Outside her room, with its Do Not Disturb sign still in place, Marissa hesitated. Even though no one knew she was registered under an assumed name, the memory of Chicago haunted her. She opened the door carefully, scanning the premises before going in. Then she propped the door open with a chair and warily searched the room. She checked under the beds, in the closet and in the bathroom. Everything was as she’d left it. Satisfied, Marissa closed and locked her door, using all the bolts and chains available.
15
May 23-continued
MARISSA ATE SOME OF the generous portion of fruit she’d ordered from room service for her breakfast that morning, peeling an apple with the sharp paring knife that had come with it. Now that her suspicions appeared to be true, she wasn’t sure what to do next. The only thing she could think of was to go to Ralph’s lawyer and tell him what she believed: that a small group of right-wing physicians were introducing Ebola into privately owned clinics to erode public trust in HMOs. She could hand over the meager evidence she had and let him worry about the rest of the proof. Maybe he could even suggest a safe place for her to hide while things were being sorted out.
Putting down the apple, she reached for the phone. She felt much better having come to a decision. She dialed Ralph’s office number and was pleasantly surprised to be immediately put through to him.
“I gave my secretary specific instructions,” explained Ralph. “In case you don’t know it, I’m concerned about you.”
“You’re sweet,” said Marissa, suddenly touched by Ralph’s sympathy. It undermined the tight control she’d been holding over her emotions. For a second she felt like the child who didn’t cry after a fall until she saw her mother.
“Are you coming home today?”
“That depends,” said Marissa, biting her lip and taking a deep breath. “Do you think I can talk to that lawyer today?” Her voice wavered.
“No,” said Ralph. “I called his office this morning. They said he had to go out of town but that he’s expected back tomorrow.”
“Too bad,” said Marissa, her voice beginning to shake.
“Marissa, are you all right?” asked Ralph.
“I’ve been better,” admitted Marissa. “I’ve had some awful experiences.”
“What happened?”
“I can’t talk now,” said Marissa, knowing if she tried to explain, she’d burst into tears.
“Listen to me,” said Ralph. “I want you to come here immediately. I didn’t want you going to New York in the first place. Did you run into Dubchek again?”
“Worse than that,” said Marissa.
“Well, that settles it,” said Ralph. “Get the next flight home. I’ll come and pick you up.”
The idea had a lot of appeal, and she was about to say as much when there was a knock on her door. Marissa froze.
The knock was repeated.
“Marissa, are you there?”
“Just a minute,” said Marissa into the phone. “There’s someone at the door. Stay on the line.”
She put the phone down on the night table and warily approached the door. “Who is it?”
“A delivery for Miss Kendrick.” Marissa opened the door a crack but kept the safety catch on. One of the uniformed bellmen was standing there, holding a large package covered with white paper.
Flustered, she told the bellman to wait while she went back to the phone. She told Ralph that someone was at her door and that she’d call back as soon as she knew what flight she was taking home to Atlanta that evening.
“You promise?” asked Ralph.
“Yes!” said Marissa.
Returning to the door, Marissa looked out into the hall again. The bellman was leaning against the wall opposite, still holding the package. Who could have sent “Miss Kendrick” flowers when as far as Marissa knew her friend was living happily on the West Coast?
Returning to the phone, she called the desk and asked if she’d gotten any flowers. The concierge said, yes, they were on their way up.
Marissa felt a little better, but not enough to take off the chain. Instead, she called through the crack, “I’m terribly sorry, but would you mind leaving the flowers? I’ll get them in a few minutes.”