Everywhere She Turns (12 page)

The form fluttered to the floor. CJ shoved the medicine cabinet off the toilet and yanked up the lid.

She heaved again and again though she’d eaten nothing but toast this morning.

CJ collapsed onto the floor, flinching when her knee hit the corner of the medicine cabinet. Medicine bottles were scattered over the battered linoleum. Dust and grime had collected on the baseboards and in the corners. The wallpaper that had been there for as long as CJ remembered had faded and wrinkled, peeling away from the wall here and there.

All those insignificant details inventoried in her stunned mind as she grappled with this new truth.

Shelley had been pregnant.

It didn’t matter at the moment who the father was.

It only mattered that the killer had murdered two people.

CJ staggered to her feet, washed her hands, and threw cold water on her face in an effort to snap out of the daze this news had induced. She stuck her face under the stream of water and rinsed her mouth.

When she’d pulled herself back together she reached down and picked up the form and the appointment card.

These were evidence. Sort of. Of course the autopsy would reveal that Shelley had been pregnant. But the fact that she had known before she was murdered could be significant. Especially since she’d obviously felt the need to hide the evidence of her pregnancy.

Why would she have done that unless she’d feared repercussions?

CJ had been wrong. It did matter who the father was. If he was a married man or just a jerk who didn’t want children with—CJ swallowed hard—a known prostitute and drug addict, he may have taken matters into his own hands.

She should call Braddock.

CJ hesitated before reaching for her cell phone. The thought of talking to him . . .

No. First she should go to the clinic and see if anyone there knew who the father was. Shelley had been excited. She very well could have gone on and on to whoever delivered the news to her.

CJ made it as far as the living room before her knees gave out on her and she dropped into the closest chair.

She closed her eyes and fought the overwhelming ache twisting in her chest. This was so unfair. Shelley had talked about wanting a kid. On one of those rare occasions when she and CJ weren’t fighting, she’d enthused wildly about how she would never be like their mother. She would stay clean and be a good mother. Her baby would never do without the most important element of childhood—loving attention from his or her parents.

That was the deal. Their childhoods hadn’t been so screwed up because they were poor or lived in a less-than-desirable part of town. Their childhoods had been unstable and scary and miserable a good portion of the time because no one had been there to see after them.

CJ had done her best to be both mother and father, starting at age ten. But it hadn’t been enough.

Agony throbbed inside her.

Everything Shelley had ever set out to accomplish had blown up in her face. A lot of her choices had been bad ones, leaving no one to blame but herself. But sometimes fate just cheated her.

Like this time.

Anger propelled CJ to her feet. She could sit here feeling sorry for her sister’s misfortunes and guilty for not being better at taking care of her, or she could find out who killed her.

By the time CJ had snagged her bag, grabbed her keys, and stormed out to the car, she was damned pissed off.

Other than a decent burial, this was the one thing CJ could do for her sister.

Keep looking until she found Shelley’s killer.

Mill Village Medical Clinic

The clinic was closed.

CJ stared in disbelief at the opening hours. Since when was the clinic open only two days per week?

Wednesdays and Fridays only?

What were sick people supposed to do the other five days of the week?

CJ knew the answer: wait until they were sick enough to go to the ER. It cost everyone four times as much and the hospital ended up unable to collect.

Bad business all the way around.

Dammit.

Frustrated, she started back to her car. Detective Jenkins had parked across the street. She refused to be intimidated by his presence. He could follow her around twenty-four/seven and she wasn’t going to do anything differently. Braddock could kiss her—

A Camry turned into the parking lot. CJ hesitated before opening her car door. Someone else who didn’t realize the clinic wouldn’t be open. The vehicle was a little upscale for any
of the village residents. Well, except maybe for the crime lords and slumlords. They generally drove nicer vehicles.

Maybe she could at least get the name of whoever was running the clinic. The physician’s signature on the patient visit form was impossible to make out. Big surprise there. If she had to track down the doctor in charge at home or at another clinic, she would.

A woman emerged from the Camry. “The clinic’s closed,” she announced without preamble.

Hello to you, too
. CJ was in no mood to take any crap. The lady would just have to deal with it. “Yeah, I see that.” She took a couple of steps toward the Camry. “Can you tell me the name of the doctor who runs the clinic?”

The woman stared at CJ across the top of her car. Her gaze narrowed. “CJ Patterson?”

CJ tried to place the woman’s face. There was something vaguely familiar about her. Long brown hair, round face. Boxy frame, not exactly fat, just square. Medium height. “Yes. I’m CJ Patterson.”

She was just about to ask the woman’s name when the woman spoke up again. “You don’t remember me, do you?”

The fact that her expression had grown colder with the statement didn’t bode well for getting information.

“I’m sorry.” CJ shook her head. “I’m really bad with names.” That wasn’t generally the case, but the other woman didn’t have to know that.

As if the woman had decided the conversation wasn’t worth pursuing, she reached back into her Camry and withdrew with a large shoulder bag and an armful of files. She bumped the car door closed with her hip.

“Like I said”—she sent CJ a pointed look—“the clinic is closed.” She tossed her head, sending her hair flying over her shoulder, and marched toward the clinic’s entrance.

Wait
. There was something familiar about that move—the whole tossing-her-head thing, as if she’d just dismissed CJ. “Juanita.” CJ recognized her now. “Juanita Lusk.”

Key halfway to the door’s lock, the woman’s hand stilled. “I
guess you’re better with names than you thought.” She shoved the key into the lock without a backward glance.

It was all coming back to CJ now. Juanita had been a junior when CJ was a freshman at Huntsville’s University of Alabama. Juanita had been in pre-med, too.

Carter Cost
.

