Harry stayed calm. “I told the police she came by about ten o’clock Friday night. It was totally unexpected. I offered her a glass of wine. She said she wanted to start my women’s self-defense class the following morning and could she do that, did she need to sign up or anything. I told her no, just show up at the dojo at nine in the morning.” He stopped to sip his wine.
“Go on,” I said. “What else?”
“I asked her if she’d told the police about the stalker. She said no, she didn’t want her husband to know. She thought it might be a guy she’d flirted with a couple of weeks ago at the Natural History Museum over by the river. What kind of guy stalks a woman he meets in a museum, for Chris’ sakes?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Probably the kind of guy who trolls for promiscuous trophy wives like Bonnie Beardsley.”
“Good point.” His eyes shifted away from mine for a moment. A red flag.
“Anything else?” I knew there was something.
“She got a little weird with me as she was leaving.”
“What do you mean?”
“I walked her out to her car and tried to convince her to call the police about the stalker. She acted pissed, said she didn’t need me giving her orders. Then she went coy and apologetic, tried to get me in a lip lock. I disentangled her and practically shoved her into her car. Told her again to be at the dojo at nine the next morning.”
“Jesus, Harry. Did anyone see that?”
“I doubt it. It was pretty late by then. Maybe eleven.”
“Aren’t you even a little freaked out? What if the police think you did it? What if they dig up the old excessive force incident?”
“That was different. You were being attacked. I was cleared.” He shook his head. “I know they’ll have to rule me out, but I don’t know anything about what happened to Bonnie.”
“What if Marco Bueller gets his teeth into this?”
“He can’t. His brother is in prison because of you and me. His prior involvement in that case would keep him from being assigned to any new case involving either of us.”
Harry held black belts in at least three martial arts. He wouldn’t start a fight, but he had finished one in spectacular fashion one night a few years ago when I had a flat tire. He’d saved me from rape or worse by showing up just minutes after a couple of drunken thugs broke my car window with a tire iron, smacked me on the head with the damned thing, and started hauling me into the brush. I could have taken both of them if I hadn’t been knocked senseless. Luckily I had already called Harry on my cellphone.
My brother arrived on the scene in time to take one of them out at the knees and fracture the other guy’s ribs. Taking the circumstances into account, the judge cleared Harry of excessive force charges. Excessive force is what the law calls it when a black belt beats the shit out of someone. They were both sent to prison. The guy with the crushed knees was Tango Bueller, who ended up with a permanent limp. Problem was, his big brother Marco was an investigator for the Timbergate Police Department. Marco tried to convince Harry and me to put all the blame on Tango’s accomplice. He claimed his brother was high on coke and out for a joy ride, but he never would have assaulted me. At the trial, I honestly couldn’t say which one of them had bashed me on the head, or whether they had both dragged me out of the car, but they were both convicted of aggravated assault with attempt to rape. When Tango went to prison, Marco lost his bid to become chief of police. He still blamed Harry and me for his stalled career.
“So Marco Bueller isn’t allowed to participate in any investigation that involves either one of us,” I said. “Do you really think that would stop him?”
“It won’t come to that,” Harry said. “The truth is out there. The police will find it.”
“Maybe we can help things along.”
“Aimee, leave it alone. Bonnie is dead. If you stick your nose in it, you could end up just like her.”
“There must be something we can do.”
Harry grabbed my shoulders. “Aimee, listen to me. Someone killed that woman. We don’t know why, but whoever did it could do it again.”
“I’m right there, working with her husband. I can—”
“No. Absolutely not.” He got up and headed down the hall toward his bedroom. “Go home and get some sleep. It’s late.”
The lights were out in Amah and Jack’s house when I got home. I drove down the lane to the llama barn, hoping this mess would sort itself out before our grandparents discovered Harry might be involved. In my humid little studio apartment in the corner of the pasture, I tossed and turned until three in the morning, listening to my pulse pound in my ears.
