A Dose of Murder (25 page)

“Your case. Why does yours take precedence over my—”

“Thirty-three thousand, eight hundred ninety-two dollars and seventy-seven cents versus over three million.”

Suddenly I felt as if I'd sealed my fate.

And, oh God, how I hoped my fate wasn't similar to Eddy's.

I miss Goldie's chicory coffee
, I thought, as I sipped on my Dunkin Donuts hazelnut decaffeinated. Besides, it was freezing this morning and sitting in my car instead of going into the office seemed a stupid idea. Knowing what kinds of cars the doctors drove didn't seem pertinent to me. Most doctors could afford something nice, although working in a practice like the ortho one, strictly governed by insurance rules, didn't produce millionaires.

I'd turned off the engine to be less conspicuous as other staff drove in to work. I'd wondered, if I was seen sitting in my car with the motor running, someone might think I was trying to commit suicide. A crazy thought, but somehow not that far off base when I thought of Eddy.

Maybe he knew he'd get caught, so he killed himself. I'd have to discuss that one with Jagger if he hadn't already thought of it himself.

An engine roared in the distance. I sipped my coffee and watched over the rim.

A California orange '99 Lamborghini with California plates pulled into the space marked for Dr. Levy. Levy was a common name I told myself so maybe it wasn't our Dr. Levy. Sure enough, I noticed his Italian leather shoes as he climbed out of the car and walked toward the staff entrance. Hmm. Couldn't be paying too much for call girls if he could afford alimony and that car.

Unless he was getting money from the insurance companies.

I fished around in my purse, looking for a pen and piece of paper. I knew my cars but wasn't sure if my half-frozen brain would remember who drove what. All I could find was a canceled check for Jeanine's car payment. I grabbed my Estêe Lauder All Day Starlight Pink lipstick and wrote “Levy—Lambor.”

Before I could write “ghini,” a black Bentley pulled into Dr. Feinstein's space. Wow. Even a 2001 Bentley Arnage had to run over two hundred grand. With four kids in Ivy League schools?

I'd liked Dr. Feinstein when I met him, but I put a lipstick star next to his name. He was my number-one suspect.

Then I saw Linda Stark get out of a silver minivan. A Dodge Caravan, older model. Jagger had said to spy on the doctors, but Linda was there and soon Trudy drove in. Now she surprised me as she got out of a candy-apple red Chevy truck! You go, girl!

Soon Vance pulled in driving his Mercedes. I sunk down in my seat. All I needed was him seeing me and asking foolish questions. Of course, “Why are you spying on the doctor's cars?” wasn't really that foolish of a question.

A noise caught my attention. Around the corner sputtered a white Toyota Corolla with a huge dent in the back fender. I assumed it was one of the staff.

But it was Charlene O'Connor. She got out and greeted Vance, and they walked into the building together. I'm not sure what shocked me more, her car or her friendliness toward Vance.

And no, I wasn't jealous!

It'd fit right into my “breaking up” plans to have him dump me. Truthfully it wasn't
that
friendly of a greeting, more my wishful thinking. Besides, I wasn't sure how old her kids were, and truthfully, I really couldn't see Vance as an instant father. Actually, I couldn't see him as a “nine months till the baby's due” father either.

In my heart I think I always knew what kept me from marrying Vance. He just wasn't Michael Sokol.

My coffee was gone and my toes were numb. Not to mention I'd fogged up the windows of my car with my breath. I knew Donnie drove a Porsche 'cause I'd seen it at his and Tina's house, and she drove a Lexus, so I didn't need to sit here any longer freezing my bejeevers off. I had the docs covered.

Made me think of Jagger.

As much as I tossed and turned last night, thinking of Eddy Roden possibly being murdered, an overwhelmingly comforting thought convinced me that Jagger wouldn't let me get hurt.

Not 'cause it was me.

He wouldn't let anyone get hurt if he could help it. I wasn't going to concentrate on the last part of that theory. Goldie said I could trust him with my life if not my heart, and I was holding that good thought for today.

I stuffed my empty cup into the Stop and Buy plastic bag that I used for a garbage bag in my car and grabbed my purse. Once in the building I had to wipe my eyes when I thought of Eddy.

