I nodded. I would ask Bernie about it.

“Nasty stuff,” she commented. “It leaves a cold feeling, like someone is watching us.” She shook her head. “It means it’s not just random, doesn’t it?”

“Probably. It wouldn’t hurt to play it safe for a while. Don’t go anywhere alone around here, leave in groups. You know the drill,” I said.

“Yes, unfortunately. This has me nervous, I don’t mind telling you. And I’m glad you’re around.”

“Thanks.” I smiled.

The door swung open. Nurse Betty entered. She looked from me to Millie, then down to the floor, a slight blush spreading over her cheeks. I wondered how my reputation had spread so quickly.

“Uh…I’m sorry…I have to get…there they are,” Betty stammered, heading for a box of rubber gloves stacked on one of the shelves.

“Thanks, Millie,” I said. “Be sure to say hi to Hutch for me. Perhaps you can answer a few questions.” I turned to Nurse Betty.

Millie gave me a wink behind blushing Nurse Betty’s back and, taking the gloves for her, went out the door. To complete her discomfort, I shut the door.

“Have you gotten any obscene letters?”

“I’m sorry, I’m busy now,” she said, flustered at the closed door.

“You could have answered me in the time it took to tell me you’re busy.”

She looked at the door and then at me standing next to it.

“Yes, I have,” she finally said, probably unwilling to get close enough to me to get through the door.

“Do you still have it?”

“I gave it to Cor…Dr. James,” she answered, going the formal route.

I remembered the letter from the ones Cordelia had shown me. It was to Peterson, r.N., and commented on her insatiable sexual appetite, accusing her of sleeping with a different man every night.

“Any truth to it?” I asked.

“No, of course not.”

“No?” I questioned.

“No,” she responded angrily. “It’s bad enough having that…that sort of trash. I don’t need your ugly accusations now.”

“Not accusing, just asking,” I laconically replied. I noticed a small cross around her neck.

“No, I do not sleep around. And I’m sure you’ll find this hard to believe, but I believe in the sanctity of marriage and I’m…” Then she ran out of indignation and blushed again.

“A virgin?” I supplied.

“I’m sure you find it amusing,” she retorted defensively.

“No. I think the important thing is for people to choose what’s right for themselves,” I said. “Without ridicule or intolerance from those who disagree.”

“Oh,” she replied. “I’m sorry. I guess I’m just upset. Those accusations…” and she trailed off.

“Are pretty nasty. Have you gotten any phone calls?”

“No, only the one letter.”

I opened the door.

“Thank you,” I said as she walked through it.

“You’re welcome,” she replied, polite enough to really be a virgin.

I caught Bernice, the administrative assistant, between patients and paperwork. She confirmed Millie’s story and added another letter, which she had also burned. She also confirmed that the letter was right about her living with her mother. And like Cordelia, she’d gotten a phone call. Her name, then “Motherfucker,” was all he had said before hanging up. She explained the phones to me. Each of the doctors, Cordelia and two others who were part time, had a phone in their offices with a private line. There was another phone on her desk and one in the back. Only the main phone number was listed. Cordelia and Dr. Bowen had both gotten calls on their private lines.

Dr. Bowen wasn’t in, but I had seen the letter to her among those Cordelia had shown me. It suggested that her husband was divorcing her because he’d caught her fondling her son while giving him a bath.

Bernice told me that Dr. Bowen was indeed going through a nasty divorce. And she added that the idea of Jane Bowen being a child molester was absurd.

I thanked Bernie, as she insisted I call her, and let her get back to her work.

The waiting room was starting to empty since it was lunchtime. I had seen Cordelia once crossing between examining rooms, but she hadn’t seen me. I wandered back out into the main hallway, planning to hang around and chat for a moment with her. At least let her see me hard at work.

I walked down the hall, glancing in all the doors, trying to get a feeling for who belonged where. As I passed by Sister Ann’s, she motioned me in.

“I thought you’d like to know,” she said as I entered. “I got one today.” She handed me a letter printed with a poor dot-matrix printer.

“Thank you,” I said as I sat down opposite her and started to read.

My Oh-So-Dear Sister Ann,

You weren’t always such a good nun, were you? We know the things you liked to do before you put on that convenient habit. We know you still do them. We know what goes on underneath that skirt of yours.

The letter continued with some specific descriptions of what she was doing under her skirt.

It ended with a threat. “Be careful or we’ll help God get you for your sins.”

I handed it back to her.

“Should I call the police?” she asked.

“If you want. They might be able to do things I can’t. But I doubt obscene letters are at the top of their priority list.”

“True.” She nodded.

“Any…you’re not going to like this question,” I qualified, “truth to the letter?”

“No, I don’t think so,” she answered. “Why do you ask?”

I told her about the other letters.

She nodded and glanced again at the letter, throwing it down quickly.

“Perhaps,” she said. “I didn’t become a nun until my twenties. I was even engaged for a brief time.”

“To a man?” I stumbled out. Nun sexuality was not something I was well versed in.

“Yes, to a man,” Sister Ann replied.

“Oh. What happened?”

“Things changed. No, I guess I changed. What I wanted changed,” Sister Ann slowly replied.

“What happened to him?”

