The Stiff and the Dead (21 page)

“Heart medication.”

“Think Hildy might be a little too young for heart problems?”

“Of course. She's only in her late teens, although it isn't impossible. Here,” I said, grabbing the bottle with Jagger's tissue (hey, he taught me well). “Let me see what that really is.”

The top of the prescription label, where the name of the patient would be, had been torn off. I opened the bottle. Inside sat little white pills. Digoxin, I knew from my prior nursing. This medication was used to strengthen the pumping of the heart, and Hildy didn't appear to have any cardiac problems. I never heard her sound short of breath or have poor coloring, lips that looked bluish instead of pink or any of the symptoms of congestive heart failure. And this dose seemed a bit much for someone of Hildy's size too.

I closed the bottle before spilling any when the horrific thought hit me that these pills could be crushed, dissolved and hidden in Leo's coffee while he'd been at work.

Otherwise, what the heck would they be doing here?

She could have easily stolen them and torn off the real patient's name.

“Ah choo!”

Jagger grabbed the handkerchief and bottle faster than Hildy could sneeze again. Before she stepped through the door, he had everything back in order.

Me, I sat there staring at my hand that he'd torn the bottle from, marveling at his skills.

Would I ever be such a good investigator?

I looked up and smiled at Hildy. “You sound awful. Sure you don't need anything?”

She sat down and looked at Jagger. “What happened to Leo? Car accident?”

He told her as much as anyone who read the newspaper obits would find out. Good thinking, Jagger.

She looked directly at me. “No one has ever cared enough about me to come check on me.”

I smiled at her. “Call the clinic if you need me.” I felt horrible not wanting to give her my home phone number.

We then excused ourselves and left. Once outside, I took a deep breath of welcome cold air and looked at Jagger.

“You think she did it.”

“My job isn't to think, Sherlock. It's to investigate.”

“Investigate insurance fraud or
murder
?”

Silence.

“Fine. Then tell me who the hell you work for.” I demanded as he walked to the passenger side and got in.
Nick always opens my door,
I thought, as I got in my side, but decided not to share that info with a silent Jagger.

I turned the key, shoved the transmission into reverse and pulled out. On the way back to the office, I asked, “Do you think she did it though?”

“Not my job or yours to think about that, Sherlock.”

“I know. Investigating 101. But give me your gut impression, Jagger.”

“I don't speculate.”

By now I'd turned into the parking lot, but still didn't see his SUV.

He pointed to the western side of the building, where only physicians parked. I turned there and sure enough, there sat his Suburban complete with a doc's parking sticker. The guy never ceased to amaze me. He opened the door as soon as I stopped.

“Wait, Jagger. Please. Do you think she did it?”

He held the door for a few seconds. “Don't get personally involved, Sherlock. Go home. Get dressed and have a good time with Nick.”

My heart sank.

Partly because his not answering could be interpreted as a yes. Partly because he nailed me on getting involved and caring about Hildy. And partly because I was going out with Nick.

When I opened the door of my condo, I gasped and started to turn around. Surely I had the wrong place. Miles's stark white living room had been invaded by jungle mania. Palm trees danced in the breeze of the opened door. The couch had a zebra throw the size of my mother's house on it. And the chairs had all been replaced with leopard and tiger covered recliners.

Spanky barked.

I looked at the number on the door, nodded and went inside.

“Hello, Suga!” Goldie pranced out from the kitchen, holding Spanky in his arms. The little dog nuzzled against Goldie's arm, and why not? Certainly gold, sparkly, silk Kimono robes were pretty damn comfortable to rub against.

Better than my scratchy wool one.

He also had on gold flip-flops made of leather. I wondered where Goldie shopped. Had to be either the Internet or a West Hartford boutique.

At first I felt like a visitor, but as soon as Goldie put Spanky down and hugged me I knew I was home.

He'd fixed me a cup of hot tea, knowing, as Miles always did, that I needed it when stressed. It was either the tea or my favorite Budweiser, but with the cold weather, I went with the tea.

Over his teacup, he said, “So, tell me, Suga. What's wrong?”

