by Dana Cameron
Nevertheless he was a whiz at investigating. He was also the loving partner of our other roomie, Miles Scarpello RN, who worked the OR at Saint Greg’s, the hospital where I had my career meltdown several months ago.
“Relax, Gold. My tooth is fine. I’m working a case.” I sat on the white couch and watched Jagger head into the kitchen, where I knew he’d help himself to a bottle of Coors. No need to wait on Jagger. He’d do whatever the hell he wanted to anyway.
“If you really had a toothache, you’d need to go see my doctor. Dr. Francis Perlman, no relation, but a wonder at teeth.” Goldie smiled.
“Your pearly whites are spectacular, Gold, but I need to go see a Dr. Santana.”
“Elfin Santana?”
It actually didn’t surprise me that Goldie knew the “in question” fraudulent dentist. Gold got around and that was partly why he was a star investigator at Scarpello and Tonelli. “You know him?”
“Word on the street is that he can give you the best deal on Da Vinci porcelain veneers. Cheap.”
“And probably hot.”
Goldie gasped. “Several of my friends have gone to Elfin and had no problems.”
“Really?” I settled back on the couch and petted Spanky, our joint-custody Shih tzu-poodle mix’s squirrel-sized head.
“Yeah,” Goldie said, then paused. “Wait a minute.”
I sat upright, setting Spanky on a pillow so he wouldn’t fall. “What?”
Just then Jagger walked back into the room and handed Goldie a glass of Chardonnay, me a bottle of Coors (I didn’t drink out of cans, but liked a bottle instead of a glass), and a Coors for himself. Like some freaking clairvoyant waiter. What a guy.
Goldie took a sip of his wine then said, “Now I remember. Marty Poston. He never got his veneers finished. We all figured he couldn’t afford to have the bottom teeth done, but he swore he’d paid for them and never got them.”
Chapter 2
I looked from Jagger to Goldie. “Marty Poston never got his bottom veneers done by Dr. Santana?”
Goldie shook his head as he sipped.
“Hmm. I’ll just bet there’s something fishy going on here. I’m guessing Santana doesn’t do some of the work he submits claims for.” I looked at Jagger.
No head shaking. No grin. No smile.
A nonreaction by Jagger was sometimes just as good as an “atta girl.” Not being too proud, I took what I could get.
“Okay. So we have someplace to start.” I sipped my drink and looked at Jagger.
“Where?” he asked. Looking at him, I once again thought of how I should have taken Body Language 101.
“Well, we get into Santana’s office and check out his files. Then we make a few calls to patients to see if they’ve had all the work done that he’s sent in claims for, and Santana gets busted while Lenny gets his choppers by Christmas Eve and enjoys his ham.”
Goldie looked at me.
“Don’t ask.” I waved my hand and noticed Jagger glaring at me. “What?” I sighed. “What now?” I refused to look at him and instead focused on the all white room, Miles’s impeccable taste, and the gold clock ticking on the mantel.
“Nothing. Sounds like a plan. A damn good one.”
I looked back. My grin went from the clichéd ear-to-ear until I noticed him still staring as if he had more to say.
“Go ahead,” I said.
“Damn good plan. How do you figure you’re going to initiate it?”
Details. There had to be an easy way. But no way was I going to tell Jagger that I didn’t have any ideas at the moment. To stall, I took a long, slow sip of my beer. Then I cleared my throat and started to cough. I kept that up for a few minutes longer while I brain-stormed.
Jagger was still staring.
One thing I figured was that if I went in as a patient, I wouldn’t have much time or opportunity to snoop. “Okay. Here goes. Now realize that this is only a start. A beginning plan. A—”
“You have to get a job working for Santana and look in the files,” Jagger said.
Goldie’s eyes widened, and I think he gasped.
The reason I wasn’t sure was because I had gasped at the same time.
“You are nuts if you think I’m going to…”
———
“I have to wear what to work this week?” I asked as I looked at the dentist glaring at me from across the desk, which was covered with a miniature Christmas village the likes of Hope Valley. It even included little, teeny, tiny lampposts and mailboxes and kids skating on glassy-looking ponds.
