A Dose of Murder (32 page)

Before he'd left he asked me if Tina was in the office all morning. I told him that I honestly didn't know, since I was busy and didn't keep tabs on her. Did he suspect Tina had killed Linda? Oh my. He wouldn't have told me if I asked, so I didn't.

My tummy growled. I hadn't had any lunch and it'd been several hours since finding poor Linda. I added her name to my mental list of prayers for the dead. I wondered if she'd run into Eddy in heaven, or if Eddy actually had arrived there, or if Eddy ever would. I put my money on purgatory for him, which was a heck of a lot better than hell. Then again, Linda didn't seem as if she'd be on Saint Peter's invitation list either.

Unnerved by Linda's death but having dealt with it so many times in my nursing career, I decided I needed to do a little more work to take my mind off today. So, I headed to Tina's smaller house, not certain why. When I pulled into the subdivision, I noticed a neighbor walking a dog near Tina's. I pulled to the curb, shut my engine off and got out and walked toward her.

She turned at the corner. Damn. I hurried along, not certain what I was going to do or say. A man came out of a brown saltbox house across the street and looked at me. Oddly. Okay, he had reason to. This small, exclusive neighborhood was not a place strangers frequented for walks. I paused, but before I could smile at him, he rushed back into his house. I turned and looked down the street.

I'd lost the dog lady.

I stood there awhile, then turned around. A man dressed in a hooded green parka and winter facemask jumped behind a parked car. Shit. I turned back around, hoping he was merely out for a walk. Why would he hide like that? He didn't look like the man from the house I'd just seen. Much taller. Jagger?

Why would Jagger hide? Not his style. Besides, he always wore black. My racing heart said I should get the heck out of there, evidence or not. I quickened my pace, careful not to slip on the snowy sidewalks. As I broke into a jog, I could hear snow crunching behind me.

It got louder. I ran faster.

Before I knew it, my feet were up in the air, my clogs directly in front of my face. I landed with a painful thud. The crunching behind me stopped.

Then I saw a police cruiser pull around the corner.

I swung my snow-covered head around to see who was behind me.

No one. Not even a flash of brown. I was never so glad to see a police car.

Before the cops got closer to me, the dog lady came around the corner, and ran up to me.

“Are you all right?”

With a groan, I pulled myself up, thankful that these classy people didn't shovel snow very well and I'd had a nice cushion to fall on. “Thanks. I'm fine.” I wanted to ask if she saw anyone behind me, but thought that would scare her off. The police cruiser slowed. She waved to him, and he passed by. Phew. Looked like the same cop Jagger talked to here, the first time I spied on Tina. Brown saltbox probably called him on me.

“Well, if you are all right, I need to get Kirby inside. Snow sticks in his pads.”

“I'm a friend of Tina Macaluso,” I quickly said. “Do you know which house is hers?”

“You're in front of it. Some friend.” The dog looked as if it might pee on my clogs so I stepped into the snow. Also the woman's tone didn't seem too friendly now—maybe she wasn't a Macaluso fan. That'd be my bet.

“Thanks. A shame how she hurt her back.”

The lady started to walk forward. “My husband is always telling Tina she shouldn't shovel. Never learn. Some people never learn.”

Shoveling!

I looked at the snow as if it could tell me the truth, but instead asked, “Is that what happened? I'm so embarrassed. On her get-well card I put that I was sorry she was injured at work.”

The woman looked at me. “Her injury lasted all of five minutes, then she was out skiing that evening. You look more hurt with your little tumble than she did.”

I stared at her as if she might tell me more, but then again, I had pretty much what I needed. Tina wasn't hurt at work, and although barely hurt at home, she had filed a Workers' Comp claim for the dough.

That helped ground me after the day I'd had.

A Subway shop was on my way home so I decided I'd get a sandwich, eat it, and take that much-needed bubble bath now that my muscles were moaning. I drove up to the drive-thru, told the disembodied voice in the speaker that I didn't have any coupons when it asked and ordered a roast chicken breast with real mayonnaise, (hey, I deserved it today), lettuce and extra onions.

