Treating Murder: Book One of the Veronica Lane, M.D. series (medical thriller)

by Gabrielle Black

  “So, you seem kind of young for 80’s music. How old are you really?” I asked. I hadn’t asked during the case, I didn’t want him to think that I was questioning his abilities. I got enough of that in the office, to know better.

  Jamie looked sideways at me and grinned. It was heart-stopping. “Twenty-six. Why? Blues is even older than 80's music.”

  I got flustered and blushed a little bit. Holy frijoles. “I didn’t mean, I mean, I was just curious. That’s all.” Crap, I’m six years older than him.

  Jamie chuckled and turned on the music.

  In a few minutes, we pulled up in the gravel lot of an old slightly dilapidated, white clapboard house with a purplish blue neon sign that flashed ‘True Blue Bar and Grill’ inside of a circle. It looked pretty seedy, and I was about to object, when I noticed that all of the cars in the lot were late model and there was more than one Mercedes. “This looks like your kind of place,” I said.

  Jamie raised his brows at me and said, “Shall we?” He proceeded to lead the way into the building. Inside, it was dim and smoky. The singer was raspy, and the music was genuine blues. We got a table for two near the front, slightly off to the side, and Jamie ordered a dozen oysters with hot sauce for each of us, as well as one beer and one Coke. Jamie plowed through his oysters, and then some of mine, as he talked about law school, and then the law practice where he had been for two years since graduation.

  I sipped slowly at my Coke listening to him. “So what did you do before law school?

  He shrugged and swallowed the last oyster. “Would you like to dance after all?”

  I shook my head. “Nobody’s dancing.”

  He stood and held out his hand, grinning. “Nobody but us.”

  “I don’t think that this is the place. We agreed to skip the dancing.” I demurred, suddenly freezing up. This was feeling too datelike. I wasn’t prepared. I hadn’t dated in years. Hadn’t thought about it in years. Don’t start hyperventilating, you idiot, I counseled myself.

  “Why not?”

  I put both of my palms flat on the table, as though the table would rise too, against my protests. “It isn’t the thing to do.” I had a little stage fright about dancing in front of a bunch of non-dancing strangers, but even worse, I was freaking about my own body’s traitorous willingness to get up and do exactly that with him.

  “It is exactly the thing to do. C’mon.” He pried my hands off of the tabletop, and started swaying slowly in a circle in the midst of the tables. There was no real dance floor. After a few minutes, I began to relax as I realized that no one was even looking in our direction. I still stood pretty stiffly in his arms and held myself several inches away like a grade-schooler at my first class dance.

  As the band moved through its repertoire, I found myself relaxing more in Jamie’s arms. It felt so natural as he pulled me closer. I could hear his heartbeat as I lay my head against his chest. He leaned over and kissed me softly on the forehead. I hadn’t been this close to a man since... Arrrgh. I snapped back to attention as I remembered myself. I had no business getting involved with someone again so soon.

  “I have to sit down,” I said backing away. Then, when we had seated ourselves I stood right back up again. “It’s getting late. I think that I’d better go.”

  Jamie nodded affably and stood as well, as he dropped a few dollars on the table. “You want me to just drop you at your house? Will you be able to get your car in the morning?”

  “Yeah, that would be great.” I said little during the ride. I was stiff and awkward now; the easy rapport we had established between us seemed to have evaporated. My thoughts returned to Steve. Steve was a different man from the one I’d thought I knew. Was he a man capable of killing Sarah? I remembered how I had felt earlier that morning-- an eternity ago-- the freedom from Steve that I had felt, and I looked over at the man I was riding home with.

  When Jamie pulled up in my drive, I fumbled to find the door handle on the foreign car, but Jamie had already leapt out. He walked around and opened the door. I held his hand to clamber out of the low, bucket seat as gracefully as possible, and he didn’t let go. He leaned down to kiss me and I backed away. Jamie reached out to smooth my hair away from my face, and his hand lingered, making my face hot where he touched.

