Malpractice in Maggody (9 page)

“With a psychiatrist and a trainer,” Ruby Bee said, unwilling to relent. “All you have to do is drive up to the front door and find out for sure. Put on some lipstick before you go. Your cheeks are so rosy these days, your lips are almost invisible.”

“As I’ve said several hundred times, it’s not in my jurisdiction. Furthermore, the guard has been replaced with an electric gate and a speaker box. I couldn’t drive up to the front door if I wanted to—which I don’t.” I looked down the row of empty stools. “Where’s Estelle?”

Ruby Bee sniffed. “I don’t know, and I don’t care one whit.”

“You and she had a disagreement?” I said carefully.

“A sight more than that, but I don’t want to talk about it. What if this crazy man kidnapped Eileen and has her tied up in a shack up on Cotter’s Ridge?”

“I went over to Earl’s earlier today and talked to him. It’s pretty obvious Eileen got fed up with him, or with Dahlia, and took off of her own free will. She’ll come back when she’s ready to, although it may be a while.”

“That ain’t like her,” said Ruby Bee, shaking her head.

“You’ve never seen Earl in an undershirt.”

“I’d like to think not. So is that where you were all day? I was beginning to think you’d run off to Springfield.”

I politely overlooked her remark. “No, I had to see a man in Belle Star about a fish, and that took half the afternoon. When I got back to town, Perkin came in to complain about something or other involving Raz. I never did quite figure it out. Just another exciting day in Maggody.”

“Well, maybe tomorrow that maniac will come back and slice my throat, just so you’ll have something to do,” Ruby Bee said snippily. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to see to some customers out back in the motel, then get ready for happy hour. Feel free to sit there, but keep your fingers out of the cherry pie.”

She flounced into the kitchen, mumbling under her breath. I finished my beer, and after some thought, went back to my apartment to open a can of soup, watch the news, and perhaps call a certain telephone number in Springfield.

Saturday morning should have been sunny, with birds singing from the treetops and butterflies flitting over the flower beds in front of the Stonebridge Foundation. The scent of honeysuckle should have welcomed the new arrivals with a redolent embrace. However, this sky was low and dingy, and the steady drizzle had driven away the birds and butterflies. The flowers, lacking incentive, remained closed.

Dawn Dartmouth’s lawyer, dressed in a dark suit, muted tie, and pricey Italian shoes, stepped into a puddle as he got out on one side of the limo. The driver opened the passenger door on the other side and waited.

Sid Rookman, a junior partner in the firm and therefore resigned to being stuck with the least appealing assignments, waited alongside the driver for several minutes while rain slithered down his back. Finally, he leaned over and said, “Dawn, we’re here. You have to get out of the car sooner or later. Let’s get it over with, okay? You either do the program here, or you do prison time—and it won’t be in any minimum-risk facility with private rooms and tennis courts. You’ve got felony charges pending. What’s it going to be?”

“Fuck you.”

“Whatever,” he said wearily. He’d been up since five o’clock to make the seven o’clock flight on the corporate jet. Dawn had refused to speak the entire trip, which suited him fine. She’d snapped once at the limo driver, but other than that, she’d been sullen, her lower lip extended in a pout, her eyelids puffy and red. “We can go back to the airport, if that’s what you want. In a couple of days, we can try for a plea bargain so you won’t have to do more than ten years.”

“It wasn’t my fault. If that scumbag hadn’t been such a lying bastard, none of this would have happened.”

“That may be, but the reality is that you committed a lot of felonies, including the attempted murder of a police officer.”

“He was in my way.”

“Then tell it to the judge,” said Sid, shrugging.

Dawn emerged from the car. Her few remaining fans, most of them from her sitcom days, would have been aghast. She was bloated and pasty, as though she’d been living in an underground bomb shelter. Her once curly hair was limp and had faded to a dull oatmeal hue. She stopped to stare at the front of the building. “My God. Shouldn’t there be hillbillies on the porch playing fiddles and drinking moonshine? Where are the mules?”

Sid forced himself to take her arm. “Dr. Stonebridge has assured me that it’s very nice inside. You remember him, don’t you? Didn’t he work magic on your face after you rear-ended that school bus a few years ago?”

“How was I supposed to know the damn bus was going to stop like that?” She looked at the limo driver. “Be careful with my luggage this time, you clumsy asshole. If anything is broken, I’ll make sure you end up on unemployment.”

Sid hustled her across the porch and into the reception room. A stunning blonde in a white lab coat came across the room, beaming at them. “You must be Dawn Dartmouth. Welcome to the Stonebridge Foundation.”

Dawn stepped back. “Who’re you?”

“Molly Foss. I’m so pleased to meet you, Miss Dartmouth. I hope you had a pleasant trip.”

“Where did they get this bimbo?” Dawn asked Sid. “Central casting?”

He sensed a tantrum developing. It would not be pretty. “Perhaps you could show Miss Dartmouth to her room?”

“Yes, of course,” said Molly, her smile slipping. “One of the maids will be along shortly to help you unpack.”

“And search my luggage? Want to pat me down now and paw though my purse?”

Sid tightened his grip on her arm. “It beats a cavity search and a hosing for lice,” he said to Dawn.

She jerked free of his hand and followed Molly down a corridor. Sid held open the front door for the limo driver, who was struggling with three heavy suitcases and a cosmetics case. Once the suitcases were deposited in a corner, Sid followed the driver back out to the car and told him to head for the airport. To hell with Dawn Dartmouth, he thought as he lit a cigarette and opened his briefcase to retrieve a flask of gin.

“Is there any ice?” he asked the driver.