I filled him in on our trip to Hildy's. “I really don't want her to be involved, Gold. I like her, and my gut instinct says she's innocent.”

But was Jagger's gut more experienced and
correct
?

It looked bad having the name label torn off the digoxin. And, her switching illnesses midstream from respiratory to stomach didn't look good either. Of course, to be fair, she could have had the flu and both kinds of symptoms. But she did seem to hate Leo. Maybe she found out about the Viagra and threatened to call the cops. Wait. Then he'd have killed
her.
No, maybe she was in on the fraud and wanted more. Got greedy. And Leo cut her . . . I had to stop this mental rambling when I didn't believe any of it.

Goldie and I figured the cops would investigate Hildy soon enough. Me, I had to get back to my case. Fabio had called today and left a message on my recorder.

“Look, newbie, I need something. Something soon if you want to get paid.”

Short and to the point.

“I have a date with Nick tonight, but first I have to dress up as Peggy, Gold. Bingo's at eight. I . . . as Pauline am meeting him at nine thirty. Not much time to clean up. Go easy on the glue.”

He touched my arm. “You're going to be exhausted.”

I already was.

But I persisted because Pauline Sokol was not a quitter. Sure I didn't like change—or make that didn't used to like change, but I'd been learning to adjust lately.

I reminded myself of this as Goldie did the final touch of makeup to “Peggy.” I was looking so very real with this getup, I even had myself convinced. Before Goldie had moved here, Mrs. Honeysuckle had cleaned out her closet as a “going away” present for him. I now had a complete over-seventy wardrobe and two pairs of shoes. One black. One brown. Both so damn comfortable I wished they were in style for the real me. Also she had thrown in an old purse. Not the one Brinks couldn't get into, but a huge one much like Sophie's. Thank you, Mrs. Honeysuckle.

After a kiss to Goldie, Spanky and Miles, who'd returned home with three lobsters so we could celebrate our first day together, they graciously accepted my decline. Then I headed out to my car, careful to slow my pace when dressed like this.

On the way to Bingo, I kept reminding myself that I needed something, some picture, some film that I could turn over to Fabio to placate him a bit longer. I had no idea this case would take so long—or get so complicated—although I should have.

Nothing in my life had ever gone easily.

Don't get my mother started on her twenty-nine hours of labor to produce only one baby, me. She always had said for all that pain, she should have at least earned triplets.

I parked in the lot and took my “purse” in hand. The other night I'd stopped at the local Wal-Mart and gotten some Bingo equipment. Hey, at least I'd fit in.

I checked my bag to make sure I had my beeper and glasses. In this getup, I certainly couldn't wear the beeper on my belt. What on earth reason would I give some snooping senior? And they did snoop, so I fit right in.

The card lady was walking around selling like crazy. Across the room, at their usual table, sat my usual group. Sophie was there as big as day. Okay, a bit bigger, but I was still in my “being kind” mood.

Imagine her showing up when Leo's body wasn't even cold.

Good for me. Not good for Sophie's reputation.

I bought my two cards on the way to the table before Joey could. I didn't want to owe him anything, and I didn't mean monetary-wise here. The guy looked as if
he
didn't need the Viagra that so many of the others coveted—and possibly died for.

“Hi, everyone,” I said as I pulled out my chair. I purposely sat across from Joey, who had jumped up and was headed my way. “I'm fine. Thanks anyway.” I plopped down and wondered if I should offer my condolences to Sophie. I think dementia came along with this outfit, because for the life of me, I couldn't think if Peggy was supposed to know that Sophie was Leo's stepmother.

I figured it'd be better to keep my mouth shut and look callous than be found out.

I set my purse down next to Sophie's.

Dementia!

Thank you, Saint Theresa. The idea had popped into my head like some divine intervention. Had to, since I still wasn't that good at thinking of ways to investigate on my own. Without Jagger or Goldie's input, I thought I had come up with a doozie. Before I set my plan into motion though, I reached down and took my glasses and beeper out of my purse and tucked them into my pockets. Good thing Mrs. Honeysuckle liked pockets.

