Royal Pains : Sick Rich (9781101559536)

by Lyle, D. P.

  “Perhaps. But for you it would be perfect.”

  “But I’m a spy. That’s so much cooler than being a robber.”

  “And of course you are a superspy,” Divya said.

  Evan looked toward where his cell phone lay beneath the lamp next to the sofa and took a step in that direction.

  Divya stopped him by saying, “Don’t you dare.”

  Evan shrugged. “Not necessary anyway. Everyone knows that Evan R. Lawson is a superspy.”

  “And a modest one,” Divya fired back.

  “Who got the critical information from StellarCare?” Evan asked.

  Evan never lets go of his victories, big or little. He holds on to them forever. I guess we all do that; Evan just does it with passion. The truth was that he did indeed get the crucial information we needed to resolve the Julian Morelli affair.

  Divya rolled her eyes. “You did.”

  “Yes, I did.” Evan began spooning the stuffing and the apples into serving bowls. “Dinnertime.”

  Jill helped Evan carry the serving dishes to the table and we all sat.

  Evan had outdone himself. The chicken was perfect, the apples sweet and rich, and the Sally Lunn bread light and yeasty.

  “Excellent,” I said.

  “Maybe you should go as a baker?” Divya said.

  “And what would you be? A tavern wench?”

  “Not likely.” She took a bite of stuffing. “What would a baker wear?”

  “An apron,” I said. “Just not one that says ‘Kiss the cook.’”

  “Maybe a puffy hat,” Jill added.

  “Did they wear puffy hats back then?” Divya asked.

  Evan hesitated a beat as if considering that and then shook his head. “No, I should be a spy.”

  “Maybe a baker-spy,” Divya said. “You could wear the hat and a cape and steal recipes.”

  Everyone laughed.

  “Maybe we should consider the highwayman thing,” Jill said to me. “It might not be good for a CFO but for a CEO it would fit.”

  “Are you saying I’m a robber baron?”

  She laughed. “No. But it still might be fun.”

  I thought about that for a minute. It beat any idea that I had come up with, which of course was no idea at all. “What exactly did highwaymen wear?”

  “The outfits they had at the store had long shirts, a wide leather belt, and capes. Oh, and a fake pistol you could stuff beneath the belt.”

  “Where is this place?” I asked.

  “Over toward Montauk. Want to swing by and see what they look like?” Jill asked.

  “Tomorrow?”

  “We probably should. We only have a few days to come up with something.”

  “Maybe after our first patient tomorrow?” Divya said.

  “Sure,” I said. “We could be there about nine.”

  Jill pulled her phone from her purse and worked its keyboard. “Looks like that’ll work. I have an eight o’clock meeting and then I was going over to the high school to see how the preparations are going. I’ll meet you there in between.”

  “Then maybe we’ll follow you to the school,” Divya said, and then to me, “We need to take another look at our booth and decide how we’re going to set it up.”

  I forked a piece of chicken. “Sounds like a plan.”

  Conversation ended for a few minutes as everyone enjoyed the meal. The silence was broken by a knock at the door. When I opened it, Dieter looked at me. He extended both hands. One held a check, the other a bottle of wine.

  I took them both and said, “Want to come in?”

  “No. Boris wanted you to have the check this evening and, of course, the wine.”

  “That’s very kind of him. Tell him we are grateful.”

  Dieter gave a mechanical smile and a slight bow. “Then I’m off.” He turned and walked away. Just like that.

  I placed the wine on the table. The label said it was a 2000 Château Latour Pauillac. I assumed it was good, and expensive, but my knowledge of wine is near zero.

  “What’s that?” Evan asked, picking up the bottle.

  “A gift from Boris.”

  Evan studied the label. “Dude, this is expensive.”

  Jill looked at it. “Wow. This is the good stuff.”

  “What’s with Boris being so generous?” Evan asked.

  “He’s always generous,” I said.

  “I’ll open it,” Divya said. She stood and walked to the counter where the opener lay.

  “That’s not the half of it,” I said. I handed the check to Jill.

  She looked at it, then up at me, and then back to the check. “Are you kidding?”

  Evan snatched it. “Let me see.” He looked at it, his eyes widening. “Dude, this is serious coin.”

  “That’s Boris,” I said. “He doesn’t do anything halfway.”

  Divya returned with the wine and four fresh glasses and sat. Evan handed her the check. “Oh, my, this is serious.” She gave the check back to Jill.

  “Adding this to the great job Evan has done puts us way over the top,” Jill said.

  “That’s Evan R. Lawson, fund-raiser extraordinaire.”

  “Your business card is getting quite cluttered,” Divya said.

  “How so?”

  “Let’s see—superspy, master chef, and now fund-raiser extraordinaire. That’s a lot to get on a card.”

  “Don’t forget supercool bon vivant,” Evan said.

  “How could I forget that?” Divya asked.

  We were back to high school again.

  I poured wine for everyone. It was fantastic. Way too expensive for my blood, but it was an unexpected treat.

  Silence fell again as everyone returned to Evan’s wonderful meal. The Sally Lunn bread was exactly as I remembered.

