by Ginny Aiken
“We have to find out what happened. We owe it to Darlene and to him.”
“What should we do?”
“We have to revisit that autopsy. We have to ask for a toxicology screen.”
“Can we do it?”
“I think so.”
“How do we go about it?”
I prayed my trust wasn’t misplaced. “You are the executrix of the estate, right?”
She nodded.
“And in spite of what the sons did—replace you with Dave—you’re Jacob’s legal guardian, aren’t you?”
“I am. I don’t know why Darlene did things the way she did, but I know she trusted me with Jacob. She knew I’d never waste her money and that I’d take good care of him when she wasn’t with us anymore.”
“Then the best thing to do is approach this from the angle of protection for Jacob. If someone killed Darlene for her money, then he could be next.”
I held my breath. Her response would say a lot.
She passed my test. The color leached from her face. “Oh, Haley. We have to hurry. We can’t let anyone hurt him. Poor man. It’s bad enough that the disease has done this to him and that Darlene’s gone now, but for someone to kill him? For money?”
Her fingers trembled when I clasped them. Either she was innocent or the Sissy Spaceks and Nicole Kidmans of Hollywood had a lot to fear when Oscar time rolled around again.
“We have to do this for your sake too. You’re in the way of anyone with an eye on the money.”
She hmphed. “As long as the kids don’t squander the money while their father needs it, I couldn’t care less. Whoever wants it can have it. I’ll give up my claim—but not before I take care of Jacob to the end.”
Her fierceness came as a surprise, especially in contrast with her small frame, her bland face, her quiet voice. She angered big.
“I don’t want you killed either,” I said. “So we have to get that tox screen. We can’t let up until we get what we need.”
Cissy stood and held herself tall. “Count me in. Just tell me what I have to do.”
“It won’t be easy,” I warned. “We have to convince a hardheaded homicide detective that there’s more here than she thinks. We’re going to have to spar with a pro.”
I headed for the front door. “Dave? We’re on our way. Thanks for the time you gave us with Jacob.”
The big man came out from the rear of the house. “It’s good for him to see people. And I haven’t seen Tom or Larry since they hired me. When do you think you can come back?”
Cissy made arrangements to return in a few days, and then we left. Once we stood on the sidewalk, I turned to my companion and said, “Sparks, Cissy? Where’d you come up with that name?”
“It’s my maiden name. I doubt Tommy or Larry know it. But I do know they’d object if Dave told them I’d been by.”
“Let them wonder. We had to do it, didn’t we?”
“Yes, we did. And sometimes, Cissy, you just have to follow your gut. This is one of those times. And it’s also time to go. There’s a detective at the Wilmont PD we have to bring on board.”
I prayed Lila would listen—listen and agree.
We would need more than just my own prayers on this one. You never know what it will take to sway Lila. I took a chance and put Bella on the job. She started up the Wilmont River Church’s prayer chain.
Cissy and I drove straight to the cop shop.
Bella would meet us, bring up the rear. My prayer request had incited questions, and those questions aroused our favorite pet detective’s curiosity. Just try to keep Bella away. Try it.
Prayer? Yeah, we needed prayer. Lots.
9
You never can tell with Lila. This time she just about shocked the socks off me—not that I wear socks with my Birks.
“I figured you’d get around to this sooner or later,” she said once Cissy and I had laid out what we knew. “We can’t refuse the family’s request, or in this case, that of the executrix of the estate. If Mrs. Grover signs the necessary documents, a forensic pathologist will run a toxicology screen on the remains.”
I’d come loaded for proverbial bear; I’d found an educated kitty cat instead. But I’d gotten what I wanted. And we would soon have the answers we needed.
Waiting wouldn’t be easy, not for someone who lacks all patience. But I didn’t have a choice. The tests would take a few days.
And I did have to work on Tedd’s office. Not to mention the tons of paperwork stacked on my desk at the auction house. It was there, at my office in the warehouse, on Wednesday, that I got Bella’s phone call.
