by Lori Avocato
I looked around. There was a printing shop, which was closed at this time of night. A lawyer’s office, dark too. A coffee shop whose lights burned brightly and where patrons milled in and out like bees at a hive. Maybe Tina had gone in for a cup of coffee. I walked toward it and noticed next door was a gift shop. At the end of the strip mall was Curves R You fitness center. Below the sign were silhouettes dancing what I assumed was jazzercise and ones flipping and dancing in all directions doing aerobics.
Tina had to be in the coffee shop, I thought, so I walked closer. A crowd of people drinking and talking formed outside. Watching them had me freezing. They all looked as if they weren’t in any hurry. Wishing I lived in Florida, I peered past a man sipping a latte, but couldn’t see much inside. The windows were decorated with cups of steaming coffee, donuts and various posters, leaving little clear glass to view through.
So, I opened the door and looked in. A line formed near the cash register, several couples sat at tables but none looked like Tina in her mink coat. She might be in the ladies’ room, I told myself, but I had no intention of spying on her in there.
This place didn’t look promising, so I moved away from the door when a rude man said, “In or out, lady.”
I was so cold now, my feet were numb, and I knew the tip of my nose made Rudolph’s pale in comparison. Bundling up, I moved closer to the door of the exercise place. With a shiver, I opened the door and stepped into the foyer. I intended to warm up and leave in a few minutes before someone came to see if I wanted to join.
Thank you very much, but Pauline Sokol was an ardent jogger and fit, in my opinion, for her age. I pushed back my hair since the wind had done a number on it. A woman came through the door to go inside. “Excuse me,” I said and moved to the side. When I watched her go in, something caught my eye.
The door to a large room opened. A group jumped and bobbled to The Village People’s “YMCA” song—and there in the back of the class was Tina!
Yes!
I moved inside the place and started to fiddle around in my purse. I hadn’t wanted to wear my beeper/camera at dinner in case it got bumped off. I sure couldn’t afford another, and wouldn’t take a loan from Uncle Walt again. My fingers weren’t having any luck so I stuck my head in the purse.
“Looking for this?”
My head flew out of my bag. There Jagger stood with my beeper/camera.
I grabbed it from his hand. “What the hell are you doing with—”
“You left it on the floor. I didn’t want to lose Tina, so I hurried out. When I knew where she was, I came back to get you. What the hell have you been doing?”
“Me?” My voice came out rather hysterically.
A young woman in neon green spandex came near. “Can I help you two with something?”
I said, “No—”
Jagger said, “Yes, ma’am.”
“Suzy,” she corrected with a smile aimed only at him.
What was I? Chopped sauerkraut?
“Suz, my wife is interested in your programs. Mind if we look around, hon?”
Hon?
Where’d he get off calling a twenty-something hon? Was that legal?
Before I could get unwarrantedly jealous, the word wife hit me. Ack!
She batted her eyelashes, not nearly as long and full as Goldie’s, at my “husband” and the next thing I knew, we had a ringside seat in a room that looked over the pool, racquet-ball court and gym, where Tina danced like a marionette sans any back pain.
“Suzy Exercise Queen” went on and on about the facilities. When she excused herself, he leaned over and said, “Get filming.”
I’d shoved the camera into my pocket earlier. Now I took it out and held it in front of my eye.
Jagger reached over, turned it around.
Shoot. I’d wondered why I couldn’t see anything. But now it was correct and Tina was bending, spinning and jumping so that my back hurt watching. Soon the class was cooling down.
“Hurry before little Suzy comes back or we run into Tina on the way out,” Jagger ordered.
“I can’t make the camera go any faster.” My voice came out as if I were pissed. Not because he was rushing me—I knew we had to get out, or get caught—but because I was still hung up on that “hon.” I told myself repeatedly that Jagger had slipped into one of his disguises with the term of endearment. But shoot, I was still pissed.
Me, he called Sherlock.
But truthfully, Pauline, I told myself, you get a tingly feeling inside when he says that. I’d come to learn that when he called me Pauline he was dead serious.
