Dead on Arrival (7 page)

Lilla handed me a fresh ice pack. “So,
chérie
, nothing yet on the case?”

I took the ice pack, held it to my head, and said, “Thanks. Damn it. No. ER Dano was just about to spill his thoughts to me, and we got interrupted.

Lilla grinned. Damn she looked hot like that. If I were a guy, I'd be all over her.

“Not like that!” I chuckled,and grabbed my head. “Ouch.”

“I put you down as sick for the rest of the shift,
chérie
. You should go home and rest.”

I started to nod, then realized that would hurt like hell, then also realized what an opportune moment this could be. The powers around here would think I was still working, and ER Dano and Jagger would (hopefully) think I'd gone home.

But Pauline Sokol had other ideas.

Lilla was a peach, I'd decided as I walked toward the administrative section of TLC Ambulance Company. TLC. That was on all the emblems of the EMT and paramedics' uniforms. She had signed me out as sick so I'd still get paid, and then she told Pansy about the incident today.

Obviously grief-stricken Pansy was also the legal-eagle in the family since she insisted I go home for as long as needed—paid, I might add. I figured she'd made the offer in order to avoid any lawsuit I might conjure up. Hm. I could pay off a lot of bills….

But that wasn't me.

When I walked into the office of the woman who was the receptionist for Pansy, I stopped at the door and waited. In a few seconds, I heard a French Canadian accented page, “Mrs. Dawson, please report to the main reception area.”

Thank you, dear Lilla.

Mrs. Dawson hurried out toward the sound of Lilla's voice, and I only wasted a few seconds wondering what lie she was going to give for paging the older woman. Lilla really was a peach.

Looking around, I noticed the door to Pansy's office still open, even though she'd told Lilla that she had to go meet with the undertaker right after she'd told me to go home. I shuddered, said a prayer for Payne's soul, which by the sounds of things from ER Dano, might need a bit more than a “few” prayers, and walked very nonchalantly into Pansy's office.

And nearly passed out from fear!

In the center of the room was a life-size cardboard figure of Payne Sterling!

I grabbed onto the desk to steady myself since I could almost picture the knife in….

After a few mental shakes, I told myself this was probably for the memorial service—although weirder than anything I've seen so far. There was an odd, almost grimace on Payne's face, and I couldn't help wonder if he had the last laugh.

But he couldn't have known he was going to die when the picture for it was taken.

Okay, Sokol, compose yourself
, I ordered. Gawking at an eerie cardboard Payne was not getting me anywhere. I tried to ignore him, although to get past him, I had to ease to the side. No way in hell was I going to
touch
the damn thing.

I figured Pansy would be gone for a bit if not the rest of the day, so I needn't hurry. Then again, who knew how long Lilla could keep Mrs. Dawson busy and away from here?

After taking my gloves from my scrubs pocket and sticking them on, I walked to the door and eased it closed, hoping that would buy me time if I heard someone coming. Hurrying to the other door, I opened it. Good. Payne's office door was unlocked. A perfect escape route.

After a quick prayer that I wouldn't need it, I went to Pansy's desk and started my snooping.

After what seemed like hours, I flopped down in her black chair that went with the monochromatic décor and sighed. Nothing. She had nothing, or make that I had nothing on her. Could cloned twins like Payne and Pansy not be in cahoots? Was it really possible that Payne was scamming the insurance companies, and she never knew about it?

I didn't buy that.

There had to be something fishy going on here…wait! Pansy must have cleaned out her office of any evidence. That's why she was here since Payne's murder instead of being home mourning.

My gut was talking to me again, and once again I agreed.

“I'll get it for you, Miss Sterling.”

Mrs. Dawson!

And, yikes, she was talking to Pansy. I hoped it was on the phone. Before I could find out, the doorknob started to turn…and I got myself over to and through the door to Payne's office in a flash.

But I kept the door opened a crack and watched as the dear woman walked in, hefted up Payne into her arms, sniffled, then shook her head—almost in disgust—and carried him out the door.

Maybe his presence was requested at the funeral home now.

