A Dose of Murder (19 page)

“Are you sure you don't
use
?”

I pulled my hand away. “You ruined my lunch.” I looked at my tray. “Look at my hot dog. It has Coke on the bun. And the fries are inedible.”

He looked at me as if I were nuts.

And, truthfully, I sounded it.

“I'll get you another fucking hot dog, Pauline. You shouldn't eat that shit anyway, but that's your problem. Did you notice anything out of the ordinary?”

Still finding it difficult to get past the idea that this was Jagger, I clucked my tongue at him. “No. Yes. No. And
you
ate a donut yesterday.”

He shook his head.

“Look, this is all new to me, this fraud stuff. Give me a break.”

He took a sip of his coffee. “Right. I'm not known for my patience though.” Then, he got up and walked away!

Great. Now I was stuck working here, and he wouldn't help me with Tina. Great. Great. Great. I lifted my soggy hot dog, took it out of the bun and stared at it for a good long while. Just as I put the bunless dog in my mouth, Jagger came around the corner with a tray. He set it down in front of me.

“Don't eat that thing.”

On the tray sat new fries, and a fresh hot dog with mustard, relish and onions—very few onions. My mouth dropped open yet again in the company of Jagger, but this time it was because I marveled that he had noticed all that in the short time he'd sat here.

Wow. Would I ever be that perceptive? I guessed I needed that skill in this job, and told myself, while I took the new hot dog and bit into it, that I was no slouch in the perception department. Again, that came from being a nurse. Guess Fabio knew what he was doing when he hired me.

Jagger sat down. I still had to fight the urge to stare at his incredible disguise, although his voice was a dead giveaway. It was him, all right.

“You said no, then yes, then no again when I asked you if you'd seen anything. Which is it?”

I chewed faster and swallowed. “I only have five minutes left. I thought I found an MRI that was ordered, but it wasn't, but it was.”

Jagger slapped himself in the head.

“Several of the docs seem suspicious to me. Tina's husband is a real jerk. Wears Armani under his lab coat. There's a Doctor Levy who is rumored to spend big bucks. A female doctor, Charlene something, looks the cleanest. Single working mom. Oh, wait. I do have something else.”

He sat like a statue.

“I know, okay, I
think
I know. Well, truthfully, I'm more than likely guessing—”

He grabbed my arm. Not that it hurt, but more surprised me. “
What
do you know?”

“Either Eddy Roden or the secretary, Trudy Blackwell, is the disgruntled employee. I'm going with Trudy 'cause she just doesn't dress professionally. But, wait. Eddy has a chip on his shoulder—”

“Christ,” he muttered.

“What?”

“Look, Sherlock, I
know
who the squealer is. How the hell do you think I'd know to . . . look into this practice?”

Duh. Now I slapped myself in the head. “Oh, right. So which one is it?”

He didn't move. I guessed he was contemplating whether to tell me or not. I was also guessing he'd go with not.

But he looked at me and said, “Maybe you need to know to be on the lookout.” He paused, drank. “Roden.”

My stomach knotted. Somehow knowing made me a bit uncomfortable. Cause if Eddy could find out that something un-kosher was going on in the office, could he then find out that I was planted there to spy too?

I took the last bite of my hot dog, forced myself to swallow, ran the napkin across my lips and polished off my Coke. Damn, but an unhealthy meal tasted good. I got up. “I have to get back—”

“Pauline?”

I swung around to see, of all people, Nick standing next to me. He looked at Jagger and nodded.

Did he recognize him?

Seemed so, since Nick more than likely expected Jagger to be in disguise by the look he gave him. I smiled. “Hi, Nick. Well, I have to get back to work.”

“You're working here?” He looked me over. “As a
nurse
?”

“Well, I—”

Jagger jumped up.

I looked at him and remembered my promise. “I'm filling in for a friend, an old schoolmate. Seems I can't get away from the nursing field.” I laughed.

Jagger and Nick stared at me. Okay, so I ramble when nervous. I started to move, then paused since I couldn't get past Jagger, and he wasn't being gentlemanly enough to step aside.

“So, what are
you
doing here?” Nick asked Jagger.

