Deciding to jump onto the internet and investigate the number, Nikki hurried into the living room where her laptop sat on a pine desk. She pulled back her computer chair and sat down.
"Okay, white pages will do," she said placing her cell phone down onto the desk and hopping onto the internet. "Let's see what we get..." Going to the white pages website, Nikki went to the reverse phone option and typed in the number belonging to the caller. "The hospital...Dr. Ronald Mayton, did you give me a call?"
The thought of a bitter, hateful, old doctor trying to scare Nikki made her feel better, somewhat. Yes, the threatening call had come from the hospital, but it wasn't clear who. However, if Ronald Mayton had placed the call, it raised two questions: First, how did he get Nikki's cell phone number, and second, how did he know she was at the library snooping round? "I filled out a form when I applied for my library card," Nikki told herself, "and I wrote down my cell phone number. Seems like Mrs. Slokam is a little trickier than I thought."
Tapping her fingertips against the desk, Nikki struggled to decide if she should report the call to Chief Daily or pay the hospital a personal visit. "My address is on the library form," she reminded herself. "Better go pay the hospital a visit. Perhaps if I confront this Ronald Mayton character, he'll back down."
Sitting still a minute longer, Nikki carefully evaluated her options. She had a call that had come from the hospital recorded on her cell phone. That fact was to her advantage. But she didn't have proof Ronald Mayton had placed the call and threatened her. If she went barging into the hospital making accusations that could not be backed up with solid proof, she was liable to accomplish nothing more than having the police chase her away. Being the new woman in town--a new woman who was running her very own business--the last thing Nikki wanted was to create a division between her and the people she wanted to call her new neighbors. Rubbing people the wrong way, especially people on the city council, might cause her business license to suddenly be revoked, her property taxes to soar, a suspicious visit from a building inspector who would surely find something wrong with her cabin and insist she fix the fabricated problems, which would surely cost more money than she had. Oh yes, there were ways of running people out of town, and if she didn't play nice, Nikki knew she would become a prime target.
"That's the ticket," she said smiling. "Why, I've got a desperate migraine. I need to pay a visit to the ER. Perhaps the on-call physician can assist me with my problem."
Standing up from her desk, Nikki closed the laptop, ran into the kitchen, grabbed her purse, and took off. Feeling the old excitement that once consumed her mind back in Atlanta, she felt alive and energized, passionate and determined. Speeding off in her SUV, she felt like a woman on fire. If she were forced out of town with what money there was in her savings, Nikki knew she would barely have enough to buy a one-bedroom house back home. She had invested all of her money into her new home, new business, and new life, leaving only a small nest-egg sitting in her savings account.
Stopping at a four-way stop sign, Nikki suddenly felt all her energy drain from her body. What was she doing? What was she really doing? Stirring up a hornets' nest, was what. Yet, she had to protect herself. A man was dead. She was new in town. The man had come into her store. The man owned a newspaper. She'd worked for a major newspaper in Atlanta. Questions would be asked--questions that might make the people of Maple Hills decide to transform Nikki Bates into the perfect scapegoat. If the killer was a local, Nikki was finished.
Allowing her eyes to rest on the beauty of the serene streets, Nikki thought about the old German couple. "Denforth looked straight at them and then left the store," she whispered. "Whoever killed him might know about the poisonous stories he published...and might use that to cover up the killing, causing suspicion to be cast to the right instead of the left."
Letting up off the brake, Nikki eased her SUV through the stop sign and drove to the small, one-story brick hospital sitting on a hill, looking down at the town like a broken down old machine barely capable of producing a simple puff of smoke, let alone function with efficient skill. Parking in the emergency room parking area, which was basically just the left side of the visitors' parking lot, she exited the SUV and casually glanced around. As far as she could see, business was bad for the ER. Only her SUV and two other vehicles sat parked in the ER area, and the rest of the parking lot was empty. That's when a strange thought rolled into her mind like a heavy whisper of fog. "Mrs. Slokam called Chief Daily and reported me snooping around the newspapers. Surely he would have been too tied up with the murder to take her call? And this parking lot is practically deserted. If Denforth's body had been brought here, where are the reporters? Where are the law enforcement officials? Something smells rotten in Denmark."
