by D P Lyle
His forehead furrowed and he gave a single nod. “You think his clinic might not simply be a rogue operation? That these drugs might come from Europe?”
“Something like that.”
“I’ll look into it. Anything else?”
Just like that. I’ll look into it. No further explanation needed. I felt like I was imposing. Like I should apologize for even asking for his help. But he didn’t seem to mind. Just a matter of fact: I’ll look into it.
“No. That’s all.”
Dieter reappeared. Not sure where he came from or how he knew the meeting was over, but there he was, escorting me out.
Chapter 32
Divya and I sat at the kitchen counter, watching Evan cook. He was messy but definitely knew what he was doing. He had learned a lot hanging around the kitchen when we were growing up, but that wasn’t where he learned all the gourmet stuff. As with most things Evan, his cooking skills came about because of a girl. In New York. After he graduated from college and got a job. She was a secretary with an advertising firm two floors below Evan’s office and was Evan’s fascination of the moment. When he learned that she was taking lessons from a Cordon Bleu–trained chef, he of course joined the class. Good thing she wasn’t into skydiving, since heights and Evan didn’t mix well.
I think he confused the old saying that the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach with one of his own making—the way into a woman’s pants is through her stomach.
Either way, we were reaping the benefits of Evan’s culinary education.
The menu was shrimp in a butter and white wine sauce over angel-hair pasta, caramelized brussels sprouts, sliced tomatoes with pine nuts and lemon-infused olive oil, and homemade French bread. Much better than the pizza I would have ordered.
Rich aromas filled the room. Hunger rumbled in my stomach. I glanced at my watch. Jill was twenty minutes late. I was getting ready to call her when she came through the back door.
“That smells wonderful,” she said. She placed two bottles of wine on the counter. “Sorry I’m late. I got hung up at the hospital.”
“No problem,” Evan said. “You hungry?”
“Starving. What are you making?”
Evan went over the menu as he put half a stick of butter and some olive oil into a skillet and turned the gas flame on low. He retrieved a bowl of peeled and deveined shrimp from the fridge.
I opened one of the bottles and poured everybody a glass.
The brussels sprouts simmered in one skillet while the butter and olive oil bubbled in another. Evan dumped the shrimp into the butter, stirred them until they became pink, and then added a generous splash of white wine. As they simmered, he drained the pasta and placed it into a bowl, tossing it with a small amount of olive oil.
“I should open a restaurant,” Evan said.
“That would be a marriage doomed to failure,” Divya said.
“Who said anything about getting married?” Evan said.
“Owning a restaurant is a marriage. It’s twenty-four/ seven.”
“But if you did, you could never eat at another restaurant,” Jill said with a laugh.
“At least not a competitive one,” Divya added.
Evan turned off the flame beneath the shrimp. “Maybe I should reconsider.”
“Good idea,” I said.
Evan dumped the shrimp and sauce over the pasta and tossed it. “Soup’s on.”
We sat at the table and ate in silence for a few minutes before Divya said, “I think you’ve outdone yourself this time. This is excellent.”
Evan extracted his cell phone from his pocket, punched a button, and held it up.
Evan R. Lawson is right.
“Is that you, Divya?” Jill asked.
“Yes, it is,” Evan said. “I now have proof that she actually said I was right about something.”
Divya stabbed a shrimp. “He tricked me.” She popped the shrimp into her mouth.
Evan R. Lawson is right.
Divya pointed her fork at him. “I think that’s quite enough.”
Evan R. Lawson is right.
“I never get tired of hearing that,” Evan said.
“Do you know what a subdural hematoma is?” Divya asked.
“It sounds awful.”
“It is. But in your case, it might be an improvement.”
Dessert was peaches and cream with chocolate-dipped macaroons. Afterward we gathered in front of the TV to watch a movie. Evan and Divya sniped from time to time; Jill stretched out on the sofa, her head in my lap, and dozed. I found the movie boring, so I thumbed through the latest edition of The New England Journal of Medicine. It was boring, too.
