by Mary Birk
Reid stepped through the front door into an empty waiting room. There was a desk with an appointment book, telephone, and basket for mail. The furniture appeared more expensive than the building warranted, and the art work on the walls was of a surprising quality for a doctor’s office. On an Italian-style sofa table positioned outside the door that presumably went to the inner offices and examining rooms, a little sign told visitors to ring for assistance. Reid tapped the adjacent bell.
Almost immediately, a plump middle-aged woman with short frizzy orange hair and wearing olive green hospital scrubs popped her head out from the back. “May I help you?”
“I’m Terrence Reid, here to see Dr. Kempton.”
She beamed at him. “Thought you must be. I saw your photo in the paper this morning. I wouldn’t have known you probably, though, except the doctor said he was expecting you and I put two and two together, and your name rang a bell, so I went back and checked the paper, and sure enough, same name.” Amazingly, the woman had gotten her whole speech out without taking a breath, and still wasn’t breathless. Reid wasn’t sure what to say, so he smiled at her.
“So he’s here?” Reid prompted.
The woman stopped staring and laughed. “Yes, he’s waiting for you. I’m Trixie Manning, his nurse. I’m doing the books and all the paperwork today, so I’m up to my ears right now, but I’m pleased to meet you.” She appraised him, shaking her head, and clucking her tongue. “Anne sure has good taste in men.”
Reid looked at her more closely. “You know Anne?”
“She used to babysit for us when she was younger. Our kids loved her, but after fourteen, we couldn’t get her anymore. Looking like that, you know, once she was old enough to date, she never had a free weekend.”
Anne used to babysit? He didn’t think she’d ever mentioned that. Or the dating when she was fourteen, though that didn’t surprise him. If he’d been her father, he’d not have allowed that. But, of course, Anne hadn’t had a father.
Reid heard a man clearing his throat. “Trixie, would you let the man in?”
The nurse made a face. “I’m talking too much, aren’t I? Nice to meet you, Lord Reid.” She grinned. “I love saying that. I’ve never met a lord before.”
He smiled. “Nice to meet you, as well.”
She ducked back toward what looked to be a small office in the back, and Reid turned his attention to the doctor. He remembered Kempton more clearly now, an urbane, good looking man not much older than himself.
“Dr. Kempton.” Reid held out his hand.
“No need for formalities, Terrence. Will is fine. Please come back to my office. I don’t have any patients today. I’m doing paperwork. Never ends.” The doctor led the way past two examining rooms and a small interior work area to an office situated in the back of the building. The office, decorated in the same expensive style as the reception area, featured a large windowed wall with a glass door that opened to a deck area where chairs were set up around a patio table.
Reid took note of the fine quality of the art work that hung on the office walls. “Very nice.”
“Thank you.” The doctor smiled. “My wife decorated the offices. She has the taste in the family.”
Reid focused on one of the paintings on the wall, noted the signature. “This is one of Andrew Grainger’s?”
“Yes. A gift.” The painting depicted a view from the coast—probably from Bodega Head—with the migration of whales in the background.
“It’s extraordinary.”
“That’s what I’ve always thought, too. The whales don’t take up much of the actual space in the painting, but they dominate the feeling you get from looking at it.”
Reid noticed a prominent photograph in a sleek black frame on the doctor’s desk of a striking woman. Rita Kempton, he presumed, although he didn’t remember her. He could tell it was one of those photographs that were artistically touched up and posed, and often given to a husband or boyfriend to mark a woman’s territory. Anne had never given him her photograph, though he’d taken dozens of candid photos of her. He’d had one in his office right after they’d married, but when things had started to go wrong for them, he’d slipped it into a drawer, and later, taken it home.
Kempton gestured to the chairs in front of his desk. “Please sit down.”
Reid thanked him, and when they were seated, began. “I appreciate you agreeing to talk with me.”
