He cupped my face in his hands and smiled. "It's just a phase she's going through. Now, I haven't met the quote, 'talented and beautiful Mrs. Steadman,' but I know she can't possibly be as good-looking as my wife is."
I smiled up at him. "Well, Michelle is gorgeous."
"She sounds way too artificial. You're the real deal, baby."
How did I ever get so lucky? I kissed Greg lightly across the lips. "You always know how to make me feel better."
He grinned, and his hand went to my backside. "That's not the only thing I'm good at."
"Okay, you need to behave. We have guests here. Plus, I have a doctor's appointment in the morning and really need some sleep. Rain check?"
He sighed and released me. "All right, but don't get used to it."
* * *
"Can't Tyler and Kevin stay here with us today?" Stevie pleaded with a mouthful of scrambled eggs. "We'll be good. I promise."
I drained my coffee cup. "No, Daddy's going to drop them off at their houses on his way to work."
"Can I have some more eggs and bacon?" Kevin asked. His family was new to the area, and this was the first time he'd been to our house. He was a robust boy who probably weighed as much as both the twins put together. He'd managed to consume five pieces of pizza to everyone else's two slices last night. I had planned to save the remaining pizza for the twins' lunches today, but the rest had mysteriously disappeared overnight.
As I reached for the pan on the stove, Greg, who had been standing at the counter reading the paper and drinking his coffee, leaned over and whispered in my ear. "I don't think you should give him any more food. He's going to make himself sick."
I stared at my husband in amazement. "What do you want me to do? I can't refuse the kid if he's hungry."
"I hope he's an only child," Greg muttered. "He'd kill our food budget, hands down."
I grabbed the platter on the counter and refilled Kevin's plate. The other boys watched in fascination as Kevin shoveled the food into his mouth.
"Awesome," Seth breathed.
"Really sweet, man," Stevie agreed.
"Can't I stay?" Kevin looked up at me pleadingly as he munched away.
I placed my cup in the sink. "I'm sorry, Kevin. I have a doctor's appointment this morning, and Mr. York has to go to work."
"Don't you work?" he asked as he downed another glass of milk.
I made a mental note to stop at the grocery store after my appointment. "Yes, I'm a real estate agent."
"She finds dead bodies!" Tyler Croger told his friend. He'd been a classmate of the twins since kindergarten, and also lived in our development. "She was almost a murderer once, too."
I was confident I'd be getting a phone call from Kevin's parents later in the day. "Okay, guys, everyone upstairs to brush their teeth so you'll be ready to go when Mr. York leaves."
Greg placed the paper down on the counter and scanned the room. "What happened to my briefcase? Did you kids move it?"
"Um." Seth looked at his twin with apprehension.
Greg folded his arms across his chest and tapped his foot. "Um what? Where is it?"
Stevie glanced up sheepishly at his father. "We kind of borrowed it last night to play Law and Order."
My husband pointed in the direction of the stairs. "Go find it. Now."
Stevie got to his feet and ran out of the room, with Kevin barreling after him. "Wait for me! I want to go too!"
I heard them lumbering up the stairs and turned to Seth. "Go make sure your sister is out of bed. And do not bring Rusty in there again."
He nodded and raced out of the room.
Greg gave me a swift kiss. "I can't wait for these kids. I've got a nine-thirty meeting and will barely make it at this rate."
I sighed. "Just go. I'll take them home."
"Mom!" Stevie screamed. "Come quick!"
Fearing the worst, I ran for the stairs with Greg at my heels. "What is it?"
Stevie appeared in the doorway of his room with a horrified expression. "Kevin just threw up all over my bed."
I groaned and smacked my head with the palm of my hand. "Please let this be a bad dream."
Kevin appeared before me, a streak of vomit running down the front of his shirt and a dazed look on his face. I stared at the puddle on the bed and then started to gag myself. I ran out of the room and bumped into Greg.
"She's got a weak stomach," I heard Seth say to his friend.
"You were right," I told my husband and covered my mouth.
