Heads You Lose - Lisa Lutz [31]
“How?”
“Don’t know.”
“I’m sorry for your loss,” Tate said. The news shook him, but he was the kind of man who tried not to let on what he was thinking, even in his underwear.
“When was the last time you saw Hart?”
“You investigating me?”
“Just asking an innocent question.”
“About three weeks ago, maybe,” Tate replied.
“What did he want?”
“A drink,” said Tate. “What else?”
Lacey’s thoughts turned to the other mystery that had surfaced recently.
“Do you know why Doc Holland skipped town so fast?”
“Nope.”
“Do you know where he went?”
“Wish I did.”
“Why?”
“Because he left town with an unpaid debt.”
“He was gambling? What was his game?”
“He had no game. It was just a friendly loan.”
“Really? What’s your friendly interest rate?”
“Why? You need a loan?”
“No. Just curious.”
“You might want to keep that in check,” Tate replied. “See you around, Lacey.”
Lacey took the cue and left.
Instead of grieving for Hart, Lacey figured she could do the next best thing: Find his killer. While Tate had an angle on everyone in Mercer, he wasn’t the talkative sort. But she knew who was.
Lacey drove to Betty’s place to see whether a gossip exchange could uncover any new leads. Besides, on TV it’s always two disconnected clues that intersect in the end. Maybe there was some connection between Doc Holland and Hart Drexel.
“I am so sorry, honey. Are you okay?” Betty asked, when Lacey told her the news about Hart.
“I think so,” Lacey said.
She had wondered why she felt nothing. She’d even repeated those three words in her head again and again to induce a reaction: Hart is dead. No matter how many times she said it, she still couldn’t feel that it was true.
Betty served Lacey a mug of hot chocolate with a layer of miniature marshmallows.
“This’ll make you feel better,” she said.
Lacey was doubtful, but drowned the marshmallows in the brew and then let them dissolve in her throat.
“Have you heard from Doc Holland since he left?” Lacey asked.
Betty was surprised that the conversation leapfrogged over Hart so quickly. It took her a moment to comprehend the question.
“No. I haven’t seen him since he left. Why do you ask?”
“There’s just something suspicious about the way he skipped town without a forwarding address. Only the new Doc Holland knows where the old Doc Holland is living.”
“Have you met him?”
“Who?”
“Doc Egan.”
“Oh yeah. He stitched me up.”
Lacey pulled up her sleeve to reveal her bandaged arm.
“What happened to you?”
“Gardening accident.”
“You should be more careful. How—”
“Let me ask you a question. You handled Doc Holland’s bills. Was he having financial problems?”
“He wasn’t flush.”
“What does that mean?” Lacey asked.
“Well, he had a lot of bills. Whatever came in every month, left. And then some.”
“Did anything strike you as unusual?”
“I don’t know.”
“Think.”
“Why are you so interested in Doc Holland?”
“I’m trying to take my mind off Hart,” Lacey replied.
“Let me see,” Betty said, consulting the back of her brain. “He had a thousand-dollar payment every month to Mallard Corp.”
“What was it for?”
“When I asked him, he said it was supplementary malpractice insurance.”
“For Mercer!?” Lacey exclaimed.
“Yeah, I thought it was on the pricey side,” Betty replied.
“What does Doc Egan pay?”
“Don’t know. He only asked me to handle his patient billing. He’s got his own computer program and stuff.”
“Thanks for the cocoa,” Lacey said, standing abruptly.
“Leaving already?” Betty asked.
“Sorry to run. I forgot that I told Sook I’d pay him a visit this afternoon.”
Lacey was out the door before Betty could offer her a slice of the lemon meringue pie she had just baked.
“Lacey,” Sook said, slowly getting to his feet. He was wearing his usual tan cardigan that always smelled like mothballs. “Where have you been turtling yourself?”
Lacey knitted her brow and froze it there for full effect.
“Sook, I don’t care how many times Terry or my brother say ‘turtling.’ It’s not a word in the dictionary, so stop using it.”
“Terry says if you use it enough, it becomes a word. And since it’s a word based