The Stiff and the Dead (32 page)

Make that hopeless. I was hopeless.

Switching gears, I said, “A mole. There is . . . you think it's Hildy. You think she was the one he was giving the clues to, and she'd know what to do to commit the fraud. And you think she either messed up or got greedy. You think she killed him to keep all the profits.” I stepped further into the luxurious bathroom—

And fell
splash
into a sunken tub.

“Shit!”

Jagger started laughing.

I was hollering for him to get me out. My boots, soaked through and through now, weighed a ton. Cement shoes were like Air Nikes compared with these.

“Give me a damn hand and a damn towel!”

He switched on a small night-light near the sink, opened a cabinet below and then threw two fluffy black towels at me.

I caught them in midair.

“Use them, fold them up and put them back were we found them.”

Clever. Who would check Leo's cabinets? “I'll turn to ice when I go outside,” I mumbled as he helped me out of the tub. My first thought was that I was glad to have on all black and a heavy-duty winter coat. I looked down at my clothes just to make sure nothing was transparent.

“Not going to win any wet tee shirt contests tonight, Sherlock.”

“I'm not . . . ha, ha.”

Did he mean I could win one if I had on summer clothes?
Pauline!
I screamed inside my head until it hurt and brought me back to sanity. I did as Jagger had said with the towels and stood for a few minutes feeling sticky and wet. Material clung to every part of my body.

“We'll get out of here so you can slip into something more comfortable.”

There were two ways I could take that suggestion. Remaining professional, I went with changing to dry clothes.

“Why do you think Leo filled the tub and left it like that before he went to work . . . and never returned?”

Jagger leaned against the counter. I could see pride in his eyes. He nodded this time. “Good question.”

I beamed.

“Maybe he was going to take a bath and was running late.”

“Shit. How un-mysterious. How unromantic. How logical.” I curled my lip and bent to wipe up the floor.

Jagger chuckled. “Ready?”

“Well, we didn't look in his medicine cabinet yet.” I actually had thought of something before Jagger had! I leaned past him and opened the medicine cabinet above the sink, certain we were going to find a gigantic bottle of Viagra.

A box of Tampax fell out.

Jagger lifted it up and shoved it back on the shelf. “Did you really think someone as smart and crafty as Leo Pasinski would keep anything in this cabinet that could get him found out?”

I would have. “No, but shit, Jagger. Whose are these?” I pointed to the blue box. “And these?” A round container of birth control pills were next to a Lady Schick razor.

“Leo lived with someone.”

I swung around. “Who?”

“If I knew that, we wouldn't be here unless she died with him and no one's found her body yet.”

“Ah. You don't know who he lived with then.”

“Or that he lived with anyone.”

Slam.

Jagger looked at me.

“Do you think . . . Leo's house has mice?”

He pulled me so fast, we forgot the night-light when we went hurrying down the hallway. “Jagger,” I whispered. “The night-light.”

“Christ.” He pushed me into an alcove in the hallway. “Stay put.”

“I'm not sleeping in any shed, you know.”

I leaned out and turned my head so I could hear if someone was really downstairs.

Click. Click.

His girlfriend.

Jagger came up behind me and before I could scream from fright, he had the foresight to cover my mouth.

I pushed his hand away and whispered. “It's a she. She's an
it.
She's down there.”

“Slow down, Sherlock.”

“She's down there, Jagger. A lady. Leo's lady.”

“You saw her?”

“No. I stayed put. I heard her clicking across the tile floor.”

“Clicking.”

“Heels, Jagger. Someone wearing spike heels is down there. Unless Goldie has a clone, I'm guessing it's a woman. Leo's woman.”

Jagger shoved a finger over my mouth and pulled me toward the stairs. He never gave me the time to question him.

What could I say? I trusted the guy.

Despite my legs feeling as if they had no bones in them, he pushed us up close against the wall across from the banister.

Before I knew it, we were through the living room and near the front door. I noticed a light blinking on the alarm system next to the door.

“Fuck,” Jagger mumbled.

