Malpractice in Maggody (6 page)

Ignoring me, she got into the driver’s seat of a dusty black minivan. “Randall, I’m waiting for you. We haven’t even started unloading all the boxes in the back. We’ll be lucky if we get them unpacked and cataloged before dawn.”

“Sounds like you’re in for a fun night,” I murmured.

“No kidding.” He shook my hand, then got into the van.

I watched as they drove back up the road in the direction of County 104, which would take them to the Stonebridge Foundation. Where Brenda Skiller would unpack boxes and catalog the contents, all in order to “make people better.” I imagined a ghastly scene from a B horror movie, in which Brenda sat with a shipping list while Randall put the dismembered hands in one cabinet, the feet in another, and the jars of eyeballs on a shelf. “No, Randall,” she’d say impatiently, “the left hands on the left side, the right hands on the right. And do sort those eyeballs by color.”

I went into the PD, turned off the lights, and returned outside. I could go to a movie in Farberville, as I’d planned, or go to my apartment and call Jack—except he’d gone to shoot a series of commercials in some redneck country inn and wouldn’t be home until Friday morning. The lights were on in the back of Roy Stiver’s shop; I could, if I wanted, amble over and talk to him while we sipped whiskey. He’s the closest thing Maggody will ever have to a poet laureate, although he does enjoy composing ribald limericks along with the odes and sonnets. To wit:

I haven’t asked Mrs. Jim Bob to embroider it on a pillow for me.

After standing there pondering my options as the stoplight went through several rounds of red, yellow, and green, I finally thought of something that might prove enlightening, if not entertaining. I drove over to the Dairee Dee-Lishus, where the usual suspects were perched on picnic tables, slapping at mosquitoes and drinking beer.

The beer cans vanished as I joined them. “Another wild night in Maggody, I see,” I said as I sat down on a bench.

“We’re not doing anything wrong,” Darla Jean said sullenly. “Billy Dick thought we ought to tunnel our way into the bank, but there isn’t one within twenty miles. Same problem with renting porn movies.”

Billy Dick burped. “Unless that new place on County 104 turns out to be Blockbuster’s. Now that’d be cool.”

“In your dreams,” said Heather. “Wet dreams, that is.”

“I need help,” I said. “I want to try to get some information off the Internet.”

Amberlynne smiled sweetly at me. “I’m sure Mr. Lambertino will give you the key to the computer lab at the high school. In fact, he’d probably go unlock it for you hisself if his wife would let him. I heard she still thinks you and him were a little too cozy at that church camp. My ma said Brother Verber was staring right at him during a sermon about adultery a couple of weeks back.”

I raised my eyebrows. “My goodness, Amberlynne, is that a puddle of beer you’re sitting in?”

“Shit!” she said as she hopped off the table. “I’m going to smell like the Dew Drop Inn. My parents will kill me.”

Darla Jean looked at me. “What do you want off the Internet?”

“Something that might help us figure out what’s going on at the Stonebridge Foundation, where the old folks’ home used to be. I’m not very good at this sort of thing. Even if I got in the computer lab, I wouldn’t know how to start.”

“Come on, then,” she said as she slid off the picnic table. “We can go over to my house. My parents went to some lame awards banquet in Farberville. They shouldn’t be back for at least an hour. You’d better take your car.”

When we got to her house, I followed her upstairs to her bedroom. It was an eclectic mess of worn stuffed animals, a dusty doll-house in need of a redecorator, posters of male idols posing in low-slung jeans, clothes scattered on the floor, and makeup cluttering a dressing table.

She cleared a space on her bed for me, then sat down at her computer. “So what are we looking for?”

“Try ‘Stonebridge Foundation,’” I suggested.

She clicked here and there on the keyboard. “Nothing. But if I try ‘Stonebridge,’ I get four hundred and fifteen thousand hits. Do you want golf courses, planned unit developments, restaurants, B&Bs, colleges, publishers, car dealerships…?”

“All right, then,” I said. “See what you can find for Randall Zumi.”

“Spell it.”

I didn’t know how, so I offered some possibilities and added that he was a medical doctor. Eventually, Darla Jean pointed. “Here he is. It doesn’t say much, though.”

