Chapter 37. Holly
Holly
Shortly after lunchtime, Holly arrived at a small but neat doctor’s office.
Gail’s influence was remarkable. Even though Holly had no prior relationship with Dr. Vernon Hill, a single phone call from the real estate maven was enough to get her an appointment that very afternoon.
It was fortunate—her headache was worsening by the minute.
It had passed the knocking-to-get-in stage. Now it was downright pounding.
The doctor’s office was close to Allen Spellman’s legal practice.
The proximity reminded her to follow up with Shae.
Since she was a fraud examiner, Holly had asked her to dig into those mysterious transfers from the house account to two unknown recipients.
But she hadn’t given any updates yet. Either way, Holly could handle that when she was feeling better.
While the place gave off vibes of a bygone era, it operated with modern efficiency.
Five minutes after check-in, a nurse led Holly to an examination room in the back.
The flat, stainless steel exam table—upholstered in a pretty seafoam green—creaked as Holly climbed onto it.
There were no levers or hydraulics to adjust for her comfort.
A thin paper sheet crinkled under her weight.
Even the wall-mounted instruments looked slightly yellowed with age.
The familiar antiseptic smell carried a faint, musty undertone.
The nurse who escorted her took her vitals. Dr. Hill arrived shortly afterward. Holly was glad no one had made her change into one of those flimsy johnnies that would expose her backside.
Dr. Hill glanced at his clipboard—no digital tablet for him—which held her intake information. “So, Holly, what brings you in today?” he asked with an affable smile, his big, bushy mustache offering a salutation of its own.
Holly didn’t particularly love doctors. She didn’t go as often as she should and couldn’t say what her triglyceride levels were—or what that even meant—but she immediately liked this man.
His friendly nature put her at ease, and she appreciated how he dressed—dapper, with a paisley tie and wide, button-on suspenders attached to his high-waisted trousers.
She described her headaches, explaining how they had been progressively getting worse. He didn’t seem surprised when she talked about the zigzag lines and flashes of light—what she called an aura—that preceded the most intense pain.
“Those visual disturbances can be associated with migraines. Nothing to be alarmed about. Any idea what triggers them? Bright lights? Loud noises? Stress?” He shone a penlight into her eyes.
Holly flinched as if she’d peered into the sun. “No, not really.” How could she admit that proximity to a handyman with a personal connection to her sister’s potential killer might bring them on? She wanted headache pills, not psychiatric meds.
Dr. Hill asked her to look up, down, left, and right.
“Looks good,” he said. Using a handheld scope, he examined the back of her eyes.
When that checked out, he palpated her head, neck, and shoulders, checking for muscle tenderness, which was absent.
Her blood pressure was good, and her reflexes were normal.
Overall, she received a clean bill of health, but Dr. Hill had his prescription pad at the ready.
“I’ll write you two prescriptions—one for a painkiller with a little codeine, another for a high-dose ibuprofen. If the headaches continue, just come back to see me so we can increase the dosage or try new medications.”
The outcome surprised Holly, who didn’t expect to leave with a permission slip for controlled substances.
She needed to stay alert and focused to write, not be dazed and confused, but she gratefully accepted the prescriptions.
It seemed Dr. Hill lived up to his reputation as the Candy Man, making it even more likely that he knew about lesser-known pharmaceuticals as well.
She could look up the medication online, of course, but right now she had an expert in front of her.
She opened her phone to remind herself of the name of the drug listed on the evidence inventory sheet.
“May I ask if you’ve ever heard of a medication called Lypotrel?”
Dr. Hill squinted as if squeezing out a memory.
“Lypotrel … Lypotrel.” His blue eyes brightened.
“Oh yeah, that’s an older weight-loss drug,” he said.
“But it got pulled from the market, maybe ten or fifteen years ago. I never prescribed it, so it wasn’t on my radar, but why is it on yours?
Looking at your chart, you have a perfectly healthy weight and great blood pressure. ”
How sad that she took his observation as a major compliment. She really needed to get out more.
“It’s just something I stumbled across,” she said, hopping down from the table. “Thanks again for fitting me in—I really appreciate it.”
Holly returned home to find Ethan replacing the hinges on the screen door off the porch. Funny—she didn’t remember that being on the to-do list.
