Dead Weight (4 page)

I'm not sure what had me more flustered. Jagger once again in my life, my business, my
room
or, the fact that he claimed he was working on his own case. And to top it off, he'd later told me-no, make that challenged me-to “let the best investigator win.”

Normally I wasn't a competitive person … unless Jagger was involved.

Now I had to beat his butt (figuratively, sigh).

Damn.

For as much as I felt I'd grown and learned in this job, and against my will and logic, mind you, Jagger's presence in my cases seemed to shroud me in safety. That rankled. Admittedly I was pretty stubborn (Polack here!) at times, tough when needed to be, and could stomach quite a bit (nursing background).

But Jagger still shrouded me in safety.

Funny how I thought of the word shroud because often I'm sure Jagger wanted to murder …
me
. Thus the shroud analogy.

Shroud, schmoud.

Any attention from Jagger was good, like any kind of publicity good or bad was perfect for movie stars.

Could my life get any better?

Ha!

Suddenly my thoughts of fluster turned to my standing here in front of him with my … body five times larger than it really was.

I'd already admitted he looked better in the plus-sized drag. Now I felt more a fool, and I kept reiterating in my mind that Jagger knew what I really looked like so it didn't matter. I'd do just about anything for my cases and to help people.

There was my nurturing nurse's nature acting up again.

“Damn, this is uncomfortable,” I heard him mutter, and when I looked up, he was peeling off the body suit.
Peeling
.

I knew I stood standing with my jaw on my larger-than-usual chest, but I couldn't help it, nor could I push my jaw back up into position. At least this large chest was good for something other than preventing me from taking a deep breath. The dropped jaw thing because … Jagger stood in a puddle of body suit wearing nothing but his … gulp … jockey shorts.

Black.

Naturally.

Good Lord, I've seen enough. Please take me to Heaven now.

I had to get out of my room and away from temptation so I decided I needed to get my mind into my job. A little bit of investigating was exactly what I needed so I headed out the door—without looking back at black jockeys, puddles of body suits or … a body.

A Jagger body.

Once in the hallway, I assumed my roll as patient in the clinic and headed to the lounge for a cup of tea. The one thing I could get around here after hours.

But the lounge was empty; the hallways darkened and as I turned to look out the window, saw dear Henry getting into his car rather quickly. Actually, I'd call it “harried.” Yeah, he looked harried since he dropped his briefcase and looked horrified when he went to pick it up.

Very interesting.

Ah, while the cat's away …

The door to the office was unlocked. Amazing. Apparently harried Henry had left it open by mistake. Things around here were too secretive to leave a door unlocked.

This was my lucky day. First I get to see Jagger … bodysuitless. And now I get a break in my case and find the office door open.

Yippee.

I'd learned a lot over my short career about breaking and entering—mostly with Jagger's help—but this time I was on my own, and if it weren't for the weight of the suit, I'd be slithering throughout the office, looking for evidence in every nook and cranny.

After looking around to make sure the place really was empty, I walked around to the other side of the reception desk. No drawers. Damn. The desk was merely a holder for the phone and “desk” accessories.

Henry's office. I had to get into his office, which was behind the reception desk. But was he harried (and by harried I mean dumb) enough to leave that door unlocked too?

After a silent prayer to my favorite saint, St. Theresa, whom, by the way, I have bothered ad nauseam at times, but I truly believed she listened to me—even if I annoyed her. Hey, saints were called saints for reasons. Surely she would put up with a little annoyance for a good cause.

And my solving this case was a good cause. People's health was at stake and, if Jagger was correct (and he usually was) people's
lives
were at stake too.

Looking over my shoulder toward the front door, I hesitated until I was sure it was quiet and no one was about. Then I walked toward Henry's office, touched the door very lightly, shut my eyes and turned.

Nothing.

Damn. Okay, St. Theresa may have been busy.

