Checked Out

by Sharon St. George

  “And he agreed?”

  “Reluctantly, but since that’s all I offered, he accepted. He was barely able to produce any semen, but I told him I’d see what I could do.”

  “How did that work out?” Nick asked.

  “I’d heard things about his wife.” Laurie glanced at Daniel, whose nod seemed to encourage her to go on. “It wasn’t a stretch to believe she’d been unfaithful, so I decided to break the rules and do what I could to help Seamus. I remembered that we still had a vial of his wife’s blood that had been drawn the day before. She’d been complaining of fatigue and her OB doc wanted a blood panel. There’s a fairly new blood test that can establish paternity. It only takes about a week to get the results. Since I had blood from both the pregnant wife and Seamus, I ran the DNA comparison test.”

  “And is he the father?” I said.

  “No. Seamus O’Brien definitely isn’t the father. I called and told him, but I didn’t elaborate about the DNA test. It would have gotten the lab in big trouble, and of course I’d have lost my part-time job there and maybe my license. I let him think the problem was infertility, which was most likely true. He had virtually no motile sperm cells.”

  “Did Cody know about this?” I looked at Nick. This news made our whole trip to Idaho worthwhile.

  “Yes, Seamus told him,” Laurie said. “The same day Cody was admitted to the hospital.”

  That’s it,” Daniel said. “We have to go.”

  Laurie leaned toward her husband and he held her close while they made their way to his truck.

  I followed behind them. “Laurie, is there any chance you were working at Dunnsville Memorial when DeeDee was a patient there?”

  “No, I was working at the hospital that spring, but I didn’t get hired until mid-May, a couple of weeks after DeeDee was flown out to TMC. I do remember a nursing assistant, Caroline something, talking about being assigned to DeeDee’s room.”

  Caroline. My pulse kicked up a couple of notches at that. The same name Jackie Poole had mentioned on the phone to someone she called CJ. What had she said? I’ve kept my mouth shut about Caroline for a hell of a long time.

  “Do you know Caroline’s last name?”

  “I don’t think I ever heard it.”

  “Do you know if she’s still working at Dunnsville Memorial?”

  “Not likely. I remember her complaining about emptying bed pans and bragging she was going to be rich before she was thirty. You could ask Aunt Brenda if there’s a mention of Caroline in DeeDee’s medical record.”

  Too late to try that. Brenda had already shut me out. I’d have to wait and see if Cleo had gotten her hands on DeeDee’s medical record back at TMC.

  “What about Dr. Phyllis Poole? Did you ever see her working at Dunnsville Memorial back then?”

  “No, I would have remembered that,” Laurie said. “I never met her until I started working at TMC.”

  “Okay, that’s it. We’re done here,” Daniel said.

  They got in the truck and he rolled down the window. “Laurie parents are going on a long vacation, and she and I are going to disappear until O’Brien’s killer is locked up. Don’t try to contact any of us, and don’t bother calling that cellphone number again. It’s a throw-away. She won’t be answering.” Daniel turned on the ignition, stepped on the gas, and they sped away.

  While they headed in one direction, we went in the other, back to our motel.

  Nick glanced at me. “What’s wrong?”

  “A throw-away cellphone. I can’t believe he won’t let us call her.”

  “Hey, the man’s trying to keep his wife safe. I’d do the same.”

  Nick drove and I slumped down in the seat, wondering if we’d be drawing any more fire before we made it back to our rooms. We arrived at the motel without further trouble. Nick cut the engine and did a quick scan of the parking lot.

  “Nick, there’s something I need to tell you, but let’s go inside first.”

  “I don’t like the sound of this.”

  Inside my room I dropped into a chair. Nick stood with his arms crossed, blocking the door as if I might try to make a run for it. “Okay, what’s this something?”

  “I went back for the laptop the next night, and it was gone.”

  “Jesus, Aimee, you went back there alone?”

  “Of course not. I took someone with me.”

  “Who was it? Harry? Why didn’t he tell me?”

  “Not Harry, someone else. A friend from work.”

