by Emily Queen
Frederick snorted. “Murder victims usually aren’t,” he commented and left it at that.
“Please recount the events leading up to the death, Martin,” Rosemary prompted, shooting a quelling look at her brother.
“Well, he had a cracked tooth that had become infected and was causing him considerable pain. I offered a shot of Novocaine, but he insisted upon gas. Such a big man, formidable even, and yet the idea of being poked in the gums terrified him. I agreed, strapped on the mask, began to administer the nitrous oxide, and reached for my forceps. Unfortunately, Polly is still learning the intricacies of dental procedure and laid out the wrong one. She’s a whiz on the telephone and has a way of putting patients at ease, but she rarely sets my tools properly. For a trained nurse, she’s somewhat of a disappointment. Under normal circumstances, I’d have double-checked before beginning to administer the gas, but as I said, it was a rough morning. I turned the valve off and went to the supply closet to search for the proper forceps. When I couldn’t find them, I called Polly in and explained to her, again, what's required for an extraction.”
“I can attest to the fact that he’s telling the truth,” Abigail cut in again, casting a look at her husband that had his mouth snapping shut. “I entered via the back staircase with Martin’s tray and went straight to his office, as I usually do. As silly as it sounds, I’ve always loathed the dentist, and I can’t even stand to hear the noise of the drill.”
It seemed Abigail had married the wrong man if avoiding the dentist was her aim. Some of her reactions made more sense now that Rose understood her distaste for dental procedure.
“When I came back out, I could see into the supply closet. It’s just across the hall, and the door was open. He and Polly were talking, and Martin followed her out of the closet.”
Martin cleared his throat, “Yes, that’s right. I finished reprimanding Polly and returned to the exam room. When I saw him lying there, I thought Mr. Segal was merely sedated, but when I began to attend to him, it became clear he wasn’t breathing. I ran to the waiting room, instructed Polly to ring the police, and then returned to the exam room to attempt to revive him.”
“Was the gas on when you returned?” Rosemary asked, making copious notes on the pad of paper Abigail had thoughtfully provided.
“No, it wasn’t.” Martin shook his head again and stared off into space. Rose was sure he was going over each moment of the morning of Mr. Segal’s death, and probably questioning his memory. It would have been a routine appointment for the dentist. Or, perhaps, he was guilty as sin and putting on such a good show that even Max had been fooled. Rose was beginning to wonder if everyone around her was an accomplished actor or actress.
“That’s part of what has me so upset. I definitely turned it off, because I hung the key back on the hook.” When Rosemary’s brow furrowed in confusion, he elaborated. “It’s a new safety measure the company who sells the tanks is trying out. I’m part of a test group. In order to turn on the gas, you need a special key tool. It’s actually quite an inconvenience, and I intend to include that in my review. How could he have overdosed if the gas wasn’t even on? That’s the part I really don’t understand. It wasn’t as though this was Mr. Segal’s first time on nitrous, either, so I can’t chalk it up to an unknown sensitivity. It makes no sense.”
“It makes sense if someone turned it back on while you were out of the room. How long was Mr. Segal left in the chair?” Rosemary fired off another question without comment, a trick she’d learned from watching Andrew. Her husband had always said that the best way to get information was to catch the person off-guard.
“Only a few minutes,” Martin answered quickly—almost a little too quickly.
“Long enough for someone to have slipped into the examination room and tampered with the nitrous oxide?” She’d put him in an indelicate situation. If Martin had left the gas on and then been inattentive for too long, the death could be put down to negligence; if he had indeed only left Mr. Segal for a few moments, there wouldn’t have been enough time for another suspect to have perpetrated the act. One way or another, Dr. Redberry’s reputation and possibly his freedom were in jeopardy, and he knew it.
“It’s possible.” Martin sighed. “It looks bad for me either way, doesn’t it?”
Rosemary didn’t answer; there was no reason to. Instead, she went into problem-solving mode. “I’m going to need to speak to your nurse, first and foremost. Are you absolutely positive she couldn’t have adjusted the gas settings while your back was turned?”