The thought of the damn outfit aside, it was a perfect Christmas gift that Doc Santana was looking for temporary help.
He chuckled. Sounded as if it came straight from a Santa CD. Very authentic. Despite his suggestion of work attire, I kinda liked the guy or at least liked his holiday spirit and dress, although I wondered what his patients thought about his red suit, with white trim, and his black boots.
Too bad he was a crook.
“Pauline. Can I call you Holline? You know, for Holly?”
“No.”
He shook his head. “Too bad. Well, I’ll call you Ms. Pauline Holly, and I insist you wear the Christmas outfit. That is, if you want the job. While my regular girl is off on her honeymoon, I only need you for the next week.”
I nodded and thanked Saint T for the early “gift,” and decided it was in my best “eternal rest” interest not to mention the outfit.
“What if it doesn’t fit, Dr. Santana? The stupid… the outfit that is. Then can I wear my scrubs? I have red and green ones with little tiny squiggles that could pass as reindeer on them. Real cute. And professional-looking.”
Dr. Santana leaned back in his black chair, tugged on his real white beard, adjusted his wire-rimmed glasses, and said, “It’ll fit. Amazingly enough, you and she are about the same size.”
I contemplated eating an entire batch of high-calorie pierogies tonight.
Dr. Santana got up and walked to the door. I shook my head as I watched him go.
How could you take a guy, who is going to drill your teeth, seriously when he was dressed like that? Then again with the never-ending Christmas music around here, and the festive decorations, he probably put a lot of his patients at ease.
“Be right back, Ms. Holly.”
I rolled my eyes, sank back in my chair, and looked around.
His office was by no means fancy. Actually it was very homey. He had pictures of what I guessed was his family—including seven children. Seven! There was a fish tank on the shelf filled with little goldfish, the inexpensive ones. No pretentious saltwater, thirty-bucks-per-fish kind. On the wall near the window was a pedestal with a gigantic white tooth on it, and draped across it was the old-fashioned kind of toothbrush—big enough to clean King Kong’s teeth.
Sitting there, I chuckled to myself.
Then I thought of Lenny and Marty.
I sat straight up in my furor as the doc walked in, carrying the dreaded outfit, covered in plastic from the cleaners.
“Freshly cleaned. Take it home and try it on. Then I’ll see you at nine tomorrow. Don’t be late. My wife always comes in at eight forty-five with hot apple cider and donuts during this season.”
I cringed and said “Sounds delicious, I’m very punctual” as I took the stupid outfit from his outstretched hands.
Amazing what I would stoop to for a case.
———
Since I’d spent about a half hour tugging, pulling, yanking, and bending over until I was dizzy to hide most of the cleavage that the Miss Santa outfit revealed, I was nearly late for hot cider, donuts, and getting a load of Mrs. Claus… er… Mrs. Santana.
“My, dearie, you look lovely. Elfin has such nice taste in receptionists,” his wife said as she smiled at me, her damn blue eyes twinkling from behind her wire-rimmed glasses. Yes, she wore a Mrs. Santa Claus outfit that looked way too real on her. No cleavage involved, and the length went down to her ankles.
It was hard
to believe she was married to a crook and probably helping him out. I mean, I really got a motherly feeling from her, and I was usually an expert on those kinds of feelings—having been raised by Stella Sokol, Mother of the World.
After Mrs. S gave me a crash course in Receptionist for Dummies 101, I watched her bustle about the office as I sat down at the desk, sipped on hot cider, which I hated, and realized that Mrs. Claus/Santana didn’t seem flustered about her husband’s choice in receptionists or, more importantly, the sexy outfits he had them wear.
Clearly that’s why seven kids.
I yanked at the bodice of my top again and pulled up enough white fluff to cover some exposed flesh. Before Mrs. Santana could say another word, the door opened and in walked a couple that appeared to be in their seventies. The guy winked at me. She nudged him and chuckled.
“Merry Christmas, dolly. Where’s the other one?” he said, leaning over way too far.
