The Perils of Peaches (Scents of Murder Book 3) Page 2

  “Just you remember that paper trail.” Dr. Bradley’s voice could freeze water. “It would be unfortunate if …”

  I ignored the temptation to turn around and continued to our table. Barkha’s demeanor sometimes resembled the surface of a mirror, but I knew if I waited for the right time, my friend might tell me the story.

  Ever since Barkha had followed my prenatal care and delivered Hannah, we’d formed a friendship, one I hadn’t expected yet welcomed. Barkha had even started attending Sunday dinner at my parents’ house. Momma gave Barkha a standing invitation the first time I brought her along. I think she missed her parents, brothers, sisters, and a whole posse of relatives back in Atlanta. She’d smile at Momma and Daddy’s banter, Di and Steven reasoning with one of the boys, Ben and I fawning over our little one. And, I’d especially catch her smiling at my single brother-in-law, Jerry. When Jerry noticed, he’d smile back.

  The whole thing with the two of them was enough for me to scream, “Ask her out to dinner already!” But of course I didn’t. Jerry, like his brother Ben, didn’t move in a hurry. It had taken Jerry nearly two years to work out and lose fifty pounds, then start getting his hair done instead of getting the traditional Hartley buzz cut. Plus I couldn’t see how Greenburg’s chief of police and a busy physician would find time to coordinate a meal together. But then I was getting ahead of myself on that one.

  I slid back onto my chair and picked up my menu. “Did you find something that sounded appetizing?” My stomach growled.

  “I’m going with the chef salad,” Di said.

  “The spinach and feta melt on a whole wheat pita sounds delicious. Anything with cheese.” Even health food ought to taste better with cheese.

  Gloria returned to take our orders, and she flinched as she stopped by my elbow. “Are you okay?” I asked.

  “It’s my second week back to work after surgery. I’m still pretty sore. But they’re shorthanded, so I told them I’d wait a few tables during the lunch rush.” Gloria rubbed her abdomen, her painted nails catching the light. “And how is little Hannah today? Jenna can’t wait to see you at Mommy’s Morning next week.”

  More squeals from Hannah, and a few smiles from diners. “She helped me pick peaches, and can’t wait to see her friends.” Yes, she’s my daughter. Extremely talented. Miss Congeniality already too. Colleges are already on the phone offering scholarships.

  “I tell you, that little play group gives me such a breather, even having Jenna right there.” Gloria’s smile faded a few degrees. “Her doctor appointments alone exhaust us, goin’ back and forth to Nashville twice a month. But the doctor hopes she’ll get more strength in her legs …”

  My own little angel gurgled in the high chair beside me, and not for the first time a pinprick of guilt needled my heart. Gloria’s little girl had been born with disabilities. I watched as she reached over and touched Hannah’s hair.

  A sudden flurry of conversation and movement made us both glance in its direction.

  Barkha, her cheeks flushed dark crimson, headed for the front door. I looked over to the café table where Dr. Bradley tossed some bills between their half-eaten lunches. He muttered to himself, rubbing his forehead as he stalked across the restaurant. Evidently the guitar music hadn’t helped him relax, either.

  Hannah squealed and clenched the last of her cracker. Di shook her head. “Now what was that all about?”

  “I have no idea.” I grabbed a fresh wet wipe from Hannah’s bag.

  “Well, I’ll put those orders in for you and get you some refills on that water.” Gloria turned and headed toward the kitchen.

  Once Gloria had left, Di said, “I bet you’re going to find out what happened.”

  I nodded. “I’ve never seen her this upset before.” Of course, being in the same room with Dr. Bradley for even five minutes would be enough to try the most patient soul. The restaurant’s glass front door glided shut as Dr. Bradley headed outside.

  “I bet he had something to do with it.” Di frowned. “It’s hard to believe how nice he is as a doctor. I remember he treated Stevie for a bad stomach bug years ago. Dr. Bradley had to give him an IV because he was so dehydrated. Stevie hates needles, but Dr. Bradley distracted him long enough for the nurse to put the IV in.”

  “It must be his alter ego. Because he’s nearly impossible to work for. I don’t know how Eunice does it. At least I only have to listen to his recorded voice.”

