Lions and Tigers and Murder, Oh My

by Denise Swanson

  When Elexus had offered to hire the new receptionist, Noah had been thrilled. He hated interviewing potential staff and was uncomfortable dealing with personnel issues. Elexus had no such concerns dealing with their workforce.

  If it was the new receptionist with whom Eunice was angry, Noah hoped Elexus would handle the matter before he officially went on duty. With that in mind, Noah slipped into his office and closed the door. He switched on his computer, typed in his password, and opened up the list of the afternoon’s appointments.

  He liked to review the day’s patients and take a couple of minutes to prepare himself if there were any possibility of a serious ailment coming at him. For the most part, he treated acute problems and managed chronic medical conditions. Anything more severe was referred to a specialist, and emergencies were transported by ambulance to the county hospital. But there was always that one individual who didn’t reveal the extent of his or her illness until all hell was about to break loose.

  Today’s schedule looked fairly typical, starting with Donald McGowan’s drug and alcohol screening. Mac was the golf pro at the local country club, and after some issues with substance abuse that had endangered club members, his employers had negotiated the monthly tests. Mac had sought help with his addictions and was more than willing to pee into a cup in order to keep his job.

  In a metropolitan or suburban setting, Mac would go to a facility that specialized in drug and alcohol checks. But in rural Missouri his only nearby options were the county hospital, which was forty minutes away, or Noah’s practice. Mac chose the clinic.

  His only requests were that he deal directly with a doctor rather than a physician assistant or nurse or tech and that the doctor personally send the specimen to the lab and review the results. Because Mac seemed like a nice guy and the country club was willing to pay for the service, Noah accommodated him.

  After reviewing the rest of the afternoon’s appointments, Noah shut down his laptop, put on his white lab coat, and left his office. As he walked from the examination and office area into the waiting room, he saw Eunice facing the reception desk. The petite blonde’s shoulders were rigid and she was shouting.

  Stepping around the nurse, he came to an abrupt halt and closed his eyes. When he opened them and looked again, the woman perched behind the check-in counter was still Jake Del Vecchio’s ex-wife, Meg. What in the hell was she doing there? She was a U.S. Marshal, for crying out loud.

  Granted, she was on medical leave, but why would she have taken a job as a receptionist? That had to be way too tame for her, not to mention severely underutilizing her abilities, since it was unlikely she’d have to take down any criminals or escort a drug king to prison while working in Noah’s practice.

  Instead of wearing the pale pink smock the clinic provided, Meg had on a dark turtleneck and black blazer. She didn’t appear as gaunt as she had when Noah had met her in September, and the long red hair framing her beautiful face had regained its luster.

  Pulling him out of his thoughts, Eunice clutched Noah’s arm and demanded, “Doctor, please instruct our new employee on proper dress for the clinic.” The wiry middle-aged nurse glared. “She won’t listen to me.”

  Meg’s pretty green eyes sparkled as she gazed at Noah and said, “You can’t really expect a grown woman to wear something decorated with kittens and puppies. Especially if it’s the color of a baby’s ass.”

  “Language,” Eunice snapped. “We do not curse in this practice, and as I’ve been telling you all day, we wear pastels to make the patients comfortable.” She scowled, wrinkles bracketing her lips. “Why can’t you just do as you’re told?”

  “Because I don’t take orders from petty tyrants.” Meg leaned forward, clearly ready to go a couple more rounds with the older woman.

  “Eunice”—Noah decided he’d better step in before his nurse and new receptionist came to blows—“Can you get my first appointment settled in an examination room while I sort this out with Ms. . . .”

  “Del Vecchio,” Meg supplied. At Noah’s raised brows, she added, “Hey, Jake was soooo insistent that I take his name, I saw no reason to go to all the trouble to change it back after the divorce.”

  “I can certainly get your patient ready for you, Doctor,” Eunice said sweetly, patting her short hair. “But even nurses can’t fix stupid.” She shot Meg a death stare and added, “Although we can sedate it.”

