“Really? I didn’t see her.”
“Then you were there.”
“Only briefly. I just had to try to get the shoes back.”
“But you didn’t,” I said, hoping she’d confirm it.
She shook her head. “I was either too late or too early. I made a quick tour around the garden, said hello to a customer or two, but I never saw MarySue. Dead or alive.”
I didn’t ask why she hadn’t mentioned this before. She had her reasons, and one of them probably was she didn’t want to be questioned by the police. But now Detective Wall had proof she was there, and he was going to ask her about it. I told myself it was none of my business. I was satisfied with Dolce’s explanation, and I hoped the police would be too.
I said good night and left.
I was too enervated to go home. And there were too many more questions I needed answers to. One was, who put the shoe box in my garbage? Another was, who took me to the hospital that night? MarySue? Jim Jensen? The gardeners? A stranger?
I decided to take the bus to San Francisco General Hospital and ask the after-hours staff in the Admissions Department. The same personnel who’d admitted me that fateful night as well as MarySue. Surely they didn’t just allow anyone to dump a body on the doorstep without getting an ID. I didn’t know why I hadn’t thought of tracking them down before. Maybe because I had other things on my mind. Like murder. Also, I wasn’t able to do much but keep my foot elevated. Now that I was mobile again, I could tie up some loose ends that were bothering me.
The big old brick hospital was a hotbed of activity, even on a weekday evening. Doctors rushing through the halls clutching patients’ charts. Friends and relatives pacing the floor as they waited for news of their loved ones. Children crying. Ambulance sirens in the distance. I could just imagine what it had been like on the Saturday night I was brought in. I was lucky I’d gotten seen at all, let alone by the amazing Dr. Jonathan Rhodes. I stopped at the information desk hoping I wouldn’t see Nurse Chasseure or Nurse Bijou but hoping I might see Dr. Rhodes. When I got redirected to Admissions, a stiff and formal nurse clad in a stiff and formal white uniform checked her records.
“Here it is, under ‘Involuntary Admissions.’ ”
“That’s right. I was unconscious. What I want to know is who brought me here.”
“I can’t say,” she said glaring at me.
I thought of asking “Can’t or won’t?” but I didn’t. I’m not that kind of person. So I stood there staring at her, waiting to hear something. Anything.
“It says here ‘depressed and suicidal,’ ” she said finally.
“What? Who said that? About me?” I asked incredulously. Surely it wasn’t Dr. Rhodes.
“The party who brought you in said you jumped from a second-floor window. I’m surprised you were treated at all. We don’t take psychiatric patients without a referral.” She picked up a file folder and starting looking through it as if she was done with me. If she thought that she had another think coming.
“I’m not crazy,” I insisted. “And I assure you I didn’t jump. I fell off a ladder. It was an accident.” I leaned forward trying to read from my chart that was on her desk. Without looking up she moved it toward her and away from me and then shot a hostile look at me.
“We can’t be too careful,” she said. “Just the other night one of our nurses was assaulted in the psych ward.”
“I’m sorry to hear it,” I said. I wouldn’t have been surprised to hear she was the one assaulted. I was tired of trying to explain I was not mentally ill. “All I want to know is who brought me here so I can thank them. If it weren’t for this good Samaritan I’d still be lying under an oak tree in Pacific Heights.”
The Admissions clerk looked like she wished I was still there.
When I realized she wasn’t going to tell me anything, I asked her where the cafeteria was. She directed me to the stairway down the hall. I wasn’t quite ready to give up yet, but I knew I needed some fortification to keep up my strength. Surely the cafeteria would have the kind of hearty food to keep the night nurses and emergency staff going.
I went through the cafeteria line and chose the personalsize vegetarian pizza—even though I had to wait ten minutes, it was worth it. I ordered a Caesar salad too and watched the man behind the counter toss it with grated Parmesan cheese. Whatever the Admissions Department lacked, the hospital made up for in this cafeteria.
I’d just set my tray on a table in the bustling cafeteria when I saw my doctor across the room. He looked just as gorgeous in his white lab coat and his surfer blond hair as the last time I’d seen him. My heart pounded with excitement. What should I do?
I stifled the urge to shout his name. I didn’t even know if I should wave. What would he think? That I was some kind of stalker who’d come here to spy on him? What would Aunt Grace think if she knew? But I had a good excuse. In fact, I’d hardly thought of the possibility of running into him when I decided to come here this evening. But now that I had, I couldn’t let this opportunity pass me by.
I waved discreetly and when he saw me, he smiled broadly and walked toward me. Even if I didn’t get any information from this hospital visit, that smile made it all worthwhile.
“Rita,” he said, putting his tray down on my table. “What are you doing here? Not another fall from a ladder, I hope.”
“No, no, I’m fine.”
“Are you sure? Let me see your ankle.” He bent down, I stretched my leg out and he eyeballed my ankle. “Looks good. I’m glad to see you’re wearing sensible shoes. Two-tone brogues. Italian, aren’t they?”
“Testoni,” I said.
He raised his eyebrows to indicate his appreciation for my good taste. I was glad to find someone who noticed. Not that I wore them just to get attention. They were not only super stylish, they even felt comfy.
“I came to see if I could find out who brought me to the hospital that Saturday night. Since I was unconscious when I arrived, I don’t know how I got here. I owe someone a huge thank-you.”
He sat down, and I saw he had a huge plate of beef stew with mashed potatoes and a large helping of mixed vegetables. Being an ER doctor must require a lot of fuel to get through the night. He glanced at my pizza, and I offered him a piece. He took me up on it and then asked, “Any luck in finding the mysterious stranger?”
I shook my head. “The Admissions lady insisted I was a psychiatric patient and said she couldn’t give out any information on who’d brought me in.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Jonathan said in between bites of my pizza. “There’s nothing wrong with your mind. Her bark is worse than her bite. But the rules are there to protect the innocent. It’s called the Good Samaritan Law. There’s no requirement that someone who steps in to help in an emergency situation give his or her name. That way people are more likely to volunteer their help if they know they can’t be accused of malpractice or interference. I’m sorry about that.”
“It was worth a try,” I said while I ate my salad. “But I understand completely.”
“I wish I could stay and talk,” he said. “But I’m on duty in fifteen minutes. It’s good to see you. I’m glad you stopped by.”
I wanted to protest that I hadn’t stopped by to see him, but he already knew that.
“I was going to call you,” he said. “I have Sunday off again. I know I sound like a tourist, but I want to go to Alcatraz. Are you available Sunday afternoon if I can get tickets?”
“I’m dying to see the prison,” I said. “I hear the tours are fascinating. And the boat trip to the island would be fun.” I pictured us out on the deck watching the sea life, the waves, the sun, and enjoying the breeze off the ocean. I’d wear layers of fall clothes like a silky top, a cashmere sweater and my new super-skinny jeans advertised for the discriminating but not fussy modern woman. If that wasn’t me, what was?
By wearing layers, I could be comfortable on the boat and peel them off once I got to the island. Jonathan would no doubt be wearing designer jeans, Top-Siders for the boat deck with a sweater tied around his shoulders. He looked good in whatever he wore, so no problem there.
“It’s a date then,” he said. “I’ll pick you up at two, and we’ll get a bite to eat after the tour somewhere on the Bay. How does that sound?”
I told him it sounded just fine. I couldn’t believe how my “California the Beautiful” calendar would be filled up. The fashion show on Friday and now this.
“See you Sunday,” he said. After he’d finished off my pizza and his beef stew, he left for work.