“This is ridiculous, Lloyd,” Alexandra Swayze said as they drove by mile after mile of bleak forests and overgrown fields. The few houses they passed were mean little hovels with rusted cars and scrawny chickens in the yards. Toddlers in baggy diapers waddled through the weeds, their faces streaked with dirt. Faded work shirts and torn jeans hung on clotheslines. “All I need is a vacation on some island. As I’ve said many times on the floor of the Senate, rehabilitation programs are a waste of the taxpayers’ money. They’re nothing but a sham to mollycoddle drug addicts. I am not an addict, Lloyd. I am capable of dealing with this myself.”

“By overdosing?” said her son. “By sitting in the car with the engine running and the garage door closed?”

“I was not myself,” Alexandra said coldly.

“And you won’t be until you’re off these medications. Several of your colleagues have asked me privately if you’ve been having health problems. Have you forgotten the luncheon last month when you stormed out after someone asked you a question? It was a blind item in all the gossip columns.”

“An impertinent question. I was invited to speak, not to be heckled.”

“You can’t continue to behave like that. The polls look good now, but they’ll start slipping if you get a reputation for irrational outbursts. You have a heavy campaign schedule in the fall. You’re going to have to be able to control yourself and play by the rules. Your opponent is already clamoring for a series of debates.”

“He can go to hell—which is likely to be just around the next curve.” Alexandra snatched up the map and peered at it. “What’s the name of the town?”

“Maggody. You might as well put away the map, since it’s not on it. That’s why your doctor recommended this place.” Lloyd slowed down as they came upon a tractor chugging along at ten miles an hour. He tried to hide his impatience until at last he had a chance to pass. His mother had been bitching the entire trip, from the moment he’d carried her bag and briefcase out to the taxi double-parked on the narrow Georgetown street until they’d arrived at the dinky airport. Although the Stonebridge Foundation had offered to provide a limo, she’d insisted that he rent a car. He wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d also demanded that they disguise themselves with wigs and sunglasses. Senators, he’d long since concluded, were burdened with a peculiar mix of egotism and paranoia. But if his mother hadn’t been a senator, he would not have been a lobbyist with a high six-figure salary.

Alexandra tossed down the map. “I do hope these people understand that under no circumstances will I be coerced into sitting on a metal chair and spilling my soul to a group of strangers. These group therapy sessions are for chronic losers like alcoholics and battered women. I have always believed that we are responsible for our own choices, Lloyd, and must live with them. That is exactly why I allowed you to marry Patricia, even though she’s quite stupid.”

He ground his teeth and concentrated on the road. His heart began to thump with elation as he spotted the sign for County 104. When they arrived at the gate, he pushed the button on the box and identified himself and his passenger. He glanced at Alexandra. Her hands were shaking, despite the fact he’d seen her surreptitiously gulping down pills on the airplane. “It will be fine, Mother,” he said gently. “They’ll ease you off the medications and encourage you to gain back some of the weight you’ve lost. You’ll be full of energy for the campaign in the fall. And soon after that, perhaps Patricia, the children, and I will be dining with you at Grosvenor Square in London.”

He parked in front of the door and took her suitcase and briefcase out of the trunk. He was prepared to open her door and drag her out if necessary, but she eventually emerged. Her expression was leery, but her voice was as strident as usual as she said, “This is a very bad idea, Lloyd. If so much as one word gets out, my career will be ruined. The political pundits and cartoonists will have a wonderful romp at my expense.”

“You have no choice,” he said. “Either you get off the medications or lose the election. The media will never find out about this place. Officially, you’re on a low-profile fact-finding mission in Asia. The press will be fed tidbits to confirm the story.”

“Then let’s get it over with,” she said. “Stop gawking and pick up my luggage, Lloyd. All I can say is that there had better not be twelve steps up to the porch.”

“You stupid motherfucker!” yelled Toby Mann at the car that shot out in front of him as he started to turn onto County 104.

“Cool it,” said Myron Bollix, his agent.

“Yeah, sure.” Toby took a hand off the steering wheel to gulp down a beer. “Easy for you to say, buddy boy. You’re not about to be locked up for ninety days with a bunch of loons. We’ll probably sit in a circle and hold hands while some asshole talks about how he’s always wanted to bang his mother.” He squeezed the beer can in his left hand until it crumpled, then tossed it out the window. “Look, Myron, there’s a dinosaur.”

“I believe it’s more commonly called a cow.”

Toby laughed. “What the hell do you know about cows?”

“Not much, but apparently more than you. You’re gonna have to straighten up, Toby. Do your time and pray that your lawyers can settle this out of court. If it goes to trial, the league commissioners are going to come down on you like”—he hesitated—“a pack of feral cows.”

“But why here?” Toby said, resorting to a whine. “There are a helluva lot of rehabs near the city. I don’t like nature, Myron. I don’t like cows and pigs and bugs. I don’t even like playing ball on grass. Give me a domed stadium and artificial turf any time.”

“Here, because the night after the charges were filed, the photographers found you at a club with half a dozen beautiful women. Here, because you skipped a court appearance to take off to a Caribbean island. Your lawyers want you to stay off the tabloid covers while they try to negotiate a deal. The judge was kind enough to allow you to undergo a psych evaluation before he makes a decision. Luckily for you, he happens to be a fan.”

“It’s all that bitch’s fault,” said Toby. “She was all over me in the bar, nibbling my ear and telling me what a bad girl she was. Once we got upstairs, she was naked on the bed before I could open the champagne. Guess I should have noticed the dollar signs in her eyes, but I was too busy admiring her tits.” He stopped at a gate. “This it?”