“Yes, yes, yes,” urged Marla, eyes sparkling.
“Why don’t you just tell the police about it?” I asked. The Linzertorte was delicious, a crunchy crust covered with jewel-colored raspberry jam. “A raid by the HMO has got to be illegal, Frances.”
“But it isn’t.” Chris’s surprisingly powerful baritone commanded attention. “We do it all the time. Usually we call first, which is what we’ll do tomorrow. We come in to check information in the files.”
“What?” Marla exclaimed. “What about patient confidentiality?”
Chris readjusted his ankle and went on. “Marla. Goldy. May I call you by your first names?” Frances nodded, I noticed, before we had the chance. “It’s in our contract,” he continued. “We can visit any practice we own. A nurse, a doctor, someone with medical training who’s working for th
