The Stiff and the Dead (12 page)

Ring. Ring.

Damn it.

I shoved the door to the side and reached the portable phone I'd earlier set on the brass-and-leather makeup chair, which Miles got more use out of than myself, and pressed the answer button. “Hello.”

“So, what did you find out from Hildy Jones?”

There was something very mindblowing about standing naked and hearing Jagger's voice on the phone.

Of course
mindblowing
wouldn't be the term I'd use if I'd heard his voice in person while standing here naked.

Suddenly, I grabbed a towel. Foolish, yes, but it felt better to be wrapped in terrycloth while Jagger was on the other end of the line. Thank goodness technology didn't have television-screened phones in every condo yet.

“You there, Sherlock?”

Oops. Wrapped in terrycloth and my fantasies, I'd almost forgotten he was on the line. Well, okay, truthfully I'd almost forgotten the question. Then it dawned. “How the hell do you know about Hildy?”

Long pause.

“Okay.” Forget that. I sat on the leather makeup chair. Yikes. Cool to the touch after a nice, hot shower. “She needs a friend and might be a good helper.” Then I told him about the empty prescription bottle.

“I'll pick you up in five.”

With that he hung up. I looked at my mauve terry-cloth-covered body and wondered how I'd manage to get dressed in “five” let alone put on makeup, look sexy, appealing and damn good. I also wondered where he was that he could get here in “five.”

Once dressed, I opened the door on the third ring. Surely opening after the first ring was a no-no. Made one seem too anxious to see the person.

Jagger stood under the golden lighting on the front stoop with the moon's glow behind, streams of his warm breath floating in the cold night air, and wearing his black jacket and jeans.

Thank goodness I hadn't washed my hair, since it'd still be damp. Not that it needed it. But washing was one way of getting out the “wrinkles” of wearing my hair up in my “nurse's” French twist. Instead I'd used the hairdryer to tug out the crinkles. I'd put on jeans and my Steelers jacket too. Underneath I'd picked a black sweater since it made my hair look a brighter shade of blonde, and my skin, which needed all the help it could get where color was concerned, never looked quite as pale in black. Odd but true. Don't get me started on beige.

As usual Jagger had very little—no, nothing—to say until we got in the car, headed to Dunkin Donuts, ordered, got my hazelnut decaf, his black coffee and my one donut, and pulled into “our” spot, the farthest one away from the streetlights.

“Our” spot. Sigh.

Then he took a long sip of his coffee and turned to me. “She's been busted for drugs. Nothing big time, though. Weed. Using. Not selling. She comes from Massachusetts—”

“Natick. Yes, I know. But I didn't know about the drugs. Oh, my God.” Suddenly I felt even sadder for Hildy.

Jagger shook his head once. “In this day and age, the cops don't much mess with small-time users, Sherlock. If you poll any local high school, statistically speaking, about sixty-five percent of the kids would admit to occasional weed use. At least sixty-five percent. No big deal.”

“
I
think it is—”

He waved away my words. “No kidding. Everyone's entitled to their own morality. Back to Hildy Jones. She could be of help. I don't want you lecturing her and turning her off.”

“I wouldn't!” I would have if I'd known about the drugs. As a nurse, I couldn't see why anyone would need a chemical to make them feel good unless they were in pain. I took a chunk of the donut, which I really didn't need at this time of the night, and swallowed. Hildy should eat donuts instead of doing drugs. After washing the donut down with my tepid hazelnut, I said, “Do you smoke? Weed?”

Where'd that come from!

And, did it really matter?

“Pauline, I grew up in the early seventies.”

I did too, but decided not to admit it. Foolishly thinking I didn't want Jagger to know my age—when he more than likely knew my bra size. He had to be closer than me to forty. “Okay, weed is a moot point. What about the empty bottles?”

Jagger took another long sip of coffee. I wondered if he thought better when he did that. “Find out how often it happens and what they do with them.”

“Oh, yeah, okay.” What the hell?

Before I knew it, I was standing on the curb of the parking lot in front of my condo. Jagger said good night through the open car window and started to pull away. Then he stopped, backed up. “Sophie Banko was Mr. Wisnowski's sister-in-law. She had been married to his late brother. Then she married some guy named Banko.”

