A Spoonful of Murder (33 page)

Lucky shivered. Exciting the body’s hydrogen atoms. And what if the hydrogen atoms didn’t want to be un-excited? This was as crazy as teleportation.

“This is completely noninvasive. There’s really no need to worry.”

Lucky took a deep breath and stood patiently at the glass window, even though she knew Jack couldn’t see outside the machinery that enclosed his head.

Several minutes later, the technician spoke. “That’s it. We’re done. Everything’s ready to go to our radiologist.”

“How does it look?” She was almost too afraid to ask.

“That’s for the radiologist to decide.” She smiled. “If it’s any comfort, I saw no anomalies. My only concern is that the radiologist gets a perfectly done test.” She hurried into the room and helped Jack up. He was smiling and no worse for the wear. He shifted off the table and the technician led him through the door.

“That wasn’t so bad, now, was it, Mr. Jamieson?” She smiled up at him.

“No. Not at all. Didn’t like all those noises and clicks, but nothing hurt.”

Lucky held the door open for Jack as they returned to the radiology waiting room. “Have a seat, Jack. I’m just going to check with the nurse to see if there’s anything else we need to do here.”

The phone call had come in the day before from an
appointment clerk at Woodside Hospital in Lincoln Heights. The clerk had explained that tests had been ordered for her grandfather. Would it be possible to have him come in the following afternoon? Lucky had agreed, anxious to do whatever was necessary to help Jack, but both disheartened and relieved that Elias hadn’t called himself to tell her he had arranged for the tests. She knew she should call him and thank him, but under the circumstances, she couldn’t bring herself to do so, especially since her questions about his
possible
—Lucky clung to Elizabeth’s cool logic—involvement with Patricia Honeywell still went unanswered. Even so, she couldn’t help but wonder if she might run into him in the maze of corridors at the hospital.

She sat at the small cubicle across the desk from the nurse. “I just wanted to make sure you had my grandfather’s insurance information. I think he’s seen everyone he needs to see here before we drive home.”

“Let’s see.” The woman turned to her computer monitor. “Your grandfather lives at 42 Birch Street, Snowflake. Is that correct?” Lucky nodded. “Looks like he’s all set. You’ll get all his results within the week, I’m sure. Who’s your attending? Oh, I see, it’s Dr. Scott.” She smiled across the desk. “You’re very lucky to have him. Wish he kept his practice here; he’d be my doctor.”

Lucky looked up in surprise. “Why is that?”

“Not many like him. He’s old-school.” The nurse laughed at Lucky’s perplexed expression. “I mean he’s young, of course, but very thorough and involved with his patients. Doesn’t let anything slide. Why, he followed one of his patients and her husband over here himself—the night of the big blizzard. She was in labor, very close, and he wanted to make sure nothing happened before her husband could get her here. Not many like that anymore, believe me. None that I can think of.”

Lucky was thunderstruck. The night of the storm. The night Elias didn’t respond to Rosemary’s call. “That’s amazing,” was all she could mumble.

The nurse chuckled. “Not so great for him. He had to
sleep on a cot in the doctor’s lounge. He was right to follow them over though. That baby came real quick. If they had been delayed on the road, that baby would have been born halfway between Snowflake and Lincoln Falls. Worse—if their car had broken down, that little one might not have survived.”

Lucky managed to mumble thanks and return to where Jack was seated.

“Are we finally done? I don’t want to be poked and prodded anymore. I want to get home.”

“Home it is, Jack.” Lucky smiled for the first time, relief finally sinking in with the knowledge that Elias, whatever his involvement, couldn’t possibly have murdered Patricia Honeywell.

“J
ACK, ALL THE
tests were negative. There are no signs of a stroke or tumor, no indication of cardiovascular disease.”

Jack grumbled. “I could have told you that.”

Elias ignored his comment. “I believe you’re suffering from a vitamin deficiency—vitamin B12. An insufficient intake of one B vitamin can create imbalances and deficiencies in others.”

Jack looked confused. “How could that be? I’ve always been careful about having a good diet.” Lucky waited, confused herself, but sure that Elias would explain his diagnosis.

