“I can give you some advice,” Donna said. “If you’re really worried about what Marissa might do, you should hire a private investigator for a few days. He could keep her out of trouble if she is really inclined in that direction. And I happen to know someone who is very good. I used him to follow my former husband. The bum was having an affair with two women at the same time.”

“What’s this investigator’s name?” Robert asked. The idea of having Marissa followed hadn’t occurred to him, but it had some merit.

“Paul Abrums,” Donna said. “He’s the best. He even got photos of my ex in bed with both girls. Separately, of course. My husband wasn’t that kind of guy. And Paul’s not that expensive.”

“How do I get in touch with him?” Robert asked.

“I’ve got the number in my address book in my purse,” Donna said. “I’ll get it.”

Marissa peered into the otoscope to try to catch a glimpse of the eardrum of the writhing infant on the examination table. The mother was attempting to hold the baby but was doing a miserable job. Annoyed, Marissa gave up.

“I can’t see anything,” Marissa said. “Can’t you hold the child, Mrs. Bartlett? She’s only eight months. She can’t be that strong.”

“I’m trying,” the mother said.

“Trying isn’t good enough,” Marissa told her. She opened the examination room door and called for one of the nurses.

“I’ll send someone in as soon as I can,” Muriel Samuelson, the head nurse, shouted.

“For heaven’s sake,” Marissa muttered to herself. She was finding work exasperating. Everything was an effort, and it was difficult to concentrate. All she could think about was the pregnancy test she’d have after the weekend.

Stepping out of the examination room to get away from the shrieking infant, Marissa massaged the back of her neck. If she was this anxious already, what would it be like on Monday when she was waiting for the result?

The other topic on her mind was what she and Wendy were going to do about the Women’s Clinic. They had to get into their records. That morning she’d gone to the medical records department at the Memorial and gotten one of the women to start a search for cases of granulomatous obstruction of the fallopian tubes. There’d been no problem. If only the Women’s Clinic could be so cooperative.

“Dr. Blumenthal, you have a call on line three,” Muriel yelled to her over the sound of crying babies.

“What now?” Marissa muttered under her breath. She went into an empty examination cubicle and picked up the extension. “Yes?” she snapped, expecting Mindy Valdanus to be on the other end.

“Dr. Blumenthal?” a strange woman’s voice questioned. It was the operator.

“Yes?” Marissa repeated.

“Go ahead,” the operator said.

“You sound harried,” Dubchek said.