She got up so I could sit down in front of the screen. Randall Zumi was employed by the Arkansas State Hospital, the primary destination for those with severe mental illnesses or those awaiting court-mandated evaluations. Randall had attended a state medical school in the East, done a residency at another, and was a board-certified psychiatrist. From the dates listed, I calculated his age to be in the thirties. There was no other personal information.

“Interesting,” I murmured.

Darla Jean’s eyes were wide. “So it’s gonna be an insane asylum? When they show them in movies, they sure don’t have swimming pools and gym equipment. It’s always these long, dark corridors with steel doors and rooms where they strap people down to hook up wires to their heads. The patients all walk around with glassy eyes and talk to themselves. I’m getting scared just thinking about it.”

I’d seen the same shows, and I didn’t have anything to add.

V
incent Stonebridge was feeling quite pleased as the limo stopped at the main entrance. The facade was reminiscent of an early-twentieth-century hotel in its prime. The trees and flowerbeds looked as though they’d been there since Victoria had reigned over the fading British Empire. The porch was wide, permitting homey groupings of white wicker furniture and planters filled with cheerful blooms.

He told the driver to pull around to the back parking area and wait until someone appeared to assist with unloading the suitcases, boxes of books, cases of wine, and necessary electronic paraphernalia such as his computer, stereo equipment, and CDs that would make life in this barbarian village semi-tolerable.

After straightening his tie and running his manicured fingertips through his thick, silver hair, Vincent stepped into the reception room of the Stonebridge Foundation. The settee and chairs, as well as the desk, were high-quality replicas of expensive European antiques. A vase of fresh flowers was centered on the oblong coffee table. The oriental rug was a muted mixture of rich colors. It was all quite impressive.

The wings on either side led to the suites and an exterior door at the end of each hall. Previously, there had been eight double rooms for the unfortunate elderly patients in each wing. Now each contained four two-room suites. He went down the left wing and opened a door. Very nice, he thought, looking at the pearl gray walls and lush carpeting. Accents in sage and cranberry enhanced the elegant brocade draperies. The bookshelf held classics bound in leather and slim volumes of poetry to elevate one’s spirits. A small sofa looked inviting, as did an overstuffed chair set next to the window for those who might want to curl up and read. There were, of course, no locks on the inside of the doors, but all in all, it was as charming as some of his favorite hotels in Paris and Rome.

Vincent returned to the reception room. Due to the rush to prepare the facility, the rooms in the right wing had not yet been completely redone. Vincent’s projected profits relied on the utilization of all eight suites, but that would have to wait until adequate revenues had been generated.

“There you are,” said Brenda Skiller as she came through a door beyond the desk. “I expected you more than an hour ago.”

“And it’s lovely to see you again, Brenda,” Vincent said with a slight bow. “This really came out nicely, didn’t it? I must remember to send the decorator—Maribelle, I think—some flowers to show our gratitude.”

Brenda frowned. “She’d prefer a check. I’ve been through all her bills and invoices, and she seems to have stayed on budget, with a few exceptions. The marble vanities, for example—”

“Let’s not quibble over the details, my dear. Our patients are paying fifty thousand dollars a month; they would not be pleased with shoddy furnishings. A year from now we’ll be adding another eight suites in a new building beyond the pool. How ironic that we’ll have the most highly sought-after rehab facility in the most obscure place in the country.”

“How ironic,” echoed Brenda. “We still have an enormous amount of work to do before tomorrow. Randall and I came a day early to get started.”

Vincent smiled. “I knew you would be an excellent addition to our team. I need someone to help my driver move everything into my suite and office. Who’s available?”

“All of the maids and orderlies are in the day room. Follow me.” She spun around and marched back down a hall toward the rear of the building.

He trailed along behind her, trying not to wince as her ample derriere swished with each step. A few sessions of liposection would do wonders for her, as well as abdominoplasty, a facial restructuring to reduce her pugnacious jaw, and Botox injections to combat the deep creases defining her mouth. She would never pass for a retired swimsuit model, but in this modern era of medical miracles, she certainly could do better. He resolved to offer her a discount when the time seemed right.

