Romancing the Gravestone

by Gena Showalter

  Maybe fate expected her to spend the rest of her life in flux, always expecting the worst. A cosmic punishment for a crime committed by her ancestor. And she wasn’t being dramatic about this. Nope. She only reacted to the circumstances forced upon her.

  Just as she exited the shower on the morning of her appointment, the Aurelian Hills Medical Clinic number popped up on her cell phone. Hmm. They’d never called her before an appointment before. Had Emma seen Jane’s name on the schedule and raised an alarm? Did the entire staff suspect her of wrongdoing? Of being well and seeking answers?

  “Hello?” she said, hesitant.

  “I’m calling for Jane Ladling.”

  “I am she. I mean, me. I am me. I mean, I’m Jane.” Goodness gracious. Get yourself together!

  “Hi, Jane.” The soft, feminine voice developed a friendly pitch. “This is Caroline Whittington, Dr. Garcia’s physician’s assistant here at the medical center. I’m sorry to call so early, but this couldn’t wait.”

  “No problem.” PA Caroline Whittington. An employee Jane had never met. Was this a scam, then? A way to gain access to her medical records? Although she hadn’t visited the clinic in more than a year, so updating was probably necessary. Jane decided to test her. “So good to hear from you again.”

  “Again? Please, forgive me but I don’t recall speaking to you before this.”

  Okay. That tracked. Wait. Her cemetery training kicked in. Always start with kindness. “How may I help you?”

  “I’m afraid Dr. Garcia is unable to see you today. Yesterday evening someone spray-painted the clinic, as well as our vehicles. He’s involved in clean-up.”

  “Spray paint, you say.” Her back went ramrod straight. “Tell me everything. The color. The image or words.”

  “Oh. Um. The perpetrator drew a fleur-de-lys. Blue, I think. Or maybe green.”

  Fleur-de-lys again. Most likely blue. Prick, prick, prick. Gah! Why did this matter? Was there something here or not? “Do you know who did it? Or maybe you have a suspect? A clue? Do you know why they did it?”

  “No suspects or clues.” A pause. “Do you know who did it or why?”

  Uh-oh. From sweet tone to accusatory, as if Jane hoped to cover her own tracks. “I noticed the same symbol spray-painted on other cars and got curious.” Truth.

  The response must have pacified the other woman. Tone softer, she said, “My apologies for snapping at you. As you can imagine, this is a tough time. Someone in town is targeting random people, marking buildings and cars with a ridiculous lily flower, doing thousands of dollars in damage. And to what purpose? Why hurt those of us mourning the loss of Dr. Hotchkins?” A choking sound clogged the line, as if the assistant was fighting tears.

  Sympathy churned in Jane’s stomach. “I’m so sorry for your loss.” Forget the investigation for a moment. Loss hurt. This PA had clearly cared about her coworker. But maybe a wee bit too much? Had they been friends or something more?

  Okay, so, Jane wasn’t forgetting the investigation anytime soon.

  “Thank you. The entire town feels the sting of this one, I’m sure.” Caroline sniffled, then cleared her throat. “Did you know him?”

  Know, as in the biblical sense? “I know his wife.” Did you know him? Jane went ahead and etched Caroline Whittington into her mental list of suspects.

  “A lovely woman. How devastated she must be.” Silence stretched for a moment as Caroline seemed to collect herself. “Now then. The reason I called. If you are amenable, I’m happy to see you at the scheduled time.”

  “I am amenable, yes. I’ll be there.” Emma aided both Dr. Hotchkins and the PA. Two birds, one stone. “I appreciate your willingness to see me last minute, Caroline.”

  “My pleasure. I’ll see you at ten, Miss Ladling.”

  Oops. They weren’t on a first name basis? “Can’t wait.” And she couldn’t. At first. Jane enjoyed low-grade anticipation most of the morning. By the time she reached the clinic, however, she was battling a nervous stomach. What ailment brought her to see the good doctor? What wouldn’t require a needle? And what questions should she ask Emma? Not to mention new suspect Caroline?

  A handful of cars occupied the parking lot, with a single work truck idling at the curb near the front door. An older man was scrubbing the wall, where half of a neon-blue fleur-de-lys stained the white brick. Yep. Crafted by the same artist who’d vandalized the cars at Tiffany’s.