Suddenly my arm was yanked down, my camera slipping from my hand. Jagger’s hand was on mine, his other hand snatching my camera out of the air—and in back of him was a startled Suzy—no doubt wondering what kind of nut holds a beeper to her eye.
“Nope,” I said, “Doesn’t need new batteries.” A bimbo like Suz should buy that or at least be so confused that she could care less.
“Well, we’ve seen enough, hon. You have a brochure for my wife?” He looked at Suzy.
I yanked my arm away and grabbed my camera, not giving a damn if Suzy was weirded out by us. She started to say something that either had “brochure” in it or “security.”
We didn’t stay around long enough to find out.
I’d never hustled as fast across a slippery parking lot as I did tonight. Once in Jagger’s car, I insisted he crank up the heater even though he said the air would be too cold until the engine warmed.
Cold air blew on my legs.
“You’re doing that on purpose,” I accused, but he only switched the fan on higher and didn’t say a word.
Soon we’d pulled into the big mall near Sears. I looked around. Christmas shoppers. Damn! In my new lifestyle change, I’d forgotten it was only about ten days until Christmas.
And only half of my shopping was done.
Usually I was done by Halloween.
Certainly Jagger didn’t bring me here, knowing that. Or—I looked over at him—maybe he did. A tiny thread of paranoia involving him reading my mind had been forming since day one. Don’t be dumb, I said to myself. “What brings us here?”
He was getting out again without me. “Since we’re in the neighborhood, what the hell is a seven-dollar grab bag anyway?”
I laughed. “With inflation it should be about a fifteen-dollar grab bag nowadays, but my folks are traditionalists, and thrifty.”
“You have to help me find something.” This time he waited outside the door.
How cute. Jagger needed my help and what was even cuter was his concern that he get the grab-bag issue straight.
What an interesting, albeit confusing, man.
“How about this?” Jagger asked, holding up a gaudy red, green and white candle.
I curled my lips at him. “Let me answer that with Would you want to get that in your grab bag?”
He plunked it down. I thought he’d break it and have to buy a broken gaudy candle, but it didn’t even crack.
“What the hell. I can’t do this.”
Yes! Christmas would be saved! “That’s fine. I’ll make up a doozie of an excuse to my mother as to why you couldn’t make Christmas—”
“I’ll be there. Besides, you suck at lying.”
He did have a point, I thought.
He grabbed my arm. “What’d you get?”
“I … a shovel that folds and you can keep in the trunk of your car.”
“Fine. I want that.”
“But—” He had me heading into Sears before I knew it. “Show me where you got it.”
I took him over to the shovel department and he purchased a shovel like the one I’d bought. They were still on sale for $7.00. When he went to pay, I nonchalantly leaned over to see the name or names on his credit card, only to have Jagger’s face appear in my view. “I want to get something for your mother.”
I pulled back. At least he hadn’t accused me of snooping, although I had no doubt he suspecte
d as much. “You don’t have to do that.”
“I do what I want.”
“Oh, right. I noticed that. What did you have in mind?”
He took the bag from the clerk, who gave us a strange look. “If I knew, I wouldn’t have asked you.”
No kidding. “Mother has very few needs. Maybe some new potholders—”
“I want something for her, not the house. Don’t you women get pissed over gifts like that? Blenders. Irons.”
“Did your wife?” My hand flew to my mouth I think even a few seconds before the words came out. “I …”
He stopped and looked at me. Jagger did that a lot and those looks meant things. Things I had no idea about. He was certainly a poor example to use for reading body language, I thought again.
Instead of chastising me, he said, “Good job, Sherlock.”
Wow! He thought it was great that I did some investigating about his past! “Thanks. Nice to have you be proud of me for finding out—”
“Proud of you?” He chuckled. It was a low sound, coming from the depths of his throat—more a growl actually. “Proud of you, Pauline? Proud that you snooped into my life? Yeah, I’m tickled purple.” He turned and walked out of the store.