He drove off before the entire neighborhood could hear my “What?”

Damn him.

How could he drop a bomb like that one and just drive off? I could still see the taillights of his Suburban as he waited to pull out of the driveway, so I shouted, “I'm going to have to have help with my case. From Nick. Nick Caruso!”

Now the entire neighborhood could hear the squealing of the Suburban's tires as it sped out.

I smiled.

Some women would say Nick Caruso was every bit as handsome as Goldie was gorgeous. Except that Goldie's hair, for the past month, had been blonde, while Nick's was gray. Prematurely gray. A bit streaked with brown. Not unlike Richard Gere's, and looking just as good. Couldn't have been past forty. Damn sexy too. I heard his deep, mellow voice when he entered Fabio's office the next morning.

“Hey, Pauline.” He came near, bent and kissed me on the cheek. “Hear you been asking for me.”

Okay, I wasn't dead. My insides shimmered. But he was not Jagger.

I stood and turned toward him. “Thanks for agreeing to help.”

Fabio cleared his throat. I'd noticed that since Jagger had “straightened him out” about my being a lady he'd been a bit nicer. Of course, where Fabio was concerned, if he didn't openly curse at you, that was considered “a bit nicer.”

Nick took me by the arm and led me to the door. “I've got a few free days until my case winds down. Let's go talk.”

“Not at Dunkin Donuts.” Geez. We'd gone there before, but since Jagger and I had been there lately, it seemed like “our spot.” How dumb that must have sounded to Nick. Obviously by the way his eyebrows rose when he glared at me, pretty dumb.

“Okay, fine. Whatever.”

“Goldie said I could use his office until he's back to work or until I get my own.” I gave a weak smile. “Okay, I know that's stretching it.”

Nick smiled. “Someday.”

Once in Goldie's office I filled Nick in on my case, leaving out Lance/Jagger but telling him that Jagger was working a case in the pharmacy. I wondered if Nick knew as much as Jagger, but doubted it. No one could.

Nick ran his nicely manicured finger across his chin. “How the hell is he?”

“Jagger? No change.”

Nick chuckled.

That said a lot. Jagger was indeed an enigma. All I'd been able to learn about the two is that they'd served in the Gulf War together and things didn't turn out right. Whatever had happened, they weren't best friends any longer.

They had flown sorties in February of 1991. An air bombardment. Four hundred killed in an air-raid shelter in Baghdad. Nick took a desk job in intelligence after that. Jagger separated from the military and became a PI out in California. They both had left what they must have loved because of the accidental loss of civilian lives. War casualties, but no less harder to take.

I could only stare. Wow. But I still never knew why the rivalry existed.

My shallow side said thank goodness it wasn't over a woman.

Nick was gorgeous, I told myself, as he sat there telling me what new equipment I needed to buy. I should be nervous as a virgin on a first date, sitting in this room with him, but there was no spark.

With Jagger, there was detonation.

“Get a digital camera,” Nick said. “You can take hundreds of pictures and edit out what you don't need. Saves a bundle.”

“Do they come small enough to hide?”

Nick smiled. Damn.

“Yes, they come small. Let's check online.”

As he booted up Goldie's computer, I sat and waited.

“How's Goldie feeling?”

“Oh, better. Miles is taking good care of him. He's still not ready for work. That's why I'd asked Fabio if I could get some assistance from you. I'm not sure what to do next.” It was hard getting that last bit out. I hated not knowing what to do in my job. Yet, it was a trial-and-error sort of position. In nursing, I'd been trained and so well experienced that this “not knowing” business didn't sit well. Yet, I was determined to learn and do a good job.

No—a great job.

Nick had found several digital cameras I could afford that would be perfect for the job. I ordered one that was camouflaged as a pair of reading glasses. Of course I was too young to need them, so they had no prescription lenses. The cost wasn't as steep as I'd expected. It was amazing what one could buy online to spy on others.

Nick turned off Goldie's computer and swung around toward me. “Okay, now you need to go find your suspect.”

I looked at my watch. “Yikes. Now I need to go to work.”

“That's what I said.”

