Checked Out

by Sharon St. George

  A call from James O’Brien interrupted my musing. He said he had something to tell me and asked if I would meet him at Casa Loco after work. I agreed. He sounded unusually somber.

  On the heels of James’s call, I heard from Cleo saying she had something for me in her office. I closed the library and walked over to the main tower. I found her alone behind a desk piled with medical records and several of the black binders she used to organize minutes and documents related to various medical staff committees.

  When I walked in, she looked up from her monitor and held her finger to her lips.

  I kept quiet and mouthed, What?

  She motioned for me to close the door. I did. Her office was in a heavy traffic area on the first floor where people often dropped in unannounced if they saw her door open.

  Cleo reached across her desk and dropped a TMC medical record in front of me. I opened the cover and saw Deirdre DeGraw’s name. DeeDee Dakota’s medical record, at last.

  “How did—”

  Cleo shook her head and whispered, “Don’t ask.” She pointed at the chart. “You have ten minutes. Hurry up.” No matter how she’d gotten it, she must have taken a big risk.

  I felt blood rush to my face. I sat in her visitor’s chair racing through the pages from the hospital in Idaho, looking for anything documenting people who had worked in DeeDee’s hospital room. Particularly Phyllis Poole or her foster niece, Caroline.

  Laurie Popejoy’s Aunt Brenda turned up right away. She had told me she was DeeDee’s primary nurse, so that was no surprise. There were a few other names, all unfamiliar. A neurologist, a radiologist, an orthopedist. She was admitted on a Saturday night around nine o’clock. Nothing in the early hours of her admission indicated a coma. The tentative diagnosis was concussion, but DeeDee was awake and responsive. Another twenty-four hours of observation in the hospital was recommended. She hadn’t slipped into a coma until the morning she was due to be discharged.

  “Aimee,” Cleo hissed. “Five more minutes.”

  I scanned through more pages until finally a handwritten signature in a box under a checklist of duties performed by a nursing assistant jumped out at me: Caroline Poole. Alias Echo O’Brien?

  I walked around Cleo’s desk and pointed at the signature. “Look at this.” She shrugged, and her puzzled look reminded me that I hadn’t had a chance to tell her about Dr. Poole’s foster niece, Caroline.

  “Time’s up.” Cleo reached for the chart and I stepped back, holding it to my chest.

  “Aimee,” she whispered. “Give it back. I have to—”

  Her office door opened and Jared Quinn walked in. I closed the chart and dropped it on Cleo’s desk.

  “Aimee, this is serendipity,” Quinn said. “After I sign a few forms for Cleo, may I walk you back to the library?”

  “Yes, but I was just explaining a fine point of forensics to Cleo about the different types of autopsies. A medical autopsy is different from a medical-legal autopsy.” I prayed she’d get my message. “The coroner may not require the full toxicology exam if the cause of death is not a sudden, unexplained death or an obvious homicide or suicide.”

  “Aimee’s my forensics tutor,” Cleo said. “I find it helpful.”

  “Good to hear,” Quinn said. “Now let’s see what you have for me.”

  Cleo pointed out the appropriate lines on several forms needing Quinn’s signature. While he jotted his name on each, she gave me a look and mouthed, Autopsy? I nodded. She nodded back.

  Quinn and I walked across the hospital campus toward the library under an overcast sky. He seemed thoughtful and I wondered what was on his mind. A brisk wind nipped the air. We picked up our pace, skirting around a Life Support Unit pulling in from the street entrance. Minutes later we were alone in the library.

  “Any luck making contact with Tobias Fausset?” Quinn said.

  The discovery of Dr. Poole’s foster niece, Caroline, had pushed the whereabouts of Dr. Fausset to the back burner, and nearly off the stove altogether.

  “No, but I’m sure he’ll be in touch.”

  “His office manager implied he’s taking personal time,” Quinn said. “That usually translates to mean it’s nobody’s business where he is or why. I just don’t like the timing. Seems odd, doesn’t it?”

  “It does. Almost like something unexpected happened.”

