“Call me Bulldog, and it’s not about how you can help me, doctor. Oh, no. I’m here to talk about how I can help you.”
Feeling as though he had entered an alternate universe, Leon sat back. “Please, explain...er, Bulldog.”
“Blood pressure.” Bulldog said it as though those two words were the answer to the mysteries of the universe.
“You want me to check your blood pressure?”
“You can check it if you want to. The point is, there’s nothing wrong with it.” Mr. Warren leaned his forearms on the desk. “But that’s not what Dr. Grayson told me. Oh, no. For years, he had me believing I was on the verge of a stroke.”
Leon took a moment to consider what he was hearing. The anecdotal evidence against Alan was stacking up hard and fast, but he needed to stay calm and act like this was the first he’d heard of any possible malpractice by his colleague.
“Are you suggesting that Dr. Grayson may have misdiagnosed your condition?”
Bulldog snorted. “Misdiagnosed? He cheated me out of thousands of dollars by misdiagnosing me and prescribing me drugs I didn’t need. I found out the truth when my sister-in-law bought herself one of those over-the-counter blood pressure machines. I tried it out and mine was normal. Of course, I told her the thing was a waste of money and she should throw it in the trash. But she argued and said it matched up with the reading her doctor had given her just that morning. So I got myself a second opinion.”
“And it differed from Dr. Grayson’s?”
“Differed? I found out I was as fit as a thirty-year-old. All that money on drugs, regular check-ups, therapy, dietary advice—” Bulldog broke off, real anger on his face this time. “Every dime went into that crook Grayson’s pocket. Then I heard some folks in Dino’s Restaurant talking about how the fine doctor had gone missing. I came here today to find out if it was true.”
Leon decided there was no point in denying it. “Dr. Grayson has gone away. I’m not sure when he’ll be back.”
“I guess that letter from my lawyer informing him he was the subject of a malpractice lawsuit scared him right out of town?” Bulldog nodded his satisfaction. “You know what they say. He may be able to run, but he sure as hell won’t be able to hide.”
When Bulldog had gone, Leon tried calling Laurie again. He got the same message from the police department and his frustration levels kicked up another notch. Although he’d advised Bulldog he would be sharing the details of their conversation with the police, this new information changed everything. If Alan Grayson was already the subject of a malpractice lawsuit, why would he need to kill Joy and Lilith to keep them quiet?
Just as his tension levels approached breaking point, his cell phone buzzed, and he viewed the caller display with relief. “Laurie? I have some new—”
She cut across him without apology. “Do you know where Flora is? I’ve been trying to reach her and she’s not at the Ryerson Center. We’ve found Jennifer Webster’s body.”
“Is that a goat on the roof of your car?” It wasn’t an everyday sentence. But Flora’s morning had hardly followed a conventional path so far.
“That’s Scape. He’s my guard goat.” Eve came toward her with a smile. “Although we have had the conversation about not climbing onto motor vehicles.”
She clapped her hands and the goat blinked his yellow, side-slanted eyes at her. The outcome hung in the balance for a moment. Then, with all the grace of a hoofed ballerina, the little creature jumped down and trotted away.
“Scape?”
“Scape goat,” Eve explained. “Plus, he likes to e-scape. It’s a name with a double meaning.”
Flora watched the brown-and-white goat as he wandered around the front yard, examining every item and either head-butting or tasting it. Hawk Farm was every bit as isolated as she’d anticipated. The house was set in a clearing, but around it the foothills of the Stillwater Trail rose steep and sharp, their slopes covered with dense sagebrush and soaring pines.
“I’ve never known anyone who had a pet goat before.”
“If you’re thinking about getting one, my advice is simple. Don’t,” Eve said. “There is an old joke about goats. Take three goats and put them into barrels. When you come back in an hour, one will have gone, one will be dead, and one will be tied up. My experience tells me they’re cleverer than that. I think one will be gone, one will have eaten the barrel, and the other will have tied up a human.” Her eyes scanned Flora’s face. “But I don’t think you came here to talk about my crazy pet.”
“No, I came to offer you the receptionist job at the Ryerson Center.” Flora’s voice started to shake. “And, as I was driving out here, someone tried to run me off the road.”
“Oh, sweet heaven. While you’re in shock, I’m telling stupid stories about goats and barrels.” Eve slid an arm around her shoulders and Flora leaned gratefully against her. “Come and sit down. I make a great chamomile tea. It’s the best stress reliever.”
Ten minutes later, Flora had removed her jacket and was seated on Eve’s porch swing, sipping the herbal tea made with honey and lemon and feeling some of the tension ooze out of her. Eve was a good listener and, while Flora couldn’t explain all the circumstances, she told the other woman about the house fire and the new development of the dangerous driver.
“I don’t pretend to know exactly what you’re going through.” Eve’s brown eyes were sympathetic. “But I’ve had some personal experience of harassment.”
Flora looked up from her drink. “That’s why you’ve moved around so much.”
“Yes. I was married for a while. My ex didn’t take the
