Do No Harm Read online

  DO NO HARM

  A Dr. Katie LeClair Mystery

  Dawn Eastman

  For Anna

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  First, thank you to my editor, Jenny Chen. Her attention to detail, insightful comments, kindness and enthusiasm made working on this book a pleasure.

  Thank you to the Crooked Lane team for all their hard work to bring the finished product to readers.

  To my partners in crime: Wendy Delsol, Kimberly Stuart, Kali VanBaale, and Carol Spaulding-Kruse. As always, you make the writing journey more fun than it should be.

  To my street team: Ann and Robert Eastman, Brent and Nancy Eastman, Alyce and James Mooradian, Kristin and Tom Morton, Barb and Pete Laughlin. Yes, they are related to me. And yes, they will foist my books upon you.

  Finally, thank you to Steve, Jake, and Ellie who inspire and support this writer every day.

  1

  Not yet, but soon. He felt it like a shimmer in the air.

  He stood by the window, peering out from behind the drawn curtains, flicking ash from his cigarette into an empty cat food tin resting on the table nearby. His nose wrinkled at the smell. Should have rinsed it out first. Another in a long list of should haves.

  The cat, possibly attracted by the odor, skulked into the room. It weaved through his ankles, leaving long white hairs behind on his jeans, and meowed imperiously. He leaned down to pet it and it skittered away. The cat had moved in during his ten-year absence from his childhood home, and it saw him as the intruder.

  He stood and fumbled for the lamp. Clicking it off, he squinted into the dim evening light. Darkness arrived earlier than when he’d first returned home a month ago. Then, it had seemed that summer would linger forever, and that he had his whole life ahead of him once again.

  He clicked a beaded bracelet through the fingers of his left hand, bringing the cigarette to his lips with his right. Drawing deeply, he listened to the quiet crackle of the tobacco as it burned. He’d promised himself all those days, weeks, years in prison that he would appreciate the little things when he got out. Like a peaceful smoke in his own house, a clear blue sky, and the freedom to go anywhere. But on this evening, as the light faded and the streetlights flickered on (except for the one near his house—broken three weeks ago and still not repaired), he watched with the twitchy anxiety of prey waiting to be found.

  He heard his mother’s heavy tread in the kitchen and quickly stubbed out the cigarette.

  “Eugene,” she said quietly. A slight quiver in her voice gave away her concern, and he tensed with guilt. “Are they out there again?”

  He shook his head. “Not yet.”

  She took several more steps into the room. “We have to do something. You have to go to the police.”

  He spun from the window, feeling anger replace the self-loathing. It felt better, more powerful, even if it was directed at the only person who had ever been kind to him.

  “I’m not going to the police.” He clenched his fists and turned back to the window. “Do you think they care?”

  He’d dutifully reported the first acts of vandalism. GO AWAY spray-painted in red on the garage door had been hard to deny. After the officers had taken his statement, they’d said they’d look into it. Nothing had changed. He’d quietly painted over the letters and waited. Next was a classic: a bag of dog shit on the porch. Then, a rock thrown through the front window. Finally, a snarky map slipped under a dead bird on the hood of his pickup truck. The map had dark red arrows showing all the ways out of Baxter, Michigan.

  Just as he drew breath to apologize for snapping at his mother, he heard it. A scraping sound outside. Someone sneaking along the side of the house. Before he had time to think, he ran outside to confront the intruder.

  2

  Dr. Katie LeClair was running late. As usual. She stepped out of room one—a baby with colic whose mother was at the end of her rope—and glanced morosely at the line of plastic green flags that greeted her. Each one signified a patient who was ready to be seen and had probably been waiting longer than Katie would have liked.

  She’d been working with Emmett Hawkins and his son, Nick, at the Baxter Family Medicine office since the previous summer when she’d finished her residency. Baxter was about twenty minutes west of Ann Arbor, and Katie had spent some time at the clinic during her training. She loved the way Emmett practiced an old-fashioned kind of medicine. The pace was slower and the pay was lower than Katie could have found in a bigger city, but she thought it was the perfect fit for her.