Elias had pushed hard for Jack’s lab and MRI results to be expedited. The written reports hadn’t arrived, but Elias had talked to the laboratory supervisor and radiologist to get the results quickly from Woodside.

“There are different causes for this. There are disease processes that interfere with vitamin absorption. The B vitamins are absorbed by the body in the small intestine. In your case, part of your intestine was removed years ago because of the shrapnel wound, and that particular part of the small
intestine is the one place in the body where absorption takes place. Most people go for years before any signs or symptoms present themselves. And you’ve been suffering from these symptoms for a while—fatigue, heart palpitations, confusion, memory loss, which can eventually lead to dementia. All your scans were normal, all your other blood work was normal. So, I’m going to start you on a regimen of intramuscular shots right away. Every day for now, and then tapering off to once a month, taking blood samples along the way to make sure we’re clearing up the problem. Eventually you’ll only need oral supplements. Trust me, you’ll feel like a new man. I’m only sorry you didn’t come to the Clinic sooner.”

Lucky breathed a huge sigh of relief, so grateful for the positive diagnosis she could have cried.

“I’ll have the receptionist set up your appointments, and I’ll see you very soon.” Elias smiled. “Any questions?”

Jack shook his head slowly. “No. I just hope you’re right, doc.”

“Give the treatment time, but I suspect you’ll feel better with your first shot.”

Elias stood and moved toward the door of his office, holding it open for Lucky and Jack. Jack shrugged into his jacket in the corridor.

“Jack,” Lucky said, “you go ahead. I’ll catch up with you at the Spoonful.”

Jack waved and exited to the front. Lucky turned back to Elias. She cleared her throat. She felt as if she were about to cry from relief, and she would hate to embarrass herself like that. “I can’t thank you enough.”

“It’s not magic. We ruled out every other possibility—aneurysm, tumor—actually many people suffer from the deficiency for years and it isn’t properly identified. Jack will have to have regular shots and then we’ll test again and make sure it’s working. Eventually, these can be reduced and then finally oral supplements with lab tests every so often. I’m quite certain his symptoms will disappear.”

Elias returned to his desk and sat, straightening out a
stack of patient charts. He avoided looking at her. “I have some other patients waiting if there’s nothing else.”

Lucky felt her face grow hot. She had to somehow find a way to explain why she had broken the date and refused to talk to him. “I…I am so sorry that I couldn’t talk to you the other day…” Lucky trailed off.

“That’s quite all right. I understand you were upset.” He looked up, his eyes boring into her. “I would like to know, however, why you were grilling my receptionist about my whereabouts on the night of the murder.”

Lucky was paralyzed, unable to respond. Rosemary had told Elias that she was asking questions. Should she give Elias the same excuse she had given Rosemary for her questions? Obviously she hadn’t fooled Rosemary one bit. How could she hope that Elias would swallow the lie? He was maintaining his distance and was undoubtedly hurt by the fact that she had suspected him.

Suddenly her embarrassment flared into anger. The fact remained that a light-colored sedan with a parking permit was seen at Honeywell’s house—twice if you count the time Hank was almost hit by a silver sedan flying out of the driveway.

“Were you Patricia Honeywell’s lover?” The words came out of her mouth before she could censor them.

“What?” Elias almost shouted. “Why would you ask me something like that?” His face was suffused with anger. “Certainly not.”

“Your car was seen at her house on two occasions.” Lucky couldn’t guarantee that it was Elias’s car, but she tossed it out to see his reaction.

“My car?” He looked genuinely perplexed. “That couldn’t be. I wouldn’t even know where that house is. I have never been there. And I never even met the woman—alive, that is.” His voice had become louder. He glared at Lucky. Now he really was angry. “If you had only talked to me first, instead of going behind my back…”

“How do you explain the car?” she shot back.

He shook his head in confusion. “I can’t. I keep my car
here most of the time, in case I have to run over to Woodside. The keys are on a hook at the nurse’s desk. If it
was
my car, which I seriously doubt, then anyone could have taken it when I wasn’t around.” He took a deep breath to calm himself. “Any other questions?”