  “If we don’t hear from Fausset by tomorrow noon, you’ll have to ask the vice chairman of the Urology Department to step up and run tomorrow night’s CME program. I’m not even sure who that is, but you’d better alert him just in case.”

  “I’ll take care of it. Anything else?”

  “That’s all for now. Say hello—”

  “I know. The llamas.”

  At five minutes to closing time, I called Cleo to see if she knew the name of the vice chairman of the Urology Department. I explained that I might need the vice chair to preside over the CME program.

  “Well, that should be interesting.” I heard a strange rasp in her voice.

  “Why?”

  “Because the vice chair of the Urology Department is Dr. Phyllis Poole.”

  Chapter 28

  James was waiting in Casa Loco’s foyer when I arrived at five thirty. We took a booth with a window view of the cactus garden. The sight of the prickly needles reflected my state of mind. Our orders were taken, and drinks delivered—white wine for me, Dos Equis for James. Dressed in a black leather jacket over a pristine white shirt with a loose tie at his neck, he looked like what he was, a New York City producer. The lighting in the restaurant sparked red-gold highlights in his wavy hair.

  James got right to the point. “Thank you for coming. I hope you won’t be too shocked by what I’m about to tell you.”

  I didn’t like the sound of that. Just then our waiter appeared to ask if we wanted to order dinner. We both gave him a quick negative. He seemed to sense the tension at our table and left without another word.

  “You were saying?” I said.

  “Damn, Aimee. This is going to be harder than any confession I ever made to a priest.”

  “I’m no priest, James. I can’t absolve you, and I can’t promise to protect your secrets. Keep that in mind before you bare your soul.” My heart was beating so hard I seemed to bounce in my chair.

  “It’s nothing like that,” he said. “I haven’t murdered anyone, but I’ve carried a boatload of guilt with me for a long time.”

  The breath I’d been holding rushed from my lungs in an audible sigh. “I can’t imagine you doing anything to trigger that degree of guilt. Not the James O’Brien I remember.”

  “The former altar boy? The good Catholic?” James asked. “Do you remember the ninth commandment?

  “The Catholic version? Sure. Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor’s wife.” It took a beat before I realized where he was going with this. “Oh, your brother’s wife. DeeDee Dakota.”

  “I loved her, Aimee. God help me. I think I still do.”

  Was this how a priest felt hearing a confession? Obliged to wait for more information, but dreading what he might hear? Brenda McClurg had observed James at DeeDee’s bedside in Idaho appearing to be more worried and more devoted to her than Cody had been. Where had that devotion led James?

  “James, please look at me.” I touched the back of his hand. “Loving your brother’s wife is understandable. I’m relieved if that’s your worst sin. You said you haven’t murdered anyone and I believe you. Is there anything more on your conscience?”

  James glanced out the window at the cactus garden. “There was more than coveting going on back then. DeeDee and I were in love. Waiting for the right moment to tell Cody.”

  “But they were the famous rodeo sweethearts. Was DeeDee going to ask for a divorce?”

  “She didn’t have to. They were never married.”

  “What?” I stared at James.

  “It was an elaborate ruse that got out of hand. Cody was never husband material. He did a lot of drinking and part
ying. DeeDee put up with it for the first year or so because she was in love. Then she stayed with him, pretending they were married because of pressure from their agents. Their celebrity as rodeo sweethearts translated into big money in appearances and endorsements. DeeDee finally confided in me, admitting that she was unhappy. I commiserated, because my marriage was a disaster by then. From that start, we grew close, then fell very much in love.”

  I was getting in way over my head, but it was too late to turn back.

  “Did Cody find out about your affair before DeeDee died?” Surely Cody hadn’t been involved in DeeDee’s unexpected spiral into a coma and death.

  “No, Cody claimed he was scared straight by DeeDee’s accident. He’d been flirting with a rodeo groupie there in Dunnsville. When DeeDee was hurt, he shut that down immediately.”

  “Flirting? Is that all it was?”

  “Do I really have to spell it out?”

  “It would help.” I needed every detail James could provide.

