Spruced Up (2 page)

Chapter Two

The holiday was going to suck.

After a lovely lunch with Lottie and some catching up (she has two high school girls, a deadbeat ex, works at my parents’ practice, and volunteers at a local health clinic) she took me to my family’s office.  It was The Mac Practice.  I tried coining the nickname Mac-Prac.  It never caught on.

My mother was at her desk and smiled as I walked into her office.

“I’m so excited about spending the week with you, Mom,” I said, meaning it.  “Dick is hoping I can make a last pass on editing this script, and I could use some time to relax.”  Between murders, stolen forged paintings, Tiny’s wedding, the boys, and a new boyfriend, it had been a busy few months.  I had fantasies about this week.  Things like sleeping in, late breakfasts, and maybe a frivolous day at the Millcreek Mall and all the other stores on Peach Street, Erie’s shopping mecca. 

“About that,” Mom said slowly in a tone I recognized—that tone stopped my relaxing-week thoughts in their tracks.  That particular tone had never boded well for my plans.  That tone assured me the holiday wasn’t going to be what I’d planned. 

“I was hoping you’d find a little time to help me out.”

“Sure, if I can.”  I thought adding the
if-I-can
caveat was wise.  My mom is a tricky woman.  “You know if
I can
do something, I’m willing to help, Mom. But I’m only here until Christmas.” 

I was flying out first thing the day after Christmas.  Jerome and Peri would be dropping the boys off that day at dinner.  Cal, my newish cop boyfriend, Tiny and her new husband Sal would come over, too.  It was my day-after-Christmas Christmas dinner.  Since I’d be flying that day I couldn’t cook…I was having the meal catered by my friend Honey’s restaurant. 

Darn.  No cooking.  I’d have to just curl up by the tree and enjoy the day.

My mother stood up and walked toward a door in her office.  “Come with me. I have a surprise.”

She opened a door in her office that didn’t lead into the hall.  I knew that it didn’t because I’d just come in from the hall door and this wasn’t that.  This door led into a small windowless room.  Even with no windows, Mom didn’t need to flip on the light in order for me to see the giant white-board that was the room’s focal point.

When she did turn on the lights, I could see that this cubby had been made for viewing x-rays and for storage. 

The x-rays didn’t interest me in the least, nor did the boxes, files and books that were on the shelves.  The white-board in the center of this glorified closet held my attention like a dog’s eyes trained on a bone.

I knew why I used white-boards, but I couldn’t figure out why my mother would want me to use this one. 

“I have a little mystery I’d like your help solving,” Mom said.

If this were a movie (I’m working on that screenplay and have movies on the brain), they’d cue the ominous
da da da dum
music here.  This wasn’t a movie, so the only sound was me saying, “Um.”  That was as noncommittal as I could manage.

Now, when you want to impress a highly respected surgeon who is invited all over the country to speak and has had numerous papers published—which in medical and academic circles is the thing to do—having
um
be your go-to response is not recommended, at least not by me.  So I tried to add a bit of oomph to it by saying, “Mom, you do know I’m not a detective?”

The question was more of a stalling tactic than anything.  My mother was very well aware of the fact I wasn’t a detective.

“Quincy, I won’t have you belittling your talent.  Since August you’ve solved a major theft and forgery case and a murder.  I am so proud of how you used logic and tenacity to find the culprits in both cases.  This is just a minor case of some missing office supplies.  Well, not just some.  Actually, as far as we can tell, there have been a significant number of supplies that can’t be accounted for.  Everything from gauze, to tongue depressors, to blood pressure cuffs.  It’s not just the money, though no one likes losing money.  It’s the thought that someone we have working for us—someone we trust and consider part of our family—is stealing from us.”

Now, I can understand stealing major works of art and replacing them with forgeries.  The money was good and it seemed like a victimless crime.  But medical supplies?

“How did you find out?” I asked.

“We were looking over invoices and noticed we seemed to be buying more supplies than
in the past.  More supplies than we thought we used.  So your father and I did an inventory.  We went back and looked at our records.  It seems we’ve had supplies stolen for a long time.  It’s added up to quite a lot of money.”

“Is someone involved with one of those international medical aid things?  Maybe they took them to send overseas?”

“No.  We’d hear about it if they were.  Your brother, Gil, is the one who approves our charitable donations.  You can check with him, but no, I haven’t heard about anyone asking for help.”

Well, it seemed to me if they were stealing supplies, they weren’t asking.  But maybe they’d asked and Gil had said no.

“Your father and I, well, we haven’t said anything to anyone about this,” my mother said.  “Not even your brothers.  It’s just that…”  She paused and my mother, who was the queen of not showing her emotions, actually looked broken up.

“Quincy, we think of everyone working here as family.  When we all decided to start our own practice, that was why…the chance to work with family.  And every nurse, receptionist, or clerk we’ve hired has been someone we felt would enhance that feeling.  When a patient comes to see us, we want them to feel as if they’re part of our family, too.  The thought that someone we trust stole from us.  Well, it hurts.  Your father and I want to find out who and find out why.  There may be a logical explanation.”

