Cleo started my workday on Tuesday morning with a phone call to confirm that Dr. Prine was back on Paulo Ferrera’s case.
“What a relief.” I felt pounds lighter. “That takes some pressure off our situation with Carver’s medical staff membership. We can stop worrying about transferring Paulo to U.C. Davis.”
“True,” Cleo agreed, “but you’re still going to have plenty of pressure from Carver. Have you tried to set up another meeting with Kiri?”
“Not yet. Carver’s office doesn’t open until nine. I’ll put in a call this morning and make sure it’s confirmed.” I again pictured Kiri at the yacht harbor, being handed a bag by someone on Carver’s yacht. There was no point troubling Cleo with Nick’s suspicions.
“Better get together with Kiri on the double,” Cleo said. “This is Tuesday. You only have until the end of the day Thursday to get it done.”
“I know, and I understand how important it is to get this cleared up. If only Carver weren’t so arrogant and difficult to work with. It’s hard to believe he cares about the hospital and our patients as much as we do.”
“I hear you,” Cleo said, “but Carver and Prine are the only board-certified neurosurgeons in town. Leaving personalities aside, they both provide good care to our patients.”
“I’m sure you’re right, and I’ll make every effort to meet with Kiri today.”
An hour later I had plowed through morning emails and printed out requests for library materials. At nine o’clock sharp, my Tuesday volunteer, Bernie Kluckert, ambled in with his usual greeting.
“Top o’ the morning, Miss Machado.” Bernie tilted his gnarled hand in a quick salute. “Lola tells me the plants are looking forward to some TLC.”
Bernie and my other volunteer, Lola Rampley, had become permanently engaged a few months earlier. The status of their relationship seemed to suit both of them. With Lola in her eighties and Bernie approaching ninety, they had decided to forgo marriage and all the legal and financial complications it would place on their heirs.
Back when Lola explained their situation, I had responded with a medical librarian’s curiosity by doing some research on the topic. I discovered that more than a million couples in America in the sixty-plus age group were living together for financial reasons related to aging and health, even though they would prefer to be married. Turned out she and Bernie had done their homework and made the decision that was right for them.
Bernie busied himself with feeding and watering our plants and polishing their leaves, while I got on with my day and the chore I looked forward to least.
I dialed Carver’s office, introduced myself, and asked to speak to Kiri D’Costa.
“She’s out,” the voice on the other end of the phone said. “Something someone else can do for you?”
“I’m not sure,” I said. “I was told she’s responsible for keeping track of Dr. Carver’s continuing education credits. Can someone else help me with that?”
“I have no idea. Hold on.” I was forced to listen to piped-in elevator music for much too long. As I was about to hang up, the woman’s voice came back on the line. “Sorry, nobody here knows how to look up what you want.”
I asked the woman if I could speak to the office manager.
“I’m it,” she said.
I’d been exposed to my share of poor telephone etiquette, but this was a new low.
“May I ask your name?” I said.
“Won’t matter,” she said. “I’m a temp. Leaving at the end of the week. The real office manager quit without notice a short time ago.”
My best bet was then to track down Carver and tell him I was getting nowhere with his office staff. If he wanted his CME straightened out, he was going to have to intervene. I put in a call to Dr. Phyllis Poole’s office. When she came on the line, I explained the problem and asked if she might be willing to touch base with Carver.
“You want me to light a fire under him?” Poole asked.
“If necessary,” I said. “He’s already implied that you should be involved.”
“Because I’m chair of the Continuing Education Committee?”
“Exactly. Mr. Quinn tried to explain that clearing up the issue of CME credits was my responsibility, not yours, but Carver didn’t want to hear that.”
“Where do things stand now?” Poole asked.
“I don’t know if Carver’s aware that I’m being stonewalled. It’s easy to assume that there’s a problem about the credits he claims he’s earned because of how he’s responding to our request for verification. He insists that we take him at his word, but his righteous anger is so out of proportion that it makes us even more suspicious.”
Poole laughed. “You can dispense with the diplomatic speak, Aimee. It certainly sounds like the man’s lying, doesn’t it?”
“I don’t know what else to think. If he has earned the credits, he should be doing everything he can to help me get together with Kiri and sort the problem out. He’s running out of time.”
“All right, then. I’ll see what I can do.”
Poole’s offer of help started me wondering what else I could do. With Dr. Prine back in town, we had Paulo’s situation under control, but only up to a point. Unless he emerged from the coma to a level where he could tell his story, we still had little hope of finding his sister.
Were the police having any better luck? I put in a call to Quinn asking what he had heard about Paulo’s case, and by extension, about Liliana.
“They’re not giving me a blow by blow, of course,” Quinn said. “All I’m being told is that they’re checking leads.”
“Any idea what kind of leads?”
“They’re questioning people who were at the homeless camp when Paulo was shot. So far, no one admits seeing the shooter. They heard shots, saw the victim running, then falling. The TPD’s confidential informant happened to be there, part of a sting operation involving drugs. He’s the guy who called the shooting in to the police.”
