Killer Moves: The 4th Jolene Jackson Mystery (Jolene Jackson Mysteries) (15 page)

Chapter 19

Back in the car, I called Emmajean and told her about the impromptu dinner party. Since it was stacking up to be a pretty good crowd, I told her I would just stop somewhere and grab chicken or barbeque or whatever. She’d gasped and choked, and I was a little concerned she was having a stroke or something. Or something was the case. No way was she going to allow me to stop anywhere for food. She would have a delicious and healthy dinner ready for us and that was that.

And in that moment, it became very clear who was in charge at that house—and it wasn’t me. It was also clear that I wasn’t upset about it. In fact, I kind of liked it. Control freak that I may be, I was exceedingly happy that I did not have to deal with providing dinner or even thinking about it. I still felt like I was imposing on Emmajean, but she’d had plenty to say about that too and informed me I just needed to get over it. So, I did.

Confident that would be plenty of food for the masses, meaning Melody, Doris, Travis, Lucille, Jerry and me, I was free to think about other things—like the potential for trouble. Of course, the trouble first had to be removed from the rehab center. And now that I was back in the saddle and mostly back to myself, I needed to be the one to go round up Her Majesty instead of Jerry. It would at least take one stress-inducing thing off his list. And since I really wanted him to stay with me at the house tonight, it would also stack the deck in our favor for having a relaxing and pleasant evening. Just the thought of those possibilities took the edge off of everything else. I felt my shoulders drop as I automatically relaxed. Smiling, I dialed the phone and waited to hear the soothing deep timber of his voice.

“I told you I’m not leaving!” came Lucille’s voice, screeching from the phone. “You can‘t make me!”

My grand plans for a cozy cuddly evening vanished as the whereabouts of the sheriff, and the unsatisfactory status of his mission, became abundantly clear. “Let me talk to Jerry.”

The deep sigh on the other end of the line told me the sheriff had recovered his phone. “Do I need to state the obvious?”

“No,” I said with my own deep sigh. “I’m in town and I’ll be there in five minutes.”

“She may not live that long.”

The screeching in the background spoke volumes. “I’ll hurry.”

By the time I arrived at the rehab center, I’d steeled myself for the worst. The pep talk I tried to give myself on how I’d managed this sort of thing plenty of times before just didn’t take. After yesterday’s adventures with Doris and the lab goods, just showing my face in the facility was risky enough. Hauling her out by force would not bode well. Nevertheless, I resigned myself to the fact that the situation would probably require duct tape and handcuffs, both of which I presumed the sheriff had already procured from his truck.

Thankfully, I made it to Mother’s room without incident. The door was closed, which was not really a surprise. However, the lack of yelling from within was. With a quick request to the powers that be for divine intervention, I took a deep breath, pushed the door open and stepped inside the room.

Lucille sat in a wheelchair, dressed in a purple track suit, her purse in her lap and the bag I’d brought her from home sitting on the floor beside her.

Jerry stood by the window, leaning back on the sill, arms crossed.

I gave him a plaintive, pleading look, hoping he would explain what I was walking into. He didn’t.

“I am only doing this for you, Jolene, I want to make that real plain,” Lucille said, gripping the handles of her purse. “I told Jerry Don that nurse in the lab is probably just a flunky, just doing what she’s told. Somebody needs to find out who’s running the show and I’d be staying here and doing exactly that if it weren’t for you being in trouble.”

She was casting a pretty wide net, so I mouthed to Jerry, “What trouble?”

“Oh, save it, Jolene. He told me everything. I know about your car getting blown up and what that boy came up with in his lab about those pills you took.”

I watched Jerry’s face to see if he was trying to send me any silent messages. Mostly, it just looked like he wanted this over with. So did I. “Well, Mother, you were obviously right about things here,” I said, agreeably. “And I just have to say that I am amazed how you—”

“Just shut up, Jolene.” Lucille smacked her hands against her purse. “I already said I’d leave.”

“Glad to hear that,” I said. “Because you may think you can outsmart them, but I’m not willing to bet your life on it. I don’t know if we got Doris out in time or not. She can hardly move or think. I don’t want that for you.”

She glared at Jerry. “You should have told me that!”

He ignored her and looked at me. “How bad?”

“Bad enough that Travis volunteered to come to the house tonight and give her an unofficial evaluation.”

Lucille narrowed her eyes. “You took Doris to my house?”

