Evanston Hospital was always in a state of renovation. Fifteen years earlier they’d remodeled the first floor and parking lot. Now a sign on the elevator announced they were working on the upper floors. Georgia didn’t get it. The elegant lobby, with its abstract art, a player piano, and lots of marble, looked more like an upscale hotel than a hospital. Was the spiffy décor supposed to cheer up patients? They rarely left their rooms. Was it for visitors? Did they really expect family members to be comforted by happy furnishings? Maybe it was for employees, to lighten the fact that they dealt with illness and death all day.
Inside the elevator Georgia pushed the button for the third floor. Hospital shift changes usually happened just after lunch, but that might not be the case for an IT or data employee. With luck Claudia Nyquist would be at her desk until five.
She found the data administration office in a corner of its own wing and pushed through the door. A receptionist’s booth was vacant; then again, computer geeks probably weren’t inundated with appointments. She smiled, imagining the type of person who would want to meet a nerd. To the right of the booth was a large room partitioned into cubicles, each with a desk, chair, and computer monitor. Most of the cubicles were occupied by men tapping on keyboards, and for an instant, Georgia felt like she’d walked into a video arcade.
She went down one side of the room and found an empty cubicle with a fake purple flower in a tiny vase on the desk. Next to it was a small heart-shaped picture frame with a photo of a rosy-cheeked little girl who couldn’t be more than four. This had to be Claudia Nyquist’s desk. Georgia remembered the apartment manager saying she babysat for Nyquist. There was no other decoration in the cubicle, but a bright blue quilted parka hung on a hook, and a pair of matching boots lay on the floor. Paper and files were strewn across the desk, and a molded plastic chair was squeezed into a corner. Georgia sucked in a breath; she was a little claustrophobic and imagined the walls closing in. She was examining the cubicle for other clues about the woman when a man poked his head in.
“Can I help you?”
Georgia turned around. The man looked to be in his thirties, unkempt dark hair and scrawny. He looked like a nerd, with glasses, a pocket protector, and flakes of dandruff on his shoulders. Central Casting couldn’t have done a better job.
Georgia forced a smile. “Oh, hi. I’m waiting for Claudia. Is she here?”
The man frowned. “I saw her earlier. Maybe she’s using the facilities. Can I help you?”
“That’s all right. Claudia is—the friend of a friend. I work a few blocks away. At the art gallery. I wanted to see if she was free for lunch.”
“Oh.” Nerdface managed to look surprised and disappointed at the same time. “Well, have a seat.”
Georgia nodded and gingerly maneuvered herself into the chair. Nerdface disappeared.
Five minutes later, the door to the office squeaked open. An undertone of conversation followed. Georgia couldn’t be sure, but the male voice sounded like Nerdface. When she heard a whispered “said she was a friend,” she knew. He was the office magpie, chatting up everyone so he could keep tabs on them.
Nyquist appeared. Medium height, she was about twenty pounds overweight. Her jeans were tight, her sweater too big, but she had lovely straight blond hair that hung down her back. A black canvas bag, big enough to qualify as a small suitcase, was slung over her shoulder. Her face was pleasant but not pretty, and she wore no makeup. Georgia didn’t blame her. If she spent all day in this desperate cubicle, why bother?
A worried frown pinched her face when she saw Georgia. “I’m sorry. Do I know you? Do we have a meeting?”
Georgia spotted Nerdface lurking outside the cubicle. “I know your pal is listening in on our conversation, so just to set the record straight, I did not tell him I was your friend. I said I was a friend of a friend.”
Nyquist threw a glance over her shoulder toward Nerdface and shook her head. Georgia heard footsteps recede. Nyquist came in and sat behind her desk. Her bag dropped to the floor. “Who would that be? My friend, that is?”
Georgia waited a beat. “Chad Coe.”