“I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” I said. “Laurie explicitly said not to tell anyone about her call. We don’t know why.”
“I’ll get back to you on that,” Cleo said, and hung up. Apparently someone had come into her office. Our conversation was over.
Later that morning, I wondered if some kind of karmic energy was in play when Edna Roda made one of her infrequent visits to the library.
“Hello, Aimee. How are you?”
“Fine, thanks, and you?”
“Too busy, I’m afraid.” She took off her glasses, huffed a breath on each lens and wiped them with the edge of her sweater. After repositioning them, she peered at me with an analytic gaze. “The better to see you with,” she said. She broke into a broad smile that lit up her handsome, Margaret Thatcher face.
“Is there something I can do for you?” I asked.
“As a matter of fact, there is. I received an email from you a few weeks ago with an article attached about forensic nursing.”
Oh, boy. Was she going to tell me I overstepped? I was constantly looking for ways to promote library services, and once in a while I pushed a little too hard.
“I do recall sending that,” I said, “but if you’d rather I didn’t—”
“Oh, no. Please don’t misunderstand. I appreciate a heads-up about anything that could be of value to our patients. In this case, I am aware of the emergent field of forensic nursing, but with my heinous workload, I haven’t had time to explore the possibilities it might offer to TMC.” She glanced at her watch and sighed. “Never enough time, which is why I’d like your help finding all you can for me on the subject. “
“I’d be happy to. As I recall, the most comprehensive program in forensic nursing is at Cleveland State University’s nursing school. The field accounts for about thirty percent of their MSN program, which is one of the reasons I felt you’d be interested.”
“Yes, well, that’s a little far away for our nurses. Can you see what training programs are available online?”
“I can do that.”
“Well, then. You’ll let me know when you have something for me? I don’t want to seem pushy, but the sooner the better.”
“I’ll start right away.”
“Thank you.” Again, the elegant smile. I watched the purposeful rhythm of her stride as she walked toward the exit. Did I dare ask her about Laurie Popejoy’s abrupt departure? While I hesitated, she pushed the door open and went on her way.
I switched gears and went back to the search I’d been planning before Edna dropped by. I wanted to know more about the O’Brien clan. I started with DeeDee Dakota.
I spent a few minutes on a website called rodeotrickriders.com, where I found a bio on Dakota, born Deirdre DeGraw in Coffeyville, Kansas. She was Rodeo Queen her senior year of high school, took a pass on college, and focused on her trick-riding career. She met Cody O’Brien at a rodeo in Tulsa, Oklahoma, eloped with him two weeks later, and her career took off. Within a year, DeeDee was the brightest trick-riding star on the rodeo circuit.
DeeDee had been fatally injured two and a half years ago during a performance of her signature trick, the Back Drag. The stunt required DeeDee to place a foot in a loop on either side of the saddle, bend over backward lying over the rear of the horse until her hands touched the ground, and then pull herself into an upright position. The website said the trick was the most dangerous in the business, because the rider’s hands weren’t in control of the reins and because the galloping horse could accidentally kick the back of her head. When DeeDee tried to come out of the pose, the saddle twisted down under the horse’s belly and DeeDee’s head was thrust into the path of flying hooves.
Now Cody O’Brien was dead, also from a blow to the head by a horse. Two victims of the animals they no doubt loved. Tragic coincidence? I was not a firm believer in coincidence alone. Was there more here for me to know?
DeeDee’s accident had happened at a rodeo in Dunnsville, Idaho, so I searched online for archives of newspapers in the area. I found an article saying DeeDee had been alert and responsive at first, but slipped into a coma the next day at a small private hospital near the rodeo grounds. Cody insisted she be flown to Timbergate Medical Center, where she died without regaining consciousness.
I recalled Cleo telling me that committee peer review of all in-house deaths was mandatory. She had been working at TMC back then. Maybe she would remember something about DeeDee’s case. I thought again about Cody O’Brien’s flight from TMC. Could that somehow be related to what happened to DeeDee?
I needed more information on both patients. Cleo could get the minutes for me, but due to privacy laws, the Health Information Office would not let me access DeeDee’s medical record. After two and a half years, it was likely that her chart and other pertinent information had been relocated to the basement archives. Almost everything in the archives was sensitive, and I wasn’t authorized to enter without an appropriate escort. That would be Cleo.
I made a mental note to ask Cleo to retrieve the minutes—and DeeDee’s medical record, if possible.
I had to shove Edna’s request for forensic nursing information to the back burner and focus on my more immediate problem involving Dr. Fausset. I needed his cooperation to put together the Surgery Department’s CME program focusing on urologic surgeries. Proposing an educational program addressing his particular specialty implied that there was room for improvement. Since he was chairman of the Urology Department, he was bound to be defensive. His having to deal with me instead of the truant Dr. Beardsley wasn’t going to help matters.
“Hello, Aimee, remember me?” A deep voice, vaguely familiar, pulled my attention from the computer screen. A man who looked about forty walked in. He was dressed in faded jeans, scuffed cowboy boots, and a gray plaid Pendleton shirt. As he walked toward my desk, his broad smile told me he expected a warm welcome. His wavy hair was reddish-brown and his face was familiar, but the name wouldn’t come.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “You have the advantage.”
