Dr. McLaughlin exhaled heavily and shook his head. “Mrs. Hanlon, you know that HIPAA laws don’t permit me to discuss anything about my patients with anyone other than the patient’s authorized representative. Which”—he held up a finger before Kate could speak, giving her a knowing, almost impatient stare—“you are not. I’m not even supposed to acknowledge that I know the patient in question. Okay?”
Kate felt properly chastised. “Okay,” she said. “I’m sorry I bothered you. I’m just concerned for her.”
His handsome face hardened. “Kate, I know you’re concerned, but you have to let medical professionals handle this.” He grimaced, then let out a frustrated growl. “Am I making myself clear?”
Puzzled, Kate stared at the doctor. Handle what? She wondered. “Yes, but if she doesn’t have heart trouble, does she—”
He made an exasperated sound. “You should stop worrying about this.”
Kate nodded. She was sure her face gave away her confusion.
Dr. McLaughlin was watching her expectantly, eyebrows raised. His curt, almost angry tone perplexed Kate. She got the impression that she had done something to upset him, other than merely inquire about a patient. Or perhaps it was Emmaline with whom he was upset. Another thought flickered in her mind. Was he trying to tell her something he couldn’t say outright?
“I trust we won’t be having this conversation again,” the doctor stated.
“No,” Kate said, eyeing him carefully. “I promise I won’t ask you another single thing about, er, the person I mentioned.”
“Good.” It was nearly a snarl. “And you can tell the person you’re not mentioning anymore that I will be in touch with her.”
Kate was flabbergasted as the doctor turned away without another word. Was this the man Emmaline had seen? Heavens, he was terrifying! Kate watched the physician’s retreating figure in consternation. What had just occurred?
She sat down on the edge of an unyielding chair in a nearby waiting area, burying her head in her hands. Okay, so if she were to believe Dr. McLaughlin, she should stop worrying about Emmaline’s health. But wasn’t telling her not to worry just as much of a breach of HIPAA laws as suggesting otherwise?
And anyway, what did the doctor mean when he said “Stop worrying”? Did he mean, simply, that Emmaline’s health wasn’t Kate’s business? But just five days ago, he had said she was going to be “just fine.” Did he mean that whatever was wrong with Emmaline was treatable, that her ailment wasn’t life-threatening? That would be good news if it was what he had been trying to tell her. Or did he mean something else entirely? And why on earth had he gotten so angry when he’d learned that Emmaline had another attack?
Kate rose and began to walk absently toward the main hospital entrance. Then she stopped. Something had been tugging at the edges of her consciousness all afternoon, and now she remembered what it was. Spinning on her heel, she hurried back down the hallway to the emergency department. In the waiting room, she had seen something...Ah, there it was!
The current staff feature on the bulletin board was about Dr. McLaughlin. She had seen it on Sunday, but she had been far too distracted to absorb it. Now she paused, rapidly reading through the paragraph of information posted below the picture of the smiling doctor.
McLaughlin...graduated from—oh my!—Harvard Medical School. He did his internship and fellowship at Boston...residency at Emory, in Georgia...held a certificate in internal medicine, cardiovascular disease...the list went on. His special interests included heart-failure management, noninvasive specialties, as well as emergency medicine. How fortuitous that Emmaline would have been treated by someone who had studied heart disease so extensively.
That made Kate feel much better about what he had said. Whatever the problem was, Emmaline didn’t seem to have a serious heart condition. Dr. McLaughlin’s frustration must have been directed toward Kate. She must have stepped over the line in asking questions that created an ethical dilemma for him. With that realization, Kate decided she would obey the doctor’s instructions, not only to stop asking him questions about Emmaline, but also to stop worrying about her.
She wasn’t going to stop thinking about Emmaline, though, or praying for her. Especially since she had witnessed the doctor’s out-of-character explosion for herself. Ever since Kate had visited Emmaline in the ER, her mystery radar had been working overtime. She may have promised she wouldn’t bother Dr. McLaughlin again, but there were plenty of other ways to seek information. Something funny was going on, and she remained determined to find out what was making her intuition jump up and down and scream for attention.
