Executive Sick Days Read online

  "Who did the surgeries?"

  He shook his head. "Dunno yet. That billing is separate." He pulled up a list on his computer. "Dr. Burns is an internist. He wouldn't do surgeries, but internists charge for some things on an outpatient basis, like colonoscopies. Surgeons also remove polyps from what I can tell from the codes. All surgery, outpatient or inpatient is billed separately. And..." To my surprise, Radar's voice trailed off in embarrassment. He looked down and shuffled his feet. "I haven't been able to obtain the surgeon bills yet."

  It couldn't be for lack of trying. Nothing was sacred to Radar's tapping fingers. "Why not?"

  "It's a lot easier to break into the hospital database because I work here. The admitting doctor is logged by the hospital. But what the doctor charges, be it a surgeon or internist or general physician, is a separate bill. I have to break into an entirely different network for that, and some of the doctors keep those records at a separate office or home machine." He swallowed loudly and then added, "My research shows that some of the machines in those offices might not be connected to the internet all of the time."

  "What if they don't even have internet connection?" I asked.

  His eyes widened. "But…" He shook his head like a dog trying to get rid of water. "If they have a private office and their own database program for storing their records and doing billing, they wouldn't require an internet connection." He stared at me and blinked. "But, I, they'd want to be connected, don't you think?"

  "Let's just look at the info, okay?" My poor buddy couldn't fathom not being connected. It would probably be easier for him to do without food and water than his internet connection.

  We looked back at the sheets. "These first two were in for a colonoscopy, so not only are their admitting records the same, most of the charges on the rest of the bill are identical," he said.

  "Hmm. Both of those were admissions by Dr. Burns, but here’s one for Dr. Staple, and one for Dr. Fox," I said. After seeing Dr. Fox in action, it was hard to imagine any doctor engaging in petty theft. Why would a person with a God-given and trained ability to save a life stoop to stealing? Wasn't their job satisfying enough?

  I followed the lines of data down the page. The data was very confusing. "Who stands to gain by all this?"

  He shrugged. "The hospital racked up charges for all of these stays. The admitting doctor in these first two cases,” he pointed to the data, “was Dr. Burns. But I can’t see who actually charged for the colonoscopies. It could have been Dr. Burns or one of the surgeons."

  "But all of these bills point to different people!"

  "There are other people who stand to benefit too. Remember when these three were in and had x-rays?" He typed madly at his computer for a few moments. "The x-ray is read by a radiologist. That's also a separate bill."

  "Oh, good grief. It looks like the whole place is on the take." I glanced at my watch. "I gotta get back upstairs."

  He handed me an unmarked manila envelope. "I peeled off any incriminating information, including the patient name, but this gives you a history. Each sheet is marked in code, so if you get them confused, I can tell you which patient is which."

  I rolled my eyes, thanked him and hurried outside to stash the envelope in my SUV before rushing back inside. As I reached the third floor, the pager system intoned, "Sedona O'Hala, please report to the nurses' station."

  Whoops. Gone too long. I was already hurrying, so I hurried in that direction.

  Crissa waved at me. "Oh, hey," she said. "Mr. Silva escaped downstairs again. The ER nurse caught him trying to leave the building. Can you go down and get him?"

  Mr. Silva had numerous ailments, but the worst was definitely his mental instability. Maybe he still thought he was a member of Congress and had decided to catch a plane to Washington.

  I hurried back downstairs, but couldn't find Mr. Silva anywhere in the emergency room area. The triage nurse was no help. "He's in that wheelchair, honey." She pointed with the end of her pen.

  I looked in that direction. Sure enough, there was a wheelchair. "You mean that empty chair?"

  She sighed as if I had used up the last of her patience. She stood up and leaned her rather large bulk over the counter, jabbing with the pen. "That one." Since her beady brown eyes were busy glaring at me, she still didn't notice the chair was empty.

  I folded my arms and tapped my foot. "It's going to look bad for both of us when I wheel that empty chair upstairs."