  “I’m busy.” Meg fluttered her fingers at Eunice. “And you’re ugly.” Pitching her voice into ditzy-blonde range, she added, “Have a totally awesome day.”

  As the nurse stalked into the waiting room, she stage-whispered, “Doctor, you need to get rid of the Wicked Witch of the Chest before I toss a urine sample at her and she melts.”

  Noah hid his grin. Meg did indeed have rather large breasts for her slender frame. And he couldn’t help noticing how well the thin knit of her sweater molded to those enticing curves.

  Damn it! What was he doing ogling the receptionist? Shaking his head, he said, “What color smock would you like?” Although he couldn’t believe he had to deal with this kind of bullcrap, Noah kept his tone mild.

  “Black.” Meg crossed her arms. “If I have to, dark navy. I don’t do colors.”

  “You do if you want this job.” Noah clenched his jaw. “Clinic policy mandates soft colors. Right now you look as if you should be working in a funeral home rather than a medical clinic.”

  Meg’s cheeks turned red and her thick dark lashes closed. Her glossy pink lips moved, and it was clear she was counting. Finally, she took a deep breath, unclenched her fists, and looked at him.

  “Blue or green,” Meg muttered between clenched teeth. “No prints.”

  “Fine. There should be a smock like that in the storeroom. Find it, put it on, and stop antagonizing Eunice.”

  “She’s an asshole.” Meg’s lips made a moue of distaste. “Or maybe she just has rectal-cranial inversion and you need to do some surgery.”

  Noah swallowed a chuckle, turned to go, then couldn’t stop himself from asking, “Why are you working here?”

  “None of your fu—” Meg bit off the word, then said, “Freaking business. Dr. R hired me. Check with her if you have any questions.”

  “I certainly plan to do that.” Noah wondered why the woman irritated him so much. He routinely dealt with difficult patients without getting annoyed. “I take it this is just temporary?”

  “Look,” Meg said, then stopped.

  She pulled her hair into a ponytail, fastening it with an elastic band from her pocket, and Noah frowned, missing the sleek curtain enveloping her shoulders.

  “Yes?” he asked.

  “I know you and Jake are in some kind of pissing war over that woman you’re both so gaga over, but I promise you I can do this job.” Meg shot him an impish grin. “Besides. Look at it this way—the longer I’m around, the more chance there is that Dev will blow her cool, have a big fight with Jake, and you’ll win by default.”

  “So you want your ex-husband back?” Noah asked, strangely disappointed.

  “God, no.” Meg laughed. “The only good thing between Jake and me was the sex, and that burned out real quick. I was an idiot to marry him.”

  “But you don’t mind ruining his chances with another woman?”

  “Nope.” Meg shrugged. “If my mere presence can come between them, I’m doing him a favor. Better now than after a couple of kids.”

  “That’s pretty harsh. Don’t you believe in second chances and true love overcoming all?” Noah asked, a disturbing thought niggling in the back of his mind. He’d allowed his mother to break up his relationship with Dev. Granted, he’d been a teenager, but . . .

  Suddenly all expression was wiped from Meg’s face and she said, “Are you seeing patients today, Doctor? Or just giving me a hard time?”

  Before he could answer, the phone rang and Meg answ
ered. She listened, then quickly handed him the receiver and said, “You’d better take this.”

  “Doctor?” A frantic voice blared in Noah’s ear. “I caught my two-year-old eating ants. Should I bring him to the emergency room?”

  “That’s probably not necessary.” Noah frowned. “Just keep an eye on him.”

  “Yeah. Okay.” The man paused. “I gave him insect poisoning to kill the ants, so I figured there was no real problem.”

  “Call nine-one-one immediately!” Noah yelled. “Take the can of poison with you.”

  Noah disconnected so the man could call for the ambulance. He’d thought he’d heard everything, but his patients continued to astound him.

  As he thought about the call, Meg gestured for him to leave and said, “Are you just going to stand there all day? Some of us would like to keep on schedule.”

