“And Stan was perfectly open about this with you and Golding?”
Katie jumped up from her seat and began to pace around the room, gnawing on her thumb. “I’ve never spoken to Stan. I got all this from Nathan. He said Stan stumbled across him when he was taking those pictures we used in the slide show. When Stan realized what Nathan was doing, he offered to work behind the scenes for our side.” She paused in her pacing and looked at Frank.
“But something doesn’t feel right to you?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know if Stan really wants that money from the state. It’s hard to believe he’d turn on his own family to get it. And, like you said, I’m not sure why Nathan opposed Raging Rapids, but not the Extrom house.” Katie shook her head. “Nathan was very charismatic—”
“So I’ve heard.”
“When you were talking to him, he could make anything sound reasonable. But now that he’s gone….” Katie’s sentence trailed off, her usual take-no-prisoners attitude evaporated.
“What about Meredith? Does she have any explanations?”
“She’s nothing like Nathan. She can be very dismissive, especially if you question her judgment.”
Frank was silent for a moment before he began his final approach. “Katie, I don’t pretend to know all that much about South American politics, but I do remember a story that was in the papers a few years ago. An idealistic young American woman went down to Peru as a teacher or nurse or something. Somehow, she ended up providing shelter to some Shining Path revolutionaries. She got arrested and thrown in prison after a sham trial. It was pretty clear from this article that she’d been set up–the government needed to show it was cracking down, and the opposition offered her up like a sacrificial lamb. The two sides were in collusion, and the American was the dupe.”
Katie’s mouth had dropped open slightly. “Lori Berenson,” she whispered. “She’s still in prison there.”
Their eyes met for a long moment, two people whose preconceived notions about each other were crumbling away.
Katie shoved her hands in her jeans’ pockets and stared down at her boots. “I honestly believe the world would be a better place if Raging Rapids were turned into a hiking trail.”
“And maybe it should be. But think—is that all Green Tomorrow is after?”
“I don’t know. But I’ll find out. I won’t be played for a fool.”
Frank left the nursery school debating whether to go directly to Raging Rapids to confront Stan Fenstock, or hang back a while and see what Katie could turn up. He thought Katie might be more effective at ferreting out the truth, but he wasn’t entirely sure that he trusted her. As he walked back into the office, Doris began flapping her left hand at him as her right hand clutched the phone.
“Wait, wait—he just came in,” she yelled into the receiver. Then she turned to Frank. “It’s Trudy Massinay.”
Frank went into his office and shut the door on Doris. “Hi Trudy, any luck with Diane?”
“No. In fact, I’m getting sort of worried.”
“Worried? Why?”
“I called her home several times and no one ever answered,” Trudy explained. “I called the bait shop, and they said she hadn’t come in to work since she ran out on you. Finally, I got through to the father. He was very nasty, and said something like ‘the slut’s taken off with her boyfriend.’
“Then I decided to go over to the Rock Slide, since you said she had a friend there. The friend claims that Diane’s boyfriend has been out of the picture for months. She said she and Mrs. Sarens haven’t seen or heard from Diane in days. Mrs. Sarens wanted to call the police, but the husband wouldn’t let her.”
“So you’re telling me that–”
“Diane Sarens has disappeared.”
When Frank arrived at the Clinic, the parking lot was packed, so he knew what to expect inside. The receptionist responded to his request to speak to both Dr. Galloway and Constance Stiler with a grimace and a deep sigh.
Frank glared at her. “It’s important.”
“They’re both with patients—you’ll have to wait until they’re through.”
Five minutes passed before movement across the room made him look up from an ancient copy of Sports Illustrated.
“Stand there, Dora, while I make our next appointment,” a familiar voice commanded. Judy Penniman stood before the receptionist’s counter carefully prying an old lady’s gnarled fingers from their iron grasp on her right arm. The frail woman swayed and Frank poised to jump up, but Judy had the situation under control. Gently, she placed the woman’s cane in her right hand and propped her against the wall. The man closest to them offered his seat but Judy waved him off. “No, if she sits, we’ll never get her up again, right Dora?”