The game had started. Eight minutes later (since I had little time to waste), I yelled, “Bingo!”

Everyone at the table cheered. After all, this was my first win.

When I had to call out my numbers, Sophie leaned over. “You don't have B-3 or B-4, Peggy. You have 34. N-34. Your mind must be going.”

Bingo,
I thought.
Bingo, my dear Sophie.

I hoped that I blushed appropriately when I waved my hand in the air. “Sorry. So sorry. You are right, Sophie. My mind isn't what it used to be.”

Sophie harrumphed.

Helen ignored me.

My uncles Walt and Stash looked concerned and genuinely sorry for me. Thanks, Uncles.

Joey the Wooer gave me an odd look. Not being an expert on reading people, I wasn't sure what it meant. But for my money, I would have guessed suspicion. Did Joey think that I had cheated?

That hurt although it shouldn't have. I merely kept my face down and continued on with the game, calling only one more “false” Bingo.

“Oh dear, oh dear,” I said at the coffee break. “I don't know where my mind went tonight. I seem to have been having a few days like this lately.” I hated lying to such a nice group of seniors—well, nice except for Sophie and Helen, whom I didn't like out of principle.

Uncle Walt said, “Now don't worry, Peggy. A visit to your family doctor should help. I don't hesitate to go for whatever ails me.”

I smiled at him since it seemed appropriate and also since I knew how true that was. Then I bent to get my purse—and took Sophie's instead.

I shuffled to the ladies' room at the fastest speed a woman my age should move, and went inside. Two ladies were at the sink. Damn it. But, then again, how would they know the purse wasn't mine? Other than my strap being beige and Sophie's a honey color, the bags looked similar enough for a “confused” Peggy to take by mistake.

I opened the door to a stall and slipped inside. Once I had my glasses on, I pulled out item after item. Bingo! I got pictures of two prescriptions with men's names on them. The bottle of Viagra wasn't there, but I did find a list of numbers. I took a picture and a little bit of film. You go, Pauline!

In my haste, I dropped my beeper. It slid out from under the door!

“Shit,” I mumbled and shoved everything back inside. When I opened the door, there stood Sophie—holding out my purse as if it was a snake.

Oh, boy. Sophie didn't look too forgiving, even to a confused old lady like myself as she picked my beeper up from the floor. She wiggled the beeper at me a few times. “What the hell is this?”

Before I could think of a lie, she grabbed her purse from my hands and shoved mine and the beeper at me.

“Oh!” I pretended to stumble.

One of the other ladies reached out. “Take it easy, Sophie. Peggy's fragile.” She patted my hand, which didn't look as old as it should. “You all right, honey?”

I wiped at my dry brow. “I'm . . . oh, my, I'm getting so confused.” I tried to force a tear out but apparently all the makeup and Superglue had clogged my tear ducts. Oh, well, a few moans and shake of my head still made me look “fragile.”

“Why did you take my purse?” Sophie said, but kept her hands to herself.

Hmm. Covering up something, Soph?

I held my purse to my chest. “Oh, my gosh. I . . . I don't know. I didn't even open it, Sophie. They look alike.” I turned to the woman by the sink. “Don't they?”

She nodded very sympathetically.

Maybe I should be a movie star. I sighed very loudly and as pathetically as I could. “See. They look alike.” I waved mine toward her. “I didn't do it on purpose.”

Sophie clucked her tongue at me. “All right. All right. Calm down before you stroke out.” With that she hung her purse over her shoulder and went out the door.

As I watched her go, I touched the cameras in my pocket—and hoped to hell that I had
something
to give Fabio.

“Who the hell is this broad in the picture?” Fabio asked not all too politely the next morning.

He pointed at the female pharmacist, who almost looked familiar, but I guessed that was because I had, in fact, seen her a few times. “She's a pharmacist there. A part-time one. Guess she's working more since Leo's death.”

I shuddered.

After coming from a profession where I tried to prevent death, it was still hard to deal with murders. Possible murders. Or actual murders.

I looked at Fabio, who was lighting up a used cigar that he'd fetched out of the over-f ashtray on his desk.