When I arrived at the doctor’s office, I found six other women waiting to be seen, one with her husband and child along. Dr. Bloomberg seemed to have a busy practice. Not that I was surprised given the size of the town. I was sure I had seen signs for other doctor’s offices in the area, but not more than one or two, and I couldn’t recall the specialties of the others.
Approaching the window to sign in, I realized right away why I felt I’d heard Lissa’s voice before. The petite blonde with a trim figure was almost the spitting image of Reeza Maxwell, the woman who worked at Beautiful Nu U, the gym across from my studio. Reeza had run off to marry one of Spencer’s officers, but I had heard she had returned a couple weeks ago and was able to get her old job back. Lissa must be her sister, and she confirmed it when she introduced herself as Lissa Maxwell.
“Hello, Lissa, I have a one thirty. I’m Makayla Rose.”
Lissa smiled. Today, there was no hesitation in her voice, so I put the phone impression down to her being busy. “Good afternoon, Makayla. Welcome. If you can fill out these forms and bring them up when you’re ready, that would be great. Also, if I can have your insurance card now, I can copy it and get that information in the file I’m making for you.”
I handed over the card and took the clipboard. So far, so good. As I sat down, I surveyed the office. Nothing jumped out at me. Fake potted plant in the corner that had seen better days, a TV mounted to the wall and displaying a soap opera, and an assortment of women’s magazines available for perusal in a rack beside me and across the room beside another bench.
A couple of the other patients met my gaze and smiled. I offered a polite nod and looked down at the paperwork. The crazy notion that I might be slipped a secret message in the pile came over me, so I flipped through the small stack and checked the back of each sheet. Nothing. This wasn’t a TV drama, darn it all.
As I sat wondering if and when I would learn anything of importance about Dr. Bloomberg, or if I would need to wait until I was left in a vulnerable state such as in one of those horrid hospital gowns, I decided it might be a good idea to let Spencer know where I was. I texted him and waited for his response. Usually, if he wasn’t on a call, he answered right away. When I didn’t hear back, I assumed that was the case. At least he would see the message later when he got a chance to check his phone.
The wait to be called was excruciating. I grabbed a magazine and flipped through the pages. What stars did to lose weight, the personal trainers and eating plans they swore by, did not appeal to me. I sighed and put that magazine back to grab another.
“Makayla.”
Sighing, I stood. Lissa had been replaced by another assistant at the front desk. Now she stood in the doorway leading to the back of the office to guide me in. “Is the wait usually so long?” I asked, hoping I didn’t sound whiny.
She offered me an apologetic look. “I’m sorry. We’re just a little behind today. Dr. Bloomberg isn’t up to his usual speed.” We stepped into a hall with a row of doors, and she lowered her voice. “He’s not getting any younger.”
I smiled. “I guess he’s the exception to the rule in Briney Creek.”
She seemed confused my comment alluding to the youthful senior population, but I didn’t bother explaining.
“Let’s get your weight and vitals. Then we can get you into a room.”
I bit off a groan. Weight. I had stuck to my rigid schedule of only eating two donuts, once a day since I arrived in Briney Creek, and since Peony’s place was closed, I had eaten less than that. However, too frequently Spencer and I ordered in. I was not looking forward to what the scale had to say.
“Don’t tell me,” I said, chickening out as I stepped on the offensive equipment. “I’ll do better. I promise. The next time.”
Lissa laughed. “Every one of our patients is exactly the same way. Some face the music, but none like what they see. You’re in good company, Makayla, and you’re not doing too badly. We can all be healthier no matter what our size.”
“You’re very kind, Lissa. Tell me, are you Reeza Maxwell’s sister?”
She brightened. “Yes, actually, Reeza is my younger sister. You met her?”
“At the gym.” I didn’t realize I would groan until after it tumbled out. Lissa chuckled. She scratched down my weight, and I hopped off the scale, averting my eyes. “I’m sure it was a surprise when she decided to run off and elope rather than go through with the wedding your family was planning.”