Phew. I leaned against the wall, took in a deep breath, and blew it out while looking at the room. Eerie wasn't quite strong enough of a word. The kaleidoscope colored room almost had a feeling as if someone was watching me. I shook my head and ignored the nonsense as I silently walked toward the door.

When I went to grab the handle, a hand covered mine!

My eyelids fluttered. I sucked in some air and tried to remember where I was and why was I lying on the floor? I looked up to see that colorful room and remembered I was in the late Payne Sterling's office. “Right,” I muttered. “What the hell made me pass out?”

I heard a soft chuckle and swung my head around to see Sky near the doorway. “I went to get a cold compress. So sorry I scared you, Pauline.” He knelt down and gently set it on my forehead.

As if I'd feel better from a wet cloth. Okay, it was soothing. “What happened?” I held the cloth with one hand and pushed myself to a sitting position with the other. A girl did not want to be lying prone beneath a hunk like Sky Palmer.

“You passed out.”

I raised one eyebrow toward him. “No kidding.”

“Yeah.” He chuckled. “I'm so sorry that I scared you, Pauline. I—” He chuckled again. “This is going to sound so stupid. I came in here to get some log forms for a flight I did a few days ago, and you…scared the shit out of me!”

I scared
this
guy?

Then again, maybe that wasn't so far-fetched an idea. I was in the office of a dead man—and obviously Sky wasn't expecting anyone in here.

“I knew I should have asked Mrs. Dawson to find the logs for me.” He took the cloth from my head. “I'll go make this colder.”

“No,” I said, even though it would have felt wonderful, but I had to get out of there. Hopefully Sky was so shocked seeing me that he'd forget to ask what
I
was doing there!

“So, Pauline, what the hell were you doing here?” he asked.

So much for my shocked pilot theory.

“Oh, that.” I stood up and wiped at the back of my head. “I hit the back of my head during an ambulance run today. Fell. Well, actually kicked down by a virgin patient.” I rubbed it a few times. “So Pansy, the generous darling—”

Sky's eyes darkened.

Interesting.

“Well, she was so sweet to let me go home for the rest of the day.” I rattled on the entire story of Virgin Virginia until poor Sky's gorgeous, sexy eyes were glazed over.

Not one word that I said explained his original question of what I was doing here, but I'd finagled my way out of answering that with all the bullshit rambling.

Geez. This investigator stuff was getting easier and easier.

After Sky fell for my long-winded explanation of nothing, we said goodbye, and I headed off toward the back door while he went toward the reception desk. I thought for sure his seeing gorgeous Lilla would confuse him more and make him forget me instantly.

Once seated in my car, I looked at my watch and groaned. Nearly six. The hour of doom.

Dinner at 171 David Drive. Michael and Stella Sokol's house.

Well, I told myself, worse things could happen to me. Sky Palmer could have ratted me out today. Instead I proudly drove to my folk's house and pulled in the driveway with a smile on my face—until I noticed the black Suburban parked out front.

Jagger!

Mother did it again. She had his cell number, which was more of a secret than a sealed envelope holding an Oscar winner's name. But she managed to get it, call him more than I cared to have her do (which would have been zero), and now he was going to be eating Mom's tender beef dinner tonight—I already knew the menu because it was Tuesday, and my mother made the same meal on the same day of the week
every
week.

Oh well, I felt like crap after the time I just had, and Mom's home cooked meal would be soothing, comfort food if nothing else. Today also, I ashamedly admitted, was going to be a spritz of pine-scented Renuzit kinda day. My mother harbored the stuff for years and sprayed every inch of our house so much that the Christmassy scent became very nostalgic to me. It said home. Safety. Love. And, of course, food. Very comforting. I needed comfort now, and a spray of it had less calories than the beef dinner.

I'd hurry into the bathroom, inhale a whiff or two, and be good to go to enjoy—make that tolerate—the meal with Jagger sitting across from me. Plan A was a go.

When I opened the front door, I froze.
What the hell was Plan B
, I wondered as I looked into the living room to see my parents, Uncle Walt, Goldie and Miles, Jagger and Buzz Lightyear (sitting next to Lilla),
and
ER Dano.

