The Plague Doctor (8 page)

Chapter Fifteen

The private office Edgar Baxter had occupied for over four decades was much neater than I had expected. It was situated in a large interior room with no windows to distract him. There were two doors: the door from the hallway and another one which opened to a bathroom. The bathroom had another door as well, that opened into the dark pharmacy. The facilities were apparently shared.

Each of us had brought little penlights, but I now turned on the larger flashlight I had tucked into the back of my jeans and upended it on the desk as we looked around the room.

One wall was occupied by floor-to-ceiling shelves of medical books and journals. I checked some of the dates. Most of them were current issues. Apparently the doc kept up with the latest professional news.

All of the drawers of his big old oak desk were unlocked and opened easily but neither of us could find anything of interest—just pens and paper clips and other office supplies.

Baxter had no computer. Old-fashioned oak file cabinets no doubt held the information I was seeking. I took the list of patients I had printed from Ethan's computer out of my pocket and went to pull the charts.

“Hey Mom,” whispered Cassie, “look at this!”

How many times had I heard my daughter say that during the last twenty years?

“Don't bother me now, Cassie. We can't stay here forever,” I replied in an irritable whisper.

“Okay then, if you don't want to examine a large cardboard filing box labeled ‘Obstetrical Patients 1997-2000.'”

“You're kidding!”

“Shsssss!”

“Wonder what this is doing here?”

“I don't know. I just found it tucked under the desk. It looks like he was planning to move it somewhere.”

“Terrific! Let's just take the whole box home.”

“But, Mom, he's bound to come back looking for it. What'll we do then?”

“Look, Cassie, we can't possibly review all the charts under these conditions.”

“You're right there, Sherlock. You're sweating like a pig, and I'm about to die in this wool sweater. It's like a greenhouse in here. You'd think they would have turned off the furnace to save money when they closed the office.”

“Probably can't. These old buildings only have one common furnace, and the pharmacy is still open for business.”

“So what's your plan, Mom?”

My throat ached from the forced whispering and I was dying for a cold drink.

“Let's take this file box home and go over it at our leisure—meaning tonight and tomorrow. We can bring it back tomorrow night and no one will be the wiser.”

“We hope!”

“We hope.”

“Okay, I'm with you. You grab that end. I've got this one.”

Cass hefted her end of the box. It was heavier than it looked. She staggered and accidentally backed into a small table in the corner. There was a loud crash and the sudden smell of something pungent and medicinal.

“Damn! What in the world is that?”

I held my nose against the odor as I bent down to pick up the broken bottle. The wet label was already smeared and barely legible.

“All I can tell is it's ‘highly flammable.'”

“Great!”

Cass set the box down and opened the door to the bathroom.

“There are some paper towels in here. We can clean it up and toss the bottle. Maybe the doctor will forget it was ever here by the time he comes back.”

“What's that!”

Our voices had grown increasingly louder. I dropped mine back to an urgent whisper as I turned my flashlight off and peeked out of the crack in the door to the hallway. Down by the entrance, another light was bobbing along with someone's measured tread. We only had a few moments before they reached us. I closed the door as quietly as I could.

“Quick! Grab the box and let's get out of here.”

“How?”

There was panic in her voice.

“Through the bathroom. The pharmacy is on the other side. We can get outside from there. Hurry!”

We each lifted the heavy file box and lugged it into the bathroom. I closed that door and turned the inside lock hoping the locked door would buy us some extra time.

Cass braced her end of the box on her hip as she opened the other door into the pharmacy. The street lights shone in brightly through the big front windows. We no longer needed our flashlights. As a matter of fact, if anyone had peered in from the street they could have seen us huffing and puffing as we dragged the heavy box across the back of the store to the side exit.

“Do you think they have an alarm system?”

“There's only one way to find out.” I told her. “Open the door and get ready to run.”

Cass bit her lip and opened the door. Nothing happened.

“Thank God! Now let's go!”

Cass opened the door wider and peeked out.

“Gran's gone!”

“Don't be silly. You just can't see Watson under those trees.”

I awkwardly maneuvered my side of the box around to the door and looked out to the empty street.

“Mother's gone!”

“Duh!”

“My God, what'll we do?” My mouth was dry as a bone and my breath rattled in my throat like a pair of dice.

“Well, we could walk out of here totin' this one ton box. It's only four miles or so to the farm,” Cassie hissed. “I'm sure no one will notice us, including whoever that is in the doctor's office.”

“Twit!”

“Okay, then tell me ‘O great writer of mysteries,' what would The Honorable Leonard Paisley do?”