Martin paused, his eyes darting back and forth as he struggled to recall the details of the appointment that, under normal circumstances, would have been routine in nature.
“I’m positive; Polly can’t even reach the hook where I keep the key. She’s too short, and she wasn’t in the room with me when I left to get the forceps. Even if she had been there, I trust her not to tarnish my reputation, particularly over a man to whom, as far as I know, she has no connection. If someone did, indeed, sneak into the exam room and crank the nitrous up to maximum level, they would have had to leave it on for long enough to cause an overdose and then return the meter to its original position. There simply wasn’t enough time.” He seemed to need to work through the problem, but his conviction appeared to have begun to waver.
Chapter Twelve
“I’m sorry about this,” Rosemary said, apologizing to her friends after they’d returned to her home to regroup. “I know you’re all aching to get on the train and leave London behind, and I have to admit I feel the same way.”
Postponing was unfair to her friends, and she was certainly looking forward to her holiday, but on the other hand, it occurred to her that this most recent delay would allow her more time to help Max with his redecoration project. The thought made postponing feel like less of a blow, but her friends would not reap that particular benefit.
Her apology fell unnoticed, waved away under a bout of speculation on the information they’d just obtained.
“Didn’t I tell you Abigail Redberry had something up her sleeve?” Desmond might as well have danced around singing “na-na-na-na-boo-boo.” This was the Des Rosemary remembered, before he turned into the mature, rational adult she’d been spending time with over the last few days.
“What could she possibly be hiding?” Vera shot him a look of disdain. “You don’t think it’s a case of accidental death?”
“It’s possible, of course,” Desmond hedged. “Anything is possible. I just don’t find it likely. You’re an actress; couldn’t you see that she was hiding something?”
“What would her motive be, exactly? In your superior opinion?” Vera fired back.
“I have no idea. Isn’t that what Rosemary intends to figure out?”
Rosemary raised an eyebrow. “It certainly is, and I believe there’s definitely something fishy going on here. What we need to find out is what kind of man Claude Segal was, and who his enemies were. Someone tall enough to reach the key tool, and audacious enough to commit murder within such a slim timeline. I believe I know just where to start.”
She marched to the phone and left a message for the one person she knew would both admonish her and give her the information she needed.
***
With walls papered in muted forest green, dark woodwork and floors, and the corners in need of a thorough dusting, it was no wonder Martin’s patients found his practice unsettling. The place needed more bright and light to bring the atmosphere up from dismal to comforting.
Polly Calahan looked like she could have been anywhere from a mature eighteen years old to a young thirty-five. She simply had one of those blank faces that made it difficult to tell what she was thinking or feeling, except when she was speaking to customers, and then it lit up—albeit insincerely—like a Christmas tree.
“She’s pretty, but only when she smiles a real smile, and that’s not often,” Vera whispered while she and Rosemary observed the girl from the waiting room. She sat behin
d a desk making and taking calls, sorting out the appointments Dr. Redberry was forced to cancel in the aftermath of Claude Segal’s death.
“Thank goodness Frederick isn’t here. He’d see nothing north of her neck,” Rosemary replied.
Vera smirked and raked a gaze down over Polly’s inappropriately plunging neckline. “I think that’s her goal, and she’s certainly succeeded. It’s a bit much if you ask me.”
Rosemary had seen Vera wear outfits just as revealing, but to her credit only for an evening out—certainly not during a workday. Not that Vera had ever worked a regular job in her life. She felt a bit uncharitable making snap judgments about Martin’s nurse, but above many other things, Rosemary valued propriety, which was obviously a sentiment Polly Calahan did not share.
“To each their own, I suppose,” Rose mused. “We aren’t here to judge whether she’s dressed appropriately, only to find out what she knows about the circumstances of Mr. Segal’s demise. Perhaps her lips will be as loose as her blouse suggests.”