  “Why would you do that? Who was he?”

  “She. It was Cleo Cominoli. She’s the reason I got into this mess. It was her idea to check up on Phyllis Poole.”

  “Start explaining. And this Cleo woman had better be an ex-Marine or at least one of your fellow black belts.”

  I gave him a quick recap of Cleo’s fears about Sig’s scheduled surgery under Dr. Poole’s knife and how she and I went to Laurie’s house for the laptop and found it gone. I implied that Cleo was tough as nails, which was true when it came to keeping the doctors at TMC in line. Nick didn’t need to know she was a dud when it came to breaking and entering.

  “You were asking for a bundle of trouble going back there,” Nick said. “You could have damn well told me this a lot sooner.”

  “I’m telling you now because it could explain why Laurie was followed in Idaho.”

  Nick sat across from me. He looked down at the neat bandage Laurie had wrapped around his hand. “That may not be the only reason it was taken. She might have had files on it that related to her work at that lab—proof that Echo O’Brien is pregnant by someone other than Seamus.”

  “But that’s not necessarily a problem for Echo. If Seamus dies before the child is born, she can simply claim she and Seamus agreed on a sperm donor.”

  “Maybe, but Laurie knew better. She said Seamus wanted the test and wanted it confidential. Only Seamus, Cody, and Laurie knew the truth.”

  “Not quite true,” I said. “Echo O’Brien knows. Or at least she has a pretty darn good idea the father isn’t Seamus.”

  Both of us sat lost in thought for a few minutes. My head was spinning with all the bits and pieces of information—what we knew and what we didn’t. It seemed impossible to sort through the web of people and connections that stretched from Idaho to Timbergate. How did DeeDee’s accident and her admission to Dunnsville Memorial link so many people to each other when there was no obvious connection? There was the mysterious Caroline, who might be the woman Jackie Poole had mentioned to CJ, who might be Carl Jasper, the sole owner of Dunnsville Memorial Hospital. So far, all conjecture, but there was at least one coincidence that might be possible to prove.

  “Nick, what about Jackie Poole in Idaho and Dr. Phyllis Poole in California? Do you think that’s a coincidence?”

  “Seems likely. Poole’s a fairly common name.”

  “I don’t think it’s that common. James is sure he saw Phyllis Poole in DeeDee’s hospital room in Idaho. I think there is a connection. I was hoping Laurie could tell me if Jackie and Phyllis Poole are related, but I didn’t get a chance to ask her.”

  “Does the Idaho Poole look like the doctor at Timbergate? Or at least like they could be related?”

  “It’s hard to tell.” I told him how Jackie appeared to be surgically altered to look like the late JFK’s wife. Who knew what she looked like before the plastic surgery and the hair dye? I didn’t even know if her eyes were really brown, now that contacts came in all colors.

  “You don’t have much to go on.”

  “Maybe not, but I think we need to explore this. Jackie was scheming about something with someone she called CJ. She wants Brenda McClurg’s job, but more important, the name of the doctor who admitted DeeDee Dakota to Dunnsville Memorial in Idaho is Carl Jasper. His initials are CJ, and he’s the sole owner of the facility.”

  “Wait a minute.” Nick went to his room and came back with two bottles of beer. “Want one? You’re wound up pretty tight. It might take the edge
off.”

  “Might as well.”

  “Now go ahead and tell me why Jasper and the Jackie Kennedy clone might have anything to do with Cody O’Brien being killed.”

  “I don’t know. Do you realize how confusing all this is? We came here to find Laurie, thinking she’d tell us who killed Cody, and instead we found more questions than answers. Someone knows Laurie is on to something … and that we’re trying to figure out who killed Cody. They came here to silence her … and us, too.”

  “You really think the two Poole women are involved?”

  “If they’re related, they must be mixed up in this somehow.”

  “Maybe I can find out for you,” Nick said. “I do have the lady doctor’s rain check.”

  “If she is mixed up in this, that rain check might be dangerous.” I got up and moved the window curtain aside just enough to give me a view of the motel parking lot.

