Sleight of Hand (22 page)

"I wore this for you," she told him, slipping the shirt off her shoulders and dancing her fingers over satin and lace, a surprising change from her usual cotton sports bras.

"You shouldn't have bothered," Drake said, his hands taking possession of her.  

She arched with pleasure and leaned back on her elbows as he released her breasts from their silky confinement and his mouth moved over them.

"You know, Spanos apologized for what happened with Morris," she said, her voice dreamy and faraway.  

Spanos
, he thought with irritation. Spanos was the last name he wanted to hear right now.  He slid his hands between the legs of her jeans, caressing, feeling her heat through the denim.

"Spanos is a jerk," he murmured, then nipped at the skin between her breasts.

"But at least he's a polite jerk."

Drake's hands stopped their motion, and she squirmed against them.  He drew back, just out of reach.  "You want me to apologize for telling you that you were reckless and should have let the police do their job?"

She balanced on one arm and reached to tug him back to her.  "You could start by going back to what you were doing."

He yanked his hand away and straightened, looking down on her.  "I'm not going to apologize when I was right."

He saw the flash in her eyes.  Then she sighed, acknowledging that this was an argument neither would win.  

"All right then, I'll apologize to you," she said, grabbing his lapels and pulling him to her once more.  "Come to dinner tonight."

He allowed her to nuzzle his neck.  "Will you wear this?" he asked, his fingers flicking the satin bra that hung open from her shoulders.

"If you promise more jungle sex."

A pounding on the door interrupted his response.

"Everything all right in there?" came Jimmy's shout followed by a laugh.  "Ah, yunz need anything?"

Drake cursed and stood up.  "My idiot partner."  He tucked his shirt back into his slacks and straightened his tie.  She sat up, quickly re-fastened her bra and arranged her clothing.

She slid off the pool table, tucking in her own shirt.  He put his hands on her hips and pulled her close one last time, his kiss a promise of things to come.

"Got to go."  Another wave of pounding shook the door.  "I'm coming!" Drake shouted in annoyance and was rewarded with another laugh from the other side.

"Go," she told him, pushing him toward the door.

Jimmy rushed inside as soon as Drake opened it, obviously hoping for a glimpse of something provocative.

"Good afternoon, Detective Dolan," Cassie greeted him with a gracious smile and calm facade.

Drake was certain Jimmy didn't miss the blush that colored her face or her rumbled hair.  

"Hey ya, Cassie," was all Jimmy said even as his eyes raked over the scene.  "How's it going?"

"I'm fine.  How are Denise and the kids?"

Jimmy's eyes brightened at the mention of his kids–twins, just turned six and the light of his life.  "Great.  Soccer starts next week and they're psyched."

"Don't you have a witness waiting?" Drake put in, amused by how easily Hart turned the tide of the conversation.

"Oh.  Yeah, let's go or you'll be late too."  They moved down the corridor.  

Jimmy muttered, "On the fucking pool table, no less."  

Drake couldn't help but grin.

Jungle sex?  Finally something to look forward to.

CHAPTER 18

Cassie drove carefully through the rain-slicked streets.  She'd decided to start at the beginning.  Virginia Ulrich's hometown was Wheeling, West Virginia, also the location of Golden Crest Nursing Home. Directory assistance had two listings for Jurassics, her maiden name.  

The administrators at Golden Crest refused to give her any information over the phone about Virginia.  All they would tell her about Sheila Kaminsky was that she had left their employ "because of illness".  

There was no answer at either Jurassic residence, so Cassie decided to try her luck in person.  Why not?  She didn't have anything else to do except to sit at home and worry about little things like impending malpractice suits.

Once in Wheeling she pulled over for gas and a cup of coffee.  She thought that she'd try the private residences first.  She bought a local map and found that they were only a few blocks apart and not very far from the service station where she was now.  

The neighborhood was crowded with row houses and small, gray shingled houses.  It was difficult to tell their age given the uniform layer of soot covering them.  The first address belonged to a small Cape Cod remarkable only for the sparse icicle shaped Christmas lights dangling from the porch roof, tangled by the wind.  Cassie had the feeling they'd been there longer than the four months since the holiday, years even.  She pulled the Impreza up to the curb and approached the house.

