Checked Out

by Sharon St. George

  By noon, everything on my list was finished. I locked the library and headed to the mall construction site to meet Harry and Nick. The three-story complex was no longer just a skeleton, but even with exterior walls taking shape, Harry estimated another two years before the project was finished. Nick’s F150 that had caught a bullet in Idaho was parked near Harry’s trailer. I parked next to it, noticing that the damaged window had been replaced. The day had warmed nicely after a chilly morning and the door to Harry’s trailer was open.

  “Come on in, Sis.” Harry and Nick sat at opposite ends of the dinette, each with a bottled sport drink and a submarine sandwich. Nick scooted around the bench to the back of the table to make room for me.

  “Did you bring anything to eat?” Harry said.

  “No. I forgot about eating. I’m not really hungry.” But the sight of their sandwiches set off a tummy rumble they both heard.

  Nick looked at Harry. “Got a knife?”

  Harry pulled a knife from a drawer next to the sink and a bottle of green tea from his fridge. He handed me the bottle and they each trimmed off a third of their sandwich. My lunch.

  Who’s first?” Harry looked at me.

  “Not me,” I said. “I don’t know anything new, except Seamus is still alive, or was a few minutes ago.” I looked at Nick. “I saw the pickup, by the way. When did it arrive?”

  “Two days ago. I dropped it off at the glass shop yesterday. They work fast.”

  Harry looked puzzled for a moment, then caught up. “Oh, yeah, the Idaho incident.” He glared at me. “I hope we aren’t going to hear about any more shots being fired before this is over.” He turned to Nick. “What about you? Anything to report?”

  “Maybe. It looks like we might get a match on the prints Aimee pulled at the compound.”

  I swallowed a mouthful of corned beef and cocked my head toward Nick. “Really? How?”

  “I called in a favor and emailed your fingerprint photos to a contact in Sacramento. He’ll run them through AFIS, but pretend you didn’t hear that. And remember, we can’t legally use anything we get back from him.”

  “If the prints are in the system, at least we’ll know who they belong to,” Harry said. “How soon?”

  “Don’t know. He’s only agreed to try.”

  Harry tossed his napkin and sandwich wrappers in a wastebasket by the door. “Okay, I’m next. I called Keely this morning. She was visiting Seamus in the ICU, but Echo, James, and Tucker were all there, too. I asked her to step outside where they couldn’t hear.”

  “And?” I said.

  “She said Tucker needed someone to help with the mounts when Seamus got too sick to work. They brought in a guy from out of state who’s had some experience. She said he’s bunking in the old groom’s quarters in the barn.”

  “Did she tell you his name?”

  “No. She said she’d probably heard it but couldn’t remember. She did say he and Tucker don’t get along.”

  Nick leaned back and gave me a sideways glance. “Looks like you’re the only one with nothing to report. That makes me wonder if you’re up to something again.”

  “No, I promise. No more heroics.” Then I thought about Cleo’s plan to go hunting in the archives after work while I was at the CME presentation. I told Nick and Harry what she had in mind and the possibility that DeeDee’s lab work had been misfiled.

  “Wait a minute,” Harry said. “Are you saying Cleo suspects foul play in the death of the cowboy’s wife?”

  “It’s unlikely, but possible. Except DeeDee wasn’t Cody’s wife.” I told Harry what James had said about Cody and DeeDee’s relationship.

  Nick pushed his paper plate aside. “Even if the trick rider’s death was suspicious, it’s a stretch to think there’s a link to what’s happening now.”

  “Maybe so, but you have to admit that if there is a link, we’re a step closer to solving this thing.” I reminded him that Echo O’Brien might be the link if we could be certain that she was Phyllis Poole’s niece, Caroline.

  “Unfortunately,” Nick said, “Poole made it clear that she’s not saying.”

  Harry opened his laptop. “Then let’s try something else. I wish I’d thought of this sooner.” His fingers were flying across the keyboard. “There she is,” he said. “God bless Google images.”

