Bound by Suggestion by L.L. Bartlett Page B

withdrew her hand.
    “Children?” Timberly asked.
    “October,” Brenda said, flexing her fingers.
    “Then congratulations are in order, Dickie-boy.” He slapped Richard on the shoulder again, sloshing the drink once more. “Of course most of us had our kids twenty years ago, but I’m sure yours will be a chip off the old block.”
    “It’s a girl,” Brenda said.
    Timberly’s eyebrows rose. “Surely it’s too early to tell.”
    “We have it on good authority,” Brenda said.
    Timberly smirked and looked Richard in the eye. “That’s right. You’ve got that psychic brother.”
    Richard felt his face color and sipped his scotch. “Where did you get an idea like that?”
    “Heard it through the hospital grapevine. Must come in handy for betting sports.” Timberly winked.
    Brenda frowned at the clod in front of her. “Exactly what is your specialty, Dr. Timberly?”
    “Gynecology.”
    “Why am I not surprised?”
    Timberly blinked, taken aback by her blunt tone. Richard stifled a smile.
    Brenda turned her attention away from the bore. “Richard, you said some of your friends would be here. I’d love to meet them. If you’ll excuse us, Dr. Timberly,” she said and stepped away.
    “Excuse us,” Richard echoed, and followed Brenda over to an hors d’oeuvres station.
    “Was that really necessary?” he murmured in her ear.
    She picked up a napkin and selected a piece of asparagus wrapped in prosciutto. “He was about to pick on Jeffy, and I’m simply won’t stand for that. Besides, he deliberately squeezed my hand—hard.”
    “Did he hurt you?”
    “My penmanship may be affected for a day or two, but I’m okay.” She popped the asparagus into her mouth. “Mmm. Delicious. Try one.”
    Richard shook his head.
    “Who’s the guest of honor?” she asked.
    Richard pointed out Dr. Zimmer on the far side of the room.
    “I think I met him once,” Brenda said. “Shall we go wish him well in his retirement?”
    Richard guided her across the room. They had to wait several minutes before gaining an audience with Zimmer. It gave Richard time to think about what Timberly had said. As far as he knew, only two people at the hospital should have been aware of Jeff’s empathic abilities. Krista Marsh, and a staff neurologist—what was his name, Simons? —Jeff had consulted last summer.
    Richard sipped his scotch and frowned. The ice had melted. Had Krista mentioned Jeff to Timberly? Or had someone been nosing around in Jeff’s medical records? That was absurd. Who’d even want to know that kind of information? Maybe he’d have a chat with Wally Moses in Records on Monday. If somebody was messing with Jeff’s files, Richard wanted to know about it. And it should be possible to find out that information. There were other sources he could tap, too. Maybe he’d try tomorrow.
    “Dr. Alpert?” Zimmer said, thrusting his hand forward. Richard took it. “I’ve just been having the most delightful conversation with your charming wife.”
    Brenda blinked rapidly, feigning innocence.
    What had he missed?
    A smile warmed Richard’s lips. “She’s also sweet, loving, terrifically intelligent, and one helluva nurse.”
    “Oh don’t stop there, tell him what you really think of me!” Brenda teased.
    Zimmer laughed, and Richard joined him.
    The rest of the evening breezed by. Richard applied himself to some serious schmoozing, and figured he’d wrapped up another few thousand in pledged donations. But he couldn’t stop thinking about Timberly and his crack about Jeff, and wondered exactly what kind of trouble it portended.
     

Chapter 8
     
    Richard shifted his weight as he stood outside Paula Devlin’s apartment. A bouncy country tune thumped inside. So much for thinking he’d come too early.
    He rang the doorbell again. Footsteps approached, paused. She must be checking him out through the peephole.
    The door swung open and Paula stood before him in a mauve sweater, black stirrup pants and fuzzy