There was no doorbell, so she opened the storm door and knocked on the wooden door beyond.  She waited several moments.  Just as she was preparing to knock again she heard movement, and the door was opened by an older woman wearing a dingy pink sweat suit frayed by repeated washing.

"Stella Jurassic?" Cassie asked.  Damn, she should have thought this through more, she had no idea what to say next.

"Yeah, who're you?  Whatever you're selling, I don't want none."

"I'm not selling anything.  My name is Cassandra Hart."

"You one those religion freaks?   I already got my own, don't need no one elses."

"No ma'am.  I'm a doctor in Pittsburgh.  Do you know a Virginia Jurassic?  Virginia Ulrich she is now."

The woman squinted her eyes, looking Cassie up and down, clicked her dentures together, then sighed and took a step back.  

"You'd best come in," she said walking away from the door.  

Cassie hesitated, then followed the old woman inside to the living room.  Mrs. Jurassic sat down in a tweed recliner, using a remote control to mute the daytime talk show on her large screen television.  Cassie perched on the couch beside her.

"Who's she killed now?" the old woman demanded to Cassie's astonishment.

"She killed someone?"

"My brother, her father.  Can't prove nothing, but I know it.  Who'd you say you were again?  A doctor?"

"Yes.   I took care of Virginia's son.  He's very ill, in our hospital.  I was hoping I could get some information about the family's health, anything to help us figure out what's causing Charlie's illness."

Silence as she digested that.  She looked at Cassie again, one eye squinted, head tilted.  Cassie noticed a grey film over her left eye; the old woman probably couldn't see much at all from it.

"Why dinna ya ask Virginia herself?"

Good question, one that she had no answer for.  When she didn't answer right away, the old woman nodded her head.

"You don't trust her either, do you?"

"No, I don't," Cassie said slowly.  When in doubt, go for the truth.  "Actually, I'm concerned that Virginia might have something to do with Charlie's illness as well as the death of her first son."

"Didn't know she had more children," Virginia's aunt said.  "But then I don't talk with Mary anymore, not since my brother died.  And I certainly don't keep track of that girl's doings.  But I can tell you she's a snake in the grass.  Look around you, think I want to spend the rest of my life here?  I had money set aside, good money.  But no, Mary and Sam talked me into helping out their little girl with her education.  What good did all that learning do when her pa needed her the most?  And let me tell you, most of the money didn't end up with the school, it went straight into her pockets."

"How did her father die?"

"Had himself a stroke, was only fifty but it weren't no surprise the way he lived.  Was like a baby, couldn't talk, couldn't do nothing for hisself.  Anyway, Virginia dropped out of school to take care of him, but then all sorts of weird things started to happen.  He kept getting sicker and sicker and no doctor she took him to could figure out why.  First it was throwing up.  He was wasting away to nothing even though she said he was eating okay.  Then he started to have broken bones, even though he couldn't do more than take a step or two at most.  Then the broken bones got to be infected and they hooked him up to IV's and gadgets."  She rolled her eyes, obviously not impressed with medical science.  "That was the beginning of the end.  A month later he was dead in his sleep, but no one could say for sure why."

"And you blame Virginia?" The old lady nodded emphatically.  "Was an autopsy performed?"

"No, course not.  Can't go round cutting up dead bodies, ain't proper.  Mary gave Virginia all the insurance money to finish her education, but instead Virginia ran off and got married.  Never did pay me back any of the money she owed me, course."  She shook her head.  "I always did tell Sam he was marrying a fool, and that girl is the spittin' image of her mother.  I don't have nothing to do with them no more."

"What was Virginia like as a child?"

"She was their only child.  Ran around and did whatever she damned well pleased.  Spoiled rotten, but always wanting more, had to be the center of attention.  If she didn't get what she wanted with her temper tantrums, she'd make out like she was faint or sick.  Learned that from her mom, she did.  I swear to God, Mary's spent more of her days on earth in bed than out, but I tell you there ain't anything wrong with her.  Delicate, is what Sam always said."

"So Virginia was sick a lot?"