  Why would someone start this after the murder? Why start this at all? Why target Dr. Hotchkins’s coworkers? What did anyone stand to gain from it?

  Jane parked and made her way inside the building. After signing in, she claimed a seat in the back and set up camp. Minutes passed. She tapped a pen against the arm of her chair, her trusty notebook in hand. The internet had provided the top two motives for any crime: love or money. Had the handsome doctor and his nurse—and/or physician assistant—engaged in a love affair gone wrong? Maybe the doctor had promised to leave his wife and then balked?

  What about money? And the other possibilities? Perhaps the doctor had argued with Emma over her role in the medical practice. A reason for the fight among the staff? Had she demanded compensation? Maybe he’d caught Caroline making a medical mistake or stealing pills.

  What if Jane totally missed the mark here? Some people committed unspeakable acts just for grins and giggles. Or street cred. Street cred was still a thing, right?

  A hoarse, hacking cough boomed. Two other patients waited with her. Both had glassy eyes and red noses. They sneezed again and again and again and again and again. One of them repeatedly lumbered past her to remind the receptionist that he was dying. What a baby.

  “Miss Ladling?” called a nurse in bright scrubs with colorful butterflies. Emma!

  Jane jolted out of the chair, her stomach twisting anew. “Present! I mean, I’m here. That’s me. I’m Miss Ladling. Jane.” Sweat glazed her palms as she haphazardly stuffed her notebook in her purse. “I mean, I know you know who I am. We’ve met before. Once. Kind of. We were in the same location, but we didn’t chat or anything. Not that it wouldn’t have been great to chat with you outside of an appointment.” Well, she’d finally found the perfect ailment for today’s visit. Diarrhea of the mouth. “Yikes. Sorry.”

  Emma offered a forced smile. “It’s okay. People can get really worked up when they’re not feeling well, and they’re worried about the underlying cause.” Like Caroline, she mourned Dr. Hotchkins. Or the strain of hiding his murder was taking a toll.

  Suspecting everyone I meet of the crime? This is my life now?

  Well. Why stop? Jane zeroed in on the golden band around Emma’s finger. A wedding ring. The plot thickens. Would the nurse kill a man to hide an affair or maybe even spark drama with her husband?

  “Come on back,” Emma said. “We’re ready for you in room two.”

  “Wonderful.” As both the sickies glared at her, she kicked into motion, closing the distance and breezing past the door between the waiting room and hallway of patient rooms.

  After taking Jane’s weight, Emma ushered her into the right exam room. Same sterile beige walls as usual, one of which was covered in framed certificates. A tiled floor and a ceiling with slight water stains.

  “I see you have a pet,” Emma said, grabbing the blood pressure cuff. “A dog? Big? Small?”

  “A cat, actually. Rolex. He’s the brightest light of my life.” Jane sat on the examination table and settled her purse at her side. “But, uh, how did you see that I had a pet?” Like with a psychic vision or something?

  “The fur on your dress.”

  Oh yes. That made more sense.

  “Is Rolex friendly or one of those demon spawns?” Emotionless, the nurse secured the cuff on Jane’s arm.

  “Oh, my Rolex is a perfect angel.” No truer statement had ever been spoken.

  “I have a corgi named Cheddar, and he seems to shed an entire fur coat every day. I don’t care, though, because I love him so much.”

  Hear
tfelt words delivered with such a deadened tone. Highly suspicious? No longer. Right? Anyone with a dog named Cheddar couldn’t be a murderer. It was practically science. Maybe Emma’s coldness showcased a woman fighting to hold herself together over the death of a friend. Or lover.

  Staring at the table, she pumped a balloon and the cuff filled with air. Avoiding eye contact with a patient? Standard procedure or the action of a guilty woman?

  A frown tugged at the corners of Emma’s mouth, slowly deepening. Was something wrong?

  Jane followed her gaze to the open purse at her side, with a page of the notepad visible. Heat singed her cheeks. Had Emma spotted the ridiculous hearts Jane had drawn around Conrad’s name?

  “Ow!” The cuff squeezed far too tight, pain shooting to her shoulder.

  “Sorry, sorry,” Emma rushed out, jolting into focus. The pressure on her bicep eased.