The four women and four men in the day room were milling around uncomfortably. They comprised a mixture of ages and bulk, but all of them had dark eyes and brown complexions. The women wore modest gray uniforms with white bib aprons, and had been warned that jewelry and makeup were grounds for dismissal. The men were neatly groomed and dressed in white shirts and trousers. All of them had been issued sensible shoes that would not squeak as they went about their duties.

“They have about a dozen words of English among them,” Brenda said. “I spent the morning demonstrating their duties to them. You realize it’s illegal to hire them without verifying their immigration status and green cards, don’t you?”

Vincent nodded. “And that’s why I chose them, my dear. We cannot have them tattling to the tabloids. Is the arrangement I made for that apartment building across from the Farberville airport adequate?”

“I don’t think so. There seems to be a significant community of Latinos in this area. I’m worried that some of these people, especially the younger ones, will find their way to bars and nightclubs where Spanish is the norm. After a few beers, who knows what they might say? A day later we’ll be staked out by paparazzi perched in trees.”

“Hmm,” said Vincent, easily imagining her scenario. “What about the east wing rooms that haven’t been remodeled? Can we keep them there?”

Brenda shook her head. “I considered that, but none of the rooms have functional plumbing. Our patients will not be happy if these people are roaming the halls in their bathrobes at all hours of the day and night. The essence of a good staff is invisibility. I’ve already instructed them to keep their eyes lowered and not to speak unless spoken to first.”

“Hmm,” Vincent said again. It was a useful response, implying that he was mulling over options and weighing important issues.

“Randall had a suggestion,” Brenda continued. “There is a motel of sorts in town. Without public transportation, these people won’t have a way to get to Farberville or any of the other towns in the area. I can assure you that the local residents will not welcome them. We can use the van to shuttle them back and forth when shifts change. It will take ten minutes instead of most of an hour.”

“How much?”

“I should be able to get four double rooms for two thousand a month, maybe less. It’s no more than the Airport Arms, and we’ll save on gas and mileage. They’ll have hot plates and a grill, as we’d already planned, so they can still fix their burritos or beans or whatever. They can also walk to a local supermarket.”

Since he had not thought of it himself, Vincent was loath to admit it was a better plan. However, he’d hired Brenda to deal with the petty problems, and as an effective leader, he had to delegate responsibilities. “Fine, then,” he said. “You make the arrangements, while I have these men carry in my cartons and suitcases. Where’s Randall?”

“In his office, unpacking books and hanging diplomas.”

Vincent consulted his watch. “We will have a staff meeting in my office in one hour. I supposed we’d better include Walter Kaiser. Where is he?”

“I don’t know,” Brenda admitted. “I told him to be here this afternoon. He hasn’t called or anything.”

“Are you prepared to oversee the personalized training regimes?” he asked so coldly that the Mexicans in the room flinched. “We have four patients arriving tomorrow, one accompanied by her lawyer. This particular lawyer will provide us with many referrals in the future—
if
he’s impressed. I had presumed you would handle this, Brenda. Keep in mind you are not indispensable.”

Brenda’s jaw quivered. “So you say, Vincent, but are you prepared to supervise the menu, arrange for the delivery of fresh fruits and vegetables, teach yoga, and provide acupuncture treatments? If the new chef quits, are you going to cook? Yes, you’re going to nip and tuck, but their cures have to come from within as well. This lawyer isn’t going to make referrals if there’s no measurable improvement.”

“Well, then,” Vincent said petulantly, “you’d better track Kaiser down. Make arrangements with the motel and let Randall know that we’ll meet in my office at two o’clock.” He gestured at the men to follow him, then stalked out of the day room.

Brenda went out into the hall. Rather than go to her office, she decided to use the phone at the reception desk so she could keep an eye on the front door. Not that she could call Walter, who could be anywhere from Alamagordo to Anchorage, although it was more likely he was in a cheap motel, sleeping off a three-day binge of drugs and booze. Maybe she’d made a mistake when she offered him the job, but she’d had no choice. Unfortunately, she’d met him a long time ago under very different circumstances. Recently he’d tracked her down and made it clear that he hadn’t forgotten their first meeting—and that he wouldn’t hesitate to bring it up if it was in his best interest.