  “Ouch.” Di reached for one of Hannah’s crumb-covered hands. “Your mommy sure doesn’t like that doctor, does she?”

  “I’m sorry. I just get tired of the man’s barbs.” I lifted my hands. “I’m finally beginning to understand what Daddy meant when he said not all money was good money. Speaking of which, I need to remember to pick up those files.”

  “Well, do me a favor.” Di looked up as another waitress approached with our meals on a tray. “When we’re done here, drop me off at Momma’s.”

  “You got it.” I glanced toward the kitchen window where Gloria stood at a counter, putting a salad together. “I wish you lived closer. Y’all left such a hole when you moved.”

  “Sometimes I wish we lived closer too. But we’re happy there.” The smile on Di’s face was supposed to reassure me, but my heart still ached a little. “And it’s not so far away. An hour or so.”

  “I know. It’s just that I was so used to seeing y’all almost every day.”

  “Not every day. That’s probably an exaggeration. And we see you nearly every Sunday.”

  “You’re right. It was different though, knowing y’all were here. Even when we didn’t see each other.” The spinach and feta lay listlessly on the pita bread. I picked up the sandwich, but my appetite had followed my good mood out the door after Dr. Bradley.

  “You and Ben are busy. Him with the restaurant, you with your soap shop and now Hannah. Plus, you and Barkha have become good friends too. Which I’m really glad about.” Di drizzled her salad with dressing, then took a bite. “Not bad. I might even skip the burger later.”

  “I might be busy, but these changes have been hard. Even good ones.” I ventured a nibble of my own lunch. The tang of the feta mingled with the spinach and the nutty wheat of the pita. “I agree, Barkha’s become a good friend. That’s helped.”

  Di patted my hand. “Cheer up. Because if the look on her face when she was leaving is any indication, she’s going to need a friend’s listening ear.”

  The beautiful thing about having a baby is that time can stop in an instant. I didn’t care so much about dishes anymore, and my duels with the laundry monster had escalated. But spending the afternoon watching Hannah roll around the living room floor and explore nearly always shuffled to the top of my list of things to do. Which it had today, after dropping Di off at Momma’s with a promise we’d talk again soon.

  Now Hannah clutched the edge of coffee table as she put one foot in front of the other in an awkward step-slide, step-slide. Spot’s kitty-cat tail was just out of reach where it dangled as Spot laid on the morning paper and dreamed. Should Ben smooth off those table edges? What if Hannah bonked her head?

  The not-so-beautiful thing about having a baby is that you forget things. The dictation files! Here it was, after five in the afternoon, and I’d spent all this time playing with Hannah while waiting for Ben to come home from the restaurant. In jest, I’d told Ben once that I was going to print out a life-sized head and shoulder shot of him so Hannah would recognize him. He failed to see the humor in that statement.

  Soon Hannah and I were bundled up in the Jeep and on our way back to town. If I’d remembered to pick up the recorded files earlier, I’d probably already be finished typing the reports. My head hurt just thinking of the packed schedule weekend ahead. I still had the peaches to can. Not to mention the matter of downloading Internet orders for the soap shop.

  We rolled up to the parking lot of Bradley Medical. A pair of vehicles occupied spaces in front of the building. Probably the last patients of the day
.

  “This’ll just take a few minutes,” I assured Hannah as I hoisted her onto my hip. No wonder the Lord blessed us women with hips. Good for carrying little ones.

  I entered the reception area where Barkha stood behind the desk and flipped through a chart. “Sorry. I’d planned to come by earlier to get the dictation files. I got sidetracked.”

  “That’s all right.” Barkha’s dark gaze flicked to the closed door at the other end of the reception area. “Dr. Bradley’s still dictating. I think.” We heard his even tones filtering through the door, which flashed open.

  “Lungs are clear to auscultation …”

  Franklin Bradley, Dr. Bradley’s nephew, stormed out of the office. His ripped jeans had seen better days and his T-shirt matched. “Fine. Be that way.” His stubbled jaw pulsed, then he relaxed when he saw us. He raked a hand through his unkempt sandy blond hair. “Excuse me. I was trying to talk some sense to my uncle.”

