Killer Moves: The 4th Jolene Jackson Mystery (Jolene Jackson Mysteries) (19 page)

Chapter 24

As the door closed behind the physical therapist, Lucille frowned and unzipped her jacket. “Wonder what she meant by that?”

“You wonder? You wonder?” I said, my voice raising an octave. “It was a threat, Mother. Did you forget about the surveillance videos? She knows. They all know.”

“Well, yes, I suppose that could be a problem.”

“It’s a problem.” I glared at her. “Big one.”

Lucille tapped her nails on the arm of the chair. “Well, then, it’s probably best if you go on home now. Perez will be here anytime and we’re going to meet up at dinner. I’ll let him know what’s going on and make sure he keeps an eye out on Christine and the director. I’ll take care of it. There’s no need for you to hang around. Besides, you might do something else that looks suspicious.”

“Yeah, that’s my biggest worry.” I paced the small area from the chair to the window. Stopping, I stared at her. “Everybody in this place knows I’m the one who took stuff from the lab, deliberately and on purpose. And by everybody, I mean the fine folks behind the killer pills—all of them, up and down the money chain. There’s a lot at stake here and I just can’t see them laughing off my little activities as a silly prank. No, I’m pretty sure they’re going to want to kill me. Now, you may not care if I’m at the top of their to-do list, but I assure you, I do.”

“You don’t have to get snippy about it.”

“Oh, okay,” I said, putting my hands on my hips. “Then do tell, Mother, when it
is
okay for me to get snippy? Is it when somebody tries to kill one of us? Or do you prefer I wait until after they’ve succeeded, because getting snippy then could be problematic.”

“You need some rest.” Lucille eyed me suspiciously. One would hope she was also doing so out of care and concern, but one would generally be wrong. “You just go on home now. There’s no need in you staying here. Nobody’s going to bother me because I haven’t given them any reason to.”

“Are you sure about that? Because it sounded like Christine would be very happy to have you out of her misery. The director too.” Granted, their annoyances and frustrations were no different than anyone else who’d had to deal with Lucille, but it still concerned me. “I just don’t like this.”

“Oh, I can handle them,” she said, waving a dismissive hand. “Of course, I could understand why you might worry, thinking I’m at risk and all like before.” Her voice dripped with haughtiness and condescension. “But there’s no need to get your tail in a twist about it. Things are different this time.”

I did not ask why, because I knew I would not like the answer. “Look, Mother, I know you think you can take on the world, but you really could be in danger.”

“I’m not, but it wouldn’t matter anyway,” she said, patting her chest. “Nobody’s going to get the drop on me this time.”

“Say what?”

Lucille squared her shoulders and sat up taller in the chair. “I came back prepared,” she said, an unpleasantly familiar twinkle in her eyes. “I will admit I could use some practice, but it will have to wait until I can be sure nobody’s going to catch me at it. Still, I’m plenty good anyway.”

Another shiver rippled through my body, then settled in my stomach as a big fat ball of dread. “Please tell me you did not bring your Little Lady.”

“Of course not, Jolene.” She scoffed and waved her hand to emphasize the ridiculousness of my suggestion. “That would be silly. It’s way too big. They’d find that in no time.”

The fact that she hadn’t brought her favorite gun should have made feel better. It didn’t. So, with deep trepidation, I asked, “What have you done?”

Lucille flipped aside the edges of her track suit jacket, then grabbed the bottom of her shirt and whipped it up to her chin. “Isn’t it something!”

“What the hell!” The fact that she’d just deliberately exposed herself was shocking enough, but what else she’d revealed was even worse. In the center of her bra was a snap looking thing with a gun holster behind it. “Oh, my God…”

“I know!” Lucille beamed. “It’s a nice little holster and works much better than I thought it would, just buying it off the Internet and all. This pistol fits perfectly in it.” She pulled her shirt down and patted it into place. “I played around with it a little bit last night. I’m faster standing up, of course, but I still think I can have three rounds out in under five seconds, even from the bed. I’ll do better eventually, of course, but that should be good enough for now. You should get you one.”

I stumbled to a chair and sat down.

Now, I really don’t know why I was shocked at my mother’s latest stunt, but I was. I suppose part of it was my foolish delusion that because she’d almost been killed and was recovering from major surgery that she would have other things on her mind—or at least not have access to her arsenal. Obviously, I was wrong on both counts. So, I just sat there in stunned silence as she continued to chatter on about the details of her new acquisition.

