Leann Sweeney - A Wedding To Die For

Back downstairs, the open door to medical records revealed an office with a fatigued-looking receptionist wearing a white shirt as pale as her face. Her desk was piled with file folders. There were doors on either side of her desk and one behind her.

“My name is Abby Rose and I’m looking for Sister Nell.” I put the business card on the woman’s desk.

She glanced at it just as the phone rang, then waved me in the direction of the door behind her before she picked up the receiver.

I followed a tile path around the desk and stopped in the entry to what I assumed was Sister Nell’s office. Though the receptionist’s desk had been piled ominously high, every available square foot in this room was stacked with books, binders, and manila file folders. Apparently the front desk was the first port of call and everything eventually ended up here.

A graying kinky-haired woman sat at a desk against the left wall staring at a computer screen, her back to me. The monitor was not elevated, and she had to crane her neck and hunch her shoulders.

“Bet you go to bed with a backache,” I said.

She jerked around, hand to her heart. “Mercy, young woman, you scared the bejesus out of me.”

She wore a navy blue sweater, white high-collar blouse, and a charcoal-colored skirt. So where was her nun’s veil?

“Sorry if I startled you,” I said. “But your monitor is too low. That can cause back pain.” Weird image, I thought. Nuns and computers just didn’t seem to go together.

“Oh, you’re the technician. Every time I turn around they’ve got someone new.” She rolled her chair away from the desk. “Have at this evil machine. I cannot seem to make it do my bidding.”

“What’s the problem?” I came around cardboard file boxes filled to overflowing with documents.

“I keep losing the network and I have files to upload, files to download, files to scan, files, nothing but files. And forgive me if I make it sound like a Shakespearean tragedy, but it’s the God’s truth.” She took a deep breath, fingering the crucifix hanging around her neck.

“Hmmm. Could be something simple.” I got down on my hands and knees and checked the network cable running beneath her desk to the wall jack, saw the problem, and looked up at her. “I think you have a furry friend, one who likes to gnaw.”

“The mouse?” She had joined me on the floor. “I’ve been trying to catch that little bastard for a week.”

Little bastard? I smiled to myself. I might just like Sister Nell. I pointed to tiny teeth marks on the cable. “He’ll zap himself if he takes a bigger bite, but my guess is he’s learned his lesson. All you need is an undamaged line and you’ll be fine.”

She steepled her hands and raised her green eyes to the ceiling. “Praise God they sent me someone with some common sense this time.”

I stood and offered her a hand up, which she gratefully accepted. She was a lean, fit-looking woman, but I did hear her knees crack when she rose.

“I may have common sense, but I don’t work here,” I said.

“Really?” Her eyes crinkled with delight. “Perhaps I should buy an extra lottery ticket then, since this seems to be my lucky day. Of course I’d share the ten million with you if I knew your name.”

“Abby Rose,” I said. “I came to ask you a few questions.”

“Hang on a sec, Abby.” She picked up her office phone and dialed four numbers. “Roger, I need a new cable for my computer.”

She listened, then said, “How would I know—”

“You need an Ethernet cable,” I said.

She relayed this information with a satisfied smile and hung up. “You are quite a useful, young woman. Quite competent. What can I do for you?”

I glanced around. “Can we, um... sit?”

“Oh, God forgive me, yes. Don’t have many visitors aside from doctors and they never sit.” She wove her way through the clutter—reminded me of home—and opened a closet door on the far wall. Several thin boxes fell from a shelf and hospital stationery spilled everywhere. A broom toppled as well. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” she muttered before returning with a padded folding chair. She left the fallen items where they lay.

Once we were seated with her swivel chair facing me, I handed her my card. “I’m helping a young woman find her birth mother and not having much luck. Maybe you can help.”

After glancing at the card, she put it down, pursed her lips, and closed her eyes, wagging a finger. “If it’s a medical record you need, let me assure you they are like a nun’s dreams—not to be shared with the public.”

“I understand, but could I explain? That might give you a better idea on how you might help me.”

“Well, you’ve certainly helped me out, so if I can do a damn thing—make that a blessed thing—I will.”

I told her about the case, including my conversation with the nurse today. The more I talked, the more tight her features grew.

When I finished, she said, “Let me see your confidentiality release and the birth certificate.”

I removed the birth certificate from the envelope and handed it to her along with the release. After returning them, she sat back, lips tight with anger. “I am not without fault, won’t ever be nominated for sainthood, but I don’t abide liars.”

Liars? What the heck was she talking about? “Have I done something wrong?”

“Not you, dear. Him.”

“Him?”

“Our administrator. But I suppose when you mix the healing arts with business, you should expect that kind of behavior. Mr. Hansen told you the records went back only twenty years?”

“Yes.”

“That’s a damn lie and he knows it. He was simply too lazy to follow through on your request.”

Whoa. Obviously there was more about Mr. Hansen she’d be willing to share, but I tried to get her back on track. “I returned to pursue this, so it’s okay.”

“It’s not okay and he will hear about this. And then he better get his fat ass to confession.” She crossed her arms and leaned back. And then unexpectedly grinned. “Of course, I’ll be right alongside him, don’t you know?”

I laughed, felt myself relax. “Bet you will.”

“Now,” she said, “let’s get to work on your Megan.” She put her hands on the keyboard, then stopped. “Damn. Where’s Roger with that cable?”

She picked up the phone and dialed the four numbers again. “Roger? When did you think you’d get that stupid cable over here? Next year?” She put down the receiver without saying good-bye and smiled at me. “I tend to annoy people. That’s why I work alone.”

“I call it the broken-record technique,” I said.

“I like that. And broken records are actually good for something. They get results.”

Seconds later the man who I assumed was Roger scurried in carrying the cable. Sister Nell rose and backed away from her desk, bumping into a filing cabinet when she did. She clutched her elbow and winced, but if she swore this time I didn’t hear her.

Once Roger made the switch, she returned to her computer and booted up.

“Hand me the certificate again,” she said.

After I gave it to her, she checked the date and gave it back.

I was about to return it to my briefcase, but then realized I’d never looked at the copy after Megan gave it to me, not gotten “the good look” Angel suggested.

I stared down at it now and noticed a small difference in the darkness of the type in spots. The hospital name definitely seemed lighter than both Megan’s and her adopted parents’ names. And I noted a smudge beneath “U.S.A.” in the country of birth box. Did this mean anything? Or—

“Here we go,” said Sister Nell. “Got the year pulled up.”