He sniffed at the air and made a face. "Go find him something to wear. I'll clean up the mess."
My husband was truly one in a million. I ran downstairs, grateful to leave the room, and rummaged through the clean clothes in a basket by the washer until I found a sweatshirt I thought might fit Kevin. True, it was almost eighty degrees outside, but I couldn't send the kid home in the shirt he'd been wearing. I ran back upstairs, ushered Kevin into the bathroom, and gave him a washcloth to clean his face off. In a few minutes, he was good to go, and the smell had improved significantly.
Greg met me in the hallway. "I called the office to say I'd be late. Stevie's bedding is in the washer. I'll drop the monsters off at their houses. You'd better get going, or you'll be late for your appointment."
I put my arms around his neck and kissed him. "You're a lifesaver. What would I ever do without you?"
"You can make it up to me tonight." Greg whispered, a sly smile on his face.
By some miracle, I managed to reach Dr. Sanchez's office right at ten o'clock. The waiting room contained about four or five other women, two were noticeably pregnant. I had no sooner given my name and sat down when a nurse opened one of the adjoining doors and called my name.
When I reached her, she pointed immediately to the scale in the corner without comment.
"Oh, right. My favorite part."
The nurse gave me a small, tired smile. She probably heard that line at least twenty times a day.
I kicked off my shoes and stepped on the scale. As suspected, I'd gained weight—six pounds to be exact. I groaned inwardly. Time to go on a diet.
She ushered me into an exam room and took my blood pressure. Just as she was finishing up, Doctor Sanchez walked in. He was in his late sixties but still an attractive man for his age. He'd delivered me and been my mother's primary physician up until the day she'd passed away from cancer. He had dyed-dark hair with a well-trimmed beard to match and warm gray eyes.
He smiled and held out his hand. "Cindy, it's been a long time. How are you feeling?"
"Well, that's why I'm here. I haven't been myself lately and—" God, I hated having to say this. "I think it's the change."
Doctor Sanchez stroked his beard as he read my chart. "Hmm. Are you tired a lot?"
I nodded. "All the time."
"When was your last cycle?"
I thought back. "About two months ago. I usually skip one a couple of times a year."
Doctor Sanchez nodded. "Not uncommon, especially at your age. Do you remember how old your mother was when she went through the change?"
"Probably about my age." Right after she'd started menopause, they'd discovered she had breast cancer. My mother had put up quite a fight, but she'd been Stage Four by that time, and the doctors had told me there was no hope. She'd passed away a few months later.
I tried to steady my nerves. "You don't think it could be related to breast cancer, do you?"
He smiled and patted my arm reassuringly. "When was your last mammogram?"
"About six months ago." I wasn't consistent about the physicals but did make the extra effort to have an annual mammogram. If only my mother had been diligent about them, the end results might have been different for her.
"Hmm, you've always had stomach issues. But these bouts of nausea… Are they worse than usual?"
"Well, yes," I admitted. "It used to be once a week. Now it's every day."
He wrote something on my chart. "I understand your concerns about the breast
cancer, but there aren't usually any signs. Plus, we've made sure to monitor you closely because of your family history. I do think you could be in the early stages of menopause. You seem to have all the symptoms."
I sighed. It was hell to get old.
Dr. Sanchez studied my chart again. "I'll have my nurse come in, and we'll draw some blood to rule any other possibilities out. And I see that you had an internal exam when you had your mammogram."
"That's right."
He tapped his pen against the folder. "There is a chance that you might have an ulcer."
I hadn't thought of this possibility and leaned forward. "So, it may be an ulcer instead of menopause?"
Doctor Sanchez laughed. "I've never seen someone excited about the prospect of having stomach problems before."
"Well, in my opinion, it beats the other thing hands down."
Dr. Sanchez positioned the chart underneath his arm. "Sit tight. My nurse will be in shortly. Good seeing you. Tell Greg I said hello."
