The Good, the Bad, and the Emus(3)

“Yuck,” she said, wincing. “Wrap it up again and keep the pressure on. Let’s get you checked in. Kitchen knife?”

“Pruning shears.”

I filled out the now-familiar paperwork—actually, I only had to complete a few fields on the form Crystal handed me. A couple of months ago she’d added our household to what she called her frequent filer program, which meant that she kept a set of prefilled forms for us in her computer and could just print them out when we came through the door.

Then I was ushered back to an even-more-familiar cubicle. Another nurse inspected my hand and then dashed out, apparently satisfied that I was in no immediate danger of bleeding out. No doubt if Dad was in the hospital she’d send him in. Although he was, in theory, semiretired, he still spent rather a lot of time here and in the consulting office he’d opened in his barn. Meanwhile, the doctor’s daughter in me began trying to figure out what was up with all the other patients in the ER, based on what I’d seen on my way to my cubicle and what I could overhear now. A possible heart attack in one cubicle. And a kid with a possible concussion in another. Possible appendicitis in a third. Rats. Everyone sounded more dire than me.

I sat back and resigned myself to a long wait.

My cell phone rang. I answered it quickly—always aware of the possibility Natalie was calling to report a new crisis.

But it wasn’t Natalie. It was Stanley Denton, a private investigator who had set up his office in Caerphilly a few years ago.

“Could I come out to your house to ask you about something?” he asked, after we’d exchanged the usual greetings.

“Not right now,” I said. “I’m actually in the ER at Caerphilly Hospital waiting to get stitches. Just some cuts,” I hastened to add. “But I have no idea how long I’ll be here.”

“Even better,” he said. “Not the cuts, of course, but I could just stop by the hospital. Only a few blocks from my office, you know. I could talk to you while you’re waiting to see the doctor. Help you while away the long delay.”

“Talk to me about what?”

“I’ll explain when I get there. Shouldn’t be more than a few minutes.”

It took Stanley about five minutes, and by the time he arrived, Dr. Gridwell, the duty ER doctor, had arrived to examine my hand.

“We don’t give group discounts, you know,” the doctor was saying. “Not even if you come in together, and certainly not if you straggle in one by one all week. Your father coming down to supervise again?”

Beneath his nonchalant, bantering tone I detected a note of tension. Gridwell had been the one to stitch up both boys. Not every doctor likes having his patients’ regular doctor supervising every move he makes. Especially when the doctor was also the patients’ very opinionated grandfather. Of course, I understood what Dad was up to. Gridwell had only recently joined the staff at Caerphilly Hospital, and Dad was still assessing this new colleague’s skills.

“Dad didn’t come with me,” I said. “He might still show up if he hears I’m here. But maybe if you kick me out pretty soon he won’t bother.”

“Hmph.” From the alacrity with which Gridwell bounced out of the room and began throwing around orders to the rest of the staff, I deduced that yes, he would rather get me stitched up and discharged before Dad arrived to second-guess him. And the fact that he was willing to try was good news for the other patients, who presumably were stable, under observation, and in no need of anything urgent.

“Well played,” Denton said. “I wonder if I should drop your father’s name next time I show up here.”

“Can’t hurt,” I said. “What can I do for you?”

“If you have time to talk,” he said, glancing around.

“Dr. Gridwell can’t do anything until someone gets here with the Mayo tray,” I said.

“Mayo tray? He’s sent out for sandwiches?”

“That’s what the medical people call that metal rolling cart that you or I would probably call the suture tray. That thing,” I added, as the med tech rolled it in.

“I’d probably call it the thing they use to bring in the scissors and the sutures and the bandages and all the other stuff the doc needs to put you back together again.” Stanley shuddered slightly as the tech began arranging the contents of the tray. “Anyway, I want to ask you something about a case.”

“Ask away,” I said.

“I was wondering if you could come down to Riverton to help me out.”

I closed my eyes and sighed slightly.

“It’s only about forty miles from here, and—”