  “Let me worry about that.”

  “What time are we taking off tomorrow?”

  “As early as possible.”

  Chapter 23

  Sunday morning we took the F150 back to the dealership, where Gary P and Nick had worked out arrangements to have a vehicle transport company pick it up. Nick explained the busted rear window by saying it had been vandalized during the night in the motel parking lot.

  From there we took a taxi to the airport and were soon winging our way back to Timbergate.

  On the flight home I made notes of everything we had learned in Idaho. I had already called ahead to fill Cleo in, especially concerning Echo’s baby. I tried to reassure her about Sig’s surgery, relaying Laurie’s opinion that Dr. Poole was an excellent surgeon. Cleo wasn’t convinced but agreed to wait a little longer before asking Sig to cancel. I asked if she’d been able to get her hands on DeeDee’s medical record. She hadn’t.

  I turned Laurie’s story over in my mind again and again. It bothered me not knowing whether Cody’s wound had been compared to Game Boy’s shoe. Had foul play been considered? Had the CHP officer even done a quick visual match? Apparently no photos had been taken at the scene. Quinn had said there were none in Cody’s chart, but there was still a chance someone in TMC’s morgue had photographed the wound.

  A month after I was hired, I had talked Quinn into springing for two digital single lens reflex cameras—one for the ER and one for the staff of TMC’s morgue. I supplied the staffers in both departments with books and articles on forensic photography and gave them an in-service, recommending they practice with the cameras whenever possible, even if a death appeared to be accidental. If the crew in TMC’s holding morgue took photos of Cody, they should have been filed in his medical record. If not, there was a chance they were still on the morgue’s camera card.

  Getting my hands on that camera would present a problem, but it was worth a try. With a good, sharp photo, I might find some way to compare Cody’s wound to Game Boy’s hooves. But that presented other problems. The comparison would only work if the horse hadn’t been re-shod since Cody’s death, and if the photos of the wound revealed enough detail for comparison. There was also the question of where the horse had been taken. Had Game Boy been returned to the O’Brien ranch, or had he been impounded someplace else?

  I made copious notes, glancing out the plane’s window every few minutes at the varying landscape almost 30,000 feet below. I wondered if the sniper in the Blue Banjo’s parking lot was also on the way back to Timbergate. The bullets aimed our way told me Cody’s killer thought Laurie knew more that she actually did, and that she’d passed that information along to us. I couldn’t help thinking time was running out.

  The change in time zones shortened our flight home by an hour, putting us down at the Timbergate Municipal Airport early Sunday afternoon. Nick executed his usual smooth landing and did his post-flight check. When the plane was refueled and locked in its hangar, he drove me home. On the way I brought up my idea about finding a photo of Cody’s wound and comparing it to Game Boy’s horseshoes.

  “Do you think it’s worth pursuing, or does it seem too improbable?”

  “It’s a stretch. Wouldn’t it be easier to report what Laurie saw to the sheriff’s office?”

  “If I did that, I’ll have to give her name and disclose that she’s hiding out in Idaho. That could put her at greater risk after all the trouble she and Daniel have gone through to keep her and her family safe.”

  “I think you can trust the sheriff's department to use discretion.”

  “Maybe, but I’m afraid my theory would sound so implausible that I wouldn't be taken seriously. I’d rather have something more concrete if we’re going to convince law enforcement that Cody’s death was murder. I want to try the horseshoe theory first. If that doesn’t work, we’ll have no choice but to report Laurie’s story.”

  “How do you plan to get access to the horse? You don’t know where it is, do you?”

  “I’ll bet James knows.”

  “You sure you want him to know what you’re up to?”

  “I won’t tell him why I want to know. I thought I’d say I know of a potential buyer. The horse is worth a lot of money. The O’Brien clan would probably jump at the chance to sell it.”

  “Who’s the imaginary buyer?” Nick said.

  “I’ll keep it vague. Say the buyer isn’t ready to be identified just yet.”

