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Michaela was curled up in her bathrobe in a large green plaid chair in her office, coffee in hand, as she reviewed the files on Dr. Dude that Slade had sent over by courier an hour earlier. As Michaela read the files, her gut assured her something sinister was happening in the fancy dental practice over on Stuart Circle involving Richmond’s premier cosmetic dentist. There were seven complaints filed in the past five years with the RPD against the wealthy dentist, and while each complaint had been dutifully and correctly investigated, the investigation always ended in a dead end.
Three facts smacked Mic in the face, and she pondered them. First, the complaints against Dr. Smirkowitz came from patients and staff suggesting the good doctor was confident or sinister enough to sexually harass both groups. Second, all complaints filed with the Board of Dentistry against Smirkowitz were never investigated, and third, the letter Smirkowitz had received censoring his practice because of turnover of staff was never made actionable. The commonwealth of Virginia was steadfast in its commitment to protect their citizens against unsafe practitioners. Michaela was deep in thought when the shrill ringing of her house phone shattered the quiet morning. Angel opened his eyes and growled softly. He rolled over and stared at her as she picked up the phone.
“Hi, Dottie, how are you today?” she asked, stifling a yawn. This was unusual. It was only a little after ten, and Dottie rarely called her before lunchtime. In reality, Dottie rarely rose before noon. Something was up.
“Tired,” she snapped, resenting the peace and serenity she heard in Michaela’s voice. “I was over at Margaret’s most of yesterday afternoon and spent the night. Got no rest. Anyway, I want to go home, get a shower and get over there to talk to you. Will you be around?”
Mic sighed. So much for her quiet morning at home. “Sure, I’ll rustle us up some corned beef and cabbage for lunch. How’s that sound?”
It sounded horrible to Dottie. She hated cabbage. After all, she was a countess and aristocrats didn’t eat cabbage. “How about I just eat at home or pick something up for us. My stomach doesn’t feel like cabbage today,” Dottie offered.
Mic grinned. Dottie couldn’t fool her. “That’s okay. I have a Shepherd’s pie in the freezer. I’ll pop it in the oven, and it’ll be ready by the time you get here.”
“Oh, that sounds wonderful.” Dottie was immediately happy and smiled as her mood improved rapidly. “I love your Shepherd’s pie and that’s perfect for my tummy.” Her stomach rumbled in anticipation of her upcoming lunch. “I’ll be there in a half hour or so. Need anything?”
“Nope. Not a thing. I do have an appointment downtown at two this afternoon though,’ Mic reminded her. “So, I can’t hang out all day.”
“That’s okay, neither can I. I’m quite busy,” she sniffed. “I have an appointment I can’t postpone. Just get out the bottle of Jamie Jameson. I’ve been frozen for two days and that stuff heats me up.” Dottie hung up and her car audio returned to the Frank Sinatra station on XM radio.
Mic shook her head as she thought about Dottie driving slowly down the snow-covered streets in Richmond’s Fan District in her big white Cadillac, taking over the road as she listened to Frank Sinatra. Dottie laid on the horn at every four-way stop. She knew that one day someone was going to kill her. She visualized Dottie looking both ways as she inched her huge car out in traffic. She probably had on those huge cataract black paper glasses she always wore in the snow or when the sun was especially bright. She shook her head and laughed aloud as Angel stared up at her and thumped his tail happily on the wooden floor. Mic reached down and scratched his ears as he licked her hand greedily. There was nothing like the love of a dog, especially one who’d saved your life.
Mic looked into his eyes, “Come on, buddy, let’s go out for a few minutes.”