Read A Good Man Gone (Mercy Watts Mysteries Book One) Page 4

  It took me another day to get to the morgue. Not that I couldn’t make the time. I was up on eight doing orthopedic work. I could’ve gone down anytime I pleased, but I wasn’t a big fan of morgues. It was a good thing nursing school didn’t include a course in gross anatomy. I never would’ve made it. Dad, on the other hand, ate rare roast beef sandwiches during organ weighing. I didn’t inherit his strong stomach, not that I missed it. Also, I wasn’t crazy about using Dad’s name to get information. It made me feel like I was back in fifth grade forging his name on my permission slips. My procrastination skills were working great until Aunt Miriam told me Gavin’s chart review was done and the body was ready to go to the funeral home.

  I sucked it up and went down into the bowels of St. James on Tuesday afternoon. As usual, it was quiet and took awhile to get some attention. Then I found myself in an office that looked like it’d been decorated by Jessica McClintock and it wasn’t a good thing. There were no less than five dried flower arrangements, a wreath, two framed needlepoint canvases of cabbage roses, and a deep-pile lavender rug on the floor. The name on the desk was A.M. Forester, so I expected a woman to walk in. A. wasn’t an Alice or Anne, but Alan and he looked like a young Mr. Rogers gone homicidal. With that décor who could blame him? I assumed his wife was at fault, at least I hoped so. Pictures of a pretty woman with enormous permed hair hung in a series behind the desk. Her pink and purple eye shadow said Jessica and cabbage roses to me.

  “Afternoon. I’m Dr. Forester.” He looked up from a chart he was holding and did a double take. I’d seen that look a million times, the stunned fascination, the struggle for words. There were times I thought I’d rather not meet anyone new. Better that, than deal with what inevitably came next.

  “I’ve heard about... You know you look just like…Marilyn Monroe,” he said.

  Because this wasn’t one of those times, I widened my eyes, crossed and uncrossed my legs. I admit the effect would’ve been better if I wasn’t wearing scrubs, but I got my desired result. He was thrown off balance. I thought I could get anything I wanted out of him.

  “Mercy Watts,” I said. “How are you today?”

  “Fine, fine. I guess you hear that a lot.”

  “Occasionally.” Also known as every freaking day.

  “Sister Miriam said you’d be coming down. She didn’t say you…what you wanted.”

  “Gavin Flouder. His wife is concerned about his cause of death. He was only fifty-five and had a clean bill of health three weeks ago. What did your review turn up?”

  “Myocardial infarction. No doubt about it. I went to Washington University, you know.” He gestured to his diploma framed in some kind of doily matting. I guess I was supposed to be impressed with his super expensive education. I wasn’t. Dad had arrested more than a few dirtbags that went to Wash U. A couple were doctors, as I recalled.

  “I see that. So what did you do? Double check levels? I understand he was on thinners.”

  “I don’t think you need to worry about that. I’d enjoy a cup of coffee. Can I interest you in our lovely cafeteria?”

  “I PRN here. I get enough of the cafeteria. I do want to know what you turned up in your exam.”

  “I can’t release information to you.”

  “Didn’t Sister Miriam tell you to cooperate with me?” I put my fingers on his desk and leaned forward-- a little cleavage never hurt anyone.

  “Well, she doesn’t have any real authority here.”

  “She’ll be pleased to hear that.” I stood up straight.

  “You don’t need to go and bother Sister Miriam about this.”

  “She’s my aunt. I live to bother her. Is Dr. Grace in?”

  “No.” Dr. Forester looked over my head towards the door when he said it.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Absolutely,” he said.

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “I’m not accustomed to being accused of lying.”

  “Well, get accustomed, because I’m not changing my opinion. Where’s his office?” I asked.

  “You really have no business being here.”

  “I sure do. If the family wants you to tell me your results, then you have to tell me, or didn’t they teach you that at Wash U?”

  “You should go now. It’s time for my lunch.” Forester gestured toward the door.

  “It’s three-thirty.”

  “I eat late.”

  “Right. I guess I’ll have to find Dr. Grace on my own.” I stood up and walked out the door without another word.

  Who the hell did he think he was? As if I’d go to coffee with a man who’d hit on me while surrounded by pictures of his wife. Bastard. Actually, not only was he a bastard, he was damned unhelpful, too, and I started to get a feeling. My feelings aren’t about mess, but about getting a huge pain in the ass. Like Dad and his feelings, I was rarely off base about my ass.

  Dr. Grace’s office was easy to find and, as luck would have it, he was in it, sitting behind a stack of charts so high that at first all I saw was a mop of iron gray hair and horn-rimmed glasses.

  “Excuse me, Dr. Grace?”

  “Yes. Can I help you?” He straightened up and I got the full view of an unsurprised man. One who didn’t find me particularly out of the ordinary. He must’ve met Mom.

  “If you’re not too busy. I’m Mercy Watts. I believe you know my father, Tommy Watts.”

  “Good old Tommy. How’s he doing these days? Still making the rounds as a PI?”

  “Sure is, and he told me to look you up as a favor to him.”

  “About a case of his?” Dr. Grace’s eyebrows went up.

  “Not really. It’s more of a family matter. Gavin Flouder was a partner of his in the old days. Dad worked with him for a while when he went private. We were wondering if you could take a look at him for us,” I said.

  “Gavin Flouder, Gavin Flouder,” he said as he thumbed through a stack of paper on his desk.

  “He died on Sunday.”

  “Right. Here he is. Forester had his case. Have you talked to him?”

  “You could say that,” I said.

  “Not very forthcoming, I take it.”

  “Not at all.”

  “What are you looking for?” Dr. Grace asked.

  “He supposedly had a MI. We’d like to make sure. He did have a heart condition, but Dad has a feeling.”

  “Tommy and his feelings. Not that I doubt him. I’ve known him too long for that. What about you? Do you have a feeling, too?”

  “Let’s just say I don’t like it.”

  “That’s good enough for me. I’ll take a look. I’ll call you and we’ll go over the results together.” Dr. Grace got up and walked me out his door to the elevator. While we were walking, I could see him giving me sly glances. He wanted to throw out the Marilyn comment, but was too polite to do it. Instead, we chatted about Dad and the declining state of the police force. I left feeling better about Gavin’s case, but worse about my ass.