Special Agent Nanny. Linda O. Johnston
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Stanton?”
Shawn nodded. He hadn’t met the man yet but he already despised him—the esteemed Dr. Stanton.
What man in his right mind would have let Kelley Stanton go?
Stay objective, Jameson.
“Of course there’s bound to be some animosity,” Paxler continued, “and I certainly don’t know the reasons for their marital difficulties, but since their divorce Randall has hinted that it was at least partly due to his concern over Kelley’s…er, her lack of abilities. At first I chalked that up to hard feelings. I had no reason—then—to doubt Kelley’s skill. But after the deaths I couldn’t ignore Randall’s intimations. I had just begun to conduct an inquiry when the fire occurred.”
“And Dr. Kelley Stanton was aware of the investigation?”
“Of course. I questioned her and began to put together a panel of her peers to look into the situation. I personally don’t have the medical expertise to determine whether the treatment she prescribed was substandard.”
“Would the medical records have supplied the answers?” They might also have contained other answers Shawn needed.
“Possibly.” Paxler resumed his seat and rubbed his eyes beneath his glasses. “Now we’ll have to rely on Kelley’s recollection of what she prescribed, plus the memories of the attending nurses. Those can get colored by time—and by personal relationships, since Kelley has friends here who might protect her.”
“I see.” And Shawn could see that someone who seemed as warm a mother and as friendly a person as Kelley Stanton could have a cheering section. But looks could be deceiving. And if Paxler was right, the warmth he thought he’d seen in Kelley could instead be a tendency toward playing with fire. Real fire.
Shawn’s jaw tightened. “You’re certain the pertinent records were destroyed?”
Paxler nodded. “When I took over as director five years ago, the place was an administrative nightmare. One problem was the lack of standards for patient records retention. I instituted a procedure. The charts for current patients were kept with those patients. Those of patients from more than a year ago were copied into computer files and stored. But information about patients discharged less than a year ago was kept in the records storage area. There was a procedure for signing them out. The sign-out sheets were kept in another room, and weren’t touched by the fire. And no one had signed out the records for the Silver Rapids flu patients.” He sighed. “I should have kept them myself under the circumstances, but I’d no reason to believe they wouldn’t be safe there.”
“Don’t you think it would be overkill for Dr. Stanton to destroy all those records and endanger everyone in the hospital just to get rid of a few files that might implicate her?”
Shawn had seen arsonists set fires for less substantial reasons, just for the fun of seeing things burn. But often there was a better motive. Like covering up a truth. Or several truths…
“Of course, but what better way to hide who set the fire and why? And she was there that night. She was the one to call the fire department, pull the alarm for the hospital system. She even came running out with her daughter, screaming that Randall had left Jenny in KidClub.” Paxler shook his head. “The poor child. I can’t imagine a mother who would subject her own daughter to such danger, but it appears that’s what happened.”
That was one place that the story fell down, in Shawn’s estimation. He had seen Kelley with her daughter that morning. Whatever else she had done, Shawn doubted she’d have put Jenny in danger that way.
But that might be his own first impression, coloring his judgment.
“There’s no on else you can think of with motive to destroy the files?” he asked.
Paxler shrugged shoulders that appeared padded beneath his suit jacket. “I can’t imagine who. And the fire department tells me now that the fire was definitely arson.”
Shawn respected the Denver F.D.’s Fire Investigation Bureau. He’d once been among them.
But he would double check their conclusions.
It was possible that the fire had been an accident, as they’d initially thought. But if it had been arson, the indication seemed to be that Dr. Kelley Stanton was the one who’d played with matches.
Whatever the answer, whatever Kelley’s involvement, Shawn would learn the truth.
Chapter Three
The day had felt abysmally long. Kelley couldn’t wait to go home. But mostly she couldn’t wait to see Jenny.
Smiling at the thought of her daughter, she picked up her pace down the nearly empty halls that connected the medical building with the hospital. Before the fire, she’d often stopped to see Jenny during her lunch break. Since the fire, she only did that when she could make sure Jenny wouldn’t see her. Every time Kelley left her now, Jenny went through the agonies of separation. And there were days when Jenny threw tantrums, yelled at the other kids, even spilled their lunches on the floor.
The counselor they’d been seeing said it would take time for Jenny to get over her fears about the fire. She was too young to understand much except how scared she’d been. Talking about it would help. But Jenny didn’t want to talk about it.
Today Kelley hadn’t been able to get away at lunch to peek in on Jenny. Every time she’d left her office, someone had beeped her. At least her services were in demand.
As she turned the corner to the KidClub, she recalled that morning.
The new attendant, Shawn Jameson, might still be there.
So what if Kelley thought him a hunk? Or that Madelyne Younger did, too? He would probably catch the attention of every woman in the hospital. But all that counted was whether he connected well with the children.
She pushed open the door and walked in. Her grin broadened.
Marge Ralston was there, leading some kids in an endearing off-key rendition of “I’m A Little Teapot.” Marge, in her early thirties like Kelley, loved children. A perky, curly-haired brunette, she wore paint-splashed smocks over her jeans, never caring if she got additional spots on them. She had studied to be a grade school teacher but had elected to work with little ones and was great with them.
Kelley waved at her. Then, not seeing her daughter, she mouthed, “Where’s Jenny?”
Without missing a beat or a teapot gesture, Marge pointed toward the door to one of the other rooms. Kelley headed there.
And stopped in the doorway. Large, brawny Shawn Jameson sat at a tyke table surrounded by kids, looking like a giant at an elf’s tea party. He appeared tense. His eyes darted from one child to another, as if he was unsure which would do something unexpected first.
Jenny sat beside him. She barely looked up when Kelley approached. On the table in front of her was a large paper on which she was sketching with crayons. Her drawing of uneven circles and lines was a credible rendering of a smiling pig.
“Jenny, that’s wonderful!” Kelley exclaimed, leaning over her daughter’s shoulder.
“Shawn teached me. He says he can teach me lots of an’mals.”
“Me, too,” said the little girl on Shawn’s other side. Claire Fritz, Jenny’s best friend, was the daughter of a woman who worked in the hospital pharmacy. Claire also had a colorful stick drawing in front of her, as did the other five children.
Kelley turned to thank Shawn and found herself looking straight into his blue eyes. They brightened a little as they found hers, as if the appearance of another adult put him more at ease. Her smile faltered as something seemed to spark between them, and she pulled herself upright so she was looking down on him. “This is wonderful, Shawn. Thank you.”
He quickly pushed back his chair and rose, unfurling his long limbs. He was probably just short of six feet,