  “Cody swore it was a one night stand and told me he was going to marry DeeDee and be a model husband from then on. I figured he deserved one more chance, and so did DeeDee. I swallowed my bitter pill and vowed to step aside. I figured if Cody could man up, so could I. He never knew about DeeDee and me.”

  “Do you know who the woman was? Cody’s fling?”

  “No idea. There are so many rodeo groupies around that the cowboys are like kids in a candy store. Some women even follow the rodeo circuit and stalk their favorites. That’s why the wives who care stick damn close to their men.”

  James had answered my most important question when he said he hadn’t killed anyone. I had one more question. I waited while he ordered another round of drinks, then I plunged ahead.

  “You said you saw Phyllis Poole in DeeDee’s hospital room. Do you recall seeing anyone else on the hospital staff?”

  “There was a black woman—the head nurse, I think. She was in the room several times a day.” Brenda McClurg, Laurie Popejoy’s aunt.

  “Anyone else?” I didn’t want to feed him Caroline Poole’s name. If he had seen her in DeeDee’s room, why wouldn’t he recognize her as his father’s wife?

  “There was one young woman,” James said. “She helped DeeDee to the bathroom and did simple tasks like refilling the paper towel dispenser. I didn’t pay much attention.”

  “Do you remember what she looked like?”

  “I usually left the room when any of the hospital staff came in, but I do remember that particular woman because she seemed so out of place. She had pink hair the color of cotton candy and glasses with big black frames. The glasses weren’t a big deal, but the hair made me wonder how she got her job.”

  How she got her job, indeed. Jackie Poole was the answer to that question.

  “You never heard her name?” I said.

  “I don’t think so. If I did, I doubt I would have remembered.”

  Was it really possible he’d seen Caroline Poole in that hospital and hadn’t recognized her when she turned up as Echo O’Brien, married to his father? Had Seamus’s young wife infiltrated his family like a cancer, spreading her malignant tentacles from Idaho to Timbergate?

  I wanted so much to believe James, but his denial about recognizing Echo left a shred of doubt about his innocence. Until I was sure he wasn’t part of a master plan about the O’Brien fortune, I couldn’t tell him what I suspected.

  “Why all these questions?” James gave me a puzzled look. “I have a feeling there’s something you’re holding back.”

  James was right, but what could I tell him that wouldn’t jeopardize the progress Nick, Harry, and I had made? Something that wouldn’t alert him if he was mixed up in a family conspiracy. I did a quick rewind of all the evidence we’d uncovered, scrambling for something to say.

  “Nick and Harry and I have done a lot of investigating on our own, hoping to confirm that Cody’s death was an accident. It seems pretty clear there’s no evidence of foul play. It looks like both he and DeeDee were killed by their horses, and that’s that.” I reached for my purse, ready to leave.

  “Wait,” he said. “What about Cody’s call to me from TMC? He said he had something important to tell me. We have every reason to believe it was about Echo’s pregnancy and Dad’s will. Now Cody’s dead. You might think that’s a coincidence and the shot someone took at him was a hunting accident, but I’m not convinced, and I’m not going back to New York while my father is in the hospital fighting for his life. Not while that cold, scheming … God, Aimee. Don’t you see? We can’t let Echo destroy my father’s legacy while he’s helpless to fight her.”

  “I’m sorry. I don’t know what else to say.”

  James stood. “This isn’t over, Aimee. You and Harry and your boyfriend can think what you want.” He dropped some bills on the table and said again, “This isn’t over.” He strode out of Casa Loco while I sat watching his back, feeling eight years old again and wanting his approval the way I had as a child. I wished I could tell him the truth.

  Chapter 29

  Nick’s car was parked at the main house when I reached Coyote Creek, so I pulled in next to it. I needed a sounding board after what I’d heard from James.

  The door opened just as I reached out to ring the bell.

  “I saw you drive up. What’s going on?” Nick held a soup ladle in his hand. “I was about to sit down with a bowl of Jack’s trout chowder. I found it in the freezer. There’s plenty if you want to join me.”

