The Doc's Double Delivery & Down-Home Diva

by Jacqueline Diamond

  Rocco had to be responsible for this. She wouldn’t repeat the sentiment because it would only send Antoinette into another tizzy of defending her almost-fiancé’s innocence. And frankly, she wasn’t up for it. She’d spent all night at the salon doing the books, which she hated. She’d been hoping to have her one day off a week to sleep until at least noon. Then she’d gotten the urgent message from her friend to come look at the guy in her bathtub. A strange request, but Claudia figured, hey, it had been a while since she’d seen a naked guy. She was expecting some hunky friend of Rocco’s to be visiting. She didn’t expect that friend to be dead.

  “Maybe we should put a blanket over him,” Antoinette suggested.

  “To do what? Keep him warm? A blanket is not going to have much effect against three bags of vending machine ice, and oh yeah, that’s right, he’s also dead! Blankets don’t work on dead guys!”

  Antoinette huffed. “I know he’s dead, Claude. But look at his thing. It’s all shriveled. I mean if he were alive, he’d probably be really embarrassed that we were standing here staring at his little shriveled thing.”

  After a silent prayer to her dead mother for patience, Claudia grabbed Antoinette by the shoulders and forced her to meet her stern eyes. “This is important. First, this guy is dead. Second, I don’t care about his shriveled thing, and I’m sure he doesn’t care about his shriveled thing either, because third, he’s dead! He’s got bigger problems than a little you-know-what.”

  Antoinette had the good grace to look sheepish. “So what are we going to do?”

  The only thing they could do. “I’m going to call the police.”

  “Please, no,” Antoinette whined. To emphasize her point she pulled on Claudia’s arm and jumped up and down like a child. Since Antoinette was dressed in a skintight neon halter top, Claudia was once again reminded that although her friend didn’t have brains, Antoinette had everything else. “They’ll blame Rocco.”

  “And this is a problem because…”

  “He didn’t do it. I know he didn’t do it.”

  “How do you know?” Claudia questioned reasonably. “Did you see the guy who did it?”

  “No. When I came home the dead guy was already in the tub,” she admitted reluctantly. “But Rocco’s got a lot of bad guys above him. There’s this one guy Jimmy, who’s always smackin’ gum. He’s got these really beady eyes, and I hear he’s been moving up the corporate ladder, so to speak. He probably made the hit.”

  “Listen Toinette, you’re right. Rocco’s got a bunch of bad guys more powerful than him in the organization. But the dead guy is in your bathtub. If you don’t report it, you’re going to look like an accessory.”

  “A piece of jewelry? Is that a bad thing?” Antoinette asked.

  Claudia raised her eyes to heaven once more. This time she would need both her ma and her pop’s support. “An accessory to the crime, Toinette. You could go to jail. As it is you’re going to have to tell them everything you know about Rocco’s business and his friends.”

  “I won’t do it,” she muttered stubbornly. “I’ll take the Fifth Commandment.”

  “It’s not a commandment, it’s an amendment. And you don’t take it, you plead it.”

  “You always have to be such a know-it-all.”

  “Only because you know nothing! I doubt you even know what pleading the Fifth means.”

  “Yes, I do,” she said snootily. “I see them do it on NYPD Blue all the time. And there’s also this rule that says I don’t have to testify against my husband. I saw that on The Practice.”

  Claudia smirked, “Yeah, and if that bum ever put a ring on your finger that might be an option. But after seven years with Rocco, all you got to show for it is a fake fur in your closet and a dead guy in your bathtub.”

  “It is not a fake fur! It’s real raccoon. And I won’t testify. I love Rocco. That’s why you’re being so mean. You’re jealous.”

  “You’re right, Toinette. I want to date a gangster and find dead bodies in my bathtub, too.”

  “At least I love my boyfriend.”

  Low blow. Especially since she was trying to help. “I like Marco a whole lot.”

  “That’s why you say no every time he pops the question. Because you like him so much,” her employee retorted snootily.