Yeah, CJ remembered. He’d dumped Juanita for a brief fling with CJ. Her first and only mistake with men—until Braddock.

Evidently Juanita still held a grudge.

CJ bolted into action, catching the door before it closed behind Lusk. She parked herself in the threshold and didn’t budge.

“I already told you,” Juanita snapped, “we’re closed.”

“I’ll only take a minute of your time. Please,” CJ urged, “it’s really important.”

An indifferent huff previewed the lack of compassion that claimed Lusk’s face. “Get out of the way and let me lock the door before the whole fucking village shows up.”

CJ stepped around her and waited while she locked the door. Lusk didn’t switch on the lights, just turned and headed through the lobby. CJ stayed right on her heels.

The clinic looked exactly as it had when she was a kid. Same scuffed tile floors and worn-out waiting room seating. The TV and VCR were new to the clinic but far from newly purchased. Beyond the lobby there appeared to have been a halfhearted face-lift in the last decade. Still three exam rooms to the right, a toilet, lab/supply room, and office on the left. Straight back at the end of the corridor that divided the rear section of the clinic in half was an emergency exit, the one the staff generally used to come and go.

Inside the cramped office Juanita dumped the load of files on the already cluttered metal desk and dropped her bag on the floor. “What do you want?” She plopped unceremoniously into the chair behind the desk. “When I get finished here I have catching up to do at the Downtown Clinic too.”

CJ didn’t sit. Mainly because the only other chair was stacked full of files. She could do this better standing, anyway. “My
sister, Shelley, was a patient here. I’m sure you’ve heard that she was murdered over the weekend.”

Lusk’s indifferent expression didn’t alter in the slightest. “Yeah, I saw the two-liner buried in this morning’s paper.”

Anger unfurled in CJ’s belly. “You know, college was a long time ago and I’m really sorry you haven’t gotten past it, but my sister is dead and I really don’t give a shit if you didn’t get the guy.”

Lusk’s face softened just the tiniest bit. “The way I remember it, you didn’t either.”

CJ’s shoulders sagged as the fight drained out of her. “True.”

“Look, Patterson.” Lusk waved a hand around the tiny office. “I have a lot of work to do. I’m sorry as hell about your sister, but that’s the way it goes around here. What is it that you want from me?”

“She had an appointment with you next Friday.”

Lusk flipped through the dog-eared appointment book on the desk, stopped on the appropriate page, and scanned the names. “Yep. Two o’clock.” She grabbed a pen and scratched out Shelley’s name.

CJ flinched. Tears stung her eyes, but she wouldn’t let this grudge-carrying witch see it.

“According to the clinic form I found at the house,” CJ continued when Lusk didn’t offer any information, “Shelley was pregnant.”

“If that’s what the form says, then that’s the case.”

“How far along was she?”

Lusk twisted the pen in her fingers and appeared to consider the question. “I believe I estimated six weeks, probably based on the date of her last period. She was supposed to come back for the vaginal exam. I could look up her file, but, as you can see”—she waved her hands over her desk—“I’m little overwhelmed at the moment.”

CJ shook her head. That wasn’t really her concern. “Did she mention to you or any of the other staff who the father was?”

Lusk cocked her head. “Are you seriously asking
that
question?”

CJ blinked. “Yes. There’s a murder investigation, and—”

“Maybe you’re in denial,” Lusk interrupted, “but your sister spent most of her nights working the streets as a prostitute.” She held up a hand when CJ would have blasted her. “Fortunately, she’d started cleaning up her act. She’d been drug-free for nearly two months. And she was clean, no STDs. She was a work in progress. I’m not judging; I’m simply making an honest statement.”

CJ moistened her lips, tamped down the emotion swelling in her throat. Emotion aside, she recognized that Lusk had a point.

“The father could have been any one of a number of men.” Lusk lifted her linebacker shoulders and let them fall. “She didn’t tell me and I didn’t ask. Most of the young women who come in here are working girls. I test them, treat what ails them, and don’t ask questions. They don’t talk.”

“Could she . . .” CJ worked at steadying her voice. “Could she have talked to anyone else here?”

Lusk opened her arms wide. “I’m it, Patterson. The clinic staff begins and ends with me right now. Both the nurse and the receptionist quit a week ago. I shouldn’t even be operating this clinic without one or both, but then the folks here go without medical attention.” She braced her elbows atop the stack of files. “Maybe you’ve forgotten how it is around here since you landed that prestigious residency at Hopkins.”

Now the real issue surfaced. Lusk was jealous. Did she have nothing better to do than to keep up with a former classmate’s career? What was wrong with this woman? CJ’s sister was dead!

“I’m sure you won’t mind if I see her chart.”

A guard went up as visibly as if Lusk had pushed CJ out of her office and slammed the door. “What does her chart have to do with her murder?”

CJ shook her head. “Nothing. I just wanted some insight—”

“Whatever. I’ll dig it up. Obviously I have nothing better to do.” She pushed to her feet. “Just give me a minute. I don’t think I filed Friday’s charts.”

“Thank you.”

CJ rubbed at her forehead. A long-overdue headache was
brewing. No sleep, no decent food, way too much caffeine. And Braddock. A recipe for trouble.

While she waited, CJ surveyed the office. Lusk was right. She was way behind on paperwork. If she was running this clinic alone even for one week, she had to be overwhelmed. CJ moved closer to the wall where Lusk’s credentials hung. University of Alabama in Birmingham. Surprise flared at what she didn’t see.

“That’s right,” Lusk said from the door.

Feeling like she’d just been caught with her hand in the cookie jar, CJ turned to face her.

“I didn’t get
MD
behind my name.” Lusk shoved the chart at CJ. “I had to settle for being a nurse practitioner. Which means I do twice the work you do and get paid half as much.”