A Dose of Murder (11 page)

Goldie tapped a nail, now shiny silver, on his tooth. “No shit?”

“No shit. He's at a late lunch with a coworker but will be home later.”

Goldie smiled.

What teeth.

“Okay,” I said, reaching for two mugs. Miles insisted we use the bone china for daily use. When he wasn't home, I used paper and plastic, but Goldie was company, so I set out the good stuff. “Hungry?”

“I could eat.”

I opened the pantry and walked in. I'm a neat freak from the word go, but I have nothing over Miles. The spices sat in alphabetical order, the cereals were color coded and the canned goods were stacked alphabetically by content. I took a package of Oreos from the shelf under the heading “Snacks for Pauline.” Miles didn't indulge in junk food but graciously catalogued mine. I was a health nut but lived under the assumption that one might need things like junk food, pantyhose or Maalox every so often.

I came out and set a few cookies on a dish. The coffee had stopped perking so I poured us each a cup. “Ever drink it black?”

“Hell, no. I love sweet things.”

“Nick said to try it black sometimes to get the true flavor.”

Goldie laughed. “I can only guess what else Nick said. He make you hot, suga?”

Despite the heat searing up my cheeks, I said, “Not as sizzling as Jagger did.”

Goldie howled and pounded on the counter. Spanky ran out of the room. “Okay, let me guess. You did see Jagger today. Spill, and I'll tell you what I know.”

Through three cups of coffee, six Oreos (Goldie had seven), and after splitting a ham and cheese on a croissant, I told him about my day.

“Lord, suga. You have been indoctrinated.”

“Indoctrinated? You mean my days could go like that again? He locked me in an elevator for crying out loud!”

“Jagger's a pip. One hell of a guy though. He'd never hurt you.”

“Now that's a relief.” I didn't want Goldie to know I'd invite Jagger in, without fear, if he came a-knocking at my door, any old time.

Goldie licked his finger. “No, it isn't. You were so taken by the hot-damn Jagger, you weren't even coherent enough to be scared.”

“Damn you.” I smiled.

“Jagger's an enigma. Don't lose any sleep over him. I like you too much for you to fall for someone so far out of your reach.”

I huffed. “Thanks a lot.”

Goldie touched my arm. His nails glided across my skin. “Suga, I don't mean it like that. You're a hell of a looker yourself and have legs to die for.”

“Really?”

“You know it. I only mean, Jagger isn't your type. He's like a current of air. Sweeps in, sweeps out. I wouldn't want you hurt. Hell, I'm not sure if he's anyone's type.”

Touched, I patted his hand. “Thank you.” He removed his hand to take a sip of coffee. I did the same.

“Okay, you want the skinny on Jagger. Sure you don't want it on Nick instead? Nick plays the field. But that's better than Jagger.”

“You saying he's involved with someone?”

“I'm saying I have no idea about his love life, and I'm guessing neither does anyone else. The guy comes and goes, sans attachments. He has a past with Nick—”

“Nick already told me about their being in the military together.” I stood and gathered up the dishes. Goldie got up to help. I'd never felt so close to someone so quickly. Well, Miles and I were like siblings, but Goldie was more a “girlfriend,” and I'd known Miles for years.

“I've never been convinced by the reason either of them gave as why they got out of the service. Great fighter pilots. Both of them.”

“Those casualties in Baghdad.”

“Bullshit. Nick and Jagger wouldn't get out because of that. They'd suck it up and trudge on. Nope. I never bought that. There's more to it than meets the eye.” He took off his jacket to reveal a white silk long-sleeve blouse with a ruffled front.

“I'm sorry. Were you going somewhere?”

He laughed. “After we get your car, I'll make the rounds.”

“You need a guy.” I sighed.

“We both do, suga.” We laughed.

“Call Miles,” I said without thinking.

Goldie paused, then rinsed out the mugs while I washed off the counter. I think he smiled though.

“Anyway,” he continued, “Jagger headed out to California. Married some chick he met out there, but it only lasted a few years.”

I felt my muscles relax. They'd clenched when Goldie first mentioned that Jagger had married.

“Children?”

