by Judi McCoy
“I’m a friend of her youngest sister.” There was no reason to lie about her connection to Vivian. “She keeps me informed on everything that’s happening in the case. And I did have dinner with Arlene last night.”
The doctor trailed her fingers from the bridge of Ellie’s nose to the tip. “Any pain here?”
“Yes. Especially when I sneeze.” That was true.
“So, what have you been using to take the edge off?”
Reaching back in her brain, Ellie recalled the name of the two pills Viv had given her on the night of the attack. “Valium to calm me down and help me sleep and Percocet for the pain. But Arlene’s running low. She said she might come to you herself later. Something about her prescriptions running out.”
“Hmm. Has she talked to Mickey?” Sabrina cupped Ellie’s chin and turned her head to get a side view of the bump. “He’d probably be able to fix her up.” She removed her hand, picked up a manila folder she’d started when Ellie came in, and wrote something down. “Did you have an X-ray or MRI?”
“Uh, no.” Though she probably should have. “I was flat on my back for a day. Then we had to—to—help Arlene with the memorial details.”
After walking to her desk chair and taking a seat, Dr. Bordowski scribbled another notation in the chart. “Have you been dizzy or nauseated? Are you keeping your food down?”
“No problem there,” Ellie said, relieved she could give another true answer. “But the headache never seems to go away, even with the Percocet. And it’s really hard to fall asleep.”
“How long are you staying here?”
“Just a couple more days.”
“I could send you for an MRI, though I think you’re out of danger. You live in Manhattan?”
“The Upper East Side.”
“Do you have a family doctor?”
Only Rudy’s vet, Dr. Dave. “Not really. Can I just go to the emergency room?”
“A walk-in clinic might do it, but you’d still need a doctor’s prescription, and it would cost you a bundle. Do you have health insurance?”
“A private plan, yes.”
She scratched a name on the pad and passed it over. “Lorraine Lewis is a good family practice doc.” If the pain is still unbearable in another week, tell her I sent you. She can handle further testing.
“And for now . . .” Dr. Bordowski quickly wrote two prescriptions and passed them across the blotter. “One of these is for the pain and another is a sleeping aid, but they have a little more kick than the Percocet and Valium. Go to Uncle Mickey and he’ll take care of you.” She stood, signaling the meeting was over.
Ellie collected her slicker and tote bag and followed the doctor to the door. She hadn’t said a word about the bill for an office visit, which seemed strange. “Don’t you want my insurance information? I’m not sure what my copay is, but I’d be happy to write you a check.”
“Consider this visit on the house. I just want to ask one more thing.”
“Yes.”
“When and where is Marty’s memorial service going to be held? I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
Ellie left East Hampton, careful to obey all the traffic rules as she drove, just in case Officer O’Brien was still on scouting duty. The sun shining through a thin layer of clouds was a sure sign the storm had passed, but the downed branches and excess water clogging the streets made travel, on foot or by car, a soggy mess.
It was close to three, and she was hungry, but she had to do one more thing before she returned to Arlene’s. Staying on the main road instead of turning onto Old Montauk Highway, she rolled into downtown Montauk and pulled up in front of Michael Forrest’s drugstore.
Once inside, she took her time wandering the aisles. As on her first visit, the store held the usual mixture of toddler, teen, and adult customers. Several women were talking about the storm while they picked through easyfold umbrellas and rain slickers. A group of kids inspected the coloring books, crayons, and puzzles displayed in the magazine racks. A trio of adolescent boys thumbed through video rentals, and a couple of teenage girls were giggling in the makeup section while they inspected lipsticks and fingernail polish.
She stopped near the women, hoping to overhear some bit of conversation about their need for “happy pills,” but the talk centered on how to entertain small children in foul weather. Though aware that drug dependency could hit men and women of any age, Ellie had no idea how to start a conversation on the ins and outs of acquiring unprescribed pills to aid with depression, anxiety, or lack of sleep.
