Sleeping with Anemone (26 page)

“I’d like to, Ab, but I can’t get into the filing cabinet up there without permission. I could be sanctioned for doing that.”

“Can’t you just glance at the chart at the foot of Harding’s bed?”

“That contains only his immediate information, like current meds and dosages, temperature and blood pressure readings. Everything else, including his medical history, is kept in a file at the nurses’ station.”

“There’s no way you can sneak a little peek for me?” Nikki wrinkled her forehead, looking worried. “I don’t know, Ab. . . .”

“If you don’t feel safe, then forget it,” I said.

“Well,” she said, “maybe if the nurses weren’t around, I could take a fast look.”

 

We managed to drag Rafe away from Erin, then took the elevator to the second floor and waited while Nikki checked out the nurses on duty. She came back moments later to report that there were two presently at the station.

“Now we need a diversion,” I said.

“I could take off my clothes and streak past them,” Rafe offered.

“And wind up in the psych ward,” Nikki said.

“Or jail,” I said. “How about if I stage an accident on the landing between floors? Rafe, you can run to the nurses to get help for me, and while they’re away, Nikki, you can take a look at Harding’s chart.”

Nikki thought it over, then shrugged. “We can try.”

We stepped into the stairwell next to the elevator bank to check out the scene of the so-called accident. I hurried down to the landing and sat down on the cold metal, making sure to twist one leg under me. “How does this look?”

“Perfect,” Nikki said as I rose to brush myself off. “I’ll watch for the right moment, then send Rafe back here to signal you to get into place.”

We high-fived each other. A door opened above and footsteps came our way, so we scooted up the stairs and waited outside the door until Rafe peered in and declared it clear.

“What should I do if someone finds me before the nurses get there?” I asked.

“Moan,” Nikki said, “loudly. And don’t let anyone move you until the nurses examine you. As soon as I take a look at the chart, I’ll come to the stairwell and let you know.”

“Okay, sounds like a plan.” I watched them head out the door; then I dashed down to the landing, hoping we hadn’t forgotten anything.

As the minutes ticked by, I began muttering, “Hurry up, hurry up,” and checking my watch—it was almost seven o’clock—until Rafe finally appeared and motioned for me to get into position. Then he dashed away, and I arranged my legs to look as though I’d slipped down the last few steps, hoping no one else stumbled upon our staged scene.

Suddenly, the door above me opened, and I heard Rafe say, “She’s down there.”

I moaned and rubbed my right ankle as the nurses hurried down the steps toward me. One of the nurses, a woman whose name tag said
Teresa Warner
, crouched down to examine my right leg. She felt along my calf and shin, probed the bones in my ankle, and turned my foot. I gasped for effect, but not enough to raise any big concerns, or so I thought.

“I think I just bruised something,” I said, wincing. “Rafe, help me up.”

“We need to get you to X-ray,” Teresa said. “You might have a broken bone.”

Oh no! That would require time and money I wasn’t willing to spend. “I’m sure I’ll be fine. Rafe, would you help me up, please?”

“No, don’t do that,” the other nurse said, dashing up the stairs. “I’ll call for assistance.”

I glanced at Rafe and gave him a
help me now
look.

At that moment, Nikki came through the door, saw me, and cried, “Abby, what happened?”

“I missed a few steps,” I said as Nikki raced down the stairs toward me. “Teresa thinks I might have a broken bone.”

“Let’s get you down to X-ray,” she said. To Nurse Teresa she said, “I know these two. I’ll take responsibility for them.”

Rafe scooped me up and started down the stairs, calling back, “X-ray’s in the basement, right?”

“I’ll show you,” Nikki offered, leading the way.

I glanced over Rafe’s shoulder at the stunned nurse. “Thanks, Teresa. You’ve been a great help.”

 

“You’re a lot heavier than you look,” Rafe grunted, setting me down at the bottom. He wiped the sweat off his brow with the back of his hand.

“Thanks for that.”

“Come on,” Nikki said, pushing on the door that led into the basement hallway. She took us to a waiting area filled with people, where we huddled in a corner to hear Nikki’s report.

“Harding’s not dying from cancer,” she said quietly. “His lymphoma is in remission.”

