“Thanks.” I hung up and stared back at the empty parking lot. Peter had sounded odd. Almost threatening. Wow, I really did need time away. I was getting paranoid, reading hostility into everything people said. Surely, he'd meant exactly what he had said: that time away would help get my mind off of things. Surely, it was nothing more than that.
I made my evening hospital rounds in a near torpor, and it wasn't until after nine that I finally arrived in my driveway. Inside, I went straight down the wooden steps to the basement, into a small, mostly unfinished room—my workroom. The arrangement of the two low bookcases displaying my supplies; the solidity of the beautiful, green flannel covered, slanted workbench— the antique pride of my haven; and the position of the pegboard all helped calm me. I sat down on my low wooden stool and leaned against the wall pondering my life. Work, sleep, work, sleep. There was a certain monotony there.
A brooch still lay on the workbench where I had left it after working on it a month ago. I picked it up and examined it. The curlicues were symmetrical around the edges, and the solder was placed with a surgeon’s precision. It looked good, slightly goth. For a long time, I just turned it around in my hands, contemplating each twist of the silver-plated metal. Onyx would look best over the solder points, I thought, rummaging in the bead box to find three, small, black stones. I'd bought them last year at a jeweler’s convention, on my last real vacation.
Steve had come on that trip. We spent the days apart as he explored San Francisco, and I went to the lectures on fashionable new designs and techniques for working metals. I’d browsed the booths for hours enchanted by the clever little tools and rainbows of stones. It was the biggest collection of stones that I had seen since a childhood trip with my father to the Jewelry Mart in Los Angeles.
The nights of the convention were spent with Steve. It had been almost like a second honeymoon. We’d had lingering conversations over candle-lit meals, and then slow, sensuous love-making back at the hotel room… I shook myself. That was over now. If I thought about it anymore I'd wind up a sobbing wreck on the floor.
I picked up my new jewelry soldering gun and began attaching prongs to hold the stones to the filigree brooch. The last gun had disappeared around six months ago, about the time my home was burgled. I could have just misplaced it, but I had searched a long time before finally buying a new one. It was hard to imagine a thief taking the little jewelry gun.
I realized the phone was ringing. I ran upstairs and snatched up the cordless.
“Hello?” I headed back down to my den.
“Nic!” the voice scolded. “Where have you been? I must've dialed your phone thirty-nine times. And why didn't you answer your cell either?”
“Hi, Jackie. I’m in my workshop.” Hearing my oldest friend's voice dragged me back out of my grim thoughts.
“I called to see how your day went.” Jacqueline sounded worried. “I’ve been calling all evening. I thought something had happened to you.”
“Sorry, I guess I’ve been preoccupied.” I apologized, somewhat chagrined that I was so predictable that Jacqueline would panic if I was an hour off my routine.
“I was about to come over and check on you to see why you weren’t answering your phone.”
“I’m upset about a patient of mine. She died unexpectedly, and I’m trying to sort it out in my mind. Pete Zacker apparently thinks that it was my fault.”
“Nonsense.” Jacqueline dismissed the suggestion in the tone of voice that typically swayed jurors in her courtrooms.
I said nothing.
“Are you still there?” Jacqueline spoke sharply, concerned.
“Sorry. I was thinking. You know, I don’t spend enough time away from the office. I can’t remember the last time I went out for dinner. Do you think that’s why Steve left?”
“Steve didn’t leave. You threw him out.” Jacqueline was firm.
“Mentally he’d already left. He just still slept here, you know what I mean?” I rubbed my temple, and started gathering stray bits off my worktable. I needed to go to bed.
“He did that because he’s a man, not because of you. You’re better off without him.”
I shook my head; I really didn’t feel up to hearing her rant again. I knew how she felt, and why she felt that way, but understanding didn’t make me agree, and arguing didn’t change her mind. “Maybe you’re right.”
“You know that I’m right.”
