Chasing Their Losses Page 3

  Janie gripped Cara’s wrist and pulled her across the room. “Is it any wonder?” she whispered. “Tony’s married a bimbo--anyone can see that. It’s been one thing after another ever since Gail moved in. I’m very worried, you might as well know. I think it might be better if Angie stayed with me for awhile.”

  Cara winced with pain, rubbing her arm where Janie’s fingers had dug in. “Won’t that cause trouble between Tony and Gail?”

  “It might, but it doesn’t matter. This is serious, Cara. I’m convinced Gail doesn’t care if Angie lives or dies.”

  “Wow, that’s a pretty strong accusation. Has Angie complained about the way Gail treats her?”

  “Actually, she hasn’t.” Janie jerked her head toward the door, indicating a desire to continue the conversation in another place. In the hallway, they encountered Gail, who had changed into a short blue tennis dress.

  Gail’s lips stretched into a dazzling smile. Her teeth were very white and even, and her breath smelled of mouthwash. “Sorry, I have to run,” she said. “You mentioned something about helping me plan some menus that both Doug and Angie would like. I’m not much of a cook, you can probably tell. But I know we all need to eat more healthy. So, send me those menus and I’ll go shopping next week.”

  Before Cara could muster up an answer, Gail hurried away, twirling a tennis racket.

  “Want some iced tea?” Janie asked. “Or maybe you could use a Long Island tea, after all this mess.”

  Cara’s stomach lurched at the thought of consuming anything prepared in that kitchen. “No, I really have to leave. Someone is waiting for me.”

  “I’ll walk you to the door.” Janie followed Cara downstairs. “What do you think of Gail? Aren’t you surprised he’d marry someone like her?”

  “Not really,” Cara said.

  “But she’s nothing like his first wife. You didn’t know her, of course. But she was very classy—graduated from St. Mary’s. Gail doesn’t even go to church and neither does Tony.”

  So, at last, Tony had made his own decision about who to marry. “Gail is quite attractive,” she said firmly. “And it’s nice she plays tennis. Tony always liked active sports.”

  “Oh, yes. That was one of the ways she latched on to him, trying to show how much they had in common. But I may as well tell you, she was still married when she met Tony.”

  Why in the world was Janie telling her this? She absolutely would not get sucked into her game-playing.

  “Gail seems very nice,” Cara said. “I admit, she’s a little bit—well—carefree. But isn’t that better than marrying some uptight control freak?”

  “Like me?” Janie’s words rang out, harsh and angry.

  Cara’s head throbbed. A simple favor to an old boyfriend was boomeranging into a nasty situation. “I didn’t mean that, at all.” She glanced at Janie’s bare ring finger, wondering if maybe she was bitter about an ex-husband.

  “Sorry, I’m just on edge about all this.” Janie said. “I’m going to talk to Tony and ask him if Angie could stay with us at Mom’s house until her blood sugar evens out.”

  “You’re staying with your mother?” Cara remembered Mrs. Cabella, a saccharin sweet and seemingly generous woman who, nevertheless, had come between her and Tony.

  “I don’t have a choice,” Janie said. “My daughter has some problems. I’d never get out of the house if I didn’t have Mom to baby-sit.”

  “How old is your daughter?” Cara asked, although she wasn’t really interested and didn’t want a prolonged conversation about some other troubled child. Mrs. Cabella certainly hadn’t lucked out with grandchildren.

  “She’s nine, same age as Angie.”

  “How nice.”

  “I suppose so. But they don’t play well together.”

  “Then, wouldn’t that be a problem, having her stay with you?”

  “What could be worse that living in the house with that monster, Doug? It’s obvious he’s the one who shoved her against the wall today. At least my daughter isn’t aggressive. In fact, she’s just the opposite.”

  “What about Angie? Have you asked her what she wants? Anyway, I’m sure Tony wouldn’t go for it. If I were you, I wouldn’t even bring it up.” Cara chewed her lip. Why had she given even the tiniest piece of advice? But Janie didn’t reply, and Cara was finally out the door and into the sunlight.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  SYCAMORE HOSPITAL

  AGAINST THE ELECTRIC blue sky, maples and sycamores shone in brilliant shades of crimson, orange, and gold. It felt good to be away from that troubled house, breathing in the cool scent of autumn with crisp leaves crackling underfoot.

