Page 29 of Laced With Secrets
CHAPTER SEVEN
Dominic returned twenty-eight minutes later—I’d been keeping track without quite knowing why—carrying a bag from Fifth Street Deli that smelled like heaven.
I practically lunged for it. “You’re amazing.”
“I know,” he said, setting the bag on the counter with a slightly bemused expression. “Though I have to say, the guy at the deli is extremely talkative. I thought I was just picking up sandwiches, but I got the full run-down about the district’s history.”
“Which guy?” I asked, already tearing into the my monte cristo. The raspberry jam on sourdough was perfect, exactly what I needed.
“David. David Kowalski, I think?” Dominic pulled out his own sandwich.
“Oh, David’s great. He’s married to Margie Patterson’s daughter.” I took another bite, practically groaning at how good it tasted. “What was he going on about?”
“Apparently everyone in the district is talking about Thomas.” Dominic unwrapped his sandwich, watching me devour mine with obvious amusement. “David said people have been coming in all week with theories and memories. The whole Historical Society crowd is buzzing.”
I paused mid-bite. “What kind of theories?”
“The usual small-town speculation, from what I could tell. Who Thomas knew, who he worked with, why someone would have wanted him gone.” Dominic took a bite of his own sandwich. “David mentioned that his wife’s family has been in the district forever. Her mother—Margie—used to be a nurse back in the seventies, worked for Dr. James.”
“Nurse Margie,” I said, recognition flooding through me. “Margie Patterson. She lives at Millcrest Meadows now—the assisted living community on Oak Street.”
Dominic reached for his chips—regular potato chips, not the salt and vinegar ones I’d claimed. “He did say she told his wife that she wishes she could have done more back then.”
My investigative instincts perked up immediately. “Did Thomas confide in her?”
“According to David’s secondhand account from his wife, maybe?” Dominic pushed his regular chips toward me when he noticed me eyeing them. “Want one?”
“Just one.” I took a chip, the classic salty crunch satisfying in a different way than my vinegar ones. “Did David say what exactly Margie knew?”
“Nothing specific. Just that she mentioned Thomas came to see Dr. James for something, and Margie was worried about him.Said he seemed troubled in those last few weeks.” Dominic’s expression grew more thoughtful. “Though I’m not sure how much she can legally tell us, even now. HIPAA protections and all that.”
I nearly choked on my chip. “You’re worried about HIPAA violations? You and Blake literally staged a hostile corporate takeover? Remember that?”
“That was legal,” Dominic said primly. “Ruthless, but legal. There’s a difference.”
“Oh, so you draw the line at medical privacy laws?”
“I draw the line at federal violations that could get a nice elderly nurse in trouble,” he corrected, reaching over and stealing one of my salt and vinegar chips with zero remorse.
“Hey!” I pulled the bag protectively closer. “Those are mine!”
“Community property,” he said, popping it in his mouth and making a face at the intensity. “We’re practically married.”
“We’re not married yet, and even if we were, the baby wanted that chip.” I cradled my chip bag dramatically. “You’re stealing from your own child.”
Dominic laughed, the sound warm and genuine. “Fine. I’ll buy you an entire bag when we pick up flowers for Nurse Margie.”
“Flowers?”
“You said she’s in assisted living. People always appreciate visitors who bring something.” He checked his watch. “We have time to stop at Henderson’s Flower Shop after your doctor’s appointment. Get her a nice arrangement, and maybe some chocolates.”
“You’re going to bribe an elderly nurse with flowers and chocolate to get around HIPAA?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.
“I’m going to be polite and respectful to an elderly woman who might have information that could help solve Thomas’ murder,” Dominic corrected. “What she chooses to share is entirely up to her. And if she happens to mention things she remembers from before HIPAA was enacted in 1996, well…” He shrugged. “That’s just conversation between concerned community members.”
“HIPAA was enacted in 1996,” I repeated slowly. “Thomas died in 1973.”
“Exactly.” Dominic’s smile turned slightly smug. “So while she’d be bound by professional ethics and patient confidentiality in a general sense, there are no actual federal privacy violations involved in discussing care from over fifty years ago, especially for a deceased patient whose case is now part of an active murder investigation.”