A Dose of Murder (30 page)

“Pink,” I corrected, fast on his heals and feeling embarrassed that I didn't “get” his sarcasm to begin with. When we were out in the mall, I caught up to his side. I'm not sure, but I think he may have slowed a bit. I decided to let the “wife” thing go. “My mother likes candies, and there's a Lindt chocolate store near Macy's upstairs—” I grabbed his arm. “There's Mr. Suskowski!” I yelled into Jagger's ear.

Jagger stopped. “Don't yell in the mall. You'll draw attention to us.”

“We're not spying on anyone here.” But suddenly I realized he didn't want anyone thinking we were a couple. Damn.

“Who's Mister—”

Before Jagger could finish, I hurried over to Foot Locker, where Mr. S was trying on a pair of shoes. I slowed when I walked in, deciding it wasn't smart to startle an elderly gentleman. Besides, I didn't want him to know that I'd seen him.

Jagger stood near the doorway.

I grabbed a running shoe from the shelf and pretended to look at it. A teen with spiked red hair came up. “Help you, lady?”

I looked at him. “Oh. Yes, I take a seven. Do you have this in a seven?” Mr. S was getting up to pay.

The kid grumbled something. “That's a man's shoe, lady.”

I gave him a dirty look and said, “I
am
a man,” then shoved the shoe at him and walked to the cash register. From the corner of my eye I could see the kid staring, running a hand through the spikes on his head, and Jagger, grinning.

The hell with both of them.

“Oh, hi,” I said, coming up to Mr. Suskowski. He gave me a confused look. Maybe it wasn't him. But, yes, I really thought it was. “Don't you remember me? From the orthopedic doctors' office?”

He smiled. “Oh, the nurse.”

“Yes. Right. How are you doing?”

“Got myself a new pair of Nikes. That's how I'm doing. Cost a good chunk of my Social Security check, but the podiatrist said they'd be good for my feet. Even with the cast they fit all right.” He shook his head.

I wondered if the podiatrist had stock in Nike. “These kinds of shoes are very comfortable and supportive, although, you're right, they are expensive.”

The clerk running Mr. Suskowski's credit card through the little black machine gave me a dirty look, as if I was trying to talk him out of the purchase.

I smiled at him and said, “So, are you feeling better?”

“Best as can be expected at my age. Well, nice to see you, although I don't remember your name. Not that I have dementia like my brother, Dick, but we'd only met that short time. I guess I didn't feel it necessary to remember.”

Wow. Put in my place. Of course, to Mr. S's credit, I was acting a bit nosy. “Yes, well, have a nice Christmas. I hope your MRI isn't scheduled too near the holiday.”

Now he looked at me as if
I
had dementia. “Maybe you got me mixed up with another patient, little lady.”

“I . . . Didn't Doctor Taylor tell you that he was ordering an MRI for you?”

He shook his head no. “My wife is going to worry about me. She's meeting me down by JC Penney's. Well, good holiday to you too.”

“Wait!”

The clerk looked ready to call Security and Mr. S looked frightened. I softened my voice and smiled. “Silly me. I guess I did get you mixed up. You're not going to have an MRI?”

He hurried off, nearly running into a chuckling Jagger on the way out. But Mr. Suskowski did call out over his shoulder, “No MRI, and don't follow me!”

I'd sunk to accosting elderly gentlemen.

They'd more than likely put that on my tombstone, I thought as I hurried up the stairs to my room. Jagger had dropped me off at home and left after a brief thanks—followed by several snickers—for helping him with his Christmas shopping.

He had listened to my entire conversation with Mr. Suskowski.

On the ride home we did get into a serious mode and talk about that MRI. The man never had one, nor was he scheduled to. I'd have to check out who ordered it. But damn, that was Vance's signature on the chart.

Although the good part of my night—getting more video of Tina—had been sandwiched between my “double date” and the senior citizen accosting, I was thrilled to have succeeded at something in my new career. I had all the confidence in the world where nursing was concerned, but investigating? Yikes. I set my alarm clock an hour early to head over to Scarpello and Tonelli Insurance Company to present the video to Fabio.