Jagger took my arm. “Came here for lunch.”

It seemed as if Nick wasn't buying that. Who would, with Jagger dressed up like Donald Trump?

Nick leaned against a chair. It had to be a natural move, but it seemed as if he'd set up a barricade that we couldn't get through without making a scene.

Jagger's grasp tightened.

I bit back an “ouch.”

Nick looked from me to Jagger. “Lunch? Huh? This isn't exactly a five-star restaurant.”

Jagger started to pull me toward Nick.

Nick did step aside, and while I let out a sigh of relief that we didn't collide and cause a scene, over his shoulder Jagger said, “Came to have lunch with Pauline.”

Nick just wouldn't let up. He followed behind us. “Business?”

Jagger stopped and turned around. I had to do the same in the small space between two tables full of staff.

He lifted off his glasses in a gesture that I guessed was so Nick could see his eyes. Why? I had no idea, since no one could read Jagger's eyes. I started to turn to get back to work since I was already five minutes late and had to walk down the stairs.

Jagger pulled me to his chest and said, “Pleasure.”

“You two are
dating
?”

Jagger's hold tightened. Good thing, since my legs turned to Jell-O when he said, “You've always been perceptive, Nicky.”

I could only stare, again with that open-mouth thing, while Jagger pulled me through the cafeteria to the elevator. One thing I did manage was, “Oh, no. I'm not getting on that thing with you.”

“I won't stop it this time.” He talked as if nothing had happened back there, and worse yet, he actually thought I'd believe him about the elevator.

He'd told Nick we were dating!

I summoned all my mental faculties while we stood in front of the elevator. Hordes of staff passed by, some staring, some with raised eyebrows. “Dating? Dating?” Okay, so I
wasn't
using all the mental faculties I had, but it was what I could come up with right then.

He looked at his watch. “We'll talk later. You're eleven minutes late—”

“Oh shit!” I pushed past him to the stairs and ran, cursing my clogs on every one of the steps, which I nearly fell and broke my neck on. Once at the office, I stopped long enough to compose myself, less than a second, and hurried in. I went to the nurses' station and grabbed a chart.

“Your pay is going to be docked for being late,” Linda said.

“Oh, I . . . no problem.”

“I hope this isn't going to be a habit. We have to get patients in and out quickly. Time is money.”

I hope I'm not going to be here much longer
. “I know. I met a friend Well, he just wasn't himself. I had to stay a bit longer than I wanted to.” Good one, Pauline! Jagger sure didn't look like himself and had to be way out of his mind to say they were dating. Not that that wasn't a good cover to fool Nick. It was, and probably the only one that would work.

But dating Jagger?

I sighed.

Linda looked at me. “You all right?”

“I'm fine, and I've never used drugs in my life.” With that I walked away.

The rest of the afternoon progressed without incident. By day's end, I had seen over forty patients and didn't notice anything suspicious about them. When the clock said it was four, I grabbed my purse and headed for the door.

God, I could only hope I wouldn't have to be here any longer than this one week.

I had just dropped onto the couch with Spanky on my lap when Miles came down the stairs.

“Scrubs? What the hell are you doing dressed like that?”

Oh shit. “Once again couldn't say no to a friend.”

“What about your new job?”

“Funny thing is, I can do both.” Not in this state of exhaustion though. I hadn't done anything to catch Tina today. Depressed at that thought, I sighed.

“Tea?”

“Coors.”

I kinda dozed off until I heard Miles shuffle out and back then set a nice cold bottle of Coors on the coffee table. He knew I didn't like a glass when the beer came in a bottle. Cans I didn't do. It tasted better from a bottle. I actually liked when it foamed at the top. I pushed forward and Spanky jumped down and scurried off to the kitchen, where I knew Miles had left a treat in his bowl.

I looked at Miles. There was a smile on his face even through neither of us had spoken. I took a long sip of beer—then promptly swallowed. “Oh damn! I forgot. So, how was it?”

The smile turned into a grin.

“That good?”

Miles proceeded to tell me about his night with Goldie, the fabulous food, the wine, the company and how it seemed as if they'd never parted.