  “Evan, you’ve outdone yourself again,” I said. “This bread is outstanding.”

  “Just like when we were kids,” he said.

  What’d I tell you?

  “Kids?” Jill asked.

  Evan related the story of our childhood trip to Williamsburg. I corrected him on a couple of things and he corrected me back, but mostly we agreed.

  Chapter 8

  Angela Delaney’s modest two-bedroom cottage was nestled on the shore of a small pond just off Hands Creek Road a few miles north of East Hampton. It was white with black trim and shutters. Round white posts supported a sloping roof and were connected by intricately patterned black wrought-iron railings. Evan wheeled the HankMed van into the gravel parking area that ran along one side of the house and we climbed out. I hoisted our medical bag over one shoulder while Divya grabbed her purse and laptop.

  The morning was warm, with a slight breeze rustling the trees that shaded the house. We found Angela on her back porch, sitting in one of the two rockers that faced the pond. She looked up from the book she was reading and smiled.

  “How wonderful,” she said, setting the book on the small round table next to her. “I get to see all of you today.”

  Angela had suffered a hip fracture two weeks earlier and had undergone a total hip replacement. A THR in medical jargon. After four days in the hospital and ten days in rehab, her orthopedist had discharged her yesterday afternoon.

  We climbed the three steps to the porch.

  “You look wonderful,” I said.

  “Liar.”

  “No, you truly do,” Divya said.

  “I haven’t washed my hair in days and haven’t put on any makeup in two weeks.”

  “Must be your natural beauty,” I said.

  She laughed. “Now that’s what I call bedside manner.”

  “Happy to be home?” I asked.

  “My favorite plac
e in the world.” She waved a hand toward the pond. “When I die this is where I want to be. Sitting right here. Listening to my birds and frogs and insects.”

  The pond was peaceful. The way I imagined Walden Pond would be, though I knew Walden was much larger and now a tourist area. Complete with swimming and a gift shop. But this little pond with its mirrored green surface, hardy reeds, and tree-shaded banks must be what Thoreau saw in his mind’s eye when he wrote about it.

  “I can understand that.” I sat in the rocker next to her, tilting forward, resting my elbows on my knees. “How are you doing?”

  “Fine. Still a little sore, but I’m up and around.”

  “Did your granddaughter come?”

  “Oh, yes. I hate to drag her away from her busy life, but she insisted.”

  “You’ll need some help for a while. Knowing you, not long, but a few weeks anyway.”

  “I’m old, not an invalid.”

  “And you shouldn’t be alone while you’re getting back on your feet.”

  “The physical therapy folks will be coming out every day. That’s enough company.”

  “Don’t go all little-old-lady cranky on me.”

  “At my age I can do what I want.” She gave me one of her mischievous smiles.

  “Are you doing your exercises?”

  She extended her leg, twisted it one way and then the other. “See. It works fine. And I use those rubber-band things they gave me three times a day just like I did in rehab.”

  I slid from the rocker and knelt in front of her. “Let me see.” I grasped her ankle and knee, flexing her knee and then her hip to about forty-five degrees. A little stiff. “Does that hurt?”

  “Not at all.”

  “What about this?” I rotated her knee inward slightly and then outward, checking the stability and mobility of her new hip.

  “A little.” She smiled. “But you’re much more gentle than those physical therapy folks.” She shook her head. “They’re a tough crew.”

  “It’s for your own good.”

  “That’s what they keep telling me.” She flashed a smile. “I don’t believe them either.”

  I eased her leg down until her foot rested on the porch again. “Looks like they’re doing a good job. You’ll be dancing before you know it.”

  “Are you asking me for a date?” she asked, a wicked glint in her eyes.

  “I see the new hip didn’t change you a bit.”

  “Did you expect it would? They didn’t operate on my brain.”

  I heard car tires on gravel and looked up as an SUV pulled in and parked near the back edge of the lot, nosing up beneath an overhanging cedar branch. A tall, lean, deeply tanned blond woman stepped out. She grabbed a bag of groceries and headed our way.

  “There she is now,” Angela said.

  She introduced us to Danielle, her granddaughter.

  “How’s she doing?” Danielle asked.

  “Great,” I said. “As expected.”

  “She is tough.”

  I laughed. “That she is.”

  “You guys sound like I’m shoe leather,” Angela said.

  “Much tougher than that,” Danielle said.

  Angela was tough. One of those seventy-five-year-olds that you just knew would see a hundred. Last year she had gone through a rocky gall bladder surgery. One that would have knocked most people down for a while. But despite the infection that had spread throughout her bloodstream, Angela snapped back like a twenty-year-old. Two weeks after the surgery you couldn’t tell anything had happened to her.

  “Let me put these away.” Danielle started toward the back door. “Can I get you guys anything? Maybe some juice or a cola?”

  “We’re fine,” I said.

  She nodded and disappeared inside.

  “Isn’t she lovely?” Angela asked.

  “She is,” I said.

  “She lives out in LA. She’s a world-class surfer. Won all kinds of awards and contests. All over the world.”

  “Really?” Evan said, his gaze turning toward the back door as if looking for Danielle.

