As a preteen traveling to my grandparents’ house for the holidays, I used to stare at the people in the airport, wondering what skeletons they had in their closet. My first indication that I wanted to be a cop. Unlike the airport, where strangers excitedly told each other their destination, the people in this room didn’t make eye contact with the others, spoke in hushed tones if they spoke at all, and tried to look invisible. When I had to see the cop shrink, it was at the station and he didn’t have a waiting room. I appreciated that more as I sat in this room, profiling patients for over an hour. The receptionist finally came out of her frosted glass room and walked over to me.
“Are you here to see a doctor?” she asked. “I don’t believe that you’re signed in.”
“Yes, I’m here to see Dr. Celine Aponte, but I don’t have an appointment.”
“Oh, but she’s booked up until next month,” the young woman explained. “Can I set you an appointment?”
I stood up to be eye level with her. “No, thank you. I will make other arrangements.” The waiting room had emptied out for the most part and I could watch the comings and goings from the bench in the foyer. I propped my leg up on the bench and leaned against the wall, watching the elevator doors opening and closing, delivering its passengers or carrying them away.
“Ma’am, you can’t loiter in the here,” a deep voice said.
Feeling déjà vu, I looked up to see if it was Byron. It wasn’t, and thankfully, this guy wasn’t wearing a Taser gun. Still, this time I explained why I was there.
“I’m waiting on Dr. Aponte,” I said, taking out my wallet and pulling out my business card. “I’m a friend of hers and was in the neighborhood and thought I’d offer her a lift home.”
The security guard, middle forties and skinny as a rail, looked at my card and then back at me with a question in his eyes. “Are you hiring?” he asked, handing me back my card.
“Keep it. And yes, I am. If you’re interested, fill out an application and I’ll take a look at it.”
“Thanks, I’ll do that,” he said, his voice more accepting. “Dr. Aponte may not be out for a while, but I guess it’s okay for you to stay here, being the chief of security and all.”
My training over the years had instilled in me a question that I ask myself every time I meet someone who wants something from me. Is he the killer?
“About that, do you patrol the whole building or just sections of it?”
“The whole building. Why do you ask?’
“I was just curious about how security works around here.” Because he was spread so thin throughout the building, he probably wouldn’t notice a serial killer sitting in the waiting room. Still, serial killers weren’t known to follow conventional means. “How long have you worked here, Mister…?”
“Terrence Wilkerson, but most folks just call me Terry.”
“It’s good to meet you, Terry. Have you worked here long?”
“Yes. Almost five years now. It’s a pretty good gig but not much in the way of benefits.”
“And that’s why you’re looking for something different?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he replied.
“I can certainly understand that,” I said.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
I jerked to the side and looked around Terry. Celine was standing in the doorway of the clinic, frowning at me. Another déjà vu.
“Well, I guess I’d better get back to my rounds,” Terry said, pushing the button on the elevator.
Celine stepped out of the doorway and let it close. She had her jacket and purse in hand, so I assumed she was leaving for the day. She nodded at Terry as he got on the elevator and waited until the doors closed before she looked at me again. “I repeat. Why are you here?”
“Want to grab a beer and talk?” I asked.
“A beer? Look, I’ve had a very long day and am not in the mood to talk,” she replied.
She did look tired, and I wondered if it was more from worry than work. “Okay, no beer. Want to grab an outrageously expensive glass of wine and talk?”
She relaxed and a smile formed in the corners of her lips. “Oh, yes. For a good glass of wine, I’ll talk about anything.”
“My motorcycle chariot awaits you… or, of course, you can drive.”
“You think I’m too snooty to ride on a motorcycle, don’t you?” she asked, the worry lines disappearing from under her eyes as she perceived a challenge.
How to put this so I don’t insult her? “Most refined women such as yourself prefer the safety and enclosure of a car,” I replied, holding my breath for her reaction.
“Who the hell says I’m refined?”
