Free Yellow Rose Mysteries 02 - A Wedding to Die For by Leann Sweeney Page B

up her office phone and dialed four numbers. “Roger, I need a new cable for my computer.”
    She listened, then said, “How would I know—”
    “You need an Ethernet cable,” I said.
    She relayed this information with a satisfied smile and hung up. “You are quite a useful, young woman. Quite competent. What can I do for you?”
    I glanced around. “Can we, um . . . sit?”
    “Oh, God forgive me, yes. Don’t have many visitors aside from doctors and they never sit.” She wove her way through the clutter—reminded me of home—and opened a closet door on the far wall. Several thin boxes fell from a shelf and hospital stationery spilled everywhere. A broom toppled as well. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” she muttered before returning with a padded folding chair. She left the fallen items where they lay.
    Once we were seated with her swivel chair facing me, I handed her my card. “I’m helping a young woman find her birth mother and not having much luck. Maybe you can help.”
    After glancing at the card, she put it down, pursed her lips, and closed her eyes, wagging a finger. “If it’s a medical record you need, let me assure you they are like a nun’s dreams—not to be shared with the public.”
    “I understand, but could I explain? That might give you a better idea on how you might help me.”
    “Well, you’ve certainly helped me out, so if I can do a damn thing—make that a blessed thing—I will.”
    I told her about the case, including my conversation with the nurse today. The more I talked, the more tight her features grew.
    When I finished, she said, “Let me see your confidentiality release and the birth certificate.”
    I removed the birth certificate from the envelope and handed it to her along with the release. After returning them, she sat back, lips tight with anger. “I am not without fault, won’t ever be nominated for sainthood, but I don’t abide liars.”
    Liars? What the heck was she talking about? “Have I done something wrong?”
    “Not you, dear. Him.”
    “Him?”
    “Our administrator. But I suppose when you mix the healing arts with business, you should expect that kind of behavior. Mr. Hansen told you the records went back only twenty years?”
    “Yes.”
    “That’s a damn lie and he knows it. He was simply too lazy to follow through on your request.”
    Whoa. Obviously there was more about Mr. Hansen she’d be willing to share, but I tried to get her back on track. “I returned to pursue this, so it’s okay.”
    “It’s not okay and he will hear about this. And then he better get his fat ass to confession.” She crossed her arms and leaned back. And then unexpectedly grinned. “Of course, I’ll be right alongside him, don’t you know?”
    I laughed, felt myself relax. “Bet you will.”
    “Now,” she said, “let’s get to work on your Megan.” She put her hands on the keyboard, then stopped. “Damn. Where’s Roger with that cable?”
    She picked up the phone and dialed the four numbers again. “Roger? When did you think you’d get that stupid cable over here? Next year?” She put down the receiver without saying good-bye and smiled at me. “I tend to annoy people. That’s why I work alone.”
    “I call it the broken-record technique,” I said.
    “I like that. And broken records are actually good for something. They get results.”
    Seconds later the man who I assumed was Roger scurried in carrying the cable. Sister Nell rose and backed away from her desk, bumping into a filing cabinet when she did. She clutched her elbow and winced, but if she swore this time I didn’t hear her.
    Once Roger made the switch, she returned to her computer and booted up.
    “Hand me the certificate again,” she said.
    After I gave it to her, she checked the date and gave it back.
    I was about to return it to my briefcase, but then realized I’d never looked at the copy after Megan gave it to me, not gotten “the good look” Angel suggested.
    I stared down at it