by Lori Avocato
I lay there speechless. Owe Jagger. Owe Jagger? Owe Jagger!
Fate appeared to be out to get me again anyway.
Since I passed my CAT Scan with flying colors and started to feel nothing worse than a headache, I was released to go home. Again Jagger wouldn’t take me to my car and let me drive, which, although I wouldn’t admit it to him, was a sensible idea. Instead he took me to my condo and said he’d arrange to get my car if I gave him my keys. I had no problem trusting him with my Volvo.
It was owing him that caused me grief.
I’d learned my lesson co-signing that car loan for my ex-friend and never wanted to owe money to anyone. Least of all Jagger. Besides, if I had to pay him with what I earned from this case, I wouldn’t have enough left to get my own place. Damn.
When we arrived at my condo, he got out and opened the car door again.
“A girl could get used to such chivalrous behavior.” I stepped out and brushed his hand away.
He didn’t answer. I looked at his stained outfit and felt horrible.
“If you want, I’ll lend you something of Miles’s and wash that for you.”
We walked to the door. He took the key and let me in first. Spanky ran to Jagger.
“Traitor,” I mumbled and flopped onto the couch.
“Miles doesn’t look my size.”
“Goldie is.”
Jagger looked at me.
“What? He does have men’s clothes, you know.”
“Where’s your Tylenol?”
“In the bathroom cabinet upstairs. Go into Goldie’s room and get some jeans and a tee shirt. He really wouldn’t mind.” Besides, I wouldn’t keep being reminded of how I had stained him.
Jagger headed upstairs, and I leaned back to rest. Spanky, maybe knowing I’d been hurt, jumped up and nuzzled next to my arm. “Oh. So you decided where your loyalty lies?”
It seemed Jagger was gone for a while. Maybe because I dozed off and on and held Spanky even tighter. I would probably have to ask my parents for money to pay Jagger back now.
I’d have been better off if the fall had killed me.
I heard footsteps and my eyes flew open. Jagger walked across the room—dressed in Goldie’s clothes. His male clothes.
“Not one word.”
I nodded. “Ouch.” Someone with a concussion shouldn’t nod. He’d found a pair of worn light blue denim jeans. The only “Goldie” thing about them was silver buttons on the pockets. Not just little tiny buttons, but rather large ones with a giant G monogrammed next to them. Jagger looked as if he wanted to yank them off. Hip-huggers with flared bottoms.
I nearly choked on a laugh.
On top he’d put on a plain white tee shirt. Goldie only wore them under his clothes, but I figured Jagger wouldn’t be caught dead in one of Goldie’s “gay pride” tees or one of the sparkly ones. In his hands Jagger held his rolled-up janitor suit.
He looked half James Dean sans pack of cigarettes stuck in his rolled-up sleeve and half—well, there was no hiding Jagger completely.
Yum.
“If you put your clothes in the hamper, I’ll wash them and return them next time I see you.”
“I’m not leaving in these things. Where’s the machine?”
I smiled, but his look kept me from making a snide comment. But damn, how I wanted to.
After Jagger had his wash going, he came out of the kitchen with a mug of tea for me and a Budweiser for himself. “Hungry?”
I thought of how his pancake breakfast had ended up and shook my head. With the steamy mug in my hands, I sat up enough to take a few sips. “This hits the spot, although your Budweiser looks appealing.”
“No alcohol for you.”
“I didn’t hear the doctor say that.”
He looked at me. “I said that.” Jagger settled himself across the room in the gigantic zebra futon. “You rest. Let me know if you need anything.”
“Actually I don’t want to sleep.”
“You can trust me, Sherlock.”
Flustered, I shifted, knocking Spanky onto the white carpet. “Oh! I’m sorry, sweetie.” But the dog ran to Jagger, who picked him up and held him.
“Was your investigation successful before your fall?”
