by Lori Avocato
“Yeah,” she said, sounding very confused.
“I’m calling for Mrs. Olivia Wheaton-Chandler.”
I never saw anyone come to attention so fast as the poor receptionist. “She…she’s not here at the moment.”
“I know that, you fool,” I said, feeling badly about being so rude but figuring anyone working for Olivia would act that way. “She wanted me to check and see how things are going there. Any problems? You are paying attention, aren’t you?”
Suddenly the woman was up from her seat, blinking her eyes and carrying on that everything was fine. I then hung up and waited.
Perfect. She shoved the phone back in its cradle, stretched and set the BACK IN FIFTEEN MINUTEs sign up on the desk. Great. Caffeine it is, I thought as she walked around the front of the desk. But before she headed toward the staff’s kitchen, she went to the front doors, jiggled the handles and…locked them! She used a key that she then tucked back into her pocket. That had to be against the fire code, but she probably didn’t care and did it to keep out Olivia’s spy.
I was locked in Highcliff Manor!
Oh, well, I’d been in tougher situations, often with Jagger, so I decided to get to the files and worry about my escape later.
When I got into the back office, I took out my flashlight, deciding it was safer than turning on the light. Then I stuck on my gloves, thinking Jagger would be proud that I’d remembered. Probably no patients would be about at this time, and certainly no visitors could get in, and the doc had left, so until “Rip Van Winkle” herself returned, I was safe.
I felt certain that was what Jagger would have done.
That lonely feeling started to creep into my thoughts, so I hurried to the locked file cabinet and refused to give in to that sentiment. Again I needed to find a key. I already knew the file cabinet key was not in the same box as the desk one. It would have stood out the other day when I was there. Nope. Had to be somewhere else.
I walked closer and accidentally bumped my knee on the edge. After a silent mumble of pain, I shone my flashlight onto the desk to see if there might be another box.
Papers were strewn across the desktop.
Old Rip Van must have been filing and gotten the urge for Solitaire. Perfect. I moved the light toward the file cabinet.
It was open.
Looking upward I thought, Thanks, but this is way too easy for me, but thanks again. I’m not complaining.
Hey, I was still fairly inexperienced at this job and took all the help I could get.
I sat down at the desk and shone the light onto the files. Some had Ian’s old names on them, but they were crossed out and had more normal sounding patient names written above. No one had taken the time to replace them neatly. I bet poor Ian would be turning over in his grave, if he hadn’t been cremated.
Slowly I read through the files as I held the flashlight in my mouth. Some of the names I recognized as women or men whom Goldie had spoken about meeting since being there.
Frequent fliers had been replaced with BDDs.
I lifted a file and rolled my chair back away from the desk. Before I opened the folder, I looked up to make sure no one was around. Hopefully Rip would take her time. Something told me she wasn’t up for employee of the month anytime soon.
When I leaned forward to open the file, an unexpected breeze blew a paper off the desk. My heart stopped. Geez. Old Samuel must have followed me. I laughed to myself and stuck the paper back but not before reading it.
OVERDUE was stamped on it. Then a handwritten note: “Payment refused to be paid by husband” across the top of the bill…for one Daphne Baines-wife of the murdered Mr. Baines. Wow!
I set the paper back on the desk, hopefully where it’d been before but thinking Rip wouldn’t know any different, and opened the frequent flier file.
“Wow,” I muttered, followed by “Hmm,” then a few more “wows” until I took out my beeper camera and started to click away. Thank goodness I’d invested in it for my first case.
Seemed as if the frequent fliers were the ones bilking the insurance company. Handwritten notes, and I wasn’t sure whose hand had written them, said the spouses of each patient had refused to make any more payments. Mr. LaPierre had even said that his wife was a “sick woman” and needed therapy not more surgery. His credit card number had been crossed out.
But what interested me the most was that the surgeries were still preformed with a diagnosis of “deviated septum,” so dear, perfect Babette could get yet another nose job.
