“I’m wondering if you could help me out with something.”
“Of course,” he said. Still beaming. I imagined this guy didn’t get a lot of attention from women—especially ones who shared hisDoctor Whoobsession. “By the way, you ever go to the Who-cons?”
“No, but I’ve always wanted to.” I was improvising now. “I heard there was a good one in Worcester.”
“You haven’t lived,” he said, “till you’ve been to the London one.”
“I bet.”
He sat there, gazing into my eyes, a look on his face like he was about to book us two plane tickets for Heathrow. This was starting to get uncomfortable.
“So what can I help you with?” he said.
I exhaled. “Do you happen to know Rhonda Lewis?”
“Oh. Sure,” he said, the glow fading. “She works here. Well, I mean, she’s on temporary leave right now. But…yeah. I know her.”
“What’s your opinion of her?”
He shrugged. “Nice lady. Good at her job. Why?”
“She ever mention the name Dylan Welch to you?”
“Um…I don’t think so, but the name sounds familiar. Was he ever a patient?”
I shook my head. “Doubt it,” I said. “He runs an energy drink company.”
“You mean the one that killed Rhonda’s kid?”
“Well…”
“That stuff is so unhealthy.”
I cleared my throat. “There’s warning labels.”
“Kids don’t read warning labels.”
I looked at him. “That’s true,” I said. It was.
“I’m a private investigator,” I said. “Dylan Welch has gone missing and I’ve been hired to find him. We found some texts from Rhonda on his phone, and I wanted to ask her a few questions about him, but I don’t have any of her info.”
He started typing into his computer. A nurse appeared and called out a name, and a woman stood up, her bloody hand wrapped in a towel.
“Just what I thought,” Steve said.
“What?”
He cleared his throat. “If you want to give me your contact info, I can pass it on to Rhonda,” he said, all business now. “And I promise not to exploit your friendliness and spur-of-the-momentDoctor Whoresearch.”
My face burned. “That isn’t fair. I really do like the show.”
He smirked. “Sure, Sunny,” he said. “Regardless, thanks for looking me in the eye and talking to me like a fellow human. It’s not often that happens in here, so I don’t much care about the motivation behind it.”
I took out my card, embarrassment coursing through me. I made an early New Year’s resolution: Stop underestimating people.
I wrote my mobile number on the back of the card. “That’s the best way to reach me,” I said. “A lot of times—now, for instance—I’m not in the office.”
I handed it to Steve. He looked at it.