“Pink,” I corrected, fast on his heals and feeling embarrassed that I didn’t “get” his sarcasm to begin with. When we were out in the mall, I caught up to his side. I’m not sure, but I think he may have slowed a bit. I decided to let the “wife” thing go. “My mother likes candies, and there’s a Lindt chocolate store near Macy’s upstairs—” I grabbed his arm. “There’s Mr. Suskowski!” I yelled into Jagger’s ear.
Jagger stopped. “Don’t yell in the mall. You’ll draw attention to us.”
“We’re not spying on anyone here.” But suddenly I realized he didn’t want anyone thinking we were a couple. Damn.
“Who’s Mister—”
Before Jagger could finish, I hurried over to Foot Locker, where Mr. S was trying on a pair of shoes. I slowed when I walked in, deciding it wasn’t smart to startle an elderly gentleman. Besides, I didn’t want him to know that I’d seen him.
Jagger stood near the doorway.
I grabbed a running shoe from the shelf and pretended to look at it. A teen with spiked red hair came up. “Help you, lady?”
I looked at him. “Oh. Yes, I take a seven. Do you have this in a seven?” Mr. S was getting up to pay.
The kid grumbled something. “That’s a man’s shoe, lady.”
I gave him a dirty look and said, “I am a man,” then shoved the shoe at him and walked to the cash register. From the corner of my eye I could see the kid staring, running a hand through the spikes on his head, and Jagger, grinning.
The hell with both of them.
“Oh, hi,” I said, coming up to Mr. Suskowski. He gave me a confused look. Maybe it wasn’t him. But, yes, I really thought it was. “Don’t you remember me? From the orthopedic doctors’ office?”
He smiled. “Oh, the nurse.”
“Yes. Right. How are you doing?”
“Got myself a new pair of Nikes. That’s how I’m doing. Cost a good chunk of my Social Security check, but the podiatrist said they’d be good for my feet. Even with the cast they fit all right.” He shook his head.
I wondered if the podiatrist had stock in Nike. “These kinds of shoes are very comfortable and supportive, although, you’re right, they are expensive.”
The clerk running Mr. Suskowski’s credit card through the little black machine gave me a dirty look, as if I was trying to talk him out of the purchase.
I smiled at him and said, “So, are you feeling better?”
“Best as can be expected at my age. Well, nice to see you, although I don’t remember your name. Not that I have dementia like my brother, Dick, but we’d only met that short time. I guess I didn’t feel it necessary to remember.”
Wow. Put in my place. Of course, to Mr. S’s credit, I was acting a bit nosy. “Yes, well, have a nice Christmas. I hope your MRI isn’t scheduled too near the holiday.”
Now he looked at me as if I had dementia. “Maybe you got me mixed up with another patient, little lady.”
“I … Didn’t Doctor Taylor tell you that he was ordering an MRI for you?”
He shook his head no. “My wife is going to worry about me. She’s meeting me down by JC Penney’s. Well, good holiday to you too.”
“Wait!”
The clerk looked ready to call Security and Mr. S looked frightened. I softened my voice and smiled. “Silly me. I guess I did get you mixed up. You’re not going to have an MRI?”
He hurried off, nearly running into a chuckling Jagger on the way out. But Mr. Suskowski did call out over his shoulder, “No MRI, and don’t follow me!”
Twenty
I’d sunk to accosting elderly gentlemen.
They’d more than likely put that on my tombstone, I thought as I hurried up the stairs to my room. Jagger had dropped me off at home and left after a brief thanks—followed by several snickers—for helping him with his Christmas shopping.
He had listened to my entire conversation with Mr. Suskowski.
On the ride home we did get into a serious mode and talk about that MRI. The man never had one, nor was he scheduled to. I’d have to check out who ordered it. But damn, that was Vance’s signature on the chart.
Although the good part of my night—getting more video of Tina—had been sandwiched between my “double date” and the senior citizen accosting, I was thrilled to have succeeded at something in my new career. I had all the confidence in the world where nursing was concerned, but investigating? Yikes. I set my alarm clock an hour early to head over to Scarpello and Tonelli Insurance Company to present the video to Fabio.