Chapter Seven
Late on Thursday afternoon, Kate still was thinking about Dr. McLaughlin’s cryptic comments and his impressive résumé as she walked into the kitchen to contemplate dinner. They had lots of leftovers, and she had intended to clean out the refrigerator. But she wasn’t really in the mood for leftovers. So what could she make instead? It was only four o’clock, but that didn’t leave a lot of time for a creative gourmet effort.
The ringing of the telephone interrupted her musings, and she closed the refrigerator door before reaching for the receiver. “Hello?”
“Hey, there, Sherlock.”
“Watson! What’s up?” Kate grinned. There were few people in Copper Mill with whom Kate would rather speak than with her friend Livvy.
“I have a favor to ask.”
“Ask away.”
“On Saturday evening, Danny and I are going to a charity auction to support the humane society in Pine Ridge. I found a darling little black dress, but it needs something at the neck. Could I borrow that pretty woven black scarf you have with the red glittery threads running through it? I think it’s just what the dress needs.”
“Of course.” Kate was delighted that Livvy felt comfortable enough to ask. “I could drop it by the library sometime tomorrow.”
“That would be great,” Livvy said. “I’m swamped here this week.”
“I’ll be glad to drop it off,” Kate said. “See you then.”
Just as she hung up the phone, a peremptory knock at the front door startled her. “Who could that be?” she murmured as she walked through the large living room to the door.
The moment she opened the door, a whirlwind of pink and perfume came sweeping past her.
“Hello, Renee! Would you like to come in?” It was a joke, of course, since Renee hadn’t waited for the invitation. But the woman didn’t appear to notice Kate’s delivery.
“Hello, Kate.” Renee was wearing deep pink wool slacks paired with a paler pink twinset. Black patent leather pumps with at least three-inch heels and enough gold jewelry to outfit three other women completed the outfit. Without the leopard-print coat, which often dwarfed her slight frame, Renee looked almost elegant. Until one noticed the huge pink plaid handbag over one shoulder or the tiny Chihuahua she cuddled beneath the other arm. The dog, Kisses, was attached to a jeweled leash that dangled down to Renee’s knee. Kisses wore a pink sweater as well, with a tiny collar studded with pink gems.
As soon as Kate shut the door, Renee bent down and set Kisses on the floor, unsnapping the jeweled leash.
“There, my Little Umpkins,” she cooed. “Look where we are. Grandma’s house!”
Kisses immediately began running circles around Renee, clearly delighted to be unfettered.
“Would you like some tea?” Although it was a bit late for tea, Kate knew Renee would expect it. Mentally, she resigned herself to serving leftovers for dinner, since she fully expected this visit to consume any preparatory time she might have had for making something else.
She knelt, and when Kisses came rushing over to put his paws on her knee, she stroked his tiny head. “Hello, little man. Welcome to Grandma’s.” It had become a source of amusement to both her and Paul that they had gained a “grand-dog.”
“Tea would be acceptable. You know how I like it.” Kate knew all too well. “And a bowl of water for my Sweet Umpkins, of cou
rse.” Renee inclined her head, and Kate grinned, suspecting that Renee thought the effort looked regal. It might have worked if she’d been to Betty’s Beauty Parlor anytime recently. But her dark roots showed, marring the look created by Renee’s blonde hair and carefully applied makeup.
Kate went into the kitchen after Renee seated herself on the love seat, Kisses’ diminutive nails making tiny clacking noises as he followed Kate from the carpeted living room to the vinyl on the kitchen floor. First, she set down a small bowl of water for the little dog. Kisses attacked it as if he had been in the desert for a week. He drained nearly three-quarters of the bowl, and Kate eyed him with trepidation.
“I know what goes in must come out,” she said to the dog, “but I would appreciate it if you would wait until you get outside again to get rid of all that water.”