“Then why is he here?” I asked.

“According to his chart,” Nikki said, “Harding has multiple contusions, abrasions—”

“In English, Nikki,” I said. “The condensed version.”

“He’s in a coma.”

“A coma? From what?”

Nikki shrugged. “There’s nothing in the file about how he came to be in that condition, only what his condition is—severe trauma to his head, a crack in his skull, concussion, cuts, bruises, frostbite on his hands and face . . . Right now, he’s at high risk for dying.”

“When I saw Harding,” I said, “his eyes were open. Was he in a coma then?”

“Yes. That’s actually a common occurrence. The eyes are open, but we don’t know if the person actually sees anything.”

“Here’s what I want to know,” I said. “If Harding pulls through, will he be released or stay on for further cancer treatment?”

“Unless further tests show the cancer is flaring up, or he needs physical therapy from his head trauma, he’ll be released.”

That was not what I wanted to hear. “Did you happen to notice when Harding was admitted?” I asked.

“This morning.”

“What about for his cancer treatment?”

“Gee, I glanced at the file so quickly, but I believe he was transferred in about four weeks ago. I know he was released after five days of treatment. He’d probably be due back soon for follow-up blood—”

“Nikki,” we heard someone whisper. I glanced around and saw the other X-ray tech, Erin, motioning to her.

“I’ll be right there,” Nikki called back. “I’ve got to go, Abby.”

“Promise me you’ll keep an eye out in case Harding does recover and is released.”

“Of course.”

“Thanks for your help, Nik,” I said, giving her a hug. “I know you took a risk for me.”

“You’d do the same for me.”

Make that I’d
done
the same for her.

I turned to look for Rafe and saw him leaning against the wall, flirting with Erin. “Rafe,” I called. “Let’s go.”

As he started toward me, Nikki said, “Wait, Abby. I just remembered something.”

I grabbed Rafe’s coat sleeve before he could head back toward Erin. “How about pulling the car up to the door, Romeo?”

“Will do,” Rafe said, then winked at Erin and strode toward the door.

“Slowly!” I called before turning back to Nikki. “What did you remember?”

“H. Bebe was listed on the initial admission form as Harding’s contact person.”

“Charlotte H. Bebe?”

“It just said H. Bebe. I figured it was either her or a relative.” Nikki showed me the digits she’d jotted on her palm. “Here’s the number if you want to look it up.”

“Better yet,” I said, moving closer to the exit, “I’ll call and see who answers. It certainly wouldn’t be Charlotte.” As I pulled out my cell phone and punched in the number, I said to Nikki, “Do you realize that if H. Bebe
is
Charlotte, we’ll have a link between Harding and the kidnappers?”

“Hello?” a female voice said in my ear.

Yikes. I hadn’t planned what to say. “I’m, um, looking for a friend of mine. To whom am I speaking, please?”

“Just tell me your friend’s name,” came her curt reply.

“Charlotte.”

The woman’s voice became brittle. “What is this? A sick joke?”

“No! Not at all. I just—”

The line went dead.

“What happened?” Nikki asked as I slid my phone into my purse.

“The woman on the other end accused me of playing a sick joke on her.”

“She wouldn’t say that unless she knew Charlotte was dead.”

“It must be Charlotte’s sister!” I hit REDIAL, hoping I could keep her on the phone long enough to explain why I’d called, but this time it went straight to voice mail.

Nikki’s pager beeped. She glanced around at Erin, who was gesturing for her to hurry. “I have to go, Ab. See you at home.” As she trotted up the hallway, she called back, “Are we still on for our double-date dinner tomorrow night?”

“Sure are.”

“That’ll be fun.”

For some of us more than others.

Outside, I found Rafe waiting with my car. I slid into the passenger seat and showed him the number on my palm. “I need to find out who this woman is.”

“Let’s get to a computer,” he said.

 

Back at my apartment, Rafe headed toward the fridge for a beer, while I hung my coat on the back of the chair. “If we can find this H. Bebe’s address, Rafe, and it isn’t far from here, are you up for another field trip tonight?”

“Just say the word.”

“Let’s not bother Marco with the details of our evening, okay? I can tell him Nikki provided the information, but he doesn’t need to know we left here to get it.”

