A Dose of Murder (33 page)

And I'd bet my darling Spanky that Jagger knew this was killing me and that made it all the more fun for him—and gave him all the more reason
not
to tell me.

Silence filled the air. Not even Spanky's little barks could be heard. I wondered if Jagger'd gone out the back door, or a window, or some mysterious exit that only Jagger was capable of knowing about. Then the phone rang.

I got up to get it and this time heard Spanky in the kitchen. He was making the little doggie sounds that he made when someone tickled his tummy.

So much for Jagger's Houdini routine.

I held the receiver to my ear. “Hello.”

Miles's voice came on. “Hey. I'm stuck at work. Didn't want you to worry. I'll bunk down here tonight—”

“No!” I hadn't meant to shout, but if Miles didn't come home, I'd be alone with Jagger until he took it upon himself to leave. “I mean, why not? Why are you staying at the hospital? Those beds with plastic mattress covers are the pits. You won't sleep a wink. They'll make you sweat.”

“No kidding. But have you looked outside?”

“I . . . it's raining.”

“No, it's icing. There are weather advisories out and a major accident on Interstate 91. We've already had two OR cases out of it. I can't drive in this stuff. Even four-wheel drive doesn't do shit on ice.”

I couldn't insist that he risk his life just so I wouldn't be alone with Jagger.

And—the horrible thought struck me—I couldn't insist Jagger leave in an ice storm either.

Of course, if he chose to on his own . . .

“Don't you leave the condo, Pauline. The cops are warning everyone to stay inside until tomorrow when the weather warms. Promise?”

I said goodbye and started to set the receiver down, when he added, “And tell Jagger to stay there too.”

Damn!

Jagger came in as I hung up. “Miles is staying at the hospital.” Maybe I shouldn't have told Jagger that. Now he knew we were alone.

And, Pauline
, I asked myself,
What the hell difference would that make to him?

“Good. Now we can discuss business.”

At first I thought he might be ready to tell me whom he worked for, but then I looked at his serious face and decided I would not bring that subject up again. Not anytime soon anyway.

Make that for now.

“Fine. That sub wasn't much. Are you hungry?”

“I'll get a bite on my way home.” He sat on the leather stuffed chair opposite me.

“You can't go.”

One eyebrow raised. “Excuse me?”

“Miles . . . Miles said there's a weather advisory for the ice storm. He said no one is supposed to be out in it. It does make it harder on the emergency crews if people don't pay attention to the police.”

He looked at me.

“Okay, so maybe you
are
the police, but I don't care.”

He crossed his legs and leaned back. “Good. Then you won't be bothering me about who I work for.”

“No, I meant I don't care if you are the police or FBI or a con artist yourself. You can't drive on ice unless you have spiked tires or chains. Do you have chains in that Suburban of yours? Well, you do have just about everything else, so I wouldn't be surprised—”

He blew out a breath in my direction. “I don't have chains or spiked tires. I'm hungry. Let's fix something and talk.” He got up and walked to the kitchen. “That make you happy, Pauline?”

Ack. There was that tone and my real name. I followed him in and said, “Tickled purple. Let's see what we have to eat.”

He already had the refrigerator door open. I should be upset that he made himself at home, as usual, but I wasn't. Actually it was nice that he didn't expect me to wait on him.

We heated up some leftover macaroni and cheese Miles had made. It was always wonderful 'cause he used extra Monterey Jack cheese, canned milk, and two whipped eggs in it to give it consistency. Jagger ate as if he was starving.

We'd switched to Coke for Jagger and water for me. No drink with the equivalent of ten teaspoonfuls of sugar was passing my lips tonight. All I needed was to add five pounds to my frame right in front of Jagger. I took a sip of water and watched him take a bite of macaroni. “So, what do you want to discuss?”

He swallowed and looked my way. “We need to wrap up this case.”

“We?”

“I need you to stay at the office at least another week.”

I choked on a noodle. My hands flew up in the air and Jagger sat watching. “Aren't you going to do something to help me?”

“If you needed me to, I would. You're still talking, so you're not choking.”