Even though Jagger had asked me not to finish my case, I had to give Fabio something or I’d be looking for a new job soon. What to do? I’d go to Fabio and see—
By this time Monday, I might even be paid!
Having no idea how that worked or if I had to wait until Fabio got his money back from Tina, I decided I wouldn’t worry about it. I would soon be accepting a new case and feeding my anorexic bank account.
I cursed and hoped Jeanine got four flat tires, wherever the hell she was.
Part of the money would go to Saint Stanislaus Church for Uncle Walt’s loan and, admittedly, I overspent on shopping (in the past!), but now I would be able to pay my credit card bills and soon be out of debt. One would think a single thirty-something woman would be sitting pretty with her finances, but I wasn’t alone in the overspending department. After working so hard lately, though, I would be cutting up more than one store’s credit card very soon.
When I stripped off my outfit and slipped into my flannel pj’s with Mickey Mouse dancing about on them, I thought of Tina. She’d worn black leggings, black shorts, Spandex no less, and a black tank top. Tina gave new meaning to the term that black was slenderizing. I had to admit, for her size she did keep up pretty well with the instructor. Tina was light on her feet, as they say—and shit out of luck, as I say, when it came to bilking the insurance company out of money.
Spanky snuggled halfway under my pillow. I wondered if he was burrowing to get away as I told him the details of my night, including my assessment of Jagger, who bought presents for my mother, father and even Uncle Walt.
Jagger had gone with the Lindt chocolates for Mom and a Meerschaum tobacco pipe for my father, who only played with sticking pipe cleaners in them and never lit the darn things, I told Spanky. All Meerschaums were hand carved, I clarified, continuing on to say that my father would be impressed, although I had tried to talk Jagger out of such an expensive pipe.
He bought it anyway, and also seven car magazines for Uncle Walt.
“What a guy,” I told Spanky’s tail since that was the only part sticking out. “And, Spanks, I think I’m done with my tailing, excuse the pun, of one Tina Macaluso, fraudulent claimant.”
Done.
Spanky stuck his head out, glar
ed at me.
I stood still for several seconds. “Oh … my … God. You’re right, Spanks. Now I won’t have any reason to have Jagger help me.”
I flopped onto the bed, nearly catapulting Spanky’s five-pound body off onto my dresser. I caught him in time and thought, now I have to keep helping Jagger out with the ortho case.
Or face never seeing him again.
I needn’t have worried about when I’d get paid, I thought the following Monday, as Fabio went on and on about there still not being enough video surveillance for his taste. He liked his “clients” to be proven frauds without a shadow of a doubt. Even though I’d discovered additional fraud, the pictures hadn’t been developed yet, and he wasn’t a happy camper.
Consequently, I hadn’t seen the last of Tina.
And I needn’t have worried about breaking a promise to Jagger either—or not having him help me anymore.
“You have to get her lifting something she wouldn’t even do with a good back, Sokol. And why the hell is all your surveillance at night?”
Ack. I couldn’t explain that one.
“What? You spend all your day getting beauty sleep?” he asked, leering at my chest.
I instinctively placed my hands over my green-and-red paisley—for the Christmas season—scrubs.
“You know, doll,” he said in a condescending voice, I thought you’d have the smarts to know too, that we need pictures, hard-copy photographs, doll, to put in the file. If we go to the DA with any info, they don’t have fucking VCRs on their desks. They need to see pictures, doll. Fucking pictures.”
Yikes. I hadn’t thought about that, and as annoying as Fabio was, he was right. If, however, he called me “doll” one more time, I’d haul off and let him have my best uppercut as evidenced by Jagger’s black eye. I should have had the smarts to think about the picture thing though.
The other day Goldie had been stapling photographs into a file, and I knew what they were for. It was just that so much had happened lately, that tidbit of investigative information had slipped my mind. Well, I was a green newbie, for crying out loud.
But—the thought surged into my brain—Jagger wasn’t.
He should have told me!