Chapter 5
My hair was still drying when I reached the TMC parking lot Wednesday morning. I ran a brush through it and applied a fresh layer of power red lipstick. I headed for the employee entrance, but before I could open the door, I was stopped by the same security guard I’d met on my first day.
“Hold it, Missy.” Orrie Mercer held out his beefy arm, barring my way. “You gotta get cleared by Administration.”
Confused, I asked if he knew why.
“Not my place to say. I’m just following orders.”
The administration suite occupied half of the fourth floor of Timbergate Medical Center’s newly remodeled tower. It was nicknamed the penthouse and was as far from the Health Sciences Library as a person could get without leaving the hospital campus altogether. By contrast, the library operated out of the poorhouse, the oldest building in the complex. We coexisted with departments like Housekeeping, Maintenance, and Security. Since none of us produced revenue, we were at the bottom of the healing profession’s food chain.
On my ride up the elevator, I puzzled over why I was being asked to report to Administration and came up blank. I managed to greet Varsha Singh, Quinn’s elegant executive assistant, with a pretense of composure. She let him know I was there, and after a few minutes, he opened the door to his office.
“Aimee, come in.”
His walls were papered in muted earth tones and adorned with photos and prints of exotic birds and animals. Large plants—bamboo, rubber, and a few others I couldn’t identify—enhanced the tropical theme.
“Please have a seat.” Quinn gestured toward a small teakwood conference table flanked by two Havana chairs with dark wood backs carved in a feather motif. He took one and I perched on the pristine white fabric of the other, afraid the chair would judge me unworthy of its elegance and dump me on the floor.
“What can I do for you, Aimee?”
“I don’t know. Orrie Mercer said I should report to you. He didn’t explain.”
“Ah, I suspected as much. Let me assure you there is no problem.”
“Then why am I here?”
Quinn shook his head. “You can imagine how rumors have been flying for the past three days. Now that Mrs. Beardsley’s body has been found nearby, our security personnel are taking extra precautions. They seem particularly concerned with new faces. You’re the third recently hired employee who’s been denied entry this morning.” Quinn stood. “I’m sorry you had to waste your time with this. Since I’m still your interim supervisor, I’d better let you get back to your job. If there’s any more trouble, give me a call.”
Alone in the hallway, I reassessed the situation while I waited for the elevator. I still had a job, Harry probably wasn’t in trouble after all, and Jared Quinn was charming, single, and possibly even a decent human being. Don’t be too sure about that last one, I thought. He is a hospital administrator.
On my walk back to the library, I told myself I had probably overreacted by thinking bigotry on Mercer’s part had prompted him to single me out. From what Quinn said, all the security guards were acting with an excess of caution in the aftermath of Bonnie Beardsley’s death.
I had worked my way through my morning email messages when Maybelline Black arrived at nine o’clock, carrying a potted plant in each hand.
“Morning, Miss Machado,” she call
ed as she came toward my desk.
“Good morning. I see we’ve acquired a few more plants.”
“Oh, yes. I made the rounds this morning. Many people leave them behind, you know.”
“You mean all of the plants in here came from patient rooms?”
“Only the orphans. Otherwise they might be thrown away. A terrible waste, don’t you think?”
“Yes, of course.”
She found shelf space for the newest arrivals, then started watering all the plants in the room, murmuring softly to them as she worked. Some hung from planters, others sat in pots on top of tables and file cabinets. They seemed to thrive in our quiet, scholarly setting.
Maybelline approached my desk and placed a gorgeous violet on the one empty corner.
“There, isn’t she just the most beautiful thing? I’ve named her Veronica.”
“You named the plant?”
“Oh, dear.” She put her persimmon-polished fingertips to her lips. “I shouldn’t have presumed. You can give her a different name, of course.”
“No, no,” I said. “Veronica is fine. Thank you.”