After reading through all of them, I found similar “made up” medical diagnoses so that the insurance companies did, in fact, reimburse Highcliff Manor for their work.
What I couldn’t tell was who preformed all the surgery-and who was behind this whole scam. These files had been tampered with and lots of potential evidence covered up.
A whirring sound struck the air.
The elevator descending!
I shoved the files back, not too worried about the order because Rip Van Winkle surely wouldn’t notice, and ran out the door back to the safety of my alcove.
Two nurses came off the elevator and old Rip walked around the corner at that very minute…and my heart started to beat once again.
Solitary surveillance was no fun.
I’d been on cases where I had to hide and watch the goings-on of suspects before, but most of the time I had Jagger to keep me company. Enough said.
Right now, though, my back hurt. I was also sweating in my jeans, but I couldn’t even take my gloves off for fear of leaving any fingerprints, so I just stood there watching the damn receptionist, again back at the computer, playing games!
It seemed hours passed before she finally got up. Thank goodness! She walked around the desk area and took a left down the hallway. She was probably headed toward the ladies’ room, but I couldn’t care less as I finally stepped from my alcove and looked at the front door, only steps away.
What to do? What to do?
Not wanting to draw any suspicions, I ran toward the elevator, but opened the door to the stairs instead. I hurried up to the second floor, looked around before I stepped out from the stairwell and turned toward Goldie’s room.
“Visiting hours are over, Ms. Sokol,” someone said-and in a not too pleasant tone.
Twenty-Three
Mentally I reviewed the symptoms of a heart attack-because getting caught right now, I believed I was having one. Chest pain, neck pain, shortness of breath, no heartbeat! Yeah, I could pass out right about now.
Quickly I slipped off my gloves then turned around to see Neal standing there. How the hell had he gotten back in? Duh. There had to be a staff entrance. That’s right. Doctors and nurses came in through a door that was on the south side of the building where their parking lot was located. Geez. I never parked there since I always walked here.
“Oh, hey.” I stepped forward. Thank goodness he was smiling…or make that ogling me. Maybe the all black outfit looked weird. Sure it did.
“Hey. Is there a problem, Pauline?”
Problem? How did he know? Oh, wait. “Problem with Goldie?”
Neal shook his head. I realized he looked oh so casual for him. Brown suede jacket. Blue jeans, snuggly fitting in all the right places, and brown boots. Yum. He looked yummy.
“Did he call you or something?” Neal stepped forward and placed his hand on the small of my back.
“Oh, yeah. Something. I better go see him. I didn’t want to wake anyone so I was sneaking around. Like I’m some kind of spy!” I laughed and thank goodness he joined me. “Oops. We should be quiet.” I leaned forward and forced myself to kiss him on the lips. Really. It was forced.
He eased me back and looked around. I guessed he didn’t want any of the staff to see us…you know. Then he guided me toward Goldie’s room, and I suddenly realized that my patient was snoring away. What the hell was I going to use for an excuse?
It was then that I realized it paid to be a good person in one’s life
. Kerie Cetin walked around the corner and saw us. She hurried closer and said, “Oh, Dr. Forsyth. This is so strange. I was just about to page you. Mrs. Seymour is having some excessive swelling. Can you come take a look at her?”
“Excuse me,” Neal said to me.
I nodded and smiled. “No problem. I hope she’s fine.”
Kerie hurried away with him.
And I looked upward and winked. “Thanks.”
I turned and walked back to the elevator, realizing I wouldn’t have to crawl out of Goldie’s second story room window. I’d use the staff entrance-and no one would be the wiser.
With Jagger MIA, I gave myself a mental “atta girl,” knowing he’d do the same. However, it really didn’t feel the same. In other words I didn’t feel it down to my toes.
The digital clock said two and I groaned, realizing it was actually 2:00 A.M. Jogging back after my Neal scare had me revved up and falling asleep didn’t come easily. I’d have to nap in Goldie’s room tomorrow at the rate I was going.
Thank goodness the night had turned out profitably…and having nearly slept with the guy who caught you sneaking around had to be a plus.