I knew who Quinn was talking about. Tango Bueller, the rehabilitated ex-con who had gone to prison several years earlier for attacking me. I didn’t let on to Quinn that I knew the CI’s name. Not my place to reveal that.
“Have they mentioned any other leads? Are they trying to identify the yacht where Liliana went to the party?”
“I’m sure they are,” Quinn said, “but they’re not saying much about that. All I’ve been told is no one can confirm that she left on that yacht. Without the name and the hull ID number, they can’t even get the Coast Guard on the lookout. All I’m told is they can find no trace of the girl since the night she went to the party in the Azores.”
“The police have to know about the online boyfriend, Francisco. He started this whole mess. It seems like they’d have some way of tracking him down.”
“If that so-called boyfriend exists at all, he’s clever enough to cover his tracks. At least, that’s what Detective Kass is saying.” I heard Quinn’s muffled voice thank Varsha for something. “Aimee, I have to go. Trust the police. They’re doing everything they can. All we can do is take care of Paulo Ferrera and make his parents as comfortable as possible while they wait for their son to recover.”
I hung up, mulling over his last comments. All we could do? It didn’t seem like enough. Could Harry dig deeper than the people the police were using? Harry had been trying for almost five days to search out Liliana’s secret email account. Why was it taking so long?
And how long would it take Buck to do a background check on Gus Barba? I glanced at the time. Almost noon. Nick wasn’t flying this week. He’d said he would be spending most of it in training sessions with Ginger. I texted, asking if he had any free time to talk.
He replied, Lunch?
We agreed on Margie’s Bean Pot at noon. I arrived first, surprised to spot Godfrey Carver and Kiri D’Costa sitting across from each other in a booth. They were deep in conversation. Neither of them noticed me as I made my way to a table at the back of the room. I sat there debating whether to confront them about Kiri skipping out on me the day before. While I was trying to make up my mind, Nick walked in, spotted me, and came over.
As he sat, I said in a low voice, “Don’t look now, but we have a situation here.”
Nick’s eyes widened, but he managed to keep his focus on me and reply in low tones, “Is danger involved?”
“Not that kind of situation.” I reminded him of my efforts to meet with Kiri. “She’s sitting right across the room with Carver. Doesn’t that seem kind of odd?”
Nick smiled. “I’m not sure. Help me out here.”
I explained about trying to make another appointment with Kiri earlier in the morning. “I was told she was out, yet here she is, having lunch with her boss.”
“You think it’s romantic?”
“Ick. Look at her. Young and pretty. Then look at him. Old and bald with bushy eyebrows. Besides, from what we saw last weekend, she already has a boyfriend.”
“Gus Barba.”
“Yes, and while we’re on that subject, has Buck turned up anything on Gus Barba’s background?”
“Nothing sinister. He’s Portuguese, of course. Late twenties, from Lisbon. Came to America a year ago on a work visa and has applied for a green card. Apparently, he’s clean as a whistle.”
“If that’s the case, maybe you should ask him to help us identify Paulo’s Bay Area connection.”
“I’ll wait a little longer before deciding what to do about Gus,” Nick said. “I’d like to be sure he’s what he appears to be and nothing more.”
“If he is, he’d be a great catch for Kiri. Handsome and the right age. Why would she throw him over for Carver?”
Nick shrugged. “Money?”
“I doubt that would do it.” I shivered at the thought of being touched by Godfrey Carver.
“Then it’s a business lunch,” Nick said. “Maybe they’re discussing you. How to fool you into thinking Carver’s been doing his CME homework.”
“That, I can believe.”
“Are you going to go over and ask them why they keep putting you off?”
“I’m debating.” I leaned closer to Nick. “You had doubts about Kiri last weekend when we saw that bag she took from the man on Carver’s yacht.”
“Maybe I shouldn’t have said what I did. I’d be surprised if she’s a smuggler or any other kind of villain. I was just reminding you to—”
“I know, think outside the box, but now my mind is wandering around out there, and I can’t get it back inside. Anybody could be mixed up in this mystery.”
“Go over to that table, Aimee. Talk to them. Keep reminding yourself you’re just doing your job, not solving a crime.”
“You think I should?”
“What have you got to lose? Now that the other doctor is back and taking care of the Ferreras’ son, Carver’s status with the hospital isn’t the dilemma it was before.”
“True. If he’s suspended, he’ll have to do whatever it takes to get reinstated.”
“And he can do that in his own sweet time. He’s the one with the problem. Why not let him come to you if he needs your help?” Nick grinned. “It’d do the creep good to eat a little crow.”
“I’d agree, but Cleo reminded me that since we have only two board-certified neurosurgeons in town, it’s dangerous to go without a backup. What if Dr. Prine decides to take off again?”
“Ah,” Nick nodded. “I see your point. Maybe you should do a little tablehopping before they have a chance to leave.” He stood and brushed my forehead with a quick kiss. “You’re busy here, and I’m going to head out. I’ll leave you to it. Good luck.”