Not a friend by any means, but I already missed him and felt horrible that he was dead.

When I got into the office, I nearly lost it. There on the reception desk was a bouquet of black flowers, roses, standing tall above a picture of Eddy Roden. Someone had typed the year of his birth and subsequent death on a sheet of paper and cut it out to tape it to his picture.

I'd always loved roses. They were my special flower, since Saint Theresa sent them as a sign that she heard someone's prayers, but now, looking at these black ones, which I think were actually a deep purple, I felt as if the rose scent would make me sick. Right here in the waiting room.

I opened the door to the office and heard sobbing. Trudy sat at her computer, wiping at her eyes. I walked closer.

“Morning.”

She looked up and nodded.

“Can I get you something? Water?” I'm not sure why water makes someone feel better, or if it really does, when they are sad, but that's what they do in the movies, so I offered.

“He was a good boy,” Trudy said, then continued sobbing.

“Yes, he was.” Linda came up from behind. Her eyes were red, along with the tip of her nose.

I wondered if they really thought Eddy was a “good boy” or if their way of handling grief was to “imagine” that Eddy wasn't as bad as he seemed to me. Very similar to when a public figure dies and the press mentions all the good they did, even if half their life was spent on doing bad. Or was Linda and Trudy's display of grief meant to cover up something? Still, he shouldn't be dead.

Linda and Trudy started to tell me all the funny things Eddy used to do until Tina came walking in. She too looked as if she had been crying. What a day this was going to be. They'd all be so preoccupied over Eddy's death I wondered if anyone would get their work done.

Preoccupied.

Maybe so preoccupied that I could look at the records of the boys from the YMCA.

I looked up to heaven. Thanks Eddy.

Again, he should be here annoying me, but since he wasn't, I chose to believe that his death wasn't in vain. Now the case might take a giant leap forward if I could find some evidence to give Jagger.

After shuffling double my load of patients in and out of the examining rooms for hours, I sank down into the couch in the lounge. What had I been thinking? I didn't have time to pee, let alone go snooping in records, since now I was the only nurse on duty today. Tina came and went, but never lifted a finger to help. No great surprise.

Linda busied herself at her desk with shuffling files back and forth. I swore she moved the same ones from the
IN
tray to the
OUT
tray and back about five times. She had to be affected by Eddy's death. Finally she stopped and leaned back.

I stuck my head in her door. “How about a cup of coffee?”

She looked around. “Geez, I didn't even know anyone was here.” She moved another file into the
OUT
tray. “That'd be great.”

I thought offering to fix her coffee could soften my next question. When she took the cup and her first sip, I asked, “Are you having any luck replacing Eddy?”

She choked on the next sip.

“Oh, Linda! I'm sorry.” I pulled her hands up in the air. That trick came from when I'd worked with kids and, of course, Mom always used it on her children. It would stretch out someone's rib cage enough to help them swallow better. Worked on adults too. “Keep them up a few seconds.”

She coughed and let her hands down. “He just died last night!”

Taken aback by her tone, I said, “I know, and I'm so sorry. But you know, I've only hired on for this week.” And nothing on God's green earth could get me to stay longer.

“And you'd leave us hanging?”

So much for coffee softening.

“Well, I do have something I need to do.”

Saved by the door, I thought, as I heard it shoved open. Tina came bounding in. “I need coffee.”

I need you committing fraud documented on film, thank you very much
. “Hey, Tina.” I went to the lounge and sat back down, deciding they could all get their own coffee. I wasn't hired as their waitress. Why the heck was Tina back anyway?

After Linda talked to Tina for a few minutes in a voice not loud enough for me to understand, Tina grabbed her purse and they left. I looked at the clock. Noon. The office would be closed for the next hour.

And I really wasn't that hungry.

I pushed myself to stand. A sudden stream of adrenaline had me in “investigative” mode. I looked down the hall. No sounds. But I couldn't take any chances, so I hurried from room to room, not sure what lie I'd use if I found someone. I didn't have to worry since I'd found no one. I stopped at the reception desk. Trudy was just going out the door.