Chapter Six
Walking up to the emergency room entrance, Nikki struggled to put together the pieces of the puzzle she had. She entered a fancy waiting area demarcated with beautiful art, exquisite chairs, lovely potted plants, soft blue painted walls, and a spotless white marble floor. "It's gorgeous," she whispered, clearly taken back by the expense before her.
Looking around the waiting room, Nikki didn't see a single person. Spotting an old woman sitting at a wooden desk that cost more than she would make in a lifetime, she shrugged her shoulders. "Has to be the check-in desk."
The desk sat in a corner like a comfortable old shoe; Nikki forced a painful smile on her face and approached it. "Excuse me, but is this where I need to check-in? You see, my migraine is back..."
The old woman, who appeared to be older than time itself, looked up from a novel she was reading. "No, dear, you go through that door right there, and you'll see the check-in area to your left. I'm just here to greet people."
"Oh," Nikki said, confused, feeling as if she were in a fancy hotel instead of a hospital, "okay. Thank you. Uh...if it's all right to ask, can you tell me what doctor is on call?"
"Dr. Mayton," the old woman smiled sweetly at Nikki. "I'm sure he'll be able to help you with your migraine. I used to get them all the time myself. Dr. Mayton will be able to help you."
"Through that door?" Nikki pointed to a wooden door.
"Through that door," the old woman told Nikki.
Nikki walked off and then paused. Looking over her shoulder she saw the old woman go back to reading her novel. "What's going on here?" she whispered. "But first things first, let's pay Dr. Mayton a visit."
Opening the wooden door, Nikki stepped into a short, gray-carpeted hallway that smelled like a combination of roses and pine needles. On her left stood two cubicles. Each cubicle held a single, plain-looking, wooden desk with a computer. Two simple gray chairs sat on each side of the desk. It was obvious the waiting room was for show, to impress the tourists, should one need emergency assistance. "Hello?" Nikki called out, finding both cubicles empty. Spotting an open door behind the cubicles, Nikki narrowed her eyes and looked into a room that appeared to be designed for coffee breaks. "Hello?" she called out again.
"Yes?" a woman asked, walking out of the room holding a can of soda in her hand.
Nikki forced a polite smile. "Yes, I am here because my migraine headache has become something fierce," she explained, studying the woman with the soda can. The woman was her age, tall, skinnier than a toothpick, and she had stringy blond hair that was obviously dyed. Between the woman's hair and the ugly, short and tight dress she was wearing, Nikki wasn't sure if she was on planet earth anymore. Why did women her age insist on dressing like teenagers? Didn't the woman realize that she looked like a goofy scarecrow?
"Take a seat," the woman told Nikki, obviously annoyed that she was going to have to work instead of wasting the hospital's money standing around in the break room and hoping Prince Charming would swoop in and rescue her from her dreary life.
"I'll take her," another woman said, walking out of the break room. This woman, Nikki saw, was her own age, too, but had some form of common sense. The woman had an average build with short black hair and
a pretty face, much prettier than the scarecrow woman. And unlike the scarecrow woman, she was dressed modestly, wearing a long tan dress with elbow-length sleeves. "Hi, my name is Jane Milsap...no kin to Ronnie Milsap," she joked, sitting down after the scarecrow woman wandered back into the break room. "How can I help you today?"
Relieved to speaking with someone pleasant, Nikki explained about her fake migraine. But then something told her Jane was seeing right through her lies. "I believe Dr. Mayton is on duty?"
"He is," Jane said, placing her hands down onto the computer keyboard. "Okay, let's get started. Name, please."
Nikki painfully went through the check-in process, ending by surrendering her insurance card for Jane to photocopy. "Thank you," Nikki said taking back her insurance card. "Should I go wait in the waiting room?"
"Oh no," Jane offered Nikki a friendly smile, "I'm sure we can make room for you in the back."
"It is kinda slow," Nikki agreed and then decided to toss some bait at Jane to see if the woman would take a nibble. "I wasn't sure if I could be seen today. I heard that a poor man was run over in town."