  I got up and looked over his shoulder. There were dozens of photos of Echo O’Brien, all with Seamus by her side, and most of them posed with big game hunters at various outdoor sportsmen’s conventions.

  “Okay, what’s the other name? Poole’s niece?”

  “Try Caroline Poole,” I said. “That would have been her name when she was working at the hospital in Idaho.”

  Harry entered the name and dozens more photos appeared. Some obviously too old, or black, or Asian, or just the wrong body type or facial construction. He kept scrolling until a young woman appeared with cotton candy pink hair and thick glasses with black frames.

  “That one,” I said. “James talked about a nursing assistant with pink hair and glasses like those who was in and out of DeeDee’s hospital room in Idaho.”

  “It looks like some kind of mug shot,” Harry said. “Maybe for an ID badge.”

  Harry pulled up the photo and went back and pulled up one of the photos of Echo. He used his photo editing program to switch Echo’s dark brown locks with Caroline’s pink do.

  “Can you take off Caroline’s glasses?” I said.

  “Yep.” Harry erased the frames and we all agreed there was no doubt about it. Both photos were of the same face.

  “Print them,” Nick said. “One copy for each of us.” He turned to me. “Okay, she’s definitely a link to Phyllis Poole, but we still need to figure out what it means.”

  “Right,” Harry said. “Echo’s married to Seamus and wants to inherit his estate. We also know she’s pregnant with someone else’s kid, but what’s that got to do with DeeDee Dakota’s death?”

  “And where does Phyllis Poole fit in?” Nick said. “She’s a woman who clearly gets what she wants, but from what I can tell she’s too smart to throw it all away just to protect her conniving niece.”

  “What if there’s more than conniving going on? Someone killed Cody O’Brien, and now Seamus is near death. What ties them together?” I tapped the photos looking up at me from the table. “It has to be the paternity of Echo’s baby. Cody knew and he’s dead. Laurie Popejoy knows and she was stalked and forced into hiding. That leaves Seamus. He knows too, and his survival depends on Phyllis Poole.”

  “But we don’t know how much Phyllis Poole knows.” Harry said. “I’m not taking sides here, but Nick’s right. She’s just as innocent as you hope James is until we know more about those prints you pulled from the bag the murder weapon was wrapped in.”

  “Hell,” Nick said. “We don’t even know if that thing you found at the compound is the murder weapon. Maybe it’s just a piece of taxidermy that went wrong.”

  “No.” I said. “I’ve called more than one taxidermy business asking about horse mounts. They use actual horse’s hooves. They’re attached to a mold of the full hind quarter, and most often, there are no horseshoes attached. That club had a hoof attached, and a horseshoe nailed to the hoof. Someone went to a lot of trouble to make that weapon, and to use the same kind of shoe that’s on Game Boy’s hooves. I think it was made for one purpose only.”

  “Premeditation,” Nick said. “The cowboy was doomed.”

  I nodded. “Keely was considered too unstable to manage the estate, and James said he didn’t want to inherit. If we believe him, then Cody was the main obstacle to Echo’s claim on the estate. Someone, most likely Tucker, took a shot at Cody, but he was only grazed. A hunter’s stray bullet could be explained away once, but not twice, so they had to think of another way.”

  Harry closed the laptop. “Let the horse take the blame. And it worked.”

  “So far,” I said.

  Chapter 33

  Jared Quinn strolled up to my
desk in the library at five o’clock looking like he’d just stepped off the cover of Esquire and smelling like the Garden of Eden. It seemed improbable for a hospital administrator to be good-looking and a decent human being, but he made it work.

  “How’s it going, Aimee? Are you ready to fly solo tonight?”

  “I am. Will you be there?”

  “That’s why I dropped by. I’d like to attend, but since Dr. Beardsley left you on your own this time, I didn’t want you to think I’m keeping an eye on you.”

  “Not at all. I’d like to have you there.”

  “Fine, then. I’ll save you a seat. I know you’ll be busy until the last minute.”

  “Thanks.” If things went south where Phyllis Poole was concerned, it would be handy to have Quinn there.