  Okay. Let’s get back on track. Emma might be the first bad guy to own a dog named Cheddar. Her (seeming) recognition of Conrad’s name—no big deal. For all Jane knew, the special agent had interviewed the clinic’s employees at length. But why react so strongly to Jane’s obvious schoolgirl crush? Unless the nurse had been lost in her thoughts? Like Jane was now?

  She shook her head to focus. One interrogation, coming up. She would start off easy, then go in for the kill. Metaphorically speaking. “Does Cheddar mind strangers? Because Rolex hates everyone with the heat of a thousand suns. Especially the GBH agents running around my place because of…you know. Dr. Hotchkins. The murderer.”

  The color in Emma’s cheeks drained, and she took a deep breath to steady herself. “Yes, that must have been quite the shock to you both.” With an audible swallow, she hooked her stethoscope over her neck and freed Jane from the cuff.

  “It was, yes, but I’m sure things are worse for you. You knew the doctor personally.” Oh man. Where were her manners? “I’m so sorry for your loss,” she rushed to add.

  Emma nodded in acknowledgement but offered nothing else on the subject. “Your blood pressure is one twenty-nine over eighty.” Her flat tone was back.

  “Is that, uh, bad or something?”

  “It’s slightly elevated.” She replaced the device on its hook and typed Jane’s results into a note-taking tablet. “Most likely due to stress.”

  “Yes, most likely.” Jane wasn’t ready to let the subject drop. “Poor Dr. Hotchkins. He’s the reason my stress is so high. I just can’t get him off my mind.” Truth.

  Had the other woman flinched?

  “He’s definitely missed.” An even flatter tone. “I need silence for this next test, okay?” Emma aimed the temperature gauge at her forehead.

  Silence? For a thermometer? Definitely a lie.

  “No fever,” Emma said. “So what brings you in here today?”

  Murder. If the nurse thought she’d successfully changed the subject, she thought wrong. “I’m here because of Dr. Hotchkins. You know, my stress. The upset of it all. I’m the one who found his body.” Yes. The perfect excuse. It had a foundation of truth and left the door open for further questions. “My heart has raced at odd times.” Whenever a certain special agent neared. “I toss and turn at night.” Dreaming of said special agent. “Flutters erupt in my belly.”

  This time, Emma definitely flinched. “I did hear about your involvement in the case.” After making a few more notes in the device, she headed to the door. “The PA will be in shortly.” With that, she exited, sealing Jane inside the room, alone, unable to blurt out her next query.

  Her abruptness proved startling. Well. That was definitely suspicious. Jane opened her notebook to draw stars around Emma’s name.

  With nothing to do but wait, she scanned the quintessential sickroom, taking in other details. Standard exam table with a paper cover. A row of glass containers displayed cotton balls, long swabs and tongue depressors. On the wall hung a biohazard disposal container for needles. Jane shuddered and looked away.

  Here and there, medical posters listed symptoms for various diseases. She examined the certificates more closely. A framed PA diploma for Caroline Whittington, as well as different awards.

  A clipped knock sounded, and Caroline entered the room, peering down at the same iPad Emma had used. The door closed behind her.

  At the sink, she washed her hands. “Hello, Miss Ladling.” Her perfunctory manner seemed at odds with her show of emotion over the phone. What had changed? The thirty-something PA had red hair and pale, freckled skin. Unlike Emma, she wore plain blue scrubs. Gaze direct and unwavering, she offered Jane a swift smile. “Nice to put a face with a voice. Your file says you’re upset about finding Dr. Hotchkins’s body. But I must be honest with you. You didn’t seem upset when we spoke on the phone.”

  She suspects me of lying. Because she was an accurate judge of truth, or because she was guilty of lying herself? “Everyone deals with grief differently.” Truth.

  “Well. You aren’t wrong.” The woman’s features fell, her shoulders rolling in, as if she were too exhausted to hide her emotions a moment longer. She massaged her temples. “I’m sorry. This has just been a day.”

  “Oh. Um. Of course. Certainly.” An abrupt change. Too abrupt?

  “It must have been awful for you,” Caroline said, reaching out to pat her shoulder. Too understanding and sympathetic? Or a normal amount?

  Jane didn’t know anything anymore. “It really was,” she replied in earnest. All those cars on her driveway, some on her lawn. Booted feet trampling everywhere.

