Ryder took instant control.
"Tom, glad you were available. The victim is over here. Mr. Reynolds accidentally grabbed the murder weapon when he went to shake hands."
I caught a glance that flashed between Ryder and the rumpled detective that probably translated between the two as don't ask.
"Although Mr. Reynolds wasn't here until a few moments ago, it seems he knows both the victim and the victim's wife," Ryder added.
"I see." The detective jotted something down in a small spiral-bound notebook.
"Everyone stay where you are and don't touch anything," Ryder spoke with more authority than our Columbo-like cop. "Let's step into the hall for a minute," he added in an aside to the plainclothes detective.
I tried to eavesdrop, but unfortunately, they spoke too low for me to make out much of anything. I sensed movement behind me and whirled around in time to see my grandfather hovering over poor Mr. O'Malley.
"Granddad!"
He regarded me with a sheepish expression. "I'm not stupid, Becca. I wasn't going to touch anything."
Not sure that I could trust his curiosity, I hurried to his side and led him away from the dead man like a mother trying to contain an overactive child. "You've already compromised the murder scene. Now, stand over here by me."
"All I did was extend my hand in friendship. How was I supposed to know that the other person would have something sticking out of his chest? You told me this job was safe, Becca. Obviously, it's not. What if you'd gotten here on time today? That could have been you." Granddad inclined his head toward our hapless patient.
"You weren't on time?" Dr. Daley advanced on me, a murderous glint in his dark, beady eyes.
I shot my Granddad a thanks a lot look. "It's not what you're thinking, Dr. D." I managed to cut off the "ick" part of his name in the nick of time and promised myself from now on to think of him as Dr. Daley or Dr. D. instead of Dr. Dick.
"Either you were late or you weren't." Dr. Daley crossed his arms over his chest and glowered at me. "And it's not Dr. D. It's Dr. Daley. How many times must I tell you that?" He held his hand up in a stop gesture. "Don't answer that. It was purely rhetorical."
My career at Daley & Palmer was definitely on the short track to unemployment. I had to defend myself.
I glowered back at him, trying the tactic of the best defense is a good offense. "It wouldn't have mattered if I was on time or not. He was already dead when I got here. It's a wonder you didn't hear anything since you arrived before me."
We stood toe-to-toe, Dr. D. and I, each waiting for the other to launch into another verbal assault.
But before we could go another round, Ryder and the detective reentered the suite.
Ryder took in the situation and wisely chose to ignore whatever office dynamics were going on. "The police are going to need all of you to go down to headquarters for fingerprints and to make statements."
Tom, the detective, nodded once signaling there was no room for argument.
Not quick on reading people today, I objected. "But our patients – someone needs to call them and let them know we're…closed." I gulped and cast a backward glance to the Queen Anne chair where dead Robert O'Malley grew stiffer by the minute, while his blood congealed on the rug. My stomach did a nasty loop-de-loop before settling back into that tense knot that was becoming a permanent fixture in my body. "I also need to call Dr. Palmer and let her know what's going on."
Dr. Dick backed me up. "As unfortunate as this all is, we do run a business here. Clients need to be notified, as does my partner."
I nodded my head up and down like a rag doll hoping it emphasized the criticalness of the situation.
"Do you have a schedule with phone numbers you use for cancellation purposes?" Ryder asked me, all business.
I nodded yes again, returning to a mute mode where I was less likely to get into trouble.
"Grab it while Tom secures the scene. Crime scene techs will be here along with the Medical Examiner's office. I'll escort all of you to police headquarters."
Ryder made direct eye contact with each of us and got a nod from Dr. Dick and my granddad.
I rushed over to my desk and pulled out the center drawer. The aroma of my stone-cold bacon and egg biscuit filled the office. My stomach, reminded that it hadn't had breakfast yet, roared to life. Embarrassed, I reached beneath the wrapped biscuit and pulled out two sheets of paper with gigantic grease stains all over them. Our schedules.
"Miss Reynolds, what have I told you about eating at your desk?" Dr. Daley's voice pierced the quiet office as everyone turned to stare in my direction.
Mr. O'Malley wasn't the only one having a bad day. Granted his problems were worse than mine. I was still among the living. And if I was breathing, it meant I still had problems.
Problems at work and problems at home.
In less than thirty days, my six-month probationary period would be up. If I made it, I would secure my employment with the firm. At least for the near future. But with Dr. D. shooting those eye daggers at me, I probably didn't need to worry about the evaluation, because I wasn't going to be around for it.