Then she rose and put a kettle of water on the stove. Working with practiced motions refined by many years of hostessing, she placed a pretty doily on a silver tray and set out Renee’s tea just the way the older woman liked it, pouring some warmed half-and-half into a small milk pitcher. She added the loose-leaf Earl Grey tea Renee insisted upon and the bowl of natural sugar cubes Kate had purchased after learning of Renee’s often and loudly stated preferences. She included a flowered china plate with several peanut-butter cookies from a batch she had made a few days ago.
Kate chose a teapot from among those she had collected over the years and filled it with hot water, then completed the tray with two pretty china cups.
Carrying the tray into the living room, she set it on the coffee table and took a seat in one of the overstuffed chairs at a right angle to Renee.
“So, what’s the occasion for today’s visit?” Kate asked as she handed Renee her tea and set about making some for herself. She watched as Kisses trotted across the moss green shag carpet and settled himself beneath the coffee table.
“Tell me everything you know about Emmaline Ashford,” Renee demanded.
Kate raised her eyebrows. “You know I don’t just give away details of other people’s lives, Renee.” Kate gave her an admonishing smile. “I can tell you she’s from Philadelphia.”
Renee fixed an unblinking stare on Kate.
Finally, Kate said, “What I know about Emmaline would fit on the head of a pin. She works from home writing for magazines, and she’s a very skilled artist. Why do you want to know?”
“She’s not very friendly,” Renee said, huffy annoyance in her tone.
Kate knew the older woman well enough to suspect there was hurt buried beneath her irritation.
Surprised, Kate echoed, “Not very friendly?”
“Not at all.” Renee nodded her head in one short, sharp motion. “I have called her several times to invite her out, but she always has an excuse. If I hadn’t promised you I would take care of her, I’d forget it altogether!”
Kate remembered Emmaline gushing over Renee’s thoughtfulness, so she found Renee’s statement puzzling. Then again, given Renee’s propensity for sticking her nose into other people’s business, it was surprising that she wasn’t rebuffed more often. Perhaps Emmaline had been put off by Renee after they had spent a little time together.
“She seems to be a very private person,” Kate said diplomatically. “Perhaps she’s simply busy.” Although in the five short days Kate had known her, Emmaline certainly hadn’t been too busy to spend time with her.
“I heard you were at the hospital this morning,” Renee said in a lightning shift of topic.
Kate shook her head, chuckling. “I swear, news travels faster in this town than rumors on the Internet.” She picked up her tea and took a sip. “So, tell me how your mother is getting along.”
Paul came through the door a short while later. Renee finally was getting ready to leave, and Kate walked her to the door. The moment Renee was gone, Kate went in search of her husband.
She found him in the office, thumbing through a thick text, mumbling to himself. “Uh-oh,” she said, smiling as she wiggled her way between Paul and the book and slipped her arms around his waist. “You’re hot on the trail of a reference for a sermon, aren’t you? I recognize the signs.”
“Caught in the act.” Paul laughed as he set the book aside and returned her hug. “How was your day?”
“Well,” Kate said, “other than Renee derailing my plans for supper, my day was fine. I did have a slightly weird moment yesterday, but I didn’t get a chance to tell you about it last night because of choir practice.” She grabbed the sketch Emmaline had given her. “Look at this.”
Paul unrolled the paper and immediately whistled in appreciation. “Wow! This is excellent, Katie. Who did this?”
“Emmaline did it.”
“I didn’t know you were sitting for her.” Paul studied the sketch.
“I didn’t.”
That got his attention. “Really?” he asked, lifting his head. “This is from memory?”
Kate nodded. “Paul, that’s the outfit I wore to the Bristol last Sunday. She has reproduced it exactly, right down to the scarf and jewelry.”
“She’s really good,” Paul murmured.
“She is,” Kate agreed. “But I have to tell you, I feel a little...unsettled, thinking that someone I really don’t know very well at all has been studying me so closely. She insists that she doesn’t have a photographic memory. And she can’t even seem to remember the name of the doctor who took her case at the hospital. So it seems odd that she’d be able to draw such an amazing likeness of me from memory.”
