Fertile Ground (41 page)

“Yes. Thanks for calling. Dr. Brockman.”

Naomi was always polite. Lisa thought sadly and heard the faint click of a hang-up. “Baruch, are you still there?” When he answered, she said, “I’m going to give you the number of my cellular phone and pager so you

won’t have to call the service. Do you have a pencil and paper?”

The woman who answered the door of the small gray house was an older version of Grace. Same light brown hair, same watery, pale-blue eyes. Same petite frame. Same aura of anxiety.

“Grace isn’t here,” she said after Lisa introduced herself. “I have no idea where she is, but if and when she calls, I’ll tell her you’re looking for her.”

“Her neighbor Peggy Eggars said she and Suzie came here because she’s afraid for her life, so I understand your being careful.” Lisa extended her driver’s license.

The woman pushed it away. “I don’t need to see that. I don’t know where Grace is. And her neighbor must have been drinking to come up with a story like that.” She started to shut the door.

“Isn’t that Grace’s car in the driveway?” Lisa pointed toward a white Honda Civic.

“No, that’s ours—my husband’s and mine.”

“With an infant’s car seat in the back?”

“We bought one for when we take Suzie in the car. If you must know,” she added a second later with an attempt at indignation. Her eyes were nickering.

“Tell her Norman Weld’s been arrested for murdering Dr. Gordon and Chelsea Wright. Tell her if the police think he did it, they won’t look for the real killers. Then Grace and Suzie and Tony will have to hide forever.”

“When I see her, I’ll tell her.” She slammed the door shut.

Lisa crossed the street and sat in her car. A minute or so later she saw the drapes at the large front window being pulled back an inch, then quickly released.

She had plenty of time. It was hot in the car, and sweat was trickling down her back. She turned on the ignition to open the electronic front windows, then shut the engine and sat for over half an hour watching the house. The front drapes were pulled back three or four times. She thought about Chelsea and Matthew and Ted—she didn’t believe he’d killed himself—and wondered what grim

common denominator had made it necessary for them to be murdered.

She phoned Barone on her cellular and learned that the detective wasn’t in. She didn’t leave a message.

Another half hour passed. Mary Rick came out the front door and right up to Lisa’s car.

“You can’t harass me like this!” she hissed, leaning into the open window, her palms pressed against the car door. Her voice shook with anger. “I told you, I don’t know where Grace is. You can believe me or not, but if you don’t leave, I’m calling the police.”

The woman was bluffing. If Grace was here with her family, the last thing she wanted was police cars and attention drawn to her mother’s house. “Go ahead, then,” Lisa said with a calm she didn’t feel. She wondered sadly at what point she had turned into someone who could so easily intimidate, manipulate, lie.

“Why won’t you go away?” The mother’s eyes were filled with hate.

“I have to talk to Grace. I promise I won’t stay long.”

Mary Rick spun around and walked back into her house. Lisa got out of her car and followed her. She rang the bell.

“You can’t do this!” Mary whined when she jerked open the door.

“The longer you keep me out here, the more people are going to notice and talk.”

Fear pinched the woman’s face. “Fine,” she said between clenched teeth. She opened the door to let Lisa enter a small, square living room, then shut it quickly behind her. “Wait here.”

The room was tidy and smelled of lemon furniture polish. The yellow-and-rose cotton print sofa and love seat were covered in plastic. The plush rose carpet showed the parallel lines of recent vacuuming, unmarred except for the traffic to the door. Against the far wall, to the left of a small fireplace, was a reddish-brown spinet. On the piano ledge, on top of a lace doily, stood a large silver framed wedding photo of Grace and Tony and several smaller photos of Suzie.

“Is it true about Norman?”

Lisa turned and saw Grace standing in the adjoining dining room. Her mother was right behind her. “Yes.” Grace looked so different out of uniform—smaller, somehow. Lisa approached her, conscious that she was making footprints on the carpet. “I’m sorry I upset your mother, but I have to talk to you. Can I sit down?”

“I don’t know anything.” Grace set her lips in a stubborn line. “You’ve come here for nothing.”

“Someone tried to kill me. Twice.” She saw the nurse’s eyes widen. “Once at the clinic, on Sunday night. You know that broken window in the operating room I asked Selena to have fixed? I shattered it to set off the alarm so the police would come.”

Grace looked at her uncertainly. “Selena said it was vandals.”