  She finally gave the problem some attention. Her eyes followed where she was pointing. "Oh, shit." She did the same scan of the waiting room I had already done. There were a couple of people; a kid with enough gauze around his toe to suffocate an elephant, and another lady who sat down, but then got back up and ran toward the bathroom. No Mr. Silva anywhere.

  The nurse leaned back into her cubbyhole and sent a coded page over the intercom system. We definitely needed additional technicians to assist in finding him. "Maybe he's in the can," she said.

  "Uh-huh."

  Mr. Silva wanted to go home, a fact he made quite plain on a daily basis. My coat was upstairs so I went back to get it and informed Crissa that Mr. Silva had made good on his escape.

  "Oh my God, not again." She started looking for his file or some other pertinent paperwork, probably the records of negligence or CYA forms.

  Sure enough, when I got downstairs, "the cans" had all been checked, and there was no Mr. Silva. The police were always notified in these instances, but none had arrived yet. I went out the door, got in my SUV and circled the building before heading for the road.

  About a quarter mile from the hospital, Mr. Silva was mincing his way along wearing only slippers and the hospital gown. The gown flapped in the wind. Although the police had already been notified by hospital staff, no doubt a few passersby had also reported the escapee given that he was half naked and such a strange looking sight.

  "Mr. Silva!" I called out through the rolled down passenger window. "Mr. Silva, would you like a lift? It's awfully chilly out." His feet had to be getting brutalized by the gravel and dry cold. At least it wasn't snowing.

  "Damn cold out here," he replied.

  He couldn't see my pink striped apron from the side of the road, but he might have recognized me. "Mr. Silva, how about we go back to the hospital, and I'll sneak in some hot chocolate for you?"

  "Damn cold out here."

  "Yes, it is."

  He stopped walking and folded his arms across his shivering body. "I was an astronaut you know. And this is what it has come to. Damn cold."

  "Outer space is pretty cold isn't it?"

  "No damn air there either."

  I pushed the door open. He stared at the interior and could feel the warm air coming from the vents. "You won't take me back to the base will you?"

  "Not until you've had some hot chocolate. All this exercise requires that you get good and warmed up first."

  Apparently that was enough logic for him. Besides, a cruiser had pulled up behind me, and Mr. Silva was a little too old to attempt running. His head hanging in defeat, he tried to climb into the SUV. Before I could go around to assist, the officer came forward and helped him in.

  Of all the cops in Denton, it had to be Derrick, Sean's friend. He didn't know I owned a Mercedes and with the pink-striped hospital apron, he didn't recognize me at first. "You going to be okay getting him back to the hospital ma'am?"

  "Sure," I said cheerily, ducking my head.

  "Sedona?" He grabbed at his cinnamon hair as though it might fly away.

  I sighed. "I'm doing a stint of volunteer work at the hospital."

  Boyish, normally trusting brown eyes narrowed. "Last time you volunteered, you weren't much help."

  "Nonsense. You eventually got your man." It was quite unfair for him to blame me for the last debacle. In fact, if I hadn't agreed to go along as a witness, he would have been in a lot more trouble because his witness had planned on accusing him of assault.

  Derrick wasn't through lecturin
g. "See if you can't keep a better eye on these patients in the future. This must be the sixth time this month we've gotten a call."

  "Uh-huh." He shut the door firmly. I immediately drove back to the emergency room entrance where Crissa met us with a wheelchair.

  "Mr. Silva, Mr. Silva," the technician scolded. "What were you thinking? It's cold outside."

  "That's what I have been telling my wife here. Why she wants to go out in the cold at a time like this, I can't imagine."

  Crissa grinned at me. I rolled my eyes. Wife indeed. All I needed was to be part of his imaginings.

  By the time I got back upstairs, a committee had been formed and a search team organized. Mr. Silva was tucked in safely before the team had a chance to disband. Attila didn't waste the opportunity to put on a show for her audience. She chastised me for going out on my own. "You need an official from the hospital. What if he had required medical care? You aren't qualified! Unacceptable. I'm going to have to write you up."

