Royal Pains : Sick Rich (9781101559536) (12 page)

“I don't see them,” one of the boys said.

“Chill, dude,” another one said. “They'll be here.”

Evan watched them as they continued toward the far end of the lot and then returned his gaze to the flat, peaceful ocean. He recalled sitting out there with Danielle, gently rocking on the waves. He remembered the thrill of actually riding the board. The speed he reached, even on the face of a small wave, was amazing. He couldn't imagine riding the kinds of waves Danielle surfed. He had seen them on TV, but now he had a new appreciation for what surfers actually did.

Riding that one wave would have made the day perfect had he not crashed into Danielle. It was still way cool.

As he turned toward his car he saw the three boys standing beside the black van he had seen before, talking with the same stringy-haired couple. The girl and one of the boys exchanged something. Evan couldn't tell what from where he stood, but he had a pretty good idea. She stuffed something into the back pocket of her jeans as the boys turned and walked away.

Evan climbed into his car and drove toward them. By the time he reached the van, the boys were gone. He pulled up next to the couple.

“What are you doing?” Evan asked.

“None of your business,” the guy said.

He and the girl climbed into the van and drove away. Only after they had left the lot and melted into traffic did Evan realize he should have gotten their license plate number. How stupid. How unspylike.

Evan R. Lawson, superspy, suddenly didn't feel so superspyish.

Chapter 15

After I repaired the young lady's minor forehead laceration and sent her and her mom on their way, with a promise that either Divya or I would stop by their home to remove the stitches in five days, Jill, Divya, and I discussed how best to set up our booth. This was going well until my cell phone rang. It was Evan. He was having wardrobe issues. Something about his spy cape not looking right or not fitting right or not creating the proper image. I could barely hear him as his voice came and went. I knew he had me on speakerphone and I pictured him flitting around the room as he talked. I finally managed to get a few words in and told him that his costume issues weren't a high priority right now.

“But if this doesn't work I have to decide on something else.” He had now picked up his cell phone and his voice was clearer.

“Evan, we're a bit busy. I'm sure you can figure out your costume.”

“Costume?” Jill asked.

Evan obviously heard her. “Is that Jill? Let me talk to her. She'll know what to do.”

I punched the speakerphone button on my cell. “Evan's having problems with his costume and wants to ask your advice.”

“I thought his costume was all settled,” Jill said.

I shrugged. “You know Evan.”

“What's that supposed to mean?” Evan asked.

“That you're a royal pain.”

“What's the problem?” Jill asked.

Evan went on about how this didn't fit or that didn't look right or this other thing looked silly. Both Jill and I tried to settle him down, but it was a war of attrition and Evan usually won those. I finally said that Jill was busy, but Divya and I would come by as soon as we could. Then I closed my phone and slipped it back into my pocket.

“Sounds like a house call,” Jill said with a laugh. “Or should I say ‘home call'?”

“More like a psychotherapy visit.”

“Better you than me.”

“Unfortunately,” Divya said, “I get dragged into it, too.”

“Guilt by association,” Jill said.

“Or maybe collateral damage,” I offered.

“Let's go,” Divya said. “The sooner we deal with this the sooner we can get our work done.”

Divya and I began repacking the medical bag.

“Are we still on for dinner tonight?” Jill asked me.

“Sure.”

“What time?”

“Around six thirty.” I looked at Divya. “Join us. We're going to that new Italian place.”

“No. I don't want to intrude.”

“Intrude?” Jill asked. “You could never do that. Please come.”

Divya hesitated a beat and then said, “Okay. I'll meet you there.”

“Are you going to pick me up or should I meet you at your place?” Jill asked.

“Either way is fine with me.”

Jill hooked her arm in mine. “Picking me up might seem too much like a real date.”

“It is a real date.”

“Are you getting me flowers?”

“Now you're pushing it.”

“Then it's not a real date. I'll be at your place at six.”

“You sure?”

“I'm sure.” She gave me a playful slap on the backside. “Go help Evan. I have a lot to do here and I better get to it if I'm going be ready on time.”

“Are you sure we shouldn't stay around and help?”

“I can handle it. Don't worry.”

“Are you saying I'm in the way?”

“Let's say you're distracting.”

“Hmm. I like the sound of that.”

Jill rolled her eyes. “Divya, get him out of here.”

Divya grabbed my arm and pulled me toward the van. “Let's go get Evan's therapy session done,” she said. “The longer we wait, the worse it'll be.”