Dora smiled faintly, sensing a joke even if she couldn’t understand it. Judy turned back to the receptionist. “He wants to see her next week. Can you fit her in on Thursday morning? I already have an appointment for Nate Beegley then.”
“Sure, kill two birds with one stone,” the receptionist answered. “And we’ll see you again Monday, right?”
Judy rolled her eyes. “Yeah, Esther and her bunions.” They both laughed.
Judy never noticed Frank among the crowd in the waiting room. When she had left, Frank sauntered up to the desk. “Sounds like Judy Penniman is a regular here.”
The receptionist answered without looking away from her computer. “Yeah, she brings clients in a few times a week. She works for the County Board of Social Services—bringing old folks to the doctor is a service they provide.”
So, Judy Penniman also had ready access to the prescription pads at the clinic. As an LPN, she’d have some knowledge of the type of medication Mary Pat would need, but maybe not enough to realize how dangerous her condition was. Odd that two people living on Harkness Road also had connections to the Clinic. Yet, Anita claimed it was Olivia that brought Mary Pat out to Harkness Road. Could Mary Pat have made another stop on the way, or was Anita lying? But why should she?
Frank’s thoughts were interrupted by a pleasant alto voice. “I’m ready for the next patient, Stacey.”
Stacey pointed to Frank. “He wants to see you first.”
Constance Stiler looked a little startled, then smiled. “Certainly. Come on back.”
She showed him into an examining room. “We’ll have a little more privacy in here.”
“I don’t know if Dr. Galloway mentioned my previous visit?” Frank asked.
She nodded. “Yes, he said that Mary Pat had a prescription for antibiotics that he hadn’t written. I’m afraid I can’t help you, either. As a nurse, I can’t prescribe medications, and as Dr. Galloway told you, Mary Pat wasn’t a patient here.” She spoke gently and calmly, and ended her statement with a smile. Frank thought she’d be very comforting if you were sick.
“Dr. Galloway asked me to check our files again myself after your last visit,” she added. “The only Sheehan we’ve seen here is a sixty-eight-year- old male, Joseph. The doctor treated him for conjunctivitis.”
“That’s her father,” Frank said. “Dr. Galloway wrote Joe a prescription, which he filled months ago. That still leaves us with the question of how Mary Pat got the prescription for the antibiotic.”
“May I hazard a guess?” Constance asked. “Perhaps Mr. Sheehan took a blank from the prescription pad for his own purposes. The older folks on limited incomes are always looking for a way to save money. He might have seen this as a way to extend another prescription—maybe one for his wife—without having to pay for a checkup with her physician.”
Constance continued in her soft, reasonable voice. “He could have been saving it for a rainy day. Then his daughter found it and used it. He probably wouldn’t want to admit that to you.”
Frank supposed it was possible, but Constance seemed a little too pleased with the explanation. “What about Judy Penniman? She’s in here a lot. She’s an LPN.”
“Judy?” Constance’s brow furrowed. “What ab
out her?”
“You both happen to live on Harkness Road. The place where Mary Pat died. The place she visited regularly during her pregnancy.”
Constance smoothed her gleaming silver hair and bit her lower lip. “Ah, Judy. She has a very difficult life, you know. Her son’s therapy is so expensive. I’d hate to think that she would take prescription blanks and sell them, but I suppose it’s possible.” She pondered this for a moment, then shook her head and met Frank’s eye. “But, no. No, I doubt it. She can be a little brusque at times, but I’m sure she’s quite honest.”
“All right—one more question. When is the last time you saw Diane Sarens?”
Constance looked at him blankly. “Diane Sarens? That name doesn’t ring a bell.”
“She’s a patient here. A young, pregnant, unmarried patient.”
Constance tilted her head to one side and regarded him with bird-like puzzlement. “Really? The nurse on duty would check the weight and blood pressure of a pregnant patient before Dr. Galloway sees her. This girl must always have come in when Elaine was working, not me. Otherwise, I’m sure I would remember her.”
