Ultraviolet (34 page)

Wow. Touchy. “I’m just following up,” I said, negotiating the bridge. Is it a law, or something, that the lanes have to be narrower than the vehicle?

She made a disparaging noise. Clearly I hadn’t given her a reason to believe I was any better at my craft than she’d felt before. “I don’t know why you’re still bothering.”

“I guess, if you met him there, that Roland was a member of the club.”

“You guess right.”

“I’m just asking.”

She relented enough to say, “He joined after he and Violet broke up, and let me tell you, he was a mess. That marriage nearly destroyed him. I mean, here he was, recovering from his problems, and she just aggravated everything.”

“Were you a member, too?”

“Why are you asking these questions?”

“
Are
the women members?”

“It’s a men’s club, mostly,” she said after a long moment. “But they have special memberships for women as long as you’re interested in dating. Once you’re married, that’s it. Well, for the women anyway.”

“The men can still belong?”

“Roland didn’t,” she assured me quickly. “Once we got together, that was it. I’d been going to the parties for a while and was about to chuck the whole thing. It can get really old, you know, meeting new people, going through all the same rituals. And then I saw him. He was standing by the fireplace, staring into it, and he looked so sad,” she said wistfully. “We just started talking and we never stopped. He told me he was in the middle of a messy divorce. That’s the first time I heard about Violet.”

“How long were you part of CMC?”

“I went to enough parties to know most of the men were frogs.”

“What’s the procedure?”

“Oh, for God’s sake. Why don’t you go find out for yourself? I haven’t been part of it for years!”

She hung up with a click.

“I just might,” I said to empty air.

The Eastmoreland Clinic was a low, sprawling white stucco building with a gray tile roof. I pegged its era as early to mid-seventies with the architect vacillating between Spanish style and cheap industrial. There were four visitors’ spots freshly marked with yellow lines. I pulled into one of two that were still empty, locked my car, walked to the swinging glass door that led to reception and pushed my way inside.

To my left was a low counter in fake wood grain that served as the receptionist’s desk. The receptionist was young and attractive, but not an out-and-out beauty. She had great skin, though, a warm, peachy tone with smooth lines and no shadows around her eyes. Her name tag read
CARLA
.

Two women, one in her forties and one about my age, sat in the overstuffed chairs done in gray, taupe and black. They eyed me over the top of their magazines as I walked up to Carla’s desk.

“May I help you?” she said, her smile practiced.

“I’m here to see Dr. Wu. He told me he would be here all day and to stop by when I could.” I dug in my purse for my business card and slid it in her direction.

She ignored the card. I almost pointed out the gold letters that spelled out my name. I’m rather proud of those cards, even if I’m still working toward my license. “Today’s Dr. Wu’s first day since his trip with Willamette Medical Services to offer aid to weather-ravaged areas in Southeast Asia, specifically the Philippines,” Carla said, as if giving a speech. There was admonition in her tone as well. The man was “too busy” to see me.

“That’s why I came today instead of yesterday.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t believe he has time.”

“Maybe you should check with him,” I suggested reasonably.

Her face turned to stone. That fast, we were at war with each other. I don’t know what it is about me, but I don’t do authority well. I piss people off in record time, and it works the same on me. She glared and I met her glare.

“Dr. Wu is busy all day,” she said coldly.

“Why don’t you call him and verify that?”

The other two women in the room had dropped their magazines and were hanging on our every word. Carla’s eyes darted their way. She really wanted to get into a full-blown battle with me, but she had witnesses.

She picked up the phone and bit out, “Alma, is Dr. Wu with a patient?” A pause. “That’s what I thought. No, don’t bother him,” she said quickly. She slammed down the phone. “You can wait if you’d like,” she said sneerily.

Read that to mean: you can wait till hell ices over and beyond.

“I’ll be right over there.” I pointed to a seat. “In case you should forget me.”

Her face flushed.

As I took my seat the other women couldn’t stop looking at me. I shot them each a quelling glance and they hid behind their magazines. One’s was upside down for a good five minutes before she righted it.

