One Dead Under the Cuckoo's Nest (25 page)

Sister Liz led us into the visiting room and looked very apologetic when she shut the door and had to lock it.

“Oh . . . my . . . God. Oh, my God!” Goldie screeched again. “You look awful, Suga. Just awful.”

I laughed. “Thanks. And here I just had a relaxing treatment of wet packs.”

Both of my “parents” shrieked in unison.

Miles took my shoulders, hugged me again, and then held me out to look at me like some long-lost relative. “You don't have to do this, Pauline. You know it's only a case. You don't get paid enough to get locked up and wrapped up and whatever else up”—he sniffled—”whatever else they do to you around here.”

“Oooooooh!” Goldie shouted.

“Guys, I'm fine, and pipe down, or Sister Liz will throw you out and who knows what she'll do to me.”

Both glared at me.

“Kidding!” I poked at Miles's chest and winked at Goldie, then hugged Spanky. “Just kidding. Lighten up.” I gave them each a few minutes to compose themselves. “How are my folks? Uncle Walt?”

Miles smiled. “All fine. We stop by to see them every day. Jagger had told them you were working a case and they seemed . . . okay with that.”

“Thanks for the lie. I know my mother.”

“Okay, but your dad and uncle seemed okay.”

“Just keep seeing them and make sure they are all right.”

Both nodded.

“Did you bring my nightie and robe?”

Goldie held out a shopping bag with a Saks Fifth Avenue label. How Goldie. I knew he didn't have time to shop there today, but it was his favorite store.

“You didn't have to buy anything. I have plenty of nightwear.”

Goldie waved a hand. “We couldn't rifle through your intimate apparel, Suga.”

I laughed. “Why? It wouldn't be the first time. I've seen you do it!”

“I know, but it's not the same with you not there,” Miles said. “With you there it doesn't seem as . . . invasive.”

Goldie shook his head. “No, Suga, it wasn't the same . . . We couldn't.”

I realized what priceless friends I had.

I touched his arm. “Let's see what you brought, guys.”

As if animated, Goldie sprang to life. He lifted out a silken animal-print nightshirt with V-neck plunge and lace trim. “By Natori,” Goldie exclaimed.

Yikes. Who the heck was Natori? Beyond my budget, I'm sure. How not to hurt my friend's feelings? But if I wore
that
around here, I'd be attacked by more than a Raggedy Ann doll. “Hm. Gold, that's beautiful, but—”

He looked at Miles and they laughed. Miles said, “That's not for you.”

I laughed too. Felt so good. “It'll look gorgeous on you Gold.” I rubbed Spanky's ears and wished Sister Liz would forget the time and let us visit indefinitely

Goldie reached into the bag. “I bought all this on Miles's and my last shopping trip into New York City. This was going to be for your birthday, Pauline, but I found that necklace instead.” He grinned.

I had visions of the night the original necklace broke when Nick and I . . . never mind.

“So, do you have anything in that bag that I can wear around here? Some of these folks are . . . different.”

Miles looked at Goldie. “Maybe we should take her out of here?”

I shook my head. “No. I'm not going. Here, give me the damn bag.” Goldie released it, and I reached in and pulled out a pair of pink-and-beige-checked pajamas. The tag, still on, said Burberry Nova Check, and was labeled $265.00! That was more than my share of the rent. “You guys, these are way too expensive.”

“Nothing is too good for our Suga. There's a robe too,” Goldie said. He reached over and yanked out a Burberry terry robe and held it toward me. “Our little girl is worth it.”

The tag said $220.00.

Between the two, I could have made the Lexus payment and had some cash to spare. Still, I hugged and kissed both of my friends and then whispered, “Thanks. You guys are dreams.”

Sister Liz gave us a five-minute warning, so Goldie reviewed a few self-defense moves with me and assured Miles that Jagger would keep an eye on me.

I hugged them both, and the nun ushered out the two.

I stood next to her and waved, muttered to Spanky, then said, “I love you all,” and they were gone.

My mother was wrong. Expensive clothes really do make you feel better. Back in my room, I looked down to see myself clad in Burberry and hoped it would make me look saner to Mason.