  She moved to the next room and pulled the chart from the plastic bin affixed to the door. The file was thin. Katie flipped it open, hoping it wasn’t a new patient wanting a physical. That would push her into the rescheduling zone and she hated to do that.

  She released a sigh when she saw it was only a suture removal. She read the brief intake information. Eugene Lowe: 30 years old, 5' 10", 140 pounds, blood pressure 124/82. The patient had been to the ER a week earlier. She noted Matt Gregor’s signature at the bottom of the ER note.

  She knocked and entered the room. The clinic building was old and the decor had not been updated in years. Someone had decorated in the eighties or nineties, which meant all the rooms had wallpaper borders running along the edge of the ceiling. Her patient had been put in the “kid” room, which had a brightly colored train border. The man sat hunched in the patient chair. He held a bracelet of light-pink beads in his hand and ran it through his fingers like a rosary. His dark hair was thinning on top, which didn’t help disguise the large ears that stuck out from the sides of his head. He wore big round eyeglasses that covered the top third of his face. Thick black eyebrows almost met in the middle, and Steri-Strips covering a long cut over his left temple accessorized the lenses. Yellow-and-purple bruising betrayed a healing black eye.

  Holding out her hand, she said, “Hello, I’m Dr. LeClair.”

  He reached up and took her hand lightly, not meeting her eyes. “Eugene Lowe.”

  Katie sat in the wheeled stool by the low counter. She opened the file and pretended to read its meager contents. Something about his demeanor and the healing bruises had set off alarm bells. She wanted to question him, but he seemed skittish, as if he would bolt any minute. “It looks like you need to get rid of some stitches.” Katie flipped the file closed and turned back toward him. “Have you had any problems with the wound?”

  He shook his head and studied his shoes. The beads clicked through his fingers.

  “This won’t hurt nearly as much as getting them put in. It just feels like a slight pinch.”

  He nodded.

  Katie sighed inwardly. He wasn’t much of a talker, and it made her feel like a camp counselor trying to jolly the shy kid into having fun. But she didn’t need to get his whole story today. That was one of the things she loved about family medicine. There was time to get to know the patient.

  She stood and gestured at the exam table. “Do you want to lie down on the exam table, or sit there?”

  “I won’t faint on you,” he said. “I’ll sit here.”

  Kate pulled the metal tray on wheels over to where he sat. She used sterile gauze and saline to wet the Steri-Strips and loosen the scab.

  “What happened?” she asked. She pulled up on the knot of a suture and slipped the scissors underneath.

  “I ran into a door.”

  Katie glanced quickly at his face. No one ran into a door and got this kind of injury.

  “I haven’t seen you here before. Did you just move to town?” Katie tugged a suture free and placed it on the tray.

  “You could say that,” he said. “I grew up here, but I just got back recently.” He’d stopped clicking the beads and held his hands clasped tightly together—was he worried about the stitches or about he
r questions?

  Katie had removed the first two sutures and tried to distract him by keeping him talking.

  “Where were you living?”

  “Jackson Prison.”

  Her hands hesitated, and he glanced up at her.

  “They didn’t tell you?”

  “No,” Katie said. She moved on to the next suture, not meeting his eyes. His guarded manner began to make sense.

  He laughed bitterly. “You must be the only person in town who doesn’t know.”

  “I’m new here myself, so sometimes I’m out of the loop on the gossip.” That was an understatement. She felt like she was always playing catch-up. Katie pulled the last stitch free and set down her instruments.

  She put a regular bandage over the cut and slid the tray away. “You may have a bit of a scar there. It should fade in time.”

  “Most things do,” he said. He began fidgeting with the bracelet once more.

  Katie placed a hand lightly on his shoulder. “Mr. Lowe, I’m not sure what kind of health care you received in prison, but if you’d like to come back for a physical or if you need anything else, I’d be glad to see you.”

  The beads stilled again. Eugene Lowe looked Katie in the eye and held out his hand. “Thank you.” This time his grip was firm and warm.