"Always complaining of one thing or another, always wearing one of those– whatchamacallit–Ace bandages on her wrist or leg.  I'd a liked to wrap one around her throat, shut her whining."

Sounded like tendencies to fabricate illness ran in the family.  Only in Virginia it had evolved into something more deadly.  "What school did she go to?"

"Community college, was gonna be a nurse but never finished.  She did have a job for a while at Golden Crest–that's the nursing home out on Springdale.  Was married–conned poor ole Michael Stainsby into giving her a ring."

"Did anything unusual happen while Virginia worked at Golden Crest?"

Stella looked at her shrewdly.  "Those folks, they called her a hero.  Said she saved a few people who were fixin to die.  Me, I think, maybe she put 'em there in the first place."

"What happened to Michael, her first husband?"

"Tried to kill hisself after their little girl died.  Now he lives downtown, drunk more days than not.  Every time I open the paper I expect to find his name in the obituaries."

"Virginia had a little girl?"  This was news.  

"Cute thing."  She shook her head.  "You should talk to Michael about her, Elizabeth was her name."

"Is there anything else you can tell me about Virginia?"

She pressed her lips together until they blanched.  "She left after Elizabeth died.  And that's the last I know of her.  Except for Mary constantly running her mouth off 'bout how successful Virginia is now."  

Stella Jurassic wrinkled her mouth as if talking about her niece left a bad taste in it.  She picked up the remote and turned the sound back on.  Jerry Springer was comforting a teenager above the caption: Cross-dressing teens undergoing LIVE! exorcisms.

Cassie got to her feet, obviously the interview was over.  "Thanks for your help, Ms. Jurassic."  The old lady grunted, and Cassie found her own way out of the house.

<><><>

"Virginia told me what you want."  Richard King bounced his wheelchair's front wheels against the terrazzo of the sunroom.  The Senator swallowed his irritation, forced himself to remain calm when King continued, "I'm not certain I like it."

As if this had anything to do with what King liked or didn't like.  The Senator's family was threatened and everything came second to that.  "You said yourself that Hart can be subject to fits of despondency.  What if she's gotten to the point where she's become delusional?  She might even be dangerous to her patients."

King seemed disinterested in the welfare of patients.  "You've already sued her for malpractice, humiliated her in front of her colleagues–surely that's enough."

Ex-drug user, the Senator remembered King's background that Thayer had provided.  Lost his career as a surgeon because of Hart.  Rumors were that during their marriage King beat Hart.  Possessive, jealous, narcissistic.  Play on that.  

"Apparently not.  Hart has convinced her new paramour," King's eyes narrowed at that, the politician noted, "to look into my daughter in law's past.  He won't find anything, of course, but still the damage will be done.  What kind of man is this Rembrandt Michael Drake?"

"Drake?" King scoffed.  "An idiot, romantic fool.  He's totally smitten by Cassandra, but he'll never have her."

"Why not?"

"Because she's my wife.  She belongs to me."

"So you agree that Drake and Hart must be stopped?"  King considered that and nodded.  Halfway there.  The Senator tried another tact.  "Have you ever considered the possibility that Hart might be using drugs?"

King laughed.  "That's crazy.  Cassandra would never–"

"Ah, but you're in that wheelchair because of drugs found in her possession.  Isn't that true?  Because of Hart you were crippled by those drugs.  Maybe there were other times–maybe she played a part in your own addiction."  Typical addict, King would place blame for his own weaknesses on anyone except himself.  

"Maybe that would explain some of her irrational behaviors," the Senator continued, "like leaving a happy marriage to a successful surgeon like yourself, for instance."

King's face lit up like a beacon at the fantasy that his marriage to Hart had been happy.  What a deluded idiot.  But an idiot that he needed.  

"Maybe.  Someone using drugs certainly could act in a self-destructive way like that," King said, dropping into clinical jargon.

Too bad the splatter of spittle destroyed the image.  But they could take care of little details like that.  The Senator saw his mistake now.  He'd thought of this as a personal problem, best left to the medical and legal professionals.  Now he realized that they had to win this battle in the only venue that counted, the court of public opinion.  And there was no one better at convincing the masses of what they should believe than the Senator.