Chapter 18: The Doctor in Avon Lake

The nurse's copy was a pink carbon slip, folded in quarters and soft from being kept in a Bible.

I held it under the lamp in Pete's back office.

Baby Boy Dolan. 6:52 AM. 7 lb 2 oz.

Beside the weight, in blue ink, were two sets of initials.

One was the nurse's.

The other, a loopy D and a sharp K, was the doctor who had delivered me.

"I looked her up," my lawyer said. "She retired four years ago to a house in Avon Lake."

He tapped the desk.

"Three years ago she sold her practice's building to a company with a Dolan family trust behind it."

"Bernadette paid her off."

"Paid her at least twice."

Ty stood in the doorway with his arms folded.

He hadn't said a word since I put the slip on the desk.

"I want to come," he said at last.

"Then you stay quiet," I said. "She'll close up if she sees a man shouting."

"I won't shout."

"You will. But not in the first minute."

The house in Avon Lake was white, with blue shutters and a boat on a trailer in the side yard.

The doctor answered the door in gardening gloves.

She was seventy, with short silver hair and sharp eyes, and she recognized me before I said a word.

"Lena," she said. "You look well."

"I look tired," I said. "I'm told it passes."

Her eyes slid to Ty.

"Mr. Dolan."

"Doctor."

"Would you like to come in?"

"Yes."

Her kitchen smelled of lemon and old coffee.

She sat at the table with her gloves on, and I laid the pink slip in front of her.

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