So, Pauline Sokol had to get busy. I looked at the reception desk for something to use to get into the office. There wasn't even a letter opener since, I'm sure, snail mail was replaced by email around here. There were a few pens, but I didn't think they'd help. I had watched Jagger “pick” a few locks in our past and figured if he could do it, so could I.

But what to use?

Jagger would find something. I walked back to the reception desk, flopped down in the chair since wearing this suit was exhausting, and let my head rest in my hands for a few seconds. “Come on, St. T. I need a little help here.” When I looked up, my stare focused on the wall opposite the reception desk.

Bingo.

There, hung on the wall, was a silver knife. Inlaid turquoise and the lettering for Rancho Mirage. Maybe they got a discount on them.

Why a knife?
was my first thought since I hated them. Then I told myself, it would work beautifully with the very sharp, yet thin, tip. So, I pushed myself up, headed to the wall and, amazingly enough, was able to take it down without incident. Interesting and scary. But, I wasn't going to waste brain cells on the why or how of a decorative piece when I needed to get into Henry's office before someone came around.

As I put the decorative knife back in its spot, making it look as if it had never been touched, I gave myself a mental pat on the back (since I couldn't reach behind my shoulders in this suit). I had opened the office door like the pro that I was.

Jagger would be proud.

Maybe I'd tell him someday
was my next thought as I stepped inside the office with only the light from Henry's fish tank to illuminate the room. A window overlooked the courtyard so I wasn't going to chance turning on any lights.

When my eyes adjusted, I was glad my mother had made us kids eat so many carrots growing up. “Good for your eyes” was what most mothers told their young, yet mine made us eat them because the orange would add color to our cheeks. Well, she was Polish.

Thank goodness my Slavic skin stayed pale and never turned orange.

I opened and closed drawers, looked over everything on the shelves and through the books on the rack behind his desk. So far nothing.

If I were a rather effeminate guy like Henry, yet straight when it came to flirting with the clients, where would I hide something, if I were going to hide something?

And what something was I actually looking for?

For a few seconds, I let myself “become” Henry. I shut my eyes, remained still, then opened them slowly.

The fish tank illuminated the Pueblo pottery jar on the edge of the shelf. I had to walk over and look inside.

A key.

Damn but I was good. Yet, what the hell did the key open?

No safe in the room, and I had opened every drawer possible. Or had I? Suddenly I remembered my Babci (Polish grandmother) had a secret drawer in one of her dressers that we kids got a real kick out of. She had to push a wooden section of the dresser in with a pencil, exposing a keyhole.

Maybe Henry had something similar.

As I leaned closer to the desk to see, I heard a noise and my throat dried instantly.

“Who's in there?”

Oh, geez.

I looked up to see the janitor standing in the doorway, mop in hand, and smiled. Or at least tried to give him my sexiest smile-as if that would help.

“I … hello, sir.” I stood up and pulled down my top so he wouldn't see my fake bellybutton.

“Not another one.” He leaned his mop against the door and pulled out a rag as if he were going to dust me.

“Another one?” I couldn't help but ask.

“Sniffing around for a snack.” He shook his head. “Go on, child, get on out of here before I have to report you.” Who knew I could move so fast with all this added weight on?

Thank you, St. T!

As I stood in the shower … naked … a thought struck me. Well, two thoughts. One, I was damn lucky to get a janitor who pitied my large size and two—Jagger was right outside the door. Now. I don't remember being naked and that close to him before. There was that time I'd accidentally taken that Viagra pill( yes, I took it and it
does
affect females!) and we were stuck in a shed, but, if memory serves, I still had my clothes on in the morning. At least that is how I remembered it.

Jagger standing in his black jockey shorts flitted through my thoughts again. One would think a close to above-average intelligence kind of gal like myself would have better things to think about.

But we were talking …
Jagger
.

Geez. Again, with
those
kinds of thoughts. I had more on my mind than … Jagger. At least I told myself that as I poured shampoo on my head—for the third time. Poor ER Dano. He was a great guy, but now I was kinda thinking I had made a mistake. I really didn't want to hurt his feelings, but damn it all, Jagger thoughts intruded—over and over and over.