If I needed him to, he would. I sat back and thought of that. I know Jagger meant right here and now, but I also got the impression he meant more. He meant he'd be there if I needed him in the case, too.

“I really can't go back there.”

“They've bilked the insurance companies, mostly Global Carriers, out of an excess of three million dollars. Remember?”

“Oh my!” With two dead bodies and all, I'd actually forgotten that. “By just lying on patients' records? Seems hard to believe.”

He finished his Coke, held up his glass. I nodded toward the refrigerator and said, “Help yourself.”

He did and as he sat back down, said, “They've been at it for some time. Years.”

I gasped.

“Stop being so surprised, Sherlock. If you want to make it in this business you've got to detach yourself. No emotions—”

“What about fear? Fear for my life.”

“Nothing is going to happen to you.”

Because he wouldn't let it.

I should be peeing in my pants at the thought of two murders, but a calm had settled inside me, and it hadn't come from the macaroni. “Wow. Years?”

He nodded. “If Eddy hadn't sung, they'd be at it until they got caught. Some disgruntled employee, often on the take too, gets pissed. Maybe thinks they deserve more. I got that impression from Eddy. He wasn't squealing out of the goodness of his heart. So, Eddy, in the mind of his cohorts, died because of a lack of loyalty.”

That made me feel a bit better, although I still felt sorry for Eddy and Linda. “What about Linda?”

Jagger finished his meal, got up and rinsed off his dish, which he set in the sink. I'd have to put them in the dishwasher before Miles came home tomorrow. Jagger turned, leaned against the sink and produced another toothpick, which he chewed down on.

“Did you ever smoke?”

He gave me an odd look. Quite a habit he'd picked up. “It's not a substitute for smoking. Toothpicks help me think.”

No arguing against that kind of logic. “So, what about Linda? Why was she killed?”

He stayed put, chewing. “She did billing. Had to be involved in some way. Whether she was one of the ringleaders, your guess is as good as mine.”

Not the way my mind worked lately. I'd more than likely guess that Linda killed herself. I looked up. “Do you think Linda committed suicide? I mean, maybe she knew they'd find out and end up in prison. She didn't strike me as someone who liked to follow orders.”

Jagger chewed and stared. “Gee, I hadn't thought of that.”

“Really?” I was so excited. But when I saw a tiny twitch of his lip, I wondered if he were being honest with me. He wanted me to go back there, so maybe he was lying. Trying to get me psyched to do more investigating by thinking I knew something he didn't.

Shit. My adrenaline surged. I really did want to help solve this case. “I don't believe you for a minute, but . . . oh God, I can't believe I'm about to say this—”

“You'll be safe. You have my word.” With that, he walked out of the room.

I remained still, thinking how he was able to finish my sentences. I heard him talking and knew he was using his cell phone in the other room.

I'd agreed to go back to the ortho group.

I put my dishes in the sink with Jagger's and thought I'd clean it up tomorrow. Physically and now emotionally drained, I needed some sleep.

But the thought of whether I would be able to sleep, with Jagger here, did cross my mind.

In the living room, I took out an extra blanket and pillow Miles kept in the closet for when he fell asleep watching TV. I fixed up the couch for Jagger, who was still talking on the phone. Trying not to eavesdrop, yet dying to hear what he said, I concluded he was talking to the police.

My suspicions were confirmed when he hung up, came into the living room and sat on the soft chair to take off his boots. “The cops will be around, under cover. No need to worry.”

“Easy for you to say.” I started up the stairs with Spanky fast on my heels. At the top I turned and looked over the railing. “I said I'd do it, but there is one stipulation. . . .”

“I'm not tellin you who I—”

“I'm past that.”
No, I'm not, but I'll drop it for now
. “I want . . . need at least your cell phone number.”

“I said I'd be around when you need me.” He started to undo the buttons on his shirt.

Despite my exhaustion, I knew if I watched him strip off his shirt, sleep would elude me. “I know what you said, and I believe you'll be around. But I want the added cushion of knowing I can call—”

“Five-five-five, six-eight-nine-one.”

