Tony lifted his brow. “Yours is worth saving. As much as I hate to admit this though, maybe Clay was misled too.”
“With an ocean of silence between us I can’t verify it.”
“I’d love to take advantage of his absence, but won’t.”
I was tempted to ask why, but let that fantasy slide.
Tony remained serious. “All I’m saying is something’s not right. Let me ask around the clinic about this Marilyn.”
“If you romance the rehab receptionist it might work.”
“Is she good-looking?” he asked, his humor still intact.
I raised my brow in reply.
“Hey, it helps to know these things ahead of time,” he said, laughing.”
“How come guys need an incentive for motivation?”
His thumb grazed my lips. “Hey, I’m already motivated where you’re concerned. I’ll keep in touch, sweet thing.”
I watched Tony turn and swagger away, waving goodbye.
Focus, girl, focus...
Chapter 13
Dotting The I’s & Crossing Those T’s
The senior matrix of our sleuthing crew were stymied, just as Tony and I were. Speaking of Tony, he took off to sniff around for possible clues as to the comings and goings at the rehab center, while we stayed home to brainstorm.
“Without Marilyn’s full name, my hacking skills are going to waste here,” scowled Martha, quite disappointed.
“Can’t look someone up, if you don’t have a last name,” said Betty. “Sam, why not get her full name from rehab?”
“I can’t. That HIPAA privacy law prevents me from doing just that. It prohibits them from giving any personal info out on a patient. It’s illegal if you do.”
Martha scrolled her phone, stating, “HIPPA, The Health Insurance Portability and Accountability Act, enacted in 1996. It says here that it sets limits as to who can look at and receive your personal medical information.”
“Besides,” said Hazel, “I don’t think Phil would take too kindly if you confided you were doing an investigation into possible illegal goings on at his rehab center, regardless.”
Betty added, “Especially if he was involved directly.”
“After going there for so long and hearing all about that place from people in the community,” I argued, “there is no way he’d ruin his good reputation on any of this.”
“Remember, never say never,” warned Martha.
“You’ve been proven wrong before,” said Hazel.
“If this rehab investigation were to leak out to Phil’s other patients, it would be a public relations disaster for him,” I countered. “He’s worked diligently to maintain a good reputation.”
Martha nodded. “Gossip travels faster than the flu.”
“Sam’s probably right,” said Betty. “Too risky for him. Legitimate patients might think they are personally being investigated and their privacy invaded.”
Hazel asked, “Even if we found out from Phil, Marilyn’s full name, how would we know if she used a phony one?”
“Marilyn’s co-pay wouldn’t go through when she used her medical card,” I said. “I would also think that the same name would be on her charge card. Plus, they’d question if the name on her RX script and medical card didn’t match.”
“If her bill was submitted to the insurance company by rehab after her first visit and nothing jelled, wouldn’t the insurance company become suspicious?” Martha asked.
“Which means everything had to be in order before her rehab even took place,” added Betty.
The opinions everyone raised were relevant when we tried to dissect any dilemma facing us as a team. When we countered each other’s viewpoints it generated great ideas in pursuing our goal: finding and catching the culprit. In this case it might not be the correct who we were focusing on. It was probably someone off our radar. First things first.
What was Marilyn’s last name and was her story legit?
Chapter 14
Of All The Times
Of all the times for Sandra to call.
“...Yes,” I finally admitted to my friend and Literary agent after several minutes of conversation. “I’m working on my next mystery, but it’s become complicated because I’m not quite sure if we actually have something or not. I’m intrigued though.”
“I always hear that from you in the beginning. But this one is different, isn’t it? I can tell by your tone. How about a small teaser to satisfy my curiosity, so I can pass it along to the publisher?”
She asked for it...
“It involves HIPPA, you know, the medical privacy law protecting patients, doctors, and rehab facilities. Tedious...”
I was trying to bore Sandra to death with dull minutiae until I could get a better handle on what I was dealing with: medical fraud or something much worse, an unknown plot that somehow included me and/or Tony, regarding Marilyn. Neither one of us could make heads or tails of it yet.
And of course, Clay as usual was AWOL.
“Geez, Sam. The whole thing sounds so boring. You’re not thinking of going non-fiction on me again, are you?”
I recalled the memoir I’d done about the French Riviera.
“Why, is there a problem with going that route again?” I asked, defensively
“I don’t think the publisher would be too pleased. They want a predictable consistency of book successes. Your mysteries are doing well. What are your readers going to think if you change direction again?”
“Well, my memoir has gotten rave reviews. I don’t...”
Sandra cut me off. “Look, Sam, I love you to death, but don’t ruin a good thing. Just give the publisher and your readers what they want: unpredictable whodunits with your surprise endings.”
“I don’t know...” I said, stalling, letting her convince me I needed more time if I was to approach anything remotely resembling the mysteries I was known for.
“If it ain’t broke, Sam, don’t fix it,” she added lightly.
“I guess you’re right...” I said, letting my voice trail off.