“Excuse me,” said a petite young woman hovering near the front door, “but I’m looking for whoever is in charge.” She smiled brightly, her small white teeth neatly aligned. Her curly blond hair surrounded her face in a hazy cloud. Her blue eyes were large and wide-set, giving her the look of a fragile porcelain figurine. She was dressed neatly in a skirt and blouse, but clearly would cause testosterone to effervesce if she appeared in a skimpy bathing suit. Brenda detested her on sight.

“And you are…?”

“Molly Foss, ma’am. Dr. Stonebridge hired me to be the receptionist.”

Brenda sat down behind the desk. “I’m Dr. Skiller, and I’m in charge of the staff. Sit down.” She waited until the woman complied, then said, “When did Dr. Stonebridge hire you?”

“Back in February, at an AMA meeting in Las Vegas. The doctor I was working for took the whole office staff as a reward. We stayed in this really nice hotel with an absolutely enormous casino and so many restaurants I didn’t know—”

“I’m sure you didn’t, Miss Foss. Does Dr. Stonebridge have a copy of your résumé?”

“Oh, yes, Dr. Skiller,” she replied earnestly, “and he told me all about the position. I’m really excited about working here.”

“Then I hope you appreciate the necessity of never discussing our program with outsiders. Not with your friends, your parents”—she glanced at the woman’s left hand—“or your husband. You are simply to describe it as a wellness institution. Do you understand?”

“Yes, ma’am. I swear I won’t breathe a word, not even if I’m being tortured.”

“I doubt it will come to that. You’ll serve as the receptionist and secretary. Most of your duties will involve insurance paperwork, state licensing compliance forms, patients’ private records, and so forth. You will, by necessity, handle material that must remain confidential. This will be your desk, and the room directly behind me contains the filing cabinets, office supplies, and computer. There is a panel that controls the gate. You will be given a list of those who have appointments. Confirm the identity of those who request entry, and if you have any doubts, do not buzz open the gate without consulting me. I’ll unlock the office door for you when you arrive in the morning, and give you the key. When you leave at five, you will lock the door and return the key to me. If you leave the area for any reason, you are to lock the door and take the key with you. Under no circumstances are you to allow access to anyone except Dr. Stonebridge, Dr. Zumi, and myself. The slightest violation will lead to your immediate dismissal.”

Molly’s face turned pale. “Wow, I promise I’ll be extra careful. When do you want me to start?”

“Tomorrow morning at eight. This weekend you’ll need to be here both days, but once we’re functioning smoothly, you’ll work until noon on Saturdays and have Sundays off. Wear a skirt or slacks, and we’ll provide you with a lab coat. As long as you’re already here, familiarize yourself with the facility. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Molly stood up, blinking uncertainly, then wandered down the hall. Brenda sighed as she picked up the receiver to call the motel—and realized she didn’t remember its name. Maggody did not merit a telephone directory. She could hardly send Randall to make the arrangements, since he might be lynched on the spot, but he might recall the name.

She went down the hall. The new addition consisted of two one-story structures fronted by narrow, covered sidewalks. One side contained the day room, gym, kitchen, pantry, and employee break room; the other the doctors’ offices, private residences, and the surgical suite. Between the two extensions was a swimming pool with a brick patio and wrought-iron furniture, and beyond that, a spacious garden. Patients would be encouraged to spend their free time outside, soaking up vitamin D from the sunshine while meditating or reading. Those who sulked in their suites would find themselves subjected to behavior modification.

The door to Randall’s office was open. Brenda went inside and watched as he made minute adjustments to the framed diploma he was hanging behind his desk, then said, “Vincent is here.”

The diploma slipped off the nail and fell to the floor. Randall stared down at it, then turned around. “You startled me. Yes, I am aware that Vincent is here. He’s been shouting orders and waving his arms at those men unloading his belongings. He can be rather loud and ostentatious, you know. Perhaps that is the way one must behave in L.A. to be noticed. I seem to lack that sort of exuberance.”

Brenda agreed, but she saw no reason to commiserate. “Did you happen to notice the name of the local motel?”

“Some bird…flamingo, I think.” He picked up the diploma. “Is that all?”

“We’re having a meeting at two o’clock in his office. It’ll be interesting to find out who our patients will be. Did Vince say anything about them to you?”