“I was going to, but it turns out that the terms and conditions of the mess you’ve gotten me into require that I be in residence elsewhere.”

“That’s not my fault,” she said, frowning. Then, she cut her eyes toward me. “Just because you have to stay in the house on the hill doesn’t mean I do.”

“Oh, but it does.”

She scowled. “I don’t want to. You just take me home and Agnes will come stay with me.”

“No,” I said, firmly and without further explanation. “But on the bright side, you do get to ride up there in your own car. I brought the Buick.”

Lucille tipped up her nose. “You didn’t do that on my account. You were afoot, your monster truck getting blown to bits and all.”

The standard flurry of “Why me?” thoughts whistled through my mind, but I turned my attention to the details at hand—and to Jerry. “So, do I need to go talk to anyone about paperwork or are we just going to leave?”

Jerry pushed away from the window. “All the papers have been signed. They weren’t eager to have a repeat of yesterday’s events. The uniform seemed to speed things along as well.”

“Thank you, Jerry,” I said, sincerely, hoping he could feel my gratitude. “Do you think you could come to dinner too? I’d really like for you to be there.” I sounded a little desperate, but that’s because I kind of was. The whole house situation made me nervous and having him there would be really nice. I couldn’t say that at the moment though, so I took a different approach. “Travis would probably appreciate it.”

He glanced at Lucille then back at me. “We haven’t had a chance to talk. We need to.”

Dread waved through me, settling in my chest and gut. “I know,” I said, although I didn’t, at least specifically. Things had changed so fast, literally overnight, and I had to wonder if he’d finally had enough of it all—of me. My old insecurities did a familiar jig them shuffled off the dance floor. My mother had put him through worse and he hadn’t bolted, so I didn’t need to assume he would now. No, it was something else. “We need to talk, but?”

“Ben has a softball game tonight,” Jerry said, almost blurting it out. He paused, glancing at Lucille. “It probably won’t be over until eight.”

“Oh, my Lord, Jerry Don,” Lucille said. “We all know you’re coming over afterward to spend the night with Jolene so stop being such a child about it. You’ve been sleeping together in my house so you may as well do it in yours.”

“Well, thanks for clearing that up, Mom.” I turned to Jerry. “If you need to be with the kids, I understand.” I said it and I meant it, but I sure didn’t want it. “Just give me a call later.”

He walked over and picked up Lucille’s suitcase then stepped behind her chair. His eyes said he was truly sorry. His mouth simply said, “It’s going to be okay.”

It didn’t feel like anything was going to be okay, but we did manage to get Lucille in the Buick without a major incident. However, as soon as I closed my door and turned the key in the ignition, she began creating one.

“Well, it is certainly good to be out of that horrible place. I tried to tell you what they were up to, but you just wouldn’t listen, just thought I was making things up. Maybe now you’ll start believing me. Of course, I was on to them so I knew better than to fall for their tricks. Anybody else would have been killed dead before you started paying attention.”

Oh, how easily she could jump the fence on her viewpoint when it suited her. And we both knew she was building up to something. “Uh huh. And?”

“Well, after all I’ve been through, the least you could do is let me freshen up and go get some decent food. After being penned up, those really are the first things you want when you get out.”

I was not indulging her jail analogy, nor was I falling for her ploy to get herself back in the social scene. “We are not going to the Dairy Queen.”

“Well, I don’t know why in the world not,” she said, huffing, scowling and plotting, all at the same time. “I certainly need a bite or two to tide me over until the dinner party. And, of course, I can’t go looking like this. We’ll just make a quick stop by the house so I can change and grab a few things, then we’ll swing by the salon so I can have my hair and nails done. I’ve already called Tina and she said she’d work me in whenever I got there.”

“No.”

She sputtered in indignation, but I found words before she did.

“I will drive through somewhere on our way out of town and get you a snack, but that’s it. There will be no trip to the salon. You’re not going to your house either. I’ll go get what you need later.”

“Why, you hateful heifer,” she said, jutting out her chin and glaring at me. “I just don’t know what on earth has gotten into you, treating me like this. Oh,” she said, sucking in her breath. “I suppose now that you have your big fancy house, you don’t have time to bother with me, that’s what it is, and, it’s just plain hateful.”

“Hateful, protective, call it what you want, but it doesn’t change the facts. You are going directly to The Big House.” She frowned and I laughed. “Yes, as in prison. Wonder where I’d get the idea for such a comparison…”

“Hateful, hateful, hateful,” she said, balling her hands into tight fists. “I knew this would happen. I just knew it!”