“It came in the mail right after I got blown up,” she said, oblivious to my distress. “Agnes opened it for me and put it in a drawer with my other things, just like I told her. Your man Clove brought it to me since it was in the drawer. I’d told him to bring everything, but I was still real surprised that he brought the guns and the holster. I’m sure glad he did, because it’s coming in handy, don’t you think?”

It wasn’t really a question. She didn’t care what I thought, that fact was well established. Another indisputable fact was that we were once again in a place where things had nowhere to go except horribly wrong. Asking her to give me the gun was a waste of good air, and only a fool would try to take it from her—one of us would get shot, and by one of us I meant me.

I truly hadn’t see the bra-gun thing coming. And how could I? I didn’t even know such contraptions existed. What I did know—and should have remembered—was that my mother would not willingly step out the door without her makeup done, hair fixed and weapon of choice concealed. Perez should have known it too. But, I knew he hadn’t, and he was headed for his own rude awakening. This last big reveal had kicked me over some invisible edge. And, unlike Mother Mayhem, I didn’t have a plan for shooting my way out of my problems. So, I pushed myself up out of the chair and said, “Well, it sure does looks like you have everything under control here. Like you said, no need for me to hang around, messing things up for you. I’ll just mosey on and give you a call in a day or two.”

“What?” Lucille said, sounding a bit stricken. “That’s it? You’re just going to leave? You’re not even going to talk about anything?”

I shrugged. “What’s to say?”

“Well, you could praise me for my quick thinking and foresight to come prepared.” She immediately saw the flaw in the approach, which flipped the switch on another potential problem area. “Now, you’re not going to go telling Jerry Don about this, are you?”

“Of course I am. But first, I’m going to tell Perez. He should know he’s more likely to get shot here than poisoned.”

“Oh, for Pete’s sake, Jolene, that’s just silly. I’m not going to shoot him. We’re partners.” Lucille frowned. “But you’re right. He does need to know he’s got backup now.”

“Indeed he does.” I grabbed my phone, queued up a text message to the lieutenant, pushed the little microphone button and started dictating: “Your partner is in 216. She has a gun. In a holster. In her bra. It’s loaded. Probability of a positive outcome for anyone is zero. You asked for this and have been warned.”

“Now, that was just plain hateful, and downright unnecessary,” Lucille said, glaring at me. “Unlike you, missy, I’m prepared. I’m an asset to the cause and the Lieutenant’s going to tell you so once he gets here. Then you’re going to be real sorry you made fun of me. Just real sorry.”

There were many things I would no doubt be sorry for, but allowing my mother to keep her loaded bra was not one of them. I was, however, exceptionally sorry I hadn’t thrown Lieutenant Daniel Perez and his dumbass plan out of my house. The grand scheme had been doomed to fail, but it had fallen apart even sooner than I’d predicted—like before it even got off the ground. And while the willful unleashing of Mother Mercenary was a big problem, it was only one of a list of problems waiting for him when he arrived. So, being the helpful soul I am, I sent him another friendly text. “They have security cameras and know I helped Doris. Ditto on the lab. Between Big Brother and Big Mamma you are pretty screwed. Have a nice day.”

“I never saw a single one of those stupid cameras,” Lucille said, pressing her lips together and ignoring a prime opportunity to chastise me for my hatefulness. “Of course, I wasn’t looking for them then, but I surely will be from now on. There’s no telling where all they’ve got them hidden.” Her head snapped up and her eyes popped open wide. “Oh, my Lord, they’re probably spying on me right now, right here in this room!”

“Huh, I hadn’t thought of that.”

“Go look over there by those wires,” she said, pointing toward the television on the wall near the ceiling. “Look all around. They could have a camera on me right now!” When I didn’t jump on command she added, “Well, go on, Jolene, look!”

First of all, if they’d had cameras in all the rooms from the beginning, which seemed both illegal and seriously creepy, they’d have known Lucille wasn’t taking her pills and that she was faking her recovery—or lack thereof—and would have done something about both. So, while we had a boatload of problems, a concealed Lucille-cam wasn’t one of them. “If they had cameras they’d have nabbed you long ago for your antics.”