True. Evan could whip himself into a frenzy over anything. Even a costume.

Before going to Shadow Pond and dealing with Evan's imaginary emergency, we swung by Kevin Moxley's house. I know we were taking a risk by letting Evan stew a bit longer, but I wanted to see Kevin first. With any luck Evan would exhaust himself before we got there and be easier to handle. Sometimes procrastination is a good thing. Hopefully this would be one of those times.

Rosemary Moxley beamed when she opened the door.

“Dr. Lawson, Divya. I'm so glad you came by.”

“Is everything okay?” I asked.

“Absolutely.” She was over-the-top happy. Almost giddy. “Please come in.”

“And Kevin?” I asked. “He's okay?”

“Never better. Thanks to you and those two police officers.”

She led us into the living room and sat down on the sofa, while Divya and I took the two flanking chairs.

“It's like the light in his eyes flipped back on,” Rosemary continued. “I think your little photo montage—he showed it to me—got his attention. Then Sergeant McCutcheon scared him half to death.”

“Sometimes that's what teenagers need,” Divya said.

“Well, it worked for Kevin. He apologized for everything and swore he would never do that stuff, or anything else, ever again. He cleaned his room, did all the dishes, and even swept the pool deck. Without me asking him to.”

“That's great,” I said.

“He's talking about getting back into sports as soon as school starts. He even called his coaches and apologized to them.”

“Is he here?”

“In his room. I'll get him.”

I stood. “Let me go talk with him.”

“Sure.” She looked at Divya. “I'm sorry. I'm so wrapped up in Kevin I forgot to offer you anything to drink.”

“Not necessary,” Divya said.

“I just made some fresh coffee.”

“Okay.”

I left Divya and Rosemary and walked down the hallway to Kevin's room. The door stood open, a good sign, meaning he didn't have secrets to keep. Kevin sat at his desk, his back to me, hunched over an open book. I rapped a knuckle on the doorframe.

“Kevin?”

He turned. “Dr. Lawson.”

“Your mom tells me you've decided school and sports are back on your radar.”

He nodded his head. “I can't believe how stupid I was.”

I sat on the bed next to his chair. I saw that the book he had been studying was an algebra text. “How did you come to that conclusion?”

“Look.” He waved a hand around the room. “I have a great room. My own computer. A great mom. I go to one of the best schools.”

“All true.”

“And I thought about all the stoners I go to school with. They're brain-dead losers. I don't want to be that dude. I miss my friends and I miss sports. School, too.”

“And the algebra book? Getting a head start on next year?”

“I wish. Trying to catch up on all the stuff I should've learned last year.”

“You're making smart choices, Kevin. That'll pay off in the long run. And I know your mom is thrilled.”

He nodded. “Thank you. The pictures you showed me were freaky. I scouted out some more. On the Internet. That stuff will mess you up.”

Yes, it will. And that's not the half of it.

When I returned to the living room, I saw that Rosemary's eyes were red and glassy with tears.

“What's the matter?” I asked.

“Nothing now,” Rosemary said. “But I was losing him. You talked some sense into him.”

“I merely showed him where he was headed if he didn't take control. I think it scared him.”

She dabbed at her eyes with a crumpled napkin. “He's a good boy.”

“Yes, he is. And he'll be fine, I think.”

“It doesn't look right,” Evan said.

Evan was in full wardrobe panic. On the basis of his earlier phone call and what I could see before me, he was having issues with the cape that came with his colonial spy outfit. He kept spinning, the chocolate brown cape flaring around him.

“It looks just fine,” Divya said. “Quit spinning around before you knock something off the table.” She crossed her arms. “Tell him,” she said to me.

“Tell him what?” I said. “That he's an idiot?”

“That, too. But tell him that the cape is just fine.”

“Looks okay to me.”

Evan did a complete three-sixty and as he did he overturned a candle that sat on the coffee table. Fortunately it wasn't lit.

Divya walked over and righted it. “I told you not to do that.”

“Perhaps you could exchange it for a red one,” I said. “Then you could go as Little Red Riding Hood.”

“Funny,” Evan said.

Divya laughed. “Maybe a powder blue one with a shepherd's crook and you could be Little Bo Peep.”

“Still not funny. But look, I do have this cool cane.” Evan picked up a black cane with a faux crystal knob on the end. He began to twist the crystal and soon it came off. “It has a secret compartment here for hiding messages.”

“Perhaps cyanide might be more appropriate,” Divya said.

