A House to Die For (A Darby Farr Mystery) (36 page)

After a few more moments of elaboration on Emerson Phipps'
surgical brilliance, everyone clapped again and the program was
over.

"Darby, thank you for coming," said Alicia. "I'm so glad you
were here." She motioned toward the window where the courtyard
trees were moving with the breeze. "There's a storm coming up the
coast. If you leave now, you'll probably beat it."

Darby hugged Alicia and waved to the boys, who were tussling
over a plastic chair in the corner. She made her way through the
crowd of people, heading toward the door she came in. The administrator who had taken the microphone at one point grabbed
her elbow and wheeled around.

"You're going to miss it," she said cheerily. "If you go out that
way, you're going to miss our Wall of Remembrance. It's over
here."

The woman walked purposefully toward another door, leading Darby by the arm in her direction. In the hallway was a large
bronze plaque.

"See?" She pointed with a pudgy finger adorned with peach
nail polish. "There's our dear Dr. Phipps."

Darby looked dutifully at the name etched in the metal. Emerson S. Phipps, III.

"Wasn't that fabulous that he gave all that money to SWS?" The
administrator had wonder in her voice. "He was quite a man."

His sister donated that money, Darby thought, although she
nodded in agreement. Your dear doctor Phipps was a rapist. A rapist
who perhaps did some truly good things in his life...

Darby was happy that Alicia could remember her brother
fondly without knowing about Lucy and the pain he had caused
her. Instead, she would have the legacy of his involvement with
Boston Memorial and SWS, and the joy with which donating his
money to worthy causes could bring.

The sound of a throat clearing brought Darby back to the present. The administrator was looking at her expectantly.

Darby thanked the woman for showing her the memorial
plaque. Pointing at Emerson Phipps' name, she added, "I know it
means a lot to his sister, Alicia, that he is honored in this way."

The stout woman nodded. "That's why we do it," she said.
"Means so much to the families." She nodded and made way for
others to step closer, among them, a pretty ponytailed nurse in
light blue scrubs.

"I was in the ER with him the night before he died," she told
Darby, sniffling at the memory.

Darby glanced up. The young woman bit her lip and managed
a small smile. "I'm Amanda. Amanda Barnes. I actually thought
Dr. Phipps was hitting on me, but then, he did that to all of the
nurses.

"Why was he here?"

"I paged him to come in because the on-call doctor was in surgery, and there was a spinal patient needing attention. But he died
before Dr. Phipps arrived."

"How did he seem that night? Dr. Phipps, I mean?"

She thought a moment. "Excited about something. He kept
looking at his watch like there was somewhere else he wanted to
be."

Fairview. He'd wanted to be on Hurricane Harbor, admiring
the estate he'd assumed would shortly be his ...

Darby nodded at the nurse and walked slowly back to the reception room. Alicia was engrossed in a conversation but managed
a little wave and smile. Darby waved and then walked toward the
exit sign. If Alicia was right about the storm, she needed to get on
the highway as soon as possible.

Darby located the elevator and pushed Level 1. As she waited
for the doors to open, she thought about the hospital's Wall of Remembrance. It was a way to pay tribute to those who had passed
on, similar to the honor rolls found on New England town greens
memorializing those who had lost their lives in military service.
She hadn't seen something like it in an institution before, but she
supposed it did comfort family members and even bereaved staff.

For some reason, the image of the wall wouldn't leave her
mind. She felt as if the bronze plaque with its many names was
burned on her retinas.

She waited for the elevator to arrive. It was time to drive to
Maine, storm or no storm, to deal with her aunt's service and the
work that awaited. Nevertheless, she could not shake the feeling
that she needed to see the bronze plaque one more time.

Darby gave an exasperated sigh. She made it a point to listen
to her intuition, although at times following its lead was darn
right annoying. She retraced her steps through the reception area,
thankful that Alicia was engaged in conversation. Entering the
hallway where a few people were standing and talking quietly, she
noted that the ponytailed nurse was gone.

Once more, Darby studied Emerson Phipps' name.

The "S"-his middle initial-was probably for Samuel. Hadn't
Alicia said that one of the boys was named for her brother? She
glanced toward the buffet and smiled at the youngsters' antics.
Samuel and Michael were chasing each other around the small
cocktail tables, nearly knocking down the remaining guests with
their exuberance. They needed to be outside, tossing a football or
climbing on a jungle gym, whatever it was that boys that age did
these days.

Just then, something caught her eye, drawing her gaze once
more to the Wall of Remembrance. It was the name etched in
bronze two lines above Phipps'. A name she recognized. Her body
went cold.

The helpful administrator who had taken her to the wall in the
first place was at the buffet table scooping another helping of egg
salad when Darby found her. "Oh yes," she said, adding a croissant to an already overloaded plate. "I remember Linda. She was a
nurse in neonatology."

"Did you know her?"

"I'm afraid not."

Darby asked for directions to the neonatology wing and the
administrator gave her a curious look. After explaining the quickest route, she turned her attention back to the buffet and Darby
turned to leave. She was barely aware of anyone else in the room
as she moved through the hallway. She had never sleepwalked, but
her body felt as if she were in a dream.

The neonatology wing was off limits to those without an electronic pass. The young receptionist at the desk, however, smiled
and buzzed a nurse to come and assist Darby.

The nurse appeared seconds later, a frown on her face.

"Of course I remember her," she said briskly. "Linda was an extremely capable nurse who served at Boston Memorial for years.
Her death was a real blow to us all."
"

"How did she die?"

"Automobile accident."

"Did she have any relatives?"

I don't really know. We're too busy to socialize in this department."

