The Plague Doctor (7 page)

Chapter Thirteen

Mother and I looked at each other in horror. We both knew that Mavis was on her broomstick flying to the home of her next hapless victim with a marvelous, brand-new story to tell. Poor Agnes Wallace and her marital woes would have to take a back seat to the tale of the vicious beast that Anna Howard Sterling had turned loose on Mavis Madden. Aggie might even make the headlines in the weekly paper.

Cassie peeked in the kitchen to make sure our visitor was gone so she could raid the fridge. When Mother informed her of the events of the last hour Cassie's response was, “Good doggie.”

Aggie hopped up into her lap and allowed herself to be patted for the moment. She seemed aware that she had done something momentous.

“The good doggie might end up in doggie jail if Mavis has her way. Then you'll have two pen pals.”

I realized almost—almost—but not quickly enough, how mean my little joke might sound to her.

“Oh, Cassie, I'm sorry! What an idiot I am!”

Her pretty mouth wilted at the corners while her eyes filled up with gargantuan tears. Cassie had never been one to “cry small.” No tiny little hiccoughy gasps for her. Giant sobs were her forte, and once she started she would have to cry herself out.

I jumped up and put my arms around her.

“Please forgive me for being so stupid and insensitive.”

For a moment I thought she was going to shrug off my embrace, but she hugged me back, wiped her eyes and nose on a napkin, and surprised me once again.

“You're right, I would have two pen pals, but only one of them is guilty.”

She sniffed loudly and patted me on the shoulder.

“I forgive you, Mom. But please, try to think before you speak next time.”

I sat back down, once again amazed at the emotional evolution of my daughter. I wondered briefly if I could take any credit for this growing level of maturity, but I knew better. Cassie was just on the way to becoming a fantastic young woman. At least I could be proud even if I could not take credit.

She buttered a cold biscuit and poured on some honey.

“Gran, do you really think Mavis could cause trouble for Aggie?”

“She'll try, but I think everyone she tells the story to will be so amused, secretly of course, that no one will take her seriously. Aggie can go on being Aggie. I quite enjoyed it myself. And you are right, ‘Good doggie!'”

“How in the world did that mean old witch get to be a friend of yours, Mother?”

“She was in my Sunday School class last year.”

“Yoff go' ta' be kidding!”

“Cassie, darling, don't talk with your mouth full. You might choke, and Mavis's husband would have to come out here.”

“Why on earth?”

“He drives the ambulance. That's why she knows so much about everybody's business. It's also the reason everyone is so reluctant to put her in her place.”

“So that guy who drives around blowing that siren at the drop of a hat is Mavis's true love? He seems so much younger than she is.”

“He is—ten years, maybe fifteen. And he is a bit simple.”

“And he drives the ambulance? Come on Gran, really, is this the craziest little town on earth or what? Ethan calls it ‘quaint and unique.'”

“Are you sure he wasn't referring to me?”

“No Gran, he thinks you are the most elegant and wonderful person he's ever met. He would love it if you were his mother.”

“And what am I, chopped liver?”

“You, Mom? He does think you're eccentric. But you're an artist, so it's okay.”

“What a relief.”

“He did say he hoped you won't wear jeans to our wedding.”

“I was thinking maybe the hot pink satin ones with the rhinestones.”

Cassie polished off two more biscuits while we mused over Mavis and the nasty stories she spread. But then an idea flitted through my brain, and I excused myself to return to my little atelier to pursue it.

I got down the olivewood music box and retrieved one of Ethan's discs, then pulled Ethan's laptop out of the desk drawer, turned it on, and opened the file. Sure enough there was the list of patients under the care of Edgar Baxter. Susan Arnold and Barbara Malls were on the list. So was Patsy of the trailer park.

I sat back in Dad's big chair and wondered what these women had in common besides being pregnant. The obvious answer was they all had the same doctor. And that's when I decided to do a little breaking and entering. After all, Leonard would not think twice about it. B&E was right up his alley.

