Fielding winced. "Jesus, Kay, there's got to be at least a hundred."
"A hundred and thirty-three. I've already counted. Six of us with a list of twenty-two, twenty-three, each. That's fairly manageable. Can you help me out?"
"Sure."
He looked depressed.
In addition to Fielding, I drafted my administrator, Rose, another secretary, and the computer analyst. We assembled in the conference room with lists of the pharmacies. My instructions were quite clear. Discretion. Not a word about what we were doing to family, friends, or the police. Since the prescription had to be at least eight years old and Jill was deceased, there was a good chance the records were no longer in the active files. I told them to ask the pharmacist to check the drugstore's archives. If he was uncooperative or reluctant to release the information, roll that call over to me.
Then we disappeared into our respective offices. Two hours later, Rose appeared at my desk, tenderly massaging her right ear.
She handed me a call sheet and could not suppress a triumphant smile. "Boulevard Drug Store at Boulevard and Broad. Jill Harrington had two prescriptions for Librax filled."
She gave me the dates.
"Her physician?"
"Dr. Anna Zenner," she answered.
Good God. Hiding my surprise, I congratulated her. "You're wonderful, Rose. Take the rest of the day off."
"I leave at four-thirty anyway. I'm late."
"Then take a three-hour lunch tomorrow."
I felt like hugging her. "And tell the others mission accomplished. They can put down the phones."
"Wasn't Dr. Zenner the president of the Richmond Academy of Medicine not so long ago?" Rose asked, pausing thoughtfully in my doorway. "Seems I read something about her. Oh! She's the musician."
"She was the president of the Academy year before last. And yes, she plays the violin for the Richmond Symphony."
"Then you know her."
My secretary looked impressed.
All too well, I thought, reaching for the phone.
That evening, when I was home, Anna Zenner returned my call.
"I see from the papers you have been very busy lately, Kay," she said. "Are you holding up?"
I wondered if she had read the Post. This morning's installment had included an interview with Hilda Ozimek and a photograph of her with the caption "Psychic Knew All of Them Were Dead."
Relatives and friends of the slain couples were quoted, and half of a page was filled with a color diagram showing where the couples' cars and bodies had been found. Camp Peary was ominously positioned in the center of this cluster like a skull and crossbones on a pirate's map.
"I'm doing all right," I told her. "And I'll be doing even better if you can assist me with something."
I explained what I needed, adding, "Tomorrow I will fax you the form citing the Code giving me statutory rights to Jill Harrington's records."
It was pro forma. Yet it seemed awkward reminding her of my legal authority.
"You can bring the form in person. Dinner at seven on Wednesday?"
"It's not necessary for you to go to any trouble - " "No trouble, Kay," she interrupted warmly. "I have missed seeing you."
13
The art deco pastels of uptown reminded me of Miami Beach. Buildings were pink, yellow, and Wedgwood blue with polished brass door knockers and brilliant handmade flags fluttering over entrances, a sight that seemed even more incongruous because of the weather. Rain had turned to snow.
Traffic was rush-hour awful, and I had to drive around the block twice before spotting a parking place within a reasonable walk of my favorite wine shop. I picked out four good bottles, two red, two white.
I drove along Monument Avenue, where statues of Confederate generals on horses loomed over traffic circles, ghostly in the milky swirl of snow. Last summer I had traveled this route once a week on my way to see Anna, the visits tapering off by fall and ending completely this winter.
Her office was in her house, a lovely old white frame where the street was blacktopped cobblestone and gas carriage lamps glowed after dark. Ringing the bell to announce my arrival just as her patients did, I let myself into a foyer that led into what was Anna's waiting room. Leather furniture surrounded a coffee table stacked with magazines, and an old Oriental rug covered the hardwood floor. There were toys in a box in a corner for her younger patients, a receptionist's desk, a coffee maker, and a fireplace. Down a long hallway was the kitchen, where something was cooking that reminded me I had skipped lunch.
"Kay? Is that you?"
The unmistakable voice with its strong German accent was punctuated by brisk footsteps, and then Anna was wiping her hands on her apron and giving me a hug.
"You locked the door after you?"
"I did, and you know to lock up after your last patient leaves, Anna."
I used to say this every time.
"You are my last patient."
I followed her to the kitchen. "Do all of your patients bring you wine?"
"I wouldn't permit it. And I don't cook for or socialize with them. For you I break all the rules."
"Yes." I sighed. "How will I ever repay you?"
"Certainly not with your services, I hope."
She set the shopping bag on a countertop.
"I promise I would be very gentle."
"And I would be very naked and very dead, and I wouldn't give a damn how gentle you were. Are you hoping to get me drunk or did you run into a sale?"
"I neglected to ask what you were cooking," I explained. "I didn't know whether to bring red or white. To be on the safe side, I got two of each."
"Remind me to never tell you what I'm cooking, then. Goodness, Kay!"
She set the bottles on the counter. "This looks marvelous. Do you want a glass now, or would you rather have something stronger?"
"Definitely something stronger."
"The usual?"
"Please." Looking at the large pot simmering on the stove, I added, "I hope that's what I think it is."
Anna made fabulous chili.
"Should warm us up. I threw in a can of the green chilies and tomatoes you brought back last time you were in Miami. I've been hoarding them. There's sourdough bread in the oven, and coleslaw. How's your family, by the way?"
"Lucy has suddenly gotten interested in boys and cars but I won't take it seriously until she's more interested in them than in her computer," I said. "My sister has another children's book coming out next month, and she's still clueless about the child she's supposedly raising. As for my mother, other than her usual fussing and fuming about what's become of Miami, where no one speaks English anymore, she's fine."
"Did you make it down there for Christmas?"
No.
"Has your mother forgiven you?"
"Not yet," I said…
"I can't say that I blame her. Families should be together at Christmas."
I did not reply.
"But this is good," she surprised me by saying. "You did not feel like going to Miami, so you didn't. I have told you all along that women need to learn to be selfish. So perhaps you are learning to be selfish?"
"I think selfishness has always come pretty easily to me, Anna."
"When you no longer feel guilty about it, I will know you are cured."
"I still feel guilty, so I suppose I'm not cured. You're right."
"Yes. I can tell."
I watched her uncork a bottle to let it breathe, the sleeves of a white cotton blouse rolled up to her elbows, forearms as firm and strong as those of a woman half her age. I did not know what Anna had looked like when she was young, but at almost seventy, she was an eye-catcher with strong Teutonic features, short white hair, and light blue eyes. Opening a cupboard, she reached for bottles and in no time was handing me a Scotch and soda and fixing herself a manhattan.