  I didn't bother to reply. She could put my write-up next to hers for allowing a patient to walk out in the first place. It was her floor, her responsibility. I was just an innocent volunteer. What were they going to do, fire me?

  Mr. Silva's escape caused all of us to run behind on our normal duties. That meant I stayed longer than scheduled. Again.

  By the time I got home, Sean had already called four times and left messages demanding to know what I was doing at the hospital, and what I was doing to Brenda. "She's pregnant with my first child, Sedona. How can you do this to me?" he whined into my machine.

  Of course Derrick had told Sean that I had been spotted in a Mercedes hauling a half-dressed, crazy old man back to the hospital. Tattle-tale.

  Unfortunately, my mom had called too and left a message inquiring about my volunteer position. Someone had unkindly brought in the big guns, probably because he knew I wouldn't return his nosy phone call. While I could safely ignore my brother and his obnoxious messages, parents were a different story. It could take weeks to smooth things over with a parent after ignoring one of them. In some cases it could be costly or require a trip home, and I certainly didn't have money to burn.

  I dialed. "Mom?"

  "Oh dear, how are you? I hear you are volunteering at the hospital, although I must say Sean sounded awfully upset about it. He seems to think you will get Brenda in trouble or lead her astray. Why he believes you can be a bad influence on Brenda is beyond me. Has she learned to cook yet? I really worry about my grandchildren starving."

  "Yeah." I wasn't even sure which question I was answering, but she was in one of her moods where it wouldn't matter.

  "It was so nice of you to teach her to cook at Thanksgiving. Are you going to help her with Christmas? You know your brother Dean is coming here this Christmas so we can't make it up there. Can you come down here? Or do you think Sean will be devastated if he is abandoned? I don't think they should be traveling with Brenda pregnant and all."

  Sean would starve if I didn't cook Christmas dinner for him, but that would totally serve him right for tattling on me. "I should probably stay in town," I hedged. "Although I was thinking of going to Hawaii--"

  "Hawaii? But your brother Dean is coming up to see you after he visits here. It will be the week after Christmas of course, but he does want to see you." She paused. "I don't know if he has told you," she said almost reverently, "but he's bringing a guest. Wouldn't it be wonderful if you also…" She changed her mind. "Are you still seeing that young man we met at Thanksgiving? He seemed very nice in a rugged sort of way. Like your father when he was younger, an outdoor type."

  I didn't answer. She sighed. She knew there was no way I would talk about Mark even if she held me at gunpoint. I probably shouldn't have invited him to Thanksgiving dinner, but I had been feeling all warm and fuzzy and family oriented and hadn't fully considered the Mom and Dad consequences.

  She finally prattled on again about Dean and his guest. The conversation didn't bode well for me because Dean bringing a guest meant Mom was going to pursue my lagging opportunities for marriage with even more determination.

  Dad was out being an outdoor type in the greenhouse so I didn't get a chance to talk to him. Luckily the holidays had Mom wound up enough that she didn't ask for many details about my volunteer work. Sean would have to use some other avenue for spying on me.

  Chapter 9

  The conversation with Mom created a nagging inside my brain that could not be silenced. Saturday morning seemed like a good time to address the inevitable.

  Because Dean was visiting my parents for the holidays and keeping them and himself out of Denton, Christmas would be a small affair, but it was still going to occur. Sean would invite me over, and I'd have to go and cook dinner. And even if I skipped out and went to Hawaii, I was still on the hook for dreaded presents.

  What do you buy for a pregnant woman who doesn't fit into any of her clothes and doesn't want to be reminded of that fact? Sean was easy. Huntington was impossible because the man had absolutely everything. Then there was my new leather jacket that either Huntington or Mark had left as a gift a couple of weeks ago. I was almost positive Mark had given it to me, but I couldn't overlook the fact that Huntington had been pretty generous at the end of the first case when he gave me the Mercedes.

