Black Eye: Confessions of a Fake Psychic Detective #2 (Watty Winner)

Chapter 36

Zandra retreats to the library, betting that Dvorak's watching her instead of Chris's crew in the van. The librarian inside is less than helpful about Zandra not having a library card or a driver's license, but ultimately yields to the psychic's persistence about using one of the computers. And logging onto the Internet. And pulling up the website from Dvorak's bracelet. And missing her lunch break.

It's the least Stevens Point can do for one of its most cherished residents.

"So this page here, it lists my nephew's medical history?" Zandra says, looking up over her shoulder at the librarian. It's a lie, but it sounds innocent enough, especially with how unsuspecting Zandra comes across being computer illiterate.

"Yes, at least the information he's decided to list on this website," the librarian says. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I..."

"Just one more question and then I'll let you go," Zandra says, cutting the librarian off. "Can you show me how to print this off?"

The librarian gives a frustrated sigh and guides the mouse up to "File" and "Print" on the computer screen. "Click here and here."

Zandra notices the sign on the wall. Copies from the printer are five cents apiece. Too bad she forgot her nickels at home.

"How does work exactly?" Zandra says.

"Like this," the librarian says, clicking the mouse and igniting the printer. "That'll be five cents. You can pay at the front desk."

"Oh, I didn't realize that. Fresh out of coin, sorry," Zandra says. "I guess I just wanted to know how it worked."

The librarian rubs her temples. "You...you...what?"

"You mind if I get this one on the house?" Zandra says.

"If you can't pay, I'll have to throw the paper away."

"What would be the point of that? The page is already printed. Put it on my tab."

"But you don't have a library card."

"I'm Zandra," she says and gives the sleeves of her purple gown a shake. She notices the spot where she usually hacks into her inner sleeve is darker than usual.

"Who?"

Zandra doesn't wait around to give an explanation. She steps over to the printer and grabs paper before offer a quick, "Thanks," and walking out the door.

Outside the library, she turns to head away from the van and Dvorak's house, shuffling down the sidewalk and reading the paper.

Dvorak's curated medical history contains few surprises. He did indeed receive a kidney transplant five years ago. No known allergies. An anti-rejection regimen of mycophenolate and cyclosporine.

It's what isn't in the history that gnaws at Zandra's less-than-supernatural intuition. Many transplants are related to a history of diabetes, but not this one. There's no indication he's on insulin, although not all diabetics use it.

If it's not diabetes, what other factors bring about a kidney transplant? Drug use? A genetic issue? Something more nefarious?

I should've spent more time in that library.

Finding out more on Dvorak's background will be twice as challenging given patient privacy laws, but Zandra knows of a former client, a nephrologist, with a lot to lose if her memory is correct. She might be separated from her files physically, but that doesn't mean she can't remember what's in them. He still lives in Stevens Point, too, not far from here.

Zandra folds the paper into her pocket and changes direction toward a different neighborhood. This one is in much better shape than Dvorak's, with restored colonials originally built in Stevens Point's early days. She comes to stop at a three-story gem with a light on in the kitchen window.

I bet he wouldn't want his wife to know what I do.