by Jana DeLeon
“We can get arrested in New Orleans,” Ida Belle reminded her.
“We can get arrested in Sinful,” Gertie said.
“Yeah, but in New Orleans, Francine isn’t going to bring us dinner and our cellmates won’t be as pleasant as the Swamp Bar drunks,” Ida Belle said.
“Celia’s in jail right now,” I reminded them.
“I forgot about that,” Ida Belle said. “Another good reason to avoid jail.”
“I’m not suggesting we burst into the hospital with bazookas,” Gertie said. “Besides, I only have one. I was thinking about doing an undercover thing.”
I winced a bit at the bazooka comment but didn’t have the nerve to pursue that line of questioning, not this early in the morning. Apparently, Ida Belle didn’t either, but she subconsciously shifted her body away from her friend, giving her the side-eye.
“What kind of undercover thing?” I asked, figuring talking was a promise of action.
“Scrubs,” Gertie said. “We get scrubs and some fake badges and we stroll right in like we work there.”
“But we don’t know what they wear,” I said, not completely hating the idea. “If they’re all color-coded then we’ll stand out worse in the wrong color scrubs.”
“I happen to know that the employees are allowed to choose their own scrubs,” Gertie said.
Ida Belle narrowed her eyes. “How do you know that?”
“Remember when you went on that three-day offshore fishing trip last year?” Gertie asked. “Well, I might have made a side trip to the casino.”
“And you spent the night at a slot machine next to a hospital employee?” I asked.
“Not exactly,” Gertie said.
Ida Belle snorted.
“So how, exactly, did you get that information?” I asked.
“You know those huge slot machines with the giant arm?” Gertie asked. “They have one at the entrance. It’s a gimmick thing but the top prize was a new bass boat so I put in five bucks and pulled the arm. I didn’t realize it was that heavy or that it would drop that fast.”
Ida Belle sighed. “Or that maybe you should stand to the side as it was coming down?”
“Maybe that too,” Gertie said. “Anyway, it bopped me right on top of the head and knocked me out cold. So I got a trip to the ER and they made me stay a couple hours. It was so quiet that night that everyone was bored, so I spent the night playing poker with a nice nurse. She told me all about how things run there. You don’t want to eat the mashed potatoes.”
I was afraid to ask. “So where can we pick up some scrubs?”
“I’ve got scrubs,” Gertie said.
“Why?” Ida Belle asked.
“Part of my costume collection,” Gertie said.
“I’m not wearing sexy anything,” Ida Belle said.
“They’re normal,” Gertie said. “Unless you think Hello Kitty is sexy.”
“There’s a place that sells scrubs right off the highway on the way into New Orleans,” Ida Belle said. “We’ll just make a quick stop.”
“We don’t all need scrubs,” I said. “It will be difficult enough for one of us to sneak past hospital staff and into the ER.”
“So what were you thinking?” Ida Belle asked.
“I want you two to create a diversion,” I said. “Something that gets staff away from the desk so that I can slip through the door.”
“I’m not having a heart attack again,” Gertie said. “I’m always having a heart attack. One of these days, I’m going to have a real one from all this pretending. It’s a karma thing.”
Ida Belle waved a hand in dismissal. “You don’t believe in that crap and don’t tell me for a minute you have a problem pretending. Besides, you’re a better actor than me. I can’t even fake being pleasant, much less injured.”
“That’s true,” Gertie said, seeming mollified. “Then I guess I’m having another heart attack.”
“Let’s just wait until we get there,” Ida Belle said. “Then we can see what we have to work with and make a decision.”
Gertie perked up. “Improv. I like it.”
“Most comedians do,” I said.
“I’m not a comedian,” Gertie said.
“Tell that to your YouTube following,” I said.
“We’re burning daylight,” Ida Belle said. “Let’s print you up a fake badge and get Gertie dressed and head out.”
“I don’t need to change clothes to have a fake medical emergency,” Gertie said.
“You do if you’re with me,” Ida Belle said. “You go in public that way, and you might have a real one.”
“Dressed is better,” I said. “If anyone takes a closer look at things, it might be odd that you drove all the way from Sinful in your pajamas to fall out in the ER in New Orleans.”
“It’s only illegal to go in public in your pajamas if the temperature is above eighty,” Gertie said.
“Why in the world would the temperature make a difference?” I asked.
“Because when speckled trout were running at dawn, the race to get to the hottest spots first led to some less-than-desirable fishing attire,” Ida Belle said. “Everyone’s okay with winter pajamas, but what some wear in the summer isn’t fit for public consumption. Quite frankly, they probably scared the fish.”
I grimaced. “Did those who sleep in the nude get dressed at least?”
“Unfortunately, no,” Ida Belle said. “There was also the year someone was sleeping in Saran Wrap because she thought she’d lose weight.”
“I dropped two pounds,” Gertie said.
“That’s because you weren’t wearing clothes,” Ida Belle said.
“So about that badge,” I said.
It was going to be a long drive into New Orleans.
Chapter Twenty
I chose a solid-colored navy scrub at the medical supply store. Gertie thought it was boring so I knew I’d chosen well. Standing out wasn’t exactly what I was going for. When we arrived at the hospital, I parked in the lot in front of the ER entrance and we studied it for a minute.
