Oath of Office

friendly. The living room was dominated by an extensive collection of Lladro figurines, proudly displayed inside two ceiling-high glass cases. The plush wall-to-wall carpet was pearl white, and the furniture was small, firm, and uninviting.

The object of John Meacham’s outburst was roosted on a hardback chair, looking about as comfortable as her furniture. Lou noticed a tremor of her fleshy hands as she sipped her tea, and suspected it might represent early onset Parkinson’s disease, or perhaps a familial tremor. Meanwhile, the springs of her Victorian sofa were digging into his backside. He tried without success to shift into a more comfortable position.

“Are you sure you won’t have something to eat or drink?” she asked him, gesturing toward a platter piled high with Oreos and an assortment of butter cookies. Beside the snacks was a porcelain teapot, steam wafting from its spout.

“No, thank you,” Lou said. “We really don’t mean to take up too much of your time.”

Jennings puckered her lips, gave Lou a disappointed glance, and then swallowed three of the cookies one after another without much chewing. As a doctor, Lou found it difficult not to feel deep concern for the woman’s health, much as he knew John Meacham had done. Jennings’s ankles were swollen, purplish, and crammed inside shoes that, at that time of the day, at least, were way too small for her. She wore polyester pants that allowed give for an expanding waistline, and her neck and chin were flabby. Her excessive weight had drained most of the luster from her face, and while Roberta was perhaps sixty, Lou guessed her body’s age to be fifteen years older.

“I don’t get many visitors,” Jennings said after a sip of her tea. “Since Terry died, I haven’t been very sociable.”

“Terry was-?” Lou asked.

“Her husband. And one of the best guys you’d ever have the pleasure of knowing,” Stone interjected. “Me and Terry used to go duck hunting together. Best shot in the county. Ask anyone who knows, and they’d tell you the same. The absolute best shot.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Lou said. “When did he pass on?”

“About a year ago,” Jennings said. “He had a heart attack. It happened so suddenly. One minute here, the next minute gone.”

“If it was that quick, he probably didn’t suffer any,” Lou said, feeling the response, though well intended, was lame.

“Dr. Meacham pleaded with him to lose weight. Same as he did with me.”

He knew you were headed for the same fate, Lou thought.

“I’m sorry I have to bring up those memories of Terry, and also of what happened that day in Dr. Meacham’s office,” he said, “but Chief Stone told me you might be willing to tell me what you remember.”

Jennings looked tense. “I … have a hard time just thinking about it,” she said.

Again, Stone cut in. “Bobbi, Dr. Welcome, here, is looking to ask some real simple questions. He’s promised that if anything he says upsets you too much, he’ll skip it.”

“Dr. Meacham yelled at me,” Jennings said, her voice breaking. “It’s as simple as that. Right out of the blue, he yelled at me.”

“Besides that,” Lou asked, “did he say or do anything unusual? It could have been something minor. A tic perhaps, or an odd movement. Some sort of warning that he was going to erupt. Was he at all unsteady on his feet? Did his speech become slurred or thickened?”

Jennings shook her head. “No. Nothing of the sort. He was lucid, calm, and reasonable, and then he just … went … crazy.”

“And nothing specific that you remember set him off-something you said or did?”

“He weighed me, if that’s what you mean.”

“Can you tell me about that?”

“He had me coming in every month. One visit he would just check my weight and blood pressure with my clothes on and talk to me about the dietician and whatever program I was trying. The next visit one of his nurses, poor women, would be there after I got undressed to weigh me with a johnny on. Then Dr. Meacham would examine me and order blood if he thought that was necessary.”

“And how was your weight this time?”

“I don’t really remember,” Jennings said, probably quicker than she had intended.

Dead end.

Lou’s med school had spent hours teaching the students to avoid the pitfalls of asking leading questions- questions with the answers built in. Does your chest pain ever go down your left arm and up into your jaw? He knew he was dangerously close to descending into that approach now.

He flashed on what Cap had said: Not just crazy, Lou … Redonkulously crazy.

John Meacham had taken a situation every doctor regularly encountered-a patient unable or unwilling to take the measures necessary to get healthy or even to stay alive-and had blown his response far beyond what would be expected or acceptable. It was the same sort of reaction his wife had exhibited when confronting the car with one taillight out.

Don’t give up! he urged himself.

“Tell me, Mrs. Jennings, did you have any interactions with Dr. Meacham outside of the clinic? Were you involved in any clubs together? Community organizations? Church groups? Anything like that?”

“Not that I can think of,” Jennings said, looking disappointed at being disappointing. “Unless you count him giving me dirty looks when he saw what I was eating at Millie’s.”

“Millie’s?”

“World-famous Millie’s Diner,” Stone answered. “I can’t believe you haven’t eaten there, or at least heard of it. If comfort food needed comfort, it would eat what Millie was serving up. Best burgers in the state. Mac and cheese that tastes like what your mama used to make. Chicken wings spicier than Cinemax After Dark. If you haven’t eaten at Millie’s-hell, son-you haven’t eaten. It’s about four miles outside of the town center on Highway 82.”

“I can’t believe you’re a friend of Dr. Meacham’s and he’s never taken you there,” Jennings added.

“I work a lot,” Lou replied.

“Well, since Terry died, I eat there three or four times a week,” Jennings said, gazing wistfully out the window. “Guess you could blame Millie’s for some of my issues with Dr. Meacham. I never was quite this heavy, but without my Terry around, well, I just lost the will to cook. Plus my friends all eat there, too, so I have their company. I usually order the corn bread chicken pot pie or beef stew, or if I’m in a real adventurous mood, the creamy Cajun chicken pasta.”

Uncertain precisely why, Lou sensed his interest perk. “So, Dr. Meacham knew you ate there and tried to lecture you about making healthier choices?” he asked.

Jennings made a face that suggested Lou had missed her point. “Dr. Meacham and his wife probably ate there almost as much as I did,” she said. “Only it seemed like he was a stickler for the lighter fare, like the glazed chicken breast with brown rice or else something like turkey stew. I checked to see if I could catch him eating the macaroni and four cheeses, or the lobster Newburg. But I really never did.”

“I can’t believe Millie’s is news to me,” Lou said.

“Is that the sort of thing you were looking to know, Dr. Welcome?”

“At this point, anything you can share with me is helpful.”

Chief Stone clearly sensed that Lou’s fishing expedition had gone as far as it could. He hoisted himself off the couch with a grunt, then stretched a stiff leg. “Bobbi, you’ve been incredibly generous with your time,” he said. “I realize this has been a traumatic experience for you. If you do happen to think of anything along the lines of what Dr. Welcome was asking about, you know how to reach me.”

Lou stood as well and handed the woman his business card. “Do you mind if I write my cell phone number down there?” he asked, realizing that the vindictive Filstrup had possibly already had his extension shut off.

“I hope I’ve been of some help, Dr. Welcome,” Jennings said. “If there is some way to explain this unexplainable evil, I’d do anything I could to assist you.”

“You’ve been most gracious, Mrs. Jennings.”

Lou had turned to follow Stone out when his cell phone sounded. The caller ID on the display screen read simply DADDY-O, and the ringtone was the Beatles’ “Hard Day’s Night.” Lou clicked the green Talk button.

“Hey, Pops,” he said. “I’m just leaving a meeting. Can I call you right back?”