by Lori Avocato
“What kind of list?”
No female chatter. No giggling.
“Pauline?”
Damn! When Jagger used my real name, he wasn’t fooling. Then again, I don’t think I’ve ever seen Jagger fooling around.
But . . . oh, those smiles.
Thinking quickly, I made some fake static sounds. “You’re breaking up. Wha . . . what did you say?” Proud of myself, I smiled as I walked out of the stall with the phone at my ear.
Dead silence. Good. He bought it.
A slight breath. Or make that an annoyed breath from him.
Then, secluded alone in the bathroom, I felt my face burning. He never bought my static.
“Okay. I saw Sophie hand a list to . . . Well, she was about to hand the list to Leo. I think.”
Through mental telepathy, I knew Jagger was shaking his head, but not how many times.
“You know, Jagger. One of these days you’re going to shake your brains so much, you’ll forget who you are.”
No comment.
“Anyway, I saw her get ready to hand the list to him . . . when . . . well, something happened.”
“Throwing carob bars at your suspect is not a bright move.”
My hands flew up to my cheeks again. And here I’d just cooled off. Damn. The cell phone spun in the air and landed smack in the sink. Thank goodness it was dry. On the other end I knew Jagger was again shaking his head—and grinning.
He’d been watching me all along.
Tap. Tap.
“Pauline, you all right?” Josie, one of the nurses, asked through the door.
Shoot. I’d almost forgotten I was at work. “I’ll be out in a few seconds. I’m fine. Thanks for asking.” I grabbed the phone and whispered, “Jagger?”
“I don’t even want to know what just happened.”
I leaned against the cold porcelain. “I’m surprised you can’t see me to know what happened.” What? All I needed was to worry he could see me in the bathroom. I quickly said, “Okay. The only thing I could see on the list was the name Macie.”
“Uncle Walt’s name?”
Jagger had befriended my uncle, the car buff, and had even let him take a drive in his SUV. “Yes. Uncle Walt’s last name is Macie. Why on earth would she have his name on a list that she’s giving to a pharmacist?”
“She must be stealing insurance numbers.”
Ten
“Stealing insurance numbers? From my uncle?” “Maybe from everyone at the senior citizens center,” Jagger said. “Leo and maybe the other pharmacists could be filing claims on them, then not filling the prescription.”
“That’d be silly. What would they do with all that medicine?”
“He doesn’t actually fill them, but gets the insurance claim money and sells the medication to someone else.”
“Wow. How could anyone think of doing that?”
An audible sigh came across the phone. “Maybe you are in the wrong business, Sherlock.”
My heart sank. If I never could have my “fantasy fling” with Jagger, I at least wanted him to respect me as an investigator. He’d given me a few positive comments about my work in the past and, of course, I’d blown them out of proportion in my mind.
“Sherlock?”
He must have noticed my hurt feelings even through the cell phone.
“Look. What I meant was, you are too trusting and honest. You have to think like a criminal to catch them in the act. We need to work on that.”
We.
That simple little word was all I needed to mend my stupid hurt feelings. Jagger had said “we,” and I agreed and said goodbye.
Once I finally left the bathroom, I noticed a few of the nurses staring at me. I guess I’d be pissed off too if I had to do all the work while someone sat on the “throne” and talked on the phone. “But I was working!” I wanted to shout to them.
So, I grabbed my next chart and headed to the waiting room, not allowing them to make me feel guilty. After all, I had, of course, gone into the bathroom only when there were no patients scheduled for the next fifteen minutes. Even as an ex-nurse, patients always came first with me.
I finished my shift without any prescriptions to fill. Damn. I got my purse and jacket and thinking I’d at least found out something about Sophie today, I could go to Goldie’s and get dressed for tonight. With the dread of Superglue and Vaseline to look forward to, I opened the door to the waiting room—and ran directly into Nick.
Funny how talking to Jagger made me forget Nick and our date tonight. “Oh. Hey.” I fumbled around in my purse for my car keys.
“Anything today?”