  Cara fired up her motor, and shot forward, trying to shake off the bad vibes she’d felt in the Cabella home. The digital clock said 11:15 a.m. Since her riding clothes were in the trunk, she could drive straight up Highway 63 and be at the farm just in time for lunch.

  Her cell phone rang.

  She slowed down, rounded a corner, and stopped to check caller Id. Sycamore Hospital. Whether she wanted to or not, she had to answer. Department managers were expected to be on call twenty four-seven. Even on beautiful Saturday mornings. She picked up and heard her weekend supervisor’s husky voice. “Cara, guess who?”

  Lydia Vaught was a beautiful black woman with the conscience of a nun. She wouldn’t be calling if she didn’t think it was important. “There’s a guy down here wants to tap into our computers,” she said.

  “I don’t get it. Is he from information management?”

  “No, I’ve never seen him before. Says he works for the new doctor, you know, that short skinny woman with the straight black hair. I can never pronounce her name.”

  “Dr. Rozgonyi, probably. She’s a Physician Nutrition Specialist. I can’t imagine why she would send anyone over to check our computers. This doesn’t sound right. Is he still there?”

  “Yeah, he’s sitting in the front office in the night clerk’s seat, watching everything Casey does. When she throws away a discharged patient’s diet order sheet, he picks it out of the wastebasket.”

  Cara’s heartbeat quickened. “That’s against patient privacy laws. We can’t let that go on. Let me talk to him immediately.”

  “Please do. He’s giving me the creeps.”

  “Can he hear you say that?”

  “No, I’m in the next office, looking at him through the window. I’ll tell him you’re on line one.”

  He came on quickly, his voice strong and confident. “Hello there, Ms. Mackenzie. This is Jeff King. Guess I’ve upset your supervisor. Sorry, didn’t mean to.”

  “What’s going on?” Cara asked. “Why are you trying to get into our computer and fishing around in the wastebasket?”

  “I’m just trying to familiarize myself with your system.”

  Cara felt her blood pressure rise. “Whoa, hold on. There’s a lot a sensitive information in there.”

  “I’m not reading anything personal. I’m just doing some research on the types of food different patients choose on selective menus.”

  “Why?”

  “This is Dr. Rozgonyi’s special interest. She wants to promote healthy eating in the patient population.”

  Cara struggled to keep from sounding irritated, even though she was. “Excuse me, but so do I. That’s what dietitians do.”

  “I know. I’m a dietitian, myself. I’m doing an assistantship at the university.”

  Why did this guy not sound like a student? His aggressive tone reminded her of a telemarketer.

  “I appreciate Dr. Rozgonyi’s interest in nutrition.” Cara said. “But I wish she had called me about this. I’m afraid you’ll have to wait until Monday, after I’ve talked with her.”

  There was a long silence.

  “Are you there?” Cara asked.

  “I’m here.” Jeff’s voice took on a sharp edge. “And I think you’re making a mistake. Dr. Rozgonyi will be extremely disappointed that I’ve wasted my time coming over here this afternoon.
I’m sure she’ll talk to Mr. Mason about this.”

  Len Mason was Cara’s new boss with a couple of titles: Assistant Administrator of Ancillary Personnel, and Director of Human Resources. “Fine,” she said. “After I have his directive, I’ll be happy to help with the project.”

  The phone went dead.

  Cara knew she had to stop at the hospital before going to John’s farm. If this guy was still hanging around, she’d have to call security. Post meal time was always peppered with phone calls, glitches with undelivered trays, diabetic replacements, and tube feedings. Lydia shouldn’t have to deal with this kind of confrontation when she was the only supervisor in the kitchen.

  John wasn’t going to be happy, but it shouldn’t take more than a few minutes. Not even a date with him could stop Cara from stepping in to help Lydia solve this problem. Her job came first. In spite of the many crises that cropped up almost daily, Cara loved what she did. She found it satisfying to create appetizing patient menus, run the cafeteria, and work with the warm hearted, dedicated people who were attracted to hospital food service.