I backed up and said, “Honeymoon. And you are?”
“The Shepherds.” He chuckled again. “Appropriate for this time of year. Huh?”
I mentally shook my head and looked at the appointment book to see that there was, in fact, two appointments for them. As I contemplated the strangeness of working here at the North Pole, I told them both to sit and wait, grabbed their charts and took them to stick in the holders outside each of the exam rooms.
Just then the back door, used by employees only, swung open. In walked a guy. But not just any guy. A hot, sexy guy about an inch taller than Jagger but with hair the color of spun gold. Wow. He looked at me.
I looked at him.
One of us sighed.
“Hey. I’m Jay North, dental hygienist extraordinaire.” He laughed.
I couldn’t help but join him. He had on jeans and a brown leather jacket with a lambs’ wool collar. Made a great first impression.
Nothing Christmasy about this guy. Thank God.
“Pauline Sokol, temp receptionist.”
“I see you are about the same size as the receptionist, Holly Lightly.”
Holly? I should have known. I nodded and felt as if I stood there naked. Okay, maybe just wishful thinking.
Dr. Santana came out of one of the exam rooms. “Oh, morning, Jay. I see you met Ms. Holly.”
“Pauline,” I corrected.
Jay winked at me and took off his jacket to reveal a dynamite chest of muscles honed to perfection. However, covering said muscles was a green felt shirt, and before I could blink, he’d donned an elf hat—which amazingly made him look even sexier.
Even though it bordered on perverted, he looked hot.
The doctor left us standing alone in the hallway.
Speechless, I could only force a smile.
“I know,” Jay said and put his arm around me. “We do this each year for him.” He nodded toward the doctor’s office.
All I could think was, his arm is around me. How pathetic was I? Slowly I eased free, so I could get some work done.
“Doc grew up in an orphanage. Some children’s home in Mexico, where his American mother’d left him. Thus the name. Never had a real Christmas so it means a lot to him.” With that he turned and walked into Exam Room One.
I could only stare and nod. At least the last name now made sense, and despite my belief that the doctor was as crooked as a candy cane top, I felt sorry for him.
When I heard a tapping sound coming from Santana’s office, I got up and stuck my head in the doorway. “Um, sorry to interrupt—”
Dear old Elfin was hammering a wooden horse together.
Oh… my… god! This was becoming more like a Tim Burton version of The Nightmare Before Christmas. Orphanage or not—this was all way too weird.
It’s all right, I told myself. Everything is just coincidental. I got the Shepherds settled in the exam chairs, and decided it was time to take a peek at the files. Mrs. Santana wasn’t around. Maybe she had some shopping to do for her seven offspring—unless their presents were always homemade.
Back at my desk, I looked around to make sure the coast was clear, and bent over to pull out the desk drawer where a section of recent files were kept. I took out A-L and set them on my desk. First I had to get myself acquainted with how the files were set up and what they covered. I started with Acorn—and didn’t even think twice about the name.
My nursing background did, in fact, help with my investigating. Very quickly I found out how to read the treatments each patient had received and check the billing section to see what their insurance covered. Before the next appointment showed up, I had a list of ten patients to call later in the day.
Damn. This was going to be a piece of cake.
The door swung open to the sounds of “Jingle Bells” and a guy walked in. Wow. I thought Jay was a looker. This patient was built a tad better, had aviator sunglasses on, a moustache, and also wore leather, but black not brown. He had the same shade of blond hair as Jay, but wore it much longer and under a baseball cap. Guess Jay kept his short to be more professional, and maybe to keep it out of patients’ mouths.
I swallowed and tried to make my voice come out steady, but to no avail. “Um. Hi. May I… may I help you?” I had to go on a date soon. Real soon. Suddenly the mistletoe crept into my thoughts. White berries. Teeny white berries. I felt my face burn as the patient came closer.
“Name?” What difference did a guy’s name make when he looked like this one?
He hesitated.
I looked at the appointment book to see a new patient listed. A Mr. John Winters at nine forty-five. “Mr. Winters?”
He nodded.
“A toothache?”