My heart leapt with joy and relief as I saw Watson speeding down the side street with my beloved mother behind the wheel.

“He would hitch a ride with Mata Hari! Let's go!”

Mother careened to the curb and slammed on the brakes. We dashed out and opened the back door—overhead light be damned! Cassie pulled and I pushed the heavy box into the back seat, and we piled in on top of it. I started to shout something dramatic like “Fly like the wind!” but Mother needed no encouragement. She was down the block, around the courthouse, and halfway home before I caught enough of my breath to admonish her.

“Where have you been? You had us scared half to death!”

“I had a nature call,” she sniffed. “I had to run home for a moment.”

“You had to pee! And you left us swinging in the wind for that?”

“Don't be common, Paisley. What was I supposed to do? I don't have a car commode like Queen Elizabeth, and I really had to go. Maybe we should invest in…”

I sank down on the cardboard box. The top folded in under my weight, but I was exhausted and way past caring. I let her prattle on about the advisability of our purchasing a port-a-potty for Watson until we reached the safety and comfort of home sweet home.

Cass and I carried the box to the library and dropped it in front of the fireplace with weary relief. Mother hurried to the kitchen to try and appease our anger at being abandoned by fixing us a celebratory feast.

I was in the middle of my second roast beef and horseradish on a sourdough bun when I heard the siren.

“Is that the fire alarm?”

“Yes, dear. It's still mounted on the top of the fire station. They only use it when there's a really big fire and they need to call out the volunteer firemen.”

“Too bad Mavis is still so angry, Mother. You could phone and find out what's going on.”

“I imagine it will be quite some time before Mavis speaks to me again. Amy from our Sunday School class called this afternoon to tell me Mavis was sitting propped up on the sofa with her leg bandaged to the hip. She has that poor simple husband of hers running around fetching ice cream and bonbons and magazines. Mavis is quite the actress.”

I was still curious about the fire. “Who else has a police radio?”

“Forget about calling anyone, Mom. In case you hadn't noticed, it's twenty past three.”

I yawned hugely, “No wonder I'm so sleepy. Those files will have to wait until tomorrow. After all, ‘tomorrow is another day.'”

“I've heard that before. If I weren't so sleepy, I might remember where.”

“You poor culturally deprived little child. What did the sisters at the Escuela San Romero teach you? Remind me to take your not-so-classical literary education in hand some day.”

Mother had slipped off her high-heeled boots, and looked petite and fragile in her stocking feet. I was beginning to feel guilty about my outburst in the car.

“I'm sorry I got angry, Mother. I was just acting out of fear. You really had us scared there for a moment.”

She waved her hand distractedly. “Forget about it.”

“Then is something else the matter?”

She looked at me with the lovely brown eyes that Cass had inherited. “It's just that sometimes I think perhaps we get carried away and do things we shouldn't.”

“Like break into your doctor's office and steal his files?”

“Exactly.”

“Point well taken. Let's go to bed.”

“Goodnight, dear.”

She leaned over and gave me a quick peck on the cheek. “In case you haven't noticed, your daughter has fallen asleep on her plate.”

Chapter Sixteen

I felt a sense of
déjà vu
when I got up the next morning and looked out of the bathroom window. Chief Andy Joiner was here again. He was leaning his big, rumpled, bear's body against his police cruiser and talking to Mother. This time I opened the window just a tad so I could hear their conversation.

“…started in the Doc's office and spread to the drug store. It looks like arson, but we can't be sure until all the tests are back from the lab in Nashville.”

Joiner ran his big hands thorough his thinning hair.

“Whoever did it broke into the office through the service entrance. We don't know if anything was taken. Doc Baxter says he never kept any money there. And what equipment he had was too old to be worth much. Nobody seems to have any idea who would want to torch the place, or why. The building is not worth much by today's standards but the insurance won't begin to replace it. Doc Baxter seemed almost relieved when I told him, like the fire kinda set him free. He's tired. I don't think those of us who've known him for so long realized just how tired he got taking care of us for all these years. I hope he goes away and gets some rest. Maybe he can sit on a beach somewhere and do nothing for a while.”

Joiner paused. That had been a long speech for him. He seemed very ill at ease and more than a little embarrassed. When he continued, I realized that he had been talking to avoid getting to the unpleasant reason for his early morning visit.

“I came out this morning, Miz Sterling, because last night someone saw a vehicle leaving the scene of the fire. They said it looked something like that Jeep Cherokee of your daughter's. It was that same weird green color, too. And one of the firemen found this in the middle of the street.”

