“Well, it is a DVD. High tech. No, it’s in storage. I can find it for you. It may take a day or two.”
I sighed and swallowed my impatience. Pushing my luck wasn’t smart. Nothing said Mr. Patel had to give me the time of day, much less a DVD. “Thank you so much.” I pulled out a business card. “Would you call me when you find it?”
“Surely.” He nodded several times.
“Thank you. It’s very important. I really do appreciate your help.”
“You are very welcome.” He smiled and nodded.
I smiled and waved. “Bye now.”
We continued smiling, him nodding and me waving, until I was out the door.
I had an early lunch at The Blind Tiger Pub on Broad. I had a powerful hankering for their pot roast sandwich. They put roasted tomatoes, caramelized onions, Swiss cheese, and horseradish-sour cream on it, and it was to die for. But I ordered the fried green tomato caprese instead, and lingered over my salad and iced tea. I had some time to kill before Dr. Gadsden would be back from his session with Calista.
I’d asked her to move it to ten on the pretext that I needed to meet with her at twelve. The good doctor rarely stayed less than two hours. Of course, I’d canceled my appointment this morning on another pretext. I felt bad about manipulating my own client, but I needed to deal with this doctor.
The protective urge I felt towards Calista struck me as odd given that, at thirty-six, she was five years older than me. I always did my best to get results for my clients. But this was the first time I’d experienced an instinct to look after one. Something about her inspired that. It occurred to me that this could be a slippery slope, and perhaps I wasn’t the first to go down it.
I parked a block down from his Broad Street office and waited for him to return. He must’ve stopped for lunch, because it was almost two when he finally showed. I knew he was in his late fifties, and he looked his age. He was roughly five-ten, had a paunch, light brown hair, and a receding hairline. I scrambled out of the car, caught up to him, and followed him inside. He regarded me quizzically from behind square-rimmed glasses, but held the solid wood door for me.
“Thank you so much,” I said.
“Do we have an appointment?” He smiled, all courteous.
By that time, we were in his elegantly appointed lobby. A man waited in a wingback by the floor-to-ceiling windows.
I leaned in close. “No,” I whispered conspiratorially. “But I do need just a moment of your time. It’s regarding a patient whose life I’m afraid is in grave danger.” This was the truth.
He drew back and scrutinized me. “Did you try making an appointment with my receptionist?”
I glanced at her. She stood and crossed her arms.
“Yes, sir, I surely did,” I whispered. “But she declined to make me one. And this is of the utmost importance. It’s about Calista McQueen.”
The receptionist objected to the whispering. “Doctor, is everything all right? Your two o’clock is waiting.”
He squinted at me. For a moment, I was sure he was going to order me out of his office. But curiosity won the day. “I’ll be just a moment,” he said to the receptionist. He regarded me like a spider he was considering squashing, but thought might be poisonous and didn’t want to get that close. “This way.”
He walked into his private office and I followed. He sat behind his colossal desk. “What’s this all about?”
I approached his desk, but remained standing. “I told you. It’s about Calista McQueen.”
“What about Ms. McQueen? You mentioned her life was in danger?”
“Yes, it is. And she is being protected around the clock.”
“I’m happy to hear it. What can I help you with?”
“Doctor, here’s the thing. I don’t know what your relationship is to your other patients, and really, it’s not my concern.”
“I beg your—”
“But I do know, for a fact, that your relationship with Ms. McQueen has crossed several doctor-patient boundaries.”
He stood, red-faced. “Get out of my office.”
“Oh, believe you me, sir, I will not stay here one single second longer than absolutely necessary to make my point.”
“And that would be what, exactly?”
“You’ve just had your last session with Calista McQueen.”
“I most certainly have not. Who do you—”
“I’m so sorry to interrupt, but in the interest of not keeping your next patient, God help him, waiting, I need to cut to the chase. And really, who I think I am isn’t relevant. Focus. You have an inappropriate relationship with a patient. I know it, and so do you. Cut ties with her today. Refer her elsewhere, or better yet, tell her she doesn’t need more therapy.”
“I think not.” He oozed indignation.
“Here’s how this is going to go, Doctor. At five o’clock, I’m going to call Calista. If she fails to mention your sudden defection, I will be back. And next time, I will bring a Charleston police detective and a warrant. And, I will talk to a reporter about your scandalous behavior. I’ll report you to the South Carolina Board of Examiners. What do you think they’ll have to allow about you asking Calista to come and stay at your home—with your wife out of town no less?”
He started sputtering. His red face now sported splotches of purple.
“I. Have. Evidence” I glared at him like I was trying to knock him backward via telekinesis.
He dropped into his chair.
“So. We good here?” I asked.
He looked at his desk for a long moment, then nodded.
“I’ll see myself out.”
THIRTY
I spent Wednesday evening and most of Thursday comforting Calista, who was distraught over Dr. Gadsden’s decision to stop treatment. He’d told her they’d made great progress, but he’d done all he could for her. He did not recommend another therapist, for which I was grateful. Calista was not. She was accustomed to paying someone to listen to her talk. I was of the opinion that she needed to put more effort into relationships with people who didn’t charge for that.