“I know.” I wasn’t going to argue. Besides she’d heard my views before too. I made my excuses and got off the phone as quickly as possible. I put the phone down beside me on the workbench, and sat there for a few minutes before I finished gathering up giblets of trash, and a coffee mug I’d left down here last time. I headed upstairs.
Chapter 4
Fiona Crawford was working late again in her cubicle at Kinder Health Care. She looked up at her clock. Eight o'clock. How unfair of Reid, she thought. He knew that they were supposed to have dinner together later and that that was the only reason she was still waiting around the office. Why burden her with extra assignments? Everyone else had left, and the sounds she made echoed around the large maze-like room…Rats. She was sure she’d seen one scurry past last week. And Reid wouldn’t hear anything about them. Not even if she called the exterminators herself.
Reid had said he wanted her to call about the case involving Dr. Lane. Lane had been pretty pushy about the whole thing like she usually was; of course it was her. Reid wanted Fiona to track down some of the Summers girl's family and let them know what Kinder Health Care thought—that it was experimental treatment, and that perhaps it should have been considered further before proceeding. Maybe try to pin the death on Dr. Lane. Fiona reflected on the conversation they’d had earlier.
He'd told her to say that it had been malpractice. “But, it wasn’t. Not really.” She'd replied.
“Look,” Reid had said, much louder than she felt was necessary. “Just do it. You don’t have to say it’s malpractice. You know what? Don’t use the word malpractice at all. We don’t want this reflecting back on us. Just tell them to look into it. We just want the question of the quality of her care raised in their minds.”
“Why are we doing this?” she’d asked. Reid had already sent her over to the hospital to check on Miss Summers before she died.
“Always the expensive tests and experimental procedures with her. American medicine, faugh.” He shook his head. “She is divorced from Steve too; I don’t have to worry about him crying over her now either.”
Fiona had shrugged and acquiesced. He was the boss, no matter what went on outside the office. And really, all of his decisions worked out for the best, didn’t they? Wasn’t her overseas account growing like crazy? So now she had to track down the family. She looked at Sarah Summers’ application sheet at the front of her file. Next-of-kin: None. Person to notify in case of emergency: Sheila Summers. She dialed the long distance number, and someone picked up on the second ring.
“Hello?”
“Hello, I’m looking for Sheila Summers.” Fiona swiveled around in her.
“You got her. Who’s calling?”
“Yes, this is Fiona Crawford from Kinder Health Care.”
“We’re not interested,” said Sheila.
“Uh, Miss Summers, wait. This is about a policy that has already been issued. It belongs to Sarah Summers.” Fiona felt twinges in her conscience as she spoke to the woman.
“Oh, what’s that got to do with me?”
“Do you know her?” asked Fiona, swiveling back around to unwrap herself from the cord.
“Yeah, she used to be my sister.”
“Used to?” Fiona prodded.
“She was married to my brother before.”
“Before what, Miss Summers?” asked Fiona.
“Before he went off. We don’t hear from him much anymore.”
“Do you know where he is? Or whether they were still married when he left?” Fiona persisted.
Sheila said, “I t
old you they weren’t married anymore. And we don’t hear from him. I don’t know where he’s at. Is this about him?”
“No ma’am. How long has it been since you heard from Sarah?”
“I don’t know. A coupla months.”
Fiona crinkled her brow. “Any idea why she would have put you down as her emergency contact?”
“Nope, ‘cept she didn’t have any family of her own.”
“So you don’t know what happened today?” Fiona shook her head. No one had even notified Sarah Summers’ contacts of her death. Surely they had the same information on the demographics sheet at the hospital. This would make her job harder. “Do you have voice mail?” Had the hospital people simply been unable to reach the woman?
“No. What’s that got to do with anything?” Sheila asked.
“Have you been around at all today?” asked Fiona, suddenly wondering again if there could be rats. The place was just so empty and creepy. Reid knew she didn’t like to stay after hours. She wished she could stand up to him better, at least on important stuff like this.
“No, I got a job,” Sheila said, with extra emphasis on job.