  “No, thanks, not hungry.” I had eaten some appetizers to soak up the wine before driving home. “I wanted to brainstorm, but I just realized it’s almost dark and I haven’t done the chores.”

  “No problem. I did the chores. The llamas and turkeys are already fed and watered. You might as well come on in.”

  Score a point for Nick. He could be so thoughtful and generous. But his thoughtfulness was part of our problem. Thanks to his generosity, Rella was still living in his apartment. After our talk about trust back in Idaho, it was hard to admit how that bothered me. Get over it, I thought. I wished I knew how.

  “Thanks for doing that. Do you have coffee made?”

  “Fresh ten minutes ago.” He poured a cup and handed it to me. “You can talk while I eat. I get that this isn’t strictly a social call.”

  “No. I’m on information overload. There are too many pieces to this puzzle.” I was counting on his help to sort out our newest evidence.

  We sat across from each other at the antique oak table in Amah’s kitchen nook. I told him everything I’d learned from James, starting with the fact that Cody and DeeDee were never married. Nick had finished eating by the time I got to the part where James admitted his love for DeeDee and their affair. Nick’s eyes narrowed when I said I was almost certain James hadn’t played any part in Cody’s death.

  “You’re not the best judge of that, Aimee. He was your first big crush. Of course you want him to be innocent. He could be mixed up with either Keely or Echo in some plot to inherit the estate.” Nick went to the sink to rinse his bowl. I watched his back and wondered if either of us was being objective.

  “What you say is possible, of course, but I’m still convinced James isn’t involved.”

  He dried the bowl and set it aside. “Come on. You’re the one who told me about his financial straits. Combine that with his affair with Cody’s wife, and you have a couple of strong motives.”

  “She wasn’t Cody’s wife, remember?”

  “You’re splitting hairs. She was his brother’s woman.”

  “Okay, but James was in New York when Cody died.”

  “I’m not saying he did the deed himself. You don’t want to know how cheap and easy it is to hire a freelancer.”

  “A hit man? In Sawyer County?”

  “That term ‘hit man’ implies a level of professionalism. I’m talking about some low-life scumbag who needs a few thousand bucks to support his meth habit.”

  “What hired killer would hav
e been clever enough to make Cody’s death look like a horse kicked him in the head?”

  Nick came back to the table. “Good question. Not clever enough, since you seem to think the bruise doesn’t quite match Game Boy’s shoes.”

  “Right, the missing horseshoe nails. The problem is, I can’t see how anyone could grip a horseshoe and whack it on someone’s head hard enough to cause that kind of fatal wound. It would be too awkward.”

  “I agree,” Nick said. “But according to Laurie Popejoy, someone came up behind them while they were parked along I-5 that night. She insists Cody wasn’t kicked by the horse, so whoever did the deed found a way to make it look like he was.”

  “Which means it was premeditated.” I got up to heat my cold coffee. “That doesn’t bode well for the culprit when he’s caught.”

  The doorbell rang while my cup was in the microwave. I looked out the peephole. Harry stood on the porch. Good timing. We could use his input. I opened the door.

  “You’re just in time. Nick and I are comparing notes.”

  “That’s why I’m here, big sister.” He patted the top of my head, an annoying reminder that I might be two years older, but he was eight inches taller. “Nick called me when he saw you pull in the driveway.” Harry sniffed. “I smell food. Am I too late for dinner?”

  Nick filled a bowl with chowder and nuked it for Harry. While he ate, we filled him in on my conversation with James.

  Harry set his spoon and empty bowl aside. “Okay, since we know the when and where, why don’t we start with the how and see if it tells us the who and the why.” He looked at Nick, and then at me. “Would one of you please write this down?”

  Nick nodded at me. “You want to do the honors?”

  I suppressed a comment about women’s work and found paper and a pen in Amah’s desk alcove in the kitchen. “Okay, go ahead.”

  “Horseshoe,” Harry said. “Write that down.” I wrote.

  “Weapon.” I wrote.

  “Know-how.” I wrote.