Julia texts me back: No, but you’re in the phone book, genius. Anyone could get your number.
Touché.
I reply to Todd, “Um, I don’t know. I’m really busy…”
“Oh, I’m sure you can carve out a little time for some fun with me.”
Fun? Eww. I don’t even want to think about what kind of “fun” Todd has in mind. I lie, “I’m getting another call, Todd. I need to take it. Good talk.” I quickly hang up before he can object. Barf. I hope he doesn’t call back. Ever.
Returning my attention to my laptop, I press on, getting twenty pages into the Google search before giving up and slamming down the lid in frustration. Lydia doesn’t have a Facebook page or a Twitter account, or anything else that might give me some insight into her life. Maybe I should give the cyber-stalking a rest and do some good old-fashioned spying.
Hmm. I am going running tonight with Kara after she gets done with her pottery class. Instead of our normal route around Independence Lake, we could go the other direction and take a turn past Lydia’s office. Maybe Lydia would be there, and I could go in and have a chat with her, you know, girlfriend to girlfriend. I think it could work.
***
“So you want to go past your chiropractor’s office and do what?” asks Kara skeptically as we’re jogging toward town.
“Remember the other night at Vibe when I told you I saw a guy I knew and that he was there with a woman who wasn’t his wife?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, the woman was my chiropractor.”
“Okay. So what?”
“So Jason’s dead.”
Kara stops in the middle of the sidewalk. “No, Lizzie. Please tell me you’re not chasing another murderer.”
I jog back to her and grab her by the arm, pulling her along with me. “Okay, then. I won’t tell you.”
We jog along in silence for a minute, then Kara stops again. “My curiosity is getting the better of me. I probably don’t want to hear it, but tell me the rest.”
I smile. “So, last night I run into my chiropractor at Cooper’s Restaurant, this time with a different guy. This morning I find out the new guy was in a wreck last night. Fatal.” We start jogging again, more slowly this time so we can talk.
“That’s terrible. What does any of this have to do with you?”
“Uh…” Well…nothing, really. But, Julia did ask me to snoop around and see what I could find out about Jason’s death, plus I feel the overwhelming desire to be able to say “I told you so” to Detective Dickhead. I answer Kara lamely, “I feel like it’s my duty to see that justice gets served.”
“That’s a load of crap, and you know it,” she says.
“You watch your language, missy.” Kara never cusses—well, at least she didn’t before she started hanging around with me.
We round the corner and come up behind Lydia’s office, a sixties style ranch house just off the main drag, which had been converted into an office a few years ago by the previous owner. There’s a light on inside, but no cars in the parking area. Damn. I’ve got to find a way in there. It’s dark now, so I’m not too worried about us being spotted. Kara and I sneak along the back of the property, hidden by overhanging trees.
Kara whispers, “So what do we do now?”
I think for a moment. The only option I can come up with is B and E. During my brief sleuthing experience, I’ve been a part of three separate instances of breaking and entering. Even though it’s not legal at all, it often gets you great results.
“I want to try to get into that office.”
Kara’s eyes get huge. “That’s insane! What if you get caught?”
“I’ll be careful.” I scan the back of the building to determine my options. Jackpot. Lydia left one of the windows cracked. Yes! That means I won’t have to do any breaking, which is always my least favorite part. Turning to Kara, I say, “I don’t want you mixed up in this. Stay here.”
“Don’t worry. I’m not getting on your crazy train this time.” I frown at her, and she looks embarrassed. “Sorry, Lizzie. I’ll be your lookout. How’s that?”
“Fantastic! Thanks. Call me if you see anyone coming, okay?”
“Okay. And please be careful!”
I quickly skitter across the parking area and crouch under the open window. As quietly as possible, I lift the window and hoist myself up. All of my exercising is really paying off, because I’m able to wriggle through the window and drop neatly into Lydia’s place with no difficulty.