  “Listen, now is not the time to be discussing my personal life, okay. Do you have any suggestions?” It was unlikely, but she thought she’d ask considering it was Antoinette’s bathtub.

  “We could move him,” she suggested, but the squeamish look on her face confirmed that she was as unwilling to touch the dead guy as Claudia was. Back to plan A.

  “I’m calling the police.”

  “Who’s calling the police?”

  Claudia jumped. The loud booming voice was not two feet behind her. Uh-oh, she thought, Rocco. When she turned, he was standing in the bathroom doorway, blocking her exit.

  “Rocco! Honey, you’re home. Come look. There’s a dead guy in our bathtub. I told Claudia you didn’t do it, but she wants to call the police.”

  Smooth. Very smooth. Claudia gulped first, then attempted a nonthreatening smile as Rocco filled the already crowded bathroom. He was a short, stodgy guy, who wore cheap suits, cheaper cologne and a fake gold ring on each finger. For the most part he made Claudia want to laugh, he was so pathetic. But he was a member of the mob, and everyone in New York knew that it wasn’t wise to mess with mob business.

  “Nobody is callin’ nobody,” Rocco announced. “Show me the stiff, sugarpuff.”

  Claudia could only assume he wasn’t talking to her. She backed off and let Antoinette guide Rocco around the toilet bowl so he could get a good view of the bathtub. Suddenly, there was free access to the door. Claudia didn’t wait. A few steps and she was in the hallway. A few steps more and she was in the living room. Almost there.

  “Hey, Claudia, where are you goin’?” Antoinette screeched.

  That move was even smoother than the last one.

  “Hey, get back here!” Rocco shouted. But it was too late. Claudia was out the door and in the elevator before Rocco could catch her. She had to go to the police. Once there she would convince them that Antoinette had nothing to do with any of this. Hopefully, one interview with her should be enough to clear her name. If not, Claudia wondered if there was a defense for the criminally stupid. Probably not, because she had never seen it on NYPD Blue.

  The elevator dinged. Claudia was about to step out when a man, wearing a baseball cap so low over his eyes she wondered how he could see anything, bumped into her.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Whatever,” he grumbled back.

  If she wasn’t running for her life, she might have had a thing or two to say about the man’s rudeness. Just because this was New York didn’t mean everyone had to be mean and nasty. Well, actually, it sort of did, but Claudia had made it her personal crusade to change all that. However, given the circumstances, she decided it was best to keep moving.

  She buzzed herself out of the building’s front door and was soon sucked up by the city. It was Sunday morning. In any other city or town, the streets might have been quiet except for a few churchgoers. Not in New York. At any time of the day or night the city was crammed with people heading…somewhere.

  If Rocco was chasing her, he would never spot her. With her dark hair, pale skin and dark clothes, Claudia blended in with the people walking the streets as if she were related to each and every one of them. In the city she was a chameleon. No one would ever find her.

  1

  “I NEED A FAVOR.”

  “Where have I heard those words before?” Ross Evans wondered aloud as he held the phone to his ear. He only knew one man who would start a conversation by asking for a favor.

  “It’s so simple, I can’t even believe I’m going to ask.”

  “Out with it MacCurdy,” Ross growled, “I’ve got work to do.”

  “Actually, it was Frank’s idea.”

  Ross waited.


  “We need you to watch a witness for us.”

  Again, Ross waited.

  “She’s as harmless as a fly. She’s not even really a witness. She didn’t see anything. She just found a body. But it was mob business, and they didn’t like her going to the cops. Since it happens to involve a guy we’ve been looking to snag, we took her under our wing. The guy isn’t the big fish, but we’re hoping he’s going to lead us to the momma of all fish. So what do you say?”

  “No.”

  As if MacCurdy hadn’t heard the answer, he continued with his pitch. “I don’t know why we’re going to such lengths for this woman. She’s really not going to do us any good. Two goons attempted a hit, but failed. I can almost guarantee that was the last of it. But you know Frank. Precaution is his middle name. I think he’s more worried that someone found out where we stashed her. Actually, if we’re going to be specific—”

  “Yes, please let’s be specific,” Ross returned coolly.