Even though Jagger had asked me not to finish my case, I had to give Fabio something or I'd be looking for a new job soon. What to do? I'd go to Fabio and see—

By this time Monday, I might even be paid!

Having no idea how that worked or if I had to wait until Fabio got his money back from Tina, I decided I wouldn't worry about it. I would soon be accepting a new case and feeding my anorexic bank account.

I cursed and hoped Jeanine got four flat tires, wherever the hell she was.

Part of the money would go to Saint Stanislaus Church for Uncle Walt's loan and, admittedly, I overspent on shopping (in the past!), but now I would be able to pay my credit card bills and soon be out of debt. One would think a single thirty-something woman would be sitting pretty with her finances, but I wasn't alone in the overspending department. After working so hard lately, though, I would be cutting up more than one store's credit card very soon.

When I stripped off my outfit and slipped into my flannel pj's with Mickey Mouse dancing about on them, I thought of Tina. She'd worn black leggings, black shorts, Spandex no less, and a black tank top. Tina gave new meaning to the term that black was slenderizing. I had to admit, for her size she did keep up pretty well with the instructor. Tina was light on her feet, as they say—and shit out of luck, as I say, when it came to bilking the insurance company out of money.

Spanky snuggled halfway under my pillow. I wondered if he was burrowing to get away as I told him the details of my night, including my assessment of Jagger, who bought presents for my mother, father and even Uncle Walt.

Jagger had gone with the Lindt chocolates for Mom and a Meerschaum tobacco pipe for my father, who only played with sticking pipe cleaners in them and never lit the darn things, I told Spanky. All Meerschaums were hand carved, I clarified, continuing on to say that my father would be impressed, although I
had
tried to talk Jagger out of such an expensive pipe.

He bought it anyway, and also seven car magazines for Uncle Walt.

“What a guy,” I told Spanky's tail since that was the only part sticking out. “And, Spanks, I think I'm done with my tailing, excuse the pun, of one Tina Macaluso, fraudulent claimant.”

Done.

Spanky stuck his head out, glared at me.

I stood still for several seconds. “Oh . . . my . . . God. You're right, Spanks. Now I won't have any reason to have Jagger help me.”

I flopped onto the bed, nearly catapulting Spanky's five-pound body off onto my dresser. I caught him in time and thought, now I
have
to keep helping Jagger out with the ortho case.

Or face never seeing him again.

I needn't have worried about when I'd get paid, I thought the following Monday, as Fabio went on and on about there still not being enough video surveillance for his taste. He liked his “clients” to be proven frauds without a shadow of a doubt. Even though I'd discovered additional fraud, the pictures hadn't been developed yet, and he wasn't a happy camper.

Consequently, I hadn't seen the last of Tina.

And I needn't have worried about breaking a promise to Jagger either—or not having him help me anymore.

“You have to get her lifting something she wouldn't even do with a good back, Sokol. And why the hell is all your surveillance at night?”

Ack. I couldn't explain that one.

“What? You spend all your day getting beauty sleep?” he asked, leering at my chest.

I instinctively placed my hands over my green-and-red paisley—for the Christmas season—scrubs.

“You know, doll,” he said in a condescending voice, I thought you'd have the smarts to know too, that we need pictures, hard-copy photographs, doll, to put in the file. If we go to the DA with any info, they don't have fucking VCRs on their desks. They need to see pictures, doll. Fucking pictures.”

Yikes. I hadn't thought about that, and as annoying as Fabio was, he was right. If, however, he called me “doll” one more time, I'd haul off and let him have my best uppercut as evidenced by Jagger's black eye. I should have had the smarts to think about the picture thing though.

The other day Goldie had been stapling photographs into a file, and I knew what they were for. It was just that so much had happened lately, that tidbit of investigative information had slipped my mind. Well, I
was
a green newbie, for crying out loud.

But
—the thought surged into my brain—
Jagger wasn't
.

He should have told me!

Why didn't he?

Why would he keep . . .

He didn't want me to end this case, but he still could have told me about pictures.

I was going to make him pay for that one.