Ready to spill that my talk with Jagger was strictly business, I came to my senses and told myself that I didn’t need to go into that with Nick. After all, he knew I was working with Jagger anyway. I did tell Nick about the list and little bit of wasted film.
“Hmm. Interesting. I’m thinking you’ve stumbled upon more than Sophie Banko bilking the insurance company out of just a few thousand.” He gently placed a hand on my shoulder and led me to the door.
I found myself smiling.
Having a real man next to me was way better than a fantasy.
“Suga!” Goldie wrapped his white-silk-draped arms around me and held for a few seconds. He gave me the biggest hug I’d had all day.
When he eased free, I inhaled Estêe Lauder’s Beautiful cologne and said, “I think you’ve been out of work too long, Gold.”
“I’m going nuts here, Suga. How much Jerry Springer or Oprah can one watch?”
We laughed, and he led me to the living room, which was decorated the same jungle theme as his office. He sat me on a leopard lounge chair and scurried to the kitchen to fix me some hot tea. Through the open door I told him all about my day. The list. The lunch. The lousy luck of shooting carob bars at Sophie Banko.
Goldie screeched, howled, coughed and complained I hurt his throat. When I told him what Jagger had said about my having to think like a criminal, Goldie hurried out of the kitchen, set down the hot tea and gave me another big hug.
“I have to agree with him on that one. You can’t be nice in this business, Suga. The crims will walk all over you.”
I took a sip of tea, thanked him for it and nodded. “I know. I know. You two are right, but how do I change a lifetime of honest living to try and catch a criminal?”
He gave me a few suggestions, some too X-rated for my conscience. I finished my tea and decided that if I wanted any dinner tonight, I’d have to hurry up and get dressed like Peggy. Goldie helped me, did the makeup thingy and off I went, forty or so years older.
When I got to my place, Spanky growled at me, and I knew I could fool anyone if he didn’t recognize me.
I had to keep reassuring him it was I so he wouldn’t take a chunk out of my ankle. He didn’t. After a fast chicken-salad sandwich, I was off to Bingo.
Saying little novenas all the way.
Uncle Walt, Helen and Uncle Stash were all sitting at a table together. I looked around and didn’t see Sophie but figured she’d be with them, so I headed their way.
Before I reached my seat, I stopped to pull up one knee-high. It had bagged at my right ankle, very senior-citizen-like, but I couldn’t stand the feeling. Goldie had gotten me bright pink polyester pants this time with a matching pink-and-white cardigan over a white frilly blouse. The collar buttoned all the way to my throat, and, although tempted, I knew I couldn’t leave it open. No woman my “age” would.
I bent down and pulled at my left pant leg to see if that ankle looked like a Chinese shar-pei dog, and a shadow caught my eye. Without standing back up, I noticed the highly polished shoes and heard, “Bellisima—”
I swung up so fast I’m certain my blood pressure crashed, which made me appear right in character of a swooning senior citizen.
I swayed into the arms of Joey the Wooer.
Yikes! For an old man, he had a damn good body. His arms were firmer than mine, for crying out loud. “Oh
, Joey. You frightened me.”
“I’m-a so sorry. Here. Come sit.” He pulled out a chair.
With knees still knocking, I slumped into the seat and gave a nod to my uncles and Helen. She kinda sniveled back at me.
A warning, no doubt.
Ignoring her, I turned to Joey. Hey, on principle, she had Uncle Walt and Uncle Stash and should learn to share. Not that I wanted to lead Joey on, but I decided to ignore her threats and be nice to him. “Thank you, dear. I guess I got up a bit too fast. Blood pressure, you know.”
He nodded and sat next to me.
I looked up as Sophie lumbered toward the table. Good. Back to work. “Sit here, Sophie, I saved you a seat,” I said, as she got closer.
Giving me an odd look, she sat down without a thank-you.
No problem. At least I could get to talk to her. She opened her satchel and pulled out all her Bingo gear. I looked around the table and realized I didn’t even have a card in front of me, and everyone else had at least six. Oops.
Joey must have noticed too, since he waved to the girl who was selling the cards. She hurried over, and he bought me two.