I could see how much the idea of someone stealing from the practice hurt my mom.  Not too long ago, I’d have stood there awkwardly, not knowing how to handle my mother’s pain.  But now I reached out and hugged her.

My mother hugged me back.

It was a moment.

And despite the fact I’d planned to come home and just relax, visit, and write for a week, I found myself saying, “I’ll look into it, Mom.”

As if he had some psychic connection, moments later Dick called. 

“Are you writing?” was his greeting.  “Because as soon as you come home my agent wants to meet with you.”

“I promise, I will.  But I might have a bit of a mystery to solve first.”

I swear, Dick’s squeal of glee
outdid anything Lottie and I had managed.  It pierced my eardrum.

“Do tell,” he commanded.

And even though some missing supplies didn’t rise to the level of a murder or stolen art, the fact that it mattered to my mother—that my mother had asked me to find out—meant that solving this mystery meant a lot to me.

I was only here for a
week, so I had to get to work.

Chapter Three

I got up the next morning, waved everyone off and curled up with the newspaper.  Normally if I want hometown news I use GoErie.com and read the paper on my iPad.  But there’s something about reading the real paper that is so much better. 

I love shaking it out, working to get it to hang just right.  I even love starting an article and then flipping through the section to find the ending, then flipping back to start another piece.  And I really love doing all this with a cup of coffee next to me.

My parents’ house was on the west side of town.  We used to live up in Frontier Park, but when I was in my teens, they’d bought the house on Lakeshore Drive.  It was too cold to go out on the deck, but I sat in an armchair near the northern window and watched the bay.  It was grey today, reflecting the grey clouds  and sky overhead.  I’d even lit the gas fireplace and plugged in the Christmas tree lights.

My mother had gone all out this year.  Her common denominator was buffalo plaid.  That black and red check was mom’s favorite.  She’d found Christmas tree skirts and branches shaped into stars with plaid bows.  She’d put up red LED lights on the tree.  It looked beautiful and rustic.

The house was utterly quiet and smelled like the spruce tree.

I missed the boys, but there was something to be said about my morning of quiet.  I lazily read the paper in between staring at the bay and alternately staring at the tree.

Really, the quiet was—

As if on cue, my cellphone rang.  I might have been annoyed, but Cal’s picture flashed on the screen.

It had been four months since Detective Caleb Parker tried to put me in jail for a crime I didn’t commit.  A crime I’d merely cleaned.  It had been a little less than those four months since we’d been officially dating.

And only a couple months since he’d first said he loved me.

I said I loved him back.

I had thought that by now that first rush of infatuation would have faded, but it hadn’t.  I felt warm with it as I picked up the phone and said, “Hi.” 

I know, brilliant opening right?

“Hi,” he said, echoing my salutation.  “How’re things in Erie?”

“I think what you’re asking is how am I getting along with my family.”

He laughed.  “Yes.”

“Fine.  We’re having a family dinner tonight.”

“Your mom’s cooking?”

“I certainly hope not.  But she did make the reservations.”

He laughed.  “How about Christmas dinner?”

“Wegman’
s is delivering that.  Domestic-ness is not her thing.  I’ve given it some thought and I think the fact I’m a maid might be a form of rebellion.”

He laughed again.  We went on and talked about…well, about not much of anything.  Since I solved two mysteries, he’s hesitant to even mention cases he’s working on.  He’s afraid I’ll run out and try to solve all the murders in LA.  I keep trying to assure him the only reason I felt the need to solve my first murder, then the art heist, had to do with being selfish.  I
didn’t want to go to jail or lose my business.

I wasn’t sure he totally believed me.  But I was okay with not talking about murder on a daily basis.  So I didn’t press him.  Frankly
, I figured since he spent all day solving homicides, talking about anything else had to be a welcome break.

So we talked about him having dinner at Big G’s, and how Tiny and her new husband
were doing.  He asked about the boys, who were spending the week with their father and his newest wife, Peri.  They’d all gone to New Zealand.  Jerome was producing a new movie and wanted to scope out the setting. 

My middle son, Miles, was beyond ecstatic.  Jerome had promised to take him to the Weta Workshop.  I wasn’t sure what a Weta was
(seriously, say that five times fast), or why they needed a workshop for it but I didn’t ask because I knew Miles would be disappointed in me.  I planned on Googling it before their next call.

As
our conversation wound down, Cal said, “I’ve got to go.  I’ve got a murder to solve.”

“Me, too.  Well, not the murder—”

He interrupted.  “I definitely hope not.  Quince you promised and I—”

I interrupted back.  “Not a murder but a mystery.  Some supplies are missing at my parents’ office.  Well, not some, but quite a few.  Enough that they noticed.  They don’t want to make any accusations
without facts, so Mom asked me to poke around.”

I could hear Cal’s sigh of relief.  “A doctor’s office missing supplies sort of case should be safe enough.”

“And Dick is thrilled I’ve got a third mystery for my new franchise.”  Dick was sure I was going to be LA’s next hot screenwriter.  He was convinced I could turn my first Maid in LA mystery, which he’d titled Steamed, into a first movie in my own series.

Cal laughed.  “I’ll talk to you tonight if I can.”