“None that I ever heard about. Anyway”—he looked at his watch—“let's head out to get your car. I'll fill you in on the way.”

“Fine.” We let Spanky out and back in, locked up and got into Goldie's Camaro. The interior was bright pink. Pepto-Bismol pink. So Goldie. A pair of spongy black dice hung from the rearview mirror. I felt as if I'd stepped back into the past.

Goldie started the engine and we drove out of the parking lot. “Okay. Where was I?”

I could barely hear him over the muffler. “No kids that you knew of.” I didn't want Jagger to have kids. How selfish of me. Still, that was my honest gut feeling. I wanted him totally unattached. As if I could attach him.
Yeah, Pauline. Right
.

I was amazed that someone like him had interested me. I assumed it was because he was so very different from all the men I'd ever met. Men of my past. They could all fit around my mother's dinner table at once. She'd love that.

“Worked for a PI firm out there. As I understand it, he was trained by some ex-Navy Seal turned LAPD who had retired. Jagger worked high-profile cases including murder but always gravitated toward insurance fraud.”

“Why's that?” We turned down Maple. Goldie had taken the long way. What a doll.

He shrugged as he downshifted. “Several speculative rumors about that. The closest one I tend to believe is his old man owned an insurance company.”

“And?”

“That's all anyone ever heard. So, Jagger works his way up to senior investigator then, after extensive training and
beaucoup
hours of work, in California he applies for a Private Investigation Agency license—then he moves to Connecticut.”

“Did he get his license?”

“Don't know. But he moved, so that's a moot point. Soon he's working cases right under our noses. Adele says Jagger was around before Fabio hired her. She thinks he works for the state fraud unit.”

“Really?” Hmm. A fraud investigator too. That might make sense.

“Me? I think he's FBI.” We turned into the lot.

My heart leaped up to my throat. “FBI?” I croaked.

Goldie laughed. “What, you got something to hide?”

“I . . . no , silly. It's just that I never met anyone who was an FBI agent.”

Goldie got out and opened my door. “Maybe you have—and just didn't
know
it.”

I watched Goldie peel out of the parking lot as I fiddled around in my purse for my keys. Should have had them out before we got here, but I was so mesmerized by the stuff about Jagger, I could only sit and listen. “Yeah, right,” I muttered, fingering the keys at the bottom of my purse. They slipped away and I peered inside. “Jagger, FBI,” I said to myself.

“What are you looking for, Pauline Sokol?”

“My keys.” What? Who the heck? I yanked my face out of my purse. Yikes!

Tina Macaluso stood in front of me!

“Oh, hey. Antonina. Long time no see. What have you been up to?” Other than bilking the insurance company out of thousands. I fiddled more and pulled out the keys. Then I stupidly held them up for Tina to see.

“It's Tina now. Not much, other than work. How about you?”

Work? Work? She'd been on Workers' Comp for weeks. “Oh, I worked at Saint Greg's for years.”

She leaned near, pushed my hand down. “I see you found your keys.”

“Oh, yeah.”
Get a grip, Pauline. You're a professional
.

“You said ‘worked.' What are you doing now?”

Had she seen me watching her? Oh Lord! Did she recognize my car? Hopefully not. “I . . . got a . . . well , I thought I'd do some odd jobs.” Like follow you around and get your rather large butt on video.

“Oh, hey, I have something for you.”

Ack! Maybe she saw Jagger and I watching her and Eddy. I almost expected her to whip out a gun and accuse me of stalking her. Where was the line between stalking and surveillance anyway? “Something—”

“I've been out of work for several weeks now.”

“Oh.”
Fancy that
.

“Pulled my back out on the job.” She faked a wince.

How'd I know it was fake? Hey, I'd seen her shovel as if the snow were made of Styrofoam. “You don't say. How'd you manage to . . . do that?”

“I work in orthopedics and tried to lift a heavy patient.”

“From the floor?” The wind had picked up, and I was freezing my slender butt off. Tina had more insulation and that not-faux-fur jacket on. I stifled a shiver and waited for her lame explanation.

“No, silly. He was on the table.”

“Don't you have strong males around for that kind of stuff?” Be still my feminist heart. Okay, I had to ask to prod her for further info.