After sidling past a group of tweens checking out sunglasses, she arrived at the prescription counter and stood in line behind two women. Uncle Mickey was nowhere to be seen, so she studied the patrons, curious, as she always was, about her fellow man. The moment she got a good look at what the woman directly in front of her wore, she sucked in a “hello.” Ms. D&G seemed edgy, crossing her arms, running her fingers through her short dark brown hair, and huffing out sighs like a threepack-a-day smoker flying on a coast-to-coast flight.
Uncle Mickey came out from the bowels of the drug area, smiling his usual ear-to-ear grin, and passed the first customer a small bag. She handed him a credit card and he took care of the transaction, then sent her on her way with a cheery “Have a nice day.”
When Ms. D&G took two awkward steps to the counter, the pharmacist’s smile faded. He jerked his chin, as if dismissing the woman, and focused on Ellie. Ms. D&G stepped to the side, her face down, staring at her fidgeting fingers.
“Hey, there. How are you?” he asked, his grin back in place.
Ellie trained her gaze on Uncle Mickey, hoping to sneak a peek at the woman sometime during this encounter. “I’m fine, thank you. I’m here to have a couple of prescriptions filled.”
“Well, you’ve come to the right place.”
“Excuse me,” Ms. D&G interrupted, “but I’m in a hurry. Mickey. I really need to speak with you.”
The pharmacist’s expression rolled back to frigid. “We’ve already had this discussion, Linda. I can’t help you.”
Linda shuddered a sigh. “Mickey, please. I don’t have anywhere else I can go.”
Doing her best to ignore Uncle Mickey and his customer, Ellie pretended to check out a display of postcards featuring the bounty and beauty of the Hamptons.
After another minute of arguing, Mickey said, “Come through the side door so we can continue this discussion.” He gave Ellie a smile. “I’ll be with you in a few minutes. I have to take care of this first.”
Once Mickey disappeared, Ellie scrutinized the prescription area, saw that she was alone, and sidled to the door just entered by Ms. D&G. Leaning sideways, she plastered her ear against the door and held her breath. She was terrible at sneaking around, but this was her only chance to get a handle on Uncle Mickey and his business dealings.
“I’m willing to double the price,” she heard the woman say. “There’s nowhere else I can go.”
“If Sabrina wouldn’t give you a prescription, I can’t help you. Someone’s tightened the noose on this end of the island.” From the sound of his voice, the cheerful Uncle Mickey had turned into a grump. “Without a current prescription, I’m on hold for a while.”
“But I need the Concerta. I’ve gained four pounds since I sprained my ankle in the last tennis tournament. If I can’t exercise, I eat.” The woman’s last words came out in a sob. “You have friends—connections—in the business. Surely you could send me to someone who would—” Linda’s voice dropped to a muffled mix of words.
Ellie remembered Agent Bond’s quick diatribe the night he’d accused Arlene of drug abuse. It sounded as if Ms. D&G was a perfect example of the typical user with her need for Schedule II pharmaceuticals.
After a moment, Uncle Mickey said, “Here, this is the best I can do.”
Ellie skittered back to her spot and continued her postcard perusal. A moment later Ms. D&G slipped out the door carrying a small white bag, and hurried away without a gl
ance in Ellie’s direction. A few seconds later, Uncle Mickey returned to the counter.
“Sorry about that,” he said. “Sometimes it takes a while to get through to a customer.”
“Is she a regular?” Ellie asked, trying to sound innocent and disinterested.
“A local, at least during the summer. Her husband is some big real estate mogul in the city, and he sticks her in their beach house for four months out of the year. She gets bored and—” He shrugged. “Never mind. How can I help you?”
Mental fingers crossed, Ellie pushed the two prescriptions across the counter. “I heard her mention Dr. Bordowski. That’s where I got these.”
Mickey collected the sheets of paper and gave them a quick once-over. Then he took a good look at Ellie’s face. “That’s right. I heard you were the one that burglar bounced around the other night. I’m surprised Arlene didn’t fix you up.”
“Arlene’s downsizing her drug cabinet. Seems she’s worried that someone might be looking into Dr. Kent’s records.”
“Is that so?”
“It’s what she said.”
Mickey raised an eyebrow. “Hmm.”
