Marcia Muller - Vanishing Point

Patrick’s broad grin spelled out his delight in knowing something the boss didn’t. “Because large health-care facilities are very protective of their employees’ information. My friend said that any inquiry that didn’t come from someone with a legitimate need to know would be handed off to Human Resources, which then would tell me the information was confidential and turn me away.”

“Sounds like trying to find out something from Social Security.”

“Right.”

Beside me, Hy said to the waitress, “The blackberry pie with vanilla ice cream, please.”

I turned to stare at him. “You never eat pie.”

“Today it sounds good.”

“It’s lucky that Citation belongs to RKI, and not to you. If you flew it all the time, you’d get fat.”

He smiled benignly at me.

“Okay,” I said to Patrick, “you came up here…?”

“Hoping to exercise more Irish charm. Didn’t work. As predicted, I was quickly turned away at Sutter Coast. So I called my friend, and she told me that the most gossipy and informative place in a hospital is the cafeteria. If you’re there at breaks or the lunch hour dressed like an employee, and can walk the walk and talk the talk, you can find out pretty much anything.”

“So why aren’t you at the cafeteria today?”

“I don’t think I can walk the walk and talk the talk.”

“What happened to that Irish charm?”

“It’s challenged by this assignment. For one thing, the majority of nurses are female, so a male stands out. I tried to place myself in the role of a doctor, orderly, EMT, or lab technician. None of it felt right, and I’m really afraid I’ll blow it. But you can do it, Shar.”

“Me? A medical professional? I don’t know anything about those jobs.”

“People on their lunch breaks don’t necessarily talk about their work. Some of them stuff their faces”-he looked over at Hy, who was digging into his pie and ice cream-“but mostly they gossip. Besides, you can act. I’ve seen you do it. My friend gave me a perfect scenario for you, and she’s willing to go over it on the phone. But first we have to pay a visit to the uniform shop I found earlier.”

From the bathroom of Patrick’s room at the Econo Lodge I called, “Are you sure this is the kind of outfit nurses wear? Why don’t I have a starched white uniform and a little hat?”

“When was the last time you saw a nurse dressed like that?”

I thought. “In an old film on late-night TV.”

“Right; their dress code varies from place to place. Sutter Coast uses hospital scrubs and white shoes or sneakers for nursing personnel. Let’s see how you look.”

I stepped through the door, and he surveyed my light blue V-neck tunic top, loose elastic-waist slacks, and athletic shoes. The top and slacks were courtesy of the uniform shop, the shoes my own.

“Perfect.” He gestured at the plastic nametag holder that hung around my neck. “I’ll borrow the typewriter I saw in the manager’s office and put your alias on that, just in case. But remember to keep the tag twisted, so they can’t see the front. My friend says the ID tags can be a joke, because they’re always hanging the wrong way.”

“Dress rehearsal’s over?”

“Yeah. You look great.”

“Then I’ll get back into my own clothes, and we’ll grab Hy and hit that country-and-western bar he discovered.”

Patrick frowned. “You’re not gonna drink too much, are you?”

“What?”

“Well, you wouldn’t want to be hungover for your performance tomorrow.”

First I’ve got Ted worrying about my owning a gun and flying a plane. Now Patrick’s concerned about my drinking habits.

I said, “I’m only going along to watch over you. We can’t have you exercising that Irish charm on the wrong women.”

Two hours later, Patrick was definitely exercising his charm on a woman. She was tall, extremely thin, clad in tight jeans and a tank top, and she was beating him at straight pool.

“Must be true love,” I said to Hy. “He doesn’t seem to mind she’s making him look like a klutz in front of all these strangers.”

He glanced over from where we sat at the bar. “If his tongue was hanging out any farther, it’d interfere with his bank shot.”

The bar, Tex’s, was crowded and noisy. A band that was never going to make it to Nashville or even Bakersfield played-largely ignored-at the rear of the cavernous room. As they segued into a cover of one of Ricky’s songs, “The Midnight Train to Nowhere,” I grimaced. He would have, too, could he hear them.

Hy said, “So tomorrow you assume the persona of Nurse Betty.” The reference was to a movie we hadn’t much cared for.

“Nurse Patsy Newhouse, in case anyone asks.” I often assumed my sisters’ names when undercover; they were familiar enough that if someone called me by one of them I’d be likely to notice, if not immediately react.

Hy asked, “Is Sunday a good day to go to the hospital? Won’t they be short on staff on the weekend?”

“Yeah, that’s a drawback. Patrick’s friend says a Friday would be perfect because people are always more relaxed and gossipy before the weekend. But I certainly can’t wait around till Friday, so I might as well try my luck tomorrow. I can always go back on Monday.”

“How d’you explain that none of the staff have ever seen you before?”

“There’s a thing called the nurses’ registry; it’s like a temp agency, and it gives me a license to ask questions. I say I’ve just come from registry, don’t know where anything is, that kind of thing. Deflect any of their questions by asking a lot of my own.”

“Sounds tricky.”

“It isn’t going to be easy. I talked on the phone with Patrick’s friend for a long time this afternoon. She says the nurses know everything about everyone, but it’s a close-mouthed community when it comes to outsiders. They’re smart and, if they’re old enough to have known Laurel… Josie, whatever, they’ve been around long enough to know better than to talk freely to a stranger. But the friend prepped me well, and I’m a good actor. I’ll haunt that cafeteria until I get the information I’m looking for.”

“How long d’you think it’ll take?”

“I don’t know, but if you need to get the plane back to El Centro, Patrick and I can drive down to the city in his car. Later on I’ll hitch a ride with somebody from North Field who’s flying south, and pick up Two-Seven-Tango in Paso Robles.”

“Kessell wants the Citation back on Monday so we can both go back to headquarters, but I tell you what: I’ll ask him to detour to PRB, and then I’ll fly Tango back to San Diego and up to Oakland midweek when my business down south is done. You get a lead here, there’s no telling where it may take you.”

I grasped his hand, twined my fingers through his. “Thank you.”

“No thanks necessary. We’re partners, remember?”

“That’s not something I’m ever likely to forget.”

We were silent for a moment, listening to the band mangle another of Ricky’s songs.

“You know, McCone,” Hy said when they’d finished and-mercifully-left the bandstand, “I’ve been thinking about your house, and I just may have come up with a solution to our living-space problems.”

A tickle of apprehension ran along my spine. “And that is?”

“I don’t want to go into it until I check some things out.”

Such as the price it would bring on the open market? Call a real estate firm, ask for comps? It’s my house, dammit! I bought it, put my own hard-earned cash and physical labor into it. I don’t interfere with what you do with your ranch, so why should you-

Stop it! You’re reacting as if he said he wanted to burn it down for the insurance money.