“I’ll give you time to come up with another impressive idea before touching base with your publisher. They’ve all become so picky with sales, winners, and losers lately.”
“Sounds like publishing has become a risky business.”
“Yes, and for both our sakes, don’t forget that.”
I laughed. “Trust me, we’re a winning team, Sandra.”
“Remember, with fans, it’s ‘what have you done for me lately,’ okay? Give them another great whodunit, Sam.”
“Have I ever disappointed before?” I asked.
“Well, I can honestly say, not in the end you haven’t.”
This one could be it...
“Hey,” I said. “I heard this great joke, the one about the persistent Literary agent, who happened to be a friend, who kept pressing this mystery author, who...”
I heard a chuckle then a click. She’d hung up.
Not me. I wasn’t hanging up yet. I had a case to solve.
Chapter 15
Freelancing Freestyle
I walked into rehab hoping I’d see Marilyn so I could find out what was really going on. What I got was a shock to the system. On two of the therapy tables were Hazel and Betty, grunting, groaning, and stretching. My stomach fell further when I heard a familiar voice from the back room loudly cracking jokes then...
“Phil, has anyone told you how good-looking you are?”
I cringed, realizing it was troublemaker, Martha.
There was no way I was letting on I knew any of them. If anyone got wind of what my senior mischief-makers were attempting to do, help me, I was sunk. I tried to catch their eyes, but both Betty and Hazel were ignoring me completely.
Phil left the back room, his face a multi-shaded blush of red. I noticed he was loosening his collar as he approached me. Poor guy, he probably didn’t realize what hit him back there. I tried to suppress a spontaneous smile. How their sessions were arranged
was beyond me, but, evidently, not for the trio’s ring leader, Martha, a multifaceted facilitator.
The place was hopping but I couldn’t see Marilyn. Where was she? I hadn’t seen her around in a few days. Had something happened? I thought of Tony then shook my head. There’s no way he’d harm her. She was our lead.
So where was she?
I smiled again when I saw both Hazel and Betty busy chatting up people, and began having second thoughts about their involvement. Maybe it was a good idea. Being they were similar in age to a majority of the patients in physical therapy, those patients might be willing to open up to them.
If they had asked my opinion, I probably would have nixed it. But after observing them interact with others, they might accomplish more than I could by myself. They could mix and mingle while gossiping to see if anything fishy was going on. Plus, extra sets of eyes wouldn’t hurt either.
I was torn from my musings when Phil asked me, “So have you been exercising at home like you promised?”
“Depends on what you mean by exercising. There’s mental and physical. Personally, I find both exhausting.”
He shook his head, smiled then got me started on two new exercises then asked, “I’ve read two of your mysteries so far and I’m rather curious if there’s some truth to them?”
If I admitted to most of it happening, he’d think I was some kind of loon, who ran around getting into trouble at every turn. Heck, I only attracted trouble on occasion. That is, if you didn’t ask the rest of my associates.
“Oh,” I said. “Several incidents might have taken place, which of course, I elaborated on. Authors are constantly exaggerating and stretching the truth to fit their storylines.”
Was he buying any of this?
I distinctly heard someone clear their throat from nearby and glanced up to see Betty eyeballing me with a smirk. I briefly glanced over to Hazel, who gave a slight shake to her head, trying not to smile.
Before I could say more, we heard Martha call from the back therapy room, “Phil? Please come and check to see if something is wrong. This ice pack isn’t cooling me down.”
There was a smattering of laughter from the main room as Phil left me to go back there, already wiping his brow.
“I find that lady back there very witty indeed,” said a familiar voice. I was so caught up by what was going on, I never saw Anne arrive for her therapy next to me.
“Hi, how are you?” I asked, smiling over at her.
“I bet you were thinking about your next mystery, am I right?” she said, amused by me being caught off guard.
“I can see nothing gets by you, does it, Anne?”
“You’re listening to dialogue and note-taking, right?”
“It’s important to keep conversation true, slang and all.”
She leaned closer, nodding toward the back therapy room. “I think Phil has met his match with that one.” She then giggled and continued with her exercises.
I glanced back to where Phil had disappeared. I almost felt sorry for him, but then remembered the new physical torture he was putting me through and considered us just about even.
My mouth twitched. “You might be right, Anne.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed the receptionist go into the back room and a few minutes later she came out and returned to her desk out front.
A minute after that, Phil headed over to the same front office to take a phone call. Martha then appeared with her purse, never even glancing my way and left the rehab center. Betty and Hazel followed her out two minutes later.
A well-orchestrated exit.
I was curious if she’d learned anything new, but then recognized Martha would’ve subtly texted me if something had. Shortly after that, Phil walked toward me to start my next exercise. He kept me busy for the rest of my session.
Chapter 16
And Then There Was...
Disappointed nothing significant happened in rehab, I headed for my car. Considering I hadn’t heard from, nor seen Marilyn in three days, I was frustrated. Why had she touched base with me, then ignored me, and then disappeared?
