Her Mr. Right?. Karen Smith Rose
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to some patients than others?”
He’d asked the question mildly as if it were just another in a long list. But for some reason, it put her on alert. “Some cases are more complicated.”
“What do you do when there isn’t family to consult?”
“I try to do what’s best for the patient, of course.”
“Of course.”
The way he said it made her hackles rise, and her temper flipped to the ruffled side. “Are you accusing me of something?”
“Did it sound as if I was?”
“Talk about evasive,” she murmured.
“I’m asking the questions, Miss Suarez. This isn’t give and take. It’s an investigation.”
“A preliminary investigation. Doesn’t that mean your office isn’t even sure if there’s anything to investigate?”
“You know the saying, where there’s smoke…” He trailed off, letting her fill in the rest.
“There’s another old saying—when a man looks for dirt, he’ll miss the gold.”
“Where did that come from?” He seemed mildly amused.
Isobel frowned. She felt as if he were laughing at her. The quote came from her dad. At sixty-eight, he spouted as much wisdom as he did complaints these days. “Do you have any more questions for me?” she asked curtly.
“Yes, I do. Tell me about Doctor Ella Wilder and J.D. Sumner.”
Isobel considered how best to answer him then finally decided on “They’re engaged to be married.”
“How did they meet?”
“Is that another question you already know the answer to?”
“Humor me.”
Everyone knew how Ella and J.D. had met. “Mr. Sumner had an accident. He slipped on the ice.”
“Here at the hospital?”
“Yes, in the parking lot.”
“And Dr. Wilder treated him.”
“Yes.”
“Do you know any more about it than that?”
Now Isobel was really puzzled. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
“Did you know the nature of Mr. Sumner’s injury?”
“I believe he had torn cartilage in his knee.”
“Isn’t arthroscopic surgery for torn cartilage usually done on an outpatient basis?”
Now she saw where this was going. “Mr. Sumner’s case was a little different.”
“Why is that?”
“In February he was a representative from Northeastern HealthCare.”
“So he received extra special treatment?”
“All of our patients receive the same treatment, but J.D. was a stranger in town. He didn’t know anyone, and he didn’t have anybody to help him.”
Kane leaned forward, his gaze piercing. “You were called in on the case?”
“No. There was no need for that.”
“Because Dr. Wilder took a personal interest in him?” Kane asked mildly.
His tone didn’t fool her for a minute. “What do you want to know?”
After a thoughtful pause, the investigator was blunt. “I want to know if he was charged for special treatment. He was kept longer than necessary.”
Her defensive guard slipped into place once more. “I understand since you’re from the Massachusetts Attorney General’s Office that you have access to medical records as well as financial records. If that’s true, you can verify why Mr. Sumner was kept.”
“The medical records say he had a fever.”
She shrugged. “And what does Mr. Sumner say?”
“He said he had a fever.”
“Then why wouldn’t you believe that?”
When Neil Kane wouldn’t answer her question, she suspected why. Someone was feeding his office information—false information. There was a leak in the hospital and she guessed that someone in the administrative ranks was doing the damage. Someone had their own agenda to make the hospital look bad so Northeastern HealthCare could take over more easily.
Neil Kane seemed very close, though he hadn’t moved and neither had she. “Patient records aside, can you tell me if Dr. Wilder transported Mr. Sumner at any time?”
“Why is that important?” she fenced, leaning back, putting more distance between them.
“I’m trying to understand what’s fact and what’s fiction, what are legitimate charges and what aren’t.”
The long day caught up to her. There was nothing of substance she could tell this man even if she wanted to. “My area is social work, Mr. Kane. Unless I’m following a case, I don’t have contact or interaction with the other patients in the hospital.”
“Oh, but I’m sure you hear plenty in your position. Besides the fact that I understand that you and Dr. Wilder and Simone Garner are friends.”
At that leap into personal territory, Isobel stood. “I understand you have an investigation to conduct. I don’t like talking to you about my cases, but I will if I have to. But I won’t discuss my personal relationships.”
When he stood, too, she noticed he was a good six inches taller than she was and seemed to take up most of the breathable space in the room. That was her very overactive imagination telling her that, but nevertheless, oxygen seemed a little harder to come by. He wasn’t menacing, but he was imposing.
“Are you going to stonewall me?” he asked in a low, determined tone.
“No. I’m just setting boundaries.”
He frowned. “And what happens if I have to cross them?”
“I’ll clam up and not talk to you at all.”
As he studied her, he seemed to gauge her level of conviction. “There are consequences to obstructing an investigation.”
“Do I need a lawyer?” she returned.
He blew out a long breath. “All right. You want to leave for now? Fine. Leave. But we’re not done. I need answers and I intend to get them.”
She could tell him he’d get those answers when hell froze over, but he was the one who held the power here. She was usually law-abiding and cooperative, but so much was at stake—the survival and reputation of Walnut River General.
Swallowing another retort, she picked up her purse, went to the door and opened it. Neil Kane didn’t say another word, but she could feel his gaze on her back as she left the conference room. She suspected he wasn’t the type of man who would give up easily. Still, round one went to her.
She wouldn’t think about round two until it was staring her in the face…until Neil Kane was staring her in the face.
Then?
Then she’d deal with him again after a weekend of chores, sleep and gardening. Next week she was sure she wouldn’t react to him so strongly. Next week she’d figure out how to be diplomatic. Diplomacy was usually her middle name. She’d just have to figure out why Neil Kane got under her skin…and make sure he didn’t do it again.
Most of the houses in Isobel’s childhood neighborhood had been built in the 1950s. She’d been five when her family had moved into the house on Sycamore