almost Lost My Mind” to Poole’s piano accompaniment. The lyrics flowed from Tobias like dark honey, setting the crowd’s pheromones flying.

  “Ivory Joe Hunter,” James said. “Great song.” He took my elbow and led me to the dance floor. With no room to maneuver, he wrapped his arms around me and pulled me close. We swayed in place, and I tried to keep my pelvis a cautious distance from his. If anything on his anatomy was stirring, I didn’t want to know about it. I couldn’t manage a discreet interrogation if I let my hormones short-circuit my brain.

  After the dance we sat sipping our drinks, neither of us finding anything to say. We weren’t the only ones. With their first four songs, the combo had tapped into the universal urges and longings blues are made of, and the audience was mesmerized. By the time they finished the set we would be lucky if any oxygen was left in the room.

  So far I’d learned nothing from James about the O’Brien clan, Seamus in particular, but the evening was young. I excused myself, hoping a walk to the restroom might clear my head. I was still processing Phyllis Poole’s astonishing transformation. I’d figured her for a pale and poor substitute for Laurie Popejoy and assumed she had somehow coerced Tobias Fausset into adding her to the combo. Wrong. Tobias would have been nuts not to use her in Code Blues. Laurie Popejoy had been talented, but Phyllis Poole’s presence on that that stage was like white lightning.

  The more I learned about Dr. Poole, the more I wanted to know. Who was this woman? How many ways was her life entangled with that of Tobias Fausset? Was their relationship based solely on medicine and music, or was Cleo on the right track? Were Laurie Popejoy and Cody O’Brien collateral damage in some greater scheme cooked up by Poole?

  I dropped my purse on the vanity counter and fished for a notepad and pen. The music and the dance had been distracting, and I was afraid I’d forget some vital detail. Just as I put pen to paper Edna Roda walked in.

  “Hello, Aimee, are you writing a review?” Her smile held a hint of amusement, but I saw curiosity in her eyes.

  I jammed the pen and pad back into my purse. “Shopping list,” I said. “I remembered something I need.”

  “Birth control?”

  My mouth dropped open. “No, I—”

  “Relax. It was a joke. We’ve been told our music puts people in the mood. What do you think?”

  “It’s incredible. You’re all so talented. Are you on a break already?”

  “No. Poole is doing a couple of solo numbers. What do you think of her? How is she filling Laurie’s shoes?”

  “She’s exceptional.” I waited to see if Edna had more to say about Laurie.

  “Of course, Laurie was exceptional, too.” Edna hesitated. “I wish she hadn’t …. Ah, well, we can’t make people’s decisions for them, can we? Wish her well for me, if you’re in touch.”

  Edna ended our conversation by slipping into a stall. The lock slid in place. The subject was closed. When I heard the papery whish of a seat cover being pulled from the box on the wall, I left. If you’re in touch. Did she know Laurie was trying to contact me?

  Back at our table, James sat munching a fava, his fingers dancing on the tabletop to Poole’s jazzy rendition of “Hit the Road, Jack.”

  “Ah, there you are. I wondered if you’d escaped out the restroom window.”

  “No, sorry. I met someone I know and we started talking.”

  Poole’s number ended, and Tobias announced a ten minute break. The combo left the stage and congregated at a table in back of the room. Time to pump James about his family.

  “Has your family decided on arrangements for Cody?”

  James squared his white napkin on the table and picked four fava beans from the bowl. “Here you see the family, or what’s left of it.” He put one bean on the napkin. “That’s me.” Two more beans went down. “There you have my father and his oh-so-charming wife, Echo.” He placed the last bean on the table.

  “Keely,” I said.

  “Right.” He lifted the napkin and dropped the beans back into the bowl. “You’d think the four of us could sit down calmly and discuss the situation, but you’d be wrong.”

  “Why?”

  He shook his head. “No one agrees with anyone about anything in the O’Brien family. That’s why I live in New York.”

  “Has Cody’s body been released?”

  “That’s part of the problem. There’s been some delay. I hate to think of him lying in a cold drawer somewhere. Dad thinks he’s already a ghost rider in the sky, and Keely thinks he’s burning in hell.”

  “What does your dad’s wife think?”

  “Echo? Who knows? She sits around sipping sherry and asking if anyone wants a Valium.”

  I didn’t think I’d get a better opening so I charged ahead. “James, there’s something I need to ask you. I hope you’ll be honest with me.”

  “Sounds serious. What is it?”

  “Is your family suing the hospital?”

  “What?” He looked genuinely puzzled. “What makes you think that?”

  “A subpoena. It was on Quinn’s desk this morning.”

  “Jesus, I don’t believe this.” He reached out and touched my arm. “Aimee, I swear, I don’t know anything about a lawsuit, but you can sure as hell believe I’m going to find out.”

  The waitress appeared at that moment with another beer for James and a soda for me. I was about to protest when she said they were compliments of the combo. I looked behind us at their table and saw Jared Quinn lift his bottle toward us. On the way back to the bandstand, he stopped at our table.

  “Aimee, glad you could make it.” Quinn nodded at James.

  James stood, I performed the introductions, and the men shook hands. I prayed they weren’t playing let’s see who can squeeze the hardest. If Quinn lost, he’d have trouble holding a drumstick in that hand for the rest of the evening.

  Quinn glanced toward me then turned to James. “O’Brien? Any relation to Cody O’Brien?”

  “Yes, he’s … was my brother.”

  “James is from New York,” I added. “He’s here to help with arrangements.”

  “Damn sorry for you
r loss. Let me know if I can help.” Quinn caught my eye for a moment and sent a silent message. Why was I on a date with the enemy?

  “I think you can, actually,” James said. “I was hoping to get a copy of Cody’s medical record.” The last thing Quinn would have expected to hear from James, considering the subpoena, but he covered his surprise well.

  “Give me a call first thing Monday.” Quinn was already walking backward, making his way to the bandstand. “Aimee has the number.” I knew I’d be answering to Quinn first thing Monday morning.

  “Thanks, I’ll do that,” James called after him.

  James and I had one more slow, sensuous dance during the combo’s second set, but I needed to distance myself from him and from the evocative music before I sent the wrong message. Nick and I were trying to repair our fragile relationship, and James was only a tempting diversion. I still hoped I was on a path that would lead back to Nick, so I made lame excuses about a headache, long day, long week.

  James didn’t argue. He walked me to my aging green sedan, holding my elbow like a proper gentleman until we reached my car.

  “Aimee, I promise you I’ll get to the bottom of this lawsuit. As soon as I do, I’ll let you know.”

  I wanted to believe him. I let him pull me into a warm bear hug.

  “This should have been a perfect date, little Aimless. Thanks for inviting me.” He pressed his lips to my forehead in a kiss as chaste as a pope’s blessing.

  “Your boss must think I’m jerking him around. Will you explain that I didn’t know about the subpoena?”

  “I’ll tell him first thing Monday.”

  “Great. If I can get the family to withdraw the suit, I’d still like a copy of Cody’s record.”

  “They’ll only release a copy to the person named as next of kin. That would probably be your father, but you might bring it up when you talk with Jared Quinn.”

  “I’ll talk to him and my father. First I have to see where Dad stands on the lawsuit issue. In any case, I can’t think why he wouldn’t agree to request a copy of Cody’s record, but that’s not all I want. I want to know why Cody left the hospital the night before his surgery.”