Undercover M.D.

You’re not doing your job, he admonished himself silently. Looking up, he saw the chief of staff standing beside his table, holding a tray in his hands. It contained a single plate of deep-dish apple pie.

Terrance indicated the empty seat opposite him. “Please.” He tried not to notice that easing his considerable bulk onto the booth bench took a bit of maneuvering for Beauchamp.

The older man slid his plate from his tray onto the table and smiled a little self-consciously. He rested the tray against the side of his seat, out of the way.

Beauchamp picked up a fork with enthusiasm. “Yes, just dessert. I really set a poor example, I’m afraid.” He sank the fork into his serving. A look of anticipation entered his eyes. “I know I should be eating better. ‘Physician, heal thyself,’ and all that, but quite honestly, come midafternoon all I want to do is eat something sweet.” The first mouthful had him sighing with pure contentment and pleasure.

Terrance grinned at the unabashed display. “I wasn’t looking at your choice, Dr. Beauchamp. I was just surprised to see you here. I didn’t think you frequented the cafeteria.”

“Oh there’s a small dining hall across the way reserved for doctors only, but I find I like getting down in the trenches with everyone else. We all put our pants on the same way,” he said lightly. Another forkful disappeared into his mouth before he asked, “So tell me, how is it going? Fitting in?”

The pie was disappearing at an impressive rate, yet the man seemed to be slowly savoring every bite. Terrance marveled, watching him. “I’d like to think so.”

“I’ve been hearing good things about you from the staff,” Beauchamp informed him. “You seem to have gotten on Wanda’s good side.” He nodded his whole-hearted approval. “Always a good thing. She can be a formidable adversary if she doesn’t like you.”

Though no pushover, the head nurse had been nothing but amiable to him. She made him think of a mother hen. “I can’t see Wanda actually giving anyone any grief. She seems fair enough.”

“Oh, she is, she is,” Beauchamp agreed enthusiastically, then confided in a lower voice, “But she doesn’t like people who think they know it all.” The older man shook his head. “She and young Harris have never gotten along, I’m sorry to say. But then, he does seem to have a problem.”

Beauchamp suddenly looked startled, as if he’d just heard his own pronouncement. “Don’t get me wrong,” he said quickly, launching into damage-control mode. “William Harris is a good doctor and all that, it’s just that—” It wasn’t in him to lie. “Well, he could stand to have his ego taken down a notch or two. But that’s what comes of having everything handed to you, I suppose. A little hard work is good for everyone.”

Terrance estimated that he probably knew far more about William Harris than the man sitting opposite him. There was a two-inch-thick file on the man on his desk back at the agency. But it was one thing to have information before you and another entirely to listen to it being rendered firsthand. Sometimes, that kind of insight was just the thing to break an investigation wide open.

He looked at Beauchamp innocently. “If you feel that way, why keep him on?”

“Oh, it wouldn’t do to release the grandson of the founder of the hospital. The money might be coming from other sources these days, but the waves something like that might generate—” Beauchamp shook his head, finishing his statement silently as he retreated into another bite of his pie. “Well, it just wouldn’t do, that’s all.” He peered at Terrance, wanting to change the subject. “Getting along well with Dr. DuCane?”

Terrance wondered if he was actually being grilled a little. The man had an innocent face, but Terrance was willing to bet Beauchamp wasn’t as guileless as he seemed. “Yes.”

“She’s a wonderful woman. And dedicated.” Beauchamp nodded as he recalled past events. “Refused to take any time off after that terrible accident. She was in the very next week, acting as if nothing had happened. She’s a strong, strong woman.”

Terrance looked at him. He’d deliberately refrained from looking into Alix’s past, feeling as if he were taking advantage of his position and invading her privacy. But now that Beauchamp had drawn back this curtain to reveal her life, he had to know. “What terrible accident?”