Looking around in the darkened room, I see that I’m in a storage area. There doesn’t seem to be anything of interest in here—just office supplies, linens, and medical supplies. I exit this room and slip across the hall into Lydia’s office. It’s really dark in here, and since the light in the hallway is on, I figure there’s no harm in flipping on the light in here as well.
I start with her desk. She has some mail piled in the center, and I rifle through it. Mostly bills and junk mail. Gaining a little courage, I pull open her desk drawers, one by one, finding nothing unusual except that the bottom right drawer is locked. Hmm. If I were going to hide something super-secret, I would put it in the locked drawer. There were no keys in the desk, so I start poking around the rest of the office in search of them. I’ve spent more time than I would have liked searching for the stupid keys, and am about to give up when I open a pretty china box and find—keys! Woo-hoo! There are three silver keys on the ring, and I try each one on the desk drawer, finally hitting pay dirt on the third.
Carefully opening the drawer, I find a bunch of file folders. Oh. Not exactly what I had in mind, although I don’t really know what I had in mind, short of a signed confession of murder, which is ridiculous, because people just don’t do that. I look at a few of the names on the tabs but don’t recognize any of them.
Glancing back into the drawer, I notice a small framed photo. I pluck it out of the drawer and study it. It’s a photo of Lydia with some guy I’ve never seen before. They’re standing on a beach, arm in arm, and they seem very happy. Since it’s in the locked drawer, I decide to snap a quick picture of it on my phone. I carefully return the photo to the drawer and start on the files.
I open the first file and note that it’s a patient file for a man named Lucas Ford from Hawthorne Grove, Tennessee. Nothing pops out at me as strange, except that all of the exam forms have the name “Dr. Catherine Richmond” printed at the top of them, with a Hawthorne Grove address. Weird. I wonder what Lydia would be doing with another doctor’s patient file. I take a picture with my phone and grab the next file. This file is much like the first one, the patient being a James Singer, also from Hawthorne Grove. I take another picture.
My phone rings just then, and I nearly jump out of my skin. It’s Kara. “Hello?” I whisper.
“Lizzie,” she hisses. “There’s a guy outside, and he’s heading toward the back door!”
Shit! I’m going to get caught! I stuff my phone back into my pocket, shove the files back into the drawer, lock it (with shaking hands, nearly dropping the keys twice), return the keys to the little box, and hurry to the door. Thank goodness I closed the office door when I came in, otherwise anyone coming in the back entrance would spot me immediately. I stop and listen for footsteps. Hearing none, I carefully open the door a crack and look out into the hallway. Empty. Maybe Kara was wrong and the guy decided not to come in after all. I scurry across the hall, back into the dark storage room. I can’t wait to get the hell out of here.
As soon as I step into the room, a hand clamps onto my shoulder. I scream and freeze, my body paralyzed with fear. I’m spun around and find myself staring into the angry face of…Detective Dickhead. Oh, double shit.
CHAPTER SIX
“What are you doing here?” he barks.
I’m shaking all over. I need to get hold of myself and quit acting so guilty, which I totally am. Hoping to stall for time so I can think of a reasonable explanation, I take a breath and complain, “You scared me.”
“Answer the question.”
“I’m here looking for…my phone. I had an appointment with Dr. Thomas earlier today, and I left my phone here.”
“Really? So then it’s a coincidence that only a couple of hours ago you were telling me you thought Dr. Thomas was a murderer, and now you’re snooping around in her office.” Ooh, he’s got me there. If I couldn’t talk my way out of a traffic ticket from him yesterday, how in the bloody hell am I going to talk my way out of a felony today?
I’m not giving up without a fight, though. “Yes. Coincidences are funny like that. I’m sure she wouldn’t mind that I stopped by to pick up my phone.”
“Is that so? How did you get in?”
I swallow. “The door was open. I saw lights on and thought someone was here, so I came inside.”
He shakes his head, jaw clenched. “Huh-uh. Try again.”
I wince. “Maybe it was the window that was open…”
“That’s better. Lizzie Hart, you are under arrest for criminal trespass.” Criminal trespass? What is that?!? And is it better or worse than breaking and entering?