Carla touched a finger to my card and slid it to the left side of her desk as if it were poisonous. Another woman entered the clinic and Carla got all perky and sweet again. The two women waiting before me were called inside by a nurse’s aide who opened an inner door and read their names from the files in her arms. Time crawled by. When this newest woman’s name was called, neatly bypassing mine entirely, I simply followed right after her.

Carla opened and shut her mouth like a fish as I passed by. “Excuse me.” She tried to get up from her desk, but her phone rang.

The nurse’s aide, whose tag read
BUNNY
, frowned at me.

“I left my jacket in room six,” I said, brushing right past her and heading down the hall.

“Room six is the other way.”

“That’s right.” I sent her an apologetic smile and turned around on my heel. Bunny was mildly concerned but the woman whose name had just been called was a pile of nerves and started firing questions like artillery. When was the doctor planning the surgery? Was it really awful? Was there lot of pain? How long would it take before she could be seen in public? Wasn’t there any way to get her insurance company to pay for some of it?

I turned at the first corner, heading into a narrow hall with numbered doors on either side. Room six was empty, as luck would have it, and I stepped inside to get my bearings.

It wouldn’t take long for Carla to be on my scent. As I stood there, another woman in a blue smock stopped at my open door. Alma Lucas, RN. “Are you waiting for someone?” she asked, perplexed, her gaze on the rack outside the door that would hold a patient’s chart.

I started crying for all I was worth, hoping to God I could actually scare up some tears. “Dr. Wu!” I wailed, burying my face in my hands.

“What’s this about?”

I just sobbed and sobbed. Okay, it wasn’t the most sophisticated plan, but she finally grew uncomfortable and hurried off. As soon as she was gone I lifted my head. No tears. I was going to have to work on that.

I left room six and walked swiftly down the hall, listening at doors until I heard low, male tones coming from the other side of the panels. From my conversation with him yesterday, I was pretty sure it was Wu’s voice. I hesitated. I didn’t want to alienate him before I had a chance to talk to him, so I decided to try and catch him on his way out rather than barging into the room while he was with a patient.

Hearing approaching footsteps, I ducked around the corner, rattling the handles of a couple of doors. Most were unlocked. I peeked inside. There were several more examination rooms and a storeroom. I really wanted the storeroom, but there was a paper smock laid out on a padded table in one of the examining rooms. Quickly, I stripped off my shirt and bra and slipped on the smock, then lay down on the table, staring at the ceiling. Okay. This was a plastic surgery clinic, not a gynecologist’s office. Maybe they didn’t lie down. Maybe I should sit up.

I heard some discussion out in the hall. Carla’s voice squeaked with fury. She was going to
have
to get back to the front. But they
needed
to find this Jane Kelly person before she
did
something
criminal
like stealing drugs, for
God’s sake!

I was outraged. Stealing drugs?

The door to my room started to open. I flung my arm over my eyes.

Dr. Wu said, “Excuse me. I thought this room was empty.”

I dropped my arm and struggled to sit up. He gave me a quick look as he started to close the door. “Dr. Wu?” I asked hurriedly.

“Yes?”

“I’m Jane Kelly, the private investigator who called you yesterday about Roland Hatchmere. Your staff wouldn’t let me in to see you. I’m not here for anything nefarious. I just needed to talk to you. Could you talk to me? Just for a few minutes?”

“Did you want an exam?” he asked, faintly confused.

I held the paper top close, clamping my arms to my side to pin it in place. It was my turn to flush. “No.”

He shut the door behind him and leaned back against it. He was middle-aged, his shock of black hair shot with gray. He wore narrow, wire-rimmed glasses and I couldn’t read his expression. He didn’t seem to find my appearance unsettling or even particularly surprising. He seemed tired.

“I’ve been looking forward to talking to you,” he admitted. “I was good friends with Roland. He was always fair and when we sold the clinics, he made certain I had a contract with the new owners. I owe him a lot. I’m sorry about the staff. It’s been controlled chaos since I got back.”

“I appreciate that,” I said, thrilled that he wasn’t going to toss me out on my ass. “I’m looking into a motive for Roland’s death. I was hoping you could tell me about the clinics. Maybe there’s some financial gain I’m not aware of?”