  Cara parked in the back lot and went in through the service entrance, noting that as usual, someone had propped the back door open, which was a safety and security hazard. She yanked the door shut, reflecting on the laxity of all such rules and regulations on weekends and holidays. If ever anyone wanted to kidnap a patient, rob the cafeteria, or steal a drug shipment destined for pharmacy, it was a sad but little known fact that the weekends--with their dearth of supervision--would be the ideal time.

  Cara shivered as she walked down the hall. The spicy smell of spaghetti sauce seemed familiar and comforting, but the kitchen was too quiet.

  Lydia stood beside the door to the dish room, a knot of employees milling around her. “Just keep calm,” she was saying, although a fine sheen of perspiration glowed on her dark skin, and her eyes were wide open. She thrust her hand in the air as Cara approached. “Stop, you’re not going to like what you see.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  Lydia turned to the men and women gathered together. Pulling back her shoulders, she stood very straight, assuming her full height of five ten. “Please, go back to work,” she said. “Cara’s here now. We’ll handle this.”

  “Don’t tell me,” Cara said. “The dish machine is broken down again, right?”

  “Uh, uh.” Lydia grasped Cara hands with icy fingers and led her to a corner behind the conveyor belt. “I warned you this wouldn’t be good.” she said.

  Cara swallowed hard when she saw a dead rat sprawled on its back in the corner.

  “What shall we do?” Lydia asked. “And where do you suppose it came from?”

  “I have no idea. But we should get it out of here right away.”

  Lydia said, “I will call housekeeping.”

  “No, I think we can take care of it ourselves.” Cara said. “If we call the housekeeping department, everyone in the hospital will know about it within the hour. For now, throw some paper towels over the thing, and I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

  Heart pounding, Cara hurried to her office, thankful that the Department of Health didn’t do weekend inspections. But how in the world had the rat gotten there? The hospital employed a pest control service, and scrupulously followed good sanitation practices. Jittery with nervous tension, Cara opened her office door and turned on the light, only to face another shock.

  In the center of her desk lay a plump dead mouse.

  A chill crept along Cara’s spine, even though she’d never been one of those females who shrieked when they saw a mouse. In fact, she’d often felt a certain sympathy for the poor things--enticed by hunks of cheddar cheese into brutal traps, and constantly threatened by monstrous cats. But it was obvious: the mouse on her desk and the rat in the dish room had been planted.

  She looked out over the kitchen. Which poker faced employee was bursting with inward glee, anticipating her hysterical reaction?

  The flutter in her stomach settled into a cold rock of resolve. She would not reward this sick jokester by creating any kind of scene. Someone out there hoped she would panic and call the housekeeping department for help. Within thirty minutes, a rumor that the kitchen was overrun with vermin would spread through the hospital like a runaway train

  That wasn’t going to happen.

  Taking a few cleansing breaths, Cara smoothed her hair and assumed what she hoped was a serene facial expression. Next, she took a plastic glove from a box near her desk, picked up the mouse, and slipped it into a manila envelope. Then she straightened her shoulders, walked to the janitor’s closet and found an empty bucket. In the bake shop she picked up a large metal spatula and some tongs.

  The employees had gone back to their stations in the dish room, but their eyes were watchful. There was none of the usual workplace chatter, only the steady grind of the conveyor belt and the slosh of dishwater cascading through the machine.

  Lydia stood beside her. “I still think you should call housekeeping.”

  Cara raised her voice so she could be heard above the din. “This is no big deal, really. I’ll take care of it.”

  “You?” Lydia stepped back and gave Cara a sideways look, her black eyebrows arched in skepticism.

  “Why not me?” Cara picked up the tongs and approached the corner, fighting nausea. Luckily she hadn’t eaten breakfast, so nothing came up. She threw the rat in the bucket, and poured bleach on the floor where it had been.

  “Where you taking that thing?” Lydia whispered.