  “No problem,” said Barkha.

  “Where’s Eunice?” Franklin glanced around the waiting room, occupied by only the four of us. Hannah squealed.

  “In the kitchen, cleaning the coffeepot, I believe,” Barkha replied.

  “… Laboratory results reveal …” came Dr. Bradley’s voice, louder now. He appeared in his doorway long enough to push the door closed and shut himself back inside.

  “Okay.” The young man stalked down the hallway behind the counter toward the office’s kitchen. We stared after him. “Eunice, you’ve got to talk some sense into him.” Then came the sound of water rushing from a faucet.

  Barkha reached into her lab jacket pocket and handed me a computer disk. “Here are my files. My last patient just left, and Dr. Bradley has two more waiting. Um, about earlier, at the restaurant …”

  “I was going to ask. Are you all right? I thought you’d want to know about that man—Dr. Gupta, I assume—showing up at your place.”

  “I’m okay now. I called Dr. Gupta. I let him know I’ll talk to him. It’s the least I can do after he drove all the way here. But Dr. Bradley … well, let’s just say sometimes the past dies hard.” She shook her head and slipped out of her navy blue jacket that made her look very doctor-ly. “Pray for me, please. I have some tough decisions to make.”

  “I’m here if you want to talk.” Usually doctors offered comfort and a pair of ears. Now, it was my turn.

  “Thanks. I … I really appreciate it.” Barkha’s gaze slide to Dr. Bradley’s office door. “Tushar and I were supposed to get married. Our families made plans. Maybe at one time I did too.”

  “Tradition?”

  “More like expectations, I guess. We’ve known each other since we were children, and we’ve always been good friends. Let’s just say it’s not meant to be. Or what God has planned, either.”

  “I wondered if it was something like that. And then …”

  “Then I took the position here. My parents still don’t talk to me unless I call them first. So … I haven’t called them since this spring. They just don’t understand.”

  “I’m so sorry, Barkha. I couldn’t imagine that happening with my family.” I wanted to hug her. “Of course you’ve got my prayers.” Hannah held a fistful of my hair, which I managed to get out of her hand.

  “Enough about me right now.” Barkha reached for Hannah, who in turn reached for her. “How’s our little one? My, but she’s growing fast. Seems like yesterday I was telling you to push. And here we are.”

  “Ouch. That pain is a fading memory, and you had to remind me.” I laughed. “I wish these extra twenty pounds were a memory.”

  “Those will come off in time, I’m sure.” Barkha handed Hannah back to me. “There you go.”

  “Are you coming to Momma and Daddy’s on Sunday? She asked about you the other day.”

  “I’m planning to be there.”

  “Jerry said something about coming too.”

  At this, her face flushed, not the angry red I’d seen earlier in the restaurant, but another sort of flush altogether.

  I opened my mouth to say more, and Dr. Bradley’s door flew open again.

  “Do you mind keeping it down? I’m trying to finish work so I can get home at a decent time for once.”

  “I apologize, Hiram,” Barkha began.

  “Mrs. Hartley, it would do you well to remember your place around here.” Dr. Bradley gave us each a blistering glare, then slammed his office door.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow, then,” I said to Barkha. I’d sooner run a register at Wal-Mart than work for that man ever again. “Let’s go, Hannah.” Yes, like Momma said, not all money was good money. Even though Barkha was higher up on Dr. Bradley’s totem pole than I was, I didn’t know how she did it.

  Chapter Two

  “So what I really wanted to tell him was he could forget about having me transcribe his reports anymore.” My husband, Ben, sat on the floor in front of our loveseat where I tried to give him a back rub. I kneaded the knot between his shoulders with a little extra vigor.

  “Ow.” Ben winced. “Go easy. And quit. Transcribing, I mean. Not the back rub.”

  “Sorry.” There, another knot to be conquered in his shoulder blade. “But why does Dr. Bradley have to be so rude? He’s got the bedside manner of a Tennessee River rat.”

  “He’s not a bad doctor, actually. He’s a lot nicer when you’re the patient.”

  “When did you go to him?”

  “Last year. He’s the one who sent me for the stress test.”