I went back to the kitchen to share my plans. Cassie loved the idea and went immediately to her room in search of a burglary fashion statement. Something in black, she said. Mother, however, was appalled. I argued with her.

“If Doc Baxter hadn't closed up shop and refused to cooperate with Ethan, I wouldn't have to break in to see his files.”

“So, Paisley, let me see if I understand your motives. You feel compelled to break into the office of one of my oldest and dearest friends because he had the audacity to quit his medical practice. Because he got old and tired and heartbroken over the fact that he couldn't save enough lives?”

“Well, of course it sounds bad if you put it that way.”

I decided to take a nap in order to fortify my body for the coming nocturnal activities. Aggie is always on the lookout for someone to curl up with. She readily followed me to the library sofa, where I pulled a soft, handmade afghan over us, and we were soon snoring away in unison.

Cassie came in twenty minutes later to seek my opinion on her “stealing out in the dark of night” ensemble. She had to shake me awake. Aggie growled at the interruption of her slumber and took a quick nip at my bare toe in protest.

“Ow! For heaven's sake, what is it, Cassie?”

“My outfit, what do you think? Is this scarf too much? I thought it would come in handy if we had to tie someone up.”

She posed and twirled in her black leather jeans and black cashmere turtleneck. I decided not to bite her head off. After all, just a short time ago, I had been mentally praising her maturity. In less than an hour she had digressed from nineteen going on twenty to fifteen again.

“Ummpf.” I tried to hide my face in the soft down sofa cushion.

“What, Mom?”

She pulled the cushion away. I rose up, and the dog took another impatient nip out of my foot.

“My God! Is one little nap too much to ask? After all I've done for you? Eighteen hours of labor, six months of breast feeding, four years of college—all I'm asking is a tiny little one hour nap!”

“Oh, Mom, come off it. You don't do the maternal guilt shtick very well.”

She grabbed the poker and held it menacingly as she posed in front of the fireplace.

“So how's it look?”

I gave up. I pulled myself up to a sitting position and decided on a little revenge.

“The sweater's fine, but the pants look a little tight in the rear. Have you gained weight?”

The poker clanked loudly as she thrust it back in the holder. Cassie was out of the room like a shot. She would be occupied for at least two hours trying on all of her clothes to see if her slim and perfect figure had changed even a centimeter. I snuggled back down. Aggie sighed and nestled against me. We slept.

I woke up a couple of hours later when Mother came in to make a grand announcement. She would drive the getaway car and serve as our lookout. She looked terrific. She and Cassie had collaborated on their choice of wardrobes. I was going out on a caper with Coco Chanel and Twiggy.

I was starving, but figured a nervous stomach full of food would not be a good thing. “Can we stop at the Dairy Queen on the way home and have a burger?”

“Of course, Paisley, dear. That way if someone sees us leaving the scene of the crime and calls the police with our descriptions we will be easy to find. They'll just look for three women dressed in black who are wolfing down hamburgers and french fries in a post-burglary eating frenzy.”

“Maybe Gran is right, Mom. We should get in, out, and back as quickly as we can. Of course,” she mused, “we could get the burgers to go before we break in the office and then eat them later.”

“Cold hamburgers, dear?”

“Enough with the hamburgers! It was a dumb idea. Forget it. Let's go.”

“You always get so testy, dear. Whenever we get involved in anything that is just the least bit…”

“Mother, can we please go? We're wasting time analyzing my nervous reaction to illegal activities.”

“Well, you should work on it, dear. Look at me. I'm cool as a cucumber, and so is Cassandra. Maybe some meditation exercises. I have a new book you could…”

“Mother, if you don't get your elegant little butt out of the door and into Watson in the next two minutes you can't go. I'll leave you here to worry all alone. We'll just see how cool, calm, and collected you are then.”

“No need to threaten me, Paisley, my girl. It's so unbecoming.”