Evan ignored her and went on about the cane. About how he could hide a weapon in the point. Maybe one that retracted like a switchblade. Or maybe even a spring-loaded dart gun. Or maybe even a real gun. He was wound up now.

“You do know this is just a costume?” I asked.

“Still, a knife blade or something would be cool.”

“Did you say ‘fool'?” Divya said.

“I think maybe just walking around with it will be cool enough,” I said. “I wouldn't want you doing any harm to yourself. Or anyone else.”

Divya's brow furrowed as she circled Evan, examining his outfit. “Come to think of it, you look a bit like a magician.” She snapped her fingers. “I have it. You could be the Great Evandini.”

“And make things disappear,” I said. “Like yourself.”

Evan walked to the wall mirror near the entrance door and did a couple of turns. “It could be a magician's cape.”

“Evan was big into magic as a kid,” I said.

“Really?” Divya asked.

“You bet,” Evan said, spinning toward her. “Dad bought me this kit. I could do card tricks, make rubber balls disappear and reappear, and even do that stuff with the scarves up your sleeve.”

“It's true,” I said. “He actually got quite good at it. For a while anyway.”

“There's a story there.”

“No, there isn't,” Evan said.

“Actually there is. Evan wanted a rabbit and a top hat. He got the hat but not the rabbit. So he pouted for a while and . . .”

“I didn't pout.”

“And you never got a rabbit either.”

“Poor Evan.” Divya's lower lip drooped in an exaggerated pout.

“So he gave up magic,” I said.

“You can't be a good magician without a rabbit,” Evan said.

“Sure you can,” Divya said. “You can pull other things out of a hat.”

“And don't forget making stuff disappear,” I said.

Evan spread the cape wide with one hand and with the other raised the cane high, tilting it back and forth as he waved it over Divya's head. “Begone.”

Divya stood there staring at him. He stared back, as if he was surprised that she actually hadn't disappeared in a puff of smoke. Sometimes my brother believes his own shtick.

“Maybe you should stick with the scarf tricks,” Divya said.

“Or you could be my assistant and I could saw you in half.”

“Perhaps not.”

I could see the wheels turning in Evan's head. I wasn't sure where they were going, but I suspected he was envisioning himself doing exactly that.

“Did they have magicians back then?” Evan asked.

“Magicians and sorcerers have been around for thousands of years,” I said. “But I think being a spy would be best.”

Evan grabbed the front of the cape and furled it around himself. “And we all know that I am Evan R. Lawson, superspy.”

“As much as I am enjoying this conversation, I have work to do,” Divya said.

She sat at the table, pulled her laptop from her bag, and popped it open. While it booted up she extracted a stack of patient notes.

I sat down across from her and opened my laptop. Divya was already busy updating files and Evan continued to spin in his cape. I began to work and after a few minutes noticed that Evan was no longer there.

“Where'd he go?” I asked Divya.

“Probably to find a mirror.” She never looked up from her work. “Don't worry. He'll be back.”

She was right. Evan came back into the dining room. Cape-less and cane-less.

“Did you get bored with your costume?” Divya asked.

“No. But you're probably right. This outfit is fine as it is.”

Was this my brother talking?

My cell phone rang.

It was the radiology department at Hamptons Heritage with a report on Felicia Hecht's MRI. I listened to the verbal report and then asked them to e-mail it to me. I then called the cardiology department and learned that Dr. Walter Edelman, one of the cardiologists on staff, had just finished reading her Holter monitor. The secretary said she didn't yet have the report but that Dr. Edelman was still in the department reading EKGs if I wanted to talk with him. I did. He told me what he had seen on Felicia's Holter and said he would send a complete report once it was typed up. I thanked him and hung up.

“Want to go see Felicia Hecht with me?” I asked Divya.

“Sure. What did you find out?”

“I'll tell you on the way.”

“I'll drive,” Evan said.

“As long as we don't have to discuss costuming any further,” Divya said.

Divya and I found Felicia Hecht in her garden. Exactly where she'd said she would be when I called to tell her we were coming over. She said she had a dozen shrubs to get in the ground, so we should come around to the back when we arrived.

She was bent over a hole in the ground settling the root-ball of a shrub in place. She then dropped to her knees, scooped handfuls of dirt into the hole, and patted it down firmly. Her hair was tied into a wad at the back of her head, except for one strand that had escaped and dangled in front of her face. Bare feet protruded from her rolled-up jeans and dirt stained her pale yellow T-shirt.