A hard pinch to the upper arm spawned pain and fury. Monique turned on her tormenter with a snarl on her lips and relaxed in an instant, letting her best imitation of a soft, feminine charmer come to the surface. He’d be easy enough after a brief struggle but then the soft whir and click of cameras and the warped images in the corner mirrors told her there were too many witnesses.
“I’m sorry,” the guard said. “This is a restricted area. You shouldn’t have been able to get in without registering at the front.”
Monique summoned tears and nodded slowly. “I apologize. I guess I was in such a daze, I did not notice the rules. So much commotion.”
The guard steered her towards the ICU door. “That happens around here.”
Just outside the door, the guard released Monique and directed her to a reception desk, where a worker was just settling in, her attention focused on the three people in front of her, a man and woman with a young girl. The girl croaked, “I have to see my Dad.”
“We have a policy about minors. You need to be with an approved adult.”
“I’m an old neighbor,” the man said. “I used to live in Shoals Court just down the block. Albert Garland, Jr.” The voice sounded familiar.
“Any I.D. Mr. Garland?”
“Just my aunt’s credit card.”
“How about you, Miss?”
As the woman dug around in her purse, Monique poked about in her clutch, inching up until she brushed against the man’s arm. They exchanged looks as he accepted Monique’s apology. She knew that face, though she had never seen it in person, just in police mug shots. The name was ‘James Kelly’ and likely fake as well. He’d gone off in a hurry or he would have had a more convincing presentation. Pinkham had thought the world of him as a subcontractor, though not so Monique. What was he doing here?
The woman said her name was ‘India Daniels’ and she had a driver’s license but the address wasn’t current. Daniels, Monique recalled, was the name of that slow-witted glob of bile who had trashed his own house in front of her. He’d seemed surprised when Monique pulled out the pearls stashed in the closet, so apparently India had some funky business going too. Now that was interesting.
India said, “I recently moved but my aunt lives next door to my old place. You can call her.”
“She’s my aunt too,” the fake Albert added. “She calls me ‘Bertie.’”
Nice touch, Monique thought. The puppy-dog look in the girl’s eye was what finally sold the rickety package. The registrar pointed to India and said, “Sign in. You wait over there, Mr. Garland.” The three conspirators burst out in sincere-sounding gratitude.
Monique drifted away from the reception area and fished her cellphone out of her clutch.