“Me too.”

“You can’t treat me like this,” Lucille said. “You aren’t the boss of me.”

“I am today. Because, once again, we’re in the middle of a big mess where people are dying, maybe even Doris. And the reason she’s at the house is because the nurse showed up at her place and made them sign papers. The nurse also threatened to turn Melody in to Social Services for putting her mother at risk. You signed yourself out, so they can’t use that angle, but I will not assume you’re safe and let you run free and loose. Not to mention that you aren’t physically healed enough to do so.”

“I am so!” Lucille scowled as she processed the rest of the news. “You should have told me that other part sooner.”

“When? You don’t give me much time between the arguing and demanding.”

More chin jutting. “That’s not true.”

“Oh, but it is. So maybe, when you’re busy jumping to conclusions, you might consider that I might actually be looking out for you. Maybe? Just once?”

“They aren’t after me,” she muttered, ignoring my point.

“Maybe. But they’re going to be after me once they figure out what happened to the stuff from the lab. And then they will connect the dots with the woman in Room 216 who caused them all kinds of trouble then checked herself out.”

Lucille scowled. “I still don’t see how having my hair done could hurt anything. It’s not like they’re going to follow me to the salon. Besides, I’m not going to blab about what you did or anything.”

Oh, please. “Does Agnes know what’s going on? How about Merline?”

She glared at me.

“I rest my case.”

Chapter 20

We arrived at The Big House without any further grousing, relatively speaking, the cheeseburger and onion rings having soothed her to some degree. To my credit, I did not mention, imply or infer that her “snack" was going to ruin her dinner, which of course it was.

Also to my credit, I’d asked Clove to go to Mother’s house and retrieve some clothing for her, which I could do because I’d left my key ring at the house—the keys to the Tahoe no longer needed. She was not happy about some man snooping through her things, but she’d rattled off a hefty list anyway. She was certain he wouldn’t get it right—I was certain no one could—but the attempt appeased her for the moment. It also helped that I promised to go back myself tomorrow and to make an appearance at the Dairy Queen on her behalf. Other concessions were also made, but let’s not belabor my magnanimity—or stupidity.

After getting Lucille settled in her room to rest before dinner, I went to the kitchen to thank Emmajean for taking on the group feeding at the last minute.

“Good heavens, Miss Jolene, you have got to stop that!” she said, scolding me like I was a three-year-old. “It’s my job to cook and clean and such and I enjoy it. I haven’t had a chance to do anything like this in a very long time, so stop fretting. If there’s something I can’t do or don’t want to, I’ll let you know and we’ll get someone in here who will. Okay?”

“Yes, ma’am,” I said, resisting the urge to salute. “Now, on my side, I’d really like it if you would call me Jolene, without the Miss part.”

She shook her head. “Dear, you have a lot to learn.”

Indeed. My ignorance was vast and sprawling, but having the housekeeper say so stung a bit and I wasn’t sure exactly why.

“Now, don’t be taking it personally,” Emmajean said. “I just meant that being the owner of this big place was going to take some getting used to. Clove and I aren’t the only ones on your staff here.”

Staff? I’ve
been
staff, but I’ve never
had
staff. The one time I had a maid, I was terrified about what embarrassing mess she’d find next. Yes, indeed. I had a lot to learn. “Well, I hope you’ll show me the ropes.”

“Let’s start with food,” Emmajean said, smiling, then pointed to the fresh vegetables and other items on the counter. “Everything here is organic and fresh grown, some from our own garden. We also have our own chickens, so the eggs are as fresh as you can get. I don’t fix a lot of meats, but it’s always from local sources with no chemicals, so you don’t have to worry about that.”

I was a little shocked. That kind of stuff was normal where I live in Colorado, but here, a bold health statement was choosing diet soda over regular. My dance on the dark side with Dr Peppers and chicken baskets aside, I am a different person when I am at home—on every level. Still, having these kinds of healthy options here was really good news. “Wow! That’s fantastic!”

“The kitchen is set up to be gluten free,” she said, “It’s your choice, of course. Just let me know what you prefer.”

I nodded because really, how many times could you say “wow”?

Emmajean showed me around the pantry—yes, it required a tour guide. I was a little giddy at all the shelves stocked full of really good stuff and I was ready to start taste testing right then. In keeping with the mother-toddler aspect of our relationship—the employer-staff thing was just a theory—Emmajean gave me a little snack then sent me off to my room to rest and clean up before dinner.