Jane bit down on her lower lip. Cautiously, she shifted through the papers she had printed out for Nikki to sign, and then placed her hands together. Jane saw her wedding band. "Mrs.--"
"I'm divorced," Nikki quickly interrupted.
"I'm sorry," Jane said in a sincere and compassionate voice. "Ms. Bates, I'm aware of who you are. You opened the new store downtown, Chocolate Covered Delights. This is a small town; newcomers are quickly investigated and gossiped about."
Nikki smiled. A woman like Jane was obviously intelligent--a woman she could respect and come to like as a friend. "You know I moved here from Atlanta, then?"
"And I know you worked for a very prominent newspaper there, too," Jane explained. "Word around town is that you were over at the library earlier, too?"
"Wow, word travels fast in a small town," Nikki said, clearly allowing Jane to lead the conversation. "Yes, I was at the library earlier."
"You realize the man who was killed this morning caused the citizens of this fair town quite some distress? I'm sorry to say that his death is a cause for celebration rather than grief."
Understanding the hint Jane was tossing into her lap and appreciating the kindness, Nikki stood up. "Perhaps I can see Dr. Mayton now?"
"This is a small town," Jane said, standing up with Nikki. "This isn't Atlanta. Whatever your hound-dog nose has a scent of, please drop it. But I can tell by looking into your eyes that you won't, which leaves me with one other choice..."
"Which is?" Nikki asked, preparing for the worst.
"Tonight, seven o'clock, my home. I'm inviting you to have dinner with my husband and me. I hope you like spaghetti."
Seeing honesty in Jane's eyes--the same honesty she saw in Lidia--comforted Nikki's nerves. "Are you sure you want to be seen with a trouble-maker?"
"I was a trouble-maker once myself," Jane winked at Nikki. "Follow me."
Chapter Seven
Dr. Ronald Mayton pulled back a privacy curtain, stared at Nikki, and then yanked the curtain closed behind him. "My nurse tells me you are suffering from migraines?" he asked in a cold tone.
Unreal, Nikki thought, casting her eyes on the short, plump man with thin, grayish-black hair. He looks like an unemployed plumber wearing a bad suit. "Yes, my migraine began right after I received a very disturbing call," Nikki answered. Sitting on a gurney covered with a sheet, she slowly eased her way down onto the clean floor. The small, curtained room held a simple blood pressure machine and a red box attached to the back wall for discarded needles.
"I see," Dr. Mayton replied, narrowing his eyes at Nikki. Shoving his hands down into the white lab coat he was wearing over his cheap gray suit, he grew silent for a minute. "You know it was me, then? Otherwise, why would you be here?"
"I checked the number on white pages. It would have been smarter to use an outside number," Nikki agreed patiently. "Why did you threaten me?"
"Listen," Dr. Mayton snapped in a low growl, "Denforth already smeared my name in the press once. I don't need a hot-shot reporter from Atlanta doing it again. Yeah, word around town is that you're digging into the murder to get a hot story, to make a name for yourself around here."
So that's what people are thinking. Here I am trying to protect myself, and people around this town think I'm after a story, Nikki thought. Kicking herself for being overly paranoid and believing that suspicion would fall onto her, she shook her head. Small town naivety destroys big city gut instincts. "I could report you to the police."
"My word against yours," Dr. Mayton told Nikki. "I can deny any claims made against me."
"Maybe," Nikki agreed, "but I have the power of the press. I can call my old editor in Atlanta and have him spread your name all across the front page."
All the color drained out of Dr. Mayton's face. Sure, he had called and threatened Nikki, but a phone call was as far as he was willing to go. Jail time awaited him if he ever laid a violent hand on a woman again; the judge in Boston had made that point extremely clear to him. "What do you want...money? Did you come here to blackmail me?"
"I want information," Nikki insisted. "Why did Denforth write about you in the paper? Did you know him?"
"Did I know him?" Dr. Mayton asked in a disgusted voice. "Nobody knew this guy. He shows up out of nowhere and starts writing garbage about people. He knew about my life in Boston. And then..."
"And then what?" Nikki pressed.