For a second, I didn’t know what he was talking about. Damn. I wished I wasn’t having short-term memory losses. Then it dawned on me why I’d been at the clinic. I filled Jagger in on my findings. “So, it seems Leo and Sophie were in cahoots. All her fake insurance claims have cost Fabio thousands. I’m so relieved to have this done with. On Monday I’m taking the pictures to be developed, then closing the case.” I leaned back and sighed when I thought of my nice, fat paycheck.
Jagger held Spanky to his chest and rubbed behind his left ear. “You can’t.”
“Can’t what?”
“You can’t close the case yet, Sherlock.”
I heard the words, but they wouldn’t process. Damn my aching head. Then again, I couldn’t blame this one on a head injury. “Like hell I can’t.”
“Look, Sherlock. You go getting Sophie busted now, and my case is blown to hell.”
Talk about déjà vu.
“Now hold on. You did this with the Macaluso case. I am not staying at that clinic any longer. And I need my money now, Jagger.”
“You don’t need your money now and yes, you need to stay.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“If you leave and blow my case, Viagra fraud is going to continue. You want kids buying it and dying when they mix it with Ecstasy?”
I opened my mouth. Nothing came out. If Sophie was mixed up in more than I’d found out about, I would ruin everything and maybe even hurt some of Uncle Walt’s friends—or him.
“I hate you,” I muttered and shut my eyes.
Twenty
With my eyes shut, I mentally let out all my anger, frustration and annoyance with Jagger for making me delay the completion of my case.
But the seething really didn’t feel that good. It wasn’t my style, damn it. I wish I could enjoy seething better.
“How much longer do you figure it will take?” I didn’t even bother to open my eyes.
“You’ll be the first to know when you can quit the clinic and nail Sophie.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
“A few weeks.”
“You’d say anything to get me off the subject and agree to stay on and help you.”
“Then why’d you ask?”
Exactly. I couldn’t bring myself to say, “Oh, yeah. Sure I’ll stay there,” so I kept my eyes shut and let my silence be his answer.
It was either that or let my mouth fly out with some terms that would make even bikers blush.
I actually did dose off. Maybe out of frustration and the need to escape my life right then. I woke to the aroma of food and the living room dark. The mantel clock said it was past seven.
It took a great effort to make myself get up, but I had to know if Jagger was still here or if my roomies were back. Spanky wasn’t anywhere to be found so I assumed he was in the kitchen too. I stood, waited until I had my bearings and walked to the kitchen door. When I pushed, I thought I’d been transported to Italy. Not that I’d ever left the United States in my entire life, but I guessed this fabulous aroma would come from Roma.
Jagger sat at the table, writing on some kind of little notepad. The table was set with the white pottery dishes again. On the stove, pots steamed, sauce bubbled, and the oven light and wonderful scent said the garlic bread was nearly done.
“Smells wonderful.”
He never looked up. “I thought you’d be hungry.”
Most guys would apologize for taking the liberty of making themselves at home, but I figured Jagger never apologized for much.
When I sat opposite him, I marveled at his abilities, his looks and cooking skills too. What a catch. Then I wondered why no one ever caught him. Goldie had told me once about Jagger’s
divorce being painful, so maybe it had thrown him into a single life of work. Or maybe looks were deceiving—even though I’d seen some hints of humanity.
Without a word, he got up, served me a dish of spaghetti, salad he took from the fridge, and a slice of bread from the oven.
“Chef Jagger. Guess I’m dreaming now. Maybe my head injury was worse than I thought.”
He poured me a glass of water. “No caffeine tonight.”
I saluted him. “Yes, sir.”
He smiled, fixed his own dish and sat down. We ate in silence for a good part of the meal. Not unlike Jagger. He wasn’t one for small talk.
After my last bite, I wiped a napkin across my lips and said, “I’ll have your money next week.”
“The bills haven’t even cleared the credit card company.”
“Doesn’t matter. I’ll get the money from my parents and pay you what you’ve already charged.”
He looked at me. “You want to owe your parents?”
I groaned.
“Thought so. Don’t be so foolish, Pauline. Pay me when you can. I trust you.”