“Uh-hah.”
I reached for the clipboard with the new-patient-chart information form on it. “Please fill this out, sir. The doctor will then be with you shortly.” I think I sighed, but Mr. Winters politely didn’t notice or at least comment.
He walked to the chair by the Christmas tree and sat down.
Yes, I did stare at his butt on his trip over. Snug jeans worn out in strategic places hugged a firm, muscular backside.
Wait a minute!
Oh… my… god.
It looked familiar.
Chapter 3
Through clenched teeth I muttered, “Jagger. Jagger!” He didn’t even look up but kept writing. Damn. Jagger was a master of disguise as evidenced by several of the other cases we’d worked. However, I had also been wrong about him a few times and accosted innocent victims, thinking they were Jagger in costume. This time I’d be more cautious—although I’d bet my next paycheck I was correct. I was getting better and better at recognizing him.
I got up, walked toward Mr. Winters and pretended to fix a few ornaments on the tree.
He didn’t budge.
I tried to look at the handwriting—oh yeah, I’d always noted the small things about Jagger. But I couldn’t see the form too well, and upside down it really didn’t look that similar. For a few seconds I just stood there to see if any pheromones would waft in my direction.
Mistletoe, I thought and felt rather hot inside.
Ah-ha! There was my proof. This was Jagger in disguise!
“How’s it going, Mr. Winters?” I asked, deciding I’d play his game to see why the hell he was here.
He looked up and held the clipboard out toward me. “Fine.”
With shaky hands (this because of the stupid mistletoe thought) I managed to take it and head back to my desk, where I sat down with a thud. I looked up and smiled.
Jay came to the doorway. “Hey, Pauline, the Shepherds are done. I’ll take the next one in for you.”
I held out the form, then said, “Hold it. Let me fix the chart.” I stuck it into a new-patient folder and then gave it to Jay while the Shepherds came bustling out, eating donuts and sipping on hot cider.
Could Mrs. Claus be far behind?
I watched “Mr. Winters” follow Jay through the doorway and mumbled, “I hope you have a cavity. A Grand Canyon one.”
�
��——
After I’d successfully ushered out the Shepherds—once the hubby got tired of talking to my chest, I might add—two more patients came in. One was sent into Exam Room Two and the other sat quietly in the waiting room. I noted how no one seemed very nervous waiting in a dentist’s office.
Me, I’d be kneading and rekneading my fingers over and over. I hated dental work—even with Novocain. Of course, my old dentist, Dr. Scklagen, never even offered us Novocain for fillings. He’d say, “This doesn’t hurt,” while my father, who always took us kids there, would stand by and watch.
I often thought Daddy looked as if he wanted to slug the dentist. Thank goodness for fluoride.
I tucked the list of patient names and phone numbers from the files into the pocket of my skirt—which barely covered my thighs. Luckily I’d had green tights at home to at least give myself some modesty. Geez. Oddly enough I didn’t miss the fact that I wasn’t getting paid for this investigation—the season of giving must have hit me smack in the face.
I had to go see Lenny and get more info from him. Jay would show the remaining patients, including “Mr. Winters,” out.
Thank goodness it was nearly lunchtime. I’d make a little home visit to Lenny—despite my outfit. Then again, if he were a long-term patient of the doc, he probably would expect me to be dressed as a Victoria’s Secret Santa girl a few days before Christmas.
———
“I’m on a fixed income. Not buying what you are selling,” the disembodied voice said through the intercom. “It’s me, Lenny. Pauline.” I shivered, standing outside in the cold. To top it off, it had started snowing when I left the office for my lunch break. Since the doc gave me an hour, I grabbed a turkey sub from the nearby deli and headed to talk to Lenny.
“Pauwine who?”
I curled my lips. “Pauline Sokol. It’s freezing out here. Let me in, Lenny.”
“Don’t think I know any Sokow. I’m on a fixed income—”
I’ll fix your income, I thought, but didn’t want to sound mean during the holidays. Actually with my Catholic-school induced conscience, I never wanted to sound mean. But Lenny was becoming a real pip.