by Ginny Aiken
Okay. Fine. I let Dutch get to me. Then when Lila followed that up with her warning, I blew up. The best that can be said of my performance is that it provided the patrons of the new Thai restaurant their evening’s comic relief. The bad news is that they all watched me act like a toddler in the throes of a tantrum. The good news is that only a handful knew why I stomped out.
Marginally better was that I’d met Dr. Dope. And he was slick, slicker than a five-gallon tub of boiled linseed oil. He was so polished that my gut, which usually reacts in weird and violent ways, refused to consider any feeling about the guy.
Could he have killed Darlene?
Maybe.
He was passionate about his research on and use of HGH. It didn’t take too big a hop from there to see him ready to strike out if he felt his work was threatened. Lack of funding always threatens medical research.
On the other hand, I’d now heard twice about the European pharmaceutical firm ready to shell out big bucks for whatever the doc did. Was this for real? Or did he make a habit of knocking off wealthy patients for their money? After all, he didn’t need to show any of us where his money had originated.
He also said that in his professional opinion, the Grim Reaper hadn’t been hovering around Darlene’s bed. Cissy had talked about her friend’s upturn in recent weeks. Had both the doctor and the housekeeper lied? Could I believe either one of them?
Or was one, the other, or both blowing smoke on the truth?
I turned on my pillow to check the time on my slime-green-glow digital alarm clock. It was already 2:37 a.m. I wasn’t about to come up with any definitive answer in bed. The only outcome I could see to my not-so-good efforts was a massive headache for the next day. One way or another I had to put the Weikert mess out of my mind, if only for a few hours.
I knew only one way to do it. I began to pray.
Of course, morning came too soon for me. But I had snagged a couple of hours’ sleep. And I woke up with one thing clear in my mind. I had to check out Dr. Dope, but I couldn’t do it the easy way. I couldn’t just call Tedd and ask her everything I wanted to know.
It had become much too clear last night that she had some kind of connection to the guy. I didn’t know if I could trust anything she said about him. Her observations could be colored by their relationship, whatever it was. Even if she did it in all innocence.
I began to call hotels at eight o’clock. By nine thirty I was afraid he’d registered under an alias and that I’d never track him down. But then I hit pay dirt at the Wilmont Bay Breeze Resort.
Dr. Dope had expensive taste. The Bay Breeze Resort caters to loaded Californians who head north for their Seattle fix. A five-star restaurant takes up half of the main floor of the structure, while the other half is filled with wall-to-wall shopping of the exclusive kind. Original artwork, handcrafted jewelry, designer clothes, imported cosmetics—the best of the best can be had for a price. Luxury rooms, suites for the most part, fill the second, third, and fourth floors, and a dozen private bungalows dotted the grounds.
I shelled out a hefty price at my local florist shop for a gorgeous bonsai and a card of apology. I figured I had to have an excuse to get close to the doc. My behavior last night merited an “I’m sorry.”
While I picked out my miniaturized peace offering, I noticed that the employees at the shop didn’t wear uniforms and didn’t drive marked cars on deliveries. I knew then I could get away with what I wanted to do.
I hoped.
At the resort, I went straight to the concierge’s desk. “Delivery for Dr. Díaz from Paula’s Pansy Patch.”
“Give me a minute to look him up.”
He clicked keys on his keyboard, then looked up. “Yes, he’s here. If you’ll hand me the plant . . .”
That wasn’t the plan. I felt panic spawn. “Ah . . .”
A miracle, Lord. Or at least a lucky break, please!
When the elevator doors opened, I almost laughed with relief. “There he is,” I said. “Thanks, but I’ll deliver them right now.”
With my tree clutched close, I took off at a trot. “Dr. Díaz! Please wait.”
He turned, and a frown creased his brow. “Ms. Farrell. I’m surprised to see you here.”
“Don’t be. I came to apologize for last night. I’m sorry my personal problems ruined your dinner. Here. Enjoy it in good health.”
He grabbed the potted plant I shoved at his midriff, then held it out as if it were a new strain of bubonic plague. “You didn’t need to go to so much trouble. You didn’t ruin my evening.”
“Well, I did ask you some pretty direct questions.”
“Which I answer all the time. Most people have that same curiosity when they learn what I do. I appreciate the opportunity to talk about my work.”
“That’s very gracious of you, Dr. Díaz, but there was no need for Dutch’s rudeness. And Lila’s semi-official warning in a social setting was uncalled for—at least I didn’t appreciate her warning me. We certainly soured your dinner.”
“No harm done, Ms. Farrell—”
“Last night you agreed to call me Haley. Please do.”
“And I’m Roberto.”
“All righty, then. Now that we have the unpleasantness behind us, I’ll just leave you to continue on your way.”
He never voiced the questions I could almost hear grinding inside his head. Instead, he nodded and said good-bye. Because of the tree, he headed back to the bay of elevators. I watched him. While I didn’t head out, I didn’t follow him either. I just watched the digital display above the elevator until it stopped. Fourth floor.
To this day I can’t believe I was ready to pull a breaking-and-entering gig, but I was. And he’d given me at least some of the information I needed to do it. True, I didn’t know how many rooms might be on the fourth floor, but I did know one of them housed the doctor. And if I played my cards right, I wouldn’t have long to wait until a gossipy housekeeper schlepped down the hall with her cart of sanitizing potions.
When Dr. Díaz crossed the lobby, I ran to the elevator, which whisked me to the right floor in seconds. Since I found the hall deserted, I sat in one of the upholstered armchairs in the landing just beyond the three elevators and pulled out my book. I was ready for a wait.
At 10:49 the rumble of wheels came from the other side of the utility door at the end of the hall. I hurried to open the heavy, leatherette-covered steel slab for the young man who pushed the cart around me.
Oops! I’d hoped for a grandmotherly cleaning lady. Instead, I got a muscle-bound Mr. Clean look-alike. Oh well. Had to play the cards I was dealt . . . or something like that.
To his “Thanks,” I replied, “No problem. But I do have a different problem.”
He drew his brows together. “’S up?”
Not the most eloquent of males. “I just delivered a plant to Dr. Díaz, and I neglected to give him the packet of special plant food that goes with it.” I jiggled the envelope before his nose. “He’s gone now, and I don’t know his room number. I mean, I