“I don’t blame her, really. Mama can drive anyone crazy. I just want my sister to be happy, and I think she made a good choice in that.”
The wistfulness in Lissa’s voice made me take note of her ring finger. The simple band indicated she was married, but the attitude said maybe not as happily as she would hope. I felt for her.
“I’m sure she did,” I agreed.
We moved from the hall with the weight machine—because one wanted to be weighed openly before any and everyone—to a private room. Lissa took my blood pressure, which was normal thank goodness, and went over my medical history to be sure she had everything correct in the computer.
“Now, you can change into this gown. Take off your bra and underwear, please. The doctor will be in soon. I’ll be here as well, or one of the other assistants. If you have any questions, please don’t hesitate to ask.”
Was it my imagination that she emphasized the don’t hesitate part? So far I had seen nothing out of the ordinary, but then I hadn’t met the doctor as yet.
“Will do, Lissa,” I said with a smile. “Thank you.”
When she left, I stared at the gown she had placed on the bed as if it was covered in plague. Perhaps I shouldn’t be thinking of the word “plague” in the doctor’s office, but such was the mental trauma I endured at that moment.
Realizing I had no choice but to wear the gown if I was going to go through with this madness, I began to undress. A knock sounded nearby followed by a male voice, and I figured the doctor was now seeing the patient next door. I groaned. The wait would probably not be as short as Lissa tried to lead me to believe.
Since another of my fears involved someone entering the room while I raised clothing over my head with my bare bum sticking out, I shed my clothing in a hurry and donned the gown. I sat on the papered table and swung my feet over the side. Reading and rereading the advertisements for drugs provided a little diversion. Then I moved on to examining the inside of the female uterus. Lovely.
I looked around for a magazine and spotted one on the counter. Cure thinning hair. Might be stimulating reading, I thought, even though I didn’t have the problem. Not yet anyway. I hopped off the table and grabbed the magazine. Several additional articles later, no one had come along, and I heard no more activity next door. Engrossed as I had been in dropping belly fat, I couldn’t be sure when the doctor might have finished with that particular patient.
After nearly an hour, I had had enough. I snatched the gown tighter around my form and opened the door a crack. No sounds reached me, and I took a chance to stick my head out. Up and down the hall, no one stirred, and I eased into the hall. Feet bare and naked as a jaybird beneath the gown, I longed to return to the room and get dressed. However, I didn’t want to run the risk of Dr. Bloomberg being ready for me then making me wait while he saw someone else because I wasn’t undressed.
“Lissa?” I called out in a low tone. How embarrassing if one of the patients walked out and saw me in this state. Even if the doctor or one of the assistants did, I would be just as mortified. One didn’t walk the halls in the hated gown even if this was a doctor’s office.
I turned right and tiptoed down the hall a few steps and called for Lissa again. Still no answer. Now, I was beginning to think everyone had gone to a late lunch and forgotten about me. In New York, I had heard about stories such as that and couldn’t imagine how it was possible.
At the end of the passage, I came to a junction. Dr. Bloomberg had more space than I thought, and I wondered if other doctors shared
the office. I assumed they must, but still I hadn’t run into anyone. A sound like a door opening and stumbling feet caught my attention. A thud made me stop cold. What was that? My heart thundered in my chest, and I pressed a hand to it.
Calm down, Makayla. This isn’t some haunted house, and you’re not alone. It’s the middle of the day.
My pep talk managed to pull me together to some extent, and I got moving again, if slowly. I had meant to return to the front of the office, but had forgotten the direction Lissa and I took to get to the room where I had waited.
Pivoting on the ball of my foot, I started to retrace my journey but froze. At the end of another hall was something very odd. I hadn’t seen it when I first entered this intersection because just an inch or two stuck out past the wall. Now I noticed, and my stomach dropped. I wanted to jet back to my room, scramble into my clothes, and leave as if I had seen nothing. My feet wouldn’t hear of it. They propelled me forward.