“No problem. I checked with Andrew and he said to tell you anything you wanted to know. The Graingers aren’t happy with the way the FBI is handling things. What can I help you with?”
“I was wondering about Lenore’s illness. What exactly was wrong with her?”
“Complications from an e.coli infection. She ate some e.coli contaminated ground beef in December. Around the holidays. It was in the papers—quite a few people got sick after eating at a place in Santa Rosa. Lenore got extremely sick. We treated her with some serious antibiotics, but she didn’t seem to get any better. Then she developed complications and started having kidney problems.”
Reid asked, “Was her condition life-threatening?”
“I’d have to say yes. There was definitely a possibility her kidneys would have eventually failed. If not death, she may have ended up on dialysis to function or even on a list for a transplant. The course of treatment at this point would have been decided by the specialist, Dr. Noring, and Andrew, of course. Noring had a great deal of testing done, so he may have a more accurate prognosis as far as what next steps he was thinking they would take.”
Kempton got up and went over to an alcove that held a coffee machine. “Would you like something to drink? Coffee, water?” Reid accepted a cup of black coffee, and the doctor poured himself a cup of coffee.
“I understand you were Marisol Grainger’s doctor as well as Lenore’s?”
“Yes, although I missed the delivery. Lenore came early and Rita and I were out of town. Shortly after she gave birth, Marisol had a stroke and died.” He shook his head, sadness in his eyes. “The baby, although premature, was healthy and Andrew took her home and raised her.”
“So he was a good father?”
The doctor’s gaze was unwavering. “Definitely. Andrew loved that child and took wonderful care of her. Any insinuation that he had anything to do with her death is ridiculous. If the FBI is going in that direction, they’re making a big mistake.”
Reid asked, “Do you know if Andrew has any enemies? Anyone who would have wanted to harm him or his family?”
“I can’t think of anyone.”
“Did you know that Lenore wasn’t Andrew Grainger’s biological child before now?”
“No, not until I got the call from the chief.” Kempton took a drink of his coffee. “But why does Lenore’s biological father interest the police? I mean, Marisol died years ago. What could this possibly have to do with what happened to Lenore?”
“I don’t think they know, it’s just a missing part of the puzzle. Does the fact that he’s not her father surprise you?”
The doctor hesitated. “Not completely.”
Reid motioned for him to continue.
Kempton looked uncomfortable. “I don’t know why I say that, exactly. Marisol Grainger was a beautiful woman. Men were attracted to her and Andrew traveled a great deal. Sometimes when he left, she’d go into the city to stay for days at a time.”
“Do you know if she was involved with anyone other than her husband?”
Will Kempton adjusted the photograph of his wife. “Anything I said would just be speculation.”
“Go on.”
“The only person I can think of is Andrew’s brother. I know he’s your brother-in-law, but Graham seemed a little too interested in her sometimes. And Marisol was somewhat of a tease. It was subtle, very subtle, but it was there.”
“And you think they may have had an affair?”
“I don’t know. I think Graham’s wife—Meg—was a little suspicious from something Rita told me, but I d
on’t know if anything actually went on. We all hung around together. Still do, but now it’s Anne instead of Marisol.” Kempton raised his hands slightly in a gesture of apology. “There were a lot of wives who were nervous with Marisol around. Nothing you could put your finger on, but she definitely focused on the men in any group. She wasn’t one of those women who would go hang out with the other women at a party.”
“Do you think Andrew suspected anything?”
“I don’t know. He never said anything to me. ”
“What about when you were treating Lenore? None of the tests you did on Lenore ever made you suspect she wasn’t Grainger’s child?”
“No, but I never had occasion to compare his blood type with hers, or even, for that matter, with Marisol’s. It’s not something you routinely do unless there’s a specific reason.”
“Do you remember anything in particular about that time, or about any man that was around her at that time besides Graham?”