My visit with my “parents” was fun, touching. I truly needed to get out of there soon.

Determined to finish this case up, I went out of my room and down the hallway. Margaret was in the dayroom, watching reruns of
JAG.
Suddenly I realized I'd called Jagger “Jag” and he didn't blink an eye. I felt a bit closer to him since I'd inadvertently made up a nickname for him.

Jag. I liked it.

“Hey, Margaret.” I looked at the clock in the nurses' station. After eight. Her medication had to have peaked by now, and she'd be more coherent.

She looked at me. “Oh, Pauline. I didn't recognize you in that outfit.” She yawned. “You look nice. Burberry is one of my favorites.”

I remembered that Margaret could probably afford this outfit, which would have taken me weeks to pay for. She held the little picture of her son in her hand. I leaned over and touched her wrist. “Close up your hand so no one sees the picture.”

I didn't think they would take a family photo away from the real patients, but whoever knew Margaret didn't belong here more than likely would.

Soon the room emptied except for Joanna, with a Raggedy Andy doll. She didn't even pay any attention to me, and I figured she was very sick and didn't think twice of how she'd accused me of taking Raggedy Ann's bread. Sad. I smiled at her.

She ignored me and crooned something to Andy. Probably about me, the Carb Thief.

Margaret closed her hand tighter around her son's picture. “I'm sorry about what happened to you earlier.”

My body stiffened. “It really wasn't as bad as I thought it would be.”

She looked at me sadly. “I know.”

I patted her hand and wondered how many times they'd wrapped Margaret in the wet sheets—just for speaking the truth. Spike must have been off tonight, because Vinny was sitting at the other end of the room. Much mellower than Spike, Vinny let us talk in a low whisper and didn't seem to mind. He was reading
Sports Illustrated
— the swimsuit edition.

We had plenty of time to talk.

“Margaret, did you meet the new patient, Mason, yet?” I hoped she had and my case could take a giant leap.

She shook her head and held tighter onto her picture. This wasn't a good night for Margaret.

I let out a sigh as I tried to think of what to say next. Getting to the point to get her out of here was first and foremost so I told her about Mason. “From New Orleans. Came in a white van, too, and used a travel agent who was new since his boss retired—”

She turned toward me, a tear in her eye. “Arnold, my husband's friend and our travel agent—retired to his cottage on the Gulf.”

Bingo.

“Tomorrow is Kyle's birthday,” Margaret said while I was celebrating the fact that now I knew both she and Mason clearly had been hijacked here against their will for the insurance money.

“I worry that he thinks I'm not coming back to him. My poor baby.”

My heart sank.

“I'm so sorry. But you know what, Margaret? I think . . . no, I
know
you will be seeing him very soon. Very soon.”

She gave me a look that said she was close to hopeless yet willing to give me one last vote of confidence.

I couldn't let this mother down.

I walked her to her room, where she flopped on the bed. I pulled the covers over her and took her son's picture from her hand. “If it falls when you are asleep, it could go missing.” I tucked it under her mattress at her request and patted her on the shoulder. “Good night. I'll see you tomorrow.”

When I walked out of the door, making sure that no one saw me coming out, I leaned against the wall and silently cursed whoever was so evil, so money-hungry that they'd separate a mother and child—and commit
murder.

Thoughts like that made me realize that I was way out of my league sometimes and it was right of Fabio to give me easier cases like Workers' Comp and Dr. De Jong's treatment of teens. I could see that he assigned me cases that coincided with Jagger's so I could learn from him—although I felt certain that Jagger didn't work for Fabio. I was kinda glad the doctor wasn't committing fraud, because right now I needed some belief that humans were inherently good.

Some, however, got sidetracked.

I walked away from Margaret's room and toward the quiet dayroom. I needed to sit and vegetate like a real patient. Today had been a long, difficult day. Too much action for my taste and investigative skills. When I came around the corner, I stopped.

Sitting on the couch a few feet away from the window was Jagger, talking to Mason.

Yikes.

They looked up simultaneously and both smiled.

My female instinct said their smiles came from the same place—noticing me.

Oh . . . my . . . gosh.