  I paused, remembering the morning again. The heavy smell of the old garden roses by the driveway reached my nose. I looked up at the black, starry night and Orion’s belt winked at me.

  I took a deep breath, reached for Jamie’s face with both hands, and pulled him forward to kiss me. I couldn’t get enough air, my heart beat in my throat, and my skin flushed across my chest. Maybe it was the champagne mixed with beer, but I was ready to forget all about the past. We stumbled up the wooden steps leading to the balcony off my bedroom.

  Inside the room, Jamie held me closer, kissing me deeply as he slid his hand up my back to unhook my bra. My hand met his and more expertly released the clasp. I held his hand to the small of my back as I welcomed his warmth around me. Jamie unbuttoned his shirt with his other hand, and then slid his hand to the front of mine. He leaned down to kiss my throat as he traced my breast with one hand.

  I leaned my head back, eyes closed, savoring the sensations. Then, I opened my eyes and they landed on a picture of Steve. My body stiffened, and the sensations dulled. I stood up straight and pulled back.

  Jamie stopped, “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. Nothing’s wrong.”

  “Something just changed.” He looked over his shoulder where I was staring and then dropped down on the bed.

  I straightened my shirt back up.

  Jamie sighed, “He’s gone, Nic. You have to live your own life now.”

  “We don’t know he killed her.”

  “That’s right, it could have been you,” he said gruffly. “There aren’t a lot of other suspects here.”

  I sat down on the bed next to him and leaned against his chest. I wanted for this to be okay. I willed myself to move on. Why did I keep freezing up? Jamie’s scent filled my nose with a warm, musky fragrance.

  Jamie said, “This is the start of something new. You have to be willing to start again.”

  “Not tonight. I can’t,” I breathed. “I’m just not ready. Give me more time.”

  Jamie put his arm around me and held me tightly. I clung to him like a life-preserver. Eventually, he sighed and stood up, dropping a kiss on my forehead. He ran his hand through the back of his hair, making it stand on end, and said with a half-smile, “I guess I’ll just have to keep pushing until you are ready.” He leaned to kiss me good night, and I rose up to meet him for another deep, soul-searing kiss.

  “Good night,” I said, as he stepped out and I sank back onto my empty bed. I undressed myself and lay down, but of course I couldn’t sleep. My body was humming from Jamie’s attention. My mind was humming trying to figure out where to go from here. And my emotions, well they were just humming.

  Chapter 20

  Jacqueline called before it was light. Her voice was frosty. “Your car is still here.”

  “I know. Come pick me up.”

  “When did you get in?” she asked like a protective mother; or a wet hen.

  I shrugged to myself. “I don’t know. About two or three.”

  “Did he stay the night?”

  “No.” I said a little defensively. She’d pushed me to find a new relationship, and now she had objections?

  “When did he leave?”

  “Jacqueline, he just dropped me off. Now come pick me up.” I demanded.

  “Okay.” Jacqueline’s voice resumed its normal tone before she hung up.

  On the ride back to Jacqueline’s house, I discussed my plans to reopen the office on Monday of the upcoming week. Pam, from Risk Management, had called before Jacqueline arrived to notify me that my privileges had been reinstated.

  “I’ll need to find new cross-coverage for call. I can’t work with Zacker anymore. There’s a new group in town that just f
ormed. Maybe they need another in their call rotation. I’ll give them a call later today.”

  Jacqueline glanced at me and said, “I’m sorry that all of this happened. If I had any control over events, you would never be in this bind now.”

  “Thanks. Of course, I’m just as glad to know what kind of man Zacker really is.”

  Jacqueline nodded. She understood completely. As we pulled up beside my car, I hugged her and said, “Let’s have lunch together today. Will you have some free time during the day?”

  “Of course,” said Jacqueline.

  “Okay then. Call me before you’re ready to go so that I can meet you over at your place.” I said.

  ***

  I drove to Steve’s new house when I left Jacqueline’s complex. I needed to know how he was. Yes, he was my ex. Yes, I finally felt like I could move on, but his life had been trashed yesterday, and I felt like some of it was on me. His car was in the drive, so I went to the front door and knocked. No answer. I went to the back door. A curtain moved, and then the door opened.

