Dead Weight (3 page)

“East coast? No. I'm from around here.” She took a sip of tea and walked toward the window.

She'd already told me she was from around here. Interesting again.

“It's nice back home, but when winter comes, I'd rather be out here. Do you work, Hannah?”

Her back stiffened. Clearly Hannah was not liking all my questions or perhaps hiding some weird profession. She continuously played with her teabag until the tea was as dark as coffee. Never did she make eye contact and her hands shook as if she definitely was hiding something or at least trying to avoid talking with me.

“I do work, but I'm taking time off to be here.”

“Me too.” Okay, it's part of my job, but I sure wasn't going to share that. I made a mental note to check out one Hannah Gura. Because Polish or not, she was being evasive.

Hmm. Or was my brain on investigative mode at all times so that I was reading into everything this woman said? Gut instinct had kicked in, and I'd learned throughout my years of nursing to trust it. Relying on it had saved many a patient's life.

Clearly there was
something
about Hannah that gave me pause.

And I needed to find out what the heck that was.

And if she could help or
hurt
my case.

After my tea with Hannah, she made some excuse to leave. Sounded like “exercise class.” And here I had all the makings for questioning her until I was satisfied that she was not part of some big scam at this place. Well, Rome wasn't built in a day, and because I'd learned from past cases that these things took time and, to use a cliché, I had to seize the moment.

Taking the last sip of my tea, I heard the door close behind me. When I turned around, I watched a rather heavy, short woman making her way toward the tea board, so I waved at her. Maybe one more to question. “Hey, the English breakfast tea is pretty good.”

She appeared shy at first, only giving me a nod. Then she started to pour hot water into a mug, so I got up and decided maybe the English breakfast was so good that I'd have another—and talk to this client at the same time.

“I'm Pauline,” I said, ripping the teabag from its paper.

“Mitsy. Mitsy Sparks.” Her voice was barely a whisper. She crumpled ripped empty packages of Splenda, all four of them, into a ball of her fist as if trying to hide them from me like one of my nieces or nephews would do with some kiddie contraband.

My heart went out to Mitsy. She very much reminded me of one of my nieces who was the most self-conscious since being the tallest girl in her class. Mitsy wasn't tall, but I'm sure her weight added to her self-esteem issues.

At first I made small talk to break the ice (about the only calories we were allowed around here), then I asked Mitsy to sit by the window with me, telling her how we might see a hummingbird near the trumpet-type flowers.

“Well, this place is really pretty. Isn't it?” I asked, sipping on my tea and reminding myself that using the “powder” room was no easy feat in this outfit so I better go easy on liquids. I set my mug down on the glass top end table.

“I guess.” She held onto her mug as if for dear life and took long noisy fast sips.

I chuckled. “You know, I once did the Weight Watcher program and learned if you eat or drink slowly, you'll enjoy the taste more and have less.”

She looked me up and down.

“Granted I didn't stick with the program. But it works. You should try it. Slow down a bit.” I know she wanted to say “look who's calling the kettle black, but I didn't let her. I hurried onto another subject. “So, how long have you been here? “My surgery … is … tomorrow.”

Ah. No wonder the concern and quietness. I started to assure her, as if I knew what I was talking about, and used my old line, “the patient has the easiest part. You'll sleep right through it!” all the while Mitsy stared at me. “Oh, yeah. My sister is a nurse. I learned a lot from her.”

She seemed to buy it or maybe she just didn't care about me since she had other worries on her mind—like major surgery tomorrow.

The nurse called Mitsy for what I figured was pre-op instructions but before she left, I took her hand. “You'll do fine. I know it.”

She gave a faint smile and walked out of the room.

And I said a silent prayer for her.

Goldie and I sat looking at one another in our room. The television blared some kind of news show. The lights were dim enough to induce sleep or at least sleepiness, and the two of us remained silent.

Until I couldn't stand it any longer.

“Eight hundred fifty calories? Are they nuts or just too cheap to feed us around here?”

Goldie's stomach growled. “I'm not even a client and they didn't give me much more.”

“You had a biscuit!” My tone even surprised me. I sounded like an heir fighting—make that nit picking—over an inheritance. “Geez. Sorry, Gold. As if you are the cause of my starving.” I got up. “We have to get out of here and find some food. Snacks. Chips. Chocolate!”

Goldie's eyes lit up. “Think we can?”