The detective spins me back around and slaps a pair of handcuffs on my wrists. Any fantasy I ever had about getting cuffed by a sexy cop has just turned into a nightmare. He hauls me toward the door, reading me my Miranda rights as we go. All I can think about is getting through this terrifying ordeal without peeing my pants. If the interrogation room gives me a panic attack, I do not want to see how I react to a jail cell.
He drags me to his car and shoves me unceremoniously into the back seat. I think for a moment about poor Kara, probably watching all of this from her hiding place. At least she can follow me to the station and maybe post my bail or something. After Detective Dickhead slams the door, it feels as if all the air has been sucked out of the car. It’s getting difficult for me to breathe. I think I may pass out, or throw up, or both.
Piercing headlights flash in my eyes as a vehicle pulls into the lot. What now? More cops to arrest me? Still blinded by the lights, I watch as a man and a woman get out of the vehicle and head toward the detective. Shit! It’s Lydia. I. Am. So. Dead. She’s with a guy, so if anything good possibly could come of this, maybe I saved her companion tonight from certain death.
As Lydia starts conversing with the detective, I crane my neck to get a good look at the guy who arrived with her. Oh, holy hell. It’s Blake! No! What the crap is he doing with her? He has to get as far away from her as possible! What if she tries to kill him? I would absolutely die if that happened. I have to warn him.
But how do I get out of this damn car? I start slamming myself against the door and the window, trying to get someone’s attention. The detective comes over and opens the door.
Seeming flustered, he says, “What do you think you—”
Panting from my near panic attack and from the exertion of beating myself against the window, I interrupt, “I need to talk to Blake Morgan. Now.”
“No,” he replies curtly, and closes the door again.
“Aaarrrggh!” I scream, launching into a tirade of cursing I didn’t realize I had in me.
The door opens again, and Detective Dickhead glares at me. “Are you finished?”
“No, I—”
“Dr. Thomas doesn’t want to press charges.”
“Huh?”
He says between gritted teeth, “You’re free to go.”
I breathe several sighs of relief. I’m not going to jail after all. The detective hauls me back out of the car and removes my cuffs.
Embarrassed, I turn to Lydia. Might as well stick with my original story of the lost phone, just in case she is a killer, plus if the detective catches me in a lie, he might re-arrest me just for the fun of it. “I’m sorry, Lydia. I left my phone in your office earlier. A light was on so I…thought someone might be in there who could help me. I didn’t mean to cause any trouble.”
I sneak a glance at Blake, and he’s stone-faced, except for something in his eyes that tells me he’s worried, or on second thought, maybe he’s just angry. Either way, he looks like he’s ready to kill me.
Lydia smiles, but it seems forced to me. “It’s fine, Lizzie. I was concerned when I saw the police at my office, but I’m just happy it turned out to be a false alarm.”
Blake says, “Hart, I need a word with you,” and drags me out of earshot of the others. “Are you nuts? Why in the hell did you break into Lydia’s office?”
So it’s Lydia. I reply, “I left my phone.”
“Bullshit. This is me you’re talking to. What’s up?”
I lower my voice. “Look, I don’t know why you’re here with her, but—”
“I’m interviewing her for a story.”
Squinting at him, I ask, “Is that code for sex?”
He sighs exasperatedly. “No, this is a professional interview. We were coming to her office for her to give me a tour. Your stupid stunt interrupted us.”
I say, unapologetically, “Sorry. But seriously, do not go out on a date with her.”
“Why?”
“Can’t you just take my word on this?”
“No.”
I don’t want to say anything until I’m sure of my suspicions. Blake and I aren’t close anymore, so I don’t feel like I can confide in him the way I used to. Plus, after he wrote a news article a while back with private information that put me and my friends from the coven in danger, I generally don’t trust him with sensitive information. I plead, “Just please don’t go out with her. It’s for your own good.”
Totally missing the point, he gets a smug look. “You’re jealous.”