Dr. Redberry had been on board with Rosemary’s plan to question Polly, not as a private investigator, but as a patient seeking an appointment. She had found that people were more willing to speak candidly when they didn’t know their responses were being heavily scrutinized.
When Polly had finished with the telephone call, she approached Rosemary and Vera with the aforementioned faux smile pasted onto her face, “Is there something I can help you with? Dr. Redberry isn’t taking patients today, I’m afraid.”
Polly wouldn’t have recognized Rosemary as the next-door neighbor even if she had been particularly observant. With the office entrance situated around the corner from Rosemary’s front door, three was little chance of encountering one another even in passing. She used the circumstance to her advantage and was thankful when Vera followed her lead.
“Oh, well, it’s not really an emergency or anything, but I would like to get an appointment as soon as possible. When will the doctor be in?” Rosemary asked, allowing her voice to waver slightly.
Polly paused, presumably to consider Rose’s question, which she’d thought was straightforward enough. “In a few days, I’m told. Once he recuperates from the shock. There’s been an incident, you see.”
It was clear the girl wanted to talk about it, not that Rosemary could blame her for that. What did strike her as odd was that Polly didn’t seem shaken by the fact that a dead body had turned up at her workplace a mere two days prior. Some people were just wired differently, Rosemary thought to herself.
Vera picked right up where Rose had left off, using her acting skills to feign concerned interest. “What kind of incident, exactly?” She leaned in and lit up the room with her signature Vera smile that not even the enigmatic Polly could resist.
“You haven’t seen the papers then, have you?” Polly asked. “Mind you, none of what they’re saying is true. Dr. Redberry wouldn’t hurt a fly. He’s dedicated his life to helping people, and what does he get for his trouble? He’s dubbed the killer dentist of Park Road, that’s what.” Her voice held shock and disgust, but it remained steady, much to Rosemary’s surprise.
“Are you saying someone died in here?” Rosemary shivered exaggeratedly.
Polly pasted on the smile she reserved for patients. “There’s nothing to worry about, ma’am. I assure you. What happened was an accident, plain and simple. People have all sorts of reactions to nitrous oxide. It’s not as though Claude Segal was stabbed through the eye with a sickle probe.”
“Why are the papers calling it murder, then?” Vera inquired.
“Why, to sell more papers, of course.” Polly looked at Vera as though thinking she might be rather daft. “Nathan Grint is taking advantage of the fact that he was in the office that day, and he has a grudge against Dr. Redberry. Nothing he says is reliable, and most of it is outright lies.”
“A grudge?” Vera pushed once more, hoping they hadn’t exhausted Polly’s willingness to dish. “What kind of grudge?”
Polly pressed her lips together, and then leaned in closer even though they were alone in the room. “Dr. Redberry told him if he laid another hand on me, he’d be sorry for it. The man was always trying to run a hand up my skirt, and that morning, Dr. Redberry saw him do it. He said he didn’t abide by that type of behavior, and that this was a place of business and he wouldn’t have me put in that position. It was just before Mr. Segal’s appointment, and it’s the reason I set the doctor’s tray incorrectly. Flustered, you know. And then that scoundrel didn’t even have the decency to scurry out with his tail between his legs. Made a big show of conversing with old Mrs. Linley, and then of course when Dr. Redberry began shouting for me to call the police, he stuck around to see if he could get some dirt for a story.”
“It all sounds so terrible,” Rosemary said, her eyes filling with contrived sympathy. “I’m surprised you still want to work here after that type of ordeal.”
Polly smiled. “It isn’t easy to find a post, and this one pays too well for me to leave just because there’s been an accident. So, would you like me to schedule you for an appointment? I assure you, you’re perfectly safe here, and Dr. Redberry could use the vote of confidence,” Polly said, opening a large, spiral-bound appointment book. “I’ve rescheduled everyone to this coming Friday, would that work for you?”
