A Man to Die for by Eileen Dreyer

that told Casey she’d made some enormous philosophical statement. Sometimes Casey thought she should show up here with an interpreter.
    Then Poppi turned her face toward Casey’s, and the smile dimmed. “Don’t get bitten,” she warned, and her eyes were as clear as a cold night.
    At least Casey left Poppi’s knowing that somebody else in this world didn’t think Dr. Dale Hunsacker walked on water.
     
    “I love him,” Ms. Elliott gushed. “He’s just so good to me.”
    Casey stood a bit stiffly, clipboard in hand, wondering at the, chance of Hunsacker coming down to see this doyen of the volunteer set for her leg cramp.
    “I know he’s busy,” the little woman continued, plump hands fluttering about her Adolpho attire, her dark hair damn near spray-painted in place, and her face swept clean of lines by Fernando Alvarez, the plastic surgeon to the stars. “I even hate to bother him about it, but he did say to call him and only him about anything. He did say that he knew what was best for me.”
    Casey knew just what to say. “Mmmm.”
    “You don’t think he’d really mind that I called him, do you? I mean, his nurse said he’d be here, after all. And it does bother me. You’ll tell him that, won’t you? That it really bothers me?” Her sudden smile was coquettish in a rusty sort of way, as if she were getting back into practice. “I don’t want him mad at me.”
    Casey smiled and pulled out her stethoscope for vital signs. “Why don’t I get all the basics and then call him, okay?”
    Ms. Elliott hopped right up on the cart. Casey wanted to scream. After living with her mother for all these years, she had a really low tolerance level for passive-aggressive people. And the more she saw Hunsacker’s patients down here, the more that particular trait showed up. Simpering, whining, executing elaborate flanking maneuvers just to keep from displeasing him when they needed to see him.
    Casey slipped the stethoscope into place and wrapped the cuff around Ms. Elliott’s arm. What she really wanted to do was tell her to be an adult. But of course she hadn’t been thus far, so after fifty years what were the chances?
    Casey was trying to figure out how she could arrange her dinner to escape Hunsacker, when she walked right out the patient door and found him at her desk. She hadn’t seen him since that night she’d talked to Evelyn about him, and yet the hair on her neck went right back on alert.
    “I hear you have a live one for me,” he greeted her, his smile expectant, his legs crossed, his notebook out.
    “Virginia Elliott?” she countered, freezing on the spot. Now that she was faced with thanking him, she didn’t want to do it. She didn’t know how to do it and keep her pride, because she was irrationally afraid that no matter how she handled this, he’d walk away with a piece of her.
    She stood before a door, and couldn’t get out, and it swelled in her chest like hot acid.
    “Oh, yes, Virginia,” he answered with a knowing nod, his face curling into a slight smirk. “The cocker spaniel of the Junior League. I often wonder how she decides what underwear to put on without consulting somebody on it.”
    Casey wondered whether she was supposed to answer. Did he have anything nice to say about any of his patients? Was he intentionally cruel, or just thoughtlessly? And should she feel worse because her own thoughts had so closely paralleled his words?
    “She has a persistent cramping in her right thigh,” Casey said carefully, handing over the clipboard. “She said that you told her to contact you about anything, so here she is. Want a potassium or calcium level?”
    Slipping his notebook back into his monogrammed shirt, he pushed away from the desk. “Let me talk to her first. Go ahead and get the pelvic stuff.”
    Casey knew her mouth dropped. Her obligation to thank Hunsacker was lost.
    Hunsacker seemed to be anticipating her. Leaning a little close, he smiled with some superiority.