But hells bells, who was I to say who did or didn’t need therapy? I was on shaky ground. By the time Elenore was making her bedtime tea Thursday night, Calista was calmer.
By Friday morning, I was pacing the floor of my office like a caged tiger waiting for Mr. Patel to call. I didn’t want to push him. I decided to wait until Monday. If I hadn’t heard from him by then, I’d go back over there. Or call. Calling would be less pushy. But I needed that DVD.
Calista called early in the afternoon. “We’re still going out tonight, right?” She seemed to have recovered from her initial panic over losing Dr. Gadsden.
I’d forgotten all about girls’ night. “Of course. I’m looking forward to it. You want me to pick you up?”
“Sure, that’d be swell.”
I made a couple of quick calls to Merry and Moon Unit, who were all in.
Nate wasn’t so thrilled. He looked up from his laptop. “Calista’s a client. Doesn’t this cross some sort of boundary?”
I raised my left eyebrow at him. “Since you, Blake, and Sonny think the case is closed, she’s not a client anymore, is she?”
Nate sighed. “There’s only one bar on this island. Will it put a damper on your female bonding ritual if I happen to be there?”
“You can come with us,” I said. I tried to sound enthusiastic. But really, no one ever took their boyfriends along on girls’ night out.
“No thank you. I may hang out with Blake.”
“Blake and Sonny are playing at The Pirates’ Den tonight.”
“What’s the name of their band again?”
“The Back Porch Prophets.”
“I’ve never heard them play.”
“They’re really good. You should come. You don’t have to sit with the girls. Sit up front. Blake’ll probably put you to work doing something. You can hang with the guys between sets and during karaoke.”
“Karaoke?” He made the word sound like it tasted bad.
I grinned. “Oh, yeah.”
“Are you going to sing?”
“Maybe.”
“For that alone, I will go.”
Merry, Calista, Moon Unit, and I arrived early at the Pirates’ Den and scored a table close to the stage. Before long the house was packed. I scanned the boisterous crowd for possible threats. I wanted Calista to have a good time, but I was still on my guard. We ordered a pitcher of mango margaritas and some appetizers.
Calista lifted her glass. “To my first ever girls’ night out.” She squealed and we all clinked glasses.
I took a small sip. “Hear, hear!”
Moon Unit whooped. “Your first? Honey, this is an occasion.”
We toasted again. It crossed my mind that Calista didn’t drink liquor. Apparently, she was making an exception for the evening. She seemed so happy. I was happy she was having fun. She needed this.
I remained unconvinced her troubles were over, but for that night she couldn’t have been safer. She was surrounded by law enforcement officers with a room full of posse, private security—the Marine on duty sat at the bar sipping club soda—and Nate and me. I relaxed. I needed this, too.
Merry said, “Who all is singing karaoke?”
“We all are,” I said.
Calista shook her head emphatically. “I don’t do stages.”
“Have another drink,” Merry said.
Moon Unit eyed Calista. “I always knew you’d be gorgeous with your hair and make-up done. Has anyone ever told you that you look just like Marilyn Monroe?”
I inhaled my margarita and narrowly avoided spewing it. Calista and I laughed out loud.
“What?” Moon squished up her face.
“What’s so funny?” Merry asked.
“Nothing.” I washed down that last swallow with another.
“She does look like Marilyn,” Merry said.
The band started playing, making further conversation difficult. We swayed and clapped to the music. And we worked our way through that first pitcher of margaritas.
Nate sat near the corner of the stage. He helped move things around and provided cold beer as needed. And he kept an eye on me.
Our waitress brought another pitcher of margaritas. Merry poured us all a fresh glass. “What shall we toast?”
“To Jose Cuervo!” I said.
We clinked glasses.
Blake and his buddies mostly played their own music. But they took requests. When they started playing “Someone Like You” by Van Morrison, I scanned the room. Bingo. Michael Devlin had requested that song. I knew he had. That was our song. And Michael was walking towards me with purpose.
“Uh-oh,” Merry said.
“What?” Moon Unit followed Merry’s gaze. “Oh, my goodnessss.”
“What’s wrong?” asked Calista.
“You see that tall dark and handsome thing at ten o’clock, closing in?” asked Moon Unit.
“Oh, my yes,” Calista said.
Merry said, “That’s Liz’s ex. Double ex.”
I looked at Nate. He was watching Michael. Nate downed half a beer.
Calista asked, “Is your double-ex a gentleman?”
“Yes,” I said.
“But you don’t want to dance with him because it might send the wrong message and because Nate is about to have a seizure.”
“Right,” I said.
“Maybe I can distract him.” Calista stood, finished off her margarita, and glided over to Michael. She pulled him onto the dance floor.
Michael glanced over his shoulder at me. He looked at Calista, confused. Then, ever the Southern gentleman, he put his arms around her and danced.
Merry and Moon high-fived. Nate looked at me and shook his head.
I felt just the teensiest bit cranky on account of how he seemed to think he held title to me after a romance spanning a whole week and a half.