“Haley? I got a problem.”
“Only one?”
“This is no joke. I need your help.”
She sounded serious, but in the background I could hear the familiar and fearsome wails and snarls of her two cats. “How much trouble are you and the beasts in?”
“Depends on what you call trouble.”
What were the chances that whatever had Bella in an uproar wouldn’t strike me as trouble? “Give it a whirl and tell me what’s up. I’ll tell you if I call it trouble.”
“My car broke down.”
“Call AAA.”
Dead silence. Except the cats.
Bella has a special talent; I can always count on her to test my lousy excuse for patience. “Did you hear me? Why’d you call me instead of the auto club?”
“Um . . . they won’t come to where I am.”
“What? They’re everywhere. They even offer some international services. What do you mean, they won’t come to where you are?” A horrible possibility hit me then. “Please tell me you didn’t leave the country.”
“Well . . . it’s like this. I . . . ah . . . took a little trip and wound up all turned around. Now my car’s broke down, and they don’t have a local auto club all that close to here.”
“Bella, where are you?”
A fantastically loud howl made me strain to hear her response. I thought she said something about a desert. But that made no sense. Even if it was Bella on the phone.
“Come again? Your darling fur wad yowled over you.”
“Now, Haley. It’s a crying shame how you hurt Bali’s feelings all the time. You know how sensitive she is.”
Like sandpaper, but that wasn’t the point right then. “We can talk about the cats later. Where are you?”
“I’m not exactly sure, and that’s why AAA wouldn’t send anyone after me. It’s kinda lonely out here.”
Now I began to worry. “Out where?”
“In the desert.”
Last time I checked, the nearest desertlike terrain was way on the other side of Washington State, off to the northeast. I live on the coast, way in the west. Bella’s house is right across the street from the manse.
“Are you speaking figuratively?”
“Watch it, Haley girl! I’m touchy about my weight gain.”
Weight gain? Oh! “Figuratively.” Good grief!
I tried again. “Are you talking sand and cactus, no water, and scorpions, or are you struggling with a different kind of problem? Spiritual, maybe?”
“Didn’t I already tell you I got a problem? I’m in the desert—yep, it’s drier’n Penny Harham’s roast chicken out here.”
“What are you doing there? And where?”
“Somewhere in Oregon.”
“Oregon! Bella. Answer my question. Please. Why are you in Oregon?”
“It’s not like I planned to wind up here. My car just pooped out on me.”
Even though I knew the answer, I had to ask. “So what do you want me to do about it?”
“Come and get me.”
“And how am I supposed to do that if even AAA can’t figure out where you are?”
The silence grew. This time not even the cats disturbed it. Finally she said, “I’m kinda scared, Haley girl. I just gave the Balis my last bottle of water. And it’s hot.”
I’m not so hot with directions; let’s just call me
directionally impaired. And Bella had no clue where she was. But, as it turned out, she did know where she’d been before she took her wrong turn and where she was supposed to have wound up. Sadly, the two didn’t match up.
“Look,” I said when she finished her labyrinthine commentary on her roundabout journey to nowhere. “I’m not going out there. I’ll never find you, and then we’ll both turn into Georgia O’Keefe artwork—only not the flower kind, and not so much admired.”
“What am I going to do?”
I could almost touch her fear. “Give me a chance to call someone. Maybe Lila can contact a cop shop in Oregon and they can figure out where you are. We’ll get you back home one way or another.”
“Okay.” She didn’t sound reassured. “But just make sure you get me home the one way. I don’t think I’d like the ‘another.’ Thanks for making me get this dopey cell phone, Haley girl. I’d be well on the way to roadkill if you hadn’t.”
“Roadkill?” My voice could’ve shattered crystal. “Did a car hit you?”
“No. But I might’ve died on the side of the road, me and the Balis. So thanks.”
Phew! “No problem, Bella. Now let me get Lila and the Smurfs on the job, okay?”