I smiled, turned over, hugged my pillow and decided I’d force myself to sleep, and before I knew it the sun was glaring in my window, the damn clock had only moved four hours, and I had to get up for the day.
“Are you shitting me, Suga?” Goldie asked, then made some kind of surprised noise. It was difficult to identify sounds with old Gold.
“No. Neal caught me right outside your door. You do snore like a lumberjack, Gold.”
We both laughed and went over the evidence that I’d found last night. Goldie was so proud of me, I felt like a little kid getting a gold star on my homework.
“So, Jagger disappeared, huh?” Goldie asked.
“Don’t start on him, Gold. I have no idea where he went. All I know is, I don’t need him.”
Goldie gave me a nod, but it was followed by a “but you want him” kind of look. Thank goodness he didn’t verbalize, cause there was no way I could lie to my best friend.
I waved my hands in the air. “Enough about that. What the hell am I going to do about my date with Neal tonight?”
Goldie walked to the window, sat in the chair and looked at me. “Do, Suga? I’d think you would know what to do.”
“If you were closer, I’d smack you, but I’m too tired to get up.” I rolled over onto my side as I pulled the duvet up on Goldie’s bed. “I mean, I should be wrapping this investigation up, Gold. I really don’t have time for a date.”
“A $255,000 date?”
I peeked at him from under the duvet. “I hope I don’t have to spring for the damn dinner!”
What does one wear to a 255 grand date? I asked myself that question a gazillion times and even looked around my empty room and asked Samuel. “You’re no help, Sam,” I said then laughed.
A gentle breeze touched my face.
I laughed again. “Okay. You’re a guy anyway. I’m sure we’d never agree on what looked good for me to wear. Only Goldie and Miles have that market cornered.”
I lifted my black dress and decided that was the only decent thing I had. Then again, I’d worn it the other night and Neal never did say how dressy we were going to get. There was nothing worse than showing up for a date under- or overdressed.
I flopped onto my bed, pulled my cell from my scrubs top and poked in the numbers.
“Hey,” I started to say then realized it was Neal’s voice mail. So I left the “what to wear tonight” message, flipped the cell closed and pulled the blanket over me. There wasn’t much I could do until I heard from him.
For a few seconds I stared at my cell phone, and then picked it up. “Damn it. I shouldn’t do this, but-” I pressed the contacts button, scrolled down and pressed Talk.
“The Nextel subscriber you are trying to reach is not available,” the disembodied voice said in my ear.
I slammed the phone shut-as if Jagger could see that I’d tried to reach him.
Strictly for business purposes.
Really.
Ring. Ring.
My eyes flew open to see the red light blinking on my cell phone. I had a voice-mail message. Jagger? I pressed the button, listened to the female voice go through her rigmarole and then heard, “Casual. Jeans are fine. Bring a sweater or jacket.”
Neal.
Okay, he wasn’t Jagger, but my stomach fluttered at the sound of his voice and my mind flashed back to imagining a near-miss of pretty damn decent sex (remember, I had no recent comparisons). I sat up in bed-feeling as if Samuel were right next to me, jeering.
“Damn it. I wouldn’t be surprised if you’re a long lost descendent of none other than my Jagger.” I laughed and realized how easily the word “my” had come out. Then I jumped out of bed and headed for a shower-a cold one.
“You look fantastic, Pauline,” Neal said as he put his arm around me and kissed my cheek.
I purred. Purred? Geez how unlike me, but it felt kinda good. “Thanks. You don’t look so bad yourself, although for 255,000 bucks, I’d expect maybe a tuxedo.”
We both laughed, and I realized the little crow’s-feet at the ends of Neal’s eyes deepened significantly when he laughed-and the damn things were way too sexy. He probably spent a bit too much time out in the sun, and guys were notorious for not using sunscreen. But then again, it did look good on him.
“So, Doc, where are we headed in our casuals?” Neal’s hand moved to the small of my back and he led me out the door. I could get used to this. Really.
