She was thirty-four, with a quick, nervous habit of tapping her pen against her chin while she reviewed the surgical schedules for the day.

“We have fifteen patients scheduled for OR three,” Julie said, her voice dropping to a whisper as a patient in a wheelchair rolled past the desk.

“But Dr.

Vance called in sick with a stomach bug.”

“I can reschedule the ten-thirty appointment first,” I said, opening my desk drawer to locate the phone directory.

My fingers brushed against cold metal instead of the plastic index tabs.

I pulled my hand back and peered into the dark corner of the drawer, beneath the extra stapler.