The last thing I saw was the muscles, smooth, obviously firm, of his back before the light switched off, and I swung around so fast I tripped over Spanky, landing smack on the carpeted hallway.

In the darkness below, I swear I heard him shake his head.

“I'm fine,” I grumbled and went into my room.

Like my mother, I wasn't the world's best sleeper. Tossing and turning through sleepless nights was not a stranger to me. I lay in bed, thinking about how Jagger was on my couch.

I remembered seeing one fifteen on my digital clock, then two forty-five, then three and something close to three thirty, but by then my vision blurred, and I must have fallen asleep.

The sun heated my room. I could tell by the comforting feeling when I snuggled deeper into the recesses of my gigantic overstuffed down comforter. I reached out to pet Spanky's little body as I always do. I ran my hand around where he usually nestled.

No dog. Slowly one eye opened, then the other. “Spanks?” Nothing. I sat bolt upright and almost flew out of the bed. Spanky might have had to go out and couldn't hold it. One thing Miles didn't care for was dog piddle on the white carpet, even though our little guy only went about five drops. Spanky had been housetrained for years, but maybe, I thought, the people food had upset his little tummy.

Then I smelled something and relaxed.

Thank goodness it was a pleasant, appetizing smell, making me rethink Spanky's disappearance. I shut my eyes, bundled up more and inhaled.

Bacon.

I smelled bacon. Then I did in fact get up. Jagger was downstairs! And unless Miles had come home early, which I didn't suspect since I thought he had another shift to do, Jagger was cooking.

A man after my own mother's heart.

If she found out about that, I feared she'd start her matchmaking nonsense. As I was the only single child in our family, mother took to fixing me up every so often, until I put my foot down and started canceling the dates she made for me. That embarrassed her, so she stopped.

I stood up and looked out the window. The parking lot was a veritable sheet of ice, sparkling like some fairyland in the morning sun. I touched the windowpane. Cool to the touch yet not real cold. The temperature must be above freezing. The ice would melt soon.

Then Jagger could leave.

I reached to grab my yellow-and-white-striped robe, then paused. What was I thinking? I couldn't go downstairs in that. I had to shower and get dressed.

In the shower I kept, foolishly I might add, looking at the locked door as if I expected Jagger to come rushing in. I didn't take the time to wash my hair, so I quickly used the green apple shower wash on the sponge and rinsed away the soap and my stupid thoughts. Why did I keep thinking he was after my bod? He'd never even made a pass at me—yet.

It had to be about my attraction, albeit out-of-whack attraction, to him. I laughed out loud. My attraction to him was as much a fantasy as the sparkling parking lot.

Once out of the shower and dressed in jeans and a long royal blue turtleneck sweater that made my gray eyes appear bluish, I went downstairs to the kitchen.

The table was set with Miles's good china. Coffee percolated. Bacon hissed. Spanky lay in the sunlight near the French doors, and I guessed his tummy was full, since he didn't jump up. Jagger sat at the table, doodling. I noticed the shiner around his eye had dulled to a yellowish purple today. I felt a twinge of guilt for slugging him.

“Something smells good.” I went to the table, took my cup from the saucer and walked to the counter.

“I'd think an investigator like yourself, Sherlock, could identify the aroma.” He didn't budge. Kept doodling.

I laughed—alone. “Bacon. There. I've learned from the best. Besides, it was just a figure of speech.” I walked back to the table, stopping to pet Spanky on the head.

He opened a sleepy eye at me as if to say, “Leave me alone,” and promptly shut it.

I sat opposite Jagger and put Equal and milk into my coffee. I preferred tea in the morning, having taken to drinking green tea since I'd heard it had health benefits, but today the coffee tasted wonderful. Maybe because I got to sleep late after the rotten night I'd had. Maybe because I was actually starved and it wasn't my usual breakfast choice.

Or maybe it tasted so wonderful because Jagger had made it.

I really couldn't let my mother know about this. We ate in relative silence, then I told him I would clean up since he cooked. Jagger gave Spanky a pat on the head. The little traitor actually opened both eyes, licked Jagger's hand, and then I think the damn Benedict Arnold dog smiled.