More information would have made my job easier. I should have pushed for more details while I had her right there in front of me. All I had accomplished so far was speculation and conjuring up possible scenarios. But without more info...
I had my hand on my car door handle when another one covered mine. My stomach lurched. In a heartbeat, I turned to who it was. Tony was staring down at me, grim-faced.
“Tony, you just about gave me a heart attack.”
“That’s a lesson in the element-of-surprise, catching the intended victim off guard. Don’t ever forget that, Sam.”
The breeze had picked up, but that wasn’t the reason a chill snaked through me. Tony wasn’t his usual snarky self.
My eyes locked on his. “What’s going on?” I asked.
He let go. “That’s what I was about to ask you.”
I leaned on my car and crossed my arms. Something was up. “How about letting me in on what this is about?”
He fished in his pocket and handed me a piece of paper.
I read, ‘Five million in exchange for Sam.’ Although flattered at the high amount, I bristled at the very idea of it, saying, “This looks like a ransom note...mine.”
Tony nodded and fixed me with a hard stare. “It sure is.”
Perplexed, I looked up at him. “But I don’t get it.”
“Neither do I,” he said, watching me closely.
“But I...” Concern closed in on me. I couldn’t finish.
So Tony did. “Haven’t been kidnapped yet, have you?”
“Is this someone’s idea of a sick joke?” I said, my eyes now darting around the parking lot where we stood, looking for someone, something, anything that would explain this.
Tony’s mouth tightened. “Sounds like it, doesn’t it?”
Anger abruptly kicked in. “Where did you find this?”
He nodded toward my car. “On your windshield.”
I turned to look, thinking aloud, “But who put it there?”
Tony’s expression darkened, his eyes narrowed. “That’s precisely what I’d like to know.”
My mind raced, trying to think, but it kept coming up a complete blank. The ladies wouldn’t even consider this as a joke, so I dismissed their involvement completely. Who would pull a stunt like this? Was someone trying to get to Clay through me? A remote possibility, but...
Tony stood there, patiently waiting for my response.
I let out a sigh. “I haven’t a clue who’d do write this.”
“Have you rubbed anyone the wrong way lately?”
My eyes widened at his ludicrous question. “Was that a rhetorical statement? Because me rubbing people the wrong way is a well-known given. Even you know that.”
Normally, Tony would laugh at that, but he remained serious. So I knew something more was bothering him.
“Listen, Sam, I have to show you this too.”
Until then I hadn’t noticed he was holding something behind him. He moved closer and gave it to me.
I swallowed, staring at the familiar, large envelope in disbelief.
He his lips thinned in anger. “I don’t like the looks of this at all, Sam.”
Chapter 17
Documenting What?
I gaped at the large manila envelope he handed me, my anger now replaced by curiosity. “How did you get this?”
“I found it on top of your driver’s seat. As you can see from the printed sticky note attached to it, it’s for you.”
“But how did it get in my car?” I asked, but then knew.
“Another lesson to note: always lock your car,” he said.
I didn’t get it. “But why leave this particular envelope?”
“I figured you’d tell me,” said Tony. He then tapped the envelope with his forefinger. “That is your signature across the sealed flap, correct? Though the envelope’s been torn open, I haven’t read it
, but evidently someone else has.”
I searched Tony’s eyes for truth. They never wavered.
My heart skipped another beat as I stared at that manila envelope, recognizing my signature and that familiar date written across the now torn, but previously sealed flap.
“Was anyone suspicious hanging near my car?” I asked.
“I’m not sure. I got here a short while ago. But as soon as I arrived, I first spotted the note then walked over then saw that envelope inside your car addressed to you. The way it looks to me is the note and envelope are connected.”
“Tony, you’re assuming this journal is related to that note. There’s no way the two are tied together.”
“How can you say that? You haven’t read the journal.”
“Tony, it’s my old practice journal. I wrote this whole thing when I was in my early twenties.”
Tony looked confused. “But that’s over ten years ago.”
“It’s been a long time since a wildly imaginative, young woman sat by her window writing all this down.”
“I’m not following,” he said. “Writing what down?”
“I used to sit in my hammock or by my window writing. Whatever came to mind, what I saw, or heard I wrote down in this journal, no matter how minor, even a dream or two for practice to sharpen my writing skills.”
He tapped the envelope again. “Somewhere inside that might be something you documented and shouldn’t have.”
I considered his words as I stared down at the old worn journal with renewed interest.
“An astute observation,” I admitted, “but still a stretch.”
“Where did all this writing take place?”
“During one summer in Medford Lakes, New Jersey.”
“Where did you stay there?”
“A lake house going into foreclosure. As a struggling writer back then, I jumped at the temporary cheap rental.”
I thought back to that time trying to recall any kind of clue related to what happened that might’ve triggered this. Nothing jumped out. I had to reread my old journal for something, no matter how insignificant.
Too Close For Comfort (Samantha Jamison Mystery Book 9) Page 4