“What’s wrong?” Merry asked.
“I’m feeling pent up,” I said.
“Oh boy. This is gonna be fun.” She refilled my glass.
“Y’all wanna sing ‘Lady Marmalade?’ They have a set of karaoke after this song,” I said.
Merry and Moon Unit hollered approval. That was our favorite girl’s number.
I watched Michael dancing with Calista. Maybe he’d ask her out on a date. She needed some normal. Michael was nothing if not normal.
The song ended. I felt a touch on my shoulder and turned to see Nate towering above me. Michael escorted Calista back to the table. He and Nate locked eyes.
Calista said, “Thank you ever so for the dance, Michael.”
“My pleasure.” He smiled at her, glared at Nate, and sauntered away.
“You girls having fun?” Nate asked.
Moon whooped again. Merry howled. Calista giggled loudly.
I looked up at him, “Hell, yeah. Come on girls.” Merry and Moon pulled Calista along and we climbed on stage. I nodded at Blake. He shook his head, grinned, and queued up “Lady Marmalade.”
It didn’t take much to get Calista comfortable onstage. The four of us channeled “four badass chicks from Moulin Rouge.” Some of our dance moves might have been the teensiest bit suggestive. But the thundercloud on Nate’s face was uncalled for.
Everyone else in the room applauded wildly. We took our bows and returned to our table. Nate was at the bar with Sonny. They picked up beers, and Nate grabbed an extra bottle. A third for Blake. They ambled over to the karaoke machine. Blake smiled and reached for his beer. Nate said something and Blake’s smile faded as he looked my way.
I drained my glass. Merry refilled it.
“Can we sing again?” Calista asked.
“Of course we can,” I said. “What do you want to sing?”
“I like country music,” Calista said. “Do you think they have ‘Before He Cheats,’ by Carrie Underwood?”
We all laughed.
“That’s our second favorite song,” Merry said.
I felt like singing something mad. Why on earth did Nate Andrews think he needed to guard his territory? I was just having fun.
He wasn’t any happier with our second number than our first. The rest of the audience was loving us. We went right from Carrie Underwood to Miranda Lambert. I caught a glimpse of Michael as we made our way back to our table. He looked every bit as pissed as Nate.
I was fed up with both of them. “Merry.”
“Yeah.”
“Tell Blake to play ‘All She Wants to do is Dance.’ Not the karaoke version—Don Henley.”
Merry’s eyes got big. “Shit.”
“Do it,” I said.
Merry hopped up. A minute later she came back to the table. “I made Coop ask. I’m betting Blake wouldn’t play it for you.”
“Why wouldn’t he,” asked Calista.
Moon Unit refilled our glasses, a gleam in her eye. “You’ll see. Cheers, y’all!”
We all toasted and drank. On the opening drumbeat, I drained my glass and stood.
My hips swayed to the electric guitar. Somebody hollered, “Hell, yeah!”
By the time the horns kicked in, I was dancing around the table, arms above my head. The crowd parted to give me room.
“Whoo-wee.” Several wolf whistles pierced the air. “That’s what I’m talking about.”
Halfway through the song I was dancing on the table.
Merry, Calista, and Moon danced in a circle around the table. We all belted out the
song. Most of the people in The Pirate’s Den were singing, which is likely the only reason my brother didn’t change the song.
Then Nate had me over his shoulder. I kicked and screamed all the way out the door.
THIRTY-ONE
I had a hellacious hangover Saturday morning. I almost didn’t answer the phone when it rang at nine. I brushed the hair out of my eyes and blinked at the screen. I didn’t recognize the number. Then it hit me. It was a Charleston number.
I answered on the last ring. “Hello?”
“Miss Talbot?”
“Yes. Mr. Patel?” I sat up.
“Yes. I found the DVD. I’m so sorry it took me this long. It wasn’t where I thought it was.”
“When can I see it?” I was fully awake.
“I’ve made you a copy. I come in to work at seven o’clock this evening. If you don’t mind coming by then, I will give it to you. I hope it helps you locate Roy Lee.”
“Me, too, Mr. Patel.” I was pretty sure if I located Roy Lee it would only serve to confirm his mamma’s worst fears. “Thank you so much for your help.”
I had twelve missed calls from Mamma. How had I slept through that? No doubt her phone had rung slap off the wall that morning.
All the clean-living folks in Stella Maris who never touched alcohol, but were nevertheless at the Pirates’ Den last night after the dinner hour, would’ve hated having to tell her I danced on a table and had been carried out of there. I would call her later. The list of things my mamma wasn’t going to have would not be a short one.
I crawled out of bed. No sign of Nate. I swallowed a couple of aspirin and climbed into the shower. The hot water helped. I needed a greasy breakfast, but didn’t feel like going into the Cracked Pot. I made myself a grilled cheese sandwich with lots of butter. Then I could manage coffee. After I had two cups in me I felt human again.
Where was Nate? His car wasn’t in the driveway. I’d be damned if I was going to call him. He had no right, nor any invitation, to treat me like his personal property. He’d been way out of line last night.
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