Rest in Pieces (11 page)

I reached behind me to get my leather shoulder bag from the chair back where I’d looped it when I got home. I steadied it on my lap, unzipped it, and pulled out the stack of papers that was Molly’s entire medical history. I plopped it down on top of the poster board and said, “Here’s everything.”

The files were in order by doctor. Each doctor’s office was binder clipped together. I broke the stack into three smaller stacks and handed a stack to each of my friends.

“I haven’t been through all of the records, but I did find something strange when calling around to get the records. Molly used only doctors outside of Lakeside. Well, except for her pediatrician, but I guess she really didn’t get to choose that.”

“That is odd.” Haley unclipped part of her stack. “She might not have wanted the small world of Lakeside to know everything about her. I can see that. She was the kindergarten teacher. Going to a doctor out here wouldn’t be private. Sure, the government has cracked down on patient privacy, but gossip is gossip. I know Daniel’s fired more than one employee for talking about patients.”

“I can’t blame her.” Monica unclipped her top stack of papers. “It’s not a bad idea. I wish I’d thought of it.”

Haley drained her wine, grabbed the bottle, and poured more. “I wish I had, too.”

An hour later, we were out of wine and hadn’t found a damn thing. I stretched and yawned, then clipped the really boring ankle op report to its equally boring orthopedic note friends. I moved on to Enos Women’s Health.

Unlike most medical records, Enos Women’s Health’s were backwards—meaning that they went in chronological order from oldest to newest instead of newest to oldest, but they were computer generated, which made reading them easy. It was still amazing that in today’s technology driven society, lots of medical records were still hand–written.

I started on page one and skimmed. Apparently Molly went to the gynecologist for her annual visit like clockwork. Her paps were normal, her breast exams normal, I almost fell asleep. It was on the next to last page and I almost missed it.

I checked the date. Two months ago…two months ago, Molly had a positive pregnancy test. I flipped the page. It was a blood test from Lakeside Regional. She’d gone to the emergency room with pelvic pain so they’d run a blood test. Her hCG levels were very high. I flipped the page. That was it. There was nothing else.

I dropped the papers and sat back.

“Y’all aren’t going to believe this.” Why hadn’t she told me? She would have been a little over two months gone. Had she lost the baby? It was too early for me to notice a baby bump. “Molly was pregnant.”

Haley sat up. “What?”

I picked up the clump of papers from Enos Women’s Health. “It’s right here. She was pregnant.”

“Homicide is the leading cause of death in pregnant women.” Monica looked stunned. “It’s something like twenty percent of women who die during pregnancy are murdered.” Her gaze found me. “And most are murdered by their significant other.”

“She was seeing Dick Stevensen.” Or as the town liked to call him, Dr. Dick. He was our friendly neighborhood ophthalmologist, though blessed with pretty perfect vision, I’d never met him. “You know, I do need to get my eyes checked.”

“I’m not so sure you should go alone.” Haley looked worried. “He’s not a very nice man.”

“Hence the reason we call him Dr. Dick.” The ‘you idiot’ was implied by Monica’s tone.

Haley shot her a dirty look. “I know, that’s why I don’t want her to go alone.”

“So what do you propose? We go out to lunch and then run by to have my eyes checked?” I stared at her. “I don’t think we can pull that one off.”

The corner of Haley’s blue eyes wrinkled. “That is kind of awkward.”

She reached around for her purse, which was looped over the back of the chair. “At least take one of my guns. I don’t think it’s safe to be locked in the same room with him. He makes my skin crawl.”

She pulled out a little gun with a white pearl handle.

“No thanks. I don’t have a permit for that and I don’t think it’s a good idea to carry a gun in my purse.” I had such bad impulse control that I’d probably end up shooting the next person who cut me off on the Mo–Pac.

Monica took the gun from Haley and slipped it back in Haley’s purse.

“Ever see how mad she gets when someone cuts her off?” Monica eyed Haley.

“No.” Haley studied me like I was a bomb that might go off at any minute. Hey, when someone cuts me off, they’re taking their life into their own hands. I don’t make the rules…

“Yeah, well it’s not pretty. Let’s not put a weapon in the hand of someone with anger management issues.”

