A Dose of Murder by Lori Avocato Page A

blast and told myself he was right. What possessed me to dress this way for Vance?
    A little voice in my head, the voice of my Catholic-school-induced conscience, said it was because I’d been infatuated with Mr. Suburban and was trying to ignore that fact by seducing Vance.
    Oh what a tangled web we . . .
    At the restaurant Vance gave the keys to one valet while another opened my door. Vance and I hurried inside, where he promptly ordered a 1973 Dom Perignon (which cost more than I made at my ex-nursing job in a month) for him and a Coors for me. I didn’t do Perignon.
    â€œWhat have you been up to, Vance?” I asked, once the nearby fire had crackled me toasty warm. The Coors didn’t hurt either.
    He took a long slow sip of his drink, swished it around in his mouth, swallowed and said, “Working as usual. How about you?”
    It dawned on me that Vance wasn’t privy to my career change, so I told him the bare facts of burning out on nursing, stopping short as to my current career. Just didn’t seem right to tell him, so I said Miles found me a job with his uncle. Period.
    â€œMy God, Pauline, you sure you know what you are doing? Giving up a career in nursing to do who knows what.”
    My second lie of the night rolled off my tongue. “Of course I know what I’m doing, hon. Don’t worry.” I didn’t know “what” either.
    The waiter handed us menus. Vance ordered for both of us—something else I gave up trying to change years ago. The guy had fabulous taste and other than that blackened mahi-mahi back in 1999, I loved anything he ordered.
    We chatted and dined until the cognac for him arrived followed by the crème brûlée for me. No wasted calories on liquor for Pauline Sokol, with an admitted sweet tooth. I did keep it under control most times and got my chocolate fix from those power bars. Tonight, though, I needed sugar.
    He took a sip of his drink, paused and, I would imagine by the pleased look on his face, savored the taste. “Did I tell you I took the job near Saint Greg’s?”
    A spoonful of the smooth, sweet custard-like dessert poised in midair, I said, “Miles
did
mention you were looking for a change.”
    â€œTwo physicians in one practice aren’t enough.”
    Money wasn’t an issue for a Taylor, so I assumed he meant with only one partner, he was on call too often. I had to smile at that one. A doctor who didn’t want to work scads of hours a day. “Whereabouts are you, then?”
    He held his snifter up to the light, swirled, leaned nearer and then sipped. “Over on Dearborn Road. Very convenient to the hospital.”
    Dearborn. Dearborn. Sounded familiar. Actually I knew the street was perpendicular to Ashley, where the hospital was, but why was that street so familiar? I took another bite to think it out.
    â€œHope Valley Orthopedic Group,” he said in a matter-of-fact tone.
    I looked up, spoon clenched in my mouth. “Wope Walley Orfopedic—”
    â€œTake the spoon out, Pauline. I can’t understand you.”
    I yanked out the spoon and flipped a droplet of crème brûlée across the table to land on Vance’s expensive silver silk tie. “Jesus, Pauline! What the hell?”
    Yikes! Vance was a neat freak, and wearing expensive pudding didn’t sit well for him. I grabbed a napkin and started to wipe. He took my hand away and motioned for the waiter, who scurried over as if Vance were on fire. “Seltzer water. And hurry.”
    â€œI’ll have it cleaned. You’re working at the Hope Valley Orthopedic clinic?” My voice sounded horrified.
    Vance raised an eyebrow. “I am an orthopedic surgeon. There are five of us in the practice. . . .”
    I knew he was talking since his lips kept moving, but all I could hear was my mind screaming, “He’s working with Tina Macaluso and her husband!”

Five
    â€œOh