“The point is,” she added calmly, “do you want your son to have healthy lungs or smoker’s lungs? Do you want him to catch every respiratory ailment that goes around because his lungs can’t stand the extra stress or not?”
“No, we don’t,” Carrie said, exchanging a glance with her husband. “Do we, Tom?”
“What is with everyone always harassing smokers?” Tom exploded. “Yeah, it’s a habit. We all know it. But you doctors aren’t perfect. Look at Dr Bentley.”
Her ears perked. “What about him?”
“If you want to talk about habits, talk about his. I’ve seen him around town. If he drinks half of what he carries out of liquor stores, I’m surprised he can walk.”
Words failed her. Ned drank?
“An occasional drink isn’t harmful,” she began, hoping she’d heard Tom Jamison incorrectly.
“Occasional?” he scoffed. “My eye. My brother operates a trash service and he says that the good doctor puts out more empties than a bar on Saturday night.”
If Tom was right, Ned’s situation was worse than she’d ever imagined. As much as she wanted to know more, she felt as if she knew enough.
“We aren’t discussing Dr Bentley’s habits or lack thereof,” she said, determined to regain control of the conversation. “My concern is for Joey and if your habit affects his health, I have to pursue this further.”
His eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”
“I want to see Joey on Friday, in my office, at which time we’ll run another cotinine test. We’ll continue to do that until I’m assured that he’s breathing the best air he possibly can.”
“You’re rather trusting,” Tom jeered. “What’s to say I’ll bring him to you at all?”
“If he doesn’t appear for his appointment, I’ll file a child endangerment complaint with Social Services.”
His jaw dropped. “You wouldn’t.”
Dixie looked him straight in the eye. “You can either deal with me or with the state agency. I’ll also give you a tip. I’m far easier to get along with than they are.”
He screwed his face into a frown. For several moments, he didn’t answer, until finally, he nodded. “Joey’ll be there.”
Yes, she wanted to shout. Instead, she simply smiled. “Good. If you’re interested in trying nicotine patches, I’ll be happy to write a prescription for you.”
Tom looked hard at his son playing in the crib. When Joey pulled off a sock and tried to stuff his foot in his mouth, his expression softened. “OK. I’ll try patches.”
The relief on Carrie’s face suggested that she’d been hoping and praying for this moment. Tears glistened in her eyes as she looked at Dixie and mouthed, “Thank you.”
“I’ll write a script for you and the nurse can bring it in when she goes over Joey’s home care. I want you to continue with the liquid antibiotics until I see him on Friday. If he runs a fever or develops any problems in the meantime, bring him to my office or the emergency room immediately.”
“I understand.”
“That’s it. I’ll see you later in the week.”
Dixie strode out of the room, buoyed by her success. Mark would have to monitor both Joey and his father’s progress in the weeks and months ahead, but she knew he’d watch them closely.
On the heels of that thought came Tom’s accusation about Ned. Was her cousin drinking too much? Or had Jamison simply been trying to switch from a defensive to an offensive strategy?
She wasn’t naïve enough to believe that Ned didn’t drink at all, but she’d never known or suspected him to drink to excess. Not that her observations counted. She hadn’t seen him in nearly a year. A lot could happen in that length of time.
On the other hand, her visits with Ned only lasted for a few hours. He could have easily hidden his addiction from her.
Maybe so, but Mark had been working with him for months and he’d obviously never suspected that Ned might be an alcoholic. Perhaps Tom Jamison was wrong. Completely wrong.
She hoped so.
Suddenly she had all sorts of questions running through her head. First and foremost was what should she do with this information?
Should she tell Mark what she’d heard? Or should she wait until she had hard evidence and not just the word of an angry man? Why rock the canoe and stir the water for no good reason?
She’d wait, she decided. After she paid a visit to the liquor stores and heard it straight from the employees’ mouths, she’d decide what to do next.
Hopefully, she wouldn’t have to do anything. Hopefully, this bit of information could die a natural death from lack of substance.
Hopefully, if it was true, Mark would understand.
CHAPTER TEN
“HOW did it go with the Jamisons?”
Dixie froze at Mark’s question. Did he know the bombshell Tom had dropped on her? No, impossible. Mark sounded too casual to be suspicious—he was simply curious.
She almost wished for more patients to see so she could shrug off an answer, but it was five-thirty and the last one had gone home. Miranda had left for an eye appointment and Jane was buried in paperwork. Dixie couldn’t expect them to give her an easy out, so she skirted his question. “How did what go?”
“The smoking issue.”
“Oh, yeah. That.” Her chuckle sounded fake as she clutched an X-ray to her chest when, in truth, she’d been so caught up in her own dilemma that she’d forgotten the one with Joey and his father. “The day’s been busy enough that I can hardly remember what I did an hour ago. My visit with the Jamisons went well.”
“Tom didn’t make a fuss?”
“I wouldn’t say that,” she admitted. “He wasn’t very happy, but after I explained the lab report and how his smoking was affecting his son, he calmed down. He’s even agreed to try nicotine patches.”
“Whoa. I’m impressed.”