I reached the end of the hall, and my fears were confirmed. A closet door lay open. Next to it a shorter passage, and at the end another closed door, above it an Exit sign. What was important though was the closet, or rather what lay half in, half out of the closet. An elderly man with a head full of white hair was slumped face down and unmoving. He wore a white lab coat and a stethoscope around his neck, brown slacks with neat cuffs at the ends, brown worn shoes. Near his hand as if he had let loose of it when he fell was a very expensive looking black pen.
No, I thought, nausea assailing me. The knowledge came through to my befuddled mind that this man was not merely unconscious. This man, who must surely be Dr. Zachariah Bloomberg, was dead, and beside the “good” doctor wasn’t just an ordinary pen. That innocently-looking device was in fact a camera.
Now I knew why the person who had written the mystery letter contacted me of all people. Just what had Dr. Bloomberg been up to with his camera that looked like a pen?
Chapter Four
I, who loves all things camera, can spot my beloved with my eyes closed. Well, not really, but you get the picture. At various times in my life, I have obsessed over quality equipment that at the time I couldn’t afford. I had never needed nor desired spy equipment, but I had subscribed to various magazines that presented the latest in technology in this field. So, of course, I have seen cameras as small as a shirt button or a lapel pin. I have seen more than one camera pen.
While one part of my mind processed the fact that Dr. Bloomberg may have been using a camera pen, my conscious mind was panicking. Here it went again, another body, another murder. Was I cursed? Did I draw this drama to my life? I don’t mind telling you I am not the kind of woman that craves diversion. I am sufficiently happy with my photography business, Universe. Thank you for the offer! Let us cancel any agreements you think we have.
I backed up from the body and kept backpedaling with no thought in my mind of anything other than putting space between the two of us. I know I was panicking, but I was helpless to stop it. What did curb my escape was bumping into the opposite wall. With my hands behind me, pinned between my bum and the barrier, I froze, eyes wide, mouth agape. I didn’t want to see him or ponder how he passed, what he had been doing just before he died, or anything else. I couldn’t think at all outside of what my eyes wouldn’t allow me to stop seeing.
“Dr. Bloomberg?” someone called down the hall, and the spell was broken. I blinked and dropped my chin into my chest. Straightening and raising my head, I started to calm down as footsteps approached. One of the other assistants appeared, and she frowned at me. “Makayla? Are you okay? What’s the long delay back here? I felt like I was the only one left in the office. Why aren’t you in your room waiting for the doctor?”
She chattered on while I tried to find my voice. At last, I just pointed, and she turned her head to follow the direction. A scream erupted from her, and she covered her mouth. Much like me, she stumbled away from the body. Tears spilled down her cheeks as she shook her head in disbelief. My logic began to return. Maybe I was getting better in these emergencies.
“We have to call the sheriff,” I said. I started to move past her, but she grabbed onto my arm and clung to me as if I were a lifeline. I tried to continue moving, but she was frozen in terror. “The police,” I encouraged her.
Unbelievably, she dumped a cell phone in my hand and mumbled, “Where’s Lissa? Is she okay? Lissa?” she called out, her voice trembling.
We both scanned the hall as if we would discover more heels peeking around a corner. I dreaded finding out. If Lissa was not okay, I refused to be the one to stumble upon her body.
My fingers found the keys to 911 with little input from my brain. A dispatcher came on the line. I reported the death and where we were. Somehow I got the assistant shuffling along the hall. My arm ached where she gripped me. Where was the anesthesia when I needed it? Right after this thought, shame rolled over me. This was a serious situation.
We reached the first hall where I believed my room lay. My suspicion was confirmed when I heard my ring tone behind one of the doors. This particular jingle was the one I had assigned to Spencer. No doubt the dispatcher had already informed him of our problem, and he was calling to see if I was okay.
“Sweetheart, you’re going to have to let me go,” I said, tugging at my arm. “I have to get back to my things, and the police will be here any minute.”
Unfortunately, my words did not penetrate her grief—or was it fear? The doctor’s heels were still visible because we hadn’t turned the corner to get to my room. My ringing phone silenced but started up again right away.
