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“Did your negligence cause the Leonard girl’s death?”
She had been asked the other questions a thousand times before and had become inured to them. They bounced off the armor of repetition. But the last question brought her around. “What?” Looking directly at the young female reporter who had posed the question, she repeated, “
What did you say?”
“Did your negligence cause the embolism that killed Letty Leonard?”
“No!”
“You were the first doctor to attend her.”
“That’s correct. And I did everything possible to save her arm and her life.”
“Apparently the Leonards don’t think so or they wouldn’t be suing you for medical malpractice.”
Had Lara not had experience in masking her reaction to personal and probing questions and verbal salvos, she might have reeled under the impact of this one. Instead she gazed back at the reporter without revealing her inner turmoil. The muscles in her face felt wooden, but she managed to move her lips sufficiently to get out the words.
“I took drastic measures to save Letty Leonard’s life. Her parents are well aware of that. I haven’t been notified of a pending malpractice suit. That’s all I have to say.”
Naturally the news hounds didn’t accept that as her final word. As she drove away, they were still aiming lenses and microphones at her, hurling questions like stones. She gripped the steering wheel with sweating hands, keeping her eyes forward, ignoring the curious onlookers as she drove past them.
It was a warm, humid morning, but she hadn’t been uncomfortable with the heat until the reporters had resurrected the ugly past. Now her clothes were sticking to her damp skin, her head was pounding, and her heart was beating at an alarming rate. She felt nauseated.
What had initiated all this media attention? Her move to Eden Pass had gone unnoticed; she’d lived in relative anonymity for more than a year. There had been newer scandals to exploit, more sensational stories to expose, sinners more sinful than she caught sinning. The story of Lara Porter and Senator Tackett had been buried in the graveyard of dead stories ages ago.
Until this morning. Letty Leonard’s death had exhumed her. Once again she was a notorious public figure.
Yet, the story of Letty’s accident, tragic as it was, hadn’t warranted statewide or national media coverage; only the local press had reported it. Naturally, her name would have been in Letty’s medical file, but unless a reporter was very astute, he wouldn’t have connected Dr. Lara Mallory of Eden Pass with Lara Porter, Senator Clark Tackett’s mistress.
In subsequent stories about Letty’s surgery and recovery, she hadn’t been mentioned at all, for which she’d been glad. The less publicity she generated, the better. She wouldn’t have cared if her name never again appeared in newsprint. But it was going to appear now, with the stigmatizing word malpractice shadowing it.
Through the entire incident with Clark, through the disaster in Montesangre, her proficiency as a physician had never come under fire. Her reputation as an accomplished doctor had withstood the bombardments to her character. She had clung to that last vestige of pride.
Now, if the Leonards even suggested they might pursue a medical malpractice suit, her work would be placed under a microscope. It would be laid bare and dissected just as her private life had been. Nothing incriminating would be found, but that didn’t matter. The examination itself would create headlines. In the public’s mind, being suspect was equivalent to being guilty.
Once again she would become fodder for the news mill. Her floundering practice—the only important thing left her—would suffer until it was extinct.
Someone must have tipped the media that the Dr. Mallory who had first attended Letty Leonard was none other than the infamous slut Lara Porter.
As she had feared, parked outside her clinic were cars and vans designated with call letters. When she pulled her car into the rear driveway, reporters swarmed her. She shoved her way through them and entered the clinic via the back door, which Nancy was holding open for her.
“What in hell is going on?” the nurse demanded as she slammed the door behind Lara.
“The rumor is out that the Leonards are suing me for malpractice.”
“Have they lost their minds?”
“I’m sure they have. To grief.”
“These people,” Nancy said, indicating the reporters just beyond the closed door, “and I use the term loosely, showed up about an hour ago and started pounding on the door. I didn’t know what to think. The phone hasn’t stopped ringing.” Sure enough, the phone rang.
“Don’t answer it.”
“What do you want me to do, Dr. Mallory?”
“Call Sheriff Baxter and ask him to remove these reporters from the premises.”
“Can he do that?”