  “They found her twice, but the second time shouldn’t count because she hid in the woods, and technically they never did find her. Anyway, since then he’s kept her covered by two agents at all times. She’s got this employee who happens to be dating our suspect, you know, the little fish who’s going to lead us to the big fish. Anyway I think our witness has been calling the friend and giving her location away. How dumb can you get? Right? So what do you say?”

  “No.”

  Without a second breath the man on the phone continued, “Frank is worried there might be a leak, but I don’t see it. I told him, she’s calling the friend. But you know Frank. He told me I needed a place not on the regular list of hideouts, a place as far away from the mob as we could get. Then he comes up with this idea about you probably needing a little excitement in your life. You’ve been on that farm for years! Frank and I figure you could use a little project to get the old juices flowing again. You were a maniac back in the day, remember Ross? You were probably the most gung ho special agent to ever carry the badge. Now you’re Farmer Ted. You’ve got to be craving action.”

  “You’re trying to give up smoking again, aren’t you?” Ross asked. It was the only explanation for the verbal diarrhea he’d just heard.

  “I’m popping Nicorette tablets like they were candy,” MacCurdy admitted. “How did you know?”

  “Just a guess.”

  “So what do you say?”

  “No.”

  MacCurdy sighed.

  Ross didn’t have to explain his reasons. However, this was his ex-partner, he reminded himself. So he owed him something. “I’ve got Rosa May to consider. I can’t put her in jeopardy.”

  “Who said anything about jeopardy? I’m telling you this is a no-risk situation.”

  “They found her twice,” Ross reminded him. Just because MacCurdy had been running off at the mouth, didn’t mean that Ross hadn’t been listening.

  “Because she called them! I’m telling you it was the friend. This time we’ve taken precautions. We haven’t told her where she is going. As long as you keep her on the farm here in Wisconsin, she won’t be able to tell our guy’s girlfriend a damn thing. After all, there are a hell of a lot of farms in the U.S.”

  “Find another farm.”

  Another sigh. “That’s going to be difficult.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, we’re driving down your road right now.”

  Ross cursed, then checked the room for his eleven-year-old daughter. Fortunately, she was no-where to be seen. “You’ve got some balls, MacCurdy.”

  “It was Frank’s idea. Call him, if you don’t want to do it.”

  Sure, Ross, thought. Call the man who’d saved his butt more times then he could count and tell him that he wouldn’t do him this one favor. “You better be right about this, MacCurdy. I smell one whiff of trouble, I’m dumping the girl on the first street corner I find. Deal?”

  “Deal,” MacCurdy agreed. “Come on outside and welcome us.”

  Ross heard a click and slammed the phone back on the hook. Damn, he didn’t need this right now. He was perfectly content running his farm. Despite what MacCurdy said, he didn’t need the action. He didn’t miss the action.

  Okay, maybe that was a lie. He missed it a little. But he had other responsibilities in his life that took precedence over action. His daughter first. His farm second. This farm was his legacy. It was the last thing his father had ever given him and more important than any job could be.

  Beep. Beep.

  The sound of the horn echoed through the kitchen. Ross made his way to the back door. He pulled his Green Bay Packers cap off the coatrack and slammed it on his head, pushing the brim low over his eyes to protect them from the strong summer sun.

  Rosa May, eager for company, any company, was already standing out front to welcome the visitors. At eleven years old, she was as straight and as willowy as an arrow, with summer wheat hair, like her mother, and a stubborn chin like her father. She was his world, and he would be damned before this witness, whoever she was, put her in any kind of danger. That thought in mind, he would be sure to lay down the law quickly.

  “Back up a bit, Rosa May,” Ross directed.

  “Who are they, Dad?” she asked from her spot at the end of the driveway.

  “Old friends.” At least part of that was true. He didn’t like to lie to his daughter, their relationship was too mature for such childishness. But he also wasn’t sure how much he wanted to tell her about their new guest.