“Don’t be. It took a little arm-twisting. Actually, a lot of arm-twisting.”
His eyes sparkled with merriment. “Oh, yeah? Somehow I can’t imagine you being tough.”
“Hah! You should see me in my ER. I’ll have you know that the drug addicts and gang bangers quake when they see me coming.” She raised her nose and pretended affront.
“Yeah, right.” He sounded as if he was humoring her, which was somewhat irritating. For the most part, she was admittedly, too soft-hearted, but she’d rather he thought of her as tough and competent than a pushover.
“You don’t think I can draw a line in the sand and dare someone to cross it?” she asked.
“Maybe. Under the right circumstances.”
She squared her shoulders and looked him straight in the eye. “You bet your sweet stethoscope I can. And I did. Tom and his wife will bring Joey in on Friday, come hell or high water.”
“What makes you so sure?”
“Because if Joey doesn’t show up and if his next cotinine level isn’t at zero, they can expect a visit from the county’s Social Services worker.”
He chuckled. “You do play hard ball.”
“When I have to.”
“Speaking of ‘have to,’ I have a meeting tonight. The hospital is trying to raise money to build a new helipad with a fund raising Valentine’s Day Dance. Believe it or not, I got roped into being on the planning committee.”
“Lucky you.”
“Want to come along?” he asked hopefully.
“And spend hours listening to everyone’s opinion on the way things should be handled?” She shook her head. “Not a chance. Been there, done that.”
“If you don’t want to attend the meeting, would you come with me to the dance?”
Her pulse skipped a beat. “On Valentine’s Day?”
“February 14,” he confirmed.
“I thought you already had a date.” At his puzzled expression, she added slyly, “With the nurse you called to get Joey admitted to the hospital.”
“Oh, her. She’s on the planning committee, too. We’re all going out for dinner
beforehand. It’s a couples thing, so you don’t want me to be the odd man out, do you?”
Somehow, she doubted if that were possible. “I’d love to,” she said, “but—”
“Great. I’m picking up my tickets tonight so I’ll snag two instead of one.”
“But,” she continued on a warning note, “I’m scheduled to report back to work on the tenth.”
He straightened to pull her into his embrace. “Maybe you could suffer a relapse. Knees can be tricky.”
He obviously knew that when she had his arms around her she couldn’t think clearly. The fact that she was willing to fall on any excuse to stay longer only helped her agree to his suggestion. Idly, she wondered how Ned’s return would affect her decision, then decided that she didn’t care.
“I’ll see what I can do,” she promised.
“Good.” He pressed a hard kiss to her mouth then stepped back. “I’d better go or I’ll be late. If this doesn’t take all night, can I drop by?”
“Sure. I’ll be at home.”
“Any special plans?”
Her breath caught in her throat. Did he know that she intended to dust off a few more amateur sleuthing skills? “A few errands,” she said instead. “I haven’t gone through Ned’s papers either, so I’ll probably work on those tonight. Why?”
“No reason.” He shrugged nonchalantly. “If the meeting gets really boring, I want to imagine what you’re doing.”
She grinned. “Now probably isn’t the time to mention I intend to wear a red lace negligee while I paint my toenails.”
He groaned. “If you are, I’m skipping out early.”
“No negligees, red or otherwise, are in my closet.” The thought of purchasing one on her way home seemed like a good idea, though.
Sighing melodramatically, she added, “I’m just going to lounge in an old pair of jogging pants and a baggy sweatshirt, so you can concentrate strictly on table favors and hors d’oeuvres.”
“I’d still rather picture you in a negligee.”
She smiled a come-hither smile. “Be my guest.”
Dixie trudged into the house well past the dinner hour. She’d stopped at the grocery store for more milk and marshmallows. She’d also dropped into a nearby liquor store and purchased a bottle of wine as her cover for asking questions. The forty-five-year-old owner had been more than happy to help her select a flavorful wine, but the moment she’d mentioned Ned he’d clammed up and stated “I don’t talk about my customers” in no uncertain terms.
She thought about going to other establishments, but she’d wind up stocking a liquor cabinet in the process. Who was to say that those owners and employees would be any more forthcoming than the first man? The only thing she’d have for her trouble would be sore feet, frozen toes, and more wine than she’d drink in a year.
And what would it matter? Ned could have had any number of legitimate reasons for purchasing the amount of alcohol that Tom Jamison claimed. As Mark had said, Ned had hosted a Christmas party, which could easily explain the liquor store trips and the empty bottles.
She wasn’t naïve enough to believe that Ned was a teetotaler, but if Mark didn’t seem to harbor such suspicions, then she shouldn’t jump to conclusions either.
As soon as she’d stored her groceries, she visited a few of the nearest neighbors. Unfortunately, they couldn’t shed any more light on Ned’s whereabouts than the liquor-store owner. In every instance the people mentioned that Ned kept to himself, was friendly when seen, and, although he entertained a lot, no one could complain about him being disruptive.
While part of her was disappointed that she hadn’t discovered anything noteworthy, she was also relieved that she had nothing to report. Her relationship with Mark had grown by leaps and bounds, but it remained to be seen where it would go in the long term. Meanwhile, she didn’t want anything, not even the mention of her missing cousin, to affect it.