“Why, the one that took her husband, Jeff,” Beauchamp said, then seemed to realize Terrance’s confusion. “Jeffrey Caldwell. He was on staff here, too. Just like Dr. DuCane not to mention anything. For a bright, sunny woman, she doesn’t talk about her own life very much. Me,” he confided, “I tend toward ear bending, but Dr. DuCane is more concerned with listening than talking—other than to bolster spirits, of course. They don’t make them like her anymore,” he said wistfully.

No, Terrance thought, they didn’t. But then, he already knew that. He pressed for more information. “How long has her husband been dead?”

“Jeff? Let me see.” Beauchamp paused as he made a few mental calculations. “It’s been almost two years—no, wait,” he corrected himself, “a little more than that. Yes, two years ago in April.” His head bobbed up and down in confirmation. “It was a boating accident. One of those freak things you don’t believe is happening until it’s over.”

“Was she there?” Terrance couldn’t think of anything worse than Alix witnessing her husband’s death.

“No, she was home with her little girl,” Beauchamp recalled. “Julie had a cold.” Intent on the last of his pie, he didn’t see the look that suddenly came into Terrance’s eyes.

Julie. She’d named her daughter Julie. Was it a coincidence or had she deliberately named the child after his late mother? The two women had gotten close when he’d been seeing Alix. He’d always had the suspicion that it was because Alix was hungry for a mother’s affection. Her own mother had died when she was very young.

“I didn’t know she had a little girl,” he said quietly to the other man.

“Now that I’m surprised about. Dr. DuCane does like to show off pictures of her daughter.” Beauchamp pushed the empty plate away and looked at Terrance, studying the younger man. “Are you two getting along?”

“Yes,” Terrance assured him. “We’re getting along.” As well as could be expected, he thought. “I have no complaints.”

Beauchamp seemed pleased. “Good, good. Let me know if there’s anything I can help you out with.”

You already have, Terrance thought. But now it was time to get down to the crux of why he was here in the first place. “I was just wondering, have I seen this Dr. Harris you mentioned?”

Beauchamp shook his head. “Ordinarily, Dr. Harris would be on now, but he’s taken a few days off. Something about needing to catch a breather.” Terrance thought he detected a note of disapproval in the jovial man’s voice. “Does most of his breathing in Las Vegas, I hear. At the blackjack tables.” Beauchamp banished the slight purse of his lips. “Never liked to gamble myself. I go with sure things. Like this hospital,” Beauchamp said with no small pride. He seemed to make it his business to know the comings and goings of all the doctors on staff. “To answer your question, though, Harris should be back tomorrow.” He cocked his head, curious. “Why?”

Terrance shrugged carelessly. “Just wondering what the man who ruffles Wanda’s feathers looked like.”

“Oh, he ruffles more feathers than just Wanda’s, but like I said, good will is worth a great deal and everyone likes the man’s father.” The senior Harris had preceded Beauchamp as chief of staff and was now chairman of Blair’s board of trustees. “Arthur Harris is one of the most respected doctors in the West.”

Terrance merely nodded, as if all this was news to him. He couldn’t help wondering what the man sitting opposite him would say if he knew Terrance’s real purpose for being here.

Terrance glanced at his watch. “I’d better get going.” He rose, picking up his tray. “I don’t want to get on Dr. DuCane’s bad side.”

Beauchamp laughed. “Good thinking.”

Terrance’s afternoon was taken up by a man who came in complaining of chest pains which turned out to be a case of indigestion. He’d also had two cases of otitis media, the latter coming via a set of twins. It wasn’t until almost three o’clock before Terrance had a chance to catch up with Alix.

“Why did you tell me you were married?”

Alix made a notation on the chart of a girl who’d come in with an ectopic pregnancy. They’d had to rush her into surgery.

She didn’t bother looking up. “Because I am,” she replied mildly.

He knew he should drop it, that he was only getting in deeper, but the fact that she’d lied to him, or at least misled him, bothered him. It just wasn’t like her. “Doesn’t being married require that there be two living people in the union?”

She closed the chart and glared at him. “Who told you?”

He leaned against the side of the desk. “Dr. Beauchamp likes to socialize over apple pie.”