“The Colony was full of people all the time, and many of her old friends from the city visited her. I can’t remember one specific man, but it’s possible. And, as I said, Andrew traveled a lot. I actually talked to him about that. With Marisol’s health the way it was, I thought he needed to stay in town with her and stop traveling so much. And he did—that’s when she got pregnant.” Then he blinked, obviously remembering the latest developments. “At least, I had thought it was Andrew who got her pregnant.”
“Do you think Andrew suspected she wasn’t his child?”
“Not as far as I know.”
Reid decided it was time to take a different track. “How would you characterize Anne’s relationship with Lenore?”
Kempton looked uncomfortable.
Reid smiled. “Don’t worry. Anne and I are separated. Have been for a long time, but we’re”—he made himself say it—“friends.” He hadn’t choked on the word. Maybe they could be friends someday.
Kempton nodded, apparently reassured. “Anne and Lenore had a good relationship. I’d say the child adored her.”
“And Anne?”
“I think it was mutual. Unlike a lot of younger women might, she never seemed to resent Lenore, even when she was sick and took up a great deal of Andrew’s time. But Anne’s never needed to worry about her place with Andrew.” He looked apologetically at Reid. “He’s crazy about her.”
Reid nodded, tried to look unaffected. He thought about Anne’s reservations concerning becoming a mother. He couldn’t think of any way to ask what he wanted to ask: whether Kempton thought it was possible that Andrew had killed his child so he could marry a woman who didn’t want children. Could the man had gone to such an extreme, thinking the child was an obstacle standing in the way of getting Anne to marry him?
Kempton moved some papers around on his desk, rearranged his coffee cup. “I got a call from the FBI this morning about something else.”
“Yes?”
“Agent Shelton was asking me questions about Lenore’s medical history. I got the feeling that they think she was, you know, interfered with sexually by her kidnapper.”
Reid took a drink of his coffee. “Shelton said that?”
“No, he didn’t come out and say that. He wanted to know about prior medical conditions, things you sometimes associate with sexual activity. UTI’s, ruptured hymen.”
Subtle, real subtle, Shelton, Reid thought.
“What did you tell him? If you don’t mind telling me?”
“Andrew said you were to have carte blanche. She did have a couple of urinary tract infections, but I associated that with her other problems. Her kidneys were impacted by her condition.” Kempton paused. “But I don’t know about the ruptured hymen. I never checked her for that. Besides, that can happen any number of ways without sexual penetration.”
“Lenore never said anything to you?”
“No.” The thought apparently just dawning on him, Kempton asked, “They think it was Andrew, don’t they?”
“I don’t know.”
“Does Andrew know they suspect him?”
“He didn’t mention it.”
“You and your wife were at the Colony house for the Valentine’s Day party?”
“Yes. Rita’s on the board of directors, so we always go to those things. Besides, there’s not much else going on in this town, and Rita likes to dress up.”
“Did you notice anything unusual? Anything that now seems strange?”
The door to the office swung open, and a tiny woman, fashionably over thin, dressed flamboyantly in an orange dress with an elaborately printed scarf, and with lips painted the same orange as the dress, breezed in.
“Darling, I hope I’m not interrupting.” She turned to Reid, who stood. “Terrence, so good to see you again.”
Reid only vaguely remembered meeting the woman, but her identity was unquestionably the same as the woman in the frame on the desk, so he smiled and said, “Mrs. Kempton.”
“Rita, please.” She put her arms around him and briefly kissed him on the cheek. “I heard you were here, and couldn’t resist dropping by.” A potent whiff of alcohol accompanied her words.
Kempton looked resigned. “Trixie called you, I presume?”
Rita dazzled a white tiger-toothed smile at her husband. “Of course. She said she almost has the books balanced, and the bills ready to go out.” Leveling her sights back on Reid, she said, “I hired Nurse Manning for Will, so she keeps me in the loop. It behooves a wife to be friends with her husband’s staff.”
