frequent stops to add items, not sure when she'd have time to shop again. Sort of like laying in provisions for a siege, she told herself. On her trip down the second aisle she visited, she noticed the clunking sound and the tendency of the cart to pull to one side like a car with a flat tire. By the time she discovered the malfunction, it seemed easier to battle the balky conveyance than unload her groceries into another one. After all, what was one more inconvenience on top of what had already happened? Surely things couldn't get any worse. At least, she hoped that was the case.
When she reached the head of the checkout line, a pimplyfaced clerk with a faint smile on his face but none in his voice began scanning her items. He met her eyes long enough to say, "May I have your Reward Card, ma'am?"
Anna found her keys, buried as usual in the deepest, darkest corner of her purse. The clerk thumbed through the plastic tags until he found the right one. He swiped it several times and finally tossed the keys back onto the counter. "The tag's too worn. Won't scan. What's your phone number?"
She repeated the number to the clerk while she swept the keys into her purse and transferred the last of the items from her cart onto the moving belt. Whether the clerk's heart was in his work, his hands moved swiftly, and in a moment the items were scanned and bagged. "That's $62.48."
Anna had pulled out her wallet along with her keys and was ready with her MasterCard. She swiped it and watched the screen, waiting to confirm the amount and sign. She was still waiting when the clerk said, "Ma'am, swipe it again. I'm getting an error message."
She complied.
"Ma'am," the clerk said, "there's a problem with your card. Do you want to use another one?"
"I only brought this one. What's the matter with it?"
"This account is over its limit. Do you want to write a check? Pay with cash?"
The impatience in the clerk's voice made Anna glance around. The man behind her was shifting from one foot to the other, and the line was building.
"I don't have my checkbook," she said. "And I don't have that much cash. I . . . I'll come back."
She didn't even think about the groceries. All she could think about was getting away from the irritable clerk, away from the exasperated looks of the people behind her in line.
She screeched out of the parking lot, impatient to get home and call the credit card company. There was no way her card was over its limit. Somebody owed her an explanation.
Nick put down the phone and massaged his chin, running his fingers over the scratchy stubble as he thought about the information he'd just been given. Both units of blood received by Eric Hatley were totally compatible with the patient's own blood. The lab director herself had done the cross-matches in duplicate. No question about it. The blood wasn't the source of the allergic reaction that had killed the man.
"Still here?" The morgue technician stood in the open doorway and raised his eyebrows as though to ask, "Why?"
"Yeah," Nick replied. "I want to work on some stuff, and it's a lot quieter over here than in my academic office."
"Right. Those folks in the drawers back there don't make much noise, do they?"
Nick frowned. He understood that when you worked around death all day, making jokes about it was a normal defense mechanism. But it still didn't make him like the practice. He kept quiet and eventually the attendant took the hint and left with a cheery, "Well, it's quitting time. I'm out of here."
His unfinished project stared back at Nick from the computer screen, the cursor accusing him with every blink. He really should finish it today. But first he wanted to let Anna know what he'd found out about the blood. There was no question in his mind that talking with her took precedence over making his chairman happy. Wetherington was never happy anyway, so why worry about it?
Nick opened the faculty directory and dialed Dr. Anna McIntyre's office number. Her
When she reached the head of the checkout line, a pimplyfaced clerk with a faint smile on his face but none in his voice began scanning her items. He met her eyes long enough to say, "May I have your Reward Card, ma'am?"
Anna found her keys, buried as usual in the deepest, darkest corner of her purse. The clerk thumbed through the plastic tags until he found the right one. He swiped it several times and finally tossed the keys back onto the counter. "The tag's too worn. Won't scan. What's your phone number?"
She repeated the number to the clerk while she swept the keys into her purse and transferred the last of the items from her cart onto the moving belt. Whether the clerk's heart was in his work, his hands moved swiftly, and in a moment the items were scanned and bagged. "That's $62.48."
Anna had pulled out her wallet along with her keys and was ready with her MasterCard. She swiped it and watched the screen, waiting to confirm the amount and sign. She was still waiting when the clerk said, "Ma'am, swipe it again. I'm getting an error message."
She complied.
"Ma'am," the clerk said, "there's a problem with your card. Do you want to use another one?"
"I only brought this one. What's the matter with it?"
"This account is over its limit. Do you want to write a check? Pay with cash?"
The impatience in the clerk's voice made Anna glance around. The man behind her was shifting from one foot to the other, and the line was building.
"I don't have my checkbook," she said. "And I don't have that much cash. I . . . I'll come back."
She didn't even think about the groceries. All she could think about was getting away from the irritable clerk, away from the exasperated looks of the people behind her in line.
She screeched out of the parking lot, impatient to get home and call the credit card company. There was no way her card was over its limit. Somebody owed her an explanation.
Nick put down the phone and massaged his chin, running his fingers over the scratchy stubble as he thought about the information he'd just been given. Both units of blood received by Eric Hatley were totally compatible with the patient's own blood. The lab director herself had done the cross-matches in duplicate. No question about it. The blood wasn't the source of the allergic reaction that had killed the man.
"Still here?" The morgue technician stood in the open doorway and raised his eyebrows as though to ask, "Why?"
"Yeah," Nick replied. "I want to work on some stuff, and it's a lot quieter over here than in my academic office."
"Right. Those folks in the drawers back there don't make much noise, do they?"
Nick frowned. He understood that when you worked around death all day, making jokes about it was a normal defense mechanism. But it still didn't make him like the practice. He kept quiet and eventually the attendant took the hint and left with a cheery, "Well, it's quitting time. I'm out of here."
His unfinished project stared back at Nick from the computer screen, the cursor accusing him with every blink. He really should finish it today. But first he wanted to let Anna know what he'd found out about the blood. There was no question in his mind that talking with her took precedence over making his chairman happy. Wetherington was never happy anyway, so why worry about it?
Nick opened the faculty directory and dialed Dr. Anna McIntyre's office number. Her
Similar Books
ARIANNA: An Original Screenplay
Mehul Desai
Claiming Rights
ID Locke
A Cookbook Conspiracy
Kate Carlisle
Free Bird: A Biker Erotic Romance
Ellen Graves
Hetman
Alex Shaw
The Surf Guru
Doug Dorst
Claimed
Cammie Eicher
Lethal Deception
Lynette Eason
Vintage Volume One
Lisa Suzanne