And I knew he did, as I trusted him. What I was more concerned with was having a monetary commitment to him. One that would surely continue after our cases were solved.
Did I want that kind of debt?
And did I want it just to be able to hold on to seeing Jagger?
Jagger had cleaned the dishes, changed back into his janitor overalls and washed Goldie’s clothes before he and Miles got home and began screeching like two mother hens about my injury. He left after giving them instructions about waking me throughout the night to make sure I hadn’t passed away in my sleep. I kept reiterating that Miles was a nurse, which Jagger ignored each time.
Me, I kept thinking about that debt question.
When he’d finally left, I was exhausted and Goldie and Miles tucked me into bed like my two fairy godmothers.
Sleep wouldn’t come since I’d taken that nap, but I lay in bed and rested, thinking. That was part of why I couldn’t fall asleep.
I had to give Fabio something soon.
I needed to get paid.
And I needed to help Jagger—for all the right reasons.
I would stay on at the clinic and see what I could find out about the Viagra. That meant that I didn’t have to dress up like Peggy anymore. I told myself how relieved I was.
Then it dawned on me that if Peggy “disappeared” without a trace, the seniors would call the cops. I had to do Peggy one more time.
Jagger called to check up on me and read me the riot act because I wasn’t sleeping.
After a few fake static sounds I told him he was breaking up and put the receiver down.
Then I wished I hadn’t.
That’s when I shut my eyes and ordered myself to sleep.
“Suga. Suga? Wake up.”
I opened one eye to see Goldie standing there in his royal blue peignoir. It looked great with his skin coloring but a bit eerie at night because he was sans wig and makeup. More like a bald Marilyn Monroe. “I just fell asleep.”
“What day is it?”
I cursed him.
“Suga?”
“Going on Sunday. And don’t ask me who the president is unless you want that royal blue thing in shreds.”
After a typical Goldie shriek, he kissed my cheek and left.
He and Miles took turns annoying me all night until I screamed the ultimate threat: redecorating the condo in my taste.
The rest of the night, as far as I could remember, went by peacefully.
Ring. Ring.
I heard Goldie yell to Miles to get the phone so it didn’t wake me. “Too late, Gold,” I hollered.
Then I could hear Miles on the phone in their bedroom. “Yes, we kept waking her. No, she never was forgetful. Irritable, yes. Of course. Like her usual self.”
I smiled to my pillows and figured it was the ER calling to see how I was. They often did that with patients who were sent home and might develop some kind of complications.
“No, we didn’t give her any liquor. For chrissake. I am a nurse, Jagger.”
Jagger!
I sprang up in my bed as if he’d walked into the room and seen me in my red flannel nightie. Whoa, boy. Moving fast was not a good idea. My head pounded. I flopped back. I knew I’d be fine if I moved at a more normal pace. Today I’d have to do Peggy and get that out of the way, since working at the clinic was so exhausting that I wasn’t in a mood to go out at night.
Go out.
I remembered my date with Nick and my heart fluttered. I was thankful and impressed that my “friend” Jagger had called out of concern, but I repeated to myself, Nick likes me!
I heard Miles say a curt goodbye. I smiled again and got out of bed.
When I crossed the hallway to the bathroom, Goldie started admonishing Miles for waking me up by talking too loud.
“Gold, I’m fine. Actually the ringing woke me. If you’re going to holler at someone, make it Jagger.”
“Ah!” he yelled.
I laughed to myself at the vision of Goldie going up against Jagger. Too funny.
After I brushed my teeth, had a cup of tea that Miles fixed me and took my shower, I went through my “Peggy” wardrobe. “Hey, Gold. Got a minute?”
From downstairs he yelled, “What’s wrong?” Then I heard the pounding of footsteps all the way up the stairs. They flew into my room as if I’d had some kind of attack.
“Take it easy, you two. I’m fine. Jagger has gotten you both too riled up. My head is fine. If it were Monday I’d be going to work.” Ugh.