Constance Stiler displayed no signs of nervousness. Either she was telling the truth, or she was the kind of liar who could trump a lie detector test. “Okay. Thank you, Mrs. Stiler. Could you send Dr. Galloway in now, please?”
Frank stood in the doorway of the examining room to make sure Constance had no opportunity in the cramped office to prep Galloway before he entered. Stacey had obviously alerted the doctor to Frank’s visit, because Constance merely tapped on the door of the other examining room and nodded toward Frank.
Galloway entered with a scowl. “Now what?”
Frank saw no reason to be any more polite than the doctor. “Given any more thought to how Mary Pat Sheehan got that prescription?”
“I think it must have been the father,” Galloway said. “He’s been a patient here. He’s a short, stocky guy with reddish-gray hair, right?”
Frank nodded.
“I remember when I was examining him, I got interrupted. Some woman came into the waiting room screaming bloody murder that her son had chopped his finger off. I had to check on him, and I left Mr. Sheehan alone. Probably, I had just pulled out my prescription pad. Yes, I’m sure that was it.”
“So you’re saying he stole it in advance, knowing his daughter might need it months down the line?”
“Of course not,” Galloway snapped. “More likely he was planning a drive up to Canada to buy a two-year supply of blood-pressure medication. That’s what all the old people do—save money or die trying.”
This sounded a lot like Constance’s theory. Had they planned to give him the same story, or was it really the logical explanation?
“Maybe,” Frank said. “Now, there’s one other little matter.”
Galloway scowled. “What?”
“One of your other pregnant patients seems to have disappeared. I’m wondering if you can help me locate Diane Sarens?”
Galloway stepped backward and stumbled into a chair. He caught the chair before he fell and sank into it. Still, he didn’t speak.
“Let’s start from the beginning,” Frank said. “Diane Sarens is a patient of yours?”
Galloway coughed. “Yes, but she’s close to delivering. I turned her file over to the obstetrician in Saranac Lake two weeks ago.”
“But you’ve seen her since then.”
Galloway shook his head. “No.”
“Don’t lie to me!” Frank stepped directly in front of the doctor and loomed over him. “I saw you talking to the girl on the porch of the Rock Slide.”
Galloway’s eyes blinked rapidly and he shifted in his seat. “Oh, that…well, I just ran into her there.”
“You were talking to her for some time.” Frank didn’t know how long they’d been there, but it was worth a shot.
“She was upset. I just…” Galloway’s voice trailed off.
“Upset about what?”
“It’s confidential—she’s my patient.”
“Let me just see if I can guess,” Frank snapped. “She was upset about what to do with her baby when it’s born. And you were maybe telling her how you could take it off her hands. That there might even be a little money in it for her, and the baby would go to a nice rich couple. Is that what you were talking about?”
“No!” Galloway protested. The horror on his face was unmistakable. “No, it was nothing like that. I’ve been trying to help her. She’s got nothing to do with what happened to Mary Pat Sheehan.”
“Well then, explain it. And tell me where she is.”
“I can’t.” Galloway seemed to find some inner reserve of courage. “I won’t betray her trust.”
The radio on Frank’s belt squawked to life, startling them both. "Frank? Frank?" Earl scrupulously adhered to proper radio procedure; something must have panicked him.
"Trout Run One here, over."
"Frank, a call just came in from the Mountain Vista Motel. Mr. Patel has been shot!"
Chapter 27
"Shot? You mean in a robbery?" Frank was already out the door as he spoke into the radio.
"I don't know. Someone who’s staying at the motel called it in. I could hardly understand her, she was so worked up. I sent the Rescue Squad over there."
"Good. I'll be at the motel in ten minutes. You sit tight," he added, in case Earl got any clever ideas to head to the scene himself.
Frank flicked on the sirens and lights, urging the cars in front of him onto the shoulder as he sped past. Who would rob the Mountain Vista in broad daylight? For that matter, why would they even choose the motel as a target? Patel would be unlikely to have much cash on hand—most people paid for a motel with a credit card. Maybe the thief had been breaking into rooms looking for valuables and Mr. Patel had surprised him. He hoped the poor man hadn’t been killed trying to protect some tourist’s camera.