"The blackmail began. Denforth, that rotten skunk, began demanding money from the people he wrote about, or else he would send the stories he wrote to larger papers. Come on lady, you're a reporter, you must know everyone he wrote about has money," Dr. Mayton hissed.
Nikki rubbed the back of her neck with her hand. Up until now, she had not put those clues together. "Do you believe a local, someone Denforth wrote about, killed him?"
"No way," Dr. Mayton said, shaking his head. "Why take the chance? We paid him the blackmail money. But whoever ran him down did me a huge favor. Good riddance to that sewer rat."
"Will the others Denforth wrote about speak with me?"
"Definitely not," Dr. Mayton clearly informed Nikki in a tone that told her that trying to interview anyone else would result in disaster. "And now that Denforth is dead, we can finally leave town. He kept us here under the power of blackmail, but now we're free. So if you think for one minute I'm going to pay you--"
"I don't want your money," Nikki told Dr. Mayton, "I'm an honest reporter. But rest assured if you ever call me again in the manner you did earlier, I will report you to every authority known to mankind. And by the way, my cell phone has recorded this entire conversation. So you're the one who'd better be leaving Maple Hills."
"Lady," Dr. Mayton promised, "I can't get out of this sewer fast enough. Are you through?"
"One more question?"
"Last one," Dr. Mayton answered, annoyed.
"Was Denforth working alone?"
"How should I know? Every month I mailed my money to a post office box in Boston," Dr. Mayton snapped. "Now listen, I can't leave town immediately. If I do, well, I might look suspicious. But I'm leaving as soon as I can. Is that good enough for you?"
"Yes," Nikki agreed, "but before I go, I do have one last question."
"No more questions--"
"Denforth had more on you, didn't he? By the way you try and hide your Brooklyn accent, my guess is you are or were connected with the mob. You have that look," Nikki told Dr. Mayton examining every feature of his face. "You have that talk."
"Oh, gee, lady," Dr. Mayton said, feeling the color drain from his face again. "I was..." Dr. Mayton lowered his voice to a whisper, "that was a long time ago. I was a stupid kid, okay? That was way back."
Nikki studied Dr. Mayton's face. "You stole money, left town, went to medical school, started a new life, and here you are, right? Somehow Denforth found out."
"That rat found out a lot about
a lot of people," Dr. Mayton told Nikki, narrowing his eyes at her. "Yeah, I'm not perfect, and maybe what that rat wrote about me is true, but I got out, you hear me? I got out before I got killed. Like I said, I was just a stupid nineteen year-old kid who didn't have any sense to know better."
"I have no more interest in you. But rest assured this conversation is going to be safeguarded. If you try to harm me, it'll go straight to the police," Nikki said pointing to her cell phone.
"Yeah, yeah," Dr. Mayton said, throwing hands in the air, "take a hike. I'm not going to prison over some lame-brain reporter who can't keep her nose clean. Get lost."
Chapter Eight
Confident she had picked all the information Dr. Mayton was willing to surrender, Nikki walked out of the curtained room. As she did, she bumped right into Chief Daily. "How is your migraine, Ms. Bates?" he asked in an angry tone.
Going with the idea that everyone thought she was a reporter after a hot story, Nikki shrugged her shoulders. Having a card up her sleeve might just be the ticket she needed to keep the wolves who might want to begin nipping at her ankle at bay. Blackmail through the press was a powerful tool. "It comes and goes. Chief Daily, I presume?"
Dr. Mayton stuck his head out of the curtain, eyed Chief Daily with a nervous face, and scurried away like the rat he was. "This way," Chief Daily ordered Nikki, leading her back out into the fancy waiting room. Nikki followed behind Chief Daily, wondering why the man was wearing an expensive suit that, from what she could see, cost well into the thousands. Why wasn't Chief Daily wearing his police uniform? "I see you had a little talk with our beloved doctor?"
Standing close to the sliding glass doors, Nikki watched the old woman who had greeted her stand up and vanish through the door leading into the check-in area. All alone. "Awful quiet around here," she replied, ignoring the question. "A man was murdered, but you couldn't tell it. This silence in this place is so loud it could pop your eardrums."
Raspberry Truffle Murder (A Maple Hills Cozy Mystery Book 1) Page 3