Could I go on with this case with Catholic guilt brought on by lusting in my heart (and mind) for Jagger when I was supposed to be dating ER Dano?

Nope.

Naturally I couldn't.

When I got out of the shower, I'd have to make a call. Damn but I hated that thought. Calling him to break up also was uncharacteristic for me. That'd be like texting someone to say it was over. Rude and impersonal. Dano deserved more than that.

With the shower on full-blast, I stood much longer than necessary as if that would wash away all my problems. Then again, at least it would rinse away three applications of shampoo. Had to get my mind in gear. Investigative gear.

I had a case to solve.

And a key that needed to unlock something.

And I always took my job seriously.

With a flip of my hand, the pulsing water stooped, I grabbed a towel and stepped out.

Then I heard Jagger's voice. “Yep. Okay. Tonight. Eleven by the white veranda…”

My towel dropped to the floor as I swung into investigative mode and leaned closer to the door to hear more.

Never did I once believe that Jagger was working alone. We always worked together. Now I had to follow him tonight to see who he was meeting and why.

Gulp.

The “why” kinda scared me.

“Near the two saguaro,” he said, then silence.

Who the hell was he talking to?

I only hoped it wasn't one of the clients who had successfully shed a gazillion pounds and looked like a movie star. Maybe it wasn't even job-related. Yikes. I didn't like that thought one bit.

Good Lord. I had to call ER Dano fast.

Whoever invented digital alarm clocks with LED lights? That was my first thought when I watched the number turn from ten thirty to ten thirty-one. The light was enough to see Jagger, a.k.a. Jenny, was gone.

But her body suit lay on the floor where he/she had peeled it off earlier. Gulp. I could
not
go there and get up to find out whom he was meeting. I had to keep my wits about me.

I pushed myself to sit up on the side of the bed. After my shower I'd left off my body suit since Jagger wasn't wearing his. Besides, I didn't plan for anyone from the clinic to come to my door or venture out in it again after the key incident. Once Henry was gone for the day, no one ever seemed to bother me in my room, or, I'm guessing the rest of the clients. Food was locked up tighter than Fort Knox, so what harm could we all do? Although I guess some thought Henry had a private stash.

I'd wear my regular clothes that darling Goldie had hidden in my suitcase. Goldie. I missed him, Miles and our joint-custody dog, Spanky. I looked at the blaring digital numbers. Good. I had time to get dressed and after I followed Jagger and saw whom his “meeting” was with, I'd give my roomies a call.

That is unless the green-eyed monster traumatized me beyond belief.

I can't believe I just admitted that in my head.

Hopefully Stella Sokol never told us kids that if we admitted something in our heads, it would come true.

Because
everything
my mother ever said came to fruition. What a gift the woman had!

When I stepped out into the darkness (from my window no less) I froze. Not that the warm New Mexico air was cold. Nope. I just had a horrible thought. Was that beast of a dog carousing the property? Shit. Maybe he'd remember me and leave me alone seeing I didn't have much meat on my bones. Then again, if Jagger and someone else were already out by the white veranda, the dog could be drooling over them.

Wait. This was Jagger I was talking about. The poor dog wouldn't have a chance.

Jagger could stop him with a look, and, sigh, only women drooled over Jagger. Human women.

I crept around the side of the building and froze again. Not because the doggie was about, but because I heard people making noise. Not talking. Not moving around kind of noise.

Heavy breathing and, to my trained ears, it sounded like kissing in the dark. (Don't even ask how I'd know that.) I reached out to steady myself and screamed, “Ouch!”

Well, I'd made it to at least one of the two saguaro Jagger had mentioned. Now its thorn was in my right palm and the kissing noise had stopped.

Gulp.

My first thought was to run. Not because I was scared. Scared had left my vocabulary after being shot at numerous times in this business. I had moved onto petrified at times, but right now I remained still so that the “kissers” wouldn't come see who had made the “ouch” noise.