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Mic pushed the shiny brass knocker on the door of Dr. Smirkowitz’s office and entered Richmond’s Premier Dental office inner sanctum. Angel, well-mannered and quiet, was on his leash. She noted the perfectly polished brass kick plate and the handsome brass-etched sign with the good doctor’s name. She could see her face in the shiny polished floors as she shut the door and unconsciously fluffed her hair.
Directly in front of her was the reception and billing desk and two women working behind the counter. The older woman, probably about Mic’s age, wore the traditional garb of a local religious order... a sprigged shirtwaist dress covered by a heavy woolen sweater. Mic knew the woman had on converse tennis shoes under her dress. Her nametag identified her as Tilda. The younger woman shuffled paper charts nervously and avoided eye contract with Michaela, but both women stared open-mouthed at Angel who stood politely at Mic’s side.
Mic handed her card to Tilda, who motioned her toward the waiting area and said, “Ah ...your dog isn’t allowed in here. This is a dental practice and a sterile environment.” She gave Michaela a smirk and pointed toward the door. Mic swore she could see a glint of malice in the woman’s eyes.
Michaela laughed. “Sterile, are you serious? It’s debatable as to whether an operating room is even sterile, so I know this place isn’t.” She pointed at the brass doorknob. “Look at all the germs on the door knob. It’s smeared with fingerprints.”
Tilda tried to interrupt, but Mic continued to talk, waving her hands around the office. “Check out the handle on the coffee pot. Have you sterilized that recently?”
Tilda moved from behind the counter, came out the side door, and faced Mic in the waiting room. Her voice was icy, “Your dog is not allowed,” she hissed. “Take him out of here now.” Tilda’s eyes blazed with anger.
Mic ignored her. “Most of the areas in this waiting room have more bacteria than my dog’s mouth. I’m sure you know how dirty someone’s mouth is.”
Tilda stared at her, but said nothing as rage suffused her face.
“Besides,” Mic added as she patted Angel on the scruff of his neck, “he’s a therapy dog.”
The woman opened her mouth to protest, but Michaela’s voice was firm as she stared the woman down. “He stays.”
Tilda’s eyes flashed with anger as she pointed toward the upholstered sofa. “Wait there,” she ordered with a snarl.
Mic avoided the sofa and sat instead in a chair where she could view the front office. Tilda disappeared, but the other clerk looked like a scared rabbit. She decided to press her for information. “How are you today? Are you busy?” she asked the younger woman who tried to disappear into herself. Her nametag read “Janie.”
Finally, she spoke. “Um, well, yes, we’ve been busy all day, but it is a bit slow right now. Although we did have some cancellations because of the weather.” Her voice was soft and timid.
Mic gave her a warm smile. “Good! Time for an afternoon tea break. By the way, my friend’s granddaughter was here yesterday afternoon for a job interview and ...”
The younger clerk’s eye darted quickly toward the front door like she wanted to bolt, but Tilda, who’d returned, gave Michaela a defiant look and said, “Yes, that would be Allison. She met with Dr. Smirkowitz for about an hour or so yesterday.”
Mic smiled and nodded. “Yes, that’s her. Did you see her leave? A pretty blond-headed young woman.”
Both woman shook their heads quickly and replied “no” in unison.
Mic laughed aloud. “Ladies, that sounded rehearsed. Now, let me ask again. Did either of see Allison leave yesterday afternoon?” Mic’s voice had a sharp edge to it.
The younger woman met her eyes for the first time and said, “I left early because my baby was sick so I didn’t see her.”
Mic turned to Tilda, who gave her a cheeky look, but she finally replied. “No. I must have been busy or in the bathroom when she left.” Mic knew she was lying.
Mic studied both women and decided they knew a few things more about Allison’s disappearance that they weren’t saying. She decided to move the conversation along.
“Well, she never returned home last night, and she’s missing. Her parents are worried to death about her. She’s a very serious diabetic, and they’re afraid she could be in a coma. Her doctor says finding her quickly is a matter of life and death.”
Janie’s hand flew to her mouth, and she gasped. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know she was sick.” Tilda shot Janie a dirty look but said nothing.
Mic nodded. “Yeah, she is. She could die, so anything you can remember might help us find her. Maybe you heard her say something to someone.”
The young woman shook her head while Tilda stared at Mic, anger seething from her pores. “I remember you. You’re that cop that doesn’t pay your bill. You had an outstanding debt with us for months,” she accused Mic, with an ugly look.
“Not really,” Mic said sweetly. “It was an insurance error.”
“Sure it was,” Tilda said harshly.
Mic ignored her and handed Janie her card and left one for Tilda on the counter. “Call me anytime ...day or night if you hear or remember anything about Allison,” Mic directed them as she observed Tilda’s angry body language. “By the way,” she address both women, “I noticed a man in blue scrubs leaving here a few minutes ago. He went down the alley. Do either of you know him.”
Tilda shook her head defiantly and Janie said, “Oh, yeah...him. I don’t know. He stops by sometimes. I think he may work for Dr. Smirkowitz sometimes.”
Mic’s ears picked up, “Really, what does he do?”
Janie shook her head. “No idea. Maybe he works in his yard. I’m clueless.”
Tilda said nothing and returned to her work. She stared at the screen on her computer as anger surged through her.
“Tilda, do you know the man?” Michaela asked in a sharp tone.
Tilda looked up from her computer. “No, never saw him in here,” she muttered as her eyes returned to her keyboard.
Michaela nodded, moved towards the waiting area, and sat in an expensive chair covered in blue silk. She’s lying and I know it. As her eyes perused the waiting room. The word “opulent” crossed her mind several times. Custom window treatments adorned the decorative wrought iron windows that coordinated beautifully with the thick Persian rugs on the highly polished oak floors. Beautiful paintings and photographs, many signed by Dr. Dude, adorned the walls. What is it about dentists who painted watercolor and became photographers? I suppose if I spent my life in someone’s mouth, I’d do something with the rest of my time too. A Keurig coffee maker beckoned from a sideboard opposite her, resplendent with fresh flowers that hinted spring was around the corner. A gleaming silver tray offered every possible hot beverage available in a K-cup. The office was eerily quiet except for the occasional sound of a suction hose and a slurping drain that interrupted Michaela’s thoughts. Christian rock music played softly through piped speakers in the background. A large cross adorned one end of the room. The place was an interior designer’s masterpiece. Too bad it was the office of a creep and pervert.
Mic studied her surroundings for a couple more minutes, before she became bored and started to fidget. She detested sitting still and wondered what Slade and Dr. Dude were discussing.
As she rose to complain, Tilda, her green eyes darkened by hate, beckoned Michaela with her index finger. She had put on a white lab coat with “office manager” embroidered in red. Tilda ushered her into Dr. S.’s office where the atmosphere was hushed and strained.