“Well, this may be a bit too much information for you to hear.” Fiona pushed a long, stray red hair out of her eyes. “Your, uh, ex-sister-in-law was in the hospital today for what we consider to be an experimental procedure.”
“Who’s we? You the doctor?”
“No, I’m with the insurance company,” Fiona explained as the muscles in her temple tensed and began forming an earsplitting headache. She shifted again in her seat. “She had an experimental procedure, and she may have been pushed into doing it. She had a very aggressive doctor, and, well, today she passed on.”
That was it. It was out. This should raise some questions in the woman’s mind. The muscles in Fiona’s face and temples relaxed slightly.
Sheila asked, “Come again?”
“She expired, Miss Summers.” Fiona stood up from the desk and started pacing in the tight arc her phone cord would allow. She massaged her temple in a little circular motion she had learned from her masseuse.
“What?”
“She’s dead.” Exasperation crept into Fiona’s voice. She sat down on the corner of her desk and tugged on the phone cord.
“What’d she die of?”
“We don’t really know. As I said, it’s possible that the treatment she began today had something to do with it.” Fiona stood up again. She couldn’t believe what was coming from her own mouth. This was what Reid expected her to do, what he had told her to do, but she really didn’t think it was her place to do it.
“Does that mean the drugs killed her?”
“Most likely.” Fiona paced to the end of her tether again.
“I think we oughta know for sure. I want an autopsy.”
“Miss Summers, I don’t think that’s necessary.” Fiona used her professional tone, but her heart skipped a beat.
“I want an autopsy. That’s what they do on House.”
“It’s really unnecessarily expensive. We know how very ill she was from the multiple sclerosis, and how much she was suffering.” Fiona tried placating her, the wench. “I don’t think you want to put everyone through that, do you?”
“Why? You don’t think she was good enough for one? You think ‘cause she was poor she don’t deserve one?”
Fiona flinched at the belligerent tone. “No, that’s not what I meant. I know nothing about her finances.”
“Well, it’s not right. Somebody dies, you're supposed to get an autopsy.”
“Right, fine.” Fiona said tersely. “Give the hospital a call about that if you feel that it’s necessary to have an autopsy.”
Fiona hung up the phone, and walked down the hall toward Reid White’s office. She stopped long enough to powder her face and refresh the lipstick that helped make her thin lips stand out better. She reapplied blush in dramatic, cheekbone-contouring chunks. Not too shabby, she thought, not too bad at all, and she turned back out into the hall.
When she got to his office, she saw Reid and Mr. Lane sitting across from one another in the spacious, carefully-decorated, and rat-free office. Reid was behind his huge glass and Ipé wood desk smoking one of those fancy cigars. His favorite black de la Renta jacket hung crookedly from the back of the black desk chair. Fiona liked it in here; it was so much nicer than the rest of the building, and she was the only one allowed in here out of the whole rest of the staff.
Reid glanced up at her, and she smiled at him and his sexy Creole face, ready to forget all about the phone call that she had just had to make. She glanced over at his friend. Funny. Mr. Lane was always easy-going. He was so different from his ex-wife. Dr. Lane was always disagreeing with her on the phone. She was usually politely, but unpleasant just the same.
Mr. Lane rose from a cognac brown, leather armchair, and moved toward the door as he said, “Let me know what you’re going to do there. I’m all in.” Fiona smelled bourbon as he brushed past her and said, “Good night, Fiona.”
“What was that all about?”
Reid smiled, appraising her coolly. “Nothing. Are you ready for dinner? I’ve got some very exciting news for you.”
“Is that so?” Fiona cocked her eyebrow, giving him an arch look and preening in front of the desk. She knew he was admiring her and she loved it.
“Yes, I do.” Reid smiled again, and came around his desk to kiss her and pull her against him. As he pressed her lower body to his, he asked, “Did you find any family?”
“Yeah. I talked to her sister or something. The one on her emergency contact list from her insurance application.” Fiona pushed harder against his pelvis, rubbing in the way she knew made him hot.