Banging at the end of the hall made us both yelp in alarm, but then Spencer’s voice echoed along the passage. I sighed in relief. Steps tapped the floor somewhere, and I knew right away someone had vaulted through the window in reception to get to the back. A door opened, and then Spencer was coming toward me, tall, muscular, and with silver eyes that melted a woman’s resistance with one look. I didn’t like to put a label on my feelings for Spencer other than simple feminine attraction.
Anger and concern colored his expression. His hand rested on his gun. “You’re okay?”
“I’m fine,” I said and cut my gaze to the clinging assistant.
Spencer gestured and gave a command. Another officer appeared and pealed my clinger off. The sheriff replaced her with a hand at my elbow and swung me to the opposite direction I had been heading. “Show me where and explain to me why you’re naked.”
I felt my face explode in crimson, and I tried pulling away from Spencer. “Everything happened so fast,” I mumbled. “Let me get to my clothes and—”
“I’ve seen you in less, Makayla. While my officer is questioning that woman, you can show me the body and tell me what happened.”
I realized he wouldn’t hear any other options and snatched the gown tighter around me. I was not feeling very attractive at that moment, but I had no choice. “Down there.” I pointed. “I was waiting for the doctor to come in to see me, but he never came. When I decided to sneak out of my room to see what the delay was, that’s when I found him.”
Spencer’s eyebrow rose. I know what he was thinking. I had a penchant for being nosy, but this wasn’t my fault. “I texted you that I had an appointment. Whatever happened here I had nothing to do with, and no, before you ask, I have never met the doctor face-to-face—even in the grocery store.”
We came to where Dr. Bloomberg lay face down, and unlike the assistant and me, Spencer didn’t react at all to the body. He stooped and checked for a pulse. Next, he went over various points on Dr. Bloomberg’s form.
“Makayla, any particular reason you said ‘whatever happened here…?’” Spencer straightened and faced me. His expression remained impassive, but I could tell he was already in detective mode. I was no longer his lover, or not only his lover. I was now a possible witness to a homicide, but in what might be a built-in mechanism for self-preservation, I was anything but a mild witness.
“Why are you questioni
ng me?” I tried to raise myself to my full height, which wasn’t so bad as I was five foot eight, a good upper average height for a woman. The problem lay in Spencer’s. He was still several inches above me and posed quite an intimidating figure, especially when he was on a case.
“Makayla.” His voice held a note of warning, and my bravado deflated.
I looked away from him, clutching my hands together. “He might have been murdered.”
“Hm, that’s interesting,” he said, and his eyes seemed to barrel into my head to read my thoughts. Why did he bother questioning me if he knew? “Now why would you think he was murdered, when there is no physical evidence?”
That one was easy. “Because of the other two murders.”
Spencer started to open his mouth, and then he clamped it shut. Aggravation that had been present a moment ago disappeared to be replace by sympathy. I gritted my teeth. The last thing I wanted to see. Well, I mean other than an accusing stare.
He allowed himself and me one small touch to my cheek, and then Spencer was back to business. If nothing else, the man knew how to separate work and pleasure better than most. “Is that the only reason?”
I sighed. There was no covering up of the facts. Spencer would learn them eventually. If not from me, then he would somehow produce the writer of the letter. Then he would find out I knew about it, and then things would get complicated. Better for me to come clean now when I was still mostly innocent.
“I got a letter a few days ago,” I said, and Spencer glared at me. He held up a hand to silence me and spoke into his radio. The order for the coroner went in, as well as his forensics person to come to the scene. Spencer barked a few more orders to his men and then escorted me away from the body. I breathed easier the farther we moved, but then I stopped. “Wait, Spencer. I forgot.”
His expression said he doubted me. I held up my hands. My gown ruffled as if it would open, and I grabbed it. Spencer blocked the view from the police fast-filling the hall. “I think you getting dressed is a priority.”
2 Multiple Exposures Page 3