  I locked the library and headed across campus to the main tower with my briefcase full of notebooks, pens, and program evaluation forms. Before heading up to the banquet room on the second floor, I stopped by Cleo’s office.

  “Aimee, I was just trying to call you.”

  “Why? Is Seamus—”

  “No, he’s still hanging on.” She lowered her voice. “I wanted to touch base about tonight.”

  “Good. Have you had any luck finding names similar to DeeDee’s?”

  “I have two possibilities who were hospitalized back then. Both records are in the archives now: Deana DeGraw, and Delores McGraw.”

  “Wow. They are close. Do you have their chart numbers?”

  “Yes. I just hope the charts are shelved where they belong, or it could take a while to find them.”

  “Okay, good luck. The Dietary staff starts serving dinner at six o’clock, and the program begins at seven. Do you want me to call you with an all clear when Poole shows up?”

  “Definitely. I’ll be here catching up on some paperwork.”

  I didn’t like the idea of Cleo sneaking into the archives in that gloomy basement alone, but she was determined.

  “Come up to the banquet room as soon as you’re finished in the basement. You should get there in time for the panel’s recommendations.”

  “I hope so. If Dr. Poole gets raked over the coals, I don’t want to miss it.” Cleo smiled. “I’m going to look in on Sig before I go to the basement, but I’ll get to the program as soon as I can.”

  “Remember, Poole’s running the show, so don’t get your hopes up.” I left her to her paperwork and headed for the elevators.

  Dinner in the banquet room was cleared away by the Dietary staff at six forty-five. Phyllis Poole arrived minutes later, a dead ringer for C.S. Lewis’s Ice Queen—except for the light gray business suit and sensible shoes. Poole walked over to where Jared Quinn and I were sitting, thanked him for coming, and asked me if I’d done a sound check and whether the media equipment was cued up. I assured her everything was ready.

  “Good.” She frowned, looking around. “Since Beardsley isn’t here, who’ll introduce me?” She turned to Quinn. “Jared? Is that your task?”

  Quinn shook his head. “That would be Aimee’s task, Dr. Poole.”

  Poole’s frown deepened for a moment, but she recovered quickly. “All right, then. Let’s get to it.”

  “We’ll start promptly at seven, Dr. Poole.” I excused myself, walked out into the corridor and called Cleo. She picked up on the first ring.

  “Cominoli.”

  “She’s here,” I said.

  “Thanks. I should be there within the hour.”

  Cleo broke the connection and I checked the time on my phone. Five minutes to show time. I went back inside and sat next to Quinn. I had asked him to read over the introduction I’d prepared.

  “Looks good.” He smiled and nodded at the podium. “Break a leg.”

  I introduced Poole as Vice-chair of the Urology Department and moderator of the program. She walked to the podium accompanied by a smattering of applause. The head table was set up to accommodate all ten members of the Urology Department, but Dr. Tobias Fausset was conspicuously absent. Poole explained by saying he had been called away on a family-related matter.

  His family or Poole’s? I hoped he hadn’t been called away for good.

  Each urologist took a turn discussing the cases he or she had reviewed. No patient names were given, and their doctors’ names were not revealed. The medical history, indications for surgery, treatments, and outcomes were reported. The cases with complications were first, then the death cases. Even without a patient name, the circumstances of Cody O’Brien’s case gave his identity away. The reviewing doctor stated that the patient left AMA and was discovered dead the next day of an accident unrelated to his medical problem. I caught a shift in Quinn’s posture at that point. This was the case that both he and I had been waiting for.

  The circumstances of Cody’s case and the justification for his admission and planned surgery were presented. A disturbingly graphic photo of his injured testicle flashed on the projection screen. I heard a few muffled groans from the audience. Quinn blinked and wiped a hand across his forehead. No one would have argued with the need for a surgical repair. I was amazed Cody had managed to walk out of the hospital, load up his horse, and drive across town to meet Laurie Popejoy, no matter how much pain medicine he had on board.

