A Dose of Murder (31 page)

She remembered Vance being an intern that year.

I'd said I couldn't picture Vance as a “newbie” and we'd laughed about it. She told me what he was like and how his wealthy father kept checking up on him, even arguing with the professors if Vance got less than straight As.

That was my Vance.

I stuck my head in the door and asked, “Doing all right, Mrs. B?”

She nodded. “Fine, dearie.”

“Oh, by the way. Did you have an X-ray the last time you were here?”

“No, dearie. I haven't had any since two years ago when I had pneumonia. I'd remember if they did, since they always put you on that hard, torturous table.”

Yet there was a note that X-rays
were
done—and the charge more than likely sent to the Global Carriers Insurance Company, which was right here in Hope Valley.

When I went out to put her file in the stack, Trudy was alone. I looked around. No other staff there. I leaned near.

Trudy jumped.

“Oh, sorry. Hope I didn't cause your back any pain.” Donnie's Workers' Comp claim on Trudy was also for back pain. The guy had no imagination.

She gave me an odd look. “Never had a back problem.”

Damn, I wished I could call Jagger. Two helpful tidbits of info today! I had to remember to ask him for a phone number although I guessed the guy was never anywhere where there was a phone and wasn't sure if he'd give me his cell phone number. Maybe he thought I'd try to trace it and find out his real name and where he lived, or—more likely—think I'd keep calling him.

I smiled about the fact that he'd thought I'd done some investigating on him, when in fact Goldie had told me about Jagger's having been married.

Shoot. I wished I hadn't thought about that, 'cause now my mind drifted off, wondering what kind of woman Jagger would marry.

Or, more important, what kind of woman would want to marry him.

I looked at the clock. Five minutes to noon. The waiting room was empty. The morning had flown by with no one having X-rays taken (that I observed). They hadn't because Tina told me if anyone needed them we'd have to call a radiology technician from downstairs.

I wondered why she wasn't trained but then remembered Eddy saying how lazy she was. Poor guy. Dead and more than likely overworked prior to that.

Tina had already rushed the last patient out of one of the examining rooms, telling Annie, who had spent part of the morning at the desk with Trudy while Tina did God knows what (probably slept) that the cafeteria got real crowded and they needed to hurry or have to wait in line.

Thank goodness I ate only what was needed to survive and didn't make food a priority. I held back in the lounge, but she spotted me.

“You coming?”

“I . . . I'II be there in a few minutes.” Quick, Pauline, think of an out. I waited a few seconds, cranked my brain into spinning the truth mode and said, “I think I lost an earring. I'll take a look, then meet you in the cafeteria.”

She looked at me. “You have two on.”

I reached up to touch my ear. “Of course I have two on . . .” Oh shit! “But I had an extra pair in the pocket of my scrubs and now I only have one.”

And no way was I going to show her my empty pocket.

“Make sure the door locks behind you on the way out.” She started toward the door with Annie in tow.

I smiled and waited. Soon I'd get to my real work. I started to turn and smacked into Donnie yet again. “Oh, sorry.”

He gave me an odd look. “Go to lunch.”

“Earring lost. Thanks for the concern.”

I think he growled as he turned and left.

I heard footsteps heading toward the waiting room and focused on my search of the office to once again make sure I'd be alone. Each examining-room door was open, so it only took a hot second to see no one was in them. Dr. Macaluso's office door was closed, as were the offices of the two docs who were off today. Still, I knocked and tried to open them.

All three were locked.

The other two were empty.

Fine by me. I knew no one was in them. I hurried down the hall to the X-ray room. That door was always closed, as if carcinogenic rays would sneak out and zap us all. It would only take a second to see that room was empty, since no X-rays had been done today.

I grabbed the handle, gave it a quick turn. At the same time I heard voices down the hallway behind me.

Tina called, “Pauline? I forgot my purse. You in the can?”

Shit. I opened the door anyway before she could see me since it'd complete my snooping and give me more time with the files once Tina actually left.