Rosemary nodded and allowed Polly to write her name in one of the little boxes. Her keen eye noted that the date was only partially booked and that the page had worn nearly through as a result of Polly’s eraser. It seemed most of his patients had canceled, and Rosemary worried for the future of Dr. Redberry’s practice.
By the time Rosemary and Vera left the dentist’s office, they’d learned more about the inner workings of his business than they’d cared to, thanks to Polly’s uninterrupted chatter. Once she got to talking, there wasn’t much they could do to stop her. Finally, Vera had claimed, rather loudly, that she was late for a tea date, and hauled Rosemary out before neither of them ever wanted to have their teeth scraped again.
“She’s an odd duck,” Vera commented on their way back to Rose’s townhouse.
“You can say that again,” Rose agreed. “She did confirm the doctor’s statement that there were two patients in the waiting room. It’s awfully convenient that one of them had reason to want Dr. Redberry to suffer. It’s also interesting that Dr. Redberry didn’t mention his argument with Mr. Grint.”
Vera wholeheartedly agreed. “At least we have a place to start. How are you going to get him to talk to you?”
Rosemary grinned. “I’m going to make him think I’m giving him something he didn’t even know he wanted. An interview with the neighbor of the Park Road Killer Dentist.”
Chapter Thirteen
“Come on, Rosie,” Frederick whined/. “We can talk about alibis and opportunity just as easily in the park as we can at home. I can’t stand sitting inside in this sweltering heat.”
The weather had turned balmy, the heat rising up to strangle and stifle. Rose had to admit that an afternoon spent down by the riverbank sounded lovely, and hoped it would help clear her head so that they could solve this crime and get on with their much-needed holiday.
Vera and Desmond tossed in their lot with Frederick, and even if Rosemary hadn’t wanted to go, she wouldn’t have gone against the majority.
“Certainly, I’m game. I’m at somewhat loose ends until I get a call back from Max, anyway. Ask Wadsworth to tell the cook to pack us a picnic while Vera and I change our clothes,” Rosemary instructed.
“Yes, ma’am,” Desmond answered and headed off towards the kitchen to do Rose’s bidding.
Vera followed Rosemary upstairs, where they both changed into cool summer dresses with floppy hats that would keep the sun out of their eyes. By the time everyone was ready to go, the picnic basket packed and a blanket tucked under Frederick’s arm, the macabre feeling of being surrounded by death had lifted, and the foursome was in high spirits.
They enjoyed picking the
ir way through the throngs of Londoners who had also been seduced to the riverbanks for a reprieve from the heat. Umbrellas festooned the landscape, children in various states of cleanliness ran amok, and couples perched along the banks to dangle their toes in the cool water.
“Here, I found us a spot,” Desmond called from a shaded spot beneath a tree.
Beneath its leafy branches, several stone tables were set with chess pieces, pairs of players sitting quietly and focusing on their next move. Grunts of annoyance punctuated the relative quiet that enveloped the space, and finally, one elderly man swept his hand across the board, spilling knights and rooks onto the grass.
“Never again, Reginald,” he said to the man sitting across from him as he gathered himself together, albeit at a slower pace than his level of irritation indicated. Rosemary watched him bustle off, leaning on his cane, and tried to hold back a snort of laughter.
The man he’d been playing with, Reginald, merely grinned as his friend retreated, and looked to Rose’s group with a smile in his eyes. “He says that every time he loses, which happens frequently. He’ll be back tomorrow, I guarantee it.” He winked, then rose and made his way across the park in the opposite direction.
“Anyone fancy a match?” Desmond asked, hopefully.
Rose couldn’t help but laugh at the expression on his face, half a pout and half a challenge that reminded her of their childhood together. Suddenly, she felt at ease with Des and allowed the trepidation she’d been feeling regarding seeing him again begin to dissipate. Rosemary realized it was becoming easier to let go of her worries and considered it a sign that her heart was beginning to heal. It would always mourn for Andrew, but the wound was turning into a scar and becoming less painful by the day.