Free The Doctor Rocks the Boat by Robin Hathaway

was unusual. Mrs. Doyle lifted the receiver. It was Mrs. Lopez—and she sounded upset.
    â€œWhat time did Ray leave?” she asked.
    â€œThe usual time—about 12:01,” Mrs. Doyle told her.
    â€œWell, he’s not home yet. Do you know where he could be?”
    Mrs. Doyle tried to remember if Horatio had mentioned anything about going someplace after work. His conversations with the nurse were usually monosyllabic, and she couldn’t remember him saying anything to her but “Hi” and “So long.” “I can’t think of a thing,” said Mrs. Doyle. “I ordered a cab for him, gave him some money out of petty cash, and thought he was going straight home.”
    The silence at the other end of the line quivered with anxiety.
    â€œCould he have stopped off at a friend’s house?” Mrs. Doyle suggested. “Or gone to a music store?” She knew how Rat loved his CDs.
    â€œHe wouldn’t have given up the cab too far from home,” his mother said. “He can’t walk more than a few blocks with those crutches.”
    Mrs. Doyle considered. “I could call the cab company. They keep records of all their passenger pickup and drop-off locations,” she offered.
    â€œOh, would you, Mrs. Doyle? I’d be so—”
    Doyle heard a door slam in the background over Mrs. Lopez’s voice.
    â€œ
There you are!
Where have you been?”
    Mrs. Doyle gently replaced the receiver.
    Gradually the traffic loosened up and Fenimore was able to escape the expressway via the ramp near the zoo. He maneuvered his way through the narrow streets of Brewery Town, past the golden statue of Joan of Arc, to Eakins Circle, below the art museum. Kelly Drive was cordoned off by yellow police tape for the regatta and every parking space was taken.
    â€œPull over and get out,” Jennifer said. “I’ll park the car and meet you later.”
    Fenimore obeyed. As he jumped out he called back, “Come to the picnic ground below the grandstand. I’ll be with the Ashburn party.”
    The last Jennifer saw of him, he was making his way up the parkway toward Kelly Drive, head down, his expression anxious. In his business suit, regimental striped tie, and oxfords, he stood out like a sore thumb among the rest of the crowd who were dressed for a casual Saturday afternoon in shorts and jeans, T-shirts and sweats. As he trudged off in the shadow of that great Greek monument, the Philadelphia Art Museum, dressed in the wrong clothes, to try to save a young man’s life, Jennifer found his figure touching. It wasn’t until she lost sight of him in the crowd that she moved on to look for a parking space.

CHAPTER 15
    A s Fenimore approached the grandstand, he paused to watch a race of eights finishing on the river. The contrast between the shells skimming effortlessly over the water and the extreme effort marking the faces of the eight men inside was almost comical. Once over the line, they slowed their pace, but did not stop until they had gone a dozen lengths. Then they collapsed, as if picked off by some hidden sniper. A few minutes later, however, they had recovered and were rowing toward the judges’ stand to pick up their award. Fenimore moved swiftly on, berating himself for pausing for even a minute in his search for Chuck.
    He saw Caroline first. Pale and strained, she was distributing sandwiches to a circle of friends seated on lawn chairs and blankets. Charlie, a paper cup in one hand and a pitcher of something pink in the other, was staggering among his guests, already seriously inebriated. There was a law against alcohol in Fairmount Park, and if caught with it, you paid a stiff fine. Although the stuff in Charlie’s pitcher resembled lemonade, Fenimore was sure it was 90 percent vodka.
    Caroline spied Fenimore and smiled, waving him over. Charlie caught sight of him at the same time and ostentatiously turned hisback. He still had not