“The door was really loud, so I took the liberty of getting you a new set of hinges. It’s a supercheap fix, so don’t even worry about it.
” He stood tall, smiling, moving the door back and forth several times to demonstrate how quietly it opened and closed.
“Keep it locked, though,” he said, “because now someone could get in without you hearing them.”
Holly nodded. She half expected her headache to get worse when their eyes met, but no—she wasn’t feeling any additional pain, probably because she had taken two high-potency ibuprofen. She hadn’t bothered filling the codeine prescription; she didn’t want addiction to accompany her writer’s block.
Ethan began packing up his tools. The sun was getting low, and she figured he’d had a long day as well.
She considered confronting him about his relationship with Conrad but didn’t want to put Ethan on the defensive. She opted for a softer approach.
“Any chance you have time for a cup of tea or lemonade before you go? I wish I had beer to offer you, but I’m not much of a drinker.”
The corners of Ethan’s mouth lifted into a smile. “At my age, I can get a hangover just looking at a bottle of beer.” He chuckled. “Lemonade sounds great.”
Holly poked her head into the refrigerator, emerging a moment later with a grimace. “What about a nice tall glass of ice water?” she offered sheepishly. “I forgot I have a roommate with a sweet tooth. Jade drank all the lemonade.”
“Water would be fine,” said Ethan.
They sat down at her rickety old kitchen table with two mismatched glasses between them.
“So, what’s happening in your writing world these days?” Ethan asked, looking at her with an intensity that made Holly feel shy.
But Holly reminded herself this wasn’t just a friendly chat.
She was on a mission to try to get some facts—without spilling the whole can of her sad, sorry beans.
The last thing she wanted was to burst into tears talking about Anna.
Next, Ethan would be consoling her, and then he’d have his arms around her, and then …
Maybe that wasn’t such a bad idea after all. But no. It was far too much—too personal. Keep it vague, just enough to tease out Handsome Handy.
Holly sighed in frustration. “I’ve been trying to work on a new book, but it’s not going great. Honestly, I’m a little stuck.” A little stuck, as in I may need the Jaws of Life to extract me.
“Guess I’m lucky,” Ethan said. “I don’t get a handyman block.”
She found his cute comment endearing. God, I’d make the worst spy ever.
“Writer’s block is just an excuse for not writing, and if plumbers and such tried the same line, they’d quickly go out of business.”
“You make a fair point, but I’m not starting from a blank page. How do you get over something like that?” he asked.
Holly shrugged. “I’m not sure. I’ve never had it this bad before. Pathetically, I’ve resorted to reading a self-help book about a Zen cat.”
Ethan brightened. “You’re reading Meow Mindfulness?”
“Oh no, not you, too.” Holly narrowed her eyes. She kept talking, hoping to stop him from listing all the reasons he loved the book, which Holly would immediately interpret as flaws in her own writing.
“I’m trying a different genre this time,” she said.
“It’s a little more rooted in nonfiction, but still dramatized.
” This was as much as she could share without being too revealing.
Holly’s mind screamed at her: That’s not how you do intimacy.
You tell the whole, unvarnished truth. But the pattern was set: If she didn’t pick an unavailable man, she became the unavailable one.
Her subconscious sabotaged every chance it got, never believing she was worthy of love.
Guilt was like a cancer that way. It spread throughout her life, attacking in unexpected ways.
“Your new direction sounds intriguing,” Ethan said. “Can you tell me more, or is it top secret until the book comes out? I have no idea how these things work.”
Holly laughed. “It’s not as exciting as it might seem.
Most of this job is grunt work. We live by the axiom: Writing is rewriting, and a little research when necessary.
That’s actually where I’m stuck. I need more information about a crime—or a possible crime—that happened in Beauport almost twenty years ago. ”
Ethan’s body visibly tensed. “Here? There’s hardly any crime in this town.”
“I know. This was highly unusual. Someone died in a suspicious fire.” Someone like my sister, but Holly didn’t need to say that because the look in Ethan’s eyes told her he already knew.
But why hadn’t he said anything to her about it before, and why not say anything right now when the door was wide open?
The answer came as quickly as the question arose. She hadn’t invited him inside her inner world. She gave off so many signals for Ethan not to pry that he would naturally respect her boundaries.