Live and Lime Die: A Key West Culinary Cozy - Book 8 (4 page)

“Cort,
she’s not answering,” Marilyn said, when the detective came back into the bar
after calling the station.

Her
eyes were wide with fright, and once they’d paid their check, he ushered her
out to his car, heading for her house. When they arrived at the house, she was
relieved to see that there were lights on inside, but her relief was
short-lived when she opened the front door and Tiara wasn’t reclining on the
couch, watching Netflix.

“Tiara?”
she called, hurrying into the kitchen, trying her best not to be alarmed. She
spotted the open back door just as she heard Cort call out to her from the
patio.

“Marilyn,
call an ambulance and don’t touch anything.”

Terrified,
she walked to the back door while dialing 9-1-1, and saw the detective kneeling
beside Tiara, who was motionless on the patio. She noticed several things
simultaneously: her daughter wasn’t bleeding and appeared to be breathing,
which at this point, only provided minimal comfort, there was a bottle of wine
and two glasses, and a Key Lime pie, with three plates and forks. Had Tiara
made plans to meet someone? If so, why was she unconscious, and who were her
two guests?

“She’s
breathing, and her pulse is steady, but she’s not responding to smelling
salts,” Cort said, his fingers on Tiara’s wrist.

“Is
she going to be okay?” Marilyn was on the verge of tears.

“I
certainly hope so,” the detective replied, looking up as he saw red and white
lights of the ambulance splashing over the trees.

The
EMT’s assessed Tiara’s condition and bundled her into the ambulance, with
Marilyn close behind.

“I’ll
take you to the hospital as soon as I brief the officers,” Cort nodded at the
four uniformed policemen that she hadn’t noticed were standing behind her. Seeing
the panic in her eyes, he assured her that it wouldn’t take long, and jogged
over to the group. In what seemed like an eternity, but in reality only took a
few minutes, the detective apprised his men as to what was happening, and
whisked the nervous mother away.

“It
wasn’t one of mine,” Marilyn murmured, when they were on their way to the
hospital.

“I’m
sorry?” Cort asked. “What wasn’t one of yours?” he glanced over at her, while
trying to keep his eyes on the road.

“The
Key Lime pie that was on the table on the patio…it wasn’t one of mine,” she
explained, in a daze.

“What
makes you think that?”

“It
was a different type of pie pan. I use a specific type that I special order.
They have the shop logo embossed in the bottom.”

“Where
would she have gotten the pie if it wasn’t from the shop?” the detective asked.

“The
only other Key Lime pie that I know of that she’ll actually eat, is my
neighbor’s,” she replied with certainty. She and Tiara were definitely Key Lime
pie snobs, it was an occupational hazard.

“Mr.
Eckels?” Cort clarified.

Marilyn
nodded, and he got on the phone with more instructions for his officers. When
they arrived at the hospital, the detective hustled her into the Emergency Room
waiting area, and once he was certain that she was in good hands and would be
appropriately updated on her daughter’s progress, he hurried back to his car,
impatient to return to the scene of the crime. There was something very strange
about this case, and he was determined to get to the bottom of it. Jogging
through the darkened parking lot, he was so focused on the tasks ahead, that he
never saw the figure dart briefly from the shadows, take aim and fire, the
impact of the bullet slamming him in the chest and knocking him to the ground.
He had enough presence of mind to speed dial the dispatcher and inform her that
there was an officer down in the Emergency satellite parking lot, falling
unconscious, the call still live.

**

Waiting
impatiently for word on Tiara’s condition, Marilyn fidgeted in her molded
plastic chair, eventually getting up to pace in the limited and overcrowded
space. She moved to stand just outside the entrance for a bit, in a spot where
she could still see the front desk and would know if the nurse who had spoken
to her earlier had come out to find her. She heard a commotion in the direction
of the parking lot, and peered into the darkness, wondering what was going on.
Out of the darkness, an entire crew of emergency personnel came running with a
man on a gurney. When they reached the pool of light that illuminated the
emergency entrance, Marilyn was shocked to see the pale, unconscious face of
Bernard Cortland.

“Cort!”
she exclaimed, frightened.

“Clear
the area,” one of the nurses commanded, glancing at the woman standing in the
doorway.

Marilyn
stepped aside, as though in a dream, as the man who had always seemed to come
to her rescue was whisked by. She couldn’t tell whether or not he was even
alive or dead. The culmination of the events of the day finally caught up with
her, and the woman who always counted on being able to weather any storm that
came her way, burst into helpless tears. She leaned, sobbing against the wall
next to the automatic doors through which Cort had just entered the ER, and
looked up to see a nurse headed her way.

“Ms.
Hayes? I have news about your daughter.”

In
an odd sort of way, it felt really good to be back in the saddle again, and Tim
hummed as he went about his work, alternating his methods only slightly. As
strange as it might seem to most of the population, the former mortician had
always enjoyed his work. The dead were far more amiable than the living, as it
turned out. 