“Randall? I haven’t thought of him in…a long time. After I took my vows, I broke all contact with him. I don’t know what became of him.”

“Did you…” Then I stammered, realizing the question I was about at ask. All my training concerning nuns kicked in. One certainly couldn’t ask them about pre-vocational sex. “Never mind,” I finished.

“The letter exaggerates greatly, as they all do. But I can’t say I’ve never been kissed. Somehow the letter writer found out about my indecision about being a nun. And twisted it badly,” she answered the question I hadn’t asked.

“Sorry,” I apologized, to let her know I only asked nuns questions like that in the line of duty.

“Perfectly all right,” she replied. “It does point out the pattern in these letters. The writer learns something about the person, includes it in the letter, and then dumps sexual innuendo on top.”

“A bit more than innuendo,” I added.

“A bit,” Sister Ann echoed.

“Can I make a copy of this?”

“Certainly, if you like.”

“Thanks.”

I picked up the letter and went back to the clinic. The waiting room was empty now. There was a copy machine back in the office. Since the anonymous benefactor who had hired me had also, I suspected, bought the copier, I felt I had the right to use it without asking permission. No one was around to ask anyway. I went past Bernie’s desk into the office.

Then I saw Nurse Peterson kneeling down behind one of the file cabinets. She jumped when she saw me. Once again she was caught alone in a room with a lesbian.

“Sorry to have startled you,” I said as I turned on the copy machine.

“I didn’t hear you come in,” she replied.

“Sneakers.”

“Oh…of course,” she replied, as she straightened up, then walked by me to leave.

“Is Cordelia around?” I asked.

“She left about ten minutes ago.”

“Lunch?” I inquired.

“No, to the hospital to see her patients there. She should be back for her two-thirty appointment.”

Nurse Peterson continued walking away. I made my copy, disappointed at not having seen Cordelia.

Well, it’s obvious why Cordelia hired me, I thought as I walked back to Sister Ann’s office. Because I was a woman, and not for any other reason. The women, and so far it seemed to be only women, who had gotten those letters probably wouldn’t talk to a strange man about what was in them.

I handed the letter back to Sister Ann and thanked her. Then I went to my car, trying to decide what to do next. Cordelia wouldn’t be around for several hours. I wanted to call Andy and ask him about printers; I also wanted to talk to Elly, but she wouldn’t be here until later in the day. It was time to go back to my office. I’d catch Cordelia tomorrow, I decided.

I drove around the neighborhood, just on the off chance of spotting someone leering at the clinic with a laptop computer and a portable dot-matrix printer. No such luck.

I drove back home.

I left messages for both Andy and Elly, not getting either of them. For a brief minute I enjoyed the idea of Danny wondering why I was calling Elly, then I remembered that Cordelia had certainly told Danny I was investigating the letters.

After that I did exciting things like fix lunch, feed the cat, and sort bills into piles. The must-be-paid-immediately-or-risk-losing-life-and-limb pile on one side and the no-mention-of-visits-from-ex-Saint-linebackers-yet pile.

The phone rang. It was Joanne.

“Can I come over?” she asked.

“Sure. When?” was my answer.

“Six or seven. Is that okay?”

“That’s fine.”

“See you then. Thanks.”

She hung up. I had wondered if she would really call me. Or if I had just been…handy. I still wasn’t sure. I also wondered why she thanked me.

I went to take a shower. I wasn’t going to worry about it.

Chapter 9

Joanne arrived a little after six. She didn’t say much, but neither did I. We made love, half spread between the couch and my living room floor. Then we moved to my bedroom and its air conditioner. We made love again, still getting hot and sweaty even in the cool of the bedroom.

“Are you hungry?” she asked, turning to me when we had finished.

“Somewhat.”

“Let’s go,” Joanne said, sitting up.

“No, wait…I’d like to lie here a bit longer,” I replied, not wanting to abruptly jump up after our lovemaking, as if it were merely a physical need now sated.

I felt her stretch back beside me.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “Sometimes I get so caught up in getting things done that I forget there are moments when that’s not the point.”

She put her arms around me. I curled into her embrace, letting her hold me, my head nestled against her shoulder. We lay still for a moment, just holding each other.

“Dinnertime,” I said, breaking away.

“Thank you,” Joanne said.

“For what? Finally letting you eat?” I joked.

“For letting me hold you.”

“I…” I started to make another joke, something like I got off, too, but that wasn’t what she meant. “I…thank you. Sometimes it’s nice to be held.”

“Yes, it is,” Joanne answered. “Let’s get out of here. Someplace with air conditioning in more than one room.”

“Inexpensive,” I stipulated.

“Of course,” Joanne said. She knew I wouldn’t let her buy my food twice in a row.

After dinner, we lingered over coffee. I told Joanne about the letters. She agreed with me in not liking the accuracy of some elements of them. She offered to check around to see if there was any record of a poison-pen that preferred a word processor for his missives.

Then there was a pause. Into which I inserted the question that had been nagging me.

“What about Alex?”

Joanne looked at me. “I need this,” she said. “I…Either she’ll understand or she won’t.” She shrugged, closing the subject.

We paid the check and left.

“Show me the clinic,” Joanne said as we got in her car.