P Is for Peril

hand. "Harry Broadus."
    "Kinsey Millhone," I said, shaking hands with him. I surveyed his dessert plate: a brownie, a wedge of fresh fruit tart, and a chunk of coconut sheet cake. "That looks good."
    "My sweet tooth." He sat down again and balanced his plate on one knee. He chose the sheet cake first. "I caught sight of you earlier, sitting on the stairs."
    "I'm not one for crowds and I don't know a soul. What about you? Are you a friend of Crystal's or Dow's?"
    "Both. I was in business with Dow."
    "Pacific Meadows?"
    "That's right. What sort of work do you do?" He moved on to the brownie, making short work of it.
    "Mostly research," I said. I took a big bite of roll so I wouldn't have to elucidate.
    "Sad day," he said. "I feel terrible about Dow, though I wasn't surprised. He was unbelievably anxious and depressed in the weeks before he disappeared."
    Oh good. Gossiping at a wake about the dead. How fun. I said, "The poor guy. About what?"
    "I don't want to go into it… let's just say he left the clinic in a mess."
    "Someone was telling me about that. Something to do with Medicare, wasn't it?" I took a bite of salad while he tackled the fruit tart.
    "You heard about that?"
    I nodded. "From a couple of different sources."
    "I guess word must be out. That's too bad."
    "What's the story?"
    "We think it was probably an honest mistake, but we may never know."
    "Doctors can sometimes be real dopes about business," I said, aping Penelope Delacorte.
    "Tell me about it. We were shocked."
    "I don't get what went on. I mean, as I understand it, the clinic doesn't actually do the billing. I thought there was an operating company to handle that."
    He nodded. "Genesis Financial Management Services. They have offices downtown. Joel and I… you know Joel?"
    "Met him once. I know his wife."
    "Dana's great. I'm really crazy about her. Joel and I own the property through a company called Century Comprehensive, mostly real estate development, though we do other things as well. Genesis leases the physical plant from us. They also handle all the billing: accounts payable and receivable, Medicare, Medicaid-that sort of thing."
    "So how'd Dow screw up?"
    "That's what we're trying to figure out."
    "Because I thought, you know… by law your company and the operating company had to be completely separate."
    "True. But Genesis has to rely on the information they receive from Pacific Meadows. No one from the operating company's on site. If Dow reviewed and forwarded billing charges, Genesis took his word for it."
    "So he could have told 'em anything he wanted."
    "Could and did."
    "How'd he get caught?"
    "We're not sure. It might have been a guardian or relative of a patient who noticed the discrepancies and phoned in a complaint."
    "What, to you guys?"
    "To Medicare."
    "A whistle-blower. Bad luck for him. So the fraud busters jump in and followed up."
    "That's our guess. At this point, we don't know what they have."
    "What if it turns out it wasn't him?"
    "His reputation's still ruined. A town this size, once you've be tainted by rumor, it's almost impossible to recover your good name. People will be polite, but it's the kiss of death."
    "I guess from Dow's perspective, the whole thing looked hopeless no matter what."
    "More or less."
    "What if it turns out he's innocent?" I said.
    "Either way, we're left holding the bag." He glanced at his watch, set his plate aside, and got up. "Well. I better go find my wife. Nice talking to you, Kinsey. I hope our paths cross again in happier times."
    "I hope so, too," I said. I lifted my wineglass. "Thanks for this."
    "Glad to be a service."
    I watched him cross the room, scouting for Celine.
    What a bullshitter. Joel Glazer had been on the phone with Broadus the day I talked to him. I wasn't out of his office door before the information was passed on. What Broadus had told me about their business troubles was almost word for word the story I'd heard from Joel.
    When I got back to my apartment, the phone was ringing. Two rings. Three. I let myself in and snatched up the phone before the machine kicked in. Tommy Hevener. The moment I heard his voice, I realize I should have been screening my calls.
    He said, "Hey, babe. It's me." His tone was both intimate and as assured, like I'd been waiting all day in hopes of hearing from him. The sound of his voice gave me a jolt sufficient to make me salivate like dog. I had to remind myself that while I didn't want to see him, I might need his help in getting