  * * *

  Katie moved to the next exam room in line and pulled out the file. She smiled. Miss Betty Simms was one of her favorites.

  She knocked once and opened the door. Miss Simms was in the paisley-border room, Katie’s least favorite. Katie was surprised to see Mrs. Peabody sitting in the guest chair while Miss Simms sat on the exam table.

  “Hello,” Katie said. She extended her hand to Miss Simms. She was a small woman with silver hair pulled up into a bun and the rounded physique of someone who enjoyed sweets. “It’s good to see you up and about.”

  Mrs. Peabody made an indistinct noise, and Katie turned and shook her hand as well. Tall and thin, Mrs. Peabody wore her hair short and spiky with a pink streak on the right side. Both women were in their eighties. They wore velour tracksuits and brightly colored running shoes. Mrs. Peabody’s tracksuit was the exact pink of her hair streak.

  “I’m surprised to see you together today,” Katie said. Usually the ladies made appointments at the same time but took separate exam rooms so they could fill Katie in more thoroughly on their concerns for each other.

  “Well, I didn’t need to be seen today,” said Mrs. Peabody. “But I wanted to be sure Miss Simms didn’t try to convince you she’s totally recovered.” She lowered her voice, as if it would make a difference in the tiny room. “You know how she is.”

  “Agnes, I’m sitting right here and I can hear you,” Miss Simms said. “Honestly …” She shook her head and rolled her eyes at Katie. Katie suppressed a grin, feeling like she was in a room with a teenager and her mother rather than two retired teachers.

  Two weeks earlier, the ladies had been driving their Vespas just outside of town to enjoy the fall colors when Miss Simms had hit a rock and tumbled off the scooter. Fortunately, she had been going only about ten miles an hour at the time and had escaped the accident with a few scrapes and a sprained wrist. Considering her age, Katie was grateful the accident hadn’t been worse.

  “How are you doing?” Katie asked.

  Miss Simms sniffed and sat a bit straighter on the table. “I’m doing much better now.” She held her wrist out for Katie to examine.

  The swelling was gone, as was most of the bruising. She had good movement in the joint.

  “Are you still wearing the brace?” Katie asked.

  “Yes,” said Miss Simms.

  “No,” said Mrs. Peabody.

  Katie stepped away from Miss Simms so she could look at both women at the same time. “Which is it?”

  Miss Simms sighed. “It gets in the way. My knitting production is down and we’re heading into the holidays.” She shot a glance at Mrs. Peabody. “And I don’t think it helps.”

  Mrs. Peabody gestured at Miss Simms as if she were Exhibit A in a court case. “I told her to keep it on until you say it’s okay, but will she listen? No.”

  “I think if you’re to the point where it gets in the way and you don’t have pain, you can probably stop wearing it.” Katie addressed herself to Miss Simms. “We don’t want the joint to get stiff or for you to lose strength in that hand.”

  Miss Simms smiled and shot an I-told-you-so look at Mrs. Peabody. Mrs. Peabody crossed her arms and looked away.

  Miss Simms leaned closer to Katie. “Dr. LeClair, I hope you don’t mind me asking, but did I see Eugene Lowe in the waiting room earlier?”

  Katie thought that if anyone else had asked her that question, she would have said, “I don’t know, did you?” But that would have been like kicking a puppy.

  “It was,” Katie said. “Do you know him?”

  Both women nodded vehemently. “We both taught him in our classes,” Mrs. Peabody said.

  “I think it was just before I retired, maybe a year or two,” Miss Simms said. “And then, of course, there was all that trouble with him during his senior year.”

  Mrs. Peabody nodded. “He was such a sweet boy. I couldn’t believe it when he went to prison.”

  “He told me he’s just been released,” Katie said. “Why was he in prison?”

  “Oh, my dear, of course you wouldn’t know,” said Miss Simms. “We forget that not everyone has been here forever. He was convicted of murder.”