  “Hello, Nic.” His face showed no hint of greeting.

  “Hello, Steve.”

  He stared at me.

  “I was worried about you,” I said.

  No response.

  “I didn’t mean for this to happen. Look, I didn’t know that was going into the paper. I would never have consented.”

  Blank.

  “If it’s any consolation, I don’t think that you did it.”

  “That’s great.” He said without a trace of emotion in his voice, and without moving from the doorway.

  “So why didn’t you answer the door?”

  “Reporters.”

  “Reporters?”

  “They swarmed the house yesterday. I thought that they were back.” His voice was rough.

  “I’m sorry. I’ve been worried about you.”

  “Too little, too late, isn’t it?” Rancor filled his voice. He backed out of the doorway. “I was fired yesterday. They called at 6 A.M. and said not to bother getting out of bed. That’s how I learned about this.”

  I ran out of things to say, but followed him in, uninvited, and sat across from him in the living room.

  We sat in uncomfortable silence for a long while. Then I stood up. I said, “I bet that you never ate today. I’m going to fix something to eat. Where’s your kitchen?”

  He pointed.

  I went into the kitchen and started looking through the cabinets and the refrigerator to see what was available. The cabinets were well stocked with food. The refrigerator held fresh peaches, oranges and kale. There were hearts of palm in a little jar. Hmm, how un-Steve-like.

  I called, “Have you taken up gourmet cooking?”

  He said, “I got tired of takeout. I’ve been watching Nadia’s Bitchin’ Kitchen on the food channel.”

  “Oh.” In the back of the refrigerator, I found an avocado and sour cream. “Do you have salsa and chips?”

  “Yes.”

  I grated cheddar cheese to begin building a layered nacho dip of refried beans, beef, cheese and lettuce, with guacamole and sour cream. It was a specialty that I had learned for sorority parties, and really one of the few things I knew how to prepare. Red salsa spilled onto the laminate wood counter as I poured it into a bowl. I sat the frying pan of hamburger off of its burner and began opening drawers around the room. The drawers held all sorts of culinary gadgets including a spaghetti serving size measuring device shaped like an artist’s palette. The silverware drawer held only three place settings, however. The drawer beside it was empty. I opened the cabinet under the sink to find nothing but the garbage pail.

  I called, “There are no dish towels.”

  “They’re dirty. Get a hand towel from the bathroom.”

  I had to shove the door back hard across a thick turquoise throw rug in order to get into the bathroom. The door gave way suddenly, banging the front of the linen closet. I examined the dent there in the wood, testament to previous sudden releases, then opened the linen closet door with a tug on the little magnetized knob. On the first shelf were towels. I grabbed a worn pink one that looked suspiciously like one I had once owned. My eyes lit on the second shelf as I turned to leave. There were a few plastic tubs, some toiletries, and a pair of earrings that caught my eye. I sat down hard on the side of the tub, and gasped at the sudden pain in my tailbone. I ran my finger over the slightly smaller malachite on one side. It was a difference that only a jeweler would notice, but it jumped out at me. I had been unable to find perfectly matching stones, so this had been a set that I kept for myself. What were they doing here?

  I got up and quickly put them back in the closet, closing the door as though I had never been there. In the kitchen, my hands were shaking as I wiped off the counter. Wordlessly, I finished the snack. What were my earrings doing in his house? He didn’t need them. He had never noticed when I had worn them.

  “Ta-Da.” I carried the heavy steaming platter into the living room, and smiled to hide my discomfiture. “Dig in.”

  Steve eyed me carefully, and then reached over to grab a chip from the dish I had brought in.

  “So what did go on between you and Sarah?” It popped out before I could stop it.

  “I told you that I didn’t want to discuss it, especially not now,” he swigged his beer.