I got the grinder and decided that after my bath I'd run over to Fabio's office. I needed a Goldie fix. He could cheer me up, even if I couldn't tell him all the details of my day.

At my stoop, I fiddled in my purse, cursing that I wasn't thinking clearly and now I couldn't find my keys. To make my day perfect, icy pellets danced against the windowpanes and my head. “Shit. Shit. Shit.”

“When will you ever learn?”

This time Jagger stood near his Suburban, which he'd parked in Miles's space in front of our door. Since he paid most of the bills, for now anyway, Miles earned the closest space. I had no problem with that unless it was raining ice, like right now. Days like this I wished I could pay all the bills.

Jagger came up the walkway. I searched frantically, determined he wasn't going to spill the contents of my bag, on the sidewalk this time. There! I pulled out my keys and stuck the right one in the door.

“It's open,” he said, opening the door and walking past me.

“How? What?” I hurried in and shut the door before Spanky made the great escape. “How the hell did you know? Miles never forgets to lock the door.”

I set my purse and sandwich down, picked up Spanky. “I need a hug. I need a hug.” He licked my cheek as I stared at Jagger. “Well?”

My tone was perfect. Demanding. No outlet for him. Perfect bitch.

“Do you think I'd let you come in here without checking it out first?” He rubbed Spanky's head, turned and walked into the kitchen. “What kind of sub we sharing?”

Spanky jumped down, no doubt expecting a treat in his bowl from Jagger, and my jaw hit my chest yet again.

I wanted to shout he had no right, no business breaking into my home, but in all fairness, I said “thank you” and followed Spanky into the kitchen.

Jagger already had two Coors out, no glasses, and was sitting at the table, doodling, sipping his beer. As I let Spanky out the back door for a few seconds, I wondered if anything in that notebook was useful to this case. It didn't take the dog long before he was right back in, shaking ice off his fur.

I sat at the table, set my sub down and started to open the bag. “Roast chicken with mayo, lettuce and extra onions.” I took half and set it on a napkin next to his pad.

He nodded his thanks.

“Found out today that Tina did, in fact, hurt her back at home, but not enough for a sustained injury.” I wasn't about to share that I'd been followed, fell in the snow, and a neighbor had probably called the cops on me.

He looked at me.

“I spoke to her neighbor,” I said.

His face froze.

“Relax. I didn't give my name, and I said I was a friend.” He toasted me with his Coors, then took a sip. I smiled inside.

I took a bite of my sub. I have no idea why Fabio popped into my head—other than fear had me all muddled up—and the fact that he'd mentioned the G word the day he'd hired me. I said, “Where can I get . . . a gun?”

Of course, two murders had something to do with my asking.

Jagger took his time, no great surprise. Actually, I thought he was once again going to ignore my question. But he picked up his beer, finished it off and looked my way. “Why?”

“Why? Why? Oh, I don't know. Maybe two murders might have something to do with it.” I felt something at my leg and looked down to see Spanky begging. After ripping a tiny piece of chicken off my sub, I told him to sit and he gently took it from my fingers.

“Ever
use
a gun?”

“I've never seen a real gun.”

Jagger shook his head in an “I thought so” kind of mode.

“I can learn.” Yikes. I really was talking nonsense. I really didn't want to be in the same building, much less the same room with a gun. I knew Jagger must carry one by that bulge I'd seen, which, by the way, I hadn't noticed lately. Great. My protector—unarmed.

Then again, he might have it hidden.

Then again, I had to stop the first thought that came into my head, which was that I wouldn't mind frisking him to find out.

So much for the gun argument. I'd let it go—for now. “By the way,” I said, still thinking of Fabio. I took another bite. “How come you never told me that I should be taking still photos of Tina committing fraud?”

He grinned.

“Stop that! You should have told me. I could have finished this case and . . . and been done with her, gotten paid and started working on something else.”

“I told you, it would mess up my case. Besides, I said I'd pay you.”

That's right. I had forgotten that. But now I wasn't sure if, even for Eddy and now Linda's memory, I could keep helping Jag . . . Wait ! “You son of a bitch!”

