The Proof is in the Pudding (27 page)

It was an authentic-looking medical chart, encased in a metal holder.

“When you carry it in front of you, it covers most of the face on your ID badge.”

“You’ve thought of everything,” I said.

“Go get changed, Aunt Del. I’ll finish up here.”

“Thanks, honey.”

The tiny bathroom in the corner of the school area was clean, but it was the size of the broom closet it had been before the toilet and the tiny sink were installed. I wouldn’t be able to tell how I looked because there was no mirror over the washbasin.

It took quite a bit of twisting and stretching in that cramped space, but I managed to take off my own slacks and sweater and wiggle into Liddy’s hospital employee costume without straining one of my muscles, or splitting the seams on her blue scrubs.

I folded up my own clothing and put those items into Liddy’s shopping bag.

When I emerged, Liddy nodded in approval and said, “You look very official.”

“Does the staff at St. Clare’s wear this color?”

“I suddenly thought about that in the middle of the night, so I went over this morning and wandered around to check. Apparently, there’s no regulation, because I saw the employees in both blue and green. A couple were in a sort of salmon shade, or maybe those started out orange and faded. Anyway, some of the women wear print tops over scrub pants, but I’d never do that because the contrast cuts the body in half and would make my rear look wide.”

Eileen was gazing at me with worry in her eyes. “Are you sure you should do this? Is it illegal to pose as somebody who works in a hospital?”

“I’m just wearing the outfit. I’m not going to work on a patient,” I said.

That was mostly true, but I knew that if I got caught in this impersonation by a hospital official and the police were called, I’d be in a fix trying to explain what I was doing there, dressed as I was. And if Detective Hatch caught me questioning Roland Gray, I might get slapped with a charge of interfering with a police investigation. That, on top of having my fingerprint at the scene of the break-in at Ingram’s house, could land me in big trouble indeed.

During the ride to St. Clare’s Hospital, I’d pulled down the passenger seat’s visor and flipped open the mirror. With a tissue from the packet Liddy kept in her glove compartment, I wiped off my mascara and lipstick. As a final touch, I’d twisted my hair into a coil and pinned it against the back of my head. The style—if one could call that a style—wasn’t meant to look good, and it didn’t.

As we approached the hospital, Liddy asked, “Which parking lot? For the emergency entrance, or the main one?”

I pointed to the right. “Main entrance. The last information I had was that he’d been moved to the second floor.”

Liddy steered her Range Rover toward the visitor’s ticket booth, took one from the machine, and proceeded into the lot.

She’d just nosed into a parking space when I saw someone I recognized exiting through the hospital’s large glass front doors.

“Quick—duck down!” I thrust my head below the windshield until my face was level with her gearshift.

Automatically, Liddy bent down, too.

She whispered into my shoulder. “Why are we doing this?”

“Yvette Dupree just came out of the hospital. I don’t want her to see us.”

“Do you think she went to visit Roland Gray?”

“She must have. It’s too big a coincidence for her to be here for any other reason,” I said.

A few more seconds passed.

“I’m getting a neck ache,” Liddy said. “How long do we have to stay down here like this?”

“Until I finish counting to one hundred . . . seventy-nine, eighty, eighty-one. Okay, that’s close enough.”

I slowly lifted myself on one elbow until my eyes were above the dashboard. I took a cautious peek outside, and was just in time to see Yvette Dupree getting into a taxicab. “She’s leaving,” I said.

The cab pulled away from the entrance and moved into the circular driveway that funneled vehicles back to the street. I sat up. “She’s gone. In a taxi, but I got a look at the cab’s number.”

Liddy sat upright behind the steering wheel and handed me the pad and pen she kept in the driver’s side door pocket. “Write that number down before you forget. We should try to find out where she went after she left here.”

“I love that ‘we.’ ”

“Every investigator needs a partner,” she said. “Sam Spade and Miles Archer. Andy Sipowicz and the Jimmy Smits character on
NYPD Blue
, Dirty Harry and the female cop that Tyne Daly played. And, of course, our Big John and your Mack.”

I didn’t want to point out that each of those relationships had ended in the death of one partner.

“Let’s go,” I said.

As we’d planned, we separated in the parking lot and approached the entrance to the hospital from different directions. We reached the big glass doors at the same time, but I was behind Liddy. She took her cell phone out of her purse and pretended to be on a call.

Liddy was giving a performance. Dressed in a figure-flattering navy blue designer suit with a short skirt, Liddy strode inside with a slight swagger that was intended to draw attention to her hips and her shapely legs.

In a posh British accent, she said loudly into the mouthpiece, “I’ve decided what I want: the double strand of pearls . . . The twelve millimeters . . . That’s right, with the platinum clasp. And I want the following inscription on my husband’s Patek Philippe: ‘Less than tomorrow but more than yesterday.’ No—I don’t want a comma after the ‘tomorrow . . .’ ”

It worked. Necks swiveled toward her from the left and from the right.

When I entered in her wake, no one seemed to notice.

I went directly to the elevators and pressed the Up button while Liddy disconnected her pretend call and studied the board listing various departments in the hospital.