I glared at him. “My dear Goldie, we are two very bright, crafty investigators. If we can find criminals and murders, we can damn well find chocolate!”

With that, we got our wallets and dressed in our darkest clothes. I tried to think of what Jagger would do in this situation to get out of here. Then I caught myself in the mirror. “Hold on. I should change. Yeah, despite what I'd told you before, I have to take this suit off to be less conspicuous.”

Goldie tapped a nail to his tooth. “Go for it.”

Before I could get the entire latex piece off my face, we were out the window and dodging cacti as they reached out to impale us on their decorative spikes.

“These damn things seemed trained to keep patrons in this place,” I whispered.

Goldie laughed. “Just be glad I had the foresight to pack you a pair of jeans and shirt that fits you or you'd be snatched by the spines for sure on clothing way too big.”

He was correct. At least if someone caught us, they wouldn't know I was Pauline Sokol, Rancho Mirage client.

Then again, I might get arrested for trespassing, since private property signs were not scarce around here.

Goldie and I made our way around the main building. On the far side sat a few cars and pickups, which we assumed belonged to the staff. This side of the place was empty and quiet. Perfect.

“Hey,” I whispered, “do you remember the way into town?”

“Hm. I didn't pay too much attention since I was so enamored of the scenery.” Goldie wound a lovely gold-striped scarf around his head to hold the golden curls from blowing in the night's gentle breeze. His leggings were black beneath a tunic-type lacy top that brought the outfit together with gold threading woven across the bodice.

Damn but Gold even looked good in casual.

“Okay, then we wing it. This place can't be too far from some gas station or convenience store—” I turned around. “You hear something?”

“I hope not a rattler,” he said, then chuckled.

“Rattlers don't
grrr
. I heard a
grrr
.” Suddenly I felt something behind me, grabbed Goldie's arm and said in a shaky voice that embarrassed me, “Whatever is
grring
, is behind us.”

Feeling very much like Dorothy hanging onto the Tin Man and Scarecrow, we started to turn around—and came face to snout with a gigantic pit bull.

“Gulp. He must be the night security watchman. Watchdog,” Goldie mumbled. “Nice doggy. Nice doggy.”

“Gold, I don't think this guy is trained to be swayed by compliments. We have to show him we are not afraid.” I tightened my hold on his arm. “Even though we are.”

I think I heard Goldie's heart beating—then again, it could have been mine filling the night's air. “Don't even think about it, buddy. Get back to where you belong!” I shouted with the most authoritative voice I could manage while being a possible dog snack. For that, I summoned my mother and pretended she was talking to us kids.

Stella Sokol never failed to get us to do whatever she commanded. Words. That's all she ever used. Words.

Goldie and I started to back away from the animal, all the while staring him down and telling him to stay. When we reached the fence, managed to commando climb our way over it and the pit bull remained yards away, we turned to high-five each other.

“You're one kick-ass chick,” Goldie said.

“So are you.” I laughed and grabbed his arm. “Let's get moving before we get caught or the beast decides to bark.”

We made our way down the front drive to the edge of the property then froze behind a giant saguaro when tires crunched along the gravel.

With the moon's glow and the decorative western lampposts lit, we could see a black sedan slow and turn in front of us. The driver clearly was Doctor Burger and the passenger … Hannah. Hannah Gura.

“Two Three Musketeers, three boxes of Junior Mints, a bag of Jolly Ranchers.” I leaned toward the clerk at the convenience store, which took Gold and I about an hour to walk to. “And make sure the bag has plenty of watermelon and green apple. In my book, those are the best flavors.”

She looked at me as if she could give a damn.

Goldie set a pile of snacks down that would last us several months.

I looked at him.

“What? I get hungry when I miss Miles.”

I winked at him then turned to the bored clerk who was about sixteen, covered in body piercings and tattoos and needed a good hair combing. “Also give me strawberry twizzlers and two bags of regular, not those crappie low-salt either, potato chips. Cape Cod brand if you have it.”

She looked as if she never heard of Cape Cod—the real one.

“Okay. Wise, Lays any brand as long as they are salty.” With that I paid her and Goldie and I set off out the door as a blue Nissan pulled up to the gas pump.

I turned toward Goldie. “My damn feet ache after wearing that bodysuit all day. I'd pay whomever that is to give us a ride back. Think they could be bribed with junk food?” I groaned. “Actually, I think the bones of my feet have spread out, and I now take a bigger size shoe.”

Goldie's face grew serious, or at least had an odd look on it.

