“Do you like the job?”
An embarrassed smile appeared on Camille’s plain face. “I wanted to help people—and make a living. Everywhere I looked, they kept saying that health care was one of the only growing career fields. So I went for a training course, and at least I got a job.”
“Is it all it was cracked up to be?” Sunny asked.
Camille gave her a shrug. “It’s kind of a look into a different world. Most of the people here, I’d say they have money. Not like where I grew up.”
“So are the rich really different?” Sunny grinned. “That’s what one writer said.”
“They’re used to having people take care of them, I’d say.” Camille looked a little put on the spot. “Some of them are nice. Your friend Mr. Barnstable isn’t that bad, once you get past the grumpiness.”
“He’s my boss,” Sunny said. “And if you say he’s being nice, I’ve got to find out what kind of pills you’re giving him.”
“He’s . . . honest,” Camille said. “That usually happens when people are sick or in pain.” Her smile slipped a little. “Not with Mr. Scatterwell, though. He liked people to think he was a nice guy, but he wasn’t.”
Sunny nodded. “I saw a little of that.”
“He was really sick, but he wouldn’t do the work to get better.” Camille seemed upset at the waste. “But even though he was badly off, he still liked to chase women. Not that he’d be able to do anything if he caught them.” Scorn turned into something else on her face. “If you weren’t pretty or rich—”
Like Camille, for instance, Sunny thought.
“You might as well be a piece of furniture,” Camille finished.
“That doesn’t sound very nice at all,” Sunny said.
Camille shook her head. “It could be worse if he noticed you. Ms. Hogue found that out.”
“The occupational therapist?”
“She kept trying to get him to do more, and he didn’t want to.” Camille lowered her voice. “He got really mean, calling her names, telling her she wouldn’t have a job, that his big buddy Dr. Reese would fire her—I even caught him feeling her up when he thought no one was looking.”
Camille looked a little wistful. “Ms. Hogue used to look really pretty, but the longer she worked with him, she stopped wearing makeup, or nice clothes, she just sort of hunkered down.”
“Couldn’t she have gotten Mr. Scatterwell assigned to someone else?”
“She tried, but he went over everybody’s head.” Camille’s tone got more guarded. “Things haven’t been the same around here since Dr. Reese took over. With Dr. Faulkner, you felt as if the boss cared. But with Reese, well, he and Rafe Warner have been at each other’s throats.”
Why would it matter what the security guard thought? Sunny wondered.
When Camille saw the baffled expression on Sunny’s face, she explained. “Rafe is the shop steward for the union, and Reese wants to tear up the whole contract.”
I’m beginning to wonder what kind of an investigator I am, Sunny thought. All this intrigue going on in front of me, and I don’t catch any of it. I guess if Rafe is at war with Dr. Reese, no wonder he’s getting news of what goes on in the administrator’s office.
“And it’s getting worse.” Camille’s voice sank to a whisper. “When Rafe’s cat Patrick got sick, Dr. Faulkner said that because he’s a therapy cat, Bridgewater Hall would cover his treatment. But Dr. Reese said it wasn’t in writing, and he’s not paying for vet bills.”
A light over one of the doors down the hallway began blinking.
“That’s one of my patients needing help.” Camille excused herself and hurried to respond.
Sunny turned back to find Will standing beside her. “Uncover any clues?” he asked with a smile.
“No, but we dug up a lot of dirt—I’ll tell you once we’re outside.”
They headed around the nurses’ station and down the long corridor to the front door. When they got to the security desk, Sunny asked Rafe, “Where’s Portia?”
“Patrick wasn’t feeling all that well, so Portia is keeping him company.” He pointed in the corner behind him. Sunny leaned over the chest-high security desk to see a cat bed in the tiny space. Patrick sat up, his head hanging and his fur out at all angles while Portia carefully and gently groomed him with her tongue.
“Does he often have bad days?” Sunny asked.
“It comes and goes,” Rafe replied. “The vet says that with chemo, the cure can feel as bad as the disease. But Patrick’s hung in there, and so have I.”
Sunny noticed that Rafe wasn’t in a uniform shirt today, but a plain, short-sleeved number starting to fray at the collar. Hanging in there, but looks to me like you might be having trouble making ends meet, Sunny thought. She and Will signed out but got a surprise when they opened the door. Mike was about a step away, reaching for the handle.
“Thought I’d stop by and see how Ollie was doing,” he said.
Sunny smiled. The Kittery Harbor Way strikes again.
“Luke Daconto was in to see him, too,” she said. “I’ll see you at home for dinner, Dad.” Sunny gave her dad a quick kiss on the cheek, and then she and Will went to their trucks.
“I’m dying for a cup of coffee. Do you know some place in the area that won’t cost us an arm and a leg?” Will asked.
“Another mistake,” Sunny sighed. “I should have held Ollie up for an expense account.” She got out her cell phone and called the MAX office. Nancy answered, sounding reasonably cool and calm.
“Hi,” she said when Sunny identified herself. “Everything went pretty well. Quitting time is coming up soon.”
“Remember to lock up the office,” Sunny told her. “But first, I want you to check our restaurant database for any places near Bridgewater or Levett.”
Nancy quickly gave her the names of a couple of places. One struck a bell.
“Thanks,” Sunny said, and then turned to Will. “There’s a sandwich place that opened this summer. They’re supposed to make a mean panini, and the coffee’s good.”
She gave Will the address, and soon afterward they pulled up in front of a small strip mall. The shop was small but clean, and the staff was enthusiastic. Sunny and Will both came out with paper cups of coffee.
Will sipped his and let out a sigh. “Ah, the four cop blood types: A, B, O, and Morning Mud.” While he got his caffeine infusion, Sunny passed along what Camille had told her.
“Sounds as though this therapist was having a real problem with Scatterwell. If what the aide says is true, he’d actually progressed to physical harassment.” Will frowned.
“But I guess she wouldn’t get very far making a complaint if Gardner had a friend at the top of the pile.” Sunny silently contemplated her cup of joe for a moment. “A person could get mighty desperate in a situation like that.”
“Then there’s Reese himself,” Will suggested. “Apparently he was brought in as a new broom, expected to cut operating costs. How do you think the staff has reacted?”
“Camille said it’s not the same,” Sunny said.
Will nodded. “And maybe the care isn’t as good. That would explain the spike in the mortality rate.” He frowned down into his cup.
“Nothing wiggling in there, I hope?” Sunny peered over.
“Just a nasty little thought niggling at my brain,” Will told her. “Your friendly aide essentially said that there’s labor strife going on at Bridgewater Hall. What if some of the union people are taking it too far?”
“You think they’re killing patients?” Coffee slopped out of Sunny’s cup, landing on the hood of Will’s truck. She dabbed at the splotch with her napkin, trying to hide how upset she was. “From what I see, most of the people in that place are like Camille. They want to help people.”
“But if they get stepped on often enough, maybe they don’t go the extra mile anymore.” Will gave Sunny his napkin, too. “There’s something else. You say that Scatterwell wasn’t very backward about telling people how tight he was with Reese. What if someone picked up on that and decided to make a public example out of old Gardner?”