There, lying faceup on the X-ray table, was Linda Stark.

It didn't take my medical background to see the pasty, cyanotic color of
death
on her face.

Linda Stark was
dead
.

D. E. A. D.

It didn't take my newfound investigative skills to see that she didn't climb up onto the hard, cold X-ray table to die all by herself.

Someone had killed her and put her here.

Or killed her right here. Eeew.

Either way, she was dead. Murdered! Had to be.

Oh, I looked around the room and saw no sign of a struggle, although I had no idea what I was looking for.

Okay, the logical side of my brain had taken over, indicating my years as a professional registered nurse had paid off. I was cool under pressure. Kept a clear head in the face of an emergency.

But, still.
Dead
.

Linda lay so still. Eyes closed. Right hand hanging down with that giant ruby ring glaring at me. Immediately I erased her off the list of suspects. Maybe she knew something and squealed about it like Eddy—and now had paid the ultimate price.

I couldn't help but stare at her body until the illogical, impulsive side of my brain kicked in—and I screamed my lungs out loud enough to wake the dead.

Linda, however, remained completely still.

I hurried to the doorway, but couldn't just leave.

Tina bounded down the hall followed by Annie. “What the hell is wrong with you—” Tina looked in the door.

We all stood screaming in the hallway like clichéd hysterical females until a janitor ran in from the waiting-room area. He dropped his mop before he got to the doorway. Dressed in a Yankees baseball cap, blue-tinted glasses and dark gray jumpsuit, the guy nearly knocked me over.

I grabbed his arm for support as he leaned against me. Tina and Annie continued screaming.

“What the fuck is wrong now, Sherlock?”

I'd thought having janitor Jagger here would be a comfort. But watching the police investigate Linda's death and having them question me relentlessly, or so it seemed, I faced the reality that even Jagger's presence didn't help. Trudy, who arrived back from lunch early, had fixed a cup of Chamomile tea for all three of us. I sipped mine and watched Jagger as he sat by the reception desk talking to Lieutenant Shatley.

Nope. I didn't feel all that much better.

Because, I had to confess to myself,
two
people now were murdered, and I highly suspected it was all related to medical insurance fraud.

I wondered if the lieutenant knew how much I was involved with Jagger. Well, not involved as he'd suggested we were to Nick, but in helping with the case. I wanted the lieutenant to think I was a real insurance-fraud investigator.

Not a suspect, as cops sometimes make one feel.

The cops milled around, and Tina and Annie had to help Trudy cancel the afternoon appointments. The cops would have the place to themselves.

I looked at the clock. If they said I could leave, I'd be outta here in seconds. And I didn't plan to look back, since I was about to quit this job anyway. I only hoped the cops wouldn't tell me not to leave town.

Funny how my active imagination kicked in. I knew I had nothing to do with Linda's murder, or alleged murder, but the men in blue, and the lieutenant in wrinkled brown had asked me—and, I assumed, the others—questions that made me second-guess myself.

I sat there waiting, sipping my tea and remembered a time I'd gotten a letter saying I was being sued for a car accident. It was a hit and run in New Haven several months earlier. I wracked my brain to remember if I'd been in New Haven, and had I really hit a car and left?

Logically I knew I hadn't, but just looking at the letter from some attorney named Grossman, I was second-guessing myself.

After coming to my senses, I called the New Haven police, only to find out that on the accident report someone had written an L that looked like a C. My license plate was CZG196 and the criminal's car was LZG196.

So, I had to keep my wits about me not to have Hope Valley's finest make me second-guess myself again.

I never even killed flies in the condo. I'd open the window and set them free, which annoyed Miles to no end since often times another flying creature would sneak in while I was liberating the flies.

“Pauline?”

I looked up to see Jagger standing over me. I never even saw him come over. “Yeah.”

“Let's get out of here.” He turned to go.

I pushed up to stand. “I'm free to go?”

Jagger shook his head and didn't turn around. “You watch a lot of TV?”

