Read Online Malpractice in Maggody by Joan Hess - Free Book Online

awards banquet in Farberville. They shouldn’t be back for at least an hour. You’d better take your car.”
    When we got to her house, I followed her upstairs to her bedroom. It was an eclectic mess of worn stuffed animals, a dusty doll-house in need of a redecorator, posters of male idols posing in low-slung jeans, clothes scattered on the floor, and makeup cluttering a dressing table.
    She cleared a space on her bed for me, then sat down at her computer. “So what are we looking for?”
    “Try ‘Stonebridge Foundation,’” I suggested.
    She clicked here and there on the keyboard. “Nothing. But if I try ‘Stonebridge,’ I get four hundred and fifteen thousand hits. Do you want golf courses, planned unit developments, restaurants, B&Bs, colleges, publishers, car dealerships…?”
    “All right, then,” I said. “See what you can find for Randall Zumi.”
    “Spell it.”
    I didn’t know how, so I offered some possibilities and added that he was a medical doctor. Eventually, Darla Jean pointed. “Here he is. It doesn’t say much, though.”
    She got up so I could sit down in front of the screen. Randall Zumi was employed by the Arkansas State Hospital, the primary destination for those with severe mental illnesses or those awaiting court-mandated evaluations. Randall had attended a state medical school in the East, done a residency at another, and was a board-certified psychiatrist. From the dates listed, I calculated his age to be in the thirties. There was no other personal information.
    “Interesting,” I murmured.
    Darla Jean’s eyes were wide. “So it’s gonna be an insane asylum? When they show them in movies, they sure don’t have swimming pools and gym equipment. It’s always these long, dark corridors with steel doors and rooms where they strap people down to hook up wires to their heads. The patients all walk around with glassy eyes and talk to themselves. I’m getting scared just thinking about it.”
    I’d seen the same shows, and I didn’t have anything to add.

4
    V incent Stonebridge was feeling quite pleased as the limo stopped at the main entrance. The facade was reminiscent of an early-twentieth-century hotel in its prime. The trees and flowerbeds looked as though they’d been there since Victoria had reigned over the fading British Empire. The porch was wide, permitting homey groupings of white wicker furniture and planters filled with cheerful blooms.
    He told the driver to pull around to the back parking area and wait until someone appeared to assist with unloading the suitcases, boxes of books, cases of wine, and necessary electronic paraphernalia such as his computer, stereo equipment, and CDs that would make life in this barbarian village semi-tolerable.
    After straightening his tie and running his manicured fingertips through his thick, silver hair, Vincent stepped into the reception room of the Stonebridge Foundation. The settee and chairs, as well as the desk, were high-quality replicas of expensive European antiques. A vase of fresh flowers was centered on the oblong coffee table. The oriental rug was a muted mixture of rich colors. It was all quite impressive.
    The wings on either side led to the suites and an exterior door at the end of each hall. Previously, there had been eight double rooms for the unfortunate elderly patients in each wing. Now each contained four two-room suites. He went down the left wing and opened a door. Very nice, he thought, looking at the pearl gray walls and lush carpeting. Accents in sage and cranberry enhanced the elegant brocade draperies. The bookshelf held classics bound in leather and slim volumes of poetry to elevate one’s spirits. A small sofa looked inviting, as did an overstuffed chair set next to the window for those who might want to curl up and read. There were, of course, no locks on the inside of the doors, but all in all, it was as charming as some of his favorite hotels in Paris and Rome.
    Vincent returned to the reception