A Dose of Murder (18 page)

I followed him to the front door.

He stopped and turned. “No one. That means even Doctor Vance Taylor.”

I wished Adele was here to push my jaw back up from my chest. “Vance? How?” I shut my mouth and watched him walk down the stairs into the cold, now dark, night. “Jagger?”

He stopped but didn't turn around.

Fine by me. I could stare at a butt like that for quite a while. But it didn't take too long before I asked, “Who the heck
are
you?” and he merely said, “Jagger.”

When he drove out of the parking lot, I collapsed against the door frame. He had to be FBI. Now there was no doubt in my mind.

Well, I said to myself, he did say he would help out with my case if I helped him. And if anyone could get my money for me faster, I was all for it. I knew Goldie could, but since he was so busy himself, I decided I'd go with Jagger's offer. Yet I wondered what the heck I was getting myself into. I wanted to ask Goldie, but Jagger had said not to tell anyone.

And he knew about Vance and me!

I decided I needed to get to bed early. If I waited until Miles came home—and I was dying to know how that date turned out—I'd more than likely be tempted to tell him in great detail about my night.

But I'd promised.

And with my Catholic-school-induced conscience—compliments of the nuns, no less—I was also true to my word.

I thought being locked in the elevator was claustrophobic. But this situation I'd gotten myself into with Jagger had me sweating, palpitating and feeling as if I was back in that elevator again—except that now it was half the size.

“Linda Stark please,” I said to the receptionist as I reported for duty. It was a killer to don my nurse's clothes this morning, but I had to look the part. I'd chosen my comfortable white clogs and a blue-and-green striped top with blue scrub pants. As usual, I pulled my hair up, very nurse-like.

The receptionist, Trudy Blackwell, who apparently had never gotten out of her baby-fat stage from her youth and was wearing a paisley green smock, showed me to Linda's office.

When she knocked and opened the door, Linda got up. Trudy introduced me.

“Thanks, Trudy,” Linda said, taking a stack of files from one pile on her desk and putting them in the
OUT
tray. Linda moved with great efficiency. Her short black cropped hair and fitted black suit gave her an air of authority. Her black Woody Allen–style glasses, however, gave me the creeps. She showed me around, ending up at the nurses' station, and introduced me to the other nurse who was working that day.

Eddy Roden, no less.

Great. Now I would have to deal with him bugging me along with trying to do my job for Jagger.

“Come on, Pauline. I'll show you where the coffee is,” Eddy said. “That's the most important thing in the office.”

Linda laughed as she walked away, but I got the impression that she didn't think Eddy was really funny.
Join the club
, I thought. Then again, no telling what Eddy really had in mind. After we got our coffee, he showed me what to do, and I came up with the notion that Eddy was not a happy camper.

A disgruntled employee
.

And, he'd been talking to Jagger in the cafeteria the other day. I wanted to ask Eddy about it, but remembered my promise. It made sense, though, that if I talked to anyone here, the entire case could be ruined. Even Fabio's case on Tina would be, too. She'd find out who I was and put two and two together. Nope. I couldn't discuss fraud with Eddy.

We took our coffee out to the nurses' station and he showed me how the files were arranged for the patients who were in the waiting room. I set my mug down and took the first file.

Sixty-three-year-old male. Mr. Johnson Suskowski. Broken femur. I guessed no one could fake a broken bone, so I marked him off my mental list of suspects in case any patients were involved in fraud too. The main problem with Mr. Suskowski was that his doctor was Vance.

And I hadn't had a chance to call him and give him the good news that I'd be working here.

Okay, truth be told, I'd been putting that tidbit off, since I had no earthly idea of what reason I'd give him for being here. The saving grace I counted on was that Vance would be too busy seeing patients to run me through a mill of questions.

“Mr. Suskowski?” I called out to the full waiting room.

An elderly man, one of three with casts on their legs, got up and hobbled toward me. He came up to my shoulders and had the most adorable smile. He seemed to have a bit of trouble dealing with the crutches, so I stepped closer to him.

“Let me help you with those, sir. You need a wheelchair?”