Frank soon pulled into the Mountain Vista parking lot, glad to see that the community ambulance of Trout Run and Verona had beaten him there. As he ran toward the motel, the office door opened and Roger Einhorn emerged, waving Frank in his direction. Then the volunteer paramedic disappeared back inside.
As Frank drew closer he could see something red on the sidewalk—not autumn leaves, but big splotches of bright red blood leading to the office door. He pulled it open, expecting the worst.
Mr. Patel lay on a stretcher. The little man's chestnut brown face had an ashy gray cast to it and streams of blood stained his beige pants. The right sleeve of his white shirt had been cut away and his arm was wrapped in layers of gauze. He looked bad to Frank, but thank God, he was alive.
"Roger, Mr. Patel, what happened here?"
"I have been shot!" Mr. Patel said in his high voice. "Shot as I go about my work in my own place of business!"
"Roger, can I get a statement before you take him to the hospital?" Frank asked. If there was any chance of catching the shooter, he needed information now.
Mr. Patel answered before Roger could open his mouth. "Yes, yes. I want to talk. Hospital can wait."
He turned his head toward Frank, "I am in the back taking the garbage out when I hear a loud bang. The next thing, a big force has knocked me over. Only a moment later do I feel a burning in my arm. I see the blood. I am shot!"
"Looks like the bullet passed right through the fleshy part of his arm, " Roger said. "He was incredibly lucky."
“I crawl to office, in case they shoot again. The woman in Room 10 is pulling in just then. She called for help.”
Frank could see part of a grassy back yard that ran for about seventy-five feet behind the motel before turning into dense woods. "You mean the shot came from the woods?" he asked. "This wasn't a robbery?"
"No, no. No one is trying to steal from me. But I know why this has happened."
"You do?"
"Yes. It is because of that meeting on Monday. Because I spoke against closing Raging Rapids.”
“But you wer
en’t the only one to oppose it,” Frank objected.
“Ah, yes. But I am the only foreigner to say this. They make of me an example, a warning, because I am Indian.”
"Who?" Frank and Roger asked together.
“That group, that Green Tomorrow.”
The ambulance tore away, siren blaring. Frank hesitated for a moment. Everything in his experience told him it would be foolishly risky to charge into those woods by himself to look for the shooter. He had radioed the State Police for back-up, but depending on where the trooper on duty was at the moment, it could be half an hour until help arrived. The shooter was probably long gone anyway.
He started making the rounds of the guest rooms, but apart from the woman who had arrived after Mr. Patel was wounded and called in the report, all the rooms were empty at mid-day.
Roger said the bullet had passed clean through Mr. Patel's arm. Frank took gloves and plastic bags from the patrol car, then went around back to look for the bullet. Immediately he saw a small round hole in the side of the heavy yellow plastic can, but no exit hole on the other side. The bullet was somewhere in there. Frank sighed and picked up his radio. If ever there was a project that he could use Earl’s help with, this was it.
Earl arrived within minutes, and Frank filled him in as they dug through bags of paper towels and soap wrappers and the remains of Mr. Patel's curry.
“So you think someone with Green Tomorrow shot Mr. Patel?” Earl asked.
Frank shrugged. “I don’t want to jump to conclusions. More likely he was hit by a careless hunter. He was wearing a white shirt, you know.”
“Yeah, except they’re still hunting bear now, not deer. And no one could mistake little Mr. Patel for a bear.”
Frank nodded as he shook the near-solid contents of an ancient quart of milk. “Still, people have been known to get a little over-eager waiting for opening day of deer season.”
Earl wasn’t buying it. “You don’t poach in broad daylight, Frank. Why shouldn’t it be Green Tomorrow? After all, they’ve blown things up out west.”
The Lure: a small town murder mystery (Frank Bennett Adirondack Mountain Mystery Series Book 2) Page 19