Reid folded his lips into a reluctant smile, impressed with the woman’s command of her world while feeling a little sorry for the doctor. He tried to think whether this much involvement by a wife in a husband’s life was normal. Generally, the wives of his colleagues were more subtly involved, showing up at the occasional function, giving parties, sitting in a frame surrounded by children on the man’s desk. Anne had never even been to his office, though he’d taken her with him to dinners or parties a few times before everything had gone wrong between them. After that, they were either fighting or making up, both of which activities had been intensely private.
“I was just talking to your husband about the Valentine’s Day party at the Colony. Did you see anything that you now think could possibly relate to Lenore’s kidnapping?”
Rita flounced down elegantly in one of the designer chairs. “Darling, could you make me a drink?” She looked at her watch. “It’s early, I know, but this has all been very upsetting.”
Kempton went over to where the coffee maker stood, and reached underneath into a cabinet that held a small refrigerator. “White wine?”
Rita shook her head. “Vodka would be better. Is there some in the freezer?”
Kempton pulled out an icy bottle and poured a generous portion. “Terrence, want some?”
“None for me, thank you.”
Reid watched as the woman held out her hand, took the drink from her husband, and downed a hefty amount. He wanted to look at his watch. Was it even ten yet?
She licked her lips daintily. “What kind of thing?”
“Anyone interested in where Lenore was, anyone interested in the money from the auction, anyone in a part of the house they shouldn’t have been?”
“Darling, everyone was interested in the auction. It’s such a coup for Andrew and for the Colony. That Japanese man just went ga-ga over Marisol.” She took a long drink, relaxed.
“He knew her?”
“No, at least not that I know of, I meant over the paintings of her.”
Kempton went back to the little refrigerator and poured a glass for himself, then, appraising his wife’s rapidly diminishing drink, replenished it before replacing the bottle in the freezer compartment and sitting down again at his desk.
Rita took another gulp of vodka. “We were all in the dining room or the great room, not upstairs. Andrew went up a couple of times to check on Lenore. Martha was up there with Lenore. I saw Gus going down the hall. To see Martha, I guess. Probably
looking for money.” She made a face.
“He’s out of work?”
“Never really ever been in work. He only works if he’s forced to.”
“Remember anything else?”
She thought. “Will, you went into the kitchen to get the antacids when your stomach was acting up. Did you see anything there?”
“The caterers, but I was only there for a second.” The doctor took a sip of vodka. “The chief was there, in the kitchen. His oldest son was working with the valet service and he’d forgotten his wallet—with his driver’s license, so the chief had just dropped it off. Maybe he saw something.”
Reid couldn’t remember the chief mentioning being at the Colony house Saturday night. “I’ll ask him.”
Rita smoothed out her scarf. “It was a beautiful party. Anne looked great.” She smirked a little tipsily. “But then, she always does. Why exactly are you here?”
Reid’s face tightened, but he made his voice sound casual. “Just trying to help.”
“You shouldn’t have dumped her.” She held out her glass to her husband, who took it and dutifully went back to the refrigerator. Reid wondered if the woman was planning on driving when she left.
Kempton rose. “Rita, perhaps this isn’t the time.” His voice was conciliatory. “With what’s happened to Lenore, we should just concentrate on trying to help.”
She smiled a sloshy smile. “You’re right. Kiss me.” That was quick, Reid thought. She’d definitely been drinking before she got to the office, and she had pounded down two substantial glasses of vodka in less than fifteen minutes. As thin as she was, it couldn’t take much alcohol to knock her on her arse.
The doctor shook his head. “Not now, Rita.”
Reid stood, deciding to let Kempton deal with his marital mess. Each to their own. “I’d best go. Thanks for your help.”
Kempton held up a hand in a gesture of surrender or maybe it was just goodbye.
Reid gathered up his coat, opened the office door to leave, then looked back. Rita Kempton’s head was leaned back against her chair and soft snoring sounds purred from her orange-lipsticked mouth.
Behind his desk, Will Kempton sat staring vacantly at the painting of the migrating whales.