“Come on, Aimless, you’re breaking my heart.”
No one called me Aimless except Harry. How did this guy know that nickname? Then it struck me. James O’Brien. Cody and Keely’s older brother. He used to drive Keely to and from the dance studio where we took lessons when we were eight years old. He was eighteen then, and my infatuation with him was sweet misery. It didn’t help that he flirted with me shamelessly, telling me that when I was all grown up he was going to marry me. I stopped believing him when he moved to New York right after my thirteenth birthday. I cried every night for a week. Seeing him now, I felt a flush of pleasure warm my cheeks.
“James, I heard you were back. I’m so sorry about your brother.”
“Thank you. It was a shock for all of us.” He opened his arms. “Hey, don’t I rate a hug?”
“Of course.” I walked around my desk and tried for something tepid and platonic.
“You call that a hug?” He wrapped me in his arms with the warmth of a long lost lover, rocking my body back and forth. Then he kissed the top of my head. I felt myself melting, and when he released me, I stepped backward, unsteady on my feet. The man smelled like dessert. Lemon meringue pie.
“How long will you be in town?”
“As long as it takes,” he said. “This hit Dad pretty hard, and Echo’s no help. She’s acting like Cody’s death is no big deal, since he and Dad were estranged for the past few years. Keely’s no better.”
“Your father really needs you right now, doesn’t he?”
“It seems that way.” He cocked his head to one side. “Look at you. All grown up.”
“Even better,” I said. “I went back east and finished school. I’m now a Master of Library and Information Science.”
“Quite a mouthful. If you shorten it to MLIS, it sounds kind of like Aimless.” I threw a peppermint at him, but he ducked and laughed. “Seriously, though, I heard you were in New Haven for a couple years. Why didn’t you
ever come down to one of my shows?”
“I didn’t know you were producing on Broadway until I moved back to California. Then I heard you’d switched to off-Broadway. How’s that going?”
“Good. Not as intense as Broadway, and not as risky.”
“I think my Grandpa Machado auditioned for one of your productions. He’s been taking acting lessons since he retired. “
“Tony Machado. Yes. The Gin Game. He got the part. Maybe you can fly back and see the show.”
“I doubt it. I’m pretty busy these days.” And broke, but he didn’t need to hear that.
“Do you see much of Keely?” James asked.
“Not really. We sort of lost touch.”
“I guess you don’t have much in common.” He was no doubt alluding to her drug problems and dropping out of high school. We shared a moment of awkward silence.
“What brings you to the hospital? Are you here about Cody?”
“That’s the main reason, of course. I wanted to talk to the people who saw him last. His doctor, nurses, that sort of thing. I don’t suppose you dropped in on him the day he was admitted?”
“No. His name wasn’t on the admission list that morning. He must have been admitted in the afternoon. I didn’t know he was here until it was too late.”
“I see.” His obvious disappointment made me wish I had seen Cody—that I had some comfort to offer this man hoping to understand his brother’s death.
“You said Cody was one of the reasons you’re here. What are the others?”
“Just one other. You, little Aimless. I figured since we’ve been engaged all these years, it was time I saw how you turned out. Looks like I got lucky.”
“Thanks, but since I was only eight when you asked me to marry you, we should probably call off the engagement.”
“Fair enough,” James said. “I assume you get a lunch hour. How about joining me?”
“I wish I could, but I have to attend an annual employee in-service on infection control.”
“Are you contagious?”
I laughed. “Not that I know of. It’s routine for all employees, along with other precautions like TB tests.”
At that point, Lola wandered in and walked up to James, who stood a foot and a half above her. She studied his face for a moment.
“Young man, you look just like Burt Lancaster. Are you any relation?”
James grinned. “We’re both Irish, so there’s always a chance, I suppose.”
Lola rattled off the URL of a genealogy website and suggested James get to know his ancestors. Then she excused herself and went to work sorting medical journals.
James nodded toward her, his eyes twinkling. “Think she’d go to lunch with me?”
“I don’t know. Why don’t you ask her?”
James gave me a look. “Rain check?” He pulled a card from his pocket and picked up a pen from my desk. “Call me or text me.” He circled the number.
I took the card. He planted a quick kiss on my cheek. “See you, Aimless.”
When the door closed behind him, Lola winked at me. “Hubba,” she said.
Chapter 4
I caught myself thinking about James throughout the afternoon. That distraction wasn’t welcome, especially since two far less pleasant ones were already competing for my attention. One was Laurie Popejoy. Why would she leave urgent messages for Cleo and me and then not answer our calls? The other was Cleo. Would she help me access DeeDee Dakota’s medical record and the minutes documenting her death review?
Meanwhile, I had an actual job to do. First and foremost, I had to develop a CME program addressing the care of urologic surgery patients at Timbergate Medical Center. The patients were to include Cody O’Brien, who checked out against medical advice and ended up dead. I had assured Jared Quinn I could pull the program together in two weeks.
