starting
point.
At
breakfast that morning, Mrs. Lattimer had passed along the news that her
son-in-law had suffered a heart attack the year before. Only recently had he
returned to work on a limited basis. Clayton had been all set to join a
practice in Boston. But with David in failing health and the town in need of
more than one physician, Clayton had agreed to handle David’s practice until
another partner could be recruited.
Dylan
turned onto a tidy street a block off Main and parked in a space in front of
David’s office. Behind a sliding window in the empty waiting room, a
no-nonsense female in stiff white cotton took Dylan’s measure.
“I’d like
to see Dr. Collier.” He flashed the disarming grin that usually worked to his
advantage.
“He isn’t
in yet, and he isn’t taking new patients.” Attila the Nurse appeared unphased
by the show-stopping grin. “Would you like to make an appointment to see Dr.
Harris?”
The thought
of allowing Clayton near him with pointed or sharp instruments was enough to
give him a case of hives. “It’s personal. Would you ask Dr. Collier to call
me?”
Dylan was
determined not to retreat, and the nurse seemed just as reluctant to relent.
Before a victor in the mental power struggle emerged, the older doctor strolled
in from the back of the building. Dylan detected a flicker of resignation cross
his normally expressionless face. Attila stood in the old man’s presence.
Dylan
cleared his throat. “Good morning, Doctor. Could you spare me a few minutes?”
The doctor
looked at his watch, and then at his sentry.
“You’re to
meet with the mayor in fifteen minutes,” she warned, taking a seat behind the
desk.
“This won’t
take long, Ethel. Let me know when he arrives.”
Chapter Nine
David
turned and exited. The nurse grudgingly gave Dylan permission to follow.
The doctor had
settled into a leather chair in his office before Dylan entered. Chock-full of
books, files, plants, charts, and even a skeleton hanging in one corner, the
room also contained a massive oak desk and a couple of well-worn chairs. An
ancient yellow cat with a bandaged paw lay curled up in one of them. He could
picture Gracie here. Her big heart and hometown charm would fit right in with
the cranky doctor and wounded cat.
Dylan took
the vacant seat. Doubting David had much patience for small talk, Dylan hesitated
over a starting point for their conversation. “How long have you been
practicing in East Langden?”
“Long
time,” the doctor said, as chatty as ever.
“Did you
know my father and uncle?”
He
shrugged. “Some.”
“And you
were Lana Harris’s cousin?”
“Right.”
The old man clasped his hands on the desktop.
“Before her
disappearance, did she confide in you about her personal life?”
“No.”
Dylan again
cursed his under-developed interrogation skills but pressed onward. “Do you
know the names of any men she used to go out with?”
The doctor
raised and lowered his scraggly eyebrows, the facial equivalent of a shrug. At
last! A reaction.
“Where do
you think she went when she disappeared?”
His
expression went from poker-faced to frozen. “I don’t think she went anywhere.”
Wow, a
complete sentence. They were on a roll. “Then where is she?”
He paused
before answering. “I think she’s dead.”
“Why do you
think so?”
Another
pause. “She never came back.”
Shifting in
his seat, Dylan thumped his foot against the adjacent chair leg, disturbing the
marmalade cat. Green eyes blinked open and stared up at him. He reached out to
pet it, but the cat preferred otherwise. It gingerly got to its feet then
stepped stiffly onto the desk and parked its rump beside David’s clasped hands.
The doctor’s absent stroking between the cat’s ears transformed the animal into
a purring machine.
Watching
the doctor with this ancient feline, Dylan noticed the gentleness in the old
man’s touch. His patients probably found his calm manner just
point.
At
breakfast that morning, Mrs. Lattimer had passed along the news that her
son-in-law had suffered a heart attack the year before. Only recently had he
returned to work on a limited basis. Clayton had been all set to join a
practice in Boston. But with David in failing health and the town in need of
more than one physician, Clayton had agreed to handle David’s practice until
another partner could be recruited.
Dylan
turned onto a tidy street a block off Main and parked in a space in front of
David’s office. Behind a sliding window in the empty waiting room, a
no-nonsense female in stiff white cotton took Dylan’s measure.
“I’d like
to see Dr. Collier.” He flashed the disarming grin that usually worked to his
advantage.
“He isn’t
in yet, and he isn’t taking new patients.” Attila the Nurse appeared unphased
by the show-stopping grin. “Would you like to make an appointment to see Dr.
Harris?”
The thought
of allowing Clayton near him with pointed or sharp instruments was enough to
give him a case of hives. “It’s personal. Would you ask Dr. Collier to call
me?”
Dylan was
determined not to retreat, and the nurse seemed just as reluctant to relent.
Before a victor in the mental power struggle emerged, the older doctor strolled
in from the back of the building. Dylan detected a flicker of resignation cross
his normally expressionless face. Attila stood in the old man’s presence.
Dylan
cleared his throat. “Good morning, Doctor. Could you spare me a few minutes?”
The doctor
looked at his watch, and then at his sentry.
“You’re to
meet with the mayor in fifteen minutes,” she warned, taking a seat behind the
desk.
“This won’t
take long, Ethel. Let me know when he arrives.”
Chapter Nine
David
turned and exited. The nurse grudgingly gave Dylan permission to follow.
The doctor had
settled into a leather chair in his office before Dylan entered. Chock-full of
books, files, plants, charts, and even a skeleton hanging in one corner, the
room also contained a massive oak desk and a couple of well-worn chairs. An
ancient yellow cat with a bandaged paw lay curled up in one of them. He could
picture Gracie here. Her big heart and hometown charm would fit right in with
the cranky doctor and wounded cat.
Dylan took
the vacant seat. Doubting David had much patience for small talk, Dylan hesitated
over a starting point for their conversation. “How long have you been
practicing in East Langden?”
“Long
time,” the doctor said, as chatty as ever.
“Did you
know my father and uncle?”
He
shrugged. “Some.”
“And you
were Lana Harris’s cousin?”
“Right.”
The old man clasped his hands on the desktop.
“Before her
disappearance, did she confide in you about her personal life?”
“No.”
Dylan again
cursed his under-developed interrogation skills but pressed onward. “Do you
know the names of any men she used to go out with?”
The doctor
raised and lowered his scraggly eyebrows, the facial equivalent of a shrug. At
last! A reaction.
“Where do
you think she went when she disappeared?”
His
expression went from poker-faced to frozen. “I don’t think she went anywhere.”
Wow, a
complete sentence. They were on a roll. “Then where is she?”
He paused
before answering. “I think she’s dead.”
“Why do you
think so?”
Another
pause. “She never came back.”
Shifting in
his seat, Dylan thumped his foot against the adjacent chair leg, disturbing the
marmalade cat. Green eyes blinked open and stared up at him. He reached out to
pet it, but the cat preferred otherwise. It gingerly got to its feet then
stepped stiffly onto the desk and parked its rump beside David’s clasped hands.
The doctor’s absent stroking between the cat’s ears transformed the animal into
a purring machine.
Watching
the doctor with this ancient feline, Dylan noticed the gentleness in the old
man’s touch. His patients probably found his calm manner just
Similar Books