He
used a hairdryer to dry out the lips so that they could be glued. The eyes were
a bit trickier, jelly-filled things that they were. He had no dome caps to set
on them, rounding out the contours to perfection, so he had to settle for an
overall profile that was less than ideal, but made it work nonetheless. He
thought about actually stitching the insides of the fingers together, rather
than simply gluing them, but it was far messier and much more time consuming,
so he elected to sacrifice the stitching in favor of a more expedient solution,
and uncapped his glue once more.

Brushing
the hair to a sheen, he applied hairspray to keep it perfectly in place, then
set about putting on makeup. Usually for a gentleman, he’d apply a
natural-looking overall tint, sculpt some planes and shadows after the fact,
and top it off with the slightest tinge of rouge, for an ironically healthful
glow. Tim loved irony, particularly when the carriers of it were the somnolent
faces of the dead. This one, however was special, and got the full treatment,
complete with bright blue eyeshadow and lipstick, a mockery of his unwarranted
machismo. He had to chuckle to himself when he surveyed the final masterpiece.

“Who’s
the beauty now?” he practically giggled with glee.

Shouldering
the heavy mound of flesh, taking particular care not to disturb his aesthetic
work, he dumped the unfortunate sap into the back seat of his non-descript
economy car and headed for the docks. The night was warm, but a lovely breeze
wafted through the car, and Tim was content. Arriving at his destination, he
found two large, tough-looking young men who seemed to be of dubious character,
and had a conversation with them, entirely unaware that his every move was
being watched. A large sum of money transferred from the former mortician to
the meaty palms of the misguided youths, and they came over to claim his prize
from the backseat. Taking care to vacuum the backseat with a mini-vac, which he
then emptied into the water, he completed his goal, and turned toward home,
whistling a happy tune.

**

A
figure emerged from the shadows when Tim was out of sight, and boldly
approached the two young toughs who were in the process of taking out their
rage upon the motionless bundle that Tim had left with them. The somewhat
paunchy former mortician had taken video of the man in the makeup before he
left, chuckling to himself in a manner that even creeped out the hired thugs.
This new arrival puzzled them even more than the semi-psychotic mortician, and
they received their second windfall of the night, this time the cash buying
their silence.

“Mom,
you’ve got to get me out of here,” Tiara complained urgently when Marilyn was
finally allowed to see her. She’d had her stomach pumped, and was weak, but fully
awake and aware. Her mother nearly fainted with relief.

“Oh,
honey, I’m so glad you’re okay,” Marilyn held her hand and brushed silken
golden strands of hair away from her face. “What happened? Do you remember?”

“We
can get to all of that later, but seriously, you need to give me my clothes and
take this stuff out of me,” she gestured to the IV line in her arm. “I need to
leave right now,” she insisted, clearly agitated.

“What?
There’s no way they’re going to let you leave, sweetie. Your body has been
through a horrible ordeal. You’ll need to stay here and rest so that they can
make sure everything is back to normal before you go home,” Marilyn explained
patiently, not understanding Tiara’s distress.

“That’s
just it, Mom, they don’t want to keep me here for observation, they think that
I tried to commit suicide,” she burst into tears. “I didn’t do this, Mom. They
said I overdosed on tranquilizers, but I don’t use tranquilizers. I don’t even
know anyone who does,” she cried, covering her face in embarrassment.

“Of
course you don’t,” her mother frowned. “Tell me what happened, honey.”

Tiara
wiped her eyes with the edge of the coarse hospital sheet, sniffling, and
Marilyn handed her a tissue. “I lied to you,” she began, not able to look her
mother in the eye.

“What?”
was the startled reply. She’d been raised to always tell the truth, no matter
what, and to Marilyn’s knowledge, she always had…until now, apparently.

“I
didn’t hang out at your house to watch Netflix. Sam stopped by the store
earlier and said that he needed to talk to me about something important. I
didn’t want him to know where I lived, so I told him I’d meet him at your
house,” her eyes grew wide, as realization struck.

“What
is it?” her mother asked, seeing her reaction.

“He
knew where you lived. I never gave him an address or anything, and he knew
exactly where to go,” she murmured. “My wretched ex-boyfriend may have been
stalking you,” Tiara looked as though she might start crying again, so Marilyn
changed the subject.

“Did
he come over?” she prompted.

The
weak young woman nodded. “He came over and I took him out to the back patio,
because I figured if he tried anything, I could scream and Tim would hear and
call the police or something. Anyway, I was having a glass of wine and he
started telling me all about how he had changed and had a really good job and
wanted to get back together with me,” she explained, remembering.

“Oh
dear, what did you say?” her mother asked.