When we hung up, I realized I hadn’t wormed out of her the answer to my other question. Why’d she go to Oregon, anyway?
As Ricky Ricardo used to tell Lucy, Bella had some splainin’ to do.
“You did what?”
Bella squirmed in the Honda’s passenger seat later that evening. “I went to check out that Dr. Díaz dude.”
“You went to Mexico? And wound up in southeast Oregon? And here I thought I had trouble with directions.” “I started out for Tijuana, okay? But I only got so far as someplace near Portland.”
I turned onto Puget Way, headed for the manse via Bella’s place. The wails and hisses in the backseat made me desperate to dump out the box of furious felines. Maybe then I could concentrate on Bella’s story and decipher what had happened.
“Let’s try this again,” I said. “Why did you feel the need to check out Darlene’s Mexican doc? Tijuana’s an awfully long way from Wilmont.”
“It’s a no-brainer. Someone’s gotta see what he’s up to. Fifty grand, and who knows how much more for his juju juice, is a lot of dough for Darlene to shell out.”
Once in Bella’s driveway, I let the Honda idle. “And you’re the self-appointed looker-into.”
“I’m the PI.”
The hisses from the back picked up steam. “A good PI would figure out there won’t be much left in that box but hamburger and lint soon. Let’s get them loose.”
She gave me a “Haley knows nothing” look. “That’s how kitty cats play. Haven’t you seen dogs? They snap and nip at each other’s throats all the time.”
Those shrieks sounded more painful than playful to me. “If you say so. And since you say you’re the investigator, how about sharing what you learned about the Mexican doc?”
“Which one?”
I blinked. “You lost me. What do you mean, which one? There’s more than one Mexican doctor involved?”
“Isn’t your buddy Tedd Mexican?”
I clutched the steering wheel to keep from pulling my hair out. “You usually drive me nuts with too much information, but this time you’d better shell out the data before I go ballistic. Tedd’s not exactly the same as the south-ofthe-border guy, okay?”
“Chill, Haley. My goodness, dear. You’re going to wind up with hibernation. That’s not good for you. It could give you a stroke.”
“Hypertension. Hibernation’s what bears—never mind! And you’re the one who shoots my blood pressure to the outer limits of the galaxy. Cut the cutesy clue-drop and tell it to me straight. What have you been up to?”
“I went to Mexico to check out the dope doctor but stopped in Oregon. I needed gas—you know how much it costs to fill the Caddy’s tank these days? Whoo-eee! I remember when a gallon of gas was only fifty cents—”
“The doctor, Bella. What about him? We can discuss the decline of the economy later.”
“All right already. I went south, bought gas, got hungry, and because I’m a lady all alone, I went to the restaurant at a nice hotel just outside Portland. Turns out, they were having a doctor’s symphonium there. Place was packed.”
By now the ruckus in the back was such that even Bella’d had enough. She got out of the car, retrieved the cardboard carton Chris had found in the dumpster behind the cop shop, and lugged it to her front door.
I had no choice but to follow—that is, if I wanted answers.
Once inside her mauve and lace and froufrou tchotchke-filled parlor, Bella released the hounds . . . well, right idea, wrong critter. At any rate, Bali H’ai and Faux Bali exploded from that putrid box like a high-fuzz pair of milkweed pods, and I experienced a similar allergic reaction to them.
Both turned on me, fur like bristle brushes, fangs bared, feral hisses louder than the warning in my brain that screamed, “Run!”
“Keep them away,” I warned their owner.
“Get a grip,” she said. “C’mon, girls. Mama’s got din din.”
Would you believe they listened? Who’d a thunk?
Silence reigned. An electric can opener whirred. The faint tang of spoiled fish wafted forth. After that the triumphant owner returned, and we both sat in aggressively floral Victorian reproduction furnishings, me in a chair, Bella on a fainting couch.
“Gotta tell you, Bella. I never thought I’d see the day. But you do know your maniacs. I give you a lot of credit.”