“No, sweetie. I'm fine.” He grunted and hobbled forward. The cast looked as if it weighed more than Mr. Suskowski, even though it was the lightweight material.

“All right,” I said, thinking he wanted to retain his independence much as my Uncle Walt, who wouldn't even let me hold his elbow to walk down a set of stairs. And Uncle Walt tended toward wobbly nowadays. “Make sure you don't rest the tops of the crutches under your arms. It could damage the nerves.”

He grinned. “They already told me that a long time ago. Cast is due off soon.”

Once Mr. Suskowski was seated in an exam room, he told me that he'd broken his leg playing golf, when he went to fish his ball out of the brook and got his foot caught on a rock. I stuck his chart in the holder on the outside of the door and flipped the red marker over to signal the doctor that a patient was waiting inside. I told Mr. Suskowski that it would be a few minutes and turned to go get the next patient—and ran smack-dab, as they say, into Vance.

“Pauline? Again? What are you doing here?”

“Oh, well. Not much time to talk. Mr. Suskowski is waiting for you—”

He took my arm. “You are acting weird. Weirder than usual.”

Coming from Vance, that wasn't a joke. If he accused me of ‘using,'
he'd
end up with a broken something. “I'm filling in for Tina Macaluso.”

“But what about your being burned out from nursing?”

He looked genuinely concerned, and I didn't want to make him feel any worse, so I said, “We went to school together,” as if that would explain anything.

What it did do was confuse Vance enough for him to merely shake his head, reach up to get Mr. Suskowski's chart and say, “I'm too busy for this.”

I smiled to myself. “Call me on Friday, and we'll make plans.”

After shuffling about fifteen patients in and out over the course of the morning, my stomach was starting to growl. I'd managed to grab a fast cup of coffee but really wanted something substantial and warm. Eddy said the office closed from noon to one, so then I could go out and get lunch. Good thing he didn't ask to join me. I looked at my watch. Eleven forty-seven. I had thirteen minutes to find out whatever I could for Jagger.

Otherwise I'd be working here longer.

The annoying part was that the nursing routine had come flooding back to me without a thought. Still, I told myself, it wasn't what I wanted in my life right now. Being here was okay since there were no babies pooping, no teens shouting, no one vomiting on my shoes. And no staff for me to fire.

But as unglamorous as this job was, investigating was a hundred percent glamorous as far as I was concerned. Besides, it was a hell of a lot more exciting than ushering patients in and out of examination rooms.

Eddy passed by with a cup of coffee. The coffee area, which was right by Linda's glass-walled office, was used as a lounge. I smiled to myself over Jagger's calling me “Sherlock.” He'd said I was resourceful, and even if he'd meant it sarcastically, I was going to think I was resourceful enough to find something out today.

“Eddy, any coffee left?”

He paused and took a sip, then held out his cup.

“Not from yours.”
You jerk
.

He laughed. “In Linda's office. You could scrape out the bottom of the pot.”

“Thanks.” I hurried off before he mentioned lunch. I looked at my watch. Eleven minutes to find out what I could.

Linda sat at her desk with her Woody Allen black-framed glasses perched on her nose. When I stuck my head in the open door, she shoved a few files into the
OUT
tray again. I thought she really was speedy at getting done whatever it was she did. She looked up.

“No more patients until after lunch. Mind if I get some coffee?”

She didn't budge. “Help yourself.”

I tried to look at her desk as I passed by the transparent partition, but she glared at me with every step. So, I took my coffee and planted myself in the chair opposite her desk. She gave me an odd look.

“It's been fun working here. I'm glad Tina mentioned it to me.” Ha! I headed off any thoughts she might have of asking me to leave by reminding her that her boss's wife had told me to work here.

“Glad it's working out.”

“Yeah. Bummer how those agencies don't have enough temps to help you.” Comfortable that I'd cemented my relationship with her, I took a sip of coffee. Yuck! It really had come from the bottom of the pot. Jagger owed me. And I'd tell him so.

Linda looked back at her desk. “Excuse me.”