“I can handle most things. Just happened to pull out my back this time.” She pushed her hat back farther on her head. “It's as cold as Alaska today, Pauline. I can't stay out here much longer—”

“You able to drive?” And shovel?

“I—” She let out a deep, pathetic sigh.

And here I thought the wind was strong.

“I have to manage. Anyway . . .” She reached into her purse.

I flinched and ducked.

“You take drugs, Pauline?” She pulled out a little gold cardholder, opened it and handed her business card to me.

“Only Sine-Off during the spring.” I was acting weird, but I thought she was going to pop me. Then I scolded myself that Tina was a Workers' Comp case and not involved in some Mafia fraud ring despite the old rumors back in nursing school about her family.

She shook her head. “I married Donnie Macaluso. Remember him from high school?”

“Donnie? Oh, yeah. Wasn't he a year behind us?”

“That's my Donnie. Only now he's a prominent orthopedic surgeon and part owner of his practice.”

She waved her card toward me. “Take my card and call my husband's office manager, Linda Stark. She needs someone to fill in for me while I'm out.”

I squinted at her. “How long you planning to be out?”

She rubbed at her spine. “Actually, I have to rush home and rest now. Lord only knows the pain I'm suffering.”

You mean the devil, you fake. I took the card and tucked it into my purse. “Thanks. I just may do that.”

I watched her get into her black Lexus and drive out. Then I hopped into my Volvo and followed her ass.

What pain? Ha! I'd show her pain when she had to pay back every cent to the insurance company. Fabio said that'd be her punishment. I was hoping for jail time, but, oh well.

Tina turned onto Maple and headed north on Oak. She made a few more turns that had me confused. Her neighborhood was south of here toward the river. She wasn't going that way and yet she'd said she “had to rush home.”

The late afternoon sun sunk behind the mountains on the western edge of Hope Valley. Tina headed toward them to the “little Italy” section of the town. My parents lived in the Polish section, which was to the north of here. Speaking of my folks, I wondered what my mother was having for dinner tonight. I could use a good meal and reminded myself it was Monday. Meatloaf Monday. Always meatloaf.

My stomach growled. I'd only eaten those two salads, half a croissant and the six Oreos all day. For a second I contemplated turning onto Colony Street and going to eat with them. Tomorrow would be pot roast Tuesday, followed by Wednesday fish. Scrod. Always scrod. Then there was Thursday's roast pork and, of course, Friday's potato pancakes. Saturday I avoided like the plague, 'cause kielbasa and sauerkraut didn't fit into my health-conscious diet. Neither did six Oreos, but I hadn't been myself lately.

When Tina turned into Hope Spring Valley estates, I thought about Sunday being ham day and how my mother never lacked for what she would serve for dinner. All she had to do was look at the calendar to see what day of the week it was.

Yikes! The houses—no, mansions—in this subdivision didn't look like anything I'd ever seen in Hope Valley. It bordered on West Hartford, which was a town with plenty of money. This was a new neighborhood with only two streets complete. With the size of the brick houses, though, only about five fit on one side of the street. Trees, naked by the winter, bordered between properties.

Tina pulled into the last long driveway on the right. As she traveled its length the garage door opened. She had an opener for this house. That must mean she owned it.

Ack!

I know her husband was a doctor, but so was Vance. He came from money, but on his own I knew he couldn't afford two houses. No, make that a house and a mansion.

Damn.

Maybe Tina had bilked the insurance company out of money before.

Hell, it had to have been a bundle. I pulled around to the other street, which had mansions under construction. I could see Tina's house clearly through the leafless branches of the trees in her backyard. I pulled over and tried to make my Volvo invisible behind some construction equipment.

I opened my purse, dug around for my old 35 mm and hoped there were still some shots left, since I hadn't thought to get new film yet. I figured all this investigative stuff would come to me in good time. I looked at the camera. Good. One more shot left. I'd take a picture of her house. Why? I wasn't sure, but it seemed like a good idea and maybe pertinent to my case.

I grabbed my gloves from my pocket and tucked my hair under a black wool cap that I found on the floor. I'd used it sledding last weekend with Miles. It was his, but it would keep my ears warm.