“You’re such a dog person. And in these days of equal rights too. You oughta be ashamed, Haley girl. Discrimination’s not cool.”
“Uh . . . yeah. Well, are you going to tell me what happened in Oregon? How you . . . oh so coincidentally made it to a medical symposium at a Portland hotel?”
“I made a couple of calls before I decided to take my trip.”
“Did you call the doctor’s office? Tip them off that you were about to chase the guy down?”
She smirked. “They can follow Martha Stewart all they want.”
“You told them you were the domestic diva?”
“Why not? All’s I cared about was finding the quack. I said it so I didn’t have to tell them who I really am. Besides, the girl I talked to didn’t speak much English. She probably doesn’t know the diva. That’s why I earned my PI license, you know. I know how to cover my tracks. Anyway, I figured out where he was, and I headed south.”
“To Portland. But how does the desert relate? Portland’s on the Washington border. The Oregon desert’s down south and near Idaho.”
“I told you I got turned around.”
“That’s a lot of turning around you did.”
“I heard ’em say something about going to Bend.”
“Bend?”
“I took off,” she said. “I figured I’d head them off, you know. Get there and see what was what. But I didn’t even see Bend—at least, not Bend, Oregon. I saw lots of bends in the road though. D’you figure that’s why they call the place that?”
She made me dizzy. Before I could find footing again, I had to establish a couple of facts. “Who did you hear?”
“The doctors.”
“Which doctors?”
“One had a tag that read ‘Roberto Díaz.’ That’s the dope dude from Tijuana, isn’t it? And that was the symphonium he went to, wasn’t it?”
“It could be any of a zillion doctors. That’s not an uncommon name in Spanish.”
“Yeah, but they were talking about the MGM.”
I let it go. “And they said they were going to Bend, Oregon?”
“Well, I heard them say something about going to Bend. I just figured since we were in Oregon, that’s what they meant. But they also said plenty about money. They want a lot of dough, those two.”
Bend? A lot of dough?
In the same situation, I wouldn’t have thought Bend, Oregon. I would’ve tho
ught bent rules and regs. Then I thought of something.
“Did you happen to catch the subject of the symposium?” “Didn’t make much sense to me. These two were talking juju juice. The other docs were talking depression.”
“Was it a mental health conference?”
“Maybe. I just know what I heard.”
Mental health . . . Alzheimer’s . . . HGH. Had Cissy been dosing Jacob as well as Darlene and herself?
I got up. “Well, Bella. At least you’re home now. It might be a good idea to skip the road trips for a while. And the snooping? Leave it to Lila and the Smurfs. That’s who can really follow the info and catch the killers.”
A grumpy neighbor is way better than a desiccated one. On the other hand, it did look as though Bella had tracked down the right Roberto Díaz. The one who’d fed Darlene the HGH and borrowed fifty grand from her.
Time to let my fingers do some waltzing on computer keys.
After a couple of hours on the Web, I had a pretty good idea what Dr. Díaz wanted to do with HGH. And it wasn’t as scary as what Cissy wanted. But it wasn’t regular medicine either.
I called the good doctor’s office the next day. For a possible appointment.
“Dr. Díaz no in office this week.”
“Really? When will he be back?”
“Monday.”
“Is he on vacation?”
The receptionist giggled. “No. He go conference business.” I had all the corroboration I needed. Bella had done well. Well, her research was right on, even if the wild goose chase through Oregon went way off.
I had more questions for the giggly girl. “Does he travel a lot? I mean, if I start treatment with him, will I have trouble seeing him because he’s gone so much?”
“Sí, he travel. Pero he here too. People come all the time to office. Pero he travel for business, sí.”
“Does he ever come to Seattle?”
“How you know?”
I don’t know what threw me off the most, the receptionist’s surprise at my question or that Dr. Díaz frequented Seattle.
Since it’s always best to stick to the truth, I said, “I didn’t know. I wondered because that’s where I’m from. Does he see patients while he’s here?”