I shoved my cup into the sink without stopping to rinse it out. “No, I don't. I only wanted to know if the lieutenant needed me anymore.”

“He's got your number.”

“Speaking of numbers,” I said as I got my purse out of the cabinet, “how about yours? If you didn't show up, I would have had to call you.”

“I'll be around.”

He'll be around! Well, I had to admit, he did show up at all the right times, but what if he didn't? “What if you aren't, and I need you? I mean, what if I'd stumbled into the X-ray room and—” A chill chased up my spine at the thought.

Even Jagger paused.

“That could have been me.”

He looked a few seconds, lifted the Yankees cap, and ran a hand through his hair. “No, it couldn't.” He opened the door and started to walk out into the empty waiting room.

I grabbed his arm to slow him down. For a second he looked as if he might slug me, but he didn't. He kept walking with me hanging on him. “You know something? What . . . You know what happened to Linda? Tell me. Who did this? The same person who killed—”

He shoved his hand over mine. “Calm down.”

It was like a verbal slap in the face.

He let go as we got out in the elevator lobby. “Get in,” he commanded when the door opened.

I started to protest, but Vance came out of the office at that moment. I didn't want to go into any details about my fear of riding the elevator, so I very reluctantly got in.

Vance looked from janitor Jagger to me and got in. “What a bummer finding Linda, Pauline.”

I nodded.

Jagger stood distressingly yet—I was certain, purposely—close on my left.

Vance kept staring at me. “Maybe you want to stop somewhere and get a drink?”

Jagger nudged me with his knee.

My first reaction was to elbow him, but I ignored him and said, “It's only around noon, Vance. If I drank now, I'd be done for the day.”

“Maybe you need that.” He shut his eyes a second and rubbed a finger along his temple.

Poor Vance
, I thought,
so uptight he can't even allow himself the luxury of running his fingers through his hair
. “No. I don't need liquor. I'm going home for a nice hot floral bubble bath.”

I heard a low growl from my left.

The doors opened on the ground floor, and I realized my pulse hadn't quickened and my breathing was normal. Being preoccupied, I'd survived the elevator ride.

Vance stepped out and turned around. He gave Jagger, who still stood near, a dirty look. “Don't you have work to do? Floors to polish?”

Yikes!

I readied for Jagger to haul off and land a good one on Vance's perfectly chiseled chin, but he merely tipped his hat and turned down the hall.

Damn. I needed to talk to him some more and the jerk wouldn't give me his number. I didn't want to sit home alone (Miles was at work now), thinking of murder and having no one to talk to.

Two murders.

Vance was rambling about a drink again. “Please, Pauline. A nice Sherry or Cognac.”

Jagger was hovering in the lobby. By the time I turned to Vance, said “I really can't” and looked back, the lobby was empty.

“Sorry to be so pushy. This hasn't been the best of weeks.”

“I hear you.”

He leaned, gave me a kiss on my forehead and turned toward the entrance doors.

“Wait!”

Vance swung around. “You changed your mind?”

I shook my head. “Did you order an MRI on Mr. Suskowski?”

I wasn't sure if the confused look was from my question or my peculiar behavior. “Did you?”

“No. He doesn't need an MRI for any reason.”

I felt that stupid chill along my back again. “Oh. Bye.” I thought better than to ask about Mrs. Bakersfield and the X-ray. Too much asking could ruin Jagger's case.

“I guess I'll go to the hospital for early rounds. If you need me, page me.” He hesitated, I'm sure out of concern for me, then turned and left.

I stood in the foyer, watching people come and go for several minutes until I felt something behind me. This time it wasn't that chill.

More like heat.

Without turning I said, “He never ordered the MRI, Jagger.”

Feeling quite proud of myself, I drove out of the parking lot after Jagger had gotten into his SUV and headed out first. For a change, I'd actually guessed that he was behind me, and consequently he didn't scare the pants off me this time.

Of course, that's what I chose to think. He more than likely
let
me know he was there in some Jagger-like way, since he, hopefully, had figured I'd had enough of a shock for one day, thank you very much.