Still, taking a rain check with James was a good idea. He was my first big crush, and a girl never really gets over the first one. Well, maybe if she marries him, but otherwise probably not. I figured James might remember something key about the circumstances involving the death of Cody’s late wife, DeeDee.
I dialed Cleo and asked if she could take an afternoon break for a brainstorming session. She agreed and suggested we meet at Margie’s for tea and bean cake.
At our usual table, I brought Cleo up to date on my visit from James. She barely acknowledged my news before starting her drumbeat about saving Sig from Dr. Poole.
“Fine,” Cleo said. “James O’Brien is in town. Big Apple producer returns to his humble roots. How is that going to help Siggy?”
“I don’t know, but I’ll do my best to find out what James knows about Cody’s last night among the living.”
“Poole must have done something that spooked him,” she said. “Why else would he check in, then check out?”
“Something obviously happened that night, but we can’t blame it on Poole without knowing more.” I pushed my plate aside. “How can we identify everyone who was in Cody’s room that night?”
“His medical record, up to a point. It will identify everyone who was involved in his care, but anyone could have entered his room without being noticed. He wasn’t in a critical care unit, so his visitors probably weren’t restricted.”
“Would it show which nurses were on duty that night other than Laurie?”
“Of course.” Cleo dabbed her lips with a napkin.
“What are the chances of your getting a look his medical record?”
“I don’t know. I could probably sneak a peek. I’m not supposed to have access to patients’ charts unless it’s committee business, but the staff in the records room gives me a lot of latitude.”
“When can you do it?” I asked.
“Depends whether anyone’s suing TMC over Cody’s death.”
“Why, have you heard something?”
“Just a rumor so far, about a request for a legal photocopy of his medical record.”
“Is it the O’Brien family?”
“Don’t know,” Cleo said. “And it would only restrict access to the chart for a couple of days. I’ll see what I can do. Meanwhile, do you have any other ideas?”
“Finding Laurie Popejoy is priority, but apparently that’s not going to be easy. In the meantime, I’ve been doing some research on DeeDee Dakota.”
“Where’s that?” Cleo’s mystified frown almost made me laugh.
“Not where, who. DeeDee Dakota was Cody O’Brien’s wife. Dakota was a stage name. She died after a trick riding accident in Idaho a couple years into their marriage. It troubles me that both the husband and wife were killed by their horses. Doesn’t that seem like an unlikely coincidence?”
“It’s pretty unusual, but certainly possible, considering their occupations. Did the wife die in Idaho?”
“No, she died at TMC.”
“When was this?”
“About two and a half years ago. You probably facilitated the Intensive Care Committee meeting when her death was reviewed.”
“I suppose, but the name isn’t ringing a bell,” Cleo said. “What does her death have to do with anything?”
“My question exactly. Probably nothing, but I want to find out. Can we get access to her medical record?”
“I can’t guarantee it. If it’s that long ago, it’ll be archived.” Cleo pulled out a pen. “If Dakota was a stage name, do you know what name she was admitted under?”
“Her legal married name would have been Deirdre O’Brien. Couldn’t you at least glance through her record and any minutes from the committee if you found it in the archives?”
“What would I be looking for?”
“I don’t know, maybe you’ll see something that reminds you of the case—triggers some kind of memory of the committee’s discussion.”
“That was quite a while ago, Aimee. Besides, this is supposed to be about Dr. Poole. She wasn’t on TMC’s staff back then. How could this trick rider’s case possibly involve her?”
; “I don’t know, but I just don’t buy coincidences.” I checked the time. “We need to get back to work. If you can’t get her chart, at least get the minutes of her death review.”
“It might take a few days. I’d rather sneak in and out without being seen.” Cleo massaged her temples. “Give me a time frame—at least a window. The review could have been up to a month after she died.”
“The accident at the rodeo in Idaho was in late April, two and a half years ago. She died here almost three days later. Does that narrow it down enough?”
“That helps, but isn’t that early in the year for a rodeo? What if it got rained out?
“Not a problem. It was held in an indoor arena.”
“Shows what I know about rodeos. In any case, it’s probably going take more than one try to locate the file. That storage room is an inexcusable jumble. No one ever puts things back where they belong.”
At that point Margie stopped by with her usual friendly reminder. “Code Blues Friday night. Are you coming to see the new gal?”
The new gal. Dr. Phyllis Poole.
Cleo opened her mouth, but before she could answer, I said, “I’ll be here. What time do they start?”
“Seven thirty. They play until ten. I hear it’s going to be sexy and romantic. Better bring a hot date.”
As if I had a long list of hot dates waiting in the wings. I thought of dragging Harry along so I wouldn’t have to go alone, but my brother never lacked for dates on a Friday night. No way would he be available.
I gave Cleo a questioning look. “How about it? Want to come and watch Poole’s debut?”
“Sorry,” she said. “Siggy and I have other plans.”
Date or no date, I had to be there. I wanted to see how the various members of Code Blues handled their first gig without Laurie. I didn’t relish showing up alone, but then James O’Brien’s rain check came to mind.
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