Now, I don’t know what possessed me—I suppose I never do—but instead of taking a nap or hopping in the shower or snooping through my new master suite to see what was there, I chose to look at the files Grant had left for me that morning. It did not take me long to regret my decision.

Dr. Richard Waverman’s grand plan for the toxic waste problem looked more like a map to create an amusement park than it did a plan for remediation. The log ride, black lagoon and magic mountain just weren’t marked as such on the drawings. Okay, that was an exaggerations, but the whole thing looked like overkill to me. Waverman might think he’d hit a gold mine that he could milk because nobody knew any better, but he was about to find out differently.

After a few desperate text messages, emails and phone calls to my geologist friend Dr. Deb, complete with photos of the maps and relevant details of what I thought he was up to, I was reasonably certain that Dr. Dickhead was going to have to die come sunrise. And yes, I am certain that Clove was not the first one to call him that, nor would I be the last. I was also certain that whatever name I decided to call him, the good doctor and I would be having us a nice little chat at dawn about the future.

My phone beeped, signaling that a text message had arrived. Figuring it was Deb again, I grabbed it to see if there was more ammunition for my morning showdown.

The text was from Jerry. My stomach instantly knotted and a twisting zing shot up my body. He wasn’t coming at all tonight and I didn’t have to read the message to know it. Past history and old wounds kicked in. Danny and the guy after him had made careers out of making things sound perfectly innocent so I’d feel stupid for questioning their lies. Jerry wasn’t like that and I had to stop expecting him to be. I gritted my teeth and read the message.

“Kids wanted to come home with me and spend the night. Will call when I get them in bed. I love you.”

Yes, I was disappointed he wasn’t going to spend the night with me, but I didn’t feel sick about it because I knew he wasn’t lying. Jerry loves his kids and is an amazing dad. He’s also got the most incredible co-parenting relationship with his gorgeous ex-wife Amy I’ve ever heard of. Admittedly, the fact that she was a newly discovered lesbian made it easier to temper any jealous twinges on that front, but mostly I was envious of their divorce arrangements. My own joint custody had consisted of me begging my children’s father to spend time with them and him making excuses so he didn’t have to. It still made me sick to think about it—and how, even as young adults, they were still trying to get Daddy to care. He never would give them the attention and approval they wanted, but they had to figure that out for themselves. It wasn’t my deal anymore. I tossed the phone aside. “That was then, this is now.”

I put the project papers back in the folder for tomorrow’s showdown with Waverman. Then, after a trip to the fancy bathroom, I moseyed out to inform Emmajean of the new lowered headcount for dinner. When I opened the bedroom door, an apparently well-insulated and sound-proof door, I heard a strong male voice and tinkling female laughter. A few steps into the room, I saw Travis and Melody sitting on the sofa, chatting away.

Melody sat sideways on the couch, her legs tucked under the long teal skirt that spread out around her. Her gaze kept drifting over to Travis, an odd mixture of self-assured confidence and doe-eyed admiration.

Travis wore khakis, but his shirt was more casual today, the top button left open and his sleeves rolled up. He looked like a normal guy. Sounded like one too. I heard none of Dr. Deadpan’s usual monotone condescension or acerbic phrasing. In fact, he sounded like a totally different person—a human person—one with a charming personality. It was a little disconcerting.

“I see you two have met,” I said, stating the obvious and walking toward them. “Thanks for coming, Travis.”

“Thanks for inviting me!” he said, smiling widely. “Your home is lovely and I’m already having quite an enjoyable time.”

Uh huh. I could see that. I could see it, but I couldn’t believe it. The blushed glow on Melody’s face and the fact that Travis couldn’t seem to keep his eyes off her told me I’d better believe it. Who would’ve guessed that the go-with-the-flow energy worker and the uptight doctor whose patients were all dead would be smitten with each other? Not me, particularly since I’d halfway suspected Travis was gay. Since that assessment was obviously wrong, maybe I was misjudging the age difference too. Was I assuming Melody was older just because she had silver hair and Travis didn’t? Well, yes, I was, and that train of thought led right back to me and my own unnatural brunette choices. Not a place I wanted to go at the moment. “Jerry’s not going to make it for dinner tonight.”

“Just got his text,” Travis said, nodding. “I’ve already let Emmajean know.”

Well, Mr. Personality was right on top of everything, now wasn’t he? I frowned. “Anything else I need to know?”