“Kind of a quid pro quo deal, then, right?”

“What do you mean?”

Rafe twisted the cap off a bottle and took a swig. “I mean, I’ll keep quiet, but then you owe me a favor.”

Great. Another payback. I tossed my car keys on the counter. “What’s the favor?”

“I met this awesome girl at Hooters, and I want to take her out Friday night, but I don’t have wheels, so . . .” He picked up my car keys and dangled them, smiling.

My stomach sank. The speed demon wanted to use my Vette? I’d walked right into that one. It was fair punishment, I supposed, for going behind Marco’s back.

I took a deep breath and blew it out. “Okay. Sure. If you—”

“Awesome.”

“Hold on. I was about to say
if
you promise to keep the speed below thirty-five, park far away from other cars, and not bring any food or drink inside the vehicle—or make out in it. Because if you put one dent, nick, stain, scratch, or smidge of yucky DNA matter in it—”

“Be cool, Freckles. I’ve never had a single car accident.” He sat down at the desk and logged on to the Internet. “Give me that phone number. I’ll do a reverse lookup.”

As Rafe worked at the computer, my home phone rang, reminding me that I hadn’t checked for messages. What if Marco had called while I was out? How would I explain neither of us answering? As I dashed to get it, I glanced at the red light on the machine, and was relieved to see it wasn’t blinking. Whew. He hadn’t called. He would have left a message. I’d have to be more careful in the future.

“How’s it going?” Marco asked.

“Everything’s fine here.” I nibbled my lip, hoping he wouldn’t question me about my evening. “What’s going on there?”

“I’m just finishing up my ledgers; then I’m going to head out to do some surveillance. So Rafe’s behaving himself?”

“Yes, he’s behaving.”

“I found the address,” Rafe called.

I motioned for him to be quiet.

“What’s happening?” Marco asked. “What did Rafe just yell?”

“He’s playing a game on the computer. How late do you think you’ll be?”

“Let’s see. It’s seven thirty now. . . . I’m sure it’ll be well after midnight.”

I heard the weariness in his voice and felt guilty once again for being partly to blame. “That’s a long day for you, Marco. I wish you didn’t have to get up early to take me to work.”

“It’s for a good cause. That’s you, in case you forgot.”

I was going to have to tear up that chart. This man was all pluses. “Have I told you lately how much I appreciate you?”

“I’d rather you showed me,” came his sexy growl.

“Anytime, Salvare. Good luck with the surveillance.”

“Thanks. I’ll call you later.”

Eek. What if I was out? “Marco, use my cell phone if you need to reach me, okay?”

“Sure. Are you still having trouble with your landline?”

“Well—”

“You have to keep on the phone company, Abby.”

“Okay.”

“Love you, babe.”

“Love you, too, Marco.”

I hung up and unplugged the phone from the jack, then looked at the address Rafe had printed out. “Sixteen forty-three Gray Heron Drive, New Buffalo, Michigan. Can you pull it up on a Google map?”

In a few keystrokes, Rafe brought up a map, and I leaned over to study it. “Looks like about an hour’s drive from here.”

“I say we go check it out,” he said, starting to rise.

I pushed him back down. “Marco gave me firm instructions that I was not to let you talk me into leaving the apartment.”

“But I thought—”

I put my hand over his mouth. “Wait for it. . . . Okay. I say we go check it out.”

“If you insist.”

 

This time, I drove the Corvette, but I took the precaution of wearing my black wool cap with my hair tucked up beneath it. I wasn’t about to take any chances of being spotted. With my hair color, it was like waving a red flag.

We headed north toward Lake Michigan, then took Route 20 around the bottom of the lake and crossed the Indiana state line into Michigan, following the Red Arrow Highway up to New Buffalo. Using the map Rafe had printed out, we located a development called Heron Cove, where hundreds of identical town houses were situated cheek by jowl on looping streets with a golf course at the center.

Deep into the development, I finally found Gray Heron Drive. The mailboxes were at the curbs, with brass numerals running vertically down thick wooden posts to indicate the addresses. I slowed in front of the mailbox marked
1643
and studied the two-story brick and cedar town house it belonged to.