“That’s what I told her to tell everyone. I didn’t want people to panic. Last night someone tried to run me over.” She paused to let that sink in. Grace, she noted, was blinking rapidly. “Peggy Eggars told me you’re afraid that the people who killed Dr. Gordon and Chelsea and Dr. Cantrell are going to kill you, too. Who are they, Grace?” she asked softly.

“I don’t know. I’m just scared. Someone’s killing people who work at the clinic. You just said they tried to kill you, too. Why wouldn’t I be scared?” Her tone was impatient, defiant. Her chin was quivering.

“On Monday you were talking to Dr. Cantrell. You walked away, and he went after you. What did he tell you. Grace?”

“Nothing.” The nurse’s face was flushed. She avoided Lisa’s eyes.

“You’re lying. Grace,” Lisa said quietly.

“Don’t talk like that to my daughter!” Mary Rick snapped, taking a step closer.

Grace faced her mother. “Would you leave us alone, please. Mom?”

“She called you a liar!”

“Please, Mom. I can handle this, okay?”

“You’re sure?” Mary glared at Lisa.

Grace nodded. The mother hesitated, then left the room, casting a backward, hate-filled glance at Lisa before she shut the door. Grace pulled out a chair and sat down.

Lisa did the same. “What did Ted tell you?” she asked.

“He didn’t tell me anything! That’s the truth. Do the police believe that Norman killed Dr. Gordon and Chel sea?” Grace was pulling at the crocheted lace cloth on the pecan dining table.

“Norman told them he’s responsible. He admitted to me that he harassed patients when they were in Recovery. Do you know anything about his involvement with the murders?”

“No. I—no, I don’t.” Grace sounded confused.

“I spoke to Chelsea’s gynecologist. He told me she wouldn’t have gone to the clinic three weeks ago to donate eggs. She wasn’t ovulating. She was afraid she wouldn’t have any children.” Lisa was watching the nurse carefully. Grace had tensed, but didn’t seem surprised. Why not? In a casual voice. Lisa said, “You knew about that, didn’t you?”

No answer from Grace. Her eyes were darting back and forth, like goldfish in a bowl.

Lisa thought quickly, then said, “Chelsea told Dr. Mel man you knew.” Telling a lie to pry loose the truth.

The nurse bowed her head and whispered, “Yes, I knew.”

“Why didn’t you tell someone?” Lisa asked gently, careful to strip impatience from her voice. The last thing she wanted to do was intimidate her.

“I was afraid. I wasn’t sure …” She was still looking down.

“Sure about what?” No response. “Grace, do you know who killed her?”

She started to cry. “Oh, God, I’m so scared!” she whispered. “I don’t want to die!”

“Tell me who killed her. Grace.” Lisa moved closer so that her knees were almost touching the other

woman’s. “Is it the same person who killed Dr. Gordon?”

“I wasn’t sure!” Grace looked up. “That’s why I didn’t say anything. You know how much I loved Dr. Gordon, but I wasn’t sure! You can understand that, can’t you?” Tears were streaming down her cheeks. “Of course I do. What happened. Grace?”

“Chelsea came to me after she met with Dr. Gordon. She was very upset.” The nurse wiped her eyes with her hand. “She wanted to see her file. I told her I couldn’t show it to her, only Dr. Gordon could. She told me she wasn’t ovulating, that she was afraid she wouldn’t be able to have children of her own. She wanted—” Grace started crying again. She bit her lower lip before she continued. “She wanted to know who received her eggs.”

Lisa’s heart thumped. “Did you tell her?”

“She forced me to!” Grace wailed. “I said I’d lose my job if I told her. That’s when she told me she wasn’t eighteen when she donated the eggs last July! She said she’d file charges if I didn’t tell her who received her eggs!” Grace was sobbing, barely able to talk. “I didn’t know she wasn’t eighteen! She looked so much older. I had no idea! I’d never do anything to cause one second of trouble for Dr. Gordon! Never!”

“I believe you. Grace.” Lisa patted her arm. “You’re being too hard on yourself. Everyone makes mistakes. I have. Dr. Gordon would have understood.”

“I couldn’t tell him! It wasn’t just that I was afraid for my job—I couldn’t bear to see the look on his face when he found out I let him down. So I checked the Jane Doe file and told Chelsea who received her eggs. She was disappointed when I said that one of the recipients didn’t conceive.”

“Cora Alien.”

Grace nodded. “But the other patient did conceive, with twins. I gave Chelsea her name. I had no choice. You can see that, can’t you?” She looked desperately at Lisa for confirmation and grabbed her hand.