Damn. He must have known I could only handle two. “Thanks. Here . . .” I opened my purse and took out my wallet.
His hand flew over it so fast I thought he was going to rob me. “Put that away, Bellisima. It is on-a me.”
He then shoved my wallet, with my hand still attached, back into my purse.
“No. I can’t let you pay for me.” I started to grab for my wallet again.
“B—eleven,” the announcer called.
Shoot. I couldn’t be fiddling for money and watch these stupid cards, even if I did have only two. So I politely thanked Joey and stuck the wallet back. As I did, my license slipped to the side.
PAULINE MALVINA SOKOL.
Oh . . . my . . . God. If it had fallen out earlier, Joey and the entire bunch would have seen my picture and real name. Thank goodness for chivalry.
The game progressed, and again, I was the only one at the table who didn’t ever get a Bingo. Now I was mad. A pissed-off seventy-four-year-old is someone to be reckoned with. Good.
All these old folks seemed so nice, even darn Sophie. I had to remind myself that she was more than likely a criminal, even though she was kind enough to help me find B-7 on my card when I’d missed it.
During the break, refreshments were served. I figured this would be a good time to corner Sophie, by the cookies, and see what I could find out.
I found her eating chocolate-covered strawberries and a chocolate-chip cookie that was the size of a saucer. So, I grabbed one for myself, telling myself it was all right since I’d eaten such a small dinner. “You sure have the luck, Sophie.”
With a mouthful, she nodded.
We stood for several minutes eating before I realized I had to go to the ladies’ room. Too much tea, and not a good time to leave. But my luck changed when Sophie said she’d go with me. Joey had come up from behind, and I could see his questioning look as to why women had to go to the ladies’ room in tandem.
I for one thought it was great, since I’d get Sophie alone. We excused ourselves and headed up the ramp to the hallway. I let Sophie go first and gave her enough room in case she started to slide backward. Even with all my padding, a woman her size could squish the daylights out of me.
Once in the bathroom, I opened the door to one of the stalls.
“Want me to hold your purse, Peggy?” Sophie asked way too sweetly. “We do that for each other ever since poor Betty Wheelman, who suffers from Parkinson’s, dropped hers into the commode. What a mess. All her Bingo winnings soaked.” She held out her hand toward me.
Hmm. So that’s how she gets the numbers from unsuspecting women. Wow! I was thinking like a criminal. I mentally patted myself on the back. Even so, at first I was ready to say no because I didn’t want her to find out about me. If she snooped, she might find my license. But then again, this could be my big break.
But no camera glasses yet!
And no beeper on Peggy, since I’d never be able to explain that one.
Still, I’d at least get a good lead and know what to catch her on the next time. “Aren’t you sweet.” I handed her my bag and hurried inside. I couldn’t pee right now though. I had to peek over the door to watch her. So, I silently put the toilet seat down, stood up and looked over the door. If she looked as if she was going for the license, I’d zoom out.
Another woman was washing her hands. Sophie stood by watching, waiting. That a girl, Soph. Hang yourself. When the woman left, Sophie looked around. I could jump down or nearly fall to my death. Okay, I wouldn’t die from falling from this height, but from embarrassment, yeah. Especially if Joey and Uncle Walt had to come in to pry me out from between the commode and the wall.
She set my borrowed purse on the counter. Then, with her chubby fingers, she started to pull at the zipper. Thank goodness Mrs. Honeysuckle had purses the likes of which Brinks couldn’t get into very quickly.
Sophie pulled and tugged.
The zipper opened.
I stumbled off my lookout perch, shoved the toilet handle down and flung open the door.
She stood smiling at me, my purse all tidy and appearing untouched.
Very clever girl, Soph.
Next time you’ll be on film.
I looked at the satchel Sophie carried and wondered why on earth she would need to lug around such a huge bag. Had to do with crime and insurance fraud. I felt it in my thirty-four-year-old gut. She headed toward the stall. I held out my hand. “You wouldn’t want your purse to take a dip. Would you?”