I waved my hands. “No. I mean at the clinic. The temporary job.”

“Good. You can sneak in some time to go through the files. See if Sophie Banko does in fact have several illnesses that would warrant so much medication.” He stood and headed toward the door.

Right behind, I said, “Good thinking.”

When I got into my Volvo and Nick climbed in the other side, I had to fiddle around to find my keys. Apparently around good-looking men, my fingers turned to Jell-O.

Before I cranked the engine I looked at him. “If you ride with me, you'll be stuck at the clinic all day. I really don't have a long-enough lunch break to drive you back here. Sorry.”

He grinned. “You're stuck with me for the day, Pauline.”

“Well. Alrighty then.” I turned the key, backed out and headed to the clinic. Nick and I made small talk until I pulled into the parking lot. The clinic didn't open for ten more minutes, yet several elderly people sat on benches outside.

Thank goodness it wasn't snowing today. The winter's nip did hang in the air, and I hoped none of them caught pneumonia sitting there. When we got out, Nick followed me to the door. Before I could sneak inside, Joey the Wooer popped up from the bench.

“Bellisima. I hope you are not-a ill.”

With my snuggly Steelers parka covering my scrubs, he must have thought I was a patient here.

He bowed.

Man. I was born in the wrong generation. “Hi, Joey. And no, I'm working here temporarily.” I looked around. “Have you seen Sophie today?”

He gave me an odd look. Why not? What the hell was I thinking, asking about my suspect?

“Not yet. Is she-a due here?”

I shrugged. “Have no idea. Well, hope you feel better.” I started to go inside.

Nick was right on my heels.

Joey stepped closer. He nearly put an arm out to stop Nick. “The clinic is-a not open yet.” He looked at me. “Is-a he following you?”

“I . . . no, Joey. He's fine.” I couldn't think of a lie. That was one thing I was not good at, having been raised with a Catholic-school-induced conscience. Even in my new line of work, I had a hard time coming up with lies. So, I practiced avoiding explanations.

Nick hesitated. He looked about ready to clock poor Joey. Then he stuck his hands into the pockets of his jacket. “Excuse me, sir.”

Nice one. At least Nick had the courtesy not to beat up an old man. Despite Joey looking pretty good, I'd figured he was only a few years younger than Uncle Walt, putting him in his late seventies.

Once inside, I realized that I had no explanation for why Nick had come to work with me. We walked down the hallway where I hesitated in front of the door. “Nick, what the heck am I going to say about you?”

He grinned his Nick grin. When a guy who looked like Nick even noticed you were alive, it made you feel good.

He leaned toward me. “Say I'm your boyfriend.”

“O . . . kay.” I stuck my hand on the doorknob then yanked it off. “Boyfriend? Boyfriend!” Now I stuck my hands into my jacket pockets before I clocked Nick, by accident. Flailing arms were not an attractive sight, I decided. “I'm not going . . . How can I say you are my . . . Why would I bring you to work?”

He stared at me. “Catholic, right?”

I curled my lip. “Even Catholic nursing school. All girls.”

“You need to work on telling a few ‘fibs' that are necessary to the job, Pauline.” He leaned over, and opened the door. “I came all the way from California to surprise you.”

“You did? Oh, I get it. That's the fib. Good one.” With that we went inside, and I lied my pants off to all the staff, waiting for lightning to strike at any second. I was pleased with myself when I'd said Nick had nowhere to go to wait for me and had to hang around.

Halfway through the morning I realized that my little white lies were getting better.

With the day half over, I was exhausted and kept telling myself I had done the right thing in leaving nursing. I did manage to get over to the pharmacy three times, but couldn't find out anything. It was nice to say hi to Hildy, who was wearing a new nose ring. I was actually quite proud of myself for noticing.

Liar I wasn't. But observant I was.

Except, of course, when it came to recognizing Jagger in disguise. I won't even go into the story about the poor patient who I thought was Jagger—and yanked at his beard, which turned out to be real. I was more on the lookout now and, as I said, learning. A feeling of pride surged through me, managing to knock the tiredness out of me. At the end of the morning, I said goodbye to the other staff and went to find Nick, who'd spent most of the time in the waiting room.