On the other side of the hospital, away from the children, were the bungalows used for drug and alcohol recovery. This facility was voluntary, and was one of several in the state preferred by celebrities from Hollywood. The doctor who ran the facility was the author of And Now You Don’t, a self-help book that had spent ten weeks on the bestseller list. The bungalows looked like little bed-and-breakfast cottages, and the specialty treatment received there didn’t come cheap. I thought of Chantal and the times she’d been here. Antonia had paid dearly to help her youngest daughter.
The double glass doors swung open with a blast of that same antiseptic smell of hospitals everywhere, and I walked to the admittance counter. A pretty receptionist reading a schedule looked up and smiled.
“Can I help you?”
On impulse I asked, “Is Doctor Brice Shapiro in today?”
She flipped through her paperwork. “He isn’t scheduled until this afternoon at two.”
“Where’s his office?”
“Room two fifteen. Did you have an appointment?”
“No. I took a fall and wanted this bump on my head looked at.”
“Oh, then you don’t want Doctor Shapiro. He’s a cardiologist.”
“Oh, that’s right. He and my regular doctor have such similar names.”
Before she could ask who my regular doctor was, her phone rang. I slipped around the far side of the counter and down the hall.
I turned left, into the corridor that led to the nursery. Not having kids, these places made me jumpy. I hadn’t heard any clocks, whistles or any other signs I’d ever need to be here myself. I got to be an aunt. It was like skipping to the good part.
This place looked nothing like the old maternity wards. According to the sign on the wall, this area was now referred to as the “Birthing Center.” Apparently, the latest trend was that fathers were not only encouraged, but expected, to be active participants. The rooms along the hallway confirmed this. When doors opened, there were fathers and other family members, some with video cameras. Just a little too much information for me. Here I was averting my eyes while someone’s uncle Clyde captured the whole thing on film. The viewing womb. I needed to get out of here.
The chemical dependency and birthing facilities had separate admittance counters but shared a common reception area. The commonality seemed to be stressed-out patients and the nurses who could handle them.
Although it was quiet in the rest of the hospital, it was hopping here. Voices were louder. Patience was shorter. Stephen had told me Veronica had never worked in this area. Good thing. I could picture it now: her foot tapping, the jangle of pearls.
To the left of the counter a nurse stood and flipped through a chart. She was in her late fifties and her name tag declared she was “Greta, Head Nurse.” I glanced at the birthing room to my right, peeked at the name on the door, scooted around the crowd at the counter, and went up to her.
“Excuse me, can you tell me where the Harrison room is? The delivery date is today and I know they’re here, but I forgot the room number.”
“Suite one oh one, right behind you.” She pointed over my shoulder with her pen as she continued reading.
“Thanks. Oh, quick question. A friend used to work here, but I’m not sure if she still does. It was ages ago. Her name is Veronica. I think her married name is Martinelli.”
With a sigh, she lowered the chart to her side. “You mean Veronica Strand.”
“Yes, that’s it. She wasn’t married back then.”
She looked at me. “I guess you really don’t keep in touch. She hasn’t worked since she got married.”
“That’s too bad. I’d really like to see her.”
Greta folded her arms. “Oh, she’s still around, just as a volunteer. Behind the scenes. She doesn’t spend time in the trenches anymore.”
“Right, she was a nurse, wasn’t she?”
“I remember when she started working as a candy striper. She put herself through school and became a nurse.”
“You’ve got a terrific memory, Greta.”
“I’ve been around a long time.”
“I’d really like to see her again. How often does she come in?”
Greta shifted. “All volunteers work one day a week.” She raised the paperwork between us. Apparently the conversation was over.
“Okay. Great. Thanks for your help,” I said to the back of the chart.
Instead of backtracking, I walked around the other side of the counter and worked my way down the corridor. Because the hospital was a large rectangle, eventually I’d come back to the main entrance. I rubbed the back of my head. It still hurt, but at least I wasn’t feeling any worse.
As I walked, I mulled over Nurse Greta’s information. Veronica still came to the hospital. Brice was here on a regular basis. Chantal was too, although unfortunately for treatment. Did it mean anything?
I reached my doctor’s office, Dr. Armstrong, which, of course, sounds exactly like Dr. Shapiro. Judy, the nurse practitioner, managed to squeeze me in and checked my pupils, pulse and blood pressure and announced I might have a minor concussion and needed to go home and rest. Feeling like I’d fulfilled my promise to Lucas, I thanked Judy for her prediction I’d live and continued down the hall.
I stopped at the cardiology wing. I’d just go for a walk and see how things turned out. I rounded the corner. The offices were even numbers on the left, odd on the right. Eight offices down on the right, and I was outside number 215, Brice’s office. There now. If I wasn’t meant to find it, it wouldn’t have been so damn easy. The door was open and the office empty. I looked up and down the corridor, but there wasn’t anyone around. If I continued to stand in the hallway I was sure to be questioned. Hmm, what to do. What to do . . .
I scurried in and shut the door. That wouldn’t work. If they found me in Brice’s office with the door closed, the police would be getting a call. I didn’t want to have that conversation with Lucas.
