One Dead Under the Cuckoo's Nest (14 page)

I remained motionless for a few seconds, collecting my confused thoughts and trying to return to my normal Pauline-Sokol-prior-to-meeting-Jagger reality.

I shut my eyes and then opened them.

There. I was back.

I sat in a special (locked) room off the main lobby crossing and uncrossing my legs far too many times, and then looking through the glass door at the receptionist and smiling. The last three times she seemed to ignore me. I couldn't help the leg thing though. Excitement did that to me. As much as I needed to stay and help, I was really glad to be getting out of here, even if only temporarily. I couldn't wait to see Goldie, Miles—hell, everyone. Okay, everyone except Fabio. Good thing he was still away.

A lay nurse, her nametag said Ms. Melissa Lawson, sat near the door, watching me. What the heck did she think I'd do? Well, I guess that was her job. Until I was safely out of here with my “mother,” the nurse was responsible for me.

There was a knock at the door. The receptionist opened it and Nurse Lawson stood.

“Oh, my God! Suga! What happened to my baby girl?”

I looked up to see Goldie rushing toward me like a fullback in drag. Only this fullback looked very chic in a platinum wig and perfect makeup. He had on a periwinkle blue skirt suit with matching leggings that sparkled.

Goldie and his sparkles. They covered his face, too, shimmering in the gentle light.

He looked glamorous—except for the horrified look on his face.

He gently touched my cheek. “What the hell happened, Suga? Who did this to you?” I've never heard anyone's voice go from sympathetic to deadly in seconds.

Still, it touched me that he was so concerned.

I stood on my tiptoes, kissed him on the cheek, and said, “Get me the hell out of here. I'll tell you in the car.” When I looked at the pain on his face, I was pissed at Jagger for not warning Goldie.

Nurse Lawson assured Goldie that I'd live and not be permanently disfigured while she walked us out, through the tunnel to the foyer, where Vito's body had been found. I shuddered when she said goodbye and reminded Goldie the time he needed to bring me back.

I had to smile to myself. The cut really wasn't anywhere near as bad as Goldie made it out to be. It was just not easy for him to see anyone he cared about be hurt in any way.

We walked to the parking lot, and once in the car, he turned to me. “Jagger had said you'd been . . . injured, but I wasn't ready for that.”

I touched Goldie's arm before he started the car. “It's not even an inch long. Really not that bad.”

He screeched. “Inch sminch. Any cut is too long.”

I leaned over and kissed his cheek, the poor darling. “I need to learn how to defend myself, Gold. Jagger said he'd teach me.”

“What for?” He cranked the engine and the Camaro purred out of the parking lot.

“What for? So I can prevent this from happening to me again.”

Goldie stopped at the light before turning onto the ramp of Interstate 91. “It ain't going to happen again, since you ain't going back there.”

I chuckled. “Don't you start that too.”

“Suga, I ain't starting anything other than what Jagger said. Jagger said you ain't going back . . . ever.”

I froze in the heated car. There was no sense in arguing with Goldie. The anger zooming throughout me was for Jagger.

How dare he!

Through clenched teeth I said, “Take me back. Take me back
now.”

Goldie looked at me and shook his head.

“Yes.”

“Uh-uh. I'm no fool, Pauline.
Jagger
said.”

I remained still with those words. Goldie had enough sense not to disobey an order from Jagger.

Me, I had other plans . . . only no idea how I'd implement them.

“Pauline,” my mother said, leaning closely and squinting, “weren't you wearing those same scrubs on Sunday?”

She was observant. I'd give her that. That was also why I had Goldie do my makeup, much like a professional makeup artist, so that Mother wouldn't notice my injuries. It'd hurt, but the pain was worth not having to lie to her.

Lying to Mother never turned out well.

When we were kids she always seemed to find out, even if it was years later. Talk about “mother radar!” I supposed one day, eons from now, she'd ask me where I'd gotten that scratch on my face, but right now I wasn't volunteering anything.