He'd noticed it too.

He motioned for me to move to the side, and without even a thought, I found myself inside the foyer closet, amongst moth-scented wool coats and two full-length minks—and Jagger's shoulder crushing my left breast.

Pain and pleasure really were a hairline away from each other.

Click. Click.

In the darkness of the closet I could hear my heart beating and figured it'd race itself into some life-ending arrhythmia.

The footsteps passed us.

She must have walked into the carpeted living room and, hopefully, up the stairs.

Jagger eased to the side and opened the door a crack.

We looked through it together.

Yikes.

On the landing of the stairway, reading some mail, stood Lois Meyers.

“Lois the pharmacy tech? What the hell is she doing here?” I whispered to Jagger.

In the darkness of the closet he said, “That's what we need to find out. Maybe she's his accomplice at the pharmacy.”

“That would make Hildy not guilty.”

“Where'd she get the money for her car, to pay her rent and to leave?”

I felt his shoulder press into mine. Forget it, I told myself. I had to keep my wits about me for the case. To get it done and over with. To get paid. To help the police catch a murderer.

I whispered, “You need to pay me for helping you.”

“Did you think I wouldn't?”

Shit. “Of course not.”

Jagger eased me to the back of the closet. “When I give you a signal, follow me without a word, and fast.”

I nodded, then realized that more than likely he couldn't see me in the darkness. So, I whispered, “Okay.”

Suddenly footsteps came down the stairs again. This time they weren't heels, but it still had to be Lois. At least I hoped no one else was here. Jagger took me by the shoulders and held me tightly as if he expected me to run out of the closet and get caught.

Shit. Sometimes he didn't give me any credit for brains.

The front door opened. The burglar alarm beeped until she must have put the code in. Then the door shut.

Silence.

Jagger eased open the closet door only enough to see out and listen. He stood for several minutes that way. In the distance a car door shut, an engine cranked and a car pulled away.

Jagger opened the door all the way, grabbing me at the same time. Not taking any chances, he pulled me across the living room, into the kitchen and to the back hallway, a kind of mudroom.

The way we came in.

We were just about to open the back door as a car pulled into the driveway with its lights beaming right at us!

He shoved me back, and there I was, in the laundry room, right off the mudroom. At least it was lighter than the closet and much bigger. Piles of clothes covered the floor. There was a bit of light shining through the curtainless window from an outside floodlight.

Jagger held his finger to his mouth.

I curled my lips, yet again, at him. Any dummy would know not to talk.

The backdoor opened, footsteps followed, the door shut. Thank goodness the door to the laundry room was closed. Nevertheless, my breath held in my chest until I thought I was going to pop like the tiger's eye.

Woof. Woof.

A dog! Lois had brought a dog back with her, and it sounded
big.
I could only hope it had a cold and stuffy nose so that its sniffing abilities were impaired.

Footsteps came closer to our room. Jagger pushed me to the floor and covered us in the laundry.

Yuck! Dead Leo's dirty clothes on us! I gagged but kept my mouth shut, which didn't seem humanly possible. I was learning a lot in this business. And one thing was that the dirty clothes helped cover our scent.

A loud sniffing sound came close to the door.

Maybe not.

“Get the hell over here, Bruno. You're not getting in the laundry to play no matter how good it smells to you. Come.”

I said a fast, abbreviated prayer.

The footsteps then grew distant. She must have gone upstairs with the dog.

But was it for the night?

Would the pooch come back? Did it have free reign of the house so it could?

“Do you think she's gone upstairs for the night?” I whispered, praying she had since I was about to scream, wearing these wet clothes.

Jagger shrugged. “Stay here.”

He opened the door, stuck his head out and walked toward the backdoor.

Good. He'd fiddle with the alarm system again, then we'd be home free.

“Fuck,” Jagger muttered. He came back in, shut the door and looked at the pile of laundry. He checked the window and cursed something about the alarm system. “Make yourself comfortable,” he said.

I looked down. “What? What the hell are you talking about? I have to get home and change.”