I walked toward them and wondered if Jagger had told Mason exactly who he was. Then again,
I
didn't know who Jagger exactly was. And he damn well better not have told someone else—some stranger—first.

Mason jumped up. “You look nice in your outfit, Pauline.” His French accent did something to my name that made my heart flutter. Then I looked at Jagger and felt my cheeks burning.

I must be as red as the pj's of the elderly gentleman who was fast asleep on the loveseat. At least he wouldn't be eavesdropping.

“Please sit down,
mademoiselle.”

If the Cheshire Cat wore Burberry, I'm quite sure I could have passed for him at that moment, with the grin on my face.

Jagger grunted.

I sat next to Mason. “Hey, Jag—”

His eyes flashed what had to be a warning.

“
JAG.
Did either of you watch that television show about the military tonight?
JAG
?”

Jagger shook his head.

I thought I did a damn good job of sidestepping my faux pas, and thought that Jagger just didn't want to give me the satisfaction of doing something correct.

He really did seem as if he were a bit perturbed at Mason.

But, ever the professional, Jagger sat there, just looking at me—and more than likely transferring his dismay to me.

I leaned toward Mason. “Margaret's husband booked her trip with your new agent. Arnold, the old agent, was her husband's friend!”

Mason gave me a look of trust but flashed his eyes at Jagger.

I quickly said, “He's all right. He's my doctor. We can talk in front of him.”

Jagger looked at me as if I should just shut up, so I leaned toward him. “Mason knows that I can help him. Margaret does too.”

“How are
you
going to help them, Sherlock?”

Mason looked confused. “Sherlock?”

Now I looked at Jagger, accusing him of a faux pas, and then turned to Mason as if I could wave away his confusion with my hand gesture. “Don't pay attention to that. What we need to do is get more info to corroborate. It certainly sounds as if both of you, and we don't know how many more, were brought here just to get the insurance money. Maybe not only from the New Orleans area, but from all over the country.”

I asked a few more questions about the van, the driver and anything else Mason could think of. “Tomorrow I'll see if these match what Margaret says. Then we'll be home free.”

Jagger leaned near. “And whom are you going to accuse, Pauline?”

I pulled back. In my excitement, I didn't realize that we still were no closer to finding out about Vito's death or who was the ringleader in all of this fraud. Oh, I knew that we'd have to complete that, but with the horrible day I'd had, I'd let my excitement get away from me.

Mason excused himself and told me he'd meet me for breakfast tomorrow. I smiled and agreed, then turned to see Jagger standing there shaking his head.

“What? He's a nice guy.”

“Darling. Just darling.” He took my arm and led me toward the examining room, stopping at the desk long enough to inform Nurse Lindeman that he'd be “seeing” me right now.

I grinned all the way down the hallway.

When we got to the exam room, the door was closed. Before Jagger could open the door, Vinny came bounding out.

“Oh, hey, Doc. This room is in use. You can use the one on Ward 200B. It's down the hallway and to the right. No locked doors in between. It's part of the same unit, but the more . . . sicker patients are kept there.”

“Thanks,” Jagger said, taking my arm.

I heard a female's snicker. Apparently
Vinny
was using the exam room.

I smiled at Vinny and followed along like the ever consummate, cooperative psych patient that I'd become.

When we got to the end of the hallway, I realized I'd never ventured this far, thinking all the doors were locked. Then it hit me: the
sicker
patients?

“Maybe we should wait until tomorrow and stay on Ward 200. Plain old 200?”

Jagger shook his head—twice.

“Hey, you're the one who can come and go around here. They get me on Ward 200B, and they might make me a permanent resident.”

He chuckled. “What? Are you afraid they'll think you are a bit . . . different, Sherlock?”

I looked around to make sure no staff was watching and slapped Jagger's arm. “No, Jag, I'm not. Oh, hell. I . . . yes, I am. Do you know what it's like to be wrapped in wet sheets like a mummy?”

Suddenly, he had me in his arms. The feel of his heart next to mine nearly had me drop to the floor. Instead I struggled on wobbly legs. Jagger gently stroked my hair and whispered, “I'm really sorry about that, Sherlock. Really sorry.”