Mentally exhausted, I collapsed onto the nearest kitchen chair. I had the uncontrollable urge to eat kielbasa. Mother's kielbasa and sauerkraut, which I
never
ate. As if that weren't scary enough, I'd insisted Goldie bring me there instead of to our condo. If I weren't so beat, I'd be in the bathroom inhaling pine. That mental stuff was getting to me.

And yet, I
was
going back.

Anger threatened to take over, but I put a stop to those feelings. I knew, just knew, if Mother noticed I was upset, she would interrogate me and find out way too much. I'd deal with Jagger and his “order” later.

“Mother, do you have any leftover kielbasa and kraut?”

She swung around and glared at me. “Tell me everything, Pauline. Everything that is going on in your life!”

What had I been thinking? Monday was meatloaf day and asking for Saturday's traditional kielbasa was a red flag big enough to send my mother into the truth-police mode. She was the captain of the squad too.

Even though Goldie hadn't been in my life for more than a few months, I looked to see horror and confusion and the question “what the hell were you thinking, Suga!” on his face.

In my exhaustion, I heard my mother calling my name again. Before I knew it, I was in Goldie's Camaro with him flooring it and mumbling about me.

I looked toward him. “Did we at least say goodbye?” There had been many times that I'd left my parents' house in the same kind of “hurry.” But this time, I admitted, it was my fault for letting nostalgia make me temporarily insane.

“Yeah, you were polite as you scurried out, grabbing my arm. You need a manicure, Suga.”

I looked down to see my half painted coral nails, which were way too long for me. As a nurse I'd learned to keep them short and couldn't stand when they grew a sixteenth of an inch or more. “You're right. Sorry about that. It's just . . . I didn't want to have to tell her about—”

We turned into the condo parking lot. “I know. I know. No sense worrying her. We're worried enough.”

I knew he meant him and Miles. I leaned over, kissed his cheek, then turned and got out. When the fresh air hit me, I sucked in a deep breath and thought maybe I shouldn't go back. Maybe Jagger was right.

I could get hurt . . . killed. Maybe . . . maybe no one would ever help Margaret or others like her then. Even with Jagger on the case, it could take longer, and they'd all seen him. And he needed my nursing knowledge.

“I'll need a ride back tonight.”

He turned toward me.

I touched his hand. “Cab. I'll take a cab.” I had to remember to call for one early. In Hope Valley, the cabs drove into their cozy garages for the night at 7
P.M.
sharp.

Goldie nodded rather solemnly.

“Don't worry. I'll be fine. As a matter of fact, I need to do some work on my case.”

“Damn, Suga. I don't know how you do it. I'm so proud of you, ya know? You've gone from not knowing shit to working on two cases at a time. Proud as a mother peacock.”

I smiled. “Hen. Mother hen.”

He danced around with his arms waving.

I laughed. “Okay, with all your sparkles, peacock it is.”

Goldie headed out, and I went to change. I was damn well not going to wear these scrubs to make a visit to Dr. De Jong. It felt good to slip into my jeans and a black-and-white sweater. I almost felt normal again until the pain in my face reminded me that I had to go back to the Cortona Institute of Life—sans Jagger.

Yikes.

I told myself that I could do it and he'd surely show up once he found out I'd gone back. With that comforting yet frightening thought in my noggin, I called the cab company and set up a pickup for five. I didn't want to take any chances of being late and facing the wrath of Spike.

I held Spanky extra long and then set him down. When he scampered off to his favorite spot on Miles's leather beanbag chair, I headed out. Thank goodness Goldie had gotten my Volvo back from the shop for me.

It felt good to be driving by myself, but I couldn't help looking in my rearview mirror over and over. Jagger was out there somewhere, and I didn't want him on the tail of my Volvo.

When I turned onto Oak Street, I slowed at the yellow light then stopped. A white van pulled up behind me. Rather close. I knew Jagger wouldn't be driving it, so I turned on my radio and ignored it.

“Let the sunshine. Let the sunshine in—” I sang along with an oldie-but-goodie station and decided I'd better keep my eyes on the road as I neared the doc's office.

The van turned in too.

I swallowed and told myself to ignore the fact that the van had followed me here from Oak Street, a grand total of three miles away. Big deal. No problem. Coincidence city.