It was near eleven when Evan’s cell phone chirped. He answered and mostly listened before saying, “We’ll be right there.” He snapped the phone shut.
“What is it?” I asked.
“That was Ashley. Nicole’s missing again.”
O’Brien’s Pub was a faux-Irish bar and restaurant just off Main Street in the heart of East Hampton. It nestled among other trendy bars and restaurants as well as retail outlets with names such as Tiffany, Cole Haan, Polo, and J. Crew, and of course a Starbucks coffee shop.
We parked in the rear lot and entered through the back door, which placed us in the bar area. It was insane. Standing room only. The crowd was mainly twentysomethings, mainly beautiful, and certainly rich. Silk, diamonds, and plastic surgery ruled.
We found Ashley near the bar. The noise level approached my tolerance threshold and precluded conversation, so we escorted her outside to the parking lot.
“That’s better,” I said. “Tell us what happened.”
“One minute she was here—the next she was like gone,” Ashley said. “Just like the other night.”
“What was she doing when you last saw her?” I asked.
“Sitting at the bar, talking with the bartender. Jake. We know him from school.”
“Did you talk to him?”
“Yeah. He said she sat at the bar for like a half an hour and then she said she was going to mingle.”
“He didn’t see her leave the bar, I take it.”
Ashley shook her head. “I asked. He said he didn’t really notice. He was too busy.”
“Anything odd about her behavior? Before she went missing?” Divya asked.
“She seemed a little quiet, but I just thought she was tired.”
“Did she have much to drink?” Evan asked.
“A couple glasses of wine, but she wasn’t drunk or anything.” Ashley’s cell phone buzzed. “Maybe that’s her.” She pulled out her phone, stared at the screen for a second, and then dropped it back into her purse. “Not her.”
I guessed whoever it was would have to call back.
“Does she hang out at any of the other bars around here?” I asked.
Ashley tossed her hair over one shoulder. “Not really. I mean like we go to all of them at some time or another. We don’t really have a favorite.”
Déjà vu all over again.
Another midnight search through bars and restaurants.
Nicole was becoming predictably unpredictable.
Might as well get to it.
We divided into teams. Divya and Jill headed up the block one way, while Ashley, Evan, and I headed the other.
It wasn’t until we reached the fourth bar, a place called the Seafoam Tavern, that we got lucky. A waitress, a young redhead named Chloe, had seen Nicole half an hour earlier. She recognized her from the picture that Evan had on his cell phone. Chloe said that Nicole had been with a guy named Bobby Richter.
“Do you know him?” I asked. “This Bobby Richter guy?”
“Sure. He’s one of our regulars.”
Somebody waved her toward their table and she started to leave, but I grabbed her arm. “Just a couple questions?”
She looked around. “We’re really busy and I need to get to work.”
“Is this guy a good guy or what?”
“Absolutely.
He’s a cool dude. I’ve known him for years.” Now her eyes narrowed. “Is something wrong?”
“Probably not. We’re just trying to find Nicole.”
“That’s not her name,” Chloe said. “The girl in the picture? I served her and Bobby some wine. He introduced us. She said her name was Tiffany.”
“Are you sure we’re talking about the same girl?”
“Let me look at her picture again.”
Evan showed the picture again. She studied it, tilting her head slightly, forehead furrowed. Ashley pulled up another picture of Nicole on her phone.
“Does this help?”
“Yes. No doubt. That’s the girl Bobby was with. She said her name was Tiffany. I’m certain of that.” Again she looked around. “I’ve got to get back to work.”
“One more question. Did you see them leave together?”
She shook her head. “After I served them, I never saw them again.” She looked around the room. “This place is pretty crazy, so they could’ve left at any time.”
“Last question, I promise. Do you know how to reach Bobby?”
“I don’t have a phone number, but I know where he lives. It’s very close. Over off Dunemere Lane.”
