After they had finished their lunch, they walked out into the bright late spring sunshine.
“What’s the status on the lighting of the parking lots?” Traynor asked.
“It’s all done,” Beaton said. “It’s been done for over a week. But we decided to restrict the lighting to the lower lot. The upper is used only during the day, and by doing only the lower, we saved a considerable amount of money.”
“Sounds reasonable,” Traynor said.
Close to the Green Mountain National Bank they ran into Wayne Robertson. His wide-brimmed, trooper style hat was low on his forehead to shield his eyes from the sun. As added protection he was wearing highly reflective sunglasses.
“Afternoon,” Traynor said amicably.
Robertson touched the brim of his hat in a form of salute.
“Any startling developments in the Hodges case?” Traynor asked.
“Hardly,” Robertson said. “In fact, we’re thinking about dropping it.”
“I wouldn’t be too premature,” Traynor warned. “Remember, that old geezer had a penchant for appearing when least expected.”
“And unwanted,” Beaton added.
“Dr. Cantor thinks he’s in Florida,” Robertson said. “I’m starting to believe it myself. I think that little scandal about the hospital taking care of his house embarrassed him enough to leave town.”
“I would have thought he’d have thicker skin than that,” Traynor said. “But who am I to guess.”
After exchanging farewells and good wishes for the weekend, the four returned to their respective jobs.
As Beaton drove up the hill toward the hospital, she thought about Traynor and her relationship with him. She wasn’t happy; she wanted more. Trysts once or twice a month were hardly what she’d expected.
Beaton had met Traynor several years previously when he’d come to Boston to take a refresher course in tax law. She’d been working in the city as an assistant administrator in one of the Harvard hospitals. The attraction was instantaneous and mutual. They spent a torrid week together, then rendezvoused intermittently until he’d recruited her to come to Bartlet to run the hospital. She’d been led to believe that they would eventually live together, but so far it hadn’t happened. Traynor had not gotten the divorce he’d promised was imminent. Beaton felt she had to do something to rectify the situation; she just didn’t know what.
Back at the hospital, Beaton went directly to room 204, where she expected to find Tom Baringer. She intended to make sure he was comfortable. He wasn’t there. Instead Beaton was surprised to discover another patient: a woman by the name of Alice Nottingham. Beaton set her jaw, descended to the first floor, and marched into Caldwell’s office.
“Where’s Baringer?” she asked curtly.
“Room 204,” Caldwell said.
“Unless Mr. Baringer has had a sex change operation and is going by the name of Alice, he’s not in 204.”
Caldwell quickly got to his feet. “Something’s gone wrong.” He pushed past Beaton and hurried across the hall to admissions. There he sought out Janice Sperling and asked her what had happened to Tom Baringer.
“I put him in 209,” Janice said.
“I told you to put him in 204,” Caldwell said.
“I know,” Janice admitted. “But since we talked, 209 came available. It’s a larger room. You said Mr. Baringer was a special patient. I thought he’d like 209 better.”
“204 has a better view, plus it has the new orthopedic bed,” Caldwell said. “The man has a broken hip. Either change rooms or change beds.”
“Okay,” Janice said, rolling her eyes. Some people could never be pleased.
Caldwell went to Beaton’s office and stuck his head through the door. “I’m sorry for not having followed up on that situation,” he said. “But it will be rectified within the hour. I promise.”
Beaton nodded and went back to her work.