His response was straightforward, but there was no mistaking the anger lurking under the surface. He had good reason to be angry with her. First she had questioned him about his partner. He was upset her questions would cast a shadow on Jon Starkfield’s reputation. Then she suspected he had been Patricia Honeywell’s lover and perhaps her murderer. To add insult to injury, she hadn’t gone straight to him and confronted him. If it hadn’t been for the nurse at the hospital in Lincoln Falls, she might still have doubts about Elias. It was too much for him to forgive. She realized she had blown any possibility of a relationship with him. She only wished she could break through the wall that Elias had thrown up around himself. Her heart sank. There was no way now to bridge the gap.

“No, I guess not.”

“Perhaps if I had been in your place I might have thought the same.” He rose from his chair and moved to the door, holding it open for her. “Good-bye.”

Lucky stepped into the corridor. Elias closed the door firmly behind her.
Dismissed, you idiot,
she thought. It was probably exactly what she deserved—suspecting him, breaking a date, refusing to talk, shutting him out of her life. What else should she expect?

Her heart was racing, and she thought she would burst into tears, torn between embarrassment and anger. She was right to suspect Jon Starkfield. If it was common knowledge that Elias’s car was often parked at the Clinic, and the keys readily available, Jon Starkfield was more than ever a likely suspect.

A flash of something from the window to the back parking lot caught her eye. She turned and walked slowly down the corridor to the rear door and peered through the glass. Jon Starkfield was placing a heavy briefcase in the trunk of
a black Volvo. He walked slowly around the car toward the driver’s door. This was her chance. There wouldn’t be a better one. After her confrontation with Elias, she didn’t think she’d ever be able to come here again.

Lucky pushed through the door and approached him. She called out, “Dr. Starkfield.” He turned and, was it her imagination? Something shifted in his face, although on the surface his expression was pleasant.

“Lucky, isn’t it?”

Lucky nodded. “Yes. I just wanted a moment to speak with you.”

“What can I do for you?”

“You may already know that an earring was found in your parking lot and turned in to the receptionist. But you may not know that a witness has claimed the murder victim was involved with a doctor.” His jaw tightened ever so slightly. If she hadn’t been watching his reaction so carefully, she might have missed it.

“I wasn’t aware of a lost earring, nor was I privy to that woman’s private life.”

Lucky felt her heart racing. But what other choice did she have? Sage had already been arraigned with no hope of bail. Soon the whole matter would be ancient history and the jail cell door would clang shut for good. It was urgent to push hard and see if anything broke loose. She had to dive in with both feet. “Dr. Starkfield—were you involved with Patricia Honeywell?”

Starkfield’s face turned a shade of gray. He took two steps away from her, his keys dangling in his hand. “Certainly not. How dare you accuse me of having anything to do with that woman? And I certainly hope you’re not accusing me of being involved in her murder!”

“Where were you that night? The night of the storm?”

“Young lady, this is highly insulting. In fact, it’s ridiculous. Be careful what you say, because this is nothing less than slanderous. In fact, it would be ludicrous if it weren’t so horrifying. Abigail and I were at home all evening—snowbound—as
was everyone else in town. Now, I’m late for an appointment. If you’ll please step away from the car.”

Lucky thought if her questions were so ludicrous, he certainly didn’t look like laughing. She backed up several steps and watched him climb into his car. He shot her one last angry look and started his engine, peeling out of the parking lot at too fast a speed to be safe.

Lucky felt she’d collapse like a spent balloon. She sat down on the back steps of the Clinic and rested her head on her knees. She shivered from the cold. The warming trend was over, and increasingly heavier clouds had gathered, blotting out the weak winter sun. She had been so sure she was on the right track. Now what did she have? Sage was still in jail, the restaurant was failing, Honeywell’s murderer was still on the loose and Elias, and now Jon Starkfield, wasn’t speaking to her. She sighed and stood up. She should head for the Spoonful and get to work. What she really wanted to do was to go home and crawl under the covers. In the distance, she heard the bells of St. Genesius carried by the wind. What was it Starkfield had said?
Abigail and I were at home all evening
. Why did he mention Abigail? Lucky gasped. St. Genesius—that’s where Starkfield was heading in such a hurry, and now she knew why.