Lucille frowned as the truth of that statement sunk in. “Well, maybe so.” She tapped her nails to her lips. “I suppose there really is no good reason to be snooping after me. I haven’t done anything wrong—you have.” Her head tipped up and shoulders went back. “You’re the one they’ll be watching, not me. If they’re going to try to whack somebody, it’ll be you.”

So much for maternal concern. It could be worse though, some mothers eat their young.

It did seem that the staff just considered Lucille a typical—if cantankerous and contentious—elderly patient there to recover from a broken hip. Her daughter, on the other hand, had become a troublemaker from the first moment she stepped foot in the door.

“You know, Jolene,” Lucille said, tapping and nodding. “It’s probably best if you just run along now.”

I wanted to leave, I assure you I did. But the fact that she wanted me to was a big red flag. “Why?”

“Well, I know you have other things to do,” Lucille said, almost as if she meant it. “There’s no point in you staying here, you’ll just draw attention to me.” She patted her chest. “I’m perfectly safe. I also have my exercise therapies to do and you’ll just slow me down.”

Uh huh. I didn’t know what she was plotting, but I was sure I wouldn’t like it. I liked that she had a gun strapped to her chest even less. But I had two choices. I could stay and continue to argue with her or I could leave—and I really needed to get away, at least for a while. “Okay, then. I turned and walked toward the door. “I’ll give you a call later.”

“Yes, yes,” she said, entirely too agreeably. “You just run along and do whatever it is you think you need to do. I’ll take care of things here.”

Uh huh. And of all the things I had to worry about, her taking care of things was the one that topped the list.

Chapter 25

When I got to Mother’s Buick—yes, her old one, because I haven’t come to terms with having a fleet, much less picking something from it—I immediately started the engine and the air conditioner. Then, I did what I really didn’t want to do—I called Jerry to inform him of the rapidly unraveling situation at the rehab center.

The unhappy sheriff breathed heavily several times during my exposition about the unsettling chat with the director, the surveillance camera footage, and the veiled threats from the physical therapist. I could almost hear him gritting his teeth through the phone, and it wasn’t because I was embellishing anything. No, to my credit, the telling was a dispassionate stating of facts, without even a single curse word or subjective commentary. Yes, it surprised me as much as it did him.

“I’ll call Perez,” Jerry said.

“Quite frankly, from the way the director acted, I don’t know why the police aren’t here arresting me as we speak.”

“Fear of a public relations nightmare would be my guess,” Jerry said, “The director, involved or not, has a job to do. Being in the news, along with having to file official reports that include runaway patients and stolen lab goods, would put the facility—and her—under the microscope.”

Indeed it would. “And if she’s in on it, she can’t very well report a theft of something they aren’t supposed to have—or admit losing blood samples that prove it.”

“I’ve got to talk to Perez,” Jerry said. “You’re headed home now, yes?”

“That was the plan when I got in the car.”

“But?”

“As disgusted as I am with this whole mess, I just don’t think I can leave her there.”

“You’re probably more at risk than she is,” he said. “Perez is headed over there now. I’ll let him know what’s going on and to keep an eye on her. I’ll call you back with details.”

I sighed and hung up the phone. I felt a little better, but it still wasn’t okay. The back and forth volleys of go-stay thoughts were giving me a headache. On the one hand, the idea of my mother being in danger terrified me. On the other, the only person who’d actually been threatened was me.

The phone rang again. Another number I didn’t recognize, but also local. How were people getting my number? Was someone handing out cards at Walmart? Then, I remembered that I’d given my number to Finch, so I answered. “This is Jolene.”

“Misses Jackson,” a woman’s voice said. “This is Misses Waverman, Doctor Richard Waverman’s wife. Phillip gave me your number.”

“Oh, yes?”

“I just wanted to call and thank you for helping my husband this morning when he was sick.”

Tired of correcting every single person I met about my name, I let this one slide. “You’re welcome.” I also didn’t have time to chat. However, I did want an update on Waverman. “How is your husband doing?”

“Oh, he’s fine now,” she said offhandedly. “The nausea was just a reaction to a new medication, nothing serious.”

It had looked pretty damn serious to me when he was collapsed in the dirt not breathing. However, that image wouldn’t play well for Waverman’s ego—or potentially his bank account—so it made sense he’d have his wife call and minimize the whole thing. Bad news on that front though. His cash cow had been flirting with the chopping block long before I found him in the bushes “I’m glad to hear he’s okay.”