“Have a good one.”  There was a long pause, and then in perfect synchronization we both said, “Love you.” 

I hung up.

I’d been telling Cal I loved him for a few months and I did…but it still felt odd to say.  The last man I said
I-love-you
to was my ex.  And while he was a fantastic father to the boys, I’m not sure I ever really loved him.  And I’m absolutely positive he never really loved me.  He was—and is—a serial monogamist.  Every four or five years, he marries, divorces, then repeats the process.  His current wife, Peri, was my favorite.  We’d become close and she’d confessed that things with Jerome were feeling off.

As I headed to my parent’s office, I worried about Peri and how she’d handle it when Jerome told her it was over. 

As I drove, I realized that Erie had changed a lot since Lottie and I were kids.  The new Bayfront Highway was a prime example.  It shot along the bay, connecting Erie’s east and west sides, as well as our two major interstates, I-90 and I-79.  I wasn’t prepared for how fast it dumped me at the office. 

When my family all decided to go into practice together, they’d moved into the fourth floor of the new Perry Building at the foot of State Street.  It looked out over the bay and had one of the local hospitals right across the street.

“Quincy,” Lottie screamed as I walked into the office.  “Hey, everyone.  Quincy’s here.  Quincy, I think you know everyone except for maybe Jocelyn.  She’s new.  Oh, and Carson.  He’s new, too.  Guys, this is Quincy Mac.  The famous detective and soon to be famous screenwriter, Quincy Mac.”

She pointed to a bulletin board in the reception area where the Erie Times-News article was pinned up. 

“We’re all so proud of you,” she said.  “So what brings you in today?”

“Oh, I’m just going to hang out in Mom’s office until she gets back from the hospital.”

Lottie gave me a funny look.  Frankly on my annual visits to Erie, I rarely if ever visited my family’s office, much less hung out there.  But I just smiled and waved as I walked back to Mom’s office.  There, as promised, was a stack of printouts and files.

Now, I’m no accountant or medical supply expert, but it was easy to see the orders my mother highlighted were out of whack when I compared them to previous years’.

I looked at my mother’s list of items she thought had been stolen.  Gauze, bandages, antiseptics.  No drugs of any kind.  Mainly supplies.  There were a few larger items that had been purchased and Mom couldn’t place.  A couple blood pressure cuffs (which as the relative of
doctors I know is actually called a aneroid sphygmomanometer—it’s a great Scrabble word), thermometers and stethoscopes. 

Maybe some other doctor’s office was sneaking in at night and raiding my parents’ office?

That didn’t make sense.

I made a list of employees’ names.  I put small checks by people who’d been with my parents’ forever and were low on my list of suspects.

I had five names with no check.  The two new people, Jocelyn and Carson.  And three others I’d met or heard of but didn’t know well enough to feel confident in their innocence. 

Maybe that’s not a scientific method of doing things.  And I’m sure Cal would be quick to assure me it wasn’t a police method either.  But I was a maid…and it worked for me.  At least it gave me someplace to start.

I heard Mom’s office door open, so I ran out of the cubby and shut the door behind me.

“Quincy, what’s going on?” Lottie said, eyeing the door I’d just slammed.

Back in the day, I told Lottie everything.  That inclination was still there.  But I’d promised my mom not to say anything so I simply nodded at the door and said, “It’s almost Christmas.  No one should ever ask questions like that during the holidays.”

She relaxed and nodded.  “You’re right.  Want to go out tonight?”

“I’d love to, but there’s a big family dinner tonight.”

“Is your mom cooking?”  Lottie’s horrified expression said she remembered the times my mom tried to cook for us.

“No.  We have reservations.”

“Phew.”

“Yeah, I know. How about tomorrow?”

“I’ve got the clinic.  This time of year, it’s crazier than normal.  A lot of our patients don’t have the best housing situations, and they certainly don’t do preventive health measures.”

“You spend a lot of time there.”  It was more of a statement than a question.

Lottie shrugged.  “Since Newman and I divorced earlier in the year, I’ve had more free time.  He takes the girls half the week and as much as they drive me crazy, the house seems too quiet without them.  I’d rather keep busy doing something that mattered than moping at home.”

“That’s one of the things I remember most about you…you have a big heart.  You’ll make it sound like you’re volunteering to keep busy, but you and I both know that it’s because you see people in need.  You can’t not help.  That’s what makes you …well, makes you you.” 

It was a convoluted sentence, but it was accurate.  When we were little, Lottie found a baby robin and spent a week getting up every hour to feed it.  She was and is all heart.  When we were younger, she frequently led with her heart and left her head trying to catch up. 

“I could meet you at the clinic, and we could go out from there.”

“Oh, that won’t be necessary.  I’ll call you Saturday.  We’ll figure out something.”

“Sounds good.  It will be like old times.”  Lottie and I used to spend any time we weren’t together on the phone.  “Do you remember how the boys used to complain we hogged the phone?”

“That never happens any more.  Everyone has their own cell phone.”  She shook her head.  “I think this type of reminiscing might be a sign that we’re getting old.”

We looked at each other and burst out laughing, then with the type of connection that only the oldest of friends have, said, “Never,” together.