Maybelline leaned close and dropped her voice. “I suppose you heard about Bonnie Beardsley.”
“Yes, it was all over the hospital grapevine yesterday. When did you hear?”
“Last night on the news. I found it ironic.”
“How do you mean?”
“She was trash, ended up where trash belongs.” Maybelline obviously didn’t have a problem speaking ill of the dead. I wondered what else she might say with a little prompting.
“It is sad, though,” I said. “Poor Dr. Beardsley must be distraught.”
“He’ll get over it.” Maybelline turned her back on me and began loading her book cart.
I tried again. “I understand he’s taking some time off.”
“Excuse me,” she dropped another book into the cart. “I have work to do.” Five minutes later, she and her cart were out the door. I wondered if she was feeling guilty about her theory that Bonnie Beardsley had run off with some man.
The morning passed quickly once I got absorbed in compiling a list of items to purchase for the core forensic collection. My shopping list was almost complete when my phone rang. It had been silent all morning, and I answered the call still a little tongue-tied, trying out my greeting.
“Aimee Machado, Librarian. How may I help you?” Dorky, but it would do.
“By having lunch with me,” Jared Quinn said. “There’s something we need to discuss. Can you break free in half an hour?”
“Twelve thirty? Yes. I can do that.”
“Good, I’ll drop by and pick you up.” The ever-present smile was there in his voice.
When I put down the phone, I discovered Maybelline hovering at my desk. “Sounds like you have a lunch date.”
“Not a ‘date,’ an appointment. Mr. Quinn wants to meet for lunch to talk business.”
“Well, don’t mind my saying so, but you’d best watch yourself with that man.” Her face pinked up and she fanned herself with an old issue of Urology Today.
Did I need advice to the lovelorn from a world-class gossip? Maybe. The best gossips usually dug up some pretty reliable dirt. She obviously didn’t share Lola Rampley’s good opinion of Jared Quinn.
“It’s a meeting, not a date,” I insisted.
“Hah.” She waggled a finger. “He’s a womanizer; you’re a woman.”
“I’m sure it’ll be fine. I make it a rule never to date anyone where I work. That goes double for my boss.” I waited a beat to see if she would dish up any dirt about Jared Quinn, and I wasn’t disappointed.
“I can name half a dozen women who think he’s crazy about them. A couple of them work here, and the rest are part of the so-called society set Bonnie Beardsley ran with after she married poor Dr. B.”
“Mr. Quinn ran with the Beardsley crowd?”
“Doctors, lawyers, architects. All the educated folk rub elbows when there’s anything high-brow going on in this town.”
Architects? Some of them, maybe. I’d never thought of Harry as one of the high-brow set. His idea of culture is a one-night stand with a ballerina when the San Francisco Ballet Company comes to town.
“Where’s the lady killer taking you for lunch?” Maybelline asked.
“I don’t know. Why?”
“If it’s a fancy Italian place, it’s just business. If he picks up fast food and takes you to the park, watch out.”
Forty-five minutes later, Quinn and I were on our way to lunch in his gold-trimmed white Navigator. I watched with growing apprehension as he turned into the drive-thru lane at McDonald’s.
“I hope you don’t mind fast food. I thought we’d drive over to the park.” Score one for Maybelline.
At the park we found a reasonably clean picnic table in the shade of a large oak tree near the river. The temperature had dipped to the mid-nineties, and the humidity was low, so we were able to eat in relative comfort.
I picked at my grilled chicken salad while Quinn tossed his necktie back over his shoulder and lit into his Big Mac and fries like a starving high school fullback.
“What time do you have to be back?” he asked between bites.
“By one thirty.”
“Any appointments this afternoon?”
“No, but I had to close the library when I left for lunch.” What was this about?
“Then you can take a long lunch. I’m pretty sure your boss won’t mind.” He licked at a dab of special sauce at the corner of his mouth. The brief glimpse of the tip of his tongue sent a shiver through my belly, reminding me I hadn’t been kissed in a long time. I looked toward the sky, grateful for the diversion of a graceful hawk soaring above the river.