He reached in his car and pulled out the windshield wiper that had snapped off Watson last night.

“Damn!' I whispered under my breath. We were dead ducks for sure.

Joiner was showing the wiper blade to Mother.

“I'm afraid I'm gonna have to ask you to let me take a look at your vehicle. That is, if you don't mind, M'am.”

I picked up my comb with trembling fingers and tried to smooth the night's sleep out of my hair. No use going out to 'fess up looking like a total wreck. I wondered what to wear to jail. It should be something comfortable, something that would not show wrinkles or dirt too easily. Mother would know just what to choose. I looked back outside and watched as she carefully examined the incriminating piece of metal.

“It certainly looks like a windshield wiper,” she agreed. “But how can you tell what car it came from? They all look alike to me.”

He held it out arm's length so he could find what he was looking for.

“See there, the name…‘Jeep'…those tiny little letters.”

Apparently Chief Joiner was getting very farsighted.

“Oh,” she responded carefully.

“Like I said, Miz Sterling,” he insisted, “I need to see your wagon.”

“Well, I'm sorry, Andy, but my granddaughter has gone out in it this morning. When she gets back I'm sure she will call you.” Her smile was tight and brittle.

He looked everywhere but at her face. I almost felt sorry for him.

“It's not that easy. I'm gonna have to stay here till she gets back, just in case.”

“Just in case what, Andy?” she asked pointedly.

“Well, you know.”

“Are you suggesting that my daughter had anything to do with that unfortunate business downtown last night?”

He rocked back and forth from one big-booted foot to the other, thrusting his hands roughly in his pockets, probably to keep from chewing on his fingernails.

“Look, Miz Sterling…”

“And one could infer from your conversation,” she continued unrelentingly, “that you think we might be so bold and impertinent as to try to circumvent justice.”

Joiner looked heavenward as if begging God to open a hole in the ground so he could fall in and disappear. He looked miserable.

About that time I heard the sound of a car engine. Cass was coming around the circular driveway towards the house.

I mentally reviewed my options for an incarceration wardrobe again while I watched my mother turn a particularly interesting shade of green, somewhere between celadon and mint.

Joiner turned toward Cass as she drove up the gravel driveway. She slowed down as she neared the two of them. With the engine still running, she called out, “Hi Gran! Hi Chief Joiner! Tell Mom I forgot her hair spray. I'll be back in a few minutes. You want something from the grocery?”

Mother looked like she was going to vomit but she gamely held up her end of the conversation.

“Yes, dear, get some celery.”

Cass laughed gaily. She hated celery and we all knew it. I imagine that she knew Mother could think of nothing else because her attention was on not one, but two, bright and shiny windshield wipers. They were sitting exactly where they should be on Watson's front windscreen.

Cass pulled on around the driveway and headed back towards town. Andy Joiner and Mother stood for a moment and watched her leave. Then Mother turned to face him, flashing a brilliant smile.

“Well, Andy, give Connie my love. We'd really like to have you all out for dinner sometime soon. Tell her to give me a call and we'll arrange things just between us girls.”

Andy smiled back. He looked almost as relieved as Mother did.

“Sure thing Miz Sterling. We'd like that. Constance thinks the world of you. And she loved Paisley's last book.”

He hopped in his cruiser with the agility of a man half his age and no cares in the world. He even waved as he drove off.

I turned away from the window to realize that I had been holding my breath for what seemed like ten minutes. My head was spinning and little black stars sparkled in front of my eyes. I sank slowly to the cold tile floor because my knees were too weak to hold me up. I was still there when Mother came bursting into the bathroom.

“How did she do it? How did that blessed child manage to pull that off?”

She smiled gaily into the mirror as she ran my comb through the sides of her always flawless hairdo.

“My, your father would have been proud of her today, and her's too, no doubt.”

“No doubt,” I answered sourly.

Rafe was always one for outsmarting the authorities.

Cass did not return until after I had showered, dressed, and had two cups of really strong tea with lots of little raw sugar cubes. I was beginning to feel more like myself when she came bouncing into the kitchen, all smiles and good humor.

“Whatcha think, huh? Am I not the best, the greatest, just the cat's meow?”

“You've been listening to too much Glenn Miller, but ‘yes' to all of the above, my sweet. Now tell us how you managed to pull it off.”

She pulled out a kitchen chair and plopped down.

“Pull it off is exactly what I did.”

She turned to Mother. “Sorry Gran, but you'll have to replace one of the windshield wipers on your Continental.”

“What?”

Mother loved her car. It was white with red leather seats. She cut quite a sporty figure behind the wheel.

