The Crush Part 2

Stern visage. All business. "Yes?"

"I got your number from the hospital. I hope you don't mind me calling you at home."

She did. Very much. "What can I do for you, Detective?"

"I'd like to meet with you tomorrow. Say ten o'clock?"

"Meet with me?"

"To talk about Dr. Howell's murder."

"I don't know anything about his murder. I told you that. . . was it the day before yesterday?"

"You didn't tell me that you and he were vying for the same position at the hospital. You left that out."

Her heart b.u.mped against her ribs. "It wasn't relevant."

"Ten o'clock, Dr. Newton. Homicide's on the third floor. Ask anybody. You'll find me."

"I'm sorry, but I've scheduled the operating room for three surgeries tomorrow morning. To reschedule would inconvenience other surgeons and hospital personnel, to say nothing of my patients and their families."

"Then when would be a convenient time?" He asked this in a tone that suggested he wasn't really interested in going out of his way to accommodate her.

"Two or three o'clock tomorrow afternoon."

"Two o'clock. See you then."

He disconnected before Rennie could. She returned the telephone to the end table. She closed her eyes and took deep breaths through her nose, exhaling through her mouth.

Lee Howell's appointment to chief of surgery had

been a major blow. Since the retirement of the predecessor, she and Lee had been the leading contenders for the position. After months of extensive interviews and performance a.s.sessments, the hospital board of directors had finally announced their decision last week--while she had

been conveniently away, a move she had thought ultra-cowardly. However, when word of Lee's appointment reached her, she was glad she was away. The hospital grapevine would be circulating the news with the speed of fiber optics. By the time she had returned to work, the buzz had died down and she wasn't subjected to well-meaning but unwelcome commiserations. But she hadn't escaped them entirely. A comprehensive write-up about his appointment had appeared in the Star-Telegram. The article had extolled Dr. Lee Howell's surgical skills, his dedication to healing, his distinguished record, and his contributions to the hospital and the community at large. As a consequence of the glowing article, Rennie had been on the receiving end of many sympathetic glances, which she had deplored and tried to ignore. Basically, being chief of any department involved reams of additional paperwork, constant crises with personnel, and haggles with hospital board members for a larger share of the budget. Nevertheless, it was a coveted t.i.tle and she had coveted it. Then three days after the newspaper profile, Lee had made headlines again by being slain in the hospital parking lot. Looking at it from Detective Wesley's standpoint, the timing would be uncanny and worthy of further investigation. His job was to explore every avenue. Naturally, one of the first people he would suspect would be Lee's compet.i.tor. The meeting tomorrow amounted to nothing more than a vigilant follow-up by a thorough detective. She wouldn't worry about it. She simply wouldn't. She had nothing to contribute to Wesley's investigation. She would answer his questions truthfully and to the best of her knowledge and that would be the end of it. There was no cause to worry. The roses, on the other hand, were worrisome. She stared at them as though intimidation might cause them to surrender the sender's ident.i.ty. She stared at them so long that her vision doubled, then quadrupled, before she suddenly pulled it back into sharp focus--on the white envelope. Tucked deeply into the foliage, it had escaped detection until now. Being careful of thorns, she reached into the arrangement and removed the card from the envelope, which had been attached to a stem by a slender satin ribbon. The hand with which she had established a reputation as an exceptionally talented surgeon trembled slightly as she brought the card closer. On it was a single typewritten line: I've got a crush on you.

Chapter 3.

Uncle Wick!"

"Uncle Wick!"

The two girls rushed him like linemen intent on sacking the quarterback. Officially adolescents, they still had the exuberance of children when it came to showing affection, especially for their adored Uncle Wick.

"It's been ages and ages, Uncle Wick. I've missed you."

"I've missed y'all, too. Look at you. Will you please stop growing? You're going to get as tall as me."

"n.o.body's as tall as you, Uncle Wick."

"Michael Jordan."

"n.o.body who doesn't play basketball, I mean."

The younger, Laura, announced, "Mom finally let me get my ears pierced," and she proudly showed them off.

"No nose rings, I hope."

"Dad would have a cow."

"I'd have two."

"Do you think braces are ugly on girls, Uncle Wick?

'Cause I may have to get them."

"Are you kidding? Braces are a major turn-on."

"Seriously?"

"Seriously."

"Your hair's blonder, Uncle Wick."

"I've been on the beach a lot. The sun bleaches it out.

And if I don't start using sunscreen I'm going to get as dark as you."

They thought that was hilarious.

"I made cheerleader."

"So I heard." He high-fived Stephanie. "Save a seat for me at one of the games this fall."

