On Friday morning, after she spoke to Ryan Jenner in the hospital, Monica tried to phone Renée Carter and when there was again no answer went down to see Sandra Weiss, the director of Family Services in the hospital. “I have to talk about my patient Sally Carter,” she began.
“I was about to call you,” Weiss told her somberly. “We have just heard from the police. The body of a woman found on the pedestrian walkway near the East River yesterday has been identified as Renée Carter, Sally’s mother.”
Monica stared at her. “Renée Carter is dead?” she asked numbly.
“Yes. The police are trying to locate the next of kin. Until then we’ll take custody of Sally. When you’re ready to discharge her, if no relatives have been found, we’ll place her in foster care, for the present.”
Renée Carter dead! Shocked, Monica could only visualize the petulant woman who had had so little interest in her baby. Who would the next of kin turn out to be? she wondered. What’s going to happen to Sally?
Even though she needed to get to the office where she knew patients were already waiting, she stopped to see Sally again before she left the hospital. The little girl was still sleeping, and not wanting to wake her up, Monica stood at the crib wistfully for a long minute, then hurried away.
When she reached the office, the waiting room was beginning to fill up. Nan followed her into her private office and cornered her. “I heard the report on the radio last evening, Dr. Monica,” she said, breathlessly. “I almost died. I tried to call you right away. Thank God you put that message on the phone to say you were all right. But the first thing I did was to tell John Hartman, the retired detective who lives down the hall from me, about it. He says he’s going to call one of his detective friends and tell him to have the security cameras around the hospital checked. Maybe that guy who pushed you was following you? Maybe it had something to do with that picture of you standing in front of the hospital that I showed you. You didn’t think that it meant anything.”
Monica raised her hand to stop the torrent of words. “Nan, you know how much I appreciate your concern, but I just don’t think anyone deliberately shoved me. I think that guy was so anxious to cross the street that he tried to get me out of his way. So if any of my friends call here asking how I am, please reassure them I’m fine, and I absolutely believe it was an unfortunate accident. Now please tell Alma I’m ready to get started. God help the poor parents who came in yesterday and then had to drag the kids in again today.”
Nan took a few steps toward the door, then hesitated. “Doctor, one more question. How is Sally Carter?”
It felt surreal to Monica to say that Sally’s mother was not only dead, but the victim of a homicide. “I don’t know anything more than that,” she said hurriedly, as she buttoned her white jacket and headed for the examining room.
For the next seven hours, she only gave herself a five-minute break for a cup of tea and two bites of a sandwich before the last little patient was gone at six o’clock. Alma left, saying, “Please take it easy over the weekend, Doctor.”
“I intend to. Thanks, Alma.” Monica went to her small private office and took off her white coat. That was when Nan followed her in and asked the question that had been bothering her all day. “Dr. Monica, what happened when you met Olivia Morrow Wednesday? Did she really know your grandmother?”
Monica turned away as she felt her eyes begin to glisten. The crushing disappointment that Olivia Morrow was dead, her near-fatal accident, the near certainty that Sally might be headed for foster care, and finally the deepening knowledge that she cared far more for Ryan Jenner than she had realized were all sinking in.
She took a minute to swallow hard before she began to speak. Even though her voice was steady, she was forced to turn from the sympathy in Nan’s face as she told her about going to the Morrow apartment and finding that Olivia had passed away during the night. “So, I guess that if there was any substance to the story, I’ll never know it,” she concluded.
“What are the funeral arrangements?” Nan asked.
“When I spoke to Dr. Hadley, while we were waiting for the EMS squad, he said he would be taking care of them.”
“I have a copy of the Times,” Nan said. Maybe there’s something in the obituary section.” She ran out to her desk and returned with the newspaper opened to that page. “Doctor, there is a notice here about Ms. Morrow. There is a funeral Mass being offered for her tomorrow morning at St. Vincent Ferrer, at ten o’clock. If I were you I’d go to it. It says right here that she didn’t have any next of kin, but she must have had some friends. I’d like to go with you. Between us we might be able to talk to some of the people who attend the Mass and find out if she ever talked about you. Who knows what you may find out? You’ve got nothing to lose.”
“That’s not a bad idea,” Monica said slowly. “You said ten o’clock tomorrow, at St. Vincent Ferrer?”
“Yes. That’s at Sixty-sixth and Lexington.”
“I’ll meet you there at quarter of ten.” Monica reached into the closet for her coat. “Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof,” she quoted, wearily.
As they passed Nan’s desk on the way to the outside door, the phone rang. Nan ran to see who was calling. “It’s Dr. Jenner,” she said, her voice pleased.
“Let it ring,” Monica said, emphatically. “Let’s go.”