Cocking my head, I slowly looked her up and down, grinning when I came to her face.
“Oh, stop,” she laughed. “I would love to ride on your bike. My boots are in the trunk of my car.”
I stood up and she pushed the button for the elevator. Selfishly, I was looking forward to seeing how she would position herself on the back of my bike in that business suit she was wearing. I wished I had thought to bring my leather trench coat to keep her warm, but I hadn’t planned on asking her out. I only meant to make sure she was all right after the way we left things earlier.
It was a short elevator ride to the first floor, and we didn’t speak until she stepped out of the car.
“Were you waiting long in that foyer?”
“To be honest, I was in your waiting room for an hour or so, until your receptionist chased me away.”
She stopped abruptly. “Please don’t tell me you were spying on the patients?”
“Okay, I won’t tell you that,” I replied playfully.
“Damn it, Casey. You can’t do that.”
“Why can’t I? I didn’t bother anyone or learn any of their deep, dark secrets, so what’s the harm?”
She shook her head and continued walking to the front door. “It’s just wrong. I’ll not have you snooping around my office like that.”
“It’s called investigating, and I’m very good at it,” I argued as we walked to the parking lot adjacent to the building.
“Then why aren’t you a detective anymore?” she asked pointedly.
Why didn’t I see that one coming? She was a psychiatrist and there was no way to get around that. “You buy the first round, and maybe I’ll tell you,” I said, admitting defeat.
She smiled, pleased with my answer. She wirelessly popped the trunk on her BMW. “I’m going to hold you to that,” she said as she reached in and pulled out a pair of blue jeans. She took off her high heels and tossed them into the trunk. “Oh, the ground is cold,” she stated, skipping around. She quickly pulled her jeans up under her skirt and then sat down on the trunk lip and pulled on a pair of thick socks and motorcycle Harness boots that looked exactly like mine, only smaller.
“You ride motorcycles?” It wasn’t so much a question as it was a declaration. “Why didn’t you tell me that yesterday?”
“Yes. I have a Kawasaki 1400GTR Grand Tourer as a matter of fact. Royal blue to match my refined taste,” she teased with a smile.
My mouth gaped open but nothing came out.
“Don’t look so surprised,” she said. “I’d almost think you were being snobbish.”
“No, not all. I’m just impressed with your choice of bikes,” I smoothly countered.
“And the reason I didn’t tell you was because I have a reputation to uphold at the hospital. I am the VP of the department, you know?”
She stood up and unzipped her skirt, taking great strides to keep it from touching the ground. She inserted the skirt into a plastic bag and placed it in the trunk. Then she unbuttoned her cashmere jacket and folded it neatly into the same bag. Anticipation dried my mouth as I waited for her to unbutton her blouse, but to my great disappointment, the silk garment was not going to be taken off. Instead she pulled out a leather biker jacket with a Gucci label, and handed it to me to hold as she shrugged into it.
At least it d
oesn’t have fringes.
“Are we wearing helmets tonight?” she asked, picking up a dark blue, full-face helmet.
“I prefer not to wear one, unless it’s a long trip and I want to listen to some music.”
“Funny, I’m the same way,” she replied, putting the helmet back in the trunk. She bent over and grabbed her billfold from her purse, and slid it into the back pocket of her shapely jeans.
Oh, my God. Is she toying with me, because I am so ready to play with her toys?
She stuffed her car keys into her jacket and closed the trunk. “All ready,” she said, turning around and smiling.
The most feminine, classy looking biker I had ever seen. “My Harley is right over there,” I said, still gazing at her and pointing in the general direction of my bike.
“Shall I drive? I know where we’re going.”
“Uh, yeah, sure,” I stammered. I have control issues when it comes to driving, but I didn’t want her to know that.
I handed her the keys and climbed onto the back of my motorcycle. She climbed in front of me and we rode off toward North Boulder. I held on to the back of the bike even though she seemed to be a cautious driver. As much as I would have liked to hold onto her, I knew it would cause me problems in the long run. I was already seduced by this playful side of her, and I needed to keep my distance to clear my head, and other parts of my body.