  I remembered that time, when I was approaching the big-as-a-house phase of my pregnancy and was on bed rest for over a month. Somehow I must have blocked out the Dr. Bradley part. “Oh. You did. He was nice, you said?”

  “He took plenty of time, didn’t make me feel like he was pushing to get rid of me. Sounded concerned, and said I ought to exercise after my stress test gave the call-clear.”

  “Talk about Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. He always makes me feel like I’m a bother.”

  “I’m sure it’s just your imagination, Babe. Because you are never a bother.”

  Ha. If he only knew. “I’d ask Barkha, but I wouldn’t want her to commit any kind of professional faux pas by talking about Dr. Bradley. She’d probably agree with me, though. He and Barkha were having quite a talk at lunch today, and she wasn’t happy about the conversation.” More pressure on Ben’s shoulder blade. “This afternoon when I asked her about it, she opened up a little bit about her old friend, Tushar, who just came to town.”

  “She’s not used to the way everyone’s in each other’s business here.” Ben shrugged his shoulders. “You know how we don’t like feeling like we’re living under a microscope, either.”

  “I guess. I wish I could help her. She seems so distracted lately. And I wonder if this Tushar guy is trying to get back together with her. But then Eunice said he’d talked to Dr. Bradley for a while. It can’t be good.” I frowned as I kneaded Ben’s back.

  “Babe, don’t worry about it. When the good doctor’s ready, she’ll talk. And if she’s not, she won’t.” Ben’s tone was soft, but the words stung. “I think you’re looking for a sister substitute.”

  Ouch. “I don’t think that’s true. I’m pretty used to Di not living around here anymore.” Ben’s words and my earlier conversation with Di rang in my ears. “I like Barkha. She’s different.”

  “Exactly. Which is why we can’t force her to be anyone else than who she is.”

  We fell silent and I relished the moments while Hannah slept during those quiet hours between dinner and our bedtime.

  “But I’m not forcing Barkha to be anyone else. I admit I’d love to set her and Jerry up on a date. They both need to get out more. I think their personalities complement each other.” I shook my head.

  “If you try that, they’ll probably both run screamin’ in the other direction.” Ben turned to face me.

  “You know as well as I do that Jerry only needs a little encouragement to ask her to dinner. He looks at her at c
hurch, barely says hi, and then pretends his cell phone is buzzing and walks off. Or maybe it really is.” I shifted back onto the loveseat cushion. “And then when he does manage to say hi to her, she finds someone else to talk to.”

  Ben took my hand. “This is why you need to quit matchmakin’. Maybe it’s one-sided. I know Jerry’s liked her for a long time. I’d had to see him get hurt if she didn’t feel the same way.”

  I loved and hated the way he distracted me by rubbing his thumb on my palm. “Well, then if they don’t have dinner together, he can invite her for coffee. Trudy would make them a special latte at Higher Grounds.”

  “Whoa, so you would drag poor Trudy into this plot too?”

  “That’s not funny—” A cry came from the nursery. “Hang on, I’ll be right back.”

  “I’ll be right here.”

  I left to check Hannah.

  Her nursery, formerly our computer room next to the master bedroom, was decorated with ponies and princesses. We’d been so sure a Ben Junior—we called him BJ for almost a trimester—was going to join us that Ben had a local artist paint a pony pasture mural on one wall, with a blue sky that covered the ceiling. Then Hannah came instead, and a quick fix turned the mural into princesses on a pony ride in the country.

  Hannah was teething, or she had gas, and I wasn’t sure which. Or maybe it was both. A pitiful wail came from her mouth. Pacifying her had grown into a process of elimination. Her perfect face flamed red, and giant tears, precious as diamonds, streamed down her petal-soft cheeks.

  “Momma’s here.” I scooped her up. Momma. The name still sounded foreign to me, yet it seemed like I’d always had it. Hannah’s firm little tummy rumbled under my touch. “That’s the problem. Let’s get you some gas drops, and then we’ll get Daddy his supper.” Ben was awfully quiet.

  I snuggled her against me as we went to the kitchen. Ben’s assertion followed me. Had I truly looked to Barkha as a substitute sister? Maybe I’d assumed we shared a bond, since she cared for me during my pregnancy, and helped deliver Hannah.