I stopped him before he could reach the door. "Um, Doctor, I was wondering if you remembered Paul Steadman? He worked at Burbank Hospital with you one summer, many years ago."
A look of surprise crossed his face. "Of course I remember him. Nice boy. What a shock when he killed himself."
Suddenly, I felt foolish. "Paul was my best friend. And I'm convinced he did not commit suicide."
The doctor raised his eyebrows in confusion. "Cindy, what are you getting at?"
I hesitated for a moment. "I think he was murdered and want to know why."
He stared at me in disbelief. "This is some type of joke, right?"
I figured this might be his reaction. "I've never been more serious in my life. I know this must sound crazy, but I was wondering if you remembered anything strange going on with him, right before he died."
Doctor Sanchez shook his head. "I was just as surprised as anyone else. Paul was a good kid. I thought he had his head on straight. Of course, he'd only been at the hospital for a few weeks. But my former nurse, Mildred Reynolds, knew his family well. Before she worked for me, she assisted their primary physician, Clyde Barrows, for years."
"Is Doctor Barrows still practicing?"
Doctor Sanchez gave me a wan smile. "He passed away about a year ago. But Mildred is still around. She suffered a stroke and is wheelchair-bound but, other than that, doing fine. She lives over in Saugersville."
"That's about an hour away," I murmured more to myself. "Do you think she'd be willing to talk to me?"
"I'm sure she'd love the company. From what I hear, she has no family and gets lonely. I'm ashamed to say I haven't been out to see her in quite a while. I'll have my receptionist give you her number."
I reached for my purse on the back of the chair. "Like I said, Doctor, I'm convinced it wasn't suicide. If you know of anything that would help, no matter how irrelevant it would seem, I'd appreciate you sharing it with me."
Doctor Sanchez was silent as he considered. "I didn't see him the day of his death. I left on vacation that morning. I can't remember if he was scheduled to work that day or not. Sorry."
"Did you see him the day before? Was he behaving normally, or did he seem upset about something? Did he do anything that seemed odd to you? Whatever you can think of would be a huge help." I knew it was probably a futile effort and tried not to sound desperate, which of course I was.
He scratched his head. "Now that you mention it, I do remember seeing him at the hospital the day before. I'd already made my rounds, but I came back later that evening to check on a patient. And I overheard two people in one of the vacant rooms, arguing. One of the voices belonged to Paul. The other one was a woman's."
My heart hammered inside my chest. "Did you see her?"
He shook his head. "They were loud, and I was afraid they'd disturb the patients. I opened the door and found Paul standing there. She must have been hiding in the bathroom, because I'm positive I heard two voices."
"Did you ever tell the police about this?" I asked.
"Cindy, no one ever asked me. Like I said, I left on vacation the morning of his death and don't believe there was much of an investigation, if any. I assumed at the time he was just having a disagreement with his girlfriend. Since no one asked me for information, I never mentioned it."
Finally, something to go on. "He didn't have a girlfriend. Do you remember details of their conversation? Anything at all?"
Doctor Sanchez stared up at the ceiling for a moment. "I can't be positive—it was so long ago—but I do believe he might have said something to the effect of 'I won't let you do it.' Like I told you, I assumed it was a lover's quarrel. When I entered the room, I demanded Paul lower his voice, and that was the end of it. He sought me out later that night to apologize. I asked him if everything was okay, and he said, 'It will be.'"
Now, I was confused. I knew Paul hadn't been dating other girls, and the note he'd left convinced me that he wasn't pursuing anyone else. Or was he? So what had he meant by those words? And who was the woman with him?
Doctor Sanchez opened the door. "I'm sorry, Cindy, but I have another patient waiting. I'll leave Mildred's number out front for you. Call me tomorrow, and we'll have your test results ready."
I nodded and thanked him. I went out to the front desk and retrieved my receipt and Mildred's phone number. I stepped into my vehicle and reached inside the glove compartment for a pad of paper, jotting down some notes from our conversation. The way my memory was lately, I needed all the help I could get. I glanced at my cell and realized I had a voicemail. I played back the message, praying that there were no more catastrophes at home to contend with.