Chapter 33
I called Divya as we left the Seafoam Tavern. We met Jill and her back at O’Brien’s Pub, climbed into Divya’s SUV, and headed south on Main Street. Just beyond the John Drew Theater at Guild Hall, we turned toward the ocean on Dunemere Lane. Modest homes flanked the narrow street. Modest by Hampton standards. We quickly found Bobby Richter’s place and turned into the driveway, parking near an outbuilding that could’ve been a garage or maybe a storage unit. Hard to tell in the dark.
A front-porch light illuminated the entry area, the house itself mostly dark. I could see a faint light through the front window but no activity inside. I rang the buzzer. Nothing. I rang it again and then heard footsteps. The door swung open.
“Yes?”
The young man standing in the doorway appeared to be twentysomething. He wore jeans, frayed around the cuffs, no shoes, and an untucked blue shirt. He held a glass of wine in his hand.
“Bobby Richter?” I asked.
He hesitated for a minute as his gaze traveled over each of us. I could see the confusion in his eyes. Finally he looked back at me. “Yes. Who are you?”
“I’m Hank. We’re looking for a friend of ours. We believe she’s here. Nicole Crompton.”
He shook his head. “Don’t know her.”
“What about Tiffany?” I asked. “Anyone here by that name?”
Again he hesitated and looked me up and down. “Who are you?”
“A friend of Nicole’s. Or Tiffany’s. She could be using either name.”
“I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He started to push the door closed. I stopped him.
“The girl we’re looking for might be confused. She might be ill.”
“What do you mean by ill?”
Before I could answer, Evan jumped in. “She has a brain disease. A contagious brain disease.”
I turned and looked at him. Where did that come from?
“Contagious?” Bobby asked.
“Please ignore my brother,” I said. “I’m Dr. Hank Lawson. Nicole, the girl we’re looking for, might have a medical condition that causes confusion.”
“She doesn’t seem confused to me,” Bobby said.
“So she’s here?”
“I don’t know anybody named Nicole, but I do have a friend here whose name is Tiffany.”
“Can we talk to her?”
“Look, I’m feeling a little uncomfortable here. You people show up here late at night and start talking about contagious diseases and confused women. I think it might be best if you leave.”
Again he started to push the door closed and again I stopped him.
“Bobby, the girl that you have here is not who you think she is. She’s engaged to be married this weekend and she has some type of medical problem that causes confusion. I need to see her and talk to her.”
“I don’t see that happening.”
“If you’d like, I can call the police,” I said.
Concern crept into his face. His eyes narrowed and his lips tightened slightly. “Look, I haven’t done anything wrong. This girl . . . she told me her name was Tiffany . . . seems fine to me.”
“Just let us talk to her,” I said. “We can resolve all this.”
He nodded. “Just a sec.”
He turned and walked across the living room and disappeared through a doorway, returning a minute later with Nicole in tow. She had a glass of wine in her hand and a smile on her face as she walked up to the front door.
“Nicole?” I asked.
She gave me a puzzled look. “Nicole? My name is Tiffany.”
“Do you remember me?” I asked.
She took a step forward and looked at me closely and then shook her head. “No. Should I?”
“I’m Dr. Lawson. Your grandmother’s doctor.”
“My grandmother? I don’t think I have a grandmother.” Her brow creased and she seemed to be thinking of something. “At least I don’t think I do.”
“Why don’t you come with us and let us take you home?”
Her brow creased further. “Home?”
“Your grandmother’s house? Ellie Wentworth?”
Now Bobby looked concerned. He looked at Nicole.
“You didn’t tell me Eleanor Wentworth was your grandmother.”
“I don’t know anybody by that name,” Nicole said. “I don’t know who any of you are. I don’t know why you’re here.”
“Nicole,” Ashley said. “You know who I am, don’t you?”
Nicole shook her head. “I’ve never seen you before. Who are you? Who are any of you?”