We drove across town and finally pulled into the Hungry Toad, an English pub, parking lot. Again, I was impressed. This was a complete 160 from the swanky, pretentious restaurant we had lunch in yesterday. I felt like I was peeling an onion, layer by layer, to see the real woman beneath and it fascinated me. She fascinated me with her tough as nails, soft as cotton, playfully adventurous three dimensions… even if she was a shrink. I found myself envisioning how the evening would end, and it wasn’t with me sleeping alone. But I knew that was not going to happen because I wouldn’t allow it. I couldn’t.
*
“Aw, now this is my kind of pub,” I sighed as we walked in. We were seated at the bar and I looked over the beverage menu. I decided to try the Old Speckled Hen, a pub ale from Abingdon, England. Celine went with the Boddington’s Pub Ale, cream style, from Manchester, England. It was the reason she brought me here. That and to prove she liked to drink beer. I wondered if she had ever tried a Texas beer that would curl her toes.
“Do you mind if I order something? I’m starved.”
I shook my head. “No, of course not.”
“Want to split a shepherd’s pie with me?”
“Uh, okay. I’ll try anything once,” I replied. I’d heard of them, of course, but I have never had one before.
“You’ll love it, I promise.” She gave the waitress her order then picked up her ale. “So, Detective Littleton called me this afternoon, wanting my help with something.”
“Oh yeah? And are you going to help her?” I asked, picking up my mug and taking a sip. “Em, this isn’t half bad.”
“Don’t play the innocent with me. She told me it was your idea to ask the other doctors of the victims to get together and talk.”
“And what did you tell her?” I asked.
She rolled her eyes but smiled afterward. “Fine. I told her I would be happy to compare notes with the others if it will keep her out of my office. When I saw you tonight, I thought for sure that was why you were there, to badger my patients.”
“And you were wrong, weren’t you?”
She nodded. “Yes and no. But I am sorry that I jumped to conclusions. It’s my worst trait.”
“Oh, yeah? What’s you next to the worst trait?”
Laughing, she wiggled her index finger at me. “No, no, no. I’m many things, but I’m not gullible.”
“Can’t blame a girl for trying,” I quipped.
The waitress brought over an oblong bowl full of mashed potatoes, or so I thought. “What’s in this pie, anyway?”
“You have to try it first before I’ll tell you,” Celine bribed, dipping a spoon into the potatoes and scooping a hearty helping into a smaller bowl.
I picked up my fork and scooped up a small portion of the pie. Looking at it as if I were inspecting a crime scene, I asked, “Is that a pea I see in there?”
“Just eat it already and stop being a scaredy cat,” she challenged.
“You know, back in Texas, we’d put a bottle of ketchup on this first,” I informed her, looking over for the waitress.
“Don’t you dare.” She glared.
Laughing, I gave in and took a bite. “Definitely peas, and that tastes like steak,” I muttered as I chewed. “And gravy, right?”
“That’s exactly right. You know your foods.”
“Nah, I read the menu before you ordered,” I teased.
“You cad. What am I going to do with you?”
“Anything you want and twice on Sunday,” I blurted without thinking.
Her fork stopped moving halfway to her mouth and she looked at me curiously.
It had been a really long time since I blushed, but I could feel my face turning red. “Uh, that’s not what I meant to say.”
“Oh, what a shame,” she said, puckering her lips around her fork and slowly pulled the food into her mouth.
Damn! I gulped my ale so I could swallow. “Maybe we should talk about the serial killer.”
“You sure know how to throw cold water on the fire,” she mumbled to herself, knowing full well that I could hear her.
“Trust me. It’s safer that way.”
“Why does it matter?”
“Take your shrink hat off and I’ll tell you,” I quipped.