Paul stroked his chin. “I can understand why this would make you feel a little odd.”
“Then it’s not just me?” she asked.
“Not just you,” her husband confirmed. “It’s weird. Period.”
THAT EVENING, Kate went into their home office and logged on to the computer to do a little Internet sleuthing. Their dial-up access at home was so slow and frustrating that she rarely got online. But the library was closed, and Kate was curious. She Googled “Emmaline Ashford,” hoping some of Emmaline’s articles could be downloaded free.
The search engine ground on and on, showing the little hourglass icon for what seemed like hours to Kate, though it was only minutes in reality. Finally, the results popped up: “0 results for ‘Emmaline Ashford.’”
“What?” Kate blew out a frustrated breath. Must be the computer. She double-checked her spelling, then tried again with a different search engine.
A few minutes later, she was staring in perplexity at the same result.
“No Emmaline Ashford? How can that be?” Then a thought occurred to her. Emmaline had signed some of her paintings with her maiden name; perhaps she wrote under that nom de plume also.
Quickly, she typed in “Emmaline N.” Even though she didn’t know the last name, Emmaline was unusual enough that a search should pull up something pertaining to the Emmaline Kate wanted. After the usual lengthy search process, the results came up: “0 results for ‘Emmaline N.’”
“You have got to be kidding me,” Kate muttered. “Where are you?” She deleted the “N” and Googled just “Emmaline.” This time, the computer yielded results. But they weren’t the ones Kate was seeking.
First on the list were several sites dealing with baby names and the meaning of the name Emmaline. Wikipedia, the free online encyclopedia, had a biography of Emmaline Henry, a twentieth-century actress of modest acclaim. Flickr, a photo-sharing site, had some pictures posted by a girl named Emmaline.
But nowhere did Kate read anything about her Emmaline.
“I don’t get it,” she said as Paul came in to see what she was up to. “Emmaline says she writes for several magazines, and yet I can’t find any mention of her anywhere on the Internet.”
“On our dial-up connection,” Paul said with a grin.
“I thought the same thing. But it does the same thing the library computers do,” Kate told him. “It just takes four times as long.”
She got off-line and shut down the computer
for the evening. As she got ready for bed, Kate couldn’t help but wonder why she hadn’t been able to find any articles written by Emmaline.
PAUL HAD BARELY LEFT for the office on Friday morning when the Hanlons’ telephone rang.
Kate, lugging a basket of laundry toward the washing machine in the garage, blew her hair out of her face and hurried to grab the cordless handset in the living room. “Hello?”
“Good morning, Kate, it’s Emmaline.” The voice was cheery and enthusiastic.
“Good morning,” Kate said. Her thoughts immediately flashed back to the previous night. She was anxious to ask her new friend about her puzzling nonappearance on the Internet, but she could wait until she saw Emmaline. “Are you having another flash of inspiration?” she asked.
Emmaline chuckled. “Not of the artistic kind. But I had another great idea. How about if I treat you to lunch somewhere today?”
Kate thought through her day. Nothing urgent was on her calendar. The only thing she had to do was to drop off the scarf for Livvy at the library. “All right. Shall I drive?”
“I’d appreciate that. I’m still not feeling very confident about getting behind the wheel. I’ll be ready right around noon, if that suits.”
“Sounds good. I’ll see you then.” Kate couldn’t help wondering why Emmaline didn’t want to drive. Was she afraid she’d have another attack like the one she had at the Bristol? But Dr. McLaughlin had reassured Kate that Emmaline was fine, and she seemed healthy to Kate, for the most part. So what was going on?
A few hours later, Kate changed into a casual pair of khaki pants and a light blue blouse for lunch. Although it was a warm autumn day, she slung a navy V-neck sweater around her shoulders and knotted the sleeves in front of her. Restaurants were often chilly, and Emmaline hadn’t specified where she wanted to eat.
How the Heart Runs Page 7