At
that moment Tiara looked like herself again, giving her mother an eye roll.
“Please give me a little credit, Mom. I told him no. In no uncertain terms. I
learned my lesson the first time, I don’t need to repeat the class,” she
sighed.

“That’s
fair,” Marilyn nodded. “So what happened after you told him no?” she probed.

“He
asked for a glass of wine so that we could toast his new start, so I went to
the kitchen to get the bottle and a glass for him…”

Marilyn
dropped her head into her hands.

“What?”
Tiara asked, wondering at her mother’s reaction.

“Did
you leave your glass out there with Sam when you went in the house?” she asked.

Light
dawned, and her daughter closed her eyes. “He drugged my wine when I went in
the house,” she whispered, embarrassed again. “I even made a comment that I
thought it tasted funny when I came back,” she shook her head.

“Do
you remember anything after that?” Marilyn asked gently.

“Umm…I
was getting really sleepy, and then Tim came over with a pie. I went into the
house again to get plates and stuff for the pie…” she trailed off.

“What
were Tim and Sam doing when you came back out?”

“I can’t
remember…I don’t even know if they were there. The next thing I knew, I was
here, and there was a giant tube in my throat,” she grimaced.

“That’s
gotta hurt,” her mother frowned. “I’ll get some ice cream and soup after I drop
you off in the guest room. Let me go talk to the doctors and see if I can get
you sprung from here,” she kissed Tiara on the forehead. “I’ll be right back,”
she promised.

**

Fortunately,
Tiara drifted off to sleep when her mother left, her body worn out from the
trauma that it had endured, and she didn’t hear the raised voices outside her
door as her mother argued with the attending physician.

“What
do you mean she “has” to stay overnight? Whatever happened to patient choice?”
Marilyn demanded, hands on hips. She’d had a rough evening and was in no mood
to be diplomatic.

“I’m
sorry, I can’t even talk with you about the reasons why she has to stay
overnight. Your daughter is an adult, and I can only share medical information
with her,” the doctor explained patiently.

“My
daughter did not try to harm herself. Her wine was drugged by a psychotic
ex-boyfriend. There is absolutely no reason to keep her here,” she insisted.

The
doctor considered his next words carefully. “While I’m not saying that this is
the case with your daughter…whenever the human body goes through an experience
that shuts it down almost entirely, there is need for further observation, just
to ensure that all systems are functioning properly, before sending the patient
home, where medical intervention equipment is not accessible,” he stared at the
nervous mother pointedly, trying to drive his point home without being overt.

Marilyn
sighed, realizing that she wasn’t going to get anywhere with her demands,
cajoling and wheedling.

“Fine,”
she groused. “But can we at least make certain that her room is in a secured
area? I have no idea where the ex-boyfriend is, or if he’ll try anything else,”
she confided in a low voice.

“I
assure you, she’ll be in a very secure area,” the doctor nodded.

**

“Seriously?
The psych ward?” Tiara was irate. “I didn’t do this, and I don’t need to be on
suicide watch! This is ridiculous,” she started to try to get out of bed, and a
nurse gently restrained her.

“Mom!”
she pleaded, looking at her mother for support.

The
doctor intervened, speaking softly so that the agitated young woman would have
to calm down enough to listen. “Miss Hayes, the reason that your room is on
this floor is because it is the most secure area of the hospital. There are
security guards and several locked and reinforced doors protecting you. Whoever
did this to you will not be allowed access to this floor, I can assure you of
that,” he soothed. Tiara quieted, but was still visibly upset.

“Get
some rest tonight,” he instructed. “We’ll do some blood work and check your
vitals in the morning, and as long as everything looks good, you’ll be
released, okay?”

Tiara
nodded curtly, arms folded over her chest.

“Alright
then,” the doctor pursed his lips and turned to leave.

A
nurse politely informed Marilyn that visiting hours had ended quite some time
ago, and received a raised eyebrow in response.

“Tiara,
get some sleep, honey,” her mother said, squeezing her hand. “I’ll be back to
get you in the morning.” Her daughter’s lower lip quivered briefly and she
turned over on her side, facing away from her mother, the nurse and the door.
Marilyn looked up at the nurse, whose face was more than sympathetic, patted
Tiara’s arm, and headed out of the room.

The
exhausted woman took the elevator back down to the Emergency Room, where she
had come in, and saw a cluster of officers in the waiting room. She approached
the group timidly, intimidated by the grim faces and serious demeanors.

“Is
Cort…uh, Detective Cortland, going to be okay?” she asked.

A
tall policeman whom she’d seen before answered briefly. “We don’t know yet,
he’s in surgery,” he said, dismissively.

“Oh,
okay…thank you,” she said softly, the color draining from her face. She moved
numbly toward the exit, overwhelmed by the day’s events, remembering only when
she got outside in the fresh air, that she had no ride. She spotted a couple of
taxis near the main entrance and hailed one, ready for home and bed,
desperately trying not to cry.