  3

  “Murder?” Katie said. Katie knew very well that murderers could hide in plain sight. That lesson had been brought home six weeks before when a patient’s presumed suicide had turned out to be murder. But when Eugene had said he had been in prison, she’d assumed tax fraud, or maybe he was a hacker or an identity thief. Murder had not entered her mind.

  “Yes, dear,” said Miss Simms. “We were all just as shocked as you. It was around this time of year.”

  “Halloween,” said Mrs. Peabody.

  Miss Simms nodded. “It must have been twelve or so years ago. He was found standing over the body of a dead girl.”

  A quiet tap sounded at the door. Katie’s signal to wrap things up. There were some patients that could take up the whole clinic time if you let them. Katie and her nurse, Angie, had a little code to move things along if necessary. She glanced at her watch.

  “I’d really like to hear more about this,” Katie said. “Can I stop by this week sometime?”

  “Oh, yes. That would be lovely,” said Miss Simms.

  Mrs. Peabody nodded. “You know we have tea every day at five. You should stop by then.”

  “I’ll do that,” said Katie. She handed the clinic paperwork to Miss Simms along with a sheet on post-sprain care. “Be sure to take it slowly with your wrist and let me know if you have any trouble.”

  Mrs. Peabody snatched the instructions from Miss Simms and tucked them into her large straw tote bag. “I’ll keep an eye on her, Doctor.” She leveled a beady-eyed stare at Miss Simms, who pretended not to notice.

  * * *

  The rest of the clinic proceeded in a blur of coughs, colds, aches, and injuries. Katie finally made it back to her office at six o’clock and slumped into her desk chair. She tugged Eugene’s chart out from the bottom of the stack and took out the ER discharge note. Matt was on the schedule to work that day as well, and since she hadn’t seen him all afternoon, she assumed he’d been just as busy as she had. Midautumn was always a crazy time with all the back-to-school viruses, yard work injuries, and early influenza cases.

  When Matt Gregor had first begun working with the practice, Katie had worried that it would negatively affect their new relationship. But, so far, they had been so busy it was almost as if they didn’t work together at all. Matt spent part of his time in his father’s internal medicine practice and did locum tenens shifts to fill the extra hours. It was like being a temp doctor. Physicians could fill in at clinics, ERs, or hospitals where they were short-staffed du
e to illness, vacations, or unfilled positions. Matt claimed to love the freedom and variety of his arrangement. He was filling in in Katie’s office while her other partner, Nick Hawkins, was away dealing with personal issues.

  Just over a month ago, Katie had solved a murder involving one of her patients and uncovered her partner’s addiction to pain medicine. Nick had jeopardized the practice, and Katie was still not sure if she could forgive him for that, or for the stress he had inflicted on his father, Katie’s mentor, Emmett Hawkins.

  Katie got up, grabbed the ER note, and went in search of Matt.

  She found him in the next hall over just coming out of a patient room. He was tall with dark hair that fell onto his forehead. His strong features and intense brown eyes made him classically handsome. But Katie loved his warm smile and the scar on his chin from a bike accident as a boy. Katie continued to be amazed at the way her pulse increased whenever she caught sight of him. He broke into a dazzling smile when he saw her.

  “That’s my last one,” he said, and crooked his thumb at the door. “Are you finished?”

  Katie nodded and followed him to his office. All of Nick’s things were still there, waiting, but at least the desk had been cleared so Matt could work.

  He dumped his stack of charts on the corner of the desk, peeked out the door, and pulled her into an embrace, which led to a long kiss that only ended when they heard footsteps in the hall. They broke apart and assumed casual poses.

  Angie Moon, the office manager and nurse, peered around the door frame. She was a small woman with straight dark hair and thick bangs. A little older than Katie, Angie had helped Katie get used to the rhythms and routines of the clinic. She knew absolutely everything that happened in the clinic. By the way Angie’s eyes sparkled, Katie suspected she and Matt weren’t fooling her with their feigned businesslike appearance.

  “I’m off; see you both tomorrow,” she said.

  “Thanks, Angie,” they said in unison.

  Katie took a step back and held out Eugene’s ER discharge paper to Matt. He looked at her curiously and took it.