Dead Ringer - Chapter Twenty-Seven

Go here to read Chapter 26.

The girl at the front desk of St. Regis Hospital Security shrugged her shoulders when I explained the situation with the door that kept refusing to stay locked, and she met my concern that someone had let themselves in to our Pastoral Care office with a blank stare. When I asked about the possibility of viewing any footage the hallway camera had captured, she spent an extra couple of seconds working on the wad of gum in her mouth before saying, “I don’t know anything about that.” She flipped a hank of long, stringy blonde hair off one shoulder and, as if to make a point, tapped an index finger on the cover of the fashion magazine I’d clearly taken her away from.

I had that sinking feeling when you know you’re going to be set at opposite purposes with someone, and that’s just how it’s going to go. I would try to persuade her to give me any information at all that could help, and she would steadfastly cling to the bureaucratic life raft of saying, “No,” to any and all requests.

Surely there was someone else I could speak with.

No. They were all out of the office today for a training.

Then, could I leave a note?

No. The director won’t read them.

“I guess I could send an email and explain my request that way,” I said.

“Suit yourself,” she said. “All those emails come to me.”

“So, is there any way for me to get a look at the recording so I can see who might have come into the offices of Pastoral Care, where hundreds of confidential files are kept and where a breach of any such confidentiality could result in a very costly lawsuit for St. Regis?”

She shrugged again, rolled her gum around in her mouth, and opened a side drawer, pulling out a brown file folder. Inside was a stack of blank forms. She peeled one off the top and handed it to me. “You could fill out this request form,” she said.

“What happens to the form after I fill it out?”

“You bring it back to me,” she said, and I thought I saw a flicker of amusement in her pale blue eyes.

“Okay,” I said with a laugh. “Thanks.” I took the form, imagining the deep, dark chasm the completed page would most likely disappear into, but figured I may as well try. I folded it in half and tucked it into my tote bag.

In the meantime, I still wanted to track down the CNA who’d discovered Rachel Roper, allegedly with hair brushed and hands folded in a way that looked totally staged. Will Keating had said he thought her first name was Cathy. I checked my watch — if I left now I could get out to WindDancer and back to St. Regis in plenty of time to take a second look at some updates on the chaplains scheduling software.

I wanted to hear Cathy describe exactly what she had seen. I needed to hear it. Rachel’s lonely death lurked nonstop in the back of my mind, like a heavy cloud, along with the weight of how I felt I’d failed her.

Also weighing — how I’d pissed off Will. I hated to think I’d burned a bridge to a potentially good friendship before I’d even gotten to know the guy. Maybe I’d try to reach out to him later this afternoon. I was guessing he was back at his regular post in Durham. In any event, Weston was expecting us to work together, so I had to make peace somehow.

Every once in a while, amid a string of beastly hot summer days in eastern North Carolina, some wayward wind from Canada wends its way down to us and graces us with sometimes as much as twenty-four hours of unseasonably cooler weather. Today was one of those days. The usual filmy summer haze had lifted, leaving turquoise blue skies and deliciously dry air. I turned off the AC and opened my car windows, drinking it all in.

The doors at WindDancer slid open, and I stepped through into the lobby. I asked for Lamar Gustafson right away. “Tell him it’s Chaplain Blair,” I said. No subterfuge this time. I was guessing he’d weigh the inconvenience of leaving his office to come speak to me alongside an opportunity to condescendingly put me in my place in front of staff and residents.

I’d guessed right. First, his footsteps muffled by the carpet and then his lanky frame ascending the winding staircase.

“Chaplain Blair, I thought you had been banned from these premises,” he said loudly. I felt, rather than saw, several heads turn in my direction.

I matched his volume, calling out as I walked toward him, “Weston Roper sends his greetings with a reminder he’s paying me to look into the murder that happened here last week.”

There was utter silence, and then, like a detonation wave, a series of gasps and cries. Lamar’s heel caught, and he grabbed the gleaming walnut bannister just in time.

I moved to meet him at the bottom of the stairs where I couldn’t help but notice all the color had drained from his face. Before he could say anything — and I suspected it was going to be a moment before his brain reengaged — I said, “I need to speak with the CNA who discovered Rachel. I think her first name is Cathy.”

Lamar had found his voice, and it trembled with barely controlled fury. “I think you’d better…” he began, but I stopped him.

“I think you’d better,” I said, and lowered my voice. “Mr. Roper expects full cooperation, and I can’t imagine why you’d want to prevent him from finding out who killed his sister. Unless you’re engaged in some sort of cover-up for WindDancer, which, as I think of it, could definitely make you personally and criminally liable.”

I worried the angry vein on his temple might blow. “Lamar, this is serious. Weston Roper has unlimited resources and he means to get justice for Rachel. And can you blame him? I would think a spiritual leader such as yourself would abhor being part of any efforts to suppress or hide the truth.”

His eyes narrowed, but he said nothing.

“Now, I’ve spoken with Chad Miller and he’s given the okay for me to move forward with making inquiries about the events surrounding Rachel’s death, and I’ve agreed to share whatever I learn with him.”

That bald-faced lie would almost certainly get me in some big old trouble, but if I did come up with something useful maybe Chad wouldn’t land on me too hard.

“Cathy doesn’t work here,” Lamar said through clenched teeth. “She was a temporary hire.”

I fished my notebook and pen out of my tote. “Last name?”

“Stearnes. Cathy Stearnes.” He was speaking to me but looking over my head, maybe imagining what he could do to me if there weren’t so many pesky witnesses.

“And what’s the name of the temp agency?”

“I’ve no idea,” Lamar said, and then he did look at me, and what I saw in his eyes sent a jolt of cold fear down my legs. Something dark lurked in that man. I’d sensed it the first time we met, but seeing it aimed at me like that took my breath away. I didn’t want him to know that, though, and hoped I hadn’t appeared too startled for him to think he had the upper hand.

“Thanks, Lamar, I really appreciate it,” I said and wrestled a tight smile onto my face. “Weston will be so grateful to hear of your cooperation. In fact, I think I’ll call to tell him right now!”

I scrolled to my speed dial buttons, pressed one, and put the phone up to my ear, leaving him standing at the foot of the stairs, feeling his eyes boring holes in my back the whole way out the front doors.

As soon as my feet hit the sidewalk, I left a whispered voicemail. “Hey, Mark, are you back yet…from…wherever you’ve been?! Listen, I really, really need to talk to you!”

Go here to read Chapter 28.