The elevator arrived, discharged passengers, and I got on. Liddy was right behind me.

An attractive man in his forties, his brown hair peppered with glints of silver, was already in the elevator. He smiled at Liddy. She smiled back. To judge from his white coat and badge, he was a doctor. I retreated as far back into the elevator as I could go, and was grateful to the people who crowded in around me.

Liddy, the attractive doctor, and I all got off on the second floor. The two of them started toward the nurses’ station, while I lagged a few feet behind, pretending to study my bogus patient’s chart.

At the nurses’ station, Liddy upped the wattage on her smile. Still sounding like a younger version of Queen Elizabeth, she addressed the woman behind the desk. “I beg your pardon, but I’ve just come from London to see my brother. I’m a tad jet-lagged and can’t remember the number of his room. His name is Roland Gray.”

Before the nurse could reply, the attractive doctor spoke. He extended his hand to Liddy, who took it.

“I’m Henry Lyons,” he said. “I attended Mr. Gray. Your brother certainly is a popular man.”

“Yes, Roland is quite gregarious, Dr. Lyons. May I see him?”

“I’m sorry. He’s not here any longer.”

Liddy put her hand on his arm and gave him a pleading look. “Is something wrong? Please tell me.”

“I would like to have kept him another day or two, for observation, but he insisted on being discharged.”

Suddenly looking distressed, she said, “Oh, dear—I hope he didn’t go by himself. He might fall—”

“No, he left in the company of two men, one large and the other shorter. The shorter man has been with him most of the time. He had a British accent, too. The big one was dressed like a chauffeur—a black jacket and cap.”

Liddy feigned a sigh of relief. “Well, then, I won’t worry. Would you know if my brother was going home?”

“He didn’t say, but I told him he needed at least another couple of days of rest.” Dr. Lyons took a card from the pocket of his white jacket and gave it to Liddy. “If your brother has any questions, please have him call me. Anytime.”

When we were back in her Rover, Liddy turned the key in the ignition. “Who do you suppose those men were who left with Gray?” she asked.

“The shorter one must have been his assistant, Will Parker. The big one dressed as a chauffeur might have been a bodyguard, because Roland told me that Parker usually drives for him.” I unpinned the ID badge and put it and the prop chart into the shopping bag.

When we got to the hospital’s tollbooth, the attendant took Liddy’s ticket and said, “Five dollars.”

I took out my wallet. “I’ll get it.”

I handed over a five-dollar bill. The wooden arm went up and we were released.

“What now?”

“Take me home so I can get into my own clothes. I’ll wash your scrubs and give them back to you tomorrow. Okay?”

“No rush. I don’t expect another call from
General Hospital
right away. They’ve got a storyline going that’s taken them away from the hospital for a while.”

My cell phone rang. I pulled it out of my bag, looked at the faceplate, and told Liddy, “It’s Nicholas.”

She grinned. “No phone sex while I’m driving.”

I laughed and pressed the button. “Hello, Nicholas.”

“Where are you?”

“In Liddy’s car. She’s taking me home.”

“How soon will you get there?”

“A few minutes. Why?”

“I’m in your neighborhood and I’d like to come over. I’m bringing you a surprise.”

“Animal, vegetable, or mineral?”

“Animal.”

“Dog or cat?”

There was a slight hesitation before he said, “If those are my only two choices, I’ll say cat. See ya.” He hung up.

“That’s weird,” I said, closing the phone.

“What’s weird?”

“I don’t know. He got off the phone too fast for me to get a clue.”

When we got to my house, I saw my Jeep in the driveway. “Thank heaven,” I said.

“And the police returned it in one piece,” Liddy said dryly. “After what that wretched Detective
Hatchet
did to your house, I wouldn’t have been surprised to see parts of it scattered all over the lawn.”

I gathered up my purse and the shopping bag containing my clothes. “Thanks for today.”

“I like detecting,” Liddy said with enthusiasm. “Figure out where we’re going next. I’ll call you later.”

Liddy drove away and I went to take a look at my Jeep. It was locked, but I found the key on top of my left front tire—where any car thief would look for it.

“You could have had the decency to drop the key through the mail slot in my front door,” I said to myself.

From inside the house I heard Tuffy barking. I called to him, “I’m coming, Tuff.”

He kept barking, and at that moment I heard the sound of a familiar engine. I turned to see Nicholas’s Maserati slowing to a stop at the curb.

He wasn’t alone.

In the passenger seat beside him was a stunning blonde woman. Her golden hair was styled in a sleek, asymmetrical bob that curled slightly forward to emphasize her high cheekbones and full mouth.

As soon as Nicholas cut the motor, she opened the passenger door. I saw long legs in a short skirt. My first reaction was that her legs were better than mine.

Then I realized that I was standing there without mascara or lipstick, with my hair a mess, and wearing hospital scrubs. On a woman’s body, they were the world’s least flattering two-piece garment.

Nicholas, who seemed blissfully unaware that I wanted to kill him for putting me in this embarrassing situation, came around from his side of the car. He took the woman’s arm and guided her toward me.

“Della, I want you to meet Olivia Wayne—my favorite criminal defense attorney.”