He got up. I thought he was going to run out but then again, this was Jagger.

He didn't run.

From anything. Of that I was certain.

Instead, he walked to the refrigerator, opened the door, and took out another Coors. “Such language. Very uncharacteristic for you, Sherlock.”

About ready to apologize, I paused. No, wait. I was pissed! “I'm not talking recently. You didn't tell me about taking pictures of Tina . . . I could have gotten several with the opportunities I'd had . . . but you didn't want my case closed long before Eddy was killed.”

“So I could keep you helping me. I told you that.”

I could only look at him.

The staring lasted for several moments, until I blinked. “Now you did, but earlier on—” He shrugged.

“It's true? You were using me from the start.”

He sat back down, twisted the cap off his beer. “Partly.”

Mentally I counted to five. Too eager to hear this, I didn't want to waste time going up to ten. “You're going to have to explain that one.”

“Look, you know I needed your help. Earlier on I didn't want you to finish so that you would stay on that nursing job. Lately, I couldn't have you finish and have Tina picked up. That would blow my case, as I said. And Sherlock, you've been doing a fine job.”

“Fine?”

He shook his head and blew out a long breath. “Okay. A great job.”

“That's better.” My roast chicken sub with real mayo held no appeal now that I'd gotten so riled. I normally didn't give Spanky people food, but it seemed a shame to waste it. I broke it up into tiny pieces, got up and put it in his dish.

The dog went insane.

But his insanity couldn't beat mine. Jagger drove me nuts. Would he really have lied to me or at least kept the truth from me in order to
use
me like that?

Yeah, he'd just said so.

“I find it hard to believe that you couldn't have gotten the info I've helped you with on your own. After all, you
are
Jagger.”

He raised his beer to me again, then chuckled. “True enough. I could have, but it would have taken longer.” He leaned back, took a sip of beer.

“What's the big hurry with you? You don't exactly look as if you need the money—”

“I don't do it for the money, Pauline.”

Wow. I was seeing a very serious side of Jagger. If not for the money, then what? Could he really be that interested in solving crime because he felt obligated to or, more likely, because he was that dedicated?

I looked at him, wishing he'd show some emotion, some facial expression other than pure sexiness, so I could read him. No such luck. I demanded, “Who the hell do you work for?”

“No gun,” Jagger said, got up and walked to the door.

I hadn't noticed, but Spanky was standing there wiggling as if he needed to go out. Jagger opened the door and Spanky bounded out. Jagger waited a few minutes and let Spanky back in, then picked the dog up as if to warm him.

Wow. A human, an actual touching side to such a complex man. I cleared my thoughts and didn't allow him to ignore me this time. “I demand to know who you work for.”

He ran a finger across Spanky's head. Very gently. I could see the control—well, maybe a hint of a struggle to maintain it. I thought of the kid's balloon again, and sure didn't want Jagger to explode.

To use a cliché, fear was not my cup of tea. But in that instant, I realized there was a bit of fear in me when I looked at Jagger. Interesting. I trusted him with my life, yet I was a bit afraid of him at the same time.

He set Spanky down, took a toothpick out of his pocket (that's where they materialized from!), peeled off the cellophane and tapped it against his tooth. Then he chewed on it a bit. He looked me in the eyes. “You don't need to know.”

“Hmm?” I'd been momentarily mesmerized by the toothpick thing. I yanked my glare from him and his stupid toothpick, looked past him to see the ice coming down harder and said, “I
want
to know.”

“If I tell you FBI, then what? Hmm? Then what will be different?”

“I . . . well . . .”

Before I could answer he said, “If I tell you some fucking insurance company . . . that I'm an investigator for some fucking insurance company, then what will that matter? Or undercover cop. Maybe you'd like to hear that I'm a cop? Or PI? Huh? What the hell difference would any of that make?”

I got up, kept my chin held high and walked out.

Damn him.

Jagger didn't follow me. At first I expected it, then I sat on the leather couch and waited. It really didn't matter, I guessed, but the less I knew about him, the more I wanted to know. If I asked myself why, I wouldn't have a clue.