It worked better with the door partially closed. Just the desk and bookcase behind it were hidden from the corridor. If anyone asked, I could always say I was leaving Brice a note. I walked behind the desk and paused. His cologne was so strong, I could have found this office blindfolded.
I pushed the oversized leather chair back against the bookcase and scanned the desk. No pictures, mementos or personal touches of any kind. Just a keyboard and flat-screen computer monitor, turned off. There was also a white bust of Hippocrates, probably marble, on the corner. The words “First, Do No Harm” were engraved at the base. I bet Chantal could answer how much harm Brice was capable of.
If the desk was sparse, the wall across from me made up for it. In one corner there was a white examination coat, which hung from a suit hanger on a coatrack. Next to it, shelves rose to the ceiling above two leather chairs. Brice fancied himself quite the athlete. Mementos and trophies made up the majority of items, and the awards were mostly from tennis, lacrosse and polo.
Personal pictures filled the rest of the shelves. Brice smiled out of photos of him with the governor, and there were several of him and the last three mayors of San Francisco. None of them looked particularly happy, and my opinion of politicians rose slightly. There was also one of Brice and Francesca. She looked even less happy than the politicians.
Well, if I was leaving a note, I should have a pen and paper. Good thing there wasn’t anything on the desk to use. The top drawer slid open with ease. Several Montblanc pens and a leather address book. I breezed through the names. I recognized several, and there were more I didn’t. No big surprise female names outweighed males four to one.
I closed the drawer and opened the right side. Tickets to La Bohème, a prescription pad and a well-thumbed copy of Playboy. Brice’s idea of a medical journal. I poked around. The prescription pad separated in my hand into two pieces. I looked at the binding. It was coming apart in seve
ral spots. My thumb lifted the sheets, letting them fall as I scrolled through the pad. Wait a minute. Something was wrong. I flipped through a third time, just to make sure. The printed count was definitely off. Prescriptions were missing.
I froze at the sound of the door being pushed open. Brice walked into the room. His back was to me as he pulled off his blazer. The fully opened door kept me cornered behind the desk and prevented me from leaving the office. I couldn’t do anything but quietly close the drawer and wait for him to turn around. He pulled on the white exam coat and hung the blazer in its place. I reviewed my options. Nothing brilliant came to mind. I considered diving under the desk, but I was too tall.
Brice buttoned up the coat and turned. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“Oh, good.” Yeah, this was great. Just terrific. “I was hoping I’d catch you . . . See, my doctor isn’t in, and I had a nasty spill this morning. I thought maybe you could take a look at this bump on my head. Make sure it isn’t anything serious.”
Brice didn’t answer, his face utterly still. Finally, he straightened the collar of his coat. “I’m a cardiologist.”
Duh. I knew this. Everyone in town knew this. “Oh, right. I totally forgot. Could be the hit to the head.”
He didn’t answer.
“Okay. Not a problem. Thanks anyway. See you.” Penny Lively, master of the exit strategy.
Brice stepped forward and blocked my way. He rested one hand on the bust of Hippocrates and smoothed his perfect salt-and-pepper hair with the other. Confidence glittered in his eyes. “You know, if I had reason to suspect you were going through my desk, I’d have a responsibility to report you to the authorities. I’m sure you understand my position.”
He expected his remarks to unnerve me and, for the life of me, I don’t know why they didn’t.
I thought of the prescription pad and took a gamble. “You know, if I had any reason to suspect you were using your position as a doctor for illegal and illicit purposes, I’d have a responsibility to report you to the authorities. I’m sure you understand my position.”
His face turned crimson, and I thought I was about to see a cardiologist have a heart attack. He tightened his grip on the head of Hippocrates and squeezed until the blood drained from his hand. His fingertips were as white as the marble. With visible effort he let go, backed up, and pointed to the hall. “Get the hell out of my office.”
I pushed past him and made my way down the corridor. His door didn’t close and there weren’t footsteps, so I knew he stood watching me. From his reaction, I’d hit a nerve. Maybe it was just because I was in his office. Maybe his reaction had nothing to do with my comment. Maybe Brice had just lost the missing prescriptions. Maybe someone from over in rehab had taken the same walk I’d just finished and stolen them. Maybe.
Sixteen
WHEN I arrived home, Annie was leaving a message. Nanook recognized her voice and howled at the machine.
I grabbed up the phone and shouted over the noise, “Nanook says hello.”
“Let me say hi to him.”
I put the phone down and went to get him a biscuit, tossed it across the room, wiped off the phone and settled back into the couch.
“You know that little Maltese I’ve been treating for stomach problems? The one that could use a few more walks and a few less chicken livers? She was in today.”
“How’s her mom?”
“Ivy’s fine. She just started in on husband number four. A film producer.”
“Does she still own that winery up the river?”
“She sure does. A parting gift from husband number three. She told me something I knew you’d find interesting.”
“Give.” I kicked off my shoes, let Syrah curl into the corner of my arm and buried my feet in the warmth of Nanook’s back.