Quinn followed my gaze, tracking the hawk’s flight. “Amazing birds, aren’t they?”
“Are they? I’ve always taken them for granted.”
“Most people do. Bald eagles get all the respect, symbol of our great nation and all that, but they’re not so different from the hawk.”
“Really?”
“Sure. They’re both raptors, keen-eyed predators who do what it takes with one pure motive—survival.”
I wondered if we were still talking about birds. It sounded like a metaphor for the life of a hospital administrator. Fresh out of conversation, I tackled the last few bites of my salad and drained my soda.
“Let me take those.” Quinn got to his feet, looking around until he spotted a trash bin. “I’ll be right back.”
I stood, brushed off my skirt and checked my blouse for embarrassing blobs of dressing. I ran my tongue over my teeth. All clear. Quinn was walking toward me smiling that killer smile, and I still hadn’t learned what this lunch was about. I could almost hear Maybelline saying, “I told you so.”
“Let’s walk over to the river,” Quinn’s fingers grazed my elbow.
“Shouldn’t we be getting back to work?”
“This is work. It’s a meeting. Why talk in a stuffy office when we can combine business with pleasure?”
“I’m a little confused about the purpose of this meeting.”
Quinn picked up a stone and skipped it along the water. “Your résumé listed jujitsu as a hobby. I used to dabble at it myself. Are you any good?”
“Third-degree black belt. What about you?”
“Not that good. I’m impressed.”
“Thanks, but what’s that got to do with my work?”
He turned to me, squinting in the bright sunlight. “I need your help with something.”
“What do you mean?”
“This Beardsley thing. It’s picking up momentum. The corporate office is nervous about the bad publicity. They want it resolved pronto.”
“How do they expect you to do that?”
“They want damage control. Dr. Beardsley hasn’t been charged with anything. He’s due to return to work next week. While the investigation is ongoing, I’d like you to pay attention to what he says, notice anyt
hing that seems off, that kind of thing.”
“You want me to spy on him?”
“No, just observe.” Quinn tossed another rock. “If I thought this would put you in any danger, even with your martial arts background, believe me, I wouldn’t ask. Beardsley has been on the TMC medical staff for twenty years. During that time he’s been a model citizen. Voted Chamber of Commerce Man of the Year back in the nineties. I’m sure he didn’t harm his wife, but her sudden death has to be affecting him. Grief often causes temporary changes in behavior, so I want to keep an eye on him, and you’re the obvious person to help me do it.”
This kept getting worse, but what choice did I have? The man I worked for had just lost his wife, who was murdered. Now, after only two days on the job, I was to report on him to the hospital administrator. Although in a way, it made sense. I’d probably feel safer knowing he was being watched, even if I was doing the watching.
“Okay,” I said. “I’ll do it.”
“That’s great.” His next stone skipped five times, and he gazed out at the river with a satisfied smile. Meanwhile, I noticed the hawk swooping down along the riverbed. It snatched a small squirrel in its talons. The rodent’s screams raised goose flesh on my arms as the raptor gained altitude and headed home with the bacon. It struck me that death is never far away.
Chapter 6
I had promised to have dinner with Amah and Jack that night to hear about their latest adventure. They were planning a trip to Idaho for a llama exposition, and after that they were going over to Washington and Oregon to look at some llamas for sale.
I found them out back on the veranda. Amah jumped up and wrapped me in a hug.
“Dinner is all ready. We’re eating out here. Don’t say a word until I get back. I want to hear everything.” She disappeared into the house.
Jack watched her, an affectionate grin softening his weathered face. In his early seventies, he had aged even better than Robert Redford or Clint Eastwood.
“She’s so curious she’s about to bust,” he said. “We saw the story about that doctor’s wife on the early news.”
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