“I didn’t… fine,” she snapped and leaned back in her chair.
“I’m not going to sleep with you tonight, Celine.”
Her face went from shocked to embarrassed, to angry. “Pretty damn sure of yourself, aren’t you? Well, I’ve got news for you, there would have to be a desire on my part, and I can assure you, there’s not.” She turned and waved at the waitress. “Check, please.”
Chapter Nineteen
Casey Dennis
When I was a detective in Houston, I knew, we all knew, instantly when the captain was in a foul mood. He had a scowl on his face that warned of an upcoming storm, and we found some other place to be for a while. Here, at the hospital, my staff hadn’t learned that trick yet.
“Good morning, Chief,” Michele chirped. “Did you sleep well?”
Michele looked like I felt. Like something the cat had dragged in. It was 0620 and she had shadows under her eyes, plus, there was no coffee made, no bagels or donuts in a box, and no reports in her hand. And yet, somehow, she managed to sound cheerful and it grated on my last nerve.
“Apparently about as well as you did,” I retorted. I knew I was being rude. I meant to be. I had spent the night arguing with myself, taking cold showers and tossing and turning, all because I thought I had to do the right thing by Celine. When I’m in the middle of an investigation, I don’t screw around, especially with a key witness. But it wasn’t Michele’s fault. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you like that. Lack of caffeine, I guess.”
“Sounds like we both had a rough night. Oh, a Ms. Thomas left this book for you.”
Michele handed me a small, bound book with ornate flourishes in the four corners of the cover. Gentle Pools.
“She did? That was nice of her.”
“A book of poems she said she wrote herself a year ago,” Michele explained as she walked over to the coffee maker. “Did you know she was abused by her father?”
“What?” I was astounded. Scottie didn’t go into detail about her parents other than they couldn’t accept who she was. “No. She never told me that.”
“She only told me because she wanted to explain how she had come to write it,” she said, placing a large coffee pouch in the tray. “Her therapist suggested it.”
Her therapist? Celine. I opened the book and saw that she had written a dedication. I read it out loud. �
�Life is like a river. It flows over rapids and slows down in gentle pools. Some are shallow and others are deep. Then it picks up speed again as it twists and turns on its way, from mountain snows to the foaming seas. Thank you, Casey, for the gentle pools.”
“Damn, she’s good,” Michele exclaimed.
“Yeah, she really is,” I agreed, my mood lifting. “When did she leave this?”
“Josh brought it to me just now. He said he met her in the ICU and she asked if he knew you, probably because of his uniform.”
“Did he, uh… did he say how the boy was?”
Michele looked down at the coffee cup in her hand. “He’s going in for surgery at eight. She asked Josh to pray for him,” she replied.
I raked my fingers through my hair to distract myself from the tears building up. “Damn it!”
Michele picked up the carafe and placed the cup under the coffee flow. Then she put the carafe back on the hot plate and turned to me. She handed me the coffee cup she had given me on day one.
“Thanks for this,” I said as I immediately took a scalding sip. “So, do we know what happened? Cody was doing better yesterday.”
“He developed something called pleural effusion. Josh explained that it’s when fluid builds up between his lungs and the wall of his chest. They’re going to insert a tube to relieve the pressure.”
“All right. I’ll go check on her as soon as our huddle is done.”
“Chief, would you mind if I went with you? I’d like to pray with her also.”
“I think she’d appreciate that.”
The morning huddle didn’t take long but spoke volumes. Michele avoided eye contact with Lula, who looked like a lovesick puppy that had been scolded. So much for keeping it out of the office. Josh gave a report on an incident in the ER where there was a confrontation with a patient strung out on meth. It took him and two others to subdue the woman. Dorey, who was wearing a big tin star on her chest, gave a lesson on how to show people that the security department cares, by suggesting that we all go down to the Pediatric ICU and pray for Cody. Somehow, word had gotten around between them that my “friend” Scottie was in urgent need of comfort.
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