Lisa nodded, but her head was spinning. She was thinking about Naomi Hoffman, how she must have felt when

Chelsea appeared at her door. You’re carrying my babies, Mrs. Hoffman.

Or had Chelsea spoken to Baruch? Had he listened, dumbfounded, as she told him that his wife’s twins weren’t really hers? Had he torn out the pages from the Julian calendar log when he had Charlie show him and Naomi their frozen embryos? Had he somehow managed to steal Naomi’s file?

How far had he gone to prevent his world from crumbling?

“And I did all that for nothing’.” Grace cried. “Later that day Dr. Gordon said Chelsea admitted she was underage when she donated. I’ve never seen him so angry, so when he asked me how I could have let her slip through, I told him it wasn’t me.”

“Did he explain why Chelsea told him?” Lisa was reluctant to interrupt Grace, but Matthew hadn’t written any of this in his “Notes” file.

“No. He said she came to donate eggs, and she slipped and told him. Maybe she thought the recipient’s name would be in her file. Maybe she thought she’d have a chance to look at the file without Dr. Gordon knowing.”

Lisa nodded. “Maybe.”

Grace took a deep breath. “And then she was murdered. I knew there’d be an investigation, so I forged her signature on the waiver and the application. I didn’t want her parents to sue the clinic and Dr. Gordon. You think I’m horrible, don’t you?”

“No, I don’t. Grace. I can see how you felt trapped.” Had the Hofftnans felt trapped, too?

“I was.” She nodded vigorously. “I couldn’t tell the police—I was afraid I’d go to jail. And I didn’t think any of this was connected to Chelsea’s murder, because Dr. Gordon told me the detective said it was a mugging. That same day he found out about the forgeries. And the next morning he disappeared. I thought he ran away because he knew there’d be an investigation and he’d be sued.”

“You were very nervous that morning,” Lisa said softly. “You were crying.”

“Because I knew,” Grace whispered. “Deep down I

knew.” She tapped her chest and looked at Lisa.

Lisa sensed that the nurse wasn’t telling her everything. “What did you know. Grace?”

“Dr. Gordon and Chelsea were killed because they knew who received her eggs,” she whispered. “Dr. Gordon must have told the recipient that Chelsea was asking about her, that there could be a problem because she was underage when she donated.” She took a breath. “If I’d told the police. Dr. Cantrell would be alive. I know he didn’t kill himself. Someone murdered him.”

“Why, Grace?”

She pressed her fingers against her scalp. “He wouldn’t leave me alone! I begged him to stop asking me questions, but he came after me again and again, until I told him who received Chelsea’s eggs.”

“That was on Monday, when I saw you talking to him?” “Yes.” She shut her eyes briefly. “He figured out right away that this patient killed Chelsea and Dr. Gordon. He asked me if I’d told the police what I knew, and I said no, I was terrified. So he said he’d help me. He’d tell them he gave Chelsea the recipient’s name. But he must have blackmailed her instead.”

Greed, Lisa thought, was certainly more typical of Ted than heroism. This explained the serious money Ted’s ex wife had told the police he’d been expecting.

“I keep telling myself that it was his own fault he was killed, that he was stupid for blackmailing someone who killed two other people. And now he’s dead. And what if he told her I gave him her name? She’ll kill me, too.” Grace started to shake.

Lisa heard muted ringing; it took her a second to realize it was her cell phone. Bending down, she grabbed her phone from her purse, flipped it open, and said, “Yes?” as Grace mouthed, “I’ll be back,” and half ran out of the room.

“You have to help me!” Baruch cried.

Lisa found it unbearable to speak to him. “What’s happened?”

“She admitted she’s been having regular contractions.

They’re strong now. She’s been in labor for hours. Dr. Brockman!”

The urgency in his voice helped remind her that she was a physician, not a judge or a detective, that Naomi Hoffman was her patient. That Baruch was her patient’s husband. She cleared her throat. “How close are they?”

“Five minutes.”

She checked her watch, it was just after three o’clock. “Drive Naomi to Cedars. I’ll phone ahead and tell them to expect you. I should be there in thirty minutes.” Later she’d think about what Grace had told her and decide what to do.

“She won’t go to the hospital. Dr. Brockman. She said the dead girl’s parents will be there, and the media.”

Lisa pursed her lips. “No one outside the clinic knows who received their daughter’s eggs, Baruch.” She tried not to sound impatient.