“I'm so glad.”

“Everyone should have someone like this, Pauline. Everyone.”

“By that I'm guessing you mean me.”

He nodded.

Oh, no! Despite the recesses of my brain being bogged down in exhaustion, I realized I
did
have someone. I wasn't sure what Jagger had in mind about dating, or even if the subject would ever come up again, but maybe I was supposed to act as though I had a significant other. Worst of all, I didn't know whether to tell Miles and Goldie, my dear friends.

As I contemplated that problem and drained my bottle of Coors, the doorbell rang. I looked at Miles. “I'm guessing that may be your beau.”

Miles always looked so adorable when he smiled like that. He got up and went to open the door.

I leaned back, shoved off my clogs and shut my eyes. I think I snored.

“I'm guessing this one is for you, Pauline.”

I opened one eye . . . and jumped up. God, I hoped Jagger hadn't heard me snore!

He stood there, back to his normal attire of jeans and black aviator jacket. No glasses. No mustache.

I liked this version better.

He held his hand out to Miles. “Jagger.”

Miles introduced himself, and I know he was dying to ask who the hell Jagger was and why he was there.

I came to the door. “Well, good. The introductions are out of the way.” I looked at Jagger as if to ask what the heck he was doing here. He stood there as if it were perfectly normal, and clearly understood, why he had invaded my home.

“Come in,” Miles finally said.

Jagger walked in, sat himself on the couch and looked at me. “Wasn't sure what you wanted to do for dinner tonight.”

If I had a ruler, I'd measure Miles's and my jaw to see whose had dropped further. I think I'd win hands down 'cause I could swear I felt my bottom lip hit my breasts, and his only reached his clavicle.

Jagger ignored us and went on. “I'm in the mood for Mexican, but wouldn't mind some home-cooked tonight either.”

Miles mumbled, “Pauline doesn't know how to boil water.”

Jagger smiled. “Of course not. I was thinking Mrs. Sokol's cooking.”

I touched Miles on the arm. “What's today?”

“Wednesday.”

“Fish,” I mumbled.

Jagger stood. “Fish sounds great. I'll get myself a beer while you go change. Nice to meet you, Miles.” With that he headed into the kitchen.

Miles looked at me. “I'm dating him,” I said, then shot up the stairs like a rocket.

Once in the safety of my room, I collapsed on my bed and wondered what I'd gotten myself into—and was it really all that bad?

My mother never refused a request for dinner. Any of us kids could pop in unexpectedly, and she'd feed us. Actually, I think she looked forward to it.

Once again I sat across from Jagger, this time in the kitchen, thank God, 'cause my family had already started to eat there when we popped in uninvited. Through frequent apologies from my mother and two offers to move to the dining room, we actually got served.

To his credit, once out the door of the condo, Jagger had said he didn't intend to intrude on my parents again, and we could go eat Mexican. I wasn't sure who'd pay and with my cash flow in a drought and expecting to go Dutch treat, I insisted on my parents' house, knowing there'd be enough food to feed a medium-size third-world country—and all for free.

Besides, my mother thrived on feeding others.

“So, Mister Jagger, I'm so glad to see you again,” my mother said, ladling beets onto his dish.

I think he groaned about the beets (or maybe the “Mister” part) but gave her a nice smile and said, “It's good to be here, although I hate to just drop in and eat all your wonderful food. My mouth started to water when Pauline suggested we come here.”

Mental note to myself. Jagger is a smooth liar. Very smooth.

He was perceptive too. He must have noticed on the last visit that the way to my mother's heart was through culinary compliments.

Daddy nodded a few times between forkfuls of scrod, oven-baked potatoes, and beets.

“How many miles to the gallon you get on the Suburban, son?” Uncle Walt asked.

I looked over to see he had his dentures in his hand and was wiping them with a napkin. Horrified, I let my gaze wander toward Jagger without turning my head.

He smiled at toothless Uncle Walt and said, “You know, sir, I've never calculated that. But she runs smooth.”

Uncle Walt popped his teeth back in. I made another mental note to put dental floss in his Christmas stocking.