I saw her back, today covered by a black-and-white-striped caftan, but didn't say a word, and she obviously didn't see me. A sharp click made me jump.

She'd locked the door to make sure no one could get in. I was alone and feeling a bit claustrophobic.

But this time I didn't care. I had work to do, I told myself, as I shook off the feeling of confinement. The phobia wasn't too strong since it was a set of rooms and offices and not an eight-by-eight-foot elevator with a closed door. Just the same, I knew I couldn't leave or I'd be locked out.

I went into Donnie's office on a gut instinct. Since my gut had served me so well in my nursing, I decided to trust it on this one. His office was the nicest of any of the doctors. A picture of Tina, looking quite lovely, sat on his desk. Ain't love grand. Behind his mahogany desk was a file cabinet. Had to be patients' files.

I took a Puffs Plus from my pocket, held it in my hand and tried his top desk drawer. It slid open without a groan. Inside sat several pens, papers that looked like doctor stuff and an extra pocket protector. Donnie hadn't changed. Nothing good in there.

Then, still using the tissue, I rummaged through the files in the cabinet. Not much in there for my case. Looked like real, legit patient files.

I leaned against the desk to think. The picture of Tina tumbled over. “Shit.” As I went to pick it up, I noticed a key taped to the back. “Hello,” I whispered and gingerly took it off so as not to rip the cardboard back of the frame.

I held the tissue, turned the key in the lock of the bottom drawer. Something said to look there, and, besides, it was the only drawer with a lock on it. I opened it and found a few charts.

They should have been filed with all the others.

Hmm. With the tissues in hand, I took out the stack. Tina Macaluso's sat on top. Why would Donnie have his wife's chart here? When I opened it and did a bit of reading, it was all clear. Donnie had treated her, or at least written up the accident report on her. After all, there was nothing to treat. It said her “injury” had occurred on a Monday morning. Lifted patient. Back injury. The hardest to prove. Interesting. Of course, by her actions I knew she was faking it, but when I thumbed through the file, a thought occurred to me.

“Monday morning” stuck in my head. From what I'd seen of her, she wasn't a morning person. I had asked Eddy about her once, and he'd said how lazy she was and that she didn't always come to work on time. Perks of being married to the boss. Then how did she get “injured” on a Monday morning?

Maybe Tina had “hurt” herself at home and was claiming it happened at work to get the money. She could have had a minor injury, and they'd gotten the idea to make some bucks—to pay for two houses. I made a mental note to run it by Jagger and check out her neighbors to see if anyone had seen her get hurt.

The other files glared at me. Had to be something important in them if the doc kept them locked in here. I picked up the stack. Eddy. Trudy. Linda. A few more names I didn't recognize, but soon found out they all were employees over the past few years. I opened poor Eddy's chart first. Two Workers' Comp claims. Hmm. One was for a sprained wrist, the other an injured leg, leading to partial disability.

Eddy didn't even limp.

The other charts all had more Workers' Comp claims on each of the employees—and I'd bet my life that they were never injured.

I looked at the clock. Damn. Armed with mucho info, I shoved the charts back, locked the desk, re-stuck the key behind Tina and hurried out.

In the hallway, I turned around—and bumped right into Dr. Levy.

“Oh, I'm so sorry.” Damn! What the hell was he doing here, and did he see me in Donnie's office?

He nodded, then looked at the floor. I'd caused him to drop his medical bag. It'd opened and a disposable syringe had fallen out along with several Ace wraps.

“Sorry again.” I bent to pick them up.

He tried to grab the stuff first, mumbling something about goddamn nurses and women.

Weirdo
, I thought.
No wonder you have to pay for sex
. “It's still sterile since the wrapper didn't rip,” I said, handing him the syringe. Obviously he was too preoccupied to have seen that I had come out of Donnie's office.

He merely looked at me, took the syringe from my hand and shoved it into his bag. “Go to lunch.” With that he turned and walked through the reception area, opened the door and shut it with a click. A locked click.

I leaned against the wall and shut my eyes. “Phew.”

Then my logical brain said I had less time to snoop more now, so I forced my eyes open and turned toward the reception desk.