If she could have run in her high-heeled, black suede, thigh-high, Donna Karan boots she would have. Instead she walked as fast as she could to the car and climbed in with all the grace and decorum she could muster. My mother, dressed to the nines, taking me to commit a felony. I loved it!

Chapter Fourteen

Mother drove so slowly into town that we became an positive road hazard.

“Well, so much for keeping a low profile! That's the second time we've gotten flicked off, and three people have blown their horns at us on Main Street. Way to go, Coco!”

“Paisley Sterling DeLeon! The Bible promises a long and happy life to those who respect and honor their parents. I hope you're prepared for the worst!”

“And just what does the Bible say about parents who drive the getaway car for their children while they are committing a crime?”

“Mom! Gran! You all are just a little bit too nervous. Maybe we should call this off for now and do it another time. I'm sure anything we can find tonight we can find tomorrow night, or next week for that matter.”

“Mother, park over there under those trees, and let's relax for a moment. Cassie is right. We've got way too much adrenaline going on here.”

Mother pulled the Jeep wagon over to the curb and parked under the cover of three very large cedar trees. The limbs hung down almost to the ground, forming a protective canopy over the dark green car body. We had found the perfect hiding place, which was about the only thing we had done right so far.

“Hey, Gran, this is terrific. Way to go!”

Our vantage point was at the end of a side street just one block from the courthouse square. The object of our interest was straight ahead across the narrow, one-lane alley which served as both service drive and back entrance for the stores that lined Main Street.

Doctor Edgar Baxter still occupied the same office space he had when I was a little girl. He shared the old two-story building with the town's oldest pharmacy. I remembered going through a Dutch door in the doctor's office to sit behind the counter while the pharmacist mixed up whatever potion had been prescribed. Then he or his assistant would hold a lollipop out in front of me, so I would swallow the nasty-tasting concoction without a fuss. After a particularly bad bout of whooping cough in my fourth year, I developed a hatred of lollipops and the pharmacist.

Needless to say, Dr. Baxter's office did not hold many pleasant memories for me. The one good thing was that I did remember every inch of the place. I knew right where his desk and his files were. This would be a piece of cake.

We sat in silence and watched as the owners of the Main Street stores turned off their lights and locked up to go home for dinner and a good night's sleep.

I found myself yawning in the toasty warmth of the car just thinking about it. I stretched my shoulders and neck and casually looked out of the back window. I was horrified to see the red glow from the brake lights extending like a beacon from our hidey hole!

“Mother,” I whispered harshly, “do you have your foot on the brake?”

“Oh, my goodness!”

She took her foot off the pedal and we lurched forward into a large overhanging evergreen bough. The heavy limb slapped forcefully against the wide glass windscreen and snapped off one of the windshield wipers. It went flying into the air and fell in the middle of the street with a loud metallic tinkle.

“Turn off the engine now!” I hissed. “Damn! We might as well send up a flare just in case some poor idiot hasn't noticed us!”

“That's it! I'm leaving. I'll walk home. You two can fend for yourselves. I'm just not cut out for a life of crime. Paisley, you're obviously much better at this than I, you do it.”

She pulled the keys out of the ignition and threw them in the back seat. I turned around to try to locate them in the dark and saw a car approaching. I grabbed her by the scruff of the neck, or rather, by the collar of her Calvin Klein black leather jacket just in time to prevent her from opening the car door.

“Duck down! Somebody's coming.”

Cassie and I dove for the floor at the same time and banged each other on the head so hard we saw stars.

“Ow! My God, Mom, I always knew you were hardheaded,” she whispered. “I think I'm bleeding.”

I struggled to clear the ringing in my ears, “Don't be a goose. That's just something wet down here on the carpet.”

I felt around with my hand on the floorboard.

“Yuck! Wet and sticky. Remind me to get the car cleaned this weekend.”

“Sure thing. If we're still at liberty.”

“Are they gone, Mother?”

I dared a peek up over the seat.

“You mean, is he gone?'”

“He who?”

“Horatio, that's who!”

I could hear the anger in her voice.