“Circular drive with drop-off,” Ida Belle said. “Standard sliding glass doors to the inside. Looks like two nurses at the front desk and another behind them in the files.”
“If you can draw those nurses just outside the entry, I can sneak past,” I said.
“You don’t think doing something farther in the parking lot would allow you more room to operate?” Gertie asked.
“It would, but I don’t think the nurses will go that far from their station,” I said. “But if something happened just outside the door…”
Ida Belle nodded. “They’d call for help but they’d also move to assist as it’s right in front of them.”
“I’m not sure about a heart attack fake, though,” I said, frowning. “I’m afraid if Gertie claims heart trouble, they’ll haul her in for tests and won’t release her.”
“We’ve spent too many useless hours in the ER already this week,” Ida Belle said.
Gertie nodded. “And I’m not interested in a stress test. That last time almost killed me. The darn test is designed to give you a heart attack. I think it’s all a ploy to increase cardiac patients.”
“Most people don’t set the treadmill on fire during the test,” Ida Belle pointed out. “It’s probably a lot less stressful without the fear of burning to death.”
Gertie looked back at the front of the hospital and smiled. “The sprinkler system is running.”
“So they’ve got nice landscaping,” Ida Belle said. “Who cares?”
“If one of those sprinkler heads was broken and I slipped into that landscaping,” Gertie said, “you yelling about a lawsuit would probably get the nurses moving.”
Ida Belle stared. “That’s genius.”
“I know,” Gertie said. “Just part of my everyday thinking.”
“Don’t push it,” Ida Belle said.
I grinned. “Let’s do this then. You two go summon up an attorney threat while I go s
ummon up the actual attorney.”
We headed to the entry, Ida Belle and Gertie walking ahead of me. I moved over as we approached the entrance and stood off to the side of the doors, pretending to talk on my cell phone. Ida Belle walked by the nearest sprinkler head and gave it a solid kick, breaking it in two. Water started bubbling out onto the walkway and Ida Belle motioned for Gertie to do her thing.
Which Gertie never did halfway.
She took two steps into the running water, then let out a high-pitched scream and fell directly into the flowers. The nurses all jumped up, staring outside, and Ida Belle waved frantically at them. I stepped over a little to the side and the doors opened.
“Help!” Ida Belle yelled. “My mother fell because of your broken sprinkler system. If she’s injured, I’ll own this hospital before it’s over.”
“Your mother?” Gertie shot Ida Belle a look that could have melted metal. “There might be a real injury coming.”
The nurses rushed from behind the desk and ran outside. As soon as they cleared the entrance, I slipped inside and hurried through the door to the ER. I had no idea which room Abshire was in, so I had to peek into every room, hoping a doctor wasn’t in residence. I’d seen a photo of Abshire on his business website, so I would know him when I saw him. I hit the jackpot behind Door Number 3. He was awake when I walked into the room and glared at me as I walked toward him.
Late fifties. Six foot even. One hundred seventy-five pounds. The number of bandages and bruises indicated that he’d been put through the wringer. No threat at all to me but had probably committed an unknown number of assaults on families through his practices.
“You just took my temperature and blood pressure,” he said. “How the hell is a person supposed to get better if you never let them rest?”
“I’m not here to do any of that,” I said.
“Don’t tell me they’ve scheduled another test. I’m done with tests. I just want you to fix this infection and let me go home. You people have caused more problems than you’ve solved.”
“I’m not a hospital employee,” I said. “I just dressed like one to get in to see you.”
“I’m not talking to reporters.”
“I’m not a reporter. I’m a private investigator and I’m looking for a former client of yours that’s missing. I was hoping you might be able to help me with some information.”
He gave me a suspicious look. “What kind of information?”
“A way to contact her, perhaps,” I said. “Her cell phone is disconnected and her family is worried. I was hoping you might have another way to get in touch.”
“Even if I did, I couldn’t give it to you.”
“But you could use it to pass a message on from her family.”
“Not from here, I couldn’t. And I don’t see that any of this is my problem.”
“It’s not. I’m asking you to help alleviate some stress on a family right before Christmas.”
He narrowed his eyes at the Christmas reference and I knew my attempt to guilt him into helping hadn’t worked in the least. I had a feeling Abshire was only interested in helping himself. But curiosity got the better of him.
“Who is the missing woman?” he asked.
“Ashley Breaux.”
“Ashley Breaux?” The name didn’t register recognition and I wondered for a moment whether his injuries had affected his memory or he simply cared so little about anything but the money that he’d already forgotten her name. I suspected it was the latter.
“Her sister, who lives in Sinful, adopted her son,” I said, hoping the additional information might prompt his memory.
I saw a flicker of recognition at the word ‘Sinful.’
“Yes, I remember now,” he said. “Very straightforward. Always easier when it’s a family member.”
“What about the father?” I asked.
“What about him?” he said.
“Was he notified that his son was being adopted?” I asked. “Did he give his consent?”
He frowned. “I haven’t committed the details of all the adoptions I handle to memory. But when the father is present, then of course, he has to give consent.”