“Travis took a look at Mom,” Melody said, a flicker of a blush tinting her cheeks. Her fingers toyed with a violet-purple natural-looking stone, probably amethyst, that hung on a silver chain around her neck. “He thinks we caught it in time and that she’s going to be okay.”

“That’s great!” I said, sitting in the chair by the fireplace.

“I brought a liquid nutrient supplement, which will help significantly.” Travis said. “With dietary support and extra fluids, we should see improvement in a couple of days.”

“I’m just so grateful for your help,” Melody said to Travis, her voice even more twinkly than usual. “Yours too, of course,” she said, looking at me. “None of this would have been possible without your quick thinking. Because of you two, my mom is going to be okay.”

“I am really glad to hear that,” I said sincerely.

“Hear what?” Lucille said, walking out from the hallway and into the big open area. She held to the wall then made her way toward the dining room table, which was only a few feet away. “What’s happened now?”

“We were just talking about how much better Doris is doing,” I said, watching my mother carefully. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine,” she said, but it wasn’t convincing. She was giving it a good try, but she couldn’t hide the limp and she was moving slower than she had been earlier. She’d overdone it, not that she’d ever admit it. “I’m not very hungry, but I thought I’d come out and visit.”

Of course, she wasn’t hungry—the burger and onion rings had seen to that. I did not say so, of course. I just stood and walked over to the dining room table. Handcrafted dinner plates with deep blues and rich browns lined the outer edges. Unique-looking bowls and serving dishes filled with gourmet foods covered the center section. The presentation appealed to the eyes and the stomach. Keeping my little mouth shut about what she was going to be missing, I pulled out a chair and helped my mother sit down.

“Well, now, isn’t this fancy,” Lucille said, more snarky than complimentary. “I suppose some people like fancy.”

“It looks great to me,” I said, not taking the bait. “And the food looks fabulous. Too bad you’re not hungry.”

Travis pulled out a chair for Melody across from me, then seated himself next to her. I began passing the bowls and plates of food around.

“Emmajean is just amazing,” Melody said, adding a few stalks of asparagus to her plate. “You are so fortunate to have her helping you.”

I agreed wholeheartedly—on many levels. This particular gratefulness included farm-fresh organic vegetable dishes and salads that looked exquisite and tasted even better. “The quinoa salad is delicious and the mashed sweet potatoes are were worthy of desert status.”

“I agree,” Melody said. “I have great restaurants around me in Dallas and this is like the best of the best.”

“Miz Jackson,” Travis said to Lucille, clearly not going to make a food comment. “Did any of your doctors ever mention the possibility of your having restless leg syndrome?”

“What!” Lucille’s eyebrows shot up. “My legs are just fine. I don’ have anything like that.”

“Nobody does,” I muttered. “But that didn’t stop them from creating a pill for it.”

Travis raised an eyebrow in my direction. “The drug is typically prescribed for Parkinson’s—”

“Well, I certainly don’t have that either.” Lucille held out her hand. The long acrylic nails were definitely in need of a touch-up, but they did not wiggle, even a little. “Do you see any shaking here? No, you do not! And why would you even say such things? Parkinson’s my hind foot.”

Travis took a drink and nodded, undaunted by Lucille. “One of the pills you collected at the rehab center is prescribed for both conditions. It might possibly have been given to assist with the healing process, although it was more likely an error, a mix-up in medications.”

“Hmmph,” Lucille snorted. “Just another way they were trying to kill people. Now, I want to know what you’re going to do about this.”

The light above the dining room table flickered.

“That’s weird,” I said watching the light go on and off. “It shouldn’t be doing that. Everything’s brand new. “Must be a bad bulb.”

The flickering stopped.

“Handing out pills like popcorn. Just give any old pill to anybody,” Lucille said, ignoring me and the light. “Just using us like a bunch of guinea pigs, seeing what would kill us and what wouldn’t.” She slapped her hand on the table. “Oh, the nerve of those people!”

“It isn’t automatically a mass problem,” Travis said. “It could have been an individual mistake.”

He was trying to consider all options, I understood that, but I could also see the wheels turning in his head. “You ran the tests. You know what’s going on here, Travis. It may not be pretty, but there’s no other way around it.”

“I, above all others, know the lengths to which drug companies will go to get their products on the market.” He uncharacteristically ran a hand over his hair. “This would mean that someone is conducting unauthorized pre-trials of drugs on unsuspecting patients.”