“I thought it was established that his girlfriend killed him.”

“It may be something else entirely.”

A storm was gathering in the hall outside. “Dr. Wu?” Alma called, knocking lightly on our door.

“I’ll be right there,” he told her. Strident voices surged, then purposely lowered to a murmur on the other side of the door. Dr. Wu ignored them. “Have you looked at Roland’s children, Gigi and Sean?”

“Gigi and Sean?”

“If it’s a financial motive, they would be the most likely, I would think. Roland was disinheriting them. Sean, because of his drug use. Roland couldn’t bear watching his son go down the same path that had ruined his medical career. He and Sean had a serious argument about two weeks before the wedding, and Roland decided the only way to get through to him was cut him off completely. He planned to sever all financial ties. Permanently.”

“Did he go through with it?”

“I don’t think he had time to rewrite his will, but he was certainly planning on it. He told Sean not to contact him until he got himself clean.”

I stared at him, processing. Maybe this was why Sean wasn’t at the rehearsal dinner. “And Gigi?”

“Roland couldn’t stand Emmett and Emmett’s family,” Daniel Wu told me. “In public he was nice to them, but in private he didn’t bother. I’m not sure what it was exactly. Maybe he just didn’t like them. He kept hoping Gigi would change her mind, but she’s not known for making the best choices. Roland had a special account for her and she stripped it without telling him. She swore it was for an investment opportunity, something Emmett talked her into, but Roland was furious.”

“Do you know how much money was in the account?”

“Somewhere in the range of a hundred thousand.”

“Was the investment ever made?”

He lifted his palms. “I’m not really sure.” Behind him, the voices were gathering force. He looked annoyed, then sighed. “I’m overscheduled. I didn’t realize how much when I told you to stop by. Is there anything else? I’m happy to help any way I can.”

“You’ve helped a lot,” I assured him.

He grabbed a prescription pad from inside a drawer and scribbled on it. “This is my home number. If you need anything else, call me. I’ll try to get back to you as soon as I can.”

“Do you know anything about Roland’s relationship with his wife?” I asked as he turned to the door, his hand on the knob.

“You mean beyond the fact that they were separated?” He peered at me through his glasses, the lenses flashing in the light. “I believe he was dating again.”

“Violet Purcell,” I said.

“She was one of them,” he agreed, and then he swept into the hall. A sea of pinched female faces stared in at me before Dr. Wu closed the door behind him. He asked them all to get back to work in a cool voice.

Quickly, I grabbed my bra. I was reaching for my sweater when the door opened again. Alma looked in. Apparently she’d drawn the short straw from the group and was elected to show me the door.

Carla had won her over as an ally and she regarded me with a chilly expression. “I’m sorry, Ms. Kelly. We don’t have any of your insurance information,” she told me crisply. “When you’re dressed, you need to stop by the front desk so Carla can photostat your card.”

I pulled my sweater over my head and pretended to be concerned. “I don’t have insurance,” I lied.

“Then we’ll send you a bill. We’ll need your address, phone number and Social Security number.”

I thought of a lot of answers, voted for passive-aggressive silence and just shrugged as I walked away.

I strolled up to Carla’s desk. Her eyes narrowed and her lips grew pinched as I approached. She tossed a clipboard with about four pages at me. “You’ll need to fill this out.”

“No problem.” I reached over and slid my business card back into my palm. She eyed me suspiciously. I walked straight to the door, saluted her with the clipboard and walked into the watery November afternoon sunlight.

I put in the call to Sean and ended up leaving a message. Big surprise. I doubted he would phone me back in a timely manner. I mean, why should he be different from anyone else? Maybe I should stop by the Crock later on. It was Friday. I could phone ahead and see if Sean’s band was still on the playbill.

I went home and took Binkster for a walk around the neighborhood. It makes me kind of nervous because around this section of West Bay there aren’t any sidewalks, and the streets are narrow and twisty with poor visibility. Still, I was feeling the need to move, so we wandered around with Binks smelling every leaf and twig, pressing her flat face to the ground, stubbornly ignoring my tugs on the leash. But the rain still held off. It had been nearly a day since it had precipitated. Almost a record.