She gave a dismissive nod to Darby and a reproachful glance
at the receptionist and turned abruptly away. The younger woman
rolled her eyes as the woman departed. "Nurse Gray is always like
that," she confided. "Super grouchy." She smiled. "I'm Tiffany.
I'd been here about two months when Linda died. We all took it
pretty hard."

Darby nodded in what she hoped was a sympathetic manner.
Her throat felt dry and she swallowed with difficulty.

"Water fountain's over there," said Tiffany, noticing Darby's
distress. "Help yourself."

Darby walked to the fountain and took a quick sip of water
and a deep steadying breath. Focus, she told herself. Find out what
you need to know...

She returned to Tiffany's desk, her head clearer. "I'm interested
in Linda because I think I may know her sister."

"The one who was in the accident?"

"I'm not sure."

"Must have been. The sister was driving and the roads were
slippery. You know, that stuff they call black ice, the kind you can't
see very well? They hit a patch and went flying off the road. Linda
was on all kinds of machines in the ICU, and her sister stayed right
by her side."

"Here at Boston Memorial?"

"Yes"

"Did a doctor named Emerson Phipps operate on her?"

"God, you mean the Emerson Phipps? Well if he had, she'd
probably be alive today. I don't know if he was involved. But hang
on, I can call my friend Mindy in scheduling."

Darby waited, hardly breathing, while the receptionist whipped
out a cell phone and pressed a button. "We're not supposed to use
them in the building," she said. "But what the hell."

Tiffany spoke quickly into the receiver and nodded, then
clicked her cell phone closed. "Mindy checked her computer. Dr.
Phipps was scheduled to operate, but Linda died before the operation. She was in very bad shape, I guess. One thing you learn in a
hospital: you can't save everyone"

She leaned closer to Darby and lowered her voice. "I'll tell you
this about Linda: she was in some kind of trouble before the car accident. A preemie died, and the parents said she'd done something to cause it."

"Wrongful death."

"That's what they called it, all right."

"Were charges brought against her?"

"I don't think they got a chance before that accident... " She
thought a moment. "The whole thing kind of disappeared after
Linda died." She shrugged. "Maybe they settled it with the family."
Her face brightened. "Hey! I've got an old recruiting flyer around
here somewhere with Linda's picture. Want to see it?" Tiffany rummaged in a desk drawer.

Darby nodded. She took the glossy brochure from Tiffany and
looked down at a photo of a smiling nurse holding a baby. The
nurse wore pastel scrubs and had short blonde hair. She looks exactly like her, Darby thought. Exactly ...

Without meaning to, Darby whispered, "Laura... "

Tiffany shook her head. "No, that's Linda. Linda Gefferelli.
They looked so alike though, you'd have sworn they were twins.
Sometimes her sister came to meet Linda here and none of us
could tell them apart. I thought it was cool, you know, the jokes
they could play on people? Anyway, after Linda died I heard that
Laura left the state and went up north-Vermont, I think. Imagine
how awful you'd feel if that was you, driving a car that kills your
own sister? Luckily, she's real churchy-a nun I think. That would
help."

"Yes," Darby said, handing the brochure back to Tiffany, "that
would help."

Donny Pease was battening down the hatches, a job generations of
islanders before him had done when a storm was headed up the
coast.

He began with his own house, pushing his rusted wheelbarrow
into the barn and looking for any lawn tools that could, in high
winds, become airborne. Next, he made sure his screen doors were
tightly latched and that the windows were down. He regarded an
old apple tree that he'd been meaning to prune of dead wood and
shook his head. Chances were good that this storm would do the
trimming for him.

He recalled his father talking about a hurricane that caused
untold damage to Maine in 1938. "You were just a small boy in
britches," he'd say, "when that storm swept up from the Connecticut River Valley. Lost half our barn in that gale, although the horses
and cows were still standing there later, right as rain."

He knew, as had his father, that preparing for a severe storm
took place during the sunshine. It was too late to do much of anything once the storm started. At that point, it was just a matter of
waiting it out and praying.

Satisfied that his own house was ready for the storm, Donny
headed over in his truck to Fairview. No one was there, which was
just fine and dandy. He did not need to find any other surprises,
not after what had happened on Monday.

He walked around the old estate, doing the same things he'd
done at his farmhouse, securing all of the main house's exterior
doors and checking to be sure the windows were nearly closed.

If predictions for this storm had suggested a severe hurricane,
Donny would have needed to board up Fairview's many windows. He'd done it before, and it was a time-consuming chore. Back
in the day, Donny spent a whole day preparing for bad weather.
In addition to boarding up the windows, there would have been
about a dozen porch rockers to lug inside, all of Mrs. Trimble's
pots of geraniums to shelter, and baskets of hanging impatiens
to tuck safely away. Donny would have disassembled lawn games
such as croquet and badminton, making any number of trips to
the garden cottage with wickets, nets, mallets, and racquets.

He sighed. Those days were long gone, the days of finding a
discarded highball glass in the gazebo, its owner having enjoyed
its contents while watching the sun sink behind the Manatuck
hills. Donny Pease missed those busy times, God knows he missed
them, but they were behind him now, mere memories with a hazy,
happy edge.

After closing the garden cottage's doors, Donny crossed the
lawn to the edge of the cliff, listening to the waves crash against the
granite rocks. June was the start of hurricane season, although it
seemed that most of Maine's tropical depressions and hurricanes
took place in the fall. From Fairview, Donny would head to the
harbor, where he'd get his boat ready to ride out the storm and
help any other boaters who needed a hand. Donny watched the
spray rise from the clash of water against rock for a moment
longer. The sea was rougher than usual; the effects of the changing
weather were already underway.