“I'll get more video and some pictures soon,” was all I could come up with. Jeanine's car payment was due on Wednesday and here it was Monday and I hadn't gotten paid yet.

I walked out of Fabio's office in a financial funk.

And pissed beyond belief at the mysterious, out-for-himself Jagger.

“Hey,
chéri
, what's wrong?”

The lie came out way too easy: “Nothing. I'm fine.” I didn't like fibbing to Adele. With Fabio, I could spin the truth around and around until his balding head was dizzy, but lying to people I liked didn't come easy—and wasn't fun.

After a quick cup of coffee with Adele, since Goldie (Damn! I could have used his friendship right then) was out on a case, I said goodbye and drove to my other job.

Linda'd managed to convince me to stay on a bit, to train the new nurse.

Well, at least there was a bright side to my day: Tina would be helping out too.

And, after learning what Jagger had done to me, I would be quitting today even if it wasn't supposed to be my last day, I thought, as I pulled into the parking lot of the professional building.

An old Toyota soared past me. “Jerk!” I yelled. It was similar to Dr. O'Connor's car and I hoped a physician much like herself would have the brains not to be so reckless, but this person sure didn't. The only thing the driver had going for him was that he was wearing a Steelers's cap. Go Steelers!

Suddenly I got angry that I'd missed two of their Monday-night football games since taking on these two jobs.

I'd have to get Uncle Walt to give me the blow-by-blow account. His mind was a steel trap when it came to watching our favorite team.

In the lounge I ran into Tina sitting on the couch with another woman dressed in scrubs next to her. I figured she was the replacement. I had to stifle my urge to ask Tina how jazzercise went. She looked at me oddly and suddenly I worried that she'd seen Jagger and me Friday night.

At least I didn't have to worry about any “motherly” chastising glares from Linda. In the alcove where her office blended with the lounge sat her desk. Uncluttered. Unoccupied.

Maybe I could plan to sneak a peek at some more files during lunchtime if the bitch, excuse my French, was gone.

“Hey, Tina.” I nodded at the other nurse.

Tina took a sip of coffee and a giant bite of a honey-dipped donut. I mentally shook my head at that. “Pauline Sokol, this is Annie Hatfield. Annie's taking Eddy's place.”

No emotion on her part when she mentioned Eddy. I would have at least expected a tear in her eye. I felt a bit choked up, and I didn't know him half as well.

Maybe Tina really was involved, although murder seemed out of the question. She
was
a nurse, for crying out loud. Then again, she was involved in
beaucoup
fraud. I had the tendency to think the best of everyone until proven otherwise. Even then, I tried to think of some good things about them.

Geez. He'd only been dead forty-eight hours and she'd acted so cool when she'd mentioned his name.

With the introductory formalities over, I went to bring in my first patient.

Mrs. Bakersfield's chart was on top. Too bad. The poor woman was only just here. It must be a bitch growing old and having parts not work. I smiled at her. “I know why you're back.”

She got up and hobbled over. “My knees?”

“No, ma'am. You just can't keep away from that handsome Doctor Taylor.”

She slapped my arm and laughed. “You know it.”

Once I had her settled on the examining table, I found out her knee, the right one, really had been bothering her. I put the chart on the door and said the doctor would be in soon. Soon.
Yeah, right
, I thought. This practice overbooked way too often, in my opinion.

Today only three of the five doctors had office hours, with Doc O'Connor and Doc Levy off, yet the waiting room was packed. I snuck a peek at the appointment sheet over Trudy's shoulder. Not one empty slot. No wonder the poor patients complained of having to wait so long for the phone to be answered and having to wait even longer to see a doctor once they got here.

Something made me go back to the exam room and pick up Mrs. B's chart. Maybe intuition. Maybe some outside force. Or maybe my overactive imagination since turning investigator had me open it and look at Vance's notes from the other day.

Nothing out of the ordinary. I turned it over and read that Mrs. B had had X-rays. Right here in the office. I leaned against the wall. I didn't remember taking her to X-ray.

On Friday, Doctor O'Connor had had to do the honors, since before going to medical school, she'd told me, she was an X-ray technician.