  Since there was absolutely no competing with Huntington's money, I didn't try. Instead, I visited a little craft shop that sold art from every corner of the United States. American Arts and Crafts specialized in Native American crafts, and although Huntington had been outfitting his condo, it wasn't very personalized yet. Perhaps there would be something unique and special, but that wouldn’t break my piggy bank.

  The selection was artsy. Looking at the various dust collectors, bunnies, bowls, rugs and paintings it was hard to feel inspired.

  Hmm. Then again, maybe I could kill the bird with two heavy stones, so to speak. A pair of beautiful bookends carved out of black marble resembled jagged cliffs. A slash of a smoky blue mineral, maybe quartz, ran through the front part of the stone. The bookends reminded me of Huntington, dark with a clash of sudden color that were his blue eyes.

  There were other choices that might work; a bowl with a cougar running across one side or a hand tooled leather box. Nothing was quite as elegant as the bookends. As gifts went, it was expensive for my budget. I grumbled under my breath about it, but he had given me the SUV. Even fifty dollars wasn't all that adequate a gift in return for his generosity.

  As I was about to leave, a row of pictures by a local photographer caught my eye. Several were shots of the various mountains in the area, and there were some beautiful springtime pictures. It was uplifting to see the flowers when everything outside was cold and bleak. One picture in particular was so very hopeful because it showed tiny, determined flowers growing despite the harsh odds of the wilderness. Maybe...well, Mark hadn't ever gotten round to inviting me to dinner.

  I bought the picture anyway.

  After my shopping trip, I stopped to mail packages to my parents, including Dean's gift. I also purchased a gift certificate for Marilyn, my former cleaning lady. Even though I had hired her as a necessity during the first case, Huntington had been smart enough to keep her on after the case was over.

  I needed to drop off Suzy's gift, but my incorrigible best friend would not wait until Christmas to open it, so the longer I waited, the better. Feeling generous, I bought my former boss, Turbo, a little plastic Garfield for his toy collection. I had no idea what Radar was into. He played an awful lot of computer games, but that was way outside my area of expertise. Since he was an unknown but liked food, and I was too cheap to buy him a restaurant gift certificate, I added him to my cookie list.

  With my shopping finished by early afternoon, there was time to tackle another unpleasant task. Until I met with Huntington, I would be scrambling about in the dark at the hospital. Mark probably could have told me a lot about the case, but he might think I was asking him as an excuse to rekindle the perso
nal relationship. Of course I wouldn't sink that low, but either way, I didn't want to chance accidentally getting into a discussion about me having taken the volunteer position.

  Just because I accepted the job shouldn't mean Mark couldn't date me. And maybe I didn't want to see someone who put conditions on our relationship before we even had one. It made no sense for me to check with Mark before taking a job. And besides, the best paying jobs I'd ever had were the ones where Huntington was paying me on the side.

  Maybe neither brother would be at the condo.

  Denton wasn't very big and traffic was light on the weekends so it took less than fifteen minutes to reach Alpine Hills where Huntington's condo was located.

  Good old Michael was still on duty at the concierge desk. Had we been friends, or even remotely interested in pretending to be polite, I would have inquired about whether or not Huntington was upstairs. Since Michael was used to me ignoring him, he ignored me right back and picked up the phone to call and warn Huntington. Good, that meant Huntington was home.

  The door to the condo was not open when I exited the elevator. I knocked on Huntington's door, but he opened it just wide enough so that he could see me. "Come in."

  "Are you going to open the door, or is this some kind of fatness test?" He was sweeping his foot around like a metal detector.

  "Hurry up or the cat will get out," he replied testily.

  I stopped in the act of going through the opening, his wrapped gift held high above my head so I could fit through. "The. Cat."

  Just then, said beast announced itself with a hiss and snarl, due either to my presence or the fact that Huntington's swinging foot had stopped it from running past me and out into the hallway.

  "Hurry up!" He grabbed my arm and yanked me inside. The back of my coat barely made it in before he slammed the door behind me.