  Ross watched as the black Ford sedan barreled its way down the driveway. It bumped, it leaped, it jagged, it rocked. Funny, in his pickup, Ross never noticed how many ruts there were in his mile-long driveway. The evil side of him snickered at the state their stomachs must be in currently. Both driver and passengers. Served them right for intruding on his peace.

  All Claudia knew was that if they didn’t stop rocking, she was going to hurl all over the front seat from her place in the back seat. It wasn’t going to be a pretty sight. She had a blindfold on over her eyes and headphones that played some horrible New Age music over her ears. Didn’t they know that Verdi, Vivaldi and Madonna were the last of the great composers? She wasn’t sure, but she thought the purpose of the music was to dull her into unconsciousness. It wasn’t working. In fact, it was only making her irritated. Not that this whole experience, since the day Antoinette found the cursed body in the bathtub, had been anything but an irritation.

  First there was the safe house in Jersey. The hit men, because she was sure there was more than one, shot out every window in the house. Somehow, they missed her. Whoever the goons were, they must have been new. Not only did they not hit her, but they never even checked to see if she had been popped. Sloppy. Not that she was complaining.

  Next came the log cabin somewhere in Virginia. Again they shot out the windows. They were big on windows. Only this time they shot the special agent in charge in the arm. Claudia had a hell of a time pulling him through the woods. Finally, she found a cave and settled them both in until the coast was clear. Which didn’t come a second too soon, what with the special agent acting as if he’d taken one in the gut rather than a flesh wound in the arm. What was it with men and whining?

  Damn Antoinette. Damn Rocco. Damn the naked dead guy. She didn’t need this. She’d just gotten her salon to the point of actually being an exclusive place to get one’s nails done, no easy task in Brooklyn where nail and hair salons were as prevalent as pizza parlors. Only her shop was different. Her nails were custom designed. Women from all over the five boroughs were coming to her salon just to say they had their nails done by Claudia.

  Now she was running for her life, and someone was obviously telling Rocco what road she was taking. So the two agents in the front of the car, the government good guys as she liked to call them, were driving her to what felt like East Nowhere. Finally, the car stopped. Her stomach did one last pitch just to remind her that it was not too happy about the ride or the frozen burrito she’d eaten that m
orning.

  “Air,” Claudia muttered as she extracted herself from the headphones. “All I need is a little air.” She threw open the door and in her excitement to escape ended up tumbling out of the car.

  Then it hit her. Full in the face. Like a tidal wave meant to drown her. “Oh. My. God! What is that smell?”

  A small giggle came from the corner. A gruff voice told the giggler to hush. Then that same gruff voice informed her. “Farm smell.”

  Claudia whipped off her blindfold, careful, however, not to mess her hair or her eye makeup. Mascara, after all, didn’t look so great once it smudged.

  Grass. It surrounded her for endless miles. There were some black-and-white specks off to her far left. Cows, she supposed. To her right there was a house. White, two stories, with a porch that embraced it. She was sure there was some type of architectural word to summarize it, but the only architecture she recognized was a brownstone in Brooklyn or a high-rise in Manhattan. If she had to guess, she’d go with Traditional Farm. Behind it was a barn even taller than the house. Huge! Next to the barn was a long flat building that stretched past both the barn and the house. There was also one of those really tall cylinderlike things that all farms seemed to have. Definite phallic symbol. No surprise to Claudia that most farmers were men.

  She’d been dropped onto the set of Witness. Was this Amish country or what? Then she spotted the red pickup near the house and a tractor next to that. Claudia didn’t know much about the Amish, but she knew that they didn’t drive. So where in hell was she?

  “Where in the hell am I?”

  Another giggle from the kid. “She said hell, Dad.”

  Oops. Apparently that was too colorful of an expression for the Little House on the Prairie girl.

  “I would appreciate it if you wouldn’t use that kind of language in front of my daughter.” This from Gruff Voice.

  Oh, he was going to be a rough crowd. Tall, broad shouldered, massively muscled. This guy would make Arnold Schwarzenegger blink. He was making her eyes flutter. Did they all get this big on these farms?