A Mayfair Christmas Carol, a Marcia Banks and Buddy Mystery Novella by Kassandra Lamb

Author:Kassandra Lamb [Lamb, Kassandra]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: misterio press LLC

Thirty minutes later, two uniformed deputies had arrived and were now standing at parade rest next to the reception desk. Mrs. Beckett was back in her chair behind it. Will had given the uniforms lengthy, hushed instructions. From the few words I’d caught, they were to make sure Mrs. Beckett stayed put and didn’t mess with any of the records.

Then Will made a show of walking around the desk—Mrs. Beckett cringed away from him in her chair—and pulling the plug of the small shredder behind it from the wall socket.

He beckoned to me and the nurse to follow and headed for the conference room. Once we were settled around the table, he pulled out a small pad and poised his pen over it. “Name?” he barked.

“Bella Stevens.” Her face was blank. Too blank. But there was definitely a hint of anxiety in her eyes as they flicked about the room.

“And you work for?”

“Belleview Nightingales. It’s a nursing and caretaker service.”

Will nodded, one sharp movement of his head down and up. “What meds is Ms. Mayfair receiving?”

“Can’t tell you that,” Nurse Bella said. “Patient confidentiality.”

“Harumph.” Will stared at her. “Name of the doctor who ordered the meds?”

Aha, that would not be confidential.

She froze for a second, then said, “Dr. Nelson.”

Will wrote the name down. “And he is what, a psychiatrist?”

She glanced at me, swallowed hard. “No, I believe he’s a general practitioner.”

“And when was the last time the order was renewed?”

“Um, I don’t know. I’d have to check the patient’s chart.”

“Which is kept where?”

“In Mrs. Beckett’s file cabinet.”

Will looked at me and gave a small nod. I took that to mean I was to go fetch the chart.

Once outside the conference room door, I took a deep breath and squared my shoulders. Acting had never been my greatest talent, but I was about to pretend I had the authority to do what I was about to do.

I marched to Mrs. Beckett’s desk, then veered off to the filing cabinet to its left. The only labels on the drawers were alphabetical designations—A-L, etc.—except for the bottom drawer. I opened the M-Q drawer.

“Hey, you can’t go in there,” Mrs. Beckett called out.

I turned slightly and gave her what I hoped was a quelling look.

“Don’t you need a search warrant?” she said more tentatively.

I hid a grin. Guess my look had been quelling enough.

“The nurse needs Ms. Mayfair’s chart,” I said in a curt voice. I’d located the M’s and quickly rifled through them. There it was: Mayfair, Susanna. I pulled out the chart and turned.

“You can’t look at that without a court order,” Mrs. Beckett said more emphatically.

“I have no intention of looking at it.” Actually, I had planned to sneak a peek. “The nurse needs it to check something.”

“What?”

I resisted the temptation to say, None of your business.

Instead, I gestured for her to follow me. “You can tag along to make sure I don’t open it.” I turned and walked away, Mrs. Beckett spluttering behind me.

I was relieved to see out of the corner of my eye that a uniform was also tagging along.

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