  “What more harm can it do? I think that after all that has happened, I have a right to know all of the details.” I said irritably, while watching his brown eyes for any sign of violence. I was braced for any reaction, in the same way that I would be in an interview with an untreated schizophrenic. He no longer seemed to be the predictable, dependable man I had married nearly six years ago.

  “Fine.” said Steve sourly. “She was in your office one day, and we started talking. She was funny and warm. About a week later, I was making a call at Ness, and I saw her in the cafeteria. We struck up a conversation. Then we started meeting to talk. She always had plenty of time to spend with me. It was a nice change.” The despair burned in his voice as he described it.

  “When I broke it off, she started calling and showing up all of the time. She called in the middle of the night even after I made it clear that I was not interested. Finally, there was nothing else to do but move. She found me here a few weeks ago, and started calling again. I don’t understand how everyone keeps finding me here.” He leaned back on the sofa with a defeated expression.

  I watched him warily. I wasn’t sure what to believe. “I don’t know. Chapman found you before I was arrested right?”

  “Yes. Apparently he didn’t believe me when I said that you hadn’t killed her.”

  “So was it her desperation that made you hate her?” I asked, trying to ignore the thought that he knew very well who had.

  “No, it was her persistence.”

  “So you hated her?” I repeated.

  “Not really,” said Steve softly.

  “But that’s what you just said.” I stood up and pushed a curtain back on the window, and stared out at the flowering trees blooming in his backyard.

  “You want to know if I killed her. If you don’t know that, then you never knew me.” Steve leaned his head on the top of the sofa. His face was wooden.

  Maybe I really didn’t know him, I conceded to myself. I changed the subject. “Why don’t you give me a tour of your new house? I want to see how you live.”

  “Help yourself,” he waved. “I’m no tour guide,” he picked up another chip, and downed his beer as he got up to get another one.

  I got up and walked upstairs, curious about his new place, and hoping that a little more space would make him less surly. I poked in all of the rooms, most of which were empty and echoed at the sound of the door opening. The master bedroom had a bed on a bare steel frame, a striped Indian blanket that looked like it had come from a gift shop, and a chair where several suits were piled.

  The first floor had the kitchen, living, and dining rooms which I had seen. All of the walls were
the same eggshell white that developers paint rooms they have no immediate buyers for. There were no pictures on the wall, but there was a sprinkling of composite board furniture like that of a dormitory. Steve had several chairs and a scarred table in the dining room, and the only other item in that room was a small cardboard box which was still taped shut.

  Finally, there was the garage. I went out there. The car was parked outside and the room was empty except for a car battery, and next to that, I stepped closer to see the engraved initials on the handle, was my old solder gun.

  “What are you doing?” The voice just behind my shoulder made me jump.

  “I’m touring.”

  “Touring the garage? How do you like what I’ve done with it? Sort of a neo-traditional car abode? How about the black scuffs on the wall? It took hours to determine just where those should go.” His voice was sardonic, cold and humorless. He held another beer.

  “There’s no reason to be sarcastic. I didn’t realize that you would be offended if I looked in the garage. Why don’t you park in there?” My heart still pounded in my chest from surprise.

  “The door opener is broken,” he said flatly.

  “Why do you have my solder gun?”

  “I needed to make some repairs. If you want it back, please take it.”

  “Why didn’t you ask me for it?” I persisted.

  “You were at work as usual.”

  “When did you pick it up?”

  “A few of months ago.”

  “I see.” The hair on the back of my neck prickled. That was it. I had to go. “I think I’ve been here long enough. I’d better go.”

  “Well, bye.” His voice was monotone. Expressionless, like he couldn’t care less either way.

  As I started to drive away, I could see his face in my rear view mirror watching. I felt the familiar nausea brought on by my nerves, which had just begun to improve, wash back over me. My little, silver import seemed to bump mercilessly on what looked like flat road to the naked eye. The leaden weight that had settled in my stomach at the thought that Steve really was the killer, felt like it was tumbling around inside of me. I’d thought we’d done him wrong. Now I thought that we’d simply brought him into the light. I didn’t know yet what to do with that information.