  Back at the ranch, a late October shower had just swept through, leaving the sweet smell of freshly washed air. As Nick drove down the lane to the barn, the llamas raised their heads from grazing to follow our progress. I counted seven adults and the white cria, now four months old and a fifth the size of an adult. They had gotten along fine without me, thanks to Harry.

  Nick insisted on carrying my bag up the stairs to the deck outside my apartment. I unlocked my door and stood there feeling awkward about the next move.

  “Want me to take this inside?” He nodded down at the bag.

  “Okay.”

  Since he’d just been shot trying to help me, I wanted to know if I could count on him going forward. The bandage on his hand hadn’t been changed since Laurie wrapped it the night before, and the blood that had seeped to the surface filled me with guilt. I’d drawn fire by meddling in the Cody O’Brien case, and I’d dragged Nick into it with me.

  “Where do you want this?” Nick stood in my kitchen holding the bag.

  “Anywhere’s fine.”

  He put it on the floor next to my daybed and came back into the kitchen, where I had already filled the coffee maker with an industrial-strength load of French Roast. He pulled out one chair and pointed to another.

  “Sit. I saw you making notes during the flight. Want to share with me?”

  “Okay, but let me change that bandage while we talk. I didn’t bargain for either of us getting shot in Idaho.” I retrieved gauze, antibiotic ointment, and tape from my medicine cabinet.

  “I don’t call this being shot.” Nick peeled off his bandage, revealing an inch-long abrasion across the back of his hand. “I’ve had worse scratches playing pick-up basketball.”

  I felt a warning sting of tears, tried to blink them away, and failed when they blurred my vision. I blinked and swallowed. “What if you’d been leaning forward just a few inches? God, Nick, I’m so sorry.”

  “It could have been you.” He held his hand still while I cleansed the wound with a damp cloth. “Don’t you get it? It’s not me that guy was after.”

  “I know. It was Laurie.”

  “And now it’s you. That guy’s smart enough to realize Laurie told you everything she knew about Cody O’Brien. Right now you present a bigger problem to him than she does.” He shook his head. “And that’s just for starters. You know about the whole dysfunctional O’Brien clan, and now you know something hinky is going on in that sorry excuse for a hospital in Idaho.”

  “But I don’t know how to put it all together.” I applied antibiotic ointment and covered the back of his hand with gauze.

  “The guy we’re afte
r doesn’t know that, and he’s not going to follow Laurie and her husband to some godforsaken hideout in the Idaho wilderness. Hell no, he’s going to come back to Timbergate where this started and shut you up before you blow his scheme wide open.”

  “What about you? You’re in danger too, now that you know everything I know.”

  Nick smiled. “Honey, I know everything you know and then some. I’ve outsmarted a few bad actors in some pretty dicey situations, but that’s because I’m not afraid to use a gun. You act like that black belt of yours is some kind of magic shield, but it doesn’t make you bulletproof.”

  The coffee maker beeped the end of the brew cycle, giving me an excuse to ignore Nick’s remark. I secured his wrapped hand with tape.

  He got up and poured two cups of coffee while I scrounged in my snack drawer until I found an open package of peanut butter cookies. I dumped the mostly broken pieces on a paper plate and put them between us on the table.

  “While we’re on the subject, since when do you need a gun to fly Buck Sawyer around? You’re supposed to be his pilot, not his bodyguard.”

  This was an area of our relationship that had caused strain more than once. Nick occasionally came back from one of his trips with Buck looking as if he’d been in a nasty bar fight. Each time I questioned him about it, he gave me a phony-sounding excuse. He either got mugged, or some thugs tried to steal the plane. Because he flew Buck to a number of South American countries involved in the illegal drug trade, it was always possible his explanations were true, but I had my doubts.

  “There is more to my job description than flying, but it’s complicated. When the time is right, we’ll talk about it, but let’s not go down that road right now,” Nick said. “We’re talking about keeping you safe. That scrape last summer was a perfect example of why Harry and I talked you into getting that snub-nosed .38 and a license to carry.”

  “I know that.” I got up, topped off my cup, and held out the carafe. “Want more?”