I pulled into a space in the front of the house, then paused. My mind had been trained from day one in nursing school to think about the worst-case scenario. I had to notice if a patient's blood pressure bottomed out or there was a post-op bleed. Any complications and a nurse had to call the doctor. So, I had a lot of experience in looking for problems. Keeping the engine running, I glanced behind me.

The van had pulled over near the entrance, as if waiting for me to get out.

If I had to make a getaway, I would have to back out of the space. So I shoved the gearshift into reverse and backed out. Then I drove around the parking lot and into a pull-through space. I loved pull-through spaces. Those were the kinds of spaces that you didn't have to crane your neck around to see while you backed out. You just got in and drove off.

Which I might have to do soon.

I slowed. The van moved forward.

This was not looking good. My gut, which had served me so well in my nursing, told me this was not a coincidence.

I was being followed.

My first thought was that I carried a hammer in my glove compartment, since one of my biggest fears was to drive into a body of water and not be able to open my electric windows. That fear ran a close second to being arrested when I was innocent. I couldn't imagine that. And, some of the things I did in this new job had me thinking about that more and more.

The van was still behind me.

Now this was a worst-case scenario. Someone knew I was out of the hospital, unless it was some crackpot from a past case. That thought occurred to me as I drove out of the pull-through space and slowly around the lot. Then, I noticed Dr. De Jong come walking out of the front door and get into a red Jaguar. Damn! I could have gotten into her office and done some investigating.

Instead, I drove toward the exit of the lot—the van still on my tail. Was it the same van that had picked up Margaret at the airport?

Where was Jagger when I needed him?

Wait, did I really need him? I'd gotten along so far by myself.

Maybe I wasn't really being followed.

Okay, Pauline, the world is chock full of coincidences.

But a van making every turn that you make isn't one of them.

Before I could head out of the lot, Dr. De Jong pulled in front of me. I jammed on my brakes, amid the screech of her tires and smell of burnt rubber.

Wow. The doc must be in a real hurry. Hmm.

The van nearly plowed into my rear end. I didn't want the doc to recognize “Alice” so I quickly made a move and pulled in front of the doc. From the left, a tractor trailer barreled down on me.

I lifted my foot from the gas and held the brake. For a fleeting moment, I wondered what it would be like to charge out in front of the truck. Yikes. I must have been in the Institute too long. Way too long.

Clearing my weird thoughts, I slowly looked in my rearview mirror at the Jag. The doctor leaned forward, glaring.

I noticed the van behind her. I couldn't see the driver. Damn. Adjusting my rearview mirror, I tried to make out if it was a man or woman, but could only see a black hat, the wool kind that I myself have worn on stakeouts. Big help that was.

Honk
!

Yikes again. I looked up to see the doc pointing to the street and turned around. No traffic. Tempted to stay put so the van couldn't get me, I decided that was not a smart move so I looked both ways and started to turn left, then did a quick right out of the lot and headed down toward Maple Avenue.

Dr. De Jong could give Mario Andretti a run for his money, I thought as she peeled out in the other direction. Good. At least I wouldn't have to deal with her. I adjusted my rearview mirror and noticed no one was behind me.

I slowed, looked again.

Ha! I'd lost him.
Good job
, Pauline.

I'd looked forward to see the white van pulling out of Oak Street, right in front of me. Obviously he had been following me and had taken a side street to catch up. “No!” I shoved my foot so hard onto the brake pedal, a pain seared up my leg.

The van skimmed my right bumper. I couldn't afford to have my insurance rates go up, so I swerved to the left. Like a rabid dog, it followed.

We weaved in and out of traffic until I decided to head toward the police station on Main Street. I'd heard that was what you did when being followed. Relentlessly though, the van kept tapping my bumper.

I cursed and prayed. Prayed and cursed. Then just prayed.

Two more blocks to go and hopefully no one would be hurt or killed while this maniac kept attacking me. I neared the turn. The van's engine grew louder. He was probably going for broke and was about to smash me good.

Then a black Suburban zoomed out of Vine Street—and wedged itself between the van and an SUV just enough so that the van couldn't make the turn.