She shook her head to focus. One interrogation, coming up. She would start off easy, then go in for the kill. Metaphorically speaking. “Does Cheddar mind strangers? Because Rolex hates everyone with the heat of a thousand suns. Especially the GBH agents running around my place because of…you know. Dr. Hotchkins. The murderer.”
The color in Emma’s cheeks drained, and she took a deep breath to steady herself. “Yes, that must have been quite the shock to you both.” With an audible swallow, she hooked her stethoscope over her neck and freed Jane from the cuff.
“It was, yes, but I’m sure things are worse for you. You knew the doctor personally.” Oh man. Where were her manners? “I’m so sorry for your loss,” she rushed to add.
Emma nodded in acknowledgement but offered nothing else on the subject. “Your blood pressure is one twenty-nine over eighty.” Her flat tone was back.
“Is that, uh, bad or something?”
“It’s slightly elevated.” She replaced the device on its hook and typed Jane’s results into a note-taking tablet. “Most likely due to stress.”
“Yes, most likely.” Jane wasn’t ready to let the subject drop. “Poor Dr. Hotchkins. He’s the reason my stress is so high. I just can’t get him off my mind.” Truth.
Had the other woman flinched?
“He’s definitely missed.” An even flatter tone. “I need silence for this next test, okay?” Emma aimed the temperature gauge at her forehead.
Silence? For a thermometer? Definitely a lie.
“No fever,” Emma said. “So what brings you in here today?”
Murder. If the nurse thought she’d successfully changed the subject, she thought wrong. “I’m here because of Dr. Hotchkins. You know, my stress. The upset of it all. I’m the one who found his body.” Yes. The perfect excuse. It had a foundation of truth and left the door open for further questions. “My heart has raced at odd times.” Whenever a certain special agent neared. “I toss and turn at night.” Dreaming of said special agent. “Flutters erupt in my belly.”
This time, Emma definitely flinched. “I did hear about your involvement in the case.” After making a few more notes in the device, she headed to the door. “The PA will be in shortly.” With that, she exited, sealing Jane inside the room, alone, unable to blurt out her next query.
Her abruptness proved startling. Well. That was definitely suspicious. Jane opened her notebook to draw stars around Emma’s name.
With nothing to do but wait, she scanned the quintessential sickroom, taking in other details. Standard exam table with a paper cover. A row of glass containers displayed cotton balls, long swabs and tongue depressors. On the wall hung a biohazard disposal container for needles. Jane shuddered and looked away.
Here and there, medical posters listed symptoms for various diseases. She examined the certificates more closely. A framed PA diploma for Caroline Whittington, as well as different awards.
A clipped knock sounded, and Caroline entered the room, peering down at the same iPad Emma had used. The door closed behind her.
At the sink, she washed her hands. “Hello, Miss Ladling.” Her perfunctory manner seemed at odds with her show of emotion over the phone. What had changed? The thirty-something PA had red hair and pale, freckled skin. Unlike Emma, she wore plain blue scrubs. Gaze direct and unwavering, she offered Jane a swift smile. “Nice to put a face with a voice. Your file says you’re upset about finding Dr. Hotchkins’s body. But I must be honest with you. You didn’t seem upset when we spoke on the phone.”
She suspects me of lying. Because she was an accurate judge of truth, or because she was guilty of lying herself? “Everyone deals with grief differently.” Truth.
“Well. You aren’t wrong.” The woman’s features fell, her shoulders rolling in, as if she were too exhausted to hide her emotions a moment longer. She massaged her temples. “I’m sorry. This has just been a day.”
“Oh. Um. Of course. Certainly.” An abrupt change. Too abrupt?
“It must have been awful for you,” Caroline said, reaching out to pat her shoulder. Too understanding and sympathetic? Or a normal amount?
Jane didn’t know anything anymore. “It really was,” she replied in earnest. All those cars on her driveway, some on her lawn. Booted feet trampling everywhere.
The PA eased onto a stool beside the exam table, her expression much softer. “Tell me how I can help you, Jane. Are you having trouble sleeping?”
“Yes!” Ugh. She hadn’t meant to shout her response, but as mentioned before, she’d only tossed and turned last night, lost in thoughts about Conrad. He was single, but was he interested in Jane? Did she want him to be? The curse… “I probably shouldn’t have come here.” A statement the agent would agree with, no doubt. “I mean, you guys know—knew—and loved Dr. Hotchkins. Everyone at the clinic must be as upset as I am. More so.”