“Look, Sherlock. I'd like nothing more than to be home in my own bed right now too. But Lois did something to the freaking alarm. I can't bypass it without the entire system sounding full force and notifying the cops, not to mention the neighbors, her and the mutt. We'd never make it out the door before she or her dog came at us.”

I readied to ask where his bedroom was since I thought maybe he lived in his SUV, but there is a time and place for everything so I asked, “Do you think the dog will come back down?”

“Doesn't Spanky sleep with you?”

My eyebrows rose at the very thought. Yes, he did, but having Jagger know that felt like an invasion of my privacy. How
did
he know that? “Have you
seen
him in my room?”

“Relax, Sherlock. I'm not a Peeping Tom. Everyone I know who owns a dog lets them sleep in their bed. We can only hope Lois is like all dog owners—and tomorrow morning is not laundry day.”

Good assumption, but my mouth went dry anyway.

Tomorrow! I'd be here again with him and then have to go to work at the clinic or call in sick. Very tempting. I started to make little moaning sounds as I fixed a pile of laundry to lie down on.

“Not too comfortable in wet stuff?”

I looked at him in the dim light. “You are one observant guy, Jagger. I'll give you that.”

He took off his jacket and started to unbutton his shirt. Unbutton his shirt!

Oh my God!

I'd never sleep tonight or any night with that vision. He had on a crewneck white tee under the black shirt. His arms looked muscular but not overdone in the short sleeves.

I blew out a breath.

“Here.” He held out his jacket and shirt. “That's the best I can do unless you want to change into Leo's dirty stuff.”

“I'm fine.” I sneezed.

“Change,” he just about ordered.

When Jagger talked to you in that tone, you could only do what he said. Damn. He was more and more like my mother.

“Turn around.”

He did a three sixty.

“Funny. Turn around and stay around so I can get these wet things off.” As soon as he did, I tugged at my wet gloves amid frequent groans. Even though the tub water had been cold, it felt as if the material had been melted onto my skin. “Shit.”

Jagger looked over his shoulder.

“Turn around!” I yelled in a whisper.

“I've seen your naked
fingers
before, Sherlock.”

He came closer and took my hand. After several tugs, he had my gloves off. “Do not touch anything in this room now.”

Damn. I hadn't thought about that. Maybe I should have kept on the wet gloves. Now that they were off I could get the jacket and shirt off, no problem.

Wrong.

The jacket didn't let me down though. My Steelers never would. After several tugs, I gently set the wet, and now smelly, down parka on the floor. Then it was time for the turtleneck. I pulled and made it halfway up my midriff. That was it. The thing stuck there as if glued on like Peggy's wrinkles.

I moaned. I tugged. Moaned again and tugged more. A panic attack threatened. Silly, sure. But when I lost control over anything to do with my body, my heart started to race, my palms sweated and my mouth became the Sahara. “Oh. Oooooooh. Oh! Ack!”

Jagger had lain down on his pile of laundry. “Keep it down.”

“I'd love to if I could get this wet crap off of me.
Ah choo
!
” Before I could cover my mouth the sneeze sprayed out. Damn!

Jagger nipped over. “Christ, Sherlock. Can't you get undressed any quieter?”

“Never mind. I'm going to just go to . . . to . . . to sleeeeeep.” Another sneeze.

He sat up, ran a hand through his hair and got up. “Come here.”

My feet froze to late Leo's tile floor. “I . . . no. I'll be fine.” Two more sneezes.

“You'll have pneumonia before daylight.”

“You have to come into contact with someone who has the cold virus to get sick. Just 'cause I'm wet and cold doesn't mean I'm getting—”

Jagger's hand muffled my sneeze, but I was afraid I'd slobbered on him. How the hell did I get myself into these situations?

“I'm going to help you peel that wet shit off and then you are going to put on my dry shirt and jacket. You can't borrow a pair of Lois's pants 'cause we could be found out. We don't take things from suspects. Then you are going to stop making noises as if you're having an orgasm.”