Throughout the open loft, furniture was haphazardly arranged to create seating areas. Multiple dining tables were spread about, all of which contained books, journals, file folders, and the occasional jar full of formaldehyde-soaked critters.
Harper chuckled. “You should see his office. This is just a larger version of it.”
“Well, it makes me nervous,” mumbled Becker as she walked to the window to take in the view.
Harper looked around for their host. He emerged from the front door, juggling four boxes of donuts just delivered by Real Donuts #1, a Las Vegas favorite, in one arm and a large box of brewed coffee in the other. She rushed to assist.
“Dr. Boychuck, let me help you.”
“Yes. Yes. Yes. Please.”
He waddled toward the kitchen island and was about to drop the donuts when Harper took the boxes from him. He immediately smiled and nodded his appreciation.
“Young lady, since we are practically living together now, please call me Woolie. All my friends do.”
“Wolfie?” Harper thought she misunderstood him. She was exhausted. It had been a long, eventful night.
“No, Woolie,” he said with a smile as he spread the donut boxes out and began pulling mismatched coffee mugs out of cupboards, the dishwasher, and from the sink full of dirty dishes. He washed them out and set them next to the box of hot coffee.
Harper glanced toward Becker, who stood in the middle of the loft with her arms folded and a disapproving look. Harper was relieved to notice that the windows were solid-paned glass and not capable of being opened for fear Becker might try to escape Woolie Boychuck’s pandemonium penthouse.
Dr. Boychuck continued. “Many people logically presume a nickname associated with Wolfgang would become Wolfie. That’s not the case. I was born in Munich, Germany, and emigrated to America when I was a young child. When I was growing up, or at least when I began to sprout facial hair, I rarely shaved. Soon, the beard and the ponytail became a part of my persona. Hence, the name Woolie.” He pulled on the gray ponytail as he explained.
Harper took a deep breath and exhaled. “Well, Woolie, since we’re dropping the formalities, please call me Harper. I don’t know how you did it, but all I can say is thank you. If you’ll pardon the pun, you and your friends certainly pulled the wool over those soldiers’ eyes.”
“Yes! Yes! Yes!” he exclaimed as he roared in laughter. “We most certainly did, didn’t we? Well, I did have some help.”
“Hey! Is that where they filmed Pawn Stars?” asked one of the epidemiologists to no one in particular.
Dr. Boychuck grabbed a custard-filled donut and wandered toward the gathering of epidemiologists by the window.
“Yes. Yes. Yes.” He joined the group and he directed their attention to the Gold and Silver Pawn Shop located on Charleston Boulevard just below the Soho Lofts. He took a moment to point out other sights of interest, ranging from the famed hotels of the Las Vegas Strip to Sunrise Mountain, where the sun was, in fact, beginning to rise.
Becker skipped the nickel tour in search of a donut. She perused the options and chose a glazed donut. She liked to keep it simple, in stark contrast to her host. She took an oversized bite and locked eyes with her boss. “Why does he stutter like that?”
Harper appeared bewildered by her statement and then realized she’d never had a chance to tell Becker about Dr. Boychuck’s idiosyncrasies. For the moment, there was too much to tell, especially after what the young epidemiologist had been through that night.
Harper snagged a pink-frosted donut with brightly colored sprinkles. “He’s not stuttering. He just feels the need, um, you know, to reiterate.”
Becker glanced over at the rest of the group. She leaned into Harper to whisper, “Dr. Randolph, he has body parts and animals in here. Is he, like, bat-shit crazy?”
Harper stifled a laugh. She was beginning to get the sense Becker disapproved of the cavalry who’d rescued them from confinement.
“Okay. Listen, he’s a little eccentric. But—”
Becker cut her off. With a mouth full of donut, she asked, “Ya think?” A few crumbs dropped on her shirt and hit the smooth, polished concrete floor. She began to reach down to retrieve them, and then she looked around. She stood, shook her head in a why-bother reaction, and cocked her head to stare at her boss.
“Trust me. He’s just a little different. That said, he is an accomplished pathologist and has an intuitiveness about him that I can’t put my finger on.”
Becker rolled her eyes, shoved the remainder of the donut in her mouth, and then adopted a yogi-namaste tone of voice. She placed her palms together in front of her chest. “He is one with the dead.”
Harper laughed and then said, “Don’t laugh. He really is. That guy’s forgotten more about dead bodies than most pathologists have experienced.”
“If you say so,” said Becker.
“Do you want coffee?” asked Harper.
“Duh!” she replied.
Dr. Boychuck returned to the kitchen area with the group, who immediately ravaged the Real Donut offerings. After some small talk between them, Dr. Boychuck directed everyone to where they could get a little sleep. All but Harper had crashed when she pulled out her phone to contact Joe.
Harper: Hi there! We’ve been rescued.
Joe: I heard.
He did? How does he always know these things? That explains why he hasn’t checked up on me. He already knew I was safe.
Harper decided to tease her husband. Joe had enjoyed Las Vegas the few times he’d been out there.
Harper: I’m stuck in horrible conditions. They only feed me donuts and coffee. This is all I can see through my captor’s window.
Harper took a picture of the view and sent it to him via text message.
Joe: That’s incredible. So, have you seen Elvis?
Harper: LOL. No time for him or his blue suede shoes. I don’t think this is over yet.
Joe: You won’t be bothered.
Just as that message came through, three loud thumps at the door reverberated through the loft.
Harper: Gotta go. Love you!
Chapter Twelve
Soho Lofts
South Las Vegas Blvd. and East Charleston Blvd.
Las Vegas, Nevada
The group of epidemiologists had barely dozed off. Still on edge from the ordeal at the Gold Palace, most jumped to their feet and stared at the front door, full of apprehension. Dr. Boychuck emerged from his study, a guest bedroom that had been filled with mementos and journals much like his medical examiner’s office was. He didn’t say a word as he pushed by a couple of the sleepy-eyed CDC personnel. Nodding his head repeatedly, he simply held up his hands, indicating that there was nothing to worry about.
Harper moved quickly from the other side of the loft to join him in the center of the sprawling open space. If there was going to be a problem with either law enforcement or the National Guard, she intended to take the hit for her team.
Dr. Boychuck leaned into the peephole and observed the hallway. He began nodding his head and smiling. He opened the door, and an elderly woman strode through the doorway with confidence. Harper presumed that she was in her mid to late eighties, but didn’t look a day over sixty.