  “Oh, yes. She’s been on the cover of about every surfing magazine there is. I have a whole stack of them.”

  “I’d like to see them,” Evan said.

  Of course he would.

  “See them what?” Danielle had returned.

  “Your magazine covers, dear.”

  Danielle blushed and rolled her eyes. “Grandma, don’t embarrass me.”

  “Wouldn’t dream of it.” Another devilish grin from Angela.

  “Have you been surfing long?” Divya asked.

  “I’ve been on a board since I was five.”

  “I hear you’re pretty good,” I said, nodding toward Angela.

  “Grandma exaggerates, but I do okay.”

  “She’s won dozens of meets and ranked . . . What is it now?”

  “Sixth.”

  “Sixth in the world,” Angela said. “I’d say that’s good.”

  “Wow,” Evan said. “A real pro surfer. That’s so cool.”

  “Do any of you surf?” Danielle asked.

  “Not me,” Divya said. “I’m not big on water.”

  “I tried it once,” Evan said. “Didn’t work out so well. I think the waves were too big that day.”

  “Three feet?” I said.

  “They look bigger when you’re in them,” Evan said.

  Danielle laughed. “Yes, they do.”

  “What’s it like out there?” Divya asked. “When you’re riding a wave?”

  “Exhilarating. You feel so free. Like you’re flying.”

  “Right up until you crash. Right?” I said.

  She laughed again. “True. Sometimes it can be a real washing machine if you get thrashed by a big wave.”

  “Has that ever happened to you?” Divya asked.

  “It’s happened to every surfer. Sometimes you slam the bottom and get rolled over rocks. Sand up your nose. Tumbling around like a rag doll. Can’t tell up from down. Sometimes you think you’ll never find the surface.”

  “Sounds scary to me,” I said.

  “But when you’re flying along over the water?” She shrugged. “There’s nothing quite like it.”

  “Teach me,” Evan said.

  “Teach you to surf?” Divya said. “That’s a disaster in the making.”

  “Why would you say that?”

  “Coordination isn’t your strong suit.”

  “Ignore her,” Evan said. “I’ll even pay you.”

  Danielle laughed. “That wouldn’t be necessary. But I need to stay here with Grandma.”

  “No, you don’t,” Angela said. “I’m perfectly capable of puttering around here on my own. Besides, I’d bet Evan would be good at it.”

  Evan’s chest puffed out. “See. Angela thinks I could do it.”

  “She obviously hasn’t been around you much,” Divya said.

  Angela laughed and then said to Danielle, “Go ahead. I’ll be fine.”

  “You sure?”

  “Of course.”

  Danielle hesitated and then said, “Okay. But I should warn you, the waves here aren’t very big, so we might not be able to find any to ride.”

  “I think smaller is better,” I said. “Otherwise Evan might be joining Angela with her physical therapy.”

  “Are you saying I might break something?”

  “Or someone,” Divya said.

  “Maybe around three or four?” Danielle said. “While Grandma is taking her nap?”

  “That’ll work,” Evan said.

  “Great. I’ll meet you at the beach. Near that seafood restaurant.”

  “Panama Joe’s?”<
br />
  “That’s it. There’s a parking lot right next to it.”

  “I’ll be there.” Evan clapped his hands. “This is going to be so cool.”

  Cool was definitely not the word that came to mind.

  Chapter 9

  We got as far as the parking area before my cell phone buzzed. I didn’t recognize the number. I answered and found it was Dr. Lloyd Baransky.

  “I wanted to give you an update on your patient Jimmy Sutter,” Baransky said. “I would have called last night, but we didn’t complete his surgery until nearly two a.m. It was a tough one.”

  “How so?”

  “The dissection involved both carotids and the left subclavian.”

  “Not good.”

  “No. But all went well. Just took time.”

  “So he’s okay?”

  “Amazingly so. Still on the vent, but making urine and his renal and cardiac parameters are perfect. He’s coming around and moving all extremities. We’ll likely extubate him soon and then we’ll have a better handle on his neuro status, but so far it looks good.”

  As soon as I hung up I told Divya what Baransky had said.

  “He’s a lucky man,” she said.

  “Very.”

  We climbed in the van and Evan cranked it up. My cell buzzed again. This number I recognized. It was Jill. She said she was running late and asked if we could meet at the costume shop a little later. No problem. So we headed back to Shadow Pond, where Divya and I settled at the patio table, laptops open, and began working on patient files.

  No easy task with Evan’s constant interruptions.

  If deciding on a Fourth of July costume was hard, choosing a bathing suit for surfing was impossible. He popped in and out of the house, a new suit on each time. I had no idea he owned that many.

  “What do you think of these?” Evan asked as he came back outside. He now wore a pair of dark blue swim trunks.

  “They’re fine,” I said.

  “You didn’t even look at them.”

  I looked at them. “They’re fine.”

  Evan tugged at the waistband. “What I need are some cool baggies like they wear on TV.”

  “What TV would that be?” I asked. “Don’t know that I’ve seen baggies in quite a while.”

  “Not since Gidget,” Divya said.