  Without another word, Noah walked away. What had happened? They’d gotten past the smock issue and they’d been having a decent conversation. Then suddenly, just before the phone rang, some kind of switch had flipped and Meg had resumed her snotty persona. What had triggered her change?

  Shrugging, Noah headed for the corridor leading to the examination rooms, but before he went through the door, Yale Gordon, the physician assistant, rushed up to him and said, “Hey, Doc. We’ve got trouble. You gotta see this.”

  “What’s up?” Noah followed the PA into the waiting room and stared at the steady stream of people filing through the entrance, heading toward the check-in desk.

  Generally, there were three patients scheduled per hour—one each for the doctor and the PA, and one being prepped by the nurse.

  Yale grimaced. “Apparently, there was some sort of leak at the Yager aerosol factory. A few workers were taken to the hospital by ambulance, but the foreman loaded the rest on a company bus and brought them here.”

  “What are the symptoms?” Noah asked, studying the folks lined up at the desk.

  Several were scratching their arms and necks while others were coughing and rubbing their eyes.

  “Diarrhea and headaches mostly,” the PA reported. “The man leaning against the wall is complaining of chest tightness and shortness of breath.”

  “Why didn’t the EMTs take him?” Noah asked. “He should be at the hospital.”

  “Until a few minutes ago, he was asymptomatic.” Yale shrugged. “Do you want to see him first?”

  “Yes.” Noah nodded. “Put him in exam one. Then check if Elexus is still around. Also ask whatever first-shift staff hasn’t left yet to stay.”

  “Will do.”

  Noah did a quick head count, then mentally scanned the list he’d just looked at in his office. “In the meantime, I’ll have Ms. Del Vecchio reschedule as many of today’s appointments as we can.”

  “I’ll let everyone know.” Yale hurried away.

  It took the rest of the afternoon, but after triaging the waiting patients, Noah, Elexus, and Yale managed to treat all the factory workers, as well as the regularly booked folks who couldn’t be postponed. The factory workers all responded well to medication, and only one other man had to be sent to the hospital.

  It was a quarter to seven when Noah watched the last patient leave. Most of the first-shift staff who had hung around to help went home at five with Elexus, and Noah had told Yale to go soon afterward.

  As Noah took off his white jacket, he realized he’d never seen Donald McGowan. Maybe Mac had decided to allow a tech to draw his blood this time rather than wait around. Noah wrinkled his brow. At least he hoped that was what happened. It would be a shame if the golf pro hadn’t shown up because he was abusing alcohol and drugs again.

  CHAPTER 6

  When Jake and I got back to town, I showed him his new official parking spot in the lot behind my building. I could tell by the way that his cheek creased that he thought I was being a bit controlling, but smart man that he was, he didn’t say a word.

  As we walked across the gravel to the rear entrance, I was glad that the wind had died down to a pleasant breeze, the cold drizzle had stopped, and the sun was peeking out from behind the clouds. It would be a nice afternoon, which should help business.

  Mondays were tricky. Most of the week, early afternoon—between lunch and school dismissal—was usually slow. Sometimes I didn’t see a single customer in the afternoon until three o’clock when the teens came in for their snacks. But on Mondays, because the store had been closed for the past forty-four hours, there was always a chance that it would be crowded.

  Jake and I entered through the back room. It was a few minutes before twelve, and he immediately headed upstairs to make some calls in his quest to locate the lovely Mrs. Winston. For me, it was time to return my attention to the dime store.

  After putting my purse in my desk, I locked it, then opened the safe and retrieved the money drawer. Even though most customers nowadays used credit cards, there were still a lot of folks that preferred cash. Which required me to keep a good supply of small-denomination currency available to make change.

  I went out front, turned on all the lights, and prepared to open up the store. When I bought the place from the Thornbee twins, who at the age of ninety-one had decided to sell the five-and-dime and retire, I kept as much of the vintage feel as I could.