They sighed simultaneously. Miles settled in my stuffed mauve chair, and Goldie flopped on the bed like some diva.
“So, what is it, Suga?”
“Well, I never got the chance to tell you both that I’ve finished my case—”
They were up and dancing me around in seconds.
“Wait!” Miles yelled. “We’ll make her sick. Are you sick, Pauline?”
“Oh, my God. Oh, my God.” Goldie looked paler than me.
I laughed. “You two are way too gay sometimes. I’m fine. But even though I have enough to nail Sophie, I can’t turn it in yet. I have to . . . shit, stay and help Jagger with his case.”
Miles grinned.
Goldie frowned.
I stood speechless and . . . glad.
They prodded and prodded me for the details, and then I told them about having to be Peggy one more time.
Goldie got up and gave me a gentle hug. “I’m so proud of you. You thought of that all by yourself. Peggy must look fabulous today!”
With that the two set about making me age forty years.
After Goldie combed the last strand of my white wig, he turned me around.
“Damn.” I looked at myself. He’d gone easy on the wrinkles this time, as if Peggy were happy about leaving. Miles made me wear Mrs. Honeysuckle’s black shirtwaist dress with white piping. It came mid calf and my “Maciejko” legs looked damned good. He also pulled the hair of the wig up in a French chignon and today’s makeup was more natural than overdone.
I turned to them. “Do you think I look younger?”
They laughed.
Miles leaned near. “Wait until Helen gets a load of you. The bitch will die of envy.”
Goldie laughed. “Right. Then maybe she won’t take Uncle Stash for a ride.”
I groaned at the thought of Helen becoming my step-aunt. Thank goodness they’d live in Florida.
“Okay. I’m off. Good thing it’s Sunday and there’s a special luncheon at the senior citizens center.”
Goldie said, “You take it easy, Suga,” and Miles added, “Yeah.”
They each kissed one cheek. I couldn’t feel a thing with the makeup, but made a smooching sound back at them.
Spanky again barked at me, and I knew today was going to be a fabulous day.
When I passed down Pleasant Street toward the senior citizens center, I saw a spanking-new red
Mustang pull out of Olive Street. The female driver, she looked . . . familiar.
My head swung around so fast, I had a moment of dizziness. After a deep breath, I leaned closer to the window.
The driver looked like Hildy!
Maybe my concussion was worse than I’d thought. Maybe I wasn’t seeing clearly. Maybe Hildy did make “extra” money illegally and had killed Leo over some tiff.
My heart sank.
There was no way that she could afford that car on her measly salary, I thought.
There was a chance that it wasn’t her, I told myself. I opened my window a bit for a breath of fresh air to revive me and heard a shout.
Apparently a black Toyota had pulled out in front of the Mustang. I was busy processing what the female in the Mustang had yelled.
Hang it!
How many other kids that looked like Hildy used that term? I could barely move. I sat staring at the green light until I heard some annoying honking. I started to move as the light turned red.
I was the last one who made it through.
I turned down Olive to follow her. She headed in the direction of her street. With each turn, I felt horrible. The least of my worries was that she’d see me and recognize me. Then again, if Spanky didn’t know me, I don’t think an unobservant teen would either.
But what about a murderess?
Where did the car come from?
All the way to her house I told myself that maybe she’d borrowed it. But when she pulled into her driveway, I noticed the old car wasn’t there. Hildy got out and bent to lock the door. I pulled up to the curb.
She looked as if she felt better, and why shouldn’t she? A deep brown fur jacket, rabbit maybe, covered her. The knee-high boots she wore over her jeans looked brand new—and expensive. Italian leather, I guessed.
How could she afford all that?
I made a mental note to tell Jagger about all of this and added a prayer that there was some other explanation.
Hildy just couldn’t be involved in the fraud—or the murders.
On the way back to the senior citizens center I decided I’d get something out of Hildy at work tomorrow. Surely she’d be there, since she didn’t look sick anymore.