“Hey, Gold. You all right? Stomach okay? We haven't even pigged out yet.” I chuckled and felt someone come up behind me. “Goldie. You are scaring me. You look as if you are seeing a freaking ghost.”

A hand touched my shoulder (strong grip too). I swung around in time to hear, “Boo.”

I curled my lips tightly all the way back to Rancho Mirage as I sat in the rented Nissan.

Goldie remained silent in the backseat, crunching and munching, which I assumed meant he really missed his Miles even more.

The car pulled up near the gate and stopped.

I turned toward the driver. “I'm gonna take a wild guess and say that you came here, all the way from New England just to give us a lift.” With that I turned back, opened the door and stepped out. “Thanks. You are one heck of a guy, Jagger.” Ouch. My face hurt when I clenched my lips like that.

Goldie hurried out of the backdoor. “Thanks,” he muttered and Jagger stared at me, and then shook his head.

Now when Jagger shook his head, that meant something. One shake, I'd determined, meant he was pissed at me, two a stronger word was needed here and three—you didn't ever want him to shake his head three times. Ever.

However, if memory serves, I've hit the “Jagger Three Mark” on a few occasions.

“Look,” I said, leaning in. “I've got this case, that is Fabio gave me this case free and clear. I don't need your help or you coming here to cover my … back. Although I do appreciate it, Jagger. Really. Fly back home.”

He continued to stare. “Two patients who had surgery here in the last month have been found dead in their homes.”

I gasped. “Oh. Wow. Sorry to hear that. Complications? I mean complications are regretful, but do occur and especially with patients whose health wasn't in the best of shape to begin with.”

“I wouldn't exactly call it complications when the body is found with a western style knife with a turquoise-inlaid handle with the initials R.M. in their chests.”

I couldn't even gasp this time.

I really hated knives.

But managed, “Silver handle. Correct?”

Jagger nodded.

My stomach thudded and I knew I wouldn't be eating any junk food tonight.

After a very restless night (I mean, running into Jagger like that would just about do it and cause Rip Van Winkle a case of insomnia. And by “do it” I mean cause
me
annoyance at the interference in my case. Then again, in all honesty, by “do it” I also mean how my hormones get to flowing when Jagger … never mind. I am Catholic. So, restless was an understatement because of Jagger's surprise visit last night. And, the talk of a knife and
murders
didn't help at all either.), I opened my eyes to see it was still dark outside. The digital clock said five something. The something was because I refused to open my recently closed eyelids to see the rest. Five something AM. Geez. Who got up at this ungodly hour and why?

Goldie softly snored from his bed and I had to smile despite my tiredness. Even his snoring was adorable and not annoying. And, believe me, I knew annoying snoring since I had brothers! My mother would tell us girls we snored too when an argument would break out since we girls were kept awake for hours and had to get up for school the next day. Apparently Mother just wanted to level the playing field between all of us kids.

Stella Sokol: the Switzerland of Motherhood.

We girls always denied it, yet once I heard my sister Mary, the ex-nun (that's another story!) snore. Wow. Maybe Stella Sokol was correct.

Goldie made a louder sound-make that a grunt-like sound-and I still smiled, then closed the one eye I'd used to peek at the time. It felt right that both eyes should still be closed as long as there was no sunlight coming into the room yet.

Darkness equaled sleep.

Lost sleep equals crabby Pauline.

I tensed.

I shouldn't have let Jagger's arrival bother me so much that I'd lose sleep and face crabbiness.

I shouldn't have let Jagger's arrival bother me so much that I'd worry about knives and murders.

And, I shouldn't have let Jagger's arrival … make me think of him … in
that
way.

I just couldn't control Jagger thoughts. They were like a disease that ravished my body.

Now I grunted. One should not use the word “ravish” when thinking about Jagger.

Gulp.

After all, I remind myself, Jagger's arrival was followed by the word “departure.” Yes, he'd dropped Goldie and I off at Rancho Mirage and headed back to the airport.

To depart.

Snuggling my pillow, I couldn't help feeling fantastic that he came all this way just to warn me of the murders to help me with my case.

What a guy!

Hot and had a heart.

And, best of all, he now, upon his departure, proved that he had trusted my abilities. In Jagger's book, I had now become a real investigator. One who could function on her own.

Goldie was only here for the costume design!