“He’s going to be just fine, although the doctors want him to take it easy for a week or so.” She paused. “He’ll still be running the business, of course, and available by phone at all times if you need anything.”

And there it was—the real reason for the call. “Please tell Doctor Waverman to take whatever time he needs. I’ll contact him in a few days.”

“He wants to talk to you today, so call him on his cell phone.”

“Okay, if he’s up for it.”

“He’ll be calling you if you don’t,” she said with a little laugh. “We joke that Richard will be working deals until the lid on his casket closes.”

“Well, I’m glad we aren’t testing your theory today.” I said, forcing a light laugh, although I didn’t find any of it funny. The man had almost died right in front of me. Granted, she hadn’t been there to witness it, so I suppose from her perspective the whole thing was a non-event—or at least she was pretending it was. “Thank you again for letting me know he’s going to be okay.” I ended the call with the necessary pleasantries, then tossed the phone in the seat and stared at the front of the rehab center.

I had enough problems in front of me without having to deal with Waverman or his wife. Or Finch. How long would it be before I got a call from him? Gilbert Moore wasn’t going to sit idly by either. And what about the attorneys? They always had some fresh hell waiting for me for me as well. Of course, all of them collectively couldn’t hold a candle to the problem I had roaming the rehab halls with a gun strapped to her chest.

I don’t know how long I stared—or would have kept staring—at the front of the building if a car hadn’t pulled up under the covered entry and broken my gaze.

I blinked away the fog and saw an attendant come out the front doors with a wheelchair and head toward the car. The passenger side door opened and Lieutenant Daniel Perez maneuvered himself out of the car. Looks like “the plan” was still a go. “They were warned,” I said, shaking my head.

Perez winced and grabbed his bandaged left knee as he plopped himself down in the wheelchair. It wasn’t a Lucille-grade performance, but it was adequate.

Jerry’s professional plea to stop the madness had obviously been no more effective than my blunt and glib ones, so there was really nothing more to discuss. Still, he needed an update. Consequently, I composed a succinct text with an appropriate summary of the situation, which I followed up with a very inappropriate smiley face.

Plastering on my own fake smile, I killed the engine and headed right back into the rehab center. I don’t really know why. It certainly wasn’t to keep her from shooting someone—nobody could do that. Maybe I felt guilty leaving her as I had. Maybe I secretly thought I could get Perez to change his mind—or I’d finally lost mine. Whatever the reason, my feet propelled me forward—or backward—into the rehab center.

When I arrived back at Lucille’s room, she was already off to jump through the readmission hoops. Since Director Hall had basically ordered me to participate in Lucille’s recovery, I moseyed down to the big therapy room to start fulfilling my obligations. As I pushed through the double doors, I instantly homed in on my mother’s location amongst the other patients and machinery. No, it wasn’t my keen psychic abilities—I heard her.

Lucille sat in some kind of exercise contraption, working her legs. She was also working her mouth—loudly. She wasn’t howling or complaining though. No, she was just playing the part of the eager and compliant patient to the hilt. I think I preferred the grouchy version.

“Oh, so
this
is how it’s done!” she exclaimed, working her legs. “Well, now I see what you mean, Christine. And just look at me! Look what I can do! This is good, isn’t it?”

“Yes, Miss Lucille, it’s good,” the therapist said, eyeing her suspiciously. “What I don’t know is why you didn’t do this before.”

“Oh, well, it’s like I told you, I was just mad about everything back then.”

“You mean yesterday,” Christine said.

“Yes, well, it seems like forever ago. Besides, everybody was treating me like some old codger who wasn’t smart enough to come in out of the rain. Just because I’m of a certain age doesn’t make me stupid. And I didn’t get that broken leg from being old anyway. You know I got blown up and all…”

“Yes, Miss Lucille, everybody in the whole building, maybe even the city, knows.”

Lucile kept moving her legs as directed. “Even so, it still just upset me to wind up in a hospital bed, just so undignified. I just plain resented it and I wanted out. I’ll not be having people saying I’ll be an invalid the rest of my life or thinking I’m going to die because of a silly broken leg.”

I stepped around a cluster of machines and stopped beside the therapist. “So sorry I’m late.”

“See there!” Lucille said, triumphantly. “I told you’d she’d get over her snit and come back and help me like she’s supposed to, and now here she is. Isn’t that wonderful?”