“You can fill the prescriptions, right? Dr. Bordowski said you were the man to see, but there’s another drugstore across the circle. I wouldn’t mind going there if you don’t have—”
“No, no. We’re fine. I have both of these in the back. Just give me a couple of minutes.”
He left and Ellie blew out a breath. Then the overhead speaker clicked on and a voice said, “Pickup in pharmacy, Mickey. Pickup in pharmacy.”
Aware an incoming call meant she’d have to wait, Ellie took a seat on a metal bench along the wall and let her thoughts roam. The next time she saw Jim Bond, she needed to ask him about Michael Forrest. How involved did the DEA think he was in Dr. Kent’s illegal business? Was he under surveillance, too? And what about the women out here who bought the drugs? Were any of them working as a plant for the DEA?
From what she understood, refilling prescriptions too soon, or selling the drugs without a prescription, was against the law. Doctors and nurse practitioners had a national provider identification number, registered with the DEA. The number was used to track sales so overuse of certain drugs didn’t occur.
That last idea made plenty of sense to her. Ms. D&G had all the symptoms of a user—at least, all the symptoms Ellie had heard about. How hard would it be to insert someone who said they were a summer guest and needed relief from any one of a dozen ailments? If they didn’t have a prescription, Uncle Mickey might sell them the drugs straight out.
Maybe somehow, he and Martin Kent had figured a way to sell the drugs privately. But something went wrong and they had an argument or . . .
It boggled her mind. She’d learned more about the drug scene than she’d ever thought possible this past week. Any accomplished liar could fake a reason to need more meds.
Drug mixing was another huge problem. Heath Ledger, Anna Nicole Smith, Michael Jackson, and dozens of other stars had taken that route and ended up dead. If it continued unchecked, could it happen to Arlene or Adrianne?
“Ms. Engleman?”
Ellie jumped when she heard her name. Looking to her right, she saw Uncle Mickey’s head peering around the counter window.
“Sorry it took some time, but your medication is ready.”
She stood and dug through her bag. After finding her wallet, she passed him her credit card.
A minute later, package of drugs in hand, she was sitting in the contrary BMW, shifting and jerking her way back to Arlene’s manor.
Chapter 17
“Why the rush?” asked Rudy as Ellie dashed around the bedroom collecting clothes.
“We’re late for dinner, and there’s a lot to discuss with the McCreadys. I have to find out how Arlene and Viv did with the memorial invitations, see if Detective Wheeling or Jim Bond came nosing around, make sure Rosa and her family are—”
“I listened in on Viv and Arlene makin’ those calls, and they did fine.”
“You listened in? Since when did that become your job?” Ellie found the sweater she’d been looking for, navy blue with tiny white dots. She planned to wear it over a red T with her white cigarette pants. Dressing as she walked, she finished in the bathroom. “What am I saying? Never mind how you found out, just tell me what you learned.”
Rudy parked himself on the plush turquoise rug in front of the shower stall. “Everybody said yes. People even called here, sayin’ they heard about the memorial and wanted to come. In fact, the word spread so fast that Arlene and Rosa decided to call a caterer to be sure they’d have enough food.”
“Good grief, really?”
“Yep. Vivie thinks they’re all nosy Nellies. Just want to see if they could pick up more dirt on the doc.” He scratched his side with a rear paw, then sighed. “Ahh, that’s better.”
“Leave it to Viv to figure out the real reason people would care about Dr. Sleazeball.” Ellie checked her face in the mirror. The bump on her temple was down, the gash was healing, and the bruise had faded. The edges now inched from yellow to green to blue, but the bump itself was still a deep purple. “I look like I’m ready for Halloween,” she muttered, wondering if there was anything she could slap on her skin to make the mask disappear.
“You should wear that knot like a badge of courage. Remember, you got it by surprisin’ a burglar. If I ever find the guy who did that to you, I’ll—”
“You’ll do what?” She sat on the commode lid. “The man was big and burly, like a pro football player. He’d chew you up and spit you out in one bite.”
“Okay, then, think on it. Who’d you run into in this investigation that fits that description?”
