morning, her and her damn dogs … What can you tell me about that little operation of hers?”
Bossard had stepped away from them and was studying a chart posted outside a patient’s room.
By the time Garcia got off the phone, Bossard was gone from the corridor. Bernadette walked across the hall.
“What’re you doing?” Garcia asked with irritation. “We gotta get going.”
“Give me a minute.” She lifted the patient chart hanging to the left of the door and quickly scanned the first page. With a frown, she put the chart back in the holder.
“What’s wrong?”
As they started to walk down the hall, Bernadette looked over her shoulder. “I trust her and I don’t.”
“Thought she reminded you of your hairy home-ec teacher.”
“Did you notice the questions she didn’t ask about the dead girl? Didn’t ask her name or what had happened to the fetus.”
“Big deal,” he said. “You made the same observations about her nurse at the clinic. Like I said before, you’re reading too much into dumb shit.”
He was really starting to tick her off. “Tell me if I’m reading too much into this: you know the chart I was just checking?”
“Breaking about two hundred federal laws. What was up with that?”
“While you were on the phone with the sheriff, Bossard was standing nearby, going over that paperwork.”
“So? She had another patient.”
“It was a guy, and he gave birth to a bouncing baby appendix,” said Bernadette.
One side of Garcia’s mouth turned up. “The chart-checking was a ruse. Bossard was staying in the hall to eavesdrop.”
“Granted, she could have been nosy and nothing more,” Bernadette conceded.
“I like her tip about the midwife,” said Garcia.
“OBs don’t like midwives. Here’s Bossard’s chance to get back at one who crossed her.”
“It’s still a good tip.”
“It is,” she acknowledged.
They stepped outside. It was snowing hard. “Let’s head on over to Walker and check her out,” said Garcia. “Check out the tatt shop while we’re at it.”
Bernadette hopped inside the truck. “What did Wharten have to say about Ashe?”
Garcia got behind the wheel and started up the Titan. “He was kind of weird about it.”
“How so?”
“The whole witch subject, I think it makes him uncomfortable.”
“He’s mortified that he’s got that sort of thing going on around here,” said Bernadette.
“Maybe that’s it.”
From the hospital, they headed northeast, taking Minnesota 34 East toward Walker. In good weather, it would have been a fifteen-minute drive. In the snow, it would take a bit longer.
On a trail on the left side of the road, a gang of snowmobilers were tearing in the opposite direction as the truck. “That looks like fun,” said Bernadette.
“I could use some fun,” Garcia said tiredlyShe checked the dashboard clock. “I haven’t slept for—”
“I know, I know. Me, too.”
“And we need to eat.”
“We’ll grab something in Walker, on the way to yoga class.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
D owntown Walker’s backyard was a bay of Leech Lake, a massive body of water that had shores lined with resorts and lake homes. In the winter, a village of shacks—many of them complete with heaters, electricity, toilets, beds, and television sets—sprang up on the lake’s frozen surface. Anglers drilled holes and fished through the ice with the comforts of home around them. Temporary streets were plowed around the houses, and the community was trafficked by snowmobiles, ATVs, and even full-size trucks.
“Third-largest lake entirely within the boundaries of Minnesota,” said Garcia, ticking off Leech Lake facts as they made their way down the sidewalk, shoving burgers into their mouths. “More than a hundred thousand surface acres.”
They tossed their wrappers in the trash. The sun had gone down, the snow was falling steadily, and the wind had picked up. The sidewalks were emptying of pedestrians.
“This town is going to roll up
Bossard had stepped away from them and was studying a chart posted outside a patient’s room.
By the time Garcia got off the phone, Bossard was gone from the corridor. Bernadette walked across the hall.
“What’re you doing?” Garcia asked with irritation. “We gotta get going.”
“Give me a minute.” She lifted the patient chart hanging to the left of the door and quickly scanned the first page. With a frown, she put the chart back in the holder.
“What’s wrong?”
As they started to walk down the hall, Bernadette looked over her shoulder. “I trust her and I don’t.”
“Thought she reminded you of your hairy home-ec teacher.”
“Did you notice the questions she didn’t ask about the dead girl? Didn’t ask her name or what had happened to the fetus.”
“Big deal,” he said. “You made the same observations about her nurse at the clinic. Like I said before, you’re reading too much into dumb shit.”
He was really starting to tick her off. “Tell me if I’m reading too much into this: you know the chart I was just checking?”
“Breaking about two hundred federal laws. What was up with that?”
“While you were on the phone with the sheriff, Bossard was standing nearby, going over that paperwork.”
“So? She had another patient.”
“It was a guy, and he gave birth to a bouncing baby appendix,” said Bernadette.
One side of Garcia’s mouth turned up. “The chart-checking was a ruse. Bossard was staying in the hall to eavesdrop.”
“Granted, she could have been nosy and nothing more,” Bernadette conceded.
“I like her tip about the midwife,” said Garcia.
“OBs don’t like midwives. Here’s Bossard’s chance to get back at one who crossed her.”
“It’s still a good tip.”
“It is,” she acknowledged.
They stepped outside. It was snowing hard. “Let’s head on over to Walker and check her out,” said Garcia. “Check out the tatt shop while we’re at it.”
Bernadette hopped inside the truck. “What did Wharten have to say about Ashe?”
Garcia got behind the wheel and started up the Titan. “He was kind of weird about it.”
“How so?”
“The whole witch subject, I think it makes him uncomfortable.”
“He’s mortified that he’s got that sort of thing going on around here,” said Bernadette.
“Maybe that’s it.”
From the hospital, they headed northeast, taking Minnesota 34 East toward Walker. In good weather, it would have been a fifteen-minute drive. In the snow, it would take a bit longer.
On a trail on the left side of the road, a gang of snowmobilers were tearing in the opposite direction as the truck. “That looks like fun,” said Bernadette.
“I could use some fun,” Garcia said tiredlyShe checked the dashboard clock. “I haven’t slept for—”
“I know, I know. Me, too.”
“And we need to eat.”
“We’ll grab something in Walker, on the way to yoga class.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
D owntown Walker’s backyard was a bay of Leech Lake, a massive body of water that had shores lined with resorts and lake homes. In the winter, a village of shacks—many of them complete with heaters, electricity, toilets, beds, and television sets—sprang up on the lake’s frozen surface. Anglers drilled holes and fished through the ice with the comforts of home around them. Temporary streets were plowed around the houses, and the community was trafficked by snowmobiles, ATVs, and even full-size trucks.
“Third-largest lake entirely within the boundaries of Minnesota,” said Garcia, ticking off Leech Lake facts as they made their way down the sidewalk, shoving burgers into their mouths. “More than a hundred thousand surface acres.”
They tossed their wrappers in the trash. The sun had gone down, the snow was falling steadily, and the wind had picked up. The sidewalks were emptying of pedestrians.
“This town is going to roll up
Similar Books