Even my mother didn't stock enough Renuzit to get me through these kinds of moments.

As I sat on the hamper, I leaned against the wall, sprayed the Renuzit, and inhaled. It wasn't as if it were a drug and I was really inhaling, but more like it was a breath of home, Mom and Dad.

Knock. Knock.

“Just a sec,” I said, stuck the Renuzit on the back of the commode, and opened the door. “What?”

Jagger looked at me and sniffed.

“Shut up,” I said and started to push past him.

He grabbed my arm.

I sighed before I could pull away. Actually, I hesitated before I pulled away. “What are you doing here anyway? And why the crowd?”

“Your mother invited—”

I waved his words away. “No nonsense. Just stop. What are Dano and Buzz doing here?”

Jagger looked at me. I knew he'd never answer a direct question to my satisfaction. He said, “You should be glad I brought them. They might help your case.”

I paused. Hm. “What do you know?” “Nothing.”

“Then why tease me with—” Jagger's lips touched mine, taking my words away. Then again, who cared? Words were cheap and flowing, but a kiss from Jagger was special and rare.

I savored every second until I heard someone clear their throat and turned to see Goldie coming down the hallway. “Sincere apologies, you two, but nature calls,” he said, as he whisked past us, shut the door, and I think giggled.

Jagger stepped back. “Where were you before? I thought you were supposed to be home resting?”

“I was.”

He looked at me. Damn it. Why did I even try?

“Okay. Okay. I got into Pansy's office and then Payne's again.”

“And?”

“And she's cleaned everything out if there was anything, which I highly suspect there was.”

“And in Payne's? Anything new?”

Suddenly the vision of waking up with Sky Palmer leaning over me, dripping a cold compress on my head had me pause again. “Er…no. She must have cleaned that out too. Where do you suppose she took it all?”

“I'd say her home.”

“Damn it. Now we need to find out where she lives and get into her place? That could be more than I'm capable of or at least willing to do.”

Jagger chuckled. “It's not as if you've never committed breaking and entering, Sherlock.”

I smiled.

He smiled back.

We smiled together, and suddenly I felt something. Some kind of bond with Jagger.

Could life get any better?

“She and Payne had apartments in the Tudor-style house on the north part of the TLC property.”

Leave it to him to know that. “Wait! That means it'll be easier to get into it since it's on the property.”

Life did just get better until Jagger shook his head.

“What?” I said. “What?”

“Why does that make it easier? It'll still have to be B&E.”

I punched his arm, said, “You are always so freaking negative,” and walked away, all the while knowing full well that I had no idea why I'd said it'd be easier—other than the fact that I
hoped
it would be. Wait! After the memorial service. Great timing. Yeah.

Back at the dining room table, I sat down, ignored looks from everyone, whom I'm sure was wondering what the hell was wrong with me that I was gone so long, and picked up my knife and fork.

“You can cut my beef with a fork, Pauline,” my mother said in a chastising tone.

I looked up. Yes, everyone was staring. “Force of habit. Guess I'm just used to eating my own cooking.” I
forced
a laugh.

Goldie walked back in the room and joined me, although I'm sure he didn't know why.

“Where's Mr. Jagger, Goldie,” Mother asked.

“Oh. He said he was sorry, everything was delicious, but he had to go.” Goldie sat down and picked up his fork, cut his meat, and took a bite.

Damn it.

And where the hell did Jagger go? If he went to snoop at Pansy's by himself, I'd cut
him
with my fork.

“You boys sit still,” Mother said to ER Dano and Buzz. “Pauline and Lilla will help clean up.” She gave me the “mother” eye.

I sat mesmerized for a few seconds as if in a trance. Her looks tended to do that to me. Then I came to—obviously the change in my career also included a change in personality—and said, “Why? Why do women have to do all the work?”

Goldie and Miles gasped.

Buzz remained silent, although he looked frightened. Obviously he'd gotten to know my mother in a very short amount of time.

Lilla mumbled that she didn't mind helping.