That was a little harsh. I may not have impulse control but I could manage my anger with the best of them. Had I ever run over anyone who pissed me off?

No.

Had ever I tried?

Well…maybe once or twice…a week…for the last ten years, but I’d never actually hit anyone. Apparently I was very bad at it.

Maybe I didn’t manage my anger all that well. I blame it on too much middle management—too many chiefs and not enough Indians. My anger wasn’t sure who it reported to, so it was left to flounder about on its own. So sad.

A staccato of knocks sounded at my front door. I rolled my eyes heavenward just in case God cared that I was put upon. The only person who knocked like that was my landlady, Astrid Petrie. She was rich, nosy and bat–shit crazy.

Another staccato of knocks sounded. She wasn’t going away.

I stood, stretched, and answered the door.

My landlady swept in with a whoosh of orange velvet mumu and a clang of silver bangle bracelets. The red velvet turban wrapped around her head looked more like a bandage for a head wound, but it was the sterling silver cane I had to watch out for. She leaned on it whenever she was in an overly dramatic mood, and I’d come to know it as nothing short of a weapon she used to knock the crap out of people. Usually me.

“Girl, what took you so long to answer the door?” Today Astrid was using a terrible fake British accent. I was pretty sure that she only used fake accents to confuse and frustrate the world. I wanted to roll my eyes, but the last time I’d done that in her presence she belted me with her cane. It left a bruise. I was traumatized.

“I was busy and didn’t hear you knock.” I let out a long, hard breath and considered running away from home, but I was in sweats, and I didn’t have on any socks, and it was raining.

She used her cane to point to me and turned her brown, cow–sized eyes on me. For a woman with so much money, I’d always wondered why she didn’t just get Lasik instead of wearing those enormous rhinestone, Liberace–esque eyeglasses. “Your presence is requested at my Monday evening séance. I insist that you be there.”

She delivered those two sentences with all of the drama and flair of a Shakespearean actor.

“Of course.” I was always there. It was in my rental agreement.

“Good.” She nodded her head and the turban bounced. “You may bring your little friends if you wish.”

For a second there I thought she was talking about the kids, but following her line of sight, I realized that she was talking about Haley and Monica.

“I will be contacting, and if the spirits allow, channeling Molly Miars.” Astrid threw her arms heavenward and spun around. “I feel her presence with us right now.”

I was pretty sure the spirits that guided Astrid came from a bottle of Jack Daniels.

I glanced around the room in case Molly was here. I hoped she was in a better place than my living room, but I guess I was okay if she wanted to hang around and show us who murdered her.

“Absolutely, I’d love to come.” Haley smiled her best hostess smile as she kicked Monica under the table.

“Sure, whatever.” Monica at the Monday evening séance? Since she didn’t take crap off of people and Astrid was full of crap, this was going to be interesting.

“Perfect.” Astrid lowered her arms and smiled triumphantly. “Having her friends with us will create a stronger force to call her over from the astral plane. If the dead cannot hear us, they cannot come to us.”

I nodded and bit my lower lip to keep from asking if Molly was with us, all we needed to do was crook a finger to call her over. Astrid was crazy, but my rent was cheap and included unlimited use of her hot tub. Focus on the positive.

“What are you doing?” Astrid zeroed in on our little murder poster board. “Is that a photograph of a dead body?”

I scrubbed my hands over my face.

“Yes, we believe that Molly didn’t overdose.” I walked over to the table. There was no use in hiding it from Astrid. When she wanted something she was relentless and it wasn’t like anyone would believe her if she talked about it.

“That sounds very industrious.” She marched over to the table, leaned down, and picked up the large gold monocle that dangled from a gold chain around her neck. She held it over her left eye, which was awkward considering that she was wearing thick glasses. “Her eyes are red. She was poisoned through the eyes.”

Monica looked at me like I should know what Astrid was talking about.

“In the seventies, we took LSD through eye drops. Good times.” Astrid’s turbaned head nodded.

Astrid had taken LSD—so many things made sense now.

She knocked Haley on the shoulder with her silver cane. “Move over girl, I need to sit.”

Crapola, now she would never leave.

Haley rubbed her arm and moved to my seat.