“Well, you see, after I passed out on the table last night I couldn't really get back to sleep once I went to bed. I guess I got overstimulated. Like you used to say I did when I played too hard, Mom. Anyway, I started thinking about our little adventure, and I remembered the wiper popping off in the street. As far as I know, it's the only piece of evidence we left behind. I decided to go back early this morning and retrieve it so nobody could trace it to us. But then I thought, what if somebody sees that Watson is minus a wiper and guesses what happened? I went down to the garage and tried to unhook Gran's. I finally had to break it off,” she added apologetically. “And I superglued it onto Watson. Then I went to town and saw…Mom, it's all burned down. The doctor's office, the drug store…it's just a smoldering mess of rubble. And it stinks. I guess from all those chemicals.”

She grabbed both of my hands. “Do you think I started the fire? Remember, when I knocked over that bottle of flammable what-ever-it-was?”

“I don't know, Cassie. I honestly don't know.”

A horrible thought occurred to me. “Oh, my God, what if that other person was burned in the fire?”

“Oh, Mom, I didn't think of that!” Cassie's white face mirrored what my own must have looked like.

“Take it easy, you two, and calm down. Andy told me that no bodies were found in the building. What's more, the fire started not in Edgar's private office, but in the dispensary.”

“Thank God!”

Cass sank back down in the seat and poured herself a cup of tea with shaking hands.

“Yes, thank God that we are only burglars and not arsonists or murderers. But do you realize that now we have a file box full of charts and nowhere to return them?”

“Can't we just take them to Edgar, dear?”

“Oh, yeah, and say what? ‘Hi Doc, here's the files we stole out of your office the night it burned down. Sorry we couldn't sneak them back in like we had planned, but, oh well!'”

“Hmm, I see what you mean. That does pose somewhat of a problem.”

“Well, Mom, just look at it this way. At least we have all the time in the world to check them out now.”

She stuffed some more buttered toast in her mouth, her worries about being a murderer apparently forgotten.

“And if we find something,” I mused, “how can we introduce that ‘something' as evidence to clear Ethan's name when we purloined the files in the first place? We'll be incriminating ourselves.”

“I'll go to prison to save Ethan,” declared Cass.

“Not me.”

“Mom!”

“Who'd feed Aggie?”

We took a vote after our late breakfast and decided three to nothing to take the rest of the day off. Besides, we had to go to Morgantown and get a new wiper blade. Cass was a little reluctant at first because she was counting the days that Ethan had been behind bars. They added up to a grand total of four by now. She had called Teddyville three times each day to inquire about him but had never been allowed to talk to him personally. His hearing had been postponed another week, so he would have to stay there at least ten more days no matter what we did. I convinced her we had to cover ourselves first so we could continue to try and help him.

We left for Morgantown.

My college friend, Bubba, who had sold me Watson, was only too happy to slip me a new windshield wiper under the table. Getting it on the car was another problem. I knew Bubba would never tell the police we had been there, but I was concerned about the rest of his employees, so we drove to an isolated picnic spot near the lake. We had to tug and scrape and pull and push because Cassandra had used extra heavy-duty superglue, but finally, with the help of some really smelly fingernail polish remover, we got the wiper from the Lincoln off of Watson. Attaching the new one was a piece of cake. Now no one would ever be the wiser. Except we had to go buy another wiper blade for the Continental.

By the time we had accomplished all of our CYA “Cover Your Ass” errands it was nearly four o'clock, and we were famished. When Mother suggested that we eat at Sallie's, we readily agreed. We had not been there since last year, and I, for one, could manage a tender, juicy, two-inch-thick pork chop at least once every twelve months.

The servers were still wearing silly
Gone with the Wind
dresses with paper flowers in their hair, but the food was good, and the homemade flowerpot bread was fresh and hot.

It had been a while since we had been out, and after last night, we needed to relax. My batter-fried mozzarella sticks were the best yet. Cassie moaned passionately over her Hot Brown with Mornay sauce, while Mother delicately devoured a large dinner salad. The meal was great, and the company couldn't be improved upon. It wasn't until I was licking the last drop of burnt caramel sauce off my dessert spoon that I heard the commotion.

A rowdy customer in the back dining room was apparently causing the staff some real problems. Twice, I observed the manager hurrying past with a worried look on his face. A few minutes later two strong-looking young busboys quietly ushered the problem customer outside. Mother and I clearly saw Dr. Winston Wallace being firmly escorted out the back door. He was accompanied by a blonde who definitely was no lady, and just as definitely not his wife.