  The sisters’ only other offer had come from a pharmacy chain, and because their grandfather had built the dime store when Shadow Bend was no more than a stagecoach stop, they accepted my much lower bid. Their sole condition was that I retain the original charm of the place. And I was more than happy to meet that demand.

  Owning a small-town dime store rather than working as a financial consultant had lowered my income level from being able to buy whatever I wanted to some months barely being able to pay for my health insurance. However, I never regretted my decision, because it had allowed me the freedom to care for my grandmother.

  A little over two years ago, I had noticed that Gran had begun to have some memory issues. I discussed my concerns with her doctor, and after several months of observation, medication, and journaling, he informed me that in order to be safe in her own home, Birdie needed me to be around more.

  At that moment, I knew I had to find an alternative way to earn a living. And when I heard that Thornbee’s was for sale, I made my decision. As soon as the dime store purchase was finalized, I handed in my two weeks’ notice at Stramp Investments.

  Soon afterward, my boss, Ronald Stramp, was arrested. Some people thought I’d resigned from my job because I found out that he was a crook, and that he’d paid for my silence. But I’d been as surprised as the rest of the world when his Ponzi scheme was revealed.

  Stramp maintained he wasn’t guilty. Ironically, my father also claimed he had been set up and was innocent of both manslaughter and bank embezzlement. The difference was that my dad really had been framed. Stramp hadn’t. But no one believed either of them.

  However, while my father had spent thirteen years behind bars before proof of his innocence came to light, the jury at my boss’s trial acquitted him. Predictably, the people Stramp had bamboozled out of millions were incensed that he didn’t go to jail. And just as predictably, most people blamed me for his freedom.

  Sadly, because I hadn’t been aware of Stramp’s scam, I hadn’t been able to testify about his scheme. It killed me that my ignorance allowed him to get away with his crime, but it was almost worse that I had been so dumb that I’d never noticed what he was doing.

  My only defense was that Stramp was an extremely secretive and clever man. Both of which he proved by disappearing the minute his trial was over. And he’d taken his ill-gotten gains with him. All efforts to recover the money he’d conned from hundreds of individuals had failed. There were civil suits pending, but no defendant to sue.

  A rapping on the dime store’s glass door brought me back from the past, and I hastily unlocked the entrance. The
re were several shoppers waiting for me to let them in, and I stepped aside to avoid the stampede.

  I wasn’t sure why they were in such a hurry. Maybe they were running errands on their lunch hour. But their reasons didn’t matter. As I moved behind the checkout counter, I enjoyed the excited voices.

  The cheerful hubbub wasn’t muffled by any acoustical tile or cork matting. Instead, the old tin ceiling and hardwood floors resonated with clicking heels, laughter, and the wonderful sound of people socializing.

  When I’d bought the place, I’d also purchased the adjoining building and knocked out the shared wall. That one renovation had doubled the store’s interior. Then recently, when the owner of a mega successful cupcake company decided to hold a baking contest in Shadow Bend and use my second floor for the event, that area had been remodeled, too.

  In addition to Jake’s office suite, I used the added space as a teen lounge where the after-school crowd could hang out. Provided, of course, they bought their drinks and munchies from my soda fountain.

  Working steadily, I helped shoppers find items, cleaned up messes created when people rummaged through my carefully arranged stacks of merchandise, and, my favorite, rang up purchases on the old brass cash register. Its distinctive dinging always made me smile.

  At one o’clock, my student clerk, Taryn Wenzel, showed up. On the recommendation of Mrs. Zeigler, the high school principal, I had hired him from the vocational education program. After losing my two previous clerks—one to college and one for less auspicious reasons—I’d had to take on a couple of new staff members. My father was filling one vacancy, and Taryn the second.

  I had no idea why he was in voc-ed, since he’d made it clear he’d be attending the University of Central Missouri’s software engineering program when he graduated. When I asked, he mumbled something about planning to own his own company and wanting practical experience in running a small business.

  I hadn’t pursued the matter because, frankly, I didn’t care. As long as he did what he was told and didn’t steal from me, I was a happy camper.