I couldn't help feel sorry for my dear friend though. He'd eaten all the candy he'd bought last night before Jagger had departed. Poor Gold really missed Miles, and for that I felt horrible. After a few minutes of silence (from Goldie's snoring) and a blank mind (from my overly tired brain) I decided I would have to tell Goldie to go back to his Miles.

They'd only been a married couple such a short time and I sure didn't want to be responsible for him sending himself into some sugary-self-induced diabetic coma.

All in the name of love.

Sigh.

For a brief second, my mind went blank again, and then my eyes flew open.

Why hadn't I thought of ER Dano in those brief moments? I was supposed to be
dating
him.

Could it be horror of all horrors that I'd briefly forgotten
that
since … the dreaded arrival of one Jagger?

Bang. Bang
.

My eyes flew open. For a second I was glad I'd fallen asleep since the sun was glowing on the clock, and now I saw a nine instead of a five. I decided nine was my favorite number.

“Hello in there!”

The banging was followed by a cheery, way too cheery voice even for a morning time that started with a nine. I looked to see Goldie starting to wake and realized the voice was Henry's.

“Hold on,” I shouted. I pushed myself up and started toward the door. Someone my age should not be so stiff first thing in the morning. Again, I'd blame that on Jagger's arrival.

“Suga!”

Goldie's words had me stop in my tracks. They almost sounded frightening. But what was so frightening about me going to open the door? Maybe my “bed head?”

“Suga, you don't have on … you know,” he whispered this time and I had to lean nearer to hear.

I swear my nieces and nephews were causing minor hearing loss in their dear aunt with their loud music. Oh, Lord. Did I just think that! It was like something Stella Sokol would say. Blaming kids for my hearing impairment! I groaned.

“You'll be groaning more if you open the door and he sees the skeleton of the former Pauline Sokol, Suga!”

I looked down to see my body. “Oh geez!” I turned toward the bathroom as Henry pounded again. “Um. Hold, on. Please. Mother nature calls!”

Did I really say
that
too?

Things were going downhill fast, and I decided, once again, to blame it all on Jagger even though he had taken the redeye back to Connecticut last night.

It never hurt to blame things on Jagger because he usually deserved the blame—in my mind anyway.

And if anyone was
not
bothered by being blamed for things, that would be Jagger.

After shoving on my outfit, making sure my belly button didn't show and after a quick look in the mirror followed by a shriek at my hairdo, I ran as fast as I could in this weighed-down outfit toward the door and yanked it open.

“Harrumph. Well, finally. I don't have all day.” Henry edged past me. “Pauline. This is your roommate, Jenny Hill from LA.”

I looked at the woman then at Goldie then the woman then Goldie again. Even those stupid antics didn't buy me enough time to figure out what was going on.

Henry looked toward Goldie. “We need the room for paying customers. Sorry.”

“I … wait … he can't … you can't—” I stammered as I looked again at Goldie. “He has no place to go.”

“By the sound of all the long-distance phone calls to Connecticut, I'm guessing he could head back there,” Henry said then pulled Jenny's large suitcases into the room. “Guessing he wants to head back there.”

My mind was a mess. A roommate? Now I'd have to live in this contraption for sure. And, wait! How did Henry know … oh, Lord. Henry listened in on everyone's phone conversations.

That's why they wouldn't let us keep our cell phones and made us use the clinic's phone.

Very interesting.

And he'd mentioned something about not allowing them in case someone would call in an order of Chinese food.

In the middle of the desert!

Take out Mexican, maybe.

Goldie was already up and moving toward Henry.

I put out my arm to stop him. He'd figured out what Henry had been up to also. But, Henry was right. I pulled Goldie closer. “Get the next flight home. You need to be with Miles.”

“But, Suga—”

I patted his arm. “I'll be fine.”

Then we both turned towards Jenny.

She merely stood there staring at us.

I could swear she rolled her eyes!

Well, this bitch wasn't going to make a very good roommate if she had attitude like that—cause it reminded me too much of Jagger and for some damn reason, it kinda made me miss him. Then I quickly told myself that “miss” was too strong a word.

Great. Confusion wracked my brain. Goldie gone. Goldie my makeup expert and confidant. A roommate named Jenny who rolled her eyes. Geez. This body suit must have been cutting off the circulation to my brain.