"Our outfits are kinda dorky."

"They are," her younger sister solemnly agreed. "Totally dorky."

"But Mom says guess again about making them shorter."

"That's right, I did." Grace Wesley joined them at the front door. Moving her daughters aside, she hugged Wick tightly.

When he released her, he whined, "Grace, why won't you run away with me?"

"Because I'm a one-woman-man kind of woman."

"I'll change. For you I'd change. Cross my heart I would."

"Sorry, still can't."

"Why not?"

"Because Oren would hunt you down and shoot you dead."

"Oh, yeah," he grumbled. "Him."

The girls shrieked with laughter. Over their protests, Grace shooed them upstairs, where ch.o.r.es awaited them,

and ushered Wick into the living room. "How's Galveston?"

"Hot. Sticky. Sandy."

"Are you liking it?"

"I'm loving being a beach b.u.m. Where's your old man?"

"On the phone, but he shouldn't be much longer.

Have you eaten?"

"Stopped at Angelo's and scarfed a plate of brisket.

Didn't realize how much I'd missed that barbecue till I took my first bite."

"There's chocolate pudding in the fridge."

"I'd settle for a gla.s.s of your iced tea."

"Sweetened?"

"Is there any other kind?"

"Coming up. Make yourself comfortable." Before leaving the room, she turned back and said meaningfully, "Sure is good to have you back."

"Thanks."

He didn't correct her. He wasn't back yet and didn't know if he was coming back. He had only consented to think about it. Oren had an interesting case cooking. He had asked for Wick's professional opinion. He was here to help out his friend. That was all.

He'd yet to darken the door of PD headquarters, and he didn't intend to. He hadn't even driven past it or felt a nostalgic yearning to do so. He was here as a favor to Oren.

Period.

"Hey, Wick." Oren bustled in. He was dressed for home in knee-length shorts, sneakers, and a University of Texas T-shirt, but he was still all cop; a case binder was tucked beneath his arm. His pager was clipped to his waistband.

"How was your drive up from Galveston?"

"Long."

"Don't I know it." Oren had made the round trip the day before. "Get checked into the motel all right?"

"Is that rat-hole the best the FWPD can afford?"

"Oh, and you left such luxurious accommodations in Galveston."

Wick laughed good-naturedly.

"Grace take care of you?"

"In the process." She came in with two tall gla.s.ses of tea

and set them on coasters on the coffee table. "The girls said for Wick not to dare leave without saying goodbye." "I promise I won't. I'll even tell them a bedtime story." "A clean one, I hope," Grace said. He shot her his most wicked grin. "I can edit as I go." "Thanks for the tea," Oren said. "Close the door behind you, please." This was a familiar scene. Before moving to the coast, Wick had often spent evenings at the Wesleys' house. It was a happy house because Grace and Oren's happiness with each other permeated the place. They'd met in college and married upon graduation. Grace was a student counselor and vice-princ.i.p.al at a public junior high school. With each year her responsibilities increased and became more complicated, but she never failed to have a hot evening meal for her family and mandated that everyone be there for it. Their home was noisy and active with the girls and their friends trooping up and down the stairs, in and out of the kitchen. Neighbors stopped by with or without an invitation, knowing they'd be welcome. The house was as clean as a U.S. Navy vessel but cluttered with the trappings of a busy family. When Grace was at home, chances were very good that the washing machine would be chugging.

Reminder notes and snapshots were stuck to the refrigerator with magnets. There were always cookies in the cookie jar. Wick had been a guest so often he was considered one of the family and pitched in when it came time to do the dishes or take out the garbage. He teased Grace about doing her best to domesticate him. The joke wasn't far off the mark. Following dinner and cleanup, it had been his and Oren's habit to seclude themselves in the living room to discuss troublesome cases. Tonight was no exception. "I've got a video I want you to see." Oren inserted a tape into the VCR, then carried the remote control back to the sofa and sat at the opposite end from Wick. "Recorded this afternoon." "Of?" "Dr. Rennie Newton." The video picture came on the screen. It was a wide shot of an interrogation room. Wick had watched a hundred such video recordings. The camera, he knew, had been mounted on a tripod situated behind Oren. It was aimed at the chair occupied by the individual being questioned. In this case it was the woman in the photos Oren had shown him yesterday. Wick was surprised. "She's a doctor?"

"Surgeon."

"No s.h.i.t?"

"I called her after leaving your place. She came in for questioning today."

"In connection with the Howell homicide?" Once he had agreed to come to Fort Worth, Oren had given him the basic facts of the case, scarce though they were.

"She agreed to being videotaped, but she also brought along her attorney."