Christine didn’t seem to find anything about the situation wonderful—we had that in common. But to her credit, she didn’t say so and got right back to work with Lucille. She patiently explained each exercise and how it would help build strength and increase mobility. I was an attentive helper, asking meaningful questions and being just as sweet as pie to my mother, all of which she seemed to absolutely hate.

The therapy session passed quickly, but that was only the beginning of the day’s fun. We spent the rest of the afternoon taking one for the team—or a bunch of things from the team, whatever. As we bounced from one evaluation to the next, I was doing my own assessing of things. For a while, I decided that everyone was suspicious and up to no good. Then, I was sure that everyone was just doing a great job and being extra helpful. Ultimately, I doubted the accuracy of either perspective. Along the way, I spotted a few cameras and garnered some judgmental glares, but nothing else of relative importance.

The visit to the lab had been nerve racking. Lucille and I both put on our “nothing’s wrong” faces in preparation for dealing with Nurse Linda, but she wasn’t there. We both nearly exploded in relief. Still, I watched the young nurse who was there like a hawk and made sure all she did was the basic blood draw and vitals checking.

The chat with the primary physician wasn’t much fun either. He was shocked and appalled that Lucille had d stopped the blood pressure medication. Her numbers were solidly in the normal range—he checked twice—but he still insisted on the pills. Things took another nosedive when I emphasized that our goal was to not take any drugs. He sort of started twitching since, apparently, everyone needs to be on some kind—or several kinds—of medications or they’ll just die on the spot. The doctor gave it his best shot, grilling us on pain, trouble sleeping, depression and a litany of other “common” maladies, but nothing stuck. He was determined though, so I had to bite my tongue as he wrote out a list of prescriptions make things work out in his own head—and to presumably to cover his ass. Since medication merry-go-round was pretty much standard procedure these days, I didn’t see anything particularly suspicious about what he did—reprehensible, but not suspicious. Still, it would all depend on what pills showed up in the little white cup.

There was good news though. Lucille was doing exceptionally well, and if she stayed on track, she’d probably be released for real in a few days. She was plenty happy about that, but the two-hour marathon had worn her out. When we got back to the room, Lucille did not argue about getting into bed and “stretching out for a minute or two.”

“You know, I’m pretty impressed with the rehab work they’re doing here,” I said, meaning it.

“Well, I suppose you would be since you’re not the one having to do it.” Lucille took a sip from a giant insulated mug then handed it back to me to set aside. “It might look easy to you, but it is mighty hard work. And then, of course, having to watch out for what’s going on, not to mention stay on my toes so I don’t get killed at the drop of a hat.” She frowned. “I’m getting worried about Perez. He should’ve been here by now.”

“Perez is here. He arrived just before I came back in.”

“You should’ve told me!” Then she caught herself. “Well, I suppose there wasn’t a good time for that, but we still need to go see him now.”

“I thought you two were supposed to meet up at dinner.”

“Can’t wait for that. They know the police are coming. That Hall woman is calling everybody into her office one by one and schooling them on what to say. They’re all real nervous about it.”

“They know about Perez?” I said, wondering if we could automatically connect that dot. “They know he’s coming in and pretending to be a patient?”

“I don’t know about any of that,” Lucille said, shaking her head. “I just heard them say police. They know the police are coming.”

“Doesn’t matter, I guess,” I said, although it seemed like it did. “If the word is out, they’ve already started covering their tracks.”

“They won’t let me out without that hateful walker,” Lucille said. “So, you’re going to have to go by yourself.”

I was glad she’d made that call so I didn’t have to argue with her about staying in bed. “Get some rest and don’t worry,” I said. “I’ll find him.”

“Well don’t you be blowing his cover,” Lucille said. “Just chat real casual like. Talk to lots of other people too. Just start being real friendly to everybody.” She stopped and scowled. “Well, no, not too many people or that will look strange since you don’t ever talk to anybody.”

How these things became about my fault, I didn’t know, but they always did. “Yes, Mother. I’ll handle it.”

In the hallway, I realized that while finding Perez had sounded easy, it wasn’t going to be. This was a big facility, and finding him in the maze of hallways and rooms was likely to take a while. Figuring it wouldn’t hurt to stroll by the director’s office and see if I could overhear what she was telling people, I headed in that direction first.

As got near the door, I heard voices or more specifically one voice.