“What’d she say?” Reid’s hands squeezed her ass.
Fiona hoped she had Reid’s attention riveted fully on her body and not on what she was saying. “She said that she was going to get an autopsy, like on House.”
“You’re kidding.” His mouth snapped shut, and he jerked back from her.
Damn. So much for distraction. She grimaced. “Nope. House is the deciding factor.”
“Not a damned autopsy, that’s more money out the window.” Reid tugged his chin. “Oh bon dieu.”
“I’m sorry. Really. I tried to talk her out of it.” Fiona held up the palms of her hands in a what-could-I-have-done? shrug.
“No worries. Maybe something will show up there to discredit Dr. Lane.” Reid collected himself and waved his hand. “I don’t want to spoil our evening. Are you ready for dinner?”
“Where are we going?” Fiona was grateful to change the subject. She was not prepared to discuss how she felt about having to make that phone call.
“Italian?”
“Okay. Giuseppe’s?” Fiona smiled. It was their favorite place.
“Yeah, we can go there.”
“Do you want to ride together, or do you want me to follow you?” she asked softly.
“We can go together. I’ll bring you in, in the morning.”
Fiona smiled again. The evening was getting better already.
At the Italian restaurant, they sat together on the banquette. The host had taken them directly back to their favorite corner. Fiona said that was where the best view of the mural of Michelangelo’s Sistine chapel was. She loved to stare at the reaching hands. Sometimes they appeared almost about to touch one another, and silently, she cheered on the reaching man.
The waiter brought a menu, and Reid waved it away. “We know what we want to order. She’ll have the spaghetti marinara, and I’ll have the veal scaloppini.” He looked at her for verification and she nodded.
As the waiter walked away scribbling on his pad, Reid leaned over and touched her knee. “I’m sending you to another meeting in Port Au Prince. It’s in two days. I’d really like for you to go. I know that it’s short notice, but you’ll love it and maybe I can come join you in a few days.”
“I can’t get ready to leave that soon.” Fiona’s eye
s widened in alarm.
“Take tomorrow off to get ready then.” Reid shrugged. “You can pick up your car in the morning and start packing.”
“What about my clients?”
“We’ll cover for you. Don’t worry.” Reid smiled his confident smile. Fiona privately called this his snake charmer’s smile, because when he used it, people almost seemed to fall under his spell.
She nodded. “And the bone marrow transplant case?”
“I’ll take care of it personally.”
She cocked an eyebrow at him, “Okay then, I’ll go.” She reached over and kissed the top of his forehead where his hairline had receded.
“Good for you, sweetheart.” He smiled, satisfied.
Chapter 5
I awoke to the sound of the phone ringing. I rolled over and peered at the clock. Ten-thirty already. How nice to have spent the morning in bed. I stretched luxuriantly and yawned, feeling much better than I had last night. The phone rang again, and I picked it up.
“Dr. Lane?”
“Yes?” I sat up in bed. Few callers to my home addressed me that way.
“This is Pam from Risk Management. This morning we spoke to the sister of a patient of yours, Sarah Summers?”
I sucked in a breath. So much for my lovely morning. “Yes, I know who she is. I didn’t think that she had a sister.”
“She does, and she has requested an autopsy. She seemed concerned that her sister did not receive optimal care. She raised a few red flags and we’re afraid things could lead to a lawsuit. Usually we like to try to anticipate such eventualities. Of course, usually nothing comes of it, but it’s best to be prepared. Could you send us all your office documentation pertaining to the case for our lawyers to review, and possibly schedule some time to sit down with them so that they can get a deposition while her case is still fresh on your mind?”
I closed my eyes and nodded in acquiescence. I wasn’t surprised. “I’m not surprised,” I said. “I should have known better than to have tried such a risky procedure on such an ill patient.”
Treating Murder: Book One of the Veronica Lane, M.D. series (medical thriller) Page 3