Рита Браун - Claws And Effect

"Hank made us keep this locked because he said people would lift the bulbs. They're expensive, you know, especially the ones used in the operating room."

"People would steal them."

Bobby nodded yes. "Hank used to say they'd steal a hot stove and come back for the smoke. I never saw much of it myself." He politely waited while Rick and Cooper double-checked the long room, tapping on walls.

"Okay. Next one," Rick commanded.

The second locked room contained stationery and office supplies.

"Other hot items?" Coop asked.

"Yep. It's funny but people think taking a notebook isn't stealing."

"Everyone's got that problem, I think." The sheriff flipped up a dozen bound legal pads. "If I had a dollar for every pen that's walked off my desk I'd have my car paid for."

The third room, much larger than the others and quite well lit, contained a few pieces of equipment-one blood-infusion pump, one oscillator, two EEG units.

"Expensive stuff." Rick whistled.

"Yes. Usually it's shipped out within forty-eight hours to the manufacturer or the repair company. For a hospital this size, though, we have few repairs. We're lucky that way." Bobby walked through the room with Rick and Cynthia. "Hank took care of that. He was very conscientious about the big stuff. He'd call the manufacturer, he'd describe the problem, he'd arrange for the shipping. He'd be at the door for the receiving. You couldn't fault him that way."

"Huh," was all Rick said.

"Where do you keep the organ transplants?"

Bobby's eyes widened. "Not here."

"You don't receive them at the shipping door?" Coop asked.

"Oh, no. The organ transplants are hand-walked right into the front door, the deliverer checks in at the front desk, and then they are delivered immediately to the physician. They know almost to the minute when something like that is coming in. Most of the time the patient is ready for the transplant. They'd never let us handle something like that."

"I see." Rick ran his forefinger over the darkened screen of an oscilloscope.

"Let's say someone has a leg amputated. What happens to the leg?" Coop asked.

Bobby grimaced slightly. "Hank said in the old days the body parts were burned in the middle of the night in the incinerator. Now stuff like that is wrapped up, sealed off, and picked up daily by a company that handles hazardous biological material. They burn it somewhere else."

"In the middle of nowhere, I'd guess, because of the smell," Coop said.

"No." Rick shook his head. "They use high heat like a crematorium. It's fast." He smiled smugly, having done his homework.

"I'm glad. I wouldn't throw arms and legs into the incinerator." Bobby shuddered.

"People were tougher in the old days." Rick wanted another cigarette. "Well, thank you, Bobby. Keep it to yourself that we were here."

"Yes, sir."

Rick clapped him on the back. "You doing okay?"

"Yeah." He shrugged.

"Notice any change in the routine here?" Coop clicked off her flashlight as Bobby walked them to the back door by the railroad tracks.

"No. Not down here. I'm duplicating Hank's routine. He'll be hard to replace. We're not as efficient right now. At least, that's what I think."

"Anyone coming down here who usually doesn't come down?"

"Sam and Jordan made separate appearances. But now that things have settled a little it's business as usual-no one cares much about our work. If something isn't done we hear about it but we don't receive compliments for doing a good job. We're kind of invisible." A slight smirk played on Bobby's lips.

"Has anyone ever offered you drugs? Uppers. Downers. Cocaine?"

"No. I haven't even been offered a beer." The corners of his mouth turned up. Dimples showed when he smiled.

Rick opened the back door. "Well, if anything pops into your head, no matter how small it seems, you call me or Coop."

"I will."

The temperature had dropped below freezing. They climbed up the bank to the tracks.

"Ideas?"

"No, boss. Wish I had even one."

"Yeah, me, too."

It had never occurred to them to tap the floors in the basement.

That same Monday evening, Big Mim and Larry Johnson dined at Dalmally. Jim Sanburne was at a county commissioners' meeting in Old Lane High School, now the county offices, in Charlottesville. Little Mim was ensconced in her cottage.

The two dear friends chatted over fresh lobster, rice, vegetables, a crisp arugula salad, and a very expensive white Chilean wine.

"-his face." Larry laughed.

"I haven't thought of that in years." Mim laughed, remembering a gentleman enamored of her Aunt Tally.

He had tried to impress the independent lady by his skill at golf. They were playing in a foursome during a club tournament. He was in the rough just off the green, which was surrounded by spectators. The day being sultry, ladies wore halter tops or camp shirts and shorts. The men wore shorts and short-sleeved shirts, straw hats with bright ribbon bands.

The poor fellow hit a high shot off the rough which landed right in the ample bosom of Florence Taliaferro. She screamed, fell down, but the golf ball was not dislodged from its creamy resting place.

No one knew of a rule to cover such an eventuality. He couldn't play the ball but he was loath to drop a ball and take a penalty shot. His contentious attitude so soured the caustic Tally that the moment they turned in their cards, she never spoke to him again.

Larry cracked a lobster claw. "I'm amazed at what flutters through my mind. An event from 1950 seems as real as what's happening this moment."

"Y-e-s." She drew out the word as the candlelight reflected off her beautiful pearls.

Larry knew Mim always dined by candlelight; the loveliness of the setting proved that Mim needed luxury, beauty, perfect proportion.

Gretchen glided in to remove one course and bring out another. She and Big Mim had been together since girlhood. Gretchen's family had worked for Mim's parents.

"What do you think about my daughter opposing my husband?"

"Ah-ha! I knew you had an agenda."

"She shouldn't do it," Gretchen piped up.

"Did I ask you?"

"No, Miss Mim, that's why I'm telling you. I have to get a word in edgewise."

"You poor benighted creature," Big Mim mocked.

"Don't you forget it." Gretchen disappeared.

Larry smiled. "You two would make a great sitcom. Hollywood needs you."

"You're too kind," Mim replied, a hint of acid in her tone.

"What do I think? I think it's good for Marilyn but it creates stress for the residents of Crozet. No one ever wants to offend a Sanburne."

"There is that," Mim thoughtfully considered. "Although Jim has been quite clear that he doesn't mind."

"It still makes people nervous. No one wants to be on the losing side."