  The smell of bleach stung Cara’s nose, making her eyes water. Without answering, she picked up the bucket and found an empty box near the storeroom. It was a simple problem, really, she thought. Just throw the suckers in the dumpster near the back dock. Lydia trailed her to her office, where Cara showed her the mouse.

  “You can’t just pretend this didn’t happen,” Lydia said. “This has to be reported.”

  “You’re right. We’ll fill out an incident report and put in an emergency call to the pest control service. But we need to keep this thing quiet as possible. Tell the employees we think the rat came from the construction site of the new wing. And keep your eyes peeled. Whoever did this isn’t going to stop until they get the attention they want. Now let’s talk about this character who was down here trying to get in computers. Where did he go?”

  “He left right after you called. You think he might have done this?”

  “I don’t see how. Someone would have seen him in the dish room. Anyway, how would he have gotten into my locked office? No, I think it was just a coincidence. What did he look like, by the way?”

  “Tall skinny guy, maybe six foot. Receding hairline, blond buzz, a little mustache. Long sleeved button down shirt, khakis. “

  Cara tucked the box under her arm. “I’ll call Dr. Rozgonyi on Monday,” she said. “It was probably just a misunderstanding. Let me know if he comes back.”

  Cara stepped out onto the dock. Once, it had been a smoker’s haven, but no more. So why was a tall guy in street clothes leaning again the storeroom door, apparently with nothing to do? Cara took a closer look. Receding hairline, button down shirt. It had to be Rozgonyi’s errand boy. He regarded her coldly, his hazel eyes cloudy as stagnant creek water.

  “You’re Cara Mackenzie.” His voice was flat, almost accusative.

  “That I am. And you are?”

  “Jeff King. I’m doing some work for Dr. Rozgonyi. Unfortunately, your supervisor wouldn’t co-operate.”

  “I’m sorry you feel that way. But surely you know the Department of Health has a rule about unauthorized people walking the through kitchen.”

  Jeff’s thin upper lip curled. “Yeah, I know all about you and the Department of Health. Hear you had a little problem with them.”

  Cara said, “They cleared me of any wrongdoing in the salmonella outbreak. It was caused by contaminated cantaloupes from a California supplier. If I had been found negligent, I wouldn’t be standing here today. No
w tell me, why did you want to get in our computers?”

  “Just wanted to see what you’re feeding the patients. Dr. Rozgonyi thinks your menus could be vastly improved.”

  “In what way?”

  “There aren’t enough fresh fruits and vegetables.”

  “We have plenty of fresh produce for those on regular diets. You know as well as I do that the majority of our patients are on modified diets. We have to comply with the diet prescriptions.”

  Jeff shook his head. “You seem defensive. Don’t you want some help?”

  “Help with what? I’ve been in this job over a year now. No one seems to think I need guidance.”

  Jeff sighed. “Fine. I’ve just wasted a Saturday afternoon because you wouldn’t co-operate. Dr. Rozgonyi will be talking to your boss about this on Monday. He won’t be pleased, seeing as they worked hard to recruit her for this position.”

  “I’m sure it can all be worked out.” Cara‘s blood pounded in her ears, and her face burned. But she didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing he’d gotten under her skin, so she turned away and called over her shoulder, “Nice meeting you.”

  Cara fumed over the nerve of that guy. Walking into her department unannounced, upsetting Lydia, then calmly informing Cara she needed help. Well, let him try and serve 175 different diets to 350 patients three times a day, plus all the cafeteria food, catered meals in the doctors’ dining room, and cocktail parties for special events. She couldn’t imagine Jeff King putting in the long hours her job required, but she had the feeling that was exactly what he and Dr. Rozgonyi had in mind.

  CHAPTER SIX

  THE FARM

  CARA WAS STILL on edge when she stopped at a service station to fill up her tank. She had to get gas twice as often as she used to, before she started seeing John. But neither of them were ready to move in together.

  A shell had formed around her heart during her eight year relationship with Tony Cabella. Then she’d moved to Miami and opened herself to Todd, a charismatic, fun loving man who had found her Midwestern twang and Irish freckles so intriguing that he’d proposed marriage. Too late, she’d learned that a wedding ring didn’t guarantee fidelity.