Long Lost - James Scott Bell Page 0,33
don’t do it that way if you’re God.
Time for a little clearing of the air. Steve had the autopsy report in his briefcase in the car. It was four fifteen. He’d come this far and spent this much time. Maybe one more stop.
Traynor Memorial Hospital.
Steve got directions at an ARCO station. The hospital was tucked up against the foothills. A three-story, sage-green structure with tinted windows. Just inside the front doors, two elderly women sat at a reception desk. They were dressed in blue smocks with yellow tags identifying them as volunteers. One of them had slate-colored hair done up in curls. The other had dyed hers a shade of red that did not exist in nature.
They looked surprised and delighted when Steve came in, as if he were the Pony Express riding into the fort.
They fought for the first word. Curls said, “May I help—” at the same time Red said, “Who are you here to—”
They stopped and looked at each other, half-annoyed, half-amused, then back at Steve.
And spoke over each other again.
“Let me help you out,” Steve said. “I’m looking for a doctor, a certain—”
“Are you hurt?” Curls said.
“Our emergency entrance is around to the side,” Red said.
“No, I—”
“Oh, but we just had a shooting,” Curls said.
“A stinking old man,” Red added.
“Not stinking,” Curls said. “Stinko. He was drunk.”
“When you’re drunk you can stink, too,” Red said.
“That’s hardly the point,” Curls said.
“I’m trying to locate a certain doctor,” Steve said.
“We don’t do referrals here,” Curls said. “But if you—”
Red jumped in: “We have a medical building just down the block if you’ll—”
“He didn’t ask for a medical building,” Curls snapped.
“I know that, but if he’s looking for a doctor that would be the place to start.”
“Not any doctor,” Steve said. “A specific doctor, named Walker C. Phillips.”
A silence fell upon the volunteers. Neither seemed eager to tackle that one.
“Is he still practicing?” Steve said.
Red leaned forward and whispered. “Lost his license to practice.”
“Terrible tragedy,” Curls said, shaking her head.
Red made a drinking motion with her hand. “Stinking.”
“Stink-O,” Curls said.
“When was this?” Steve asked.
“Oh, it’s been, what, ten years, at least,” Curls said. “His wife left him, you know.”
“Ah, no, I did not know that.”
The two women nodded.
“Can you tell me, is he still around?”
“Oh, he moved,” Red said. “To Tehachapi.”
“I thought it was Temecula,” Curls said.
“No, Tehachapi.”
“He moved where the prison is.”
“That’s Tehachapi.”
“No, it’s Temecula.”
“Oh no. I have a granddaughter in Temecula.”
“That doesn’t mean—”
“I would have remembered!”
“Excuse me,” Steve said. “Maybe there’s someone here at the hospital who would know for sure?”
That seemed like a delightful suggestion to the ladies, who fought over the phone. Curls won and punched in a number and took about five minutes to formulate the question, and finally listened. She started to frown. Then seemed almost angry.
She replaced the phone. “Apparently he moved to Tehachapi.”
Red smiled without saying a word.
Curls quickly added, “But he may have moved from Temecula.”
“Thank you, ladies,” Steve said. “You’ve been very helpful.”
“That’s our job,” Curls said.
“It’s not really a job,” Red said.
Steve walked quickly for the doors, hearing Curls as he did: “I think you’d do much better if you did consider it a job.”
As he was driving back to LA, Steve got a call from Ashley.
“This is a surprise,” he said. He noted, with consternation, that his heart was kicking up. With longing. He wanted to be over that reaction. Now.
“I’ve been meaning to call you,” she said.
“Uh-huh.”
“Are you all right?”
“I’m fine. I’m driving and everything.”
“Steve—”
“Sorry.”
She paused. “You have some things in the garage. I was just wondering what you planned to do with all of it.”
“Is it in the way?”
“Well, sort of.”
“Is it a health hazard?”
“Steve, I’m not a storage service.”
“No, you’re the one who filed for divorce and forced me out of the—”
“I didn’t force anything.”
“And now you’re ragging my face about a few things in the garage? Come on, I live in an apartment.”
“We can’t just leave it like this. I own the house now—”
“You will, when I get my share—”
“—and I can’t have a portion of my garage filled with your things.”
“At least give me a chance to get a house of my own,” Steve said.
“How likely is that?” Ashley said.
“Thank you.”
“I mean, are you going to rent?”
“No, I had my eye on the Getty Villa overlooking the ocean.”
“Steve, I’m serious. I’m going to be working at home tomorrow, so if you’d like—”
“What great timing you have.”
“Excuse me?”
“I don’t know, today was a great day. I haven’t told you, have I?”
“Told me what?”
Steve