Dead on Arrival Read Online Free PDF Page B

word.
    When I got near the front door, I looked at our waitress who was now sitting at the diner’s counter, eating a hamburger.
    â€œExcuse me. Please tell my friends I have to leave.” I started to dig into my purse for money for my bill.
    She motioned her head toward our table. “You with those two hunks. Man, if I were twenty years younger.” She cackled. “That one drinking his coffee. Yum. Course the other one ain’t bad. He could put his shoes under my bed anytime, sweetie!”
    I laughed and pulled my empty hand out of my bag. “The hunk drinking coffee will pay my tab.”
    With that I was out the door and hailing a cab, which was not an easy feat in Hope Valley. However, obviously some divine intervention had a yellow cab zoom around the corner just as I raised my hand.
    Thank you very much, St. T!
    Except for the dispatchers, who were on call 24/7, the TLC Ambulance place was pretty empty. I took the opportunity to “acquaint” myself with my new employment surroundings.
    After making my way through the reception area, into the filing area, and down the corridor toward the twins’ offices, I found myself at Payne’s door.
    His opened door.
    â€œPayne? Mr. Sterling?” I stepped inside and walked to the adjoining office of Pansy. Geez. Pansy. Some name. Shaking my head, I knocked, opened the door after no reply, and ran my gaze around the room.
    Empty.
    There is a God.
    I shut the door as quietly as I could and walked toward Payne’s desk. If I got caught, I had already decided I’d say I got lost and since Lilla wasn’t there tried to find the employee forms she’d given me this morning—‘cause I thought I’d put down my wrong phone number.
    Maybe I was getting better at this lying stuff.
    Quickly I looked over his desk. Payne was not the neatest guy in the world but wasn’t a Fabio either. I reached into the pocket of my scrubs and took out a pair of gloves.
    Jagger had taught me well.
    They’d become a staple in my wardrobe now, much like a tissue and clean underwear (à la Stella Sokol).
    I pushed the desk chair back and tried to open the top drawer. No luck. The others opened without any problems, so I helped myself to the documents that were inside of them.
    Daily run sheets. The ones Jagger had been talking about. Each EMT or Paramedic had to fill them out. I glanced through them with my nursing eye, weeding out any unnecessary information.
    Old Payne was pretty organized when it came to his files, which made my job easier.
    Several had oxygen listed. Two had charges for ALS, which I knew was more expensive and stood for advanced life support. I sat down and read through the entire pile, glancing at the clock every once and a while.
    Suddenly I heard footsteps outside the door. Gulp. I started to stick the files back, remembering the exact order they’d been in. That I was very good at as if I’d had a photogenic mind.
    The hallway quieted. I swallowed and decided there was no need to rush off. I had to find his billing information to cross check it against the run forms.
    Behind his desk, and below the Mona Lisa, who suddenly gave me the creeps as if she were watching me, was another file cabinet.
    Locked.
    Hm.
    Piqued my interest. So I dug around his desk, the one behind Mona, until I found a set of keys. Two didn’t work, but the third had me whisper “Bingo!” as the lock clicked open.
    Copies of bills for the last three years. Could life get any better? I found the matching bills to the files, and indeed, TLC had charged the patients for oxygen—when it wasn’t even used (not to mention the fact that the law didn’t allow for individual charges like that), and the ALS was really a BLS—basic life support, which was a much cheaper ride.
    The eighty-year-old guy had fallen while mowing his lawn. His wife called 911, but since he’d fallen in the grass, there wasn’t a