Page 43 of Missing Justice
Chapter Eight
Dottie Hernandez was climbing out of her Cadillac with a bag from the corner deli when Taylor and Matt caught her in the parking lot of TriCare Health Birthing Center. The Center served three major area hospitals with specialized birthing units that catered to the wealthy and those classified as high-risk, such as twins and other multiples.
“Mrs. Hernandez?” Taylor called. She’d seen Dottie’s photo on the Center’s website on her phone and recognized the woman’s thinning red hair and the flashy gold cross around her neck as the manager hustled onto the sidewalk, her large, designer handbag slapping against her dark green skirt.
“Yes?” Dottie looked over and smiled, the edges of her eyes crinkling. “Oh, you must be the Alexanders. I’m so sorry I’m late for your tour. Let’s go on in. You’re going to love it here when the time comes.”
Matt started to correct the woman, but Dottie was already at the wide glass entry doors, struggling to balance her load. Matt ran to catch up with her and open the doors.
She looked over and winked at Taylor. “Chivalry is not dead! A fine, young man you have here.”
Taylor winked back. “He has his moments.”
Matt made a face at her behind Dottie’s back and Taylor grinned.
Dottie might have been barely five foot tall and in her fifties, but the clinic manager could move. Taylor and Matt had to hot step it to keep up with her as she swept past the receptionist, throwing out their last name to the woman, and motioning them to follow her.
“They need to sign in,” the receptionist called. “They need visitor badges!”
“I’ll take care of it,” Dottie called back. “I’ve already kept them waiting long enough!”
She had her keycard out and swiped it at her office door before Matt and Taylor rounded the corner. The clinic was done in soft pastels and lots of pictures of newborns floating in clouds. Taylor supposed the decor reassured pregnant mothers that birth was a heavenly experience.
Maybe it was here.
Matt motioned Taylor through the open door of the office, then followed. “I think there may have been a mistake,” he said.
Dottie dumped her lunch and purse onto a credenza behind her desk. The wall above the credenza held multiple certificates and awards—she’d been a nurse in her younger years and had gone on to get her master’s degree in business. Taylor also spotted an undergrad degree in family counseling.
The desk was cluttered with files, a computer, and a dozen or so pictures of various families. Dottie snatched a couple of visitor passes from a desk drawer. “No, I assure you, there’s no mistake! We’re the finest birthing center this side of the Mississippi, Mr. Alexander, and my tardiness is not the norm, nor should it reflect poorly on the center. I was at a meeting all morning and it ran over. I promise, we have the best doctors and birthing teams anywhere, including Johns Hopkins, and I’m going to make it up to you for being late for this appointment. We’ll take excellent care of your wife and child. I’ll see to it myself.” Her big smile and crinkly eyes slid to Taylor. “How far along are you, dear?”
“We’re not the Alexanders,” Matt said.
“Oh, heavens, did I get that wrong?” Dottie shoved papers off her old-fashioned calendar blotter, a chubby index finger sliding along the days of the week. “I’m so sorry! You’re Mr. and Mrs. Dillinger, aren’t you? For some reason, I have you down for this time next week. Goodness, I apologize again. Please follow me. I read your intake form, and I truly believe that the Presidential Suite is the perfect room for you and your family.”
Matt opened his mouth and Taylor jabbed him in the side. “We’d love to see it.”
Dottie missed Matt’s frown since she was already out the office door. “Right this way!” she sang out.
“What are you doing?” Matt murmured as Taylor snapped a visitor badge onto his jacket lapel.
She took the other badge and clipped it onto her own jacket. “It’s called undercover investigation. Surely, you’ve heard of it.”
He followed her out the door, still speaking sotto voce. “We have to identify ourselves.”
“We will.”Maybe. Taylor’s gut told her she’d get farther with this woman if she played the part of an expectant mother, and time was of the essence. “Let’s see the Presidential Suite first.”
She expected him to continue expressing his dissent, but instead he patted her ass and gave her that wicked grin. “Well, then, after you,Mrs. Dillinger.”
It was a total fishing expedition, but playing an expectant mother for a few minutes was more fun than heading back to her office with no further leads. “I’ve found in the past,” she said softly as they followed Dottie down the carpeted hallway, “that getting into the mind of the victim can be as effective as the criminal’s when it comes to solving cold cases.”
“The Presidential Suite is in the West Wing,” Dottie called back to them as she rounded a corner. More cherub babies and clouds lined the walls. “Each of our suites offers a bed for the father, a seating area for family members, and a large birthing tub for the mother as another option.”
A few steps ahead, she continued to chatter away as Taylor and Matt hung back, scanning the place. Here and there, they saw a nurse or other non-medical employee rushing in and out of doors.
Matt put his arm around Taylor’s shoulders. She wasn’t sure if he was simply getting into the part of her husband—God help her—or this was a continuation of that morning’s need to touch her. Good or bad? She couldn’t decide.
They passed through a set of wooden doors and entered the West Wing.How appropriate.