“Did he see us?”

“I certainly hope not! How could I ever explain this utter nonsense to him?”

“What in the world is Mr. Horatio Raleigh doing out at this time of night?”

“Maybe he's two-timing you, Gran.”

“Don't be foolish, Cassandra. You know we don't have that kind of relationship.”

“Maybe you don't, but he does.”

“He probably has a stiff to prepare for a funeral tomorrow.”

“Don't be vulgar, Paisley.”

Cassie and I sat back up in the seat and looked around cautiously. All the stores were now closed. The only sounds we heard were the katydids and the crickets singing in the yards of the big houses that still bordered the edge of the business district of Rowan Springs.

“It's now or never,” I whispered. “You still with us, Mother? Or are you going to fink out again?”

She sighed dramatically, “I'm here, aren't I? Just please do it quickly.”

“Okay. Here's what we do. Mother, you open the front door and push down on the little button so the overhead light won't turn on. Cassie will sneak out of her door, and I'll get out on this side. We'll cross over the street up by the alley and go in through the back entrance. That is, if this lock-picking set I bought at the Spy Factory works.”

I patted my pocket where I had hidden the nifty little set a locksmith friend had told me about for one of Leonard's heists.

“I understand, Paisley. Good luck, and please be careful. It would be a shame to tarnish the Sterling family name with a police record.”

“You should have thought of that earlier. Go, Cassie!”

We opened the doors as quietly as we could and slid out of the car. Cassie pulled her turtleneck up over the lower part of her face so that only her eyes could be seen in the dark. I hunched my shoulders down and pulled the collar of my black denim jacket up. It was the best I could do.

We scurried across the street and hid for a moment behind a big holly bush at the corner of the dentist's office.

“Ow!”

“What?”

“Prickles.”

I crouched down as low as I could and ran across to the alley. Two large garbage cans next to Doc Baxter's back entrance afforded the perfect hiding place while I tried my hand at picking the lock.

* * * *

Five minutes later I was cursing and sweating like a longshoreman.

“Damn! It wasn't this hard when Jimmy did it.”

“Let me try, Mom.”

“Did you go with me to the Spy Factory? Did you see how it was done? Do you even know Jimmy? I think not!”

“Let me try while you rest a minute.”

I let Cass take the lock-picking tools and slumped down on the cold, hard cement of the doorstep, wiping the sweat out of my eyes. My hands were trembling and my heart was pounding.

“I want my money back, that's what I want. Forty dollars for nothing but three broken nails, a skinned knuckle, and…”

“And an open door! Come on, Mom, we don't have all night.”

Unpleasant childhood memories of the measles, mumps, and chicken pox came back in a rush as the medicinal smell of alcohol and ether filled the darkness.

“Doc Baxter's private office is in the back, down that hallway.” I stepped in front of her. “Here, follow me, and pull your sweater back down off your face or you'll sweat to death.”

We made our way cautiously down the hallway past four examination rooms, two on each side. The old-fashioned leather examining tables were now covered with white disposable paper. I remembered crisp white sheets which I had held onto for dear life while I wailed in terrified misery as my sore throat or aching ears were probed and poked.

There was a small dispensary on the left at the end of the hall, its shelves crammed with boxes of pharmaceutical samples, cotton balls, and gauze bandages of all sizes. Large bottles of different-colored liquids balanced precariously on a shelf sway-backed with age. I wondered how long it would be before it all came tumbling down. After only three weeks unattended, the office already looked abandoned and forlorn.

Edgar Baxter had started his professional life in this office when he was a young doctor straight out of medical school. His wife, Julia, had been his nurse and receptionist for the first few years until they had “made it,” then Julia quit working and started trying to have babies. She never succeeded. Bored and bitter, she finally found solace in alcohol and the drug samples she took from the office. She'd died almost eighteen months ago of chronic liver disease. And though no one ever acknowledged it out of respect for Doc Baxter, she had been an alcoholic, plain and simple.