"Cindy, Aaron Connors here. The information you wanted—well, I've got it. Rachel Kennedy. Four Windsor Place, Burbank. Single, two grown children. Still in town. And—a prior arrest for… Guess what? Stalking a woman. If you go to see her, please take someone with you. And call me if I can help."
I sat there with the engine running, glancing out across the parking lot. Could Rachel have been the woman Paul had been arguing with in the hospital that evening? I wasn't positive but had become fairly certain of one thing. If I could find out the identity of this mystery woman, I might have my answer to who was responsible for my friend's death.
CHAPTER TEN
Doctor Sanchez's office building was located across the street from Burbank Hospital, so after checking in with Darcy—who assured me everything was fine in a snide tone—I decided a little side trip was in order to see if my good friend, Melanie Flowers, happened to be working today.
I went first to the main desk of the emergency room. There were three people seated, waiting to be seen. One young man had a towel wrapped around his hand. I didn't see any blood and decided this must be a positive sign. An elderly woman sat on the other side of the room, head in hands, as the man seated next to her rubbed her back. I watched them with pity, wondering what her ailment was and feeling about a hundred years old myself.
The woman behind the glass partition opened the window and smiled. "How can I help you?"
"I'm a friend of Melanie Flowers," I lied, "and was wondering if she's working today."
She nodded. "Oh, yes. You just missed her actually. She took an early lunch."
"Shoot. Any idea when she'll be back?"
"I doubt she went far," the woman said. "She usually eats in the cafeteria downstairs. You'll probably find her there."
"Terrific. Thanks so much." I made my way back to the elevator and pressed B for the basement. When I exited, I spotted the sign for the cafeteria to the right. From the doorway, I peered inside the room. The place was almost deserted. A woman stood at the register, paying for her food, while a couple chatted quietly over their meal. Two men in white doctor coats were deep in discussion over coffee. At a corner table sat Melanie, her head bent over a book.
I made my way over to her table and stood at her side until she looked up. When she did, her eyes widened with surprise. "Well, look who's here. Did
you just happen to be in the neighborhood?"
"Actually, I had a doctor's appointment and came down for a quick cup of coffee."
Melanie's lips curved upward into a slight smile. "Sure you did. No one wants this coffee, honey, unless you're fond of mud. You don't really expect me to buy that, do you?"
I was such a horrible liar. "Well, when I saw you in here, I was hoping that we could talk for a moment and—you know, catch up on some things. We didn't have much of a chance at the reunion."
She closed the book and set it aside. I noticed it was the Fifty Shades of Grey trilogy. "Oh, what the heck. Sit down. I've already read this many times. How about you?"
I slid into the seat across from her. "I don't have much time for reading these days."
Melanie brought her hamburger to her mouth and took a small bite. "Bet it's not your cup of tea anyway."
She was right, but I only smiled and decided to avoid the subject. "I like your hair color. When did you change from blonde?"
She laughed. "God, it has to be about ten years now. And for the record, what they say isn't true. Redheads have way more fun than blondes."
"I'll have to remember that, in case I ever decide to try it."
Melanie dipped a french fry in ketchup. "You disappeared pretty quickly the other night. You and your—ah—coworker. Or so you said."
Here we go again. "I wasn't feeling well, so we decided to go home early."
"Hmm." She wiped at her mouth with a napkin. "Thought maybe you two took a side trip to a hotel or something."
What was with this woman? "If possible, could you get your mind out of the gutter for one second? I'm happily married, thank you."
Melanie waved a hand dismissively. "Oh, whatever. Loosen up, honey. You've got a stick up your butt, just like your old dead pal."
Here was the opening I'd been looking for. "Why did you hate Paul so much?"
"I never said I hated him." Recognition slowly dawned on her face. "Wait a minute. That's why you're here, isn't it? You want to know if I was sleeping with him or something like that."
Priced to Kill (Cindy York Mysteries Book 2) Page 9