“You’re having another one of your spells,” Ashley said.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m fine. My name is not Nicole. I do not know any of you and I don’t know anyone named Wentworth.”
I looked at Bobby. “See what I mean?”
“What I see is that she makes more sense than any of you do. She’s a very pleasant young lady. We met tonight. We were having a glass of wine and then you guys come along with this outlandish story about her being sick and being someone other than who she is.”
Hard to argue with that logic, since it made much more sense than the truth did. From Bobby Richter’s perspective he was doing the right thing. Protecting Nicole, who was too confused to protect herself. Chloe was right. He was a good guy.
But he didn’t truly understand the situation.
“We’re telling you the truth,” I said. “I’m a physician and I’m here to help Nicole. She is ill. She needs medical care. If you interfere with that, you could set yourself up for trouble.”
“So, what? You think I should just let her walk out of here with you? Someone I don’t know? Someone she doesn’t know?”
“We could call her grandmother, if you want,” Divya said. “That would resolve this.”
“Or I could call the police,” Bobby said.
“Yes, you could,” I said. “But I don’t think her grandmother would want that. I think she would prefer that this was handled discreetly.”
“What about your ring?” Divya asked. “Your engagement ring? From Robert?”
Nicole looked at the four-carat rock. “This is my ring. I don’t know anyone named Robert.”
“Where did you get the ring?”
Nicole hesitated as if thinking. “I don’t know.”
“Driver’s license.” It was Evan. “Why don’t we look at your driver’s license?”
Sometimes my brother comes up with good ideas. Not often, but sometimes. I was mad at myself for not thinking of it first.
“You don’t believe me?” Nicole said. “You don’t believe I know who I am?”
“What’s the harm in showing us your driver’s license?” I asked.
/> “If that’s what it takes to get you people to leave.” She turned and disappeared into the house.
“Look, Bobby,” I said, “I know this sounds bizarre. Nicole is under a lot of pressure from her upcoming wedding and she’s been having episodes of confusion and disorientation. I’m not sure what the cause is yet, but we need to get her safely home and then figure it out.”
Nicole returned with her purse. She rummaged inside until she found her wallet and pulled it out, handing it to me. I opened it to reveal her New York State driver’s license.
Her license photo looked nothing like mine. For sure nothing like Evan’s. Mine made me look fourteen. School picture. Evan? Maybe some freak from one of those Halloween movies. Hair wind spiked, one eye closed, the other shifted far left, probably checking out some babe in the next line, mouth open. To cut the photographer some slack, catching Evan with his mouth closed was no easy task.
Nicole’s photo was a different story. Cover of Vogue different. She even looked beautiful to the DMV camera. The name on the license: Nicole Anne Crompton. I turned the wallet around and showed it to Bobby.
“Satisfied?”
He handed the wallet back to Nicole. She studied it for a minute and then said, “This isn’t mine.”
“Really? Look at the photo.”
“That’s me, but I’m not this Nicole person.”
I glanced at Bobby.
“I didn’t do anything wrong,” he said. “She told me her name was Tiffany. Nothing happened. We’re just having a glass of wine and talking.”
“Relax,” I said. “Everything’s fine. We’ll take Nicole back to her grandmother’s place.”
The expression on his face was a mixture of confusion and relief. I imagined anyone would be a bit confused by this entire scenario. A group of people show up on your doorstep and tell you that the girl you’re with is not who you think she is and, in fact, isn’t who she thinks she is. I didn’t even understand what was going on, so I’m sure poor Bobby Richter didn’t have a clue.
It took twenty minutes of arguing, cajoling, and pleading to get Nicole into the car. Even Bobby wavered, saying that if she didn’t want to go, perhaps she should stay. There was no way that would happen. I wouldn’t abandon a confused and disoriented young woman at the home of someone I didn’t know, even if Bobby did seem like a decent enough guy, even if Chloe the waitress thought he was a “cool dude.”