Her face grew as red as the strawberry drippings on her blouse. For a second she hugged the purse to her chest. Sophie didn’t trust me—she was protecting whatever was in the bag. Then she gave me a smile and held it out.
“I only have to pee. Very quickly,” she said, as if I couldn’t be trusted not to look in her bag!
She shut the door behind her. I heard the toilet seat lift up.
I opened the top of her bag with such silence, I became teary-eyed at my skills. Nursing had come in handy once again. Efficient. Clean. Organized. That was me.
As disgusting as it sounded, I just about timed her peeing, and looked inside her bag for a second. Good thing I had a strong stomach from my nursing days.
About ten prescription bottles were inside her purse.
I pulled one out. Colchicine. Used for gout when needed for pain. The name on the bottle was “Mr. Richardson.” The man with the gigantic prostate. What the heck would Sophie be doing with this?
The toilet flushed.
It’d take a few seconds for her to shimmy up her undies.
I dug deeper.
Next bottle was Bennie’s. For Clarinex. Used for allergy symptoms when needed.
Damn.
Now I was confused.
I could just about hear her pulling down her blouse and straightening out her outfit. What the hell? I looked at one more.
Blue pills.
Viagra.
Name on the prescription: “Mr. Henry Wisnowski.”
On the way home to change for my “date,” I said several thank-you novenas to Saint Theresa. After all, it had to be some divine intervention that had the bathroom stall door stick on Sophie so I had time to shut her bag and stand there innocently smiling like some demure seventy-four-year-old.
When I pulled into my driveway, I knew I had to do something with the information I had found. Obviously it was a good thing that Nick was coming for me in fifteen minutes. Damn. I might need to say another novena that I could be back to myself in that short a time—and looking, please, God, at least a little sexy?
I shut off the car, hurried inside, gave a quick pat to Spanky, who growled at Peggy, and shouted, “Miles!” No answer. Great. I was thankful that he must have been at Goldie’s, so we didn’t waste time talking. I looked at my watch. Twelve minutes to show time.
Not that I was nervous, but it
had been eons since I’d had a real date. The years I’d spent using Doc Taylor for sex, and vice versa, didn’t count. Despite his being a loser in the end, I always felt comfortable with him. As I hurried toward the stairs, I slipped off Mrs. Honeysuckle’s black pumps, pulled the slacks off and left item after item on the stairs as I ran up in my own—thank goodness—undies.
I figured Spanky would have the clothes in a nice pile in my room by the time I got out of the shower. “Get the nylons, too, Spanks,” I called as I adjusted the hot water nozzle and stepped in.
With only minutes to go, I took the fastest shower on record. Didn’t even have time to listen to Miles’s shower radio. It was a bright plastic pink-and-white fish that had great reception in the shower. He called it his “tune-a-fish.”
I jumped out and ran into my room with only a towel on. Then it dawned on me that I had no idea what I was going to wear. Did I really want to impress Nick? Encourage Nick? Or make him want to peel off what I chose to wear?
Whoa! I had to take a deep breath at the thought and grabbed my black bra and black panties. I drew the line at thongs. A thin line that felt as if I had a constant wedgy. I’d stick with the lacy panties, bikini style.
Once in the sexiest underwear that I owned, I looked into my closet.
Ring. Ring.
Shit! I didn’t have time to talk to anyone. Must be Goldie. I opened my bedroom door to hear whoever it was when they started to leave a message.
“Pick up, Sherlock. I know you’re home.”
I froze.
Froze in the doorway of my room, nearly naked.
And wondered if Jagger could see me now.
I unfroze at the sound of the doorbell. Damn! As exhausted as I was from such a long day, I sprinted into action and shoved on my silky black, long-sleeve top—I think Goldie had actually left it over here one day ’cause it had shrunk too much for him—and shimmied into my jeans. Nick wasn’t a jeans sort of guy, but I wasn’t the sort of gal to answer the doorbell in my undies either.
Spanky did his barking-at-the-doorbell routine. What a watchdog.
“Be right there!” I shouted.
I gave a quick glance in the mirror and told myself that my messy blonde hair was the new rage.