Henry continued his introductions, including introducing a round-eyed Goldie (I still had a grip on him … but only to save Henry's life) who kept staring at Jenny until I cleared my throat and welcomed her—over and over and detailing which side of the bathroom sink was hers since I'd already unpacked my toiletries on the right side and was that all right with her? Of course, I'd be glad to move them if she insisted. And, naturally she could borrow any that she needed. (Oh, Lord, where was I going to keep my latex face? Damn. On. I'd have to keep it on all the time. Groan, again.)

I looked up at my new roomie and muttered some more.

She rolled her eyes again.

Geez.

At a loss for words, coherent words, I continued stammering on until even I was dizzy. Incoherent words flowed without thought.

Goldie gave me one of “those” looks, so I immediately shut up. Nerves always caused me to ramble.

Thankfully Jenny headed into the bathroom after mumbling something to Henry.

Henry nodded, looked at Goldie then looked at me. “I'll call you with your appointments for today. You, Goldie, let me know if you need help making arrangements to leave.”

“Sure,” I said while still in shock.

“Sure,” Goldie said while looking shocked and excited at the same time if that were possible.

I know what was on both of our minds though.

A roommate!

Goldie had rushed off to make his millionth call to Miles to tell him this time he was coming home. I had to smile to myself and was thrilled about the prospect of the two of them together soon.

I took Gold's place on the lounge chair to rest my sore legs and made a mental note to eat more potassium. Bananas. Yeah, bananas were a good source, and then maybe my legs wouldn't cramp under this weight. Then again, maybe the calorie-controlled diet that I faced wouldn't include a banana a day and I'm sure avocados were out.

Now I'd have no partner in crime to sneak out of this place with to get some contraband. Jenny didn't look in shape enough to sneak out of a double door. I swore to myself I would have bought a banana instead of a Three Musketeers bar if I still had Goldie to chum around with.

Stupid thoughts zipped through my mind while I looked at the bathroom door. Jenny had been in there a long time. Granted, at her weight it took much longer to maneuver around, but now I was concerned that she might not be all right. There went my “worse case scenario thinking” mind.

Nurses always seemed to imagine the worst had happened. Someone else might think Jenny was just primping or reading one of the diet magazines the staff kept stocked in our bathrooms.

Not me, though. My mind went into various casualty thoughts. She could have fainted. But I didn't hear a thud. Maybe she had just flown into New Mexico and was a bit nauseous. Or had other-end issues. Then again, she probably didn't have time to drink the water. Great. I was cracking up. New Mexico was in the US so the water wasn't an issue.

This case was more and more
not
a slam-dunk.

I pushed myself up with a groan and walked to the door. With a gentle tap, I said, “Jenny? You all right? Jenny?”

Through the door came, “I wondered when the hell you'd check on me,” and then it swung open.

My eyes felt as if they had bugged out of their sockets. “You? You? Yooooooooou! Oh … my … god!”

I think I nearly fainted or at least felt weak enough to when I looked at the open bathroom door. Make that, I wanted to faint. No, to
disappear
. Melt into the Navaho rug like the Wicked Witch of the West when soaked with water by the monkey guys.

Yeah. Disappear was more like it.

“What the hell are
you
doing here?” I yelled.

Jagger merely smiled. Oh so very Jagger-like.

Even clocking in at over three hundred pounds of drag, he looked hot beneath the makeup.

H…o…t.

Nevertheless, I socked him in the chest. He didn't even budge, yet pain shot up my arm. “Why are you here? To spy on me? You said you were going back to Connecticut! You lied! And I don't need your help you know, and you look
ridiculous
in that get up!”

Then I felt my face burn.

I looked pretty much like him.

No. In all honesty, he looked better.

Then again, Jagger had been known to show up incognito throughout our cases—yet always delicious. Even as an eighty year old!

My mind snapped back to the present. “You! You! Stop following me in all my cases! I'm better than that!”

He grabbed my wrist when I started to punch again.

Damn. Even the act of him touching me had my insides quiver … with delight. Great. Shit. Damn. Right then I hated my inside. Traitors. I know Jagger hadn't meant his touch to be sensual, but I was taking it that way … yet again.

Yum.

Good Lord I was pathetic.

Remember ER Dano!

“Calm down, Sherlock. I'm not here for you. To help
you
. I'm working an assignment.”

“Duh!
My
assignment, you mooch!”

He leaned forward so I could look directly into Jenny's eyes, no, not some Jenny's eyes but
those
eyes that I'd known were so familiar. “
My
assignment, Sherlock. Just mine. You're on your own. Your
own
.”

Gulp.

Be careful what you throw a tantrum over.