Ellie quirked her lips. How dumb could she be? Rudy was correct, as usual. She hadn’t once added the size of the burglar to the equation. Whoever flattened her was strong, just like whoever had pushed Dr. Kent backward hard enough to make him fall. She’d been stupid, worrying about Arlene’s and Adrianne’s drug use, when she simply should have focused on the clues she’d collected.
Who called Dr. Kent Marty?
Who was in the drug business?
Whose voice did Myron imitate in the threats?
Who was big and powerful enough to mow her down?
Uncle Mickey, she concluded. The answer to all the clues pointed to him like a GPS with extra radar.
“Why are you smilin’?”
Ellie bent and rubbed Rudy’s ears. “Because it always pays to listen to you.”
“I been tellin’ you that since you found me in the big house,” he said, flopping to his back.
She gave him one of her best belly rubs, hitting all the good spots as he wriggled and groaned. “Okay, enough until later. We have a dinner to go to, and later tonight I have to talk things over with Viv.”
Rudy stood and gave a full body shake. “Lead the way, Triple E. I’ll add color commentary if anyone forgets what the day was like.”
She slipped a pen and her notebook in one pocket, then set her phone on vibrate and tucked it in her other pocket in case Sam called. She and Rudy took the rear stairs down as they talked. “Was T around? Did he pay attention to things?”
“Sort of. I think he was more interested in guarding the back deck. He kept watchin’ the guesthouse, growlin’ if a car pulled in to read the notice.”
“Did Vanessa and Evan show up?”
“Nah. They drove away for lunch and came back later.”
“Did you see Adrianne?”
“Nope.”
They arrived in the kitchen and Ellie inhaled a wonderful aroma. After quickly mixing Rudy’s dinner, she set it on the floor, then scanned the kitchen and spotted several pots bubbling on the stove. Smiling, she walked to the terrace door. Rosa had something special cooking for tonight, and if she was right, it was going to be delicious.
She checked the outdoor seating arrangements before she made her entrance. Vanessa and Evan sat on one side of the table, Viv
on the other with Arlene at the far end, while Rosa served some kind of salad. Everyone seemed calm and in a good mood.
Best of all, no Adrianne.
Rudy, a power eater, nudged her calf and they went onto the deck together. When she took her seat, Viv said, “I don’t know about the rest of you, but I could eat three or four all by myself.” She scooped up a forkful of salad, then looked at Ellie. “Lucky you got here before Rosa served the main course, or you might have left hungry.”
“Main course?” said Ellie, playing stupid.
“Lobster.” Viv raised her wineglass. “In preparation for tomorrow’s unveiling. Rosa found a sale at a local seafood shop. She’s celebrating the capture of the real killer, so Tomas will be exonerated.”
Ellie stifled a groan. What if she was wrong? What if Uncle Mickey wasn’t the killer? What if she let her friend, and Vivian’s family, down?
“Um, maybe we’re jumping the gun.” Oops. That was a stupid comment. “I mean, I’m not sure the setup will work here, like it always does for Hercule Poirot. Just remember, he’s a model of the perfect detective living in someone’s imagination.” To be blunt, the creation of some boring mystery writer looking to be a true-to-life detective. “Let’s not get our hopes up, okay?”
“Awwwk! Hope! I hope you know what you’re doin’, Marty.Awwwk! Don’t try to cheat me. I’ll find out. Awwwk!”
Rosa and the rest of the clan paid the African gray no mind. Standing next to Arlene, she said, “Ah, but we believe in you, Miss Ellie. You have done this for other friends, and we know you won’t let us down.”
“Downtown! Awwwk! Everything’s great when you’re dooown-town. Awwwk!”
Vanessa gave the bird a look, while Arlene smiled. “Myron’s just expressing himself. He has no other way to communicate.”
“I hope you don’t plan on having him in the middle of the memorial service. Can you imagine the ruckus if he starts to sing?” said Vanessa.
“Awwwk! Sing. Sing a song. Sing it gentle. Awwwk! Sing it all night long. Awwwk!”