I roll my eyes. “Get over yourself,” I retort, stalking away. I need to get out of here. I guess I need to find Kara. Dialing her number on my phone, I scan the back of the property for any sign of her.
She answers quickly. “Hey. I got scared the cop would find me, so I left after he let you go. I’m sorry. I’m a bad friend.”
“You’re not a bad friend,” I reassure her. “I’m the bad friend for roping you into this. But I’m fine. See you soon.”
After hanging up, I realize that I still have to get home. I’m utterly drained from my brush with the law. I steel myself for the long jog home and notice Blake and Lydia leaving together. That idiot! I warned him to stay away from her. I can only hope he’s driving her home and then getting far away from her. I catch Detective Dickhead staring at me, so I turn around and jog in the opposite direction.
About a block into it, my legs start cramping and my ankle starts throbbing. I slow to a walk. At this pace, it will take me thirty minutes to get home, and it’s dark and kind of creepy walking all alone. I guess I could call Julia to come and get me, but Dillon probably wouldn’t let her. I think last night cemented his dislike for me.
As I’m trudging along, feeling sorry for myself, a car starts following slowly beside me and its passenger window opens. “Do you need a ride?” asks my favorite detective, over his vehicle’s loudspeaker, of course, just to further humiliate me.
“Not from you,” I snip.
“Come on. You’re limping. Get in.”
I stick my nose in the air. “I’d rather crawl home.”
“I can make pleasant chit-chat all the way.”
I stop, defeated. I ask petulantly, “Can I ride in front this time?”
The corner of his mouth pulls up, but he doesn’t allow himself to smile. “Just this once.”
I get in his vehicle and flop down on the seat.
He asks, “So was it worth it?”
Fuming, I cut my eyes at him and refuse to answer.
Detective Dickhead presses on, obviously enjoying this. “Did you find any damning evidence in your investigation? Maybe a bloody glove or a snuff film?”
“I wouldn’t tell you if I did.” Then under my breath I add, “I shouldn’t have to do your job for you.”
His jaw clenches, and he grunts, “I heard that.”
“I meant for you to,” I re
tort.
“You seem to have a problem with the police. Why do you hate us so much?”
“I don’t hate the police. I hate you.”
That angers him. “Hey, you were the one who committed a crime here. It’s my job to catch criminals, and that’s what I did. If it had been up to me, you’d be spending the night in lockup.” Did he just call me a criminal? Because I think he just called me a criminal.
“Oh, yeah. You catch criminals all right. That is, unless they’re murderers and the investigation is just too much trouble for you to bother,” I huff.
He glares at me.
We’ve just pulled up to my house. That’s odd. I didn’t give him directions. I ask warily, “How do you know where I live?”
He gives me a look like, “what are you, stupid?” and shakes his head. I hate that look. I let myself out of the car and hurry to my door, ready to be rid of Detective Dickhead.
“You’re welcome,” he calls.
I ignore him and hobble into my house, more thankful to be home than I ever have been.
***
Work is largely uneventful today. Blake has been surprisingly quiet, given the fact that he could have easily made fun of me all day for my arrest. I have plenty time at the office to research the information I obtained from the files at Lydia’s office.
Hawthorne Grove, Tennessee is a tiny town near Nashville. It turns out Lucas Ford and James Singer are dead, both within the last year. That’s a glaring coincidence, especially since their files were together in Lydia’s locked drawer. James Singer died in a car accident, but I can’t find any details on Lucas Ford’s death. The only information I can come up with on Dr. Catherine Richmond is her office phone number and address printed on the exam forms I saw. She’s a ghost on the Internet. I call her office, but the number has been disconnected. It’s like Dr. Catherine Richmond doesn’t exist.
I decide to call the local newspaper for Hawthorne Grove, The Grove Gazette. I figure, who better to know the town gossip than the folks at the local newspaper? If I’m lucky, they’ll be more forthcoming to a fellow media person than to some random caller.
Bad Medicine Page 5