“It’s a surprise.”
Yikes. He’d leaned closer to my ear, as if I couldn’t hear normal talking, and when his breath tickled my cheek, I sighed and mumbled, “A surprise sounds…surprising.”
A surprise sounds surprising?
What the hell? I really needed to take a deep breath and to get out more. I let Neal guide me to his car. After I got in, I took several long, slow breaths to get my wits about me. This was way too much excitement for a gal from Hope Valley.
Newport. Money. House with a name. Handsome doc. Wow.
I’m there.
As we drove along Bellevue, Neal cranked up the CD on his stereo. Not much into music except the few country songs I liked by Trisha Yearwood and Tim McGraw’s “Live Like You Were Dying,” I was not any kind of expert.
By the time we made it down to America’s Cup Avenue, I couldn’t stand the suspense. “Come on, Neal. Give me a clue.”
He laughed.
My heart danced and hormones surged.
“We’re almost there. Patience is a virtue, Pauline.”
“Ha! You just enjoy being in charge!” We laughed some more and soon Neal turned into a parking lot at the marina. “We’re going on a boat?”
Yikes. Water. Not a good swimmer. Maybe seasickness.
“No.” He shut the car off, leaned near, touched my hair, gently pushing it behind my ear, and said, “We’re going on my boat.”
“Oh…my…God…that sounds…fantastic,” I whispered, as if I could swim to save my life if the boat capsized.
Something that large is not going to capsize, Pauline, I told myself, looking at the gigantic white yacht bobbing gracefully before me, all the while twisting my pink locket in my hands. I’d forgotten to take it off when changing, but it came in handy for nervous energy.
Neal bustled about with lines and carrying stuff from the car. A picnic basket of sorts that I wondered might be filled with food was the first thing he’d brought out.
The boat bobbed.
My stomach lurched.
Damn. “I wish I had some Dramamine in my purse,” I mumbled.
“Prone to seasickness?” Neal asked.
I swung around, ready to jump in the water and drown myself. “Umm.”
“We could head back to a drugstore and get some, but then I’ll be late making my post-op rounds tonight.”
I thought of Goldie. “No. I don’t want you to
do that.” I opened my purse and started to look inside.
“Well, what do you have in there? Anything of use?” he asked.
I dug around until I found my pill case, opened it and took out a little pink and white capsule.
“Well, there you go. Benadryl. Should help. Take that,” he said and eased my hand toward me. “Good thing you had it.”
“I carry Benadryl in case I ever have some weird allergic reaction.”
“Even though it’s not for motion sickness, Pauline, it might help alleviate any nausea because it has the histamine blocker ability.” His eyes kind of sparkled when he said it. I smiled to myself. Doc Neal looked so proud of himself. Then again, maybe he just wanted me to enjoy the boat ride.
Made sense coming from a doctor, so I promptly popped it into my mouth.
He looked at me and smiled.
I smiled back then thought, Shit. I only hope the Benadryl doesn’t make me sleepy!
The pictures on the wall shifted-as did my stomach.
I looked up from my comfy spot in the cabin near Neal and watched him sail or drive or whatever the yacht until we were out in the Atlantic far enough that I couldn’t see any land.
How romantic…if I didn’t barf.
If I didn’t watch the pictures sway, hear the swells of water outside the front window or acknowledge that this teeny, tiny boat could actually flip over like the Poseidon, I would be enjoying myself.
Then I yawned.
“Is it the company?” Neal asked, turning around to look at me.
“Hey, keep your eye on the road, water, whatever. And, no, it isn’t the company.” I yawned two more times. “I think yawning is a sign of lack of oxygen.”
He did something with some parts on what I called the dashboard of this vessel and walked over to me, bent down and took my hands in his. “Then we need to do something about that. Maybe mouth-to-mouth?”
As his delicious lips covered mine, I muttered, “Shouldn’t someone be at the helm…what the hell is a helm…or…”
Neal took my head in his hands, kissed me several times and kissed me again. “No need. We’re fine.”