“And when he’s not present?” I asked. “Do you make an attempt to find him?”
“Look, my clients are not necessarily the models of society. Sometimes they don’t know who the father is. How am I supposed to identify the father when my client can’t? Surely you’re not suggesting I take out ads in the paper, asking everyone who’s had sex with a certain woman to contact my office for DNA testing.”
“So you don’t make any attempt to identify the father.”
He put his hands up in the air. “My guess is, even if I took out that ad, I wouldn’t have any takers. Most likely, the fathers are married men who don’t want their wives to know about their indiscretions or men who aren’t interested in being financially strapped for two decades over a fling.”
“Got it. So do you have a way to get in touch with Ashley besides her cell phone or address?”
“Why would I?” he asked. “My paperwork would contain her contact information from the time of the transaction, which I assume is what her family has. I don’t create or maintain personal relationships with my clients.”
I stiffened at his use of the word ‘transaction’ but then I supposed that’s all the babies were to Abshire.
“I’m sure you don’t get involved personally,” I said. “If you knew too much about their lives, you might not be able to adopt out their babies.”
Anger flashed across his face. “I’m done answering your questions. I have no idea how to find Ashley and I don’t know who the father of her baby is.”
“Is that what you told the guy who beat you up?” I asked. “I’m guessing lack of answers is how you ended up in here.”
“That man robbed me,” he said.
“I’m sure that’s what you told the police, but I’m guessing that the man who robbed you was the same man who showed up in Sinful disguised as Santa…most likely looking for Ashley. I figure he wouldn’t have known where to start looking unless he got that information from you.”
“I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about. You are the only person who’s asked me about Ashley Breaux.”
I nodded. “I suppose you should stick with that story, especially since that man ended up murdered. Might not look good for you if the police knew he was the same man who put you in the hospital a couple weeks before.”
“Get out! Or I’m calling security.”
I held my hands up in defeat. “I’m gone. But I’m guessing I won’t be the only person to visit you and ask these questions. The next set will probably have badges. Can’t threaten them with hospital security so you might want to come up with a better story than what you gave me.”
If Abshire wasn’t injured, I’m pretty sure he would have launched out of the bed and throttled me right there. Or he would have tried. It wouldn’t have worked out at all as he’d thought, but the desire was certainly there. If there had been a shred of doubt before, it was all gone now. Raymond Abshire was definitely not a good man.
I trailed out of the ER and headed for the parking lot. I didn’t bother to hurry as I knew Abshire wasn’t going to make good on his security threat. He was too afraid I’d summon the police. Gertie and Ida Belle were still in the lobby. An orderly and two of the nurses from earlier were trying to convince Gertie to get on a gurney so they could check her out, but she was refusing. As soon as she caught sight of me, she lifted her handbag and whacked the orderly across the shoulder. I had no idea what she was carting around in that bag, and didn’t want to know, but whatever it was had enough weight to shift him a couple inches and cause him to clutch his arm.
“That does it,” he said, and stomped off.
“I’m so sorry,” Ida Belle said. “Mother has these spells sometimes, and she’s not fond of men.”
I could barely keep from laughing as I walked outside.
&nbs
p; I headed out to the SUV and climbed inside. A couple minutes later, Ida Belle and Gertie joined me, Gertie still grousing about the whole mother thing.
“It was the best call,” Ida Belle said. “It doesn’t sound nearly as threatening for me to say my friend is pushing up your daisies and I’m going to sue. ‘Mother’ holds a lot more power.”
“She’s right about that one,” I said. “This whole Southern mother thing is a serious business.”
“I do not look old enough to be your mother,” Gertie grumbled, but she couldn’t argue the Southern mother angle of things.
“So did you get anything?” Ida Belle asked.
I filled them in on my conversation with Abshire and they both looked as impressed as I was with the shady attorney.
“He knows that adoption wasn’t on the up-and-up,” Gertie said.
“He suspects, at least,” Ida Belle said. “I imagine he makes sure he doesn’t know anything for sure. That’s his legal out.”
“Maybe this beating from Cooke will teach him a lesson, and he’ll change the way he does business,” Gertie said.
“I wouldn’t count on it,” Ida Belle said. “His kind gravitate to that sort of thing because it’s who they are to begin with. I don’t think Abshire is capable of living a moral life. The lure of the easy money is too great.”
“You’re right,” Gertie said. “But I wish you weren’t.”
Ida Belle glanced over at me. “You’re awfully quiet. Is something wrong?”
“No,” I said. “I mean, yes, the whole thing is wrong. But there’s something that bothers me about the conversation, more than the obvious. I just can’t put my finger on what it is.”
“You think he knows how to find Ashley?” Gertie asked.
I shook my head. “Like Ida Belle said—the less he knows the better. But when I first asked him about her, the name didn’t register. Not even a twitch. It wasn’t until I mentioned Sinful and her sister adopting that he showed any sign of recognition.”
“He’d probably already forgotten,” Gertie said. “After all, it was months ago and it’s not like she mattered.”
“Yes, but if that beating he took was from Cooke, that was only a couple weeks ago,” I said. “Surely her name would have stuck after that.”