  The PA eased onto a stool beside the exam table, her expression much softer. “Tell me how I can help you, Jane. Are you having trouble sleeping?”

  “Yes!” Ugh. She hadn’t meant to shout her response, but as mentioned before, she’d only tossed and turned last night, lost in thoughts about Conrad. He was single, but was he interested in Jane? Did she want him to be? The curse… “I probably shouldn’t have come here.” A statement the agent would agree with, no doubt. “I mean, you guys know—knew—and loved Dr. Hotchkins. Everyone at the clinic must be as upset as I am. More so.”

  Let the investigation continue!

  A hint of sadness clung to Caroline. “First, you should always seek help if you need it, Jane. Never hesitate. Second, yes, Dr. Hotchkins is certainly missed. He was an amazing man who often volunteered his time at a free medical facility in the city.”

  “Oh, how wonderful.” She hesitated for only a moment before adding, “Do you happen to know the name of the facility? So I can make a donation in Dr. Hotchkins’s honor.” And maybe, possibly, stop by and offer her deepest sympathies. Chat. Couldn’t hurt, right?

  Blink, blink. “I’m sorry, I don’t know offhand. But I can certainly find out.”

  “No worries.” No reason to give the woman one more thing to do. Jane made a mental note to do a little research herself. A way to bone up her skills.

  Caroline patted her hand and sighed. “I’m going to prescribe something to help you rest and refer you to a therapist I know. Someone who specializes in this kind of trauma. Now.” She motioned to Jane’s arm. “Let’s talk about that cut.”

  The scratch she’d gotten when she’d gardened this morning? “That? It’s no big deal. I get all kinds of scrapes working at the cemetery.” As the lone employee, she did all the gardening and repairs herself.

  “All kinds of scrapes, yet you’re overdue for a tetanus vaccination. I’d rather not treat you for a toxic bacterium later on. While I get your prescription sent to the pharmacy and draft up your referral, Nurse Emma will take care of the injection.”

  What? “No! No needles. I’m fine. Honest. Better than fine. Really! I made everything up. I’m not really upset about finding a dead body.” Nervous laugh. “I’ve already forgotten it.”

  “Don’t worry.” Again, she patted Jane’s hand. “We’ll have you feeling better in no time.”

  Jane grumbled as she stalked out of the clinic—and plowed straight into a grumbling Dr. Garcia. They stumbled apart,
both going quiet. His eyes widened before he darted his gaze elsewhere.

  “What are you doing here?” he growled. He was a short, rotund man with dark skin and darker eyes. “You shouldn’t be here.”

  “Oh.” Should none of his patients be here, or Jane specifically? “I rescheduled with the PA.” Did no one tell him? Hmm.

  Whatever. She would dissect the nuances of this interaction later and seize the opportunity being offered to her now. “Hey. While I’ve got you. I’d like to express my condolences for your great loss and to also offer to help you solve the mystery of the fleur-de-lys symbol and avenge the destruction of your property.” Thoughts came, escaping her mouth before she had time to check them. “Has anyone ever visited you or Dr. Hotchkins with symptoms of, I don’t know, artist’s elbow? That’s a thing, yes? Or maybe you have a patient who was once wearing a speck of neon-blue paint?”

  “I can’t discuss my patients with you, Miss Ladling.” He hurried on as if his feet were on fire, entering the building.

  Well. That was all kinds of wrong. And okay, yes, she might be getting a bit paranoid here. But come on! The killer probably knew Jane owned and operated the cemetery. Which meant anyone acting weird toward her was potentially hiding something. One hundred percent. No question. This encounter with Dr. Garcia topped the list of weird.

  She pondered his motives while driving home, her arm stinging from the totally unnecessary shot she’d been unable to avoid. She was only slightly massively more confused about Dr. Hotchkins’s murder. During the course of her investigation, her list of suspects had only grown. So far she had crossed out a grand total of zero names.

  Emma Miller and Tiffany Hotchkins still topped the list. Along with Caroline Whittington and Dr. Garcia, the receptionist at the clinic and both guys with colds. They couldn’t have been as sick as they’d pretended to be, making her wonder if they acted worse as some kind of cover. Oh, also on her list were all the guests at Tiffany’s house, plus everyone’s significant other.