  The evening closed with the panel of urologists who reviewed the cases giving their opinions about the quality of care. All of them gave their colleagues high marks. Members of the audience who asked questions seemed satisfied with the panelists’ answers.

  The final topic was a call for a review of procedures involving patients who leave the hospital against medical advice. Dr. Poole took the microphone to thank everyone for attending, and that was that. No disciplinary actions were recommended. The presentation wound up at nine o’clock, and Cleo had not arrived. The whole thing felt so anticlimactic that I was almost glad she hadn’t been there to see it. I hoped that she had found something important in the basement.

  I reminded everyone to fill out their evaluation forms before leaving, and by the time I collected them, it was past nine thirty. The room was empty, and Cleo still hadn’t arrived. I called Security to let them know it was time to lock up the banquet room, then caught the elevator to Cleo’s office, eager to learn what had kept her away.

  Her office was dark and locked. I knocked, but got no response.

  Great. I had to go down to that dismal room in the basement to look for her. I hurried over to the library, dropped off the CME documents, then ran back to the main tower. I didn’t have a key to the archives, but with Cleo still there, that wouldn’t be a problem. As I approached along the dimly lit, deserted corridor, I saw that the door was open and the light was on.

  I peered inside but didn’t see her. “Cleo? Are you there?” No answer.

  I wound my way through several rows of metal shelves, getting closer to the far end of the room, when the lights suddenly went out and I heard the door close. Damn. Not good. Probably a security guard making rounds, thinking someone forgot to lock the room. With the dim screen light of my phone, I spotted a shape on the floor. I knelt closer.

  It was Cleo, lying deathly still with a bloody head wound. My breath caught for a dizzy moment. Praying she was alive, I checked her breathing and pulse. They both seemed normal. A hopeful sign, but she still didn’t respond.

  “Cleo, can you hear me?” Her eyes seemed to move beneath the lids, but they didn’t open.

  “Cleo, please, if you can hear me, open your eyes.” No reaction. I punched the number for the ER, hoping the call would go through. I thought I heard someone answer, but before I could speak, my phone was knocked to the floor and I was jerked backward by a powerful arm circling my neck.

  I yelled toward the phone on the floor. “Dr. Strong to basement stor—”

  “Not another sound out of you, bitch.” My attacker clamped his hand over my nose and mouth, cutting off my breath. I raised my hands in a gesture of defeat, but his grip didn’t relax. I jammed my heel down on his arch and reached up
at the same time, trying to grab one of the fingers covering my mouth. I hoped to jerk it back hard enough to break it. Instead, my finger caught in something. I yanked as hard as I could to free my hand, and the attacker howled in pain, shoved me aside, and limped toward the exit door to make his escape.

  I felt something strange in my left hand as I reached down to pick up my phone. With the light from its screen I saw a torn earlobe with a hollow metal circle still attached. The bloody mess was stuck on my ring finger like a ghoulish wedding band from a grade B zombie movie.

  Cleo had not moved, so I illuminated her face. Her eyes remained closed. I redialed the ER while I walked to the exit door and flipped on the room light. I was told that a security guard and an ER doctor were both on the way. I hurried back to Cleo, patting her cheeks and rubbing her hands, desperate for a response.

  “Cleo. Can you hear me? Please, wake up!”

  Her eyes opened. “I am awake. I was awake the whole time. Is he gone?”

  “Yes. Thank God.” Relief left me speechless, but not for long. I was puzzled by her deception.

  “You scared me silly. Why did you fake being unconscious?”

  “I knew he was still in the room. I was afraid he’d hit me again if I tried to warn you, so I thought I’d play ’possum and let you take him down with that jujitsu black belt thing you do.” Cleo touched at the blood drying on her forehead. “You had me worried there for a moment, though. I was just about to bite him on the ankle when you stomped on his foot.”

  I actually laughed at the thought of fastidious Cleo chomping down on the thug’s hairy leg. She glanced at my left hand.

  “What’s that ghastly thing on your finger?”