“Peterson’s Jewelry offered to let people drop off donations for the festival. If you’re donating jewelry for the silent auction, you can leave it and Peterson’s will clean it and get it ready. Anyway, Ivy was dropping off a bunch of stuff this afternoon, including those pearl studs I’ve always liked. I want to make a bid on those. I wonder if I have a chance. There will be hundreds—”
“What about Ivy?” I shifted Syrah to the other arm, grabbed a notepad and pen from the end table and wrote low-fat cat food.
“Oh. Well, you know Peterson’s also buys old jewelry, estate stuff and all that. While she was in there, guess who came in to try and sell a necklace? Marvin Karp. She recognized him because Ivy’s third husband had offered him a job as winery manger. Ivy said the piece he was trying to sell was really old, an antique, but when he saw her looking at it he shoved it into his pocket and left right away. He didn’t even wait for Peterson to tell him what he thought it was worth.”
“Where would Marvin get something like that? He doesn’t have any relatives I know of. He certainly doesn’t have friends he could’ve been selling it for. Was she sure the piece was an antique?”
“Believe me,” Annie said, “if Ivy said it was an antique, it was. The one thing she knows is jewelry.”
A throbbing began behind my temples and I rubbed the back of my head. “Different subject. Let me tell you about my morning.”
Annie listened without interruption. “I can’t believe someone hit you and I really can’t believe Brice caught you in his office. Usually things like this happen to you when I’m there.”
“Be glad you weren’t. What painkiller can I take with a head injury?”
“You realize you’re asking your veterinarian for medical advice?”
“Come on, Annie. Don’t answer like a doctor. Just give me your personal opinion.”
“Acetaminophen, ice pack and a nap with Nanook and Syrah.”
I followed her advice.
* * *
I woke to the sound of Connor stacking wood in the fireplace. The long-handled lighter clicked in the semidarkness and outlined Connor’s profile. He must have just come up from his quarters, because his hair was damp.
Pushing back the sleeves of his soft green flannel shirt, he added fire-starters made from wax-dipped pinecones. In the flickering light he looked tired. On a winery this was the busiest week of the year. If the weather held, this was also the most satisfying time to be a vintner. An entire year of work came down to a few crucial days of labor, harvest and love.
I sat up on the couch. My left arm was completely numb. “Ouch.” I pushed at Syrah and rubbed my shoulder.
Connor looked up. “You doing okay over there?”
“Just getting circulation back.”
The room filled with a rosy glow and the chill dispersed.
“Yum. Nice fire.”
“Hayley went out to dinner. I told her if she didn’t take the night off, she was fired.”
“Good.” I moved Syrah off the quilt and shifted closer to the now-glowing warmth.
“I was going to make pasta and thought you might want some company.”
“The company sounds good but I’m not very hungry tonight.”
He pushed away from the fire and sat with his back against the couch, keeping his eyes on the flames.
My knee barely touched his shoulder.
“I can understand why you wouldn’t necessarily have much of an appetite. You going to tell me what happened this morning?”
I didn’t move. “How did you hear about this morning?”
“Lucas. Who do you think took Hayley to dinner? Asked me if you went to the hospital. I’m not sure why Hayley and I are finding out from the police you were ordered to go to the hospital. I had to promise Hayley I’d come back here to check on you. She wouldn’t have gone out if I hadn’t.” He glanced at me. “Not that checking on you wasn’t something I would have done anyway.”
My cheeks warmed.
“You were asleep, so I decided to let you rest for a while.
Why didn’t you at least call?”
“You know we get lousy cell reception in the valley, and by the time I went to the hospital I knew I was okay. Besides, even if I’d tried from a landline, you were out in the vineyards.” It was weak even to my ears, but it was the best I could do. The reality was I’d been independent for so long it hadn’t really occurred to me he’d be concerned. Even with Hayley, having family around to worry about me was something new.
He pushed off the floor to sit on the couch and raised a hand to the back of my head, to the still-tender bump. My skin tingled, and not just on the back of my head.
“They got you pretty good.” He turned once again to the fire.
I had to strain to hear him.
“You think you can take care of yourself. Sometimes you can’t. Sometimes the bad guy has the advantage. That’s just the way it is. I’m sorry Todd’s dead, but we need you here. Hayley needs you. This winery needs you.” He turned to look at me. “I need you. I don’t know how we’d make it without you. Don’t make us try.”
“I keep thinking if I’d been just a little sooner, I’d have been able to make a difference. Todd might still be here. I feel like I missed a chance that night. I don’t want to miss my chance now.”
Connor nodded. “I figured as much. Even if you tried, you wouldn’t stop thinking about it. You couldn’t. So, the only suggestion I can give is to take care, Penny. Just take care.”
“I promise to be more careful. Thanks, Connor.”
He nodded then turned to hide a yawn.
“You must be exhausted. Do you have time for a full night’s sleep?”
“This feels pretty good right here.”
He put a pillow behind his head and leaned back against the couch. He was asleep in five minutes. I covered him with the quilt and watched him sleep.
He was right. I couldn’t just turn off the need to know what happened that night, even if I wanted to. Insatiable curiosity. It was why I’d become a photojournalist. It was probably what was going to get me in trouble someday.
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