“What else have you found?” Astrid’s cow eyes roamed over our murder board. “What’s this about lima bean hoarding? Is that a real thing?”

“Apparently.” I took the fourth seat.

“I suppose if my friend Trudy can hoard pantyhose, then your friend can hoard lima beans.” Astrid continued to scan the board. “I intend to ask Molly about it on Monday.”

I couldn’t wait. This time I closed my eyes before I rolled them. Rolling your eyes with them closed is harder than you’d think.

“Now, who is up for a game of gin rummy?” Astrid reached into her voluminous pocket and pulled out a deck of cards. Not waiting for a reply, she shuffled them expertly and dealt us all in. She smacked the rest of the deck right on top of Molly’s face.

If I were Molly and if she was indeed here, I wouldn’t have taken that. I’d have struck Astrid down with a bolt of lightning.

Just to be on the safe side, I scooted back from the table. You could never be too careful.

Chapter 8

When I woke up this morning, my right hand was killing me. And the three Tylenol I took did little to dull the pain. And now several hours later, here I was holding another handgun.

At two on the dot, Ben picked both me and Max up and drove us to the Hidden Falls private gun range in Marble Falls. I kept calling it Hidden Valley and asking where the ranch dressing was, but both Max and Ben told me it was getting old and that I needed to stop. Spoil sports.

“Don’t lock your elbows.” Ben tapped my left elbow.

Apparently, I had terrible gun posture and was a chronic elbow–locker.

“Ever thought about nunchucks? I really think they’re an underutilized weapon. Or a crossbow. That would work well for personal defense, don’t you think?” And it wouldn’t make my hand hurt so much.

“Nunchucks? Really? You’d probably hit yourself in the head and end up in a coma. And you can’t fit a crossbow in your purse.” Ben shook his head.

Oh yeah? Haley could fit a water buffalo in her purse. Then again, I couldn’t afford Hermes.

“When the range goes hot again, I want you to concentrate on hitting the target.” Ben was all business.

I’d learned a lot today. Primarily that public gun ranges took safety to a whole new level. When the red light was spinning, you had to put your weapon down so that people could retrieve their targets. That might have been explained to me beforehand. The first time the red light came on, I thought it was to set the mood—like hey, if you’re running from the cops this is what you’ll see. I’d almost shot the man in the stall next to me. If the angry death glares he was shooting me now were any indication, he was holding a grudge. Some people just couldn’t let things go.

I had to say that I preferred Daman’s private gun range where all I had to do was push a button and the target came to me. Walking out onto a field where only seconds before people had been shooting, just seemed like a bad idea. The man next to me was living proof of that.

“So you want me to hit the target.” I rolled my eyes. “Got it.”

I’d been trying…sort of. Shooting was incredibly loud and my hand hurt and I was cold and I was hungry. They should sell cotton candy or hot dogs like at the county fair. I looked around. Ehhh, this really wasn’t a cotton candy kind of place.

A loud buzzer went off and the red light stopped flashing. I loaded the clip in the handgun Ben had provided, but since it wasn’t purple I hadn’t bothered to remember the name.

Ben put on his ear protection and nodded toward Max, who had on his own ear protection, and was sitting at a picnic table behind us reading a book.

I wasn’t much of a reader, but compared to this, books were starting to look good.

“Okay, chamber a round and remember not to lock your elbows.” Ben yelled so that I could hear over my own ear protection.

If I shot someone, did I get to go home?

Probably not. With Ben being a cop, I’d get arrested.

I glanced over at the man in the stall next to me. He shot me the finger. I winked and blew him a kiss.

He wanted to kill me. I could see it in his eyes.

If I got shot, did I get to go home? I glanced at my watch. We’d been at this for exactly forty–seven minutes. What if I accidentally shot off my pinkie toe? Did I really need it? Obviously, it would hurt and I’d have to wear closed–toed shoes for the rest of my life. The pain would fade but I’d miss out on wearing sandals. And that would suck.

I sighed heavily and brought the gun up. I aimed and squeezed the trigger. I hit the bull’s eye of the man next–to–me’s target. I had crazy mad skills; if only I’d actually been aiming for his target. I did it again, just to be mean. And again just because I could. And once more because four times was way better than three.