For dinner, she threw together a quick chef salad, then exchanged her trousers and turtleneck sweater for her comfortable jogging pants and sweatshirt. Determined to tackle the papers in Ned’s desk, she plugged in her favorite CD and started to work.
It seemed strange to read through someone else’s correspondence, but she carried on. If Ned didn’t want anyone doing so, he shouldn’t have disappeared into thin air.
By the time she’d examined every piece of paper she could find—and wondered if she should pay the bills that were coming due—she’d drawn a clearer picture of her cousin.
She found the usual fees for utilities, rent for the house, and a monthly car payment. He had two credit cards that were maxed, and as far as she could tell most of the expenses listed fell in the entertainment category of hotels, both local and out-of-town restaurants, and clothing. From his bulging closets, she would have guessed the latter even if she hadn’t seen his credit-card statement.
All in all, she still had nothing to go on. No names of traveling companions, no photos, no nothing.
Perhaps Mark had been right. Ned had simply decided to splurge on a vacation and with his credit strained to the limit, he’d helped himself to Mark’s money.
Her aunt would have to accept Dixie’s theory, and if she wasn’t satisfied she could hire a professional to look for her son.
Dixie refiled the papers in the places where she’d found them and tackled the stack she’d brought from his desk at the clinic.
Investment information—she wondered why he was interested in the stock market when his bank balance was barely in the black—photocopies of journal articles and Internet printouts of various medical topics formed the bulk of the pile.
One, however, caught her eye. It was a printed report from an Internet source about RU-21, a pill developed by the KGB in the Cold War era to reduce the effects of the next-day hangover.
The question was, did this article hold special significance to Ned or was it simply one of those interesting tidbits one found while surfing the net? She had her own collection of articles, based on their potential for future reference or because they were interesting trivia. Anyone with a suspicious mind who rummaged through her desk drawers might think that she was a potential national threat from the documents she’d amassed on bioterrorism.
She replaced the pages in the same sequence in which she’d found them and sighed. In her opinion, tracking down a disease was far easier than second-guessing a man’s thoughts and motives.
Determined to put the whole mess behind her, she took the latest book she’d just bought and crawled into bed even though it was only half past eight. Mark had reluctantly agreed to let her take call this evening and, as busy as the practice had been, she needed to grab her forty winks whenever she could. To do that, however, she had to relax and reading was the best method for her.
Halfway through the second chapter, the phone rang.
“Dr Albright,” she answered.
Mark grinned at her crisp, professional tone because he intended to change it. “Hi, Dr Albright. I have this medical emergency.”
She chuckled. “What are your symptoms?”
“A sudden craving for something chocolatey and sweet.”
“Are you close to a candy machine?”
“Nope. No candy machine. I’m thirsty, too.”
“Sounds serious. It might even be life-threatening.”
“I thought so. What’s your prescription, Doctor?”
“Stop at the convenience store and buy a cappuccino.”
“No hot chocolate at Chez Albright?”
“The kitchen’s closed, I’m afraid. I’m already in bed. Waiting for you, I might add.”
Picturing her in a slinky nightgown with the sheets tangled around her and the comforter in a heap, he groaned. “I wish you hadn’t told me that.”
“Want to guess what I’m wearing?”
“You found a red negligee?” If she said that she’d bought one, he’d claim a real medical emergency and leave during the short break they’d taken.
“No
such luck. I’m tucked up nice and neat in my sweatshirt and jogging pants, so cool your jets, Captain.”
“If you insist.”
“How’s your meeting?”
“We’re taking a break right now. We had to sample all the possible menu items before we could decide what we wanted.”
“You’ve been gorging yourself on hors d’oeuvres?”
“It’s a tough job, but somebody has to do it.”
Her laugh made him smile. “I’ll bet. How much longer will you be?”
“Another hour or so. Have you had any calls?”
“Just yours,” she assured him.
“If you need anything, you know how to reach me.”
“Your number is in my cellphone.”
He hadn’t realized she’d done so, but it smacked of a permanence that he liked. “They’re getting ready to start again so I have to go.”
“Are you discussing the party favors next?”
“We’ve already taken care of those. Now we have to find a different band. The group we’d booked has canceled, which means we’ll be calling until we find one. It could take hours.”
“Then I shouldn’t wait for you?”
“No.”
“Darn.” Her disappointment reverberated in that single word, but it didn’t come close to matching his.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he promised. “Sweet dreams.”
Mark closed his phone with a snap and turned to find another medical colleague, Justin St James, wearing a smirk on his handsome face.
“Checking in with the little woman?” Justin teased.
“Get a life,” Mark told his friend without rancor. He, Galen, Jared, and Justin had formed a band of brothers when they’d first moved to Hope because they’d been the only four unmarried physicians in town. Their bond had solidified when they’d survived last summer’s plane crash. While Jared and Galen had now joined the ranks of the married, he and Justin were still unattached.
“I hear your locum is quite a dish,” Justin remarked.
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