“Pretend I'm not here.”

She turned around, typed something on her keyboard at her computer station, then clicked the
PRINT
icon on her monitor and got up. When the printer spit out what she wanted, she took it, opened her desk drawer and removed her purse and walked to the door. “See you after lunch.”

I looked at my watch. Three minutes, but I got up and took my cup to the sink and washed it out very slowly. I walked back to her desk and with one finger, gingerly opened the top file in the
OUT
tray.

Mr. Suskowski. Good. At least I knew his case.

The top of the file looked okay. It was my set of notes, followed by Vance's assessment of Mr. Suskowski's fracture. Vance had ordered an X-ray, which I'd made sure was done, although not by me, since I had no inkling of how to work the damn machine. Then I looked on the next page.

A referral sheet for an MRI.

For a second I worried there was really something wrong with the nice man. But then I reread Vance's notes.

His notes contained no order whatsoever for an MRI.

I knew tests like that cost hundreds of dollars, if not more. And why would one be needed for a simple fracture?

Maybe someone had made a mistake in filling out the referral sheet?

Or could something really be wrong with Mr. Suskowski?

Feeling badly for a nice man who could be in ill health, I let go of the file and looked at my watch. Three minutes past twelve.

I hurried to the staff exit to find the entire suite empty. I reached for the doorknob—it didn't budge.

Shoot!

I pulled the stuck door again. Nothing.

Not being able to get out, I started to feel a bit claustrophobic. Maybe I could call maintenance, but I'd feel stupid telling them what happened. For a few seconds, I shut my eyes. “Oh, Saint T? If you're not too busy—”

“Stuck in?”

My eyes flew open, ready to see a vision of Saint Theresa holding a bouquet of roses in front of me. But it was Trudy Blackwell standing there. Phew. As much as I believe in my faith, I really wasn't ready for any saintly visions. “Hi. I was finishing my coffee and before I knew it, everyone was gone.”

She laughed. “Rats running from a sunken ship. You have to know this door.” She put her weight into the door. A jiggle, a shove and it opened.

Rats? Hmm. Maybe Trudy was the disgruntled employee? She might know more about billing fraud than Eddy. I thanked her and hurried out, deciding to take the stairs to the cafeteria.

The line was long today since it was after noon. I took a tray and waited my turn, reading the menu. When I had my hot dog with mustard, relish and very little onions since I didn't want to make the patients ill from my breath, I took a container of French fries and a bottle of Coke to wash down all the fat and calories.

For some reason, my new life had me eating more crap than I ever had.

I paid and scanned the room, not wanting to sit with either Eddy or Vance. Good. Neither was in sight. I walked to a table almost hidden in the back but near a window and sat down. I lifted my hot dog and put my lips over the end.

“This seat taken, ma'am?”

Startled, I bit down so hard that mustard, relish and onions shot out, landing on my scrub shirt.

Jagger's voice.

I looked up at a man about Jagger's height, wearing an expensive navy pin-striped suit with red power tie and white shirt. Had to be a doctor or some businessman. His hair was combed back and tortoise-framed glasses hid his eyes, and he had a dark black mustache over his lips.

Mentally shaking my head over hearing Jagger's voice when he wasn't even there, I said, “Er . . . no. Have a seat.”

I noticed he didn't have a tray and thought it odd, so I'd eat and leave. He did, however, have a cup of coffee in his hand so he had a purpose here. Besides, I was perfectly safe in the public cafeteria.

He shoved the chair back with his foot and sat down. Man,
that
took away from his
GQ
business persona. While I pondered that move, I thought it was even more odd when he leaned in so close, and I pushed back.

“So, what'd you find out?”

I dropped my hot dog, and it landed
splat
on my tray, sending sugary Coke all over my greasy fries. They were history. Did this guy suspect
me
of snooping? I tried to think of what to say to act as if I was innocent, but before I could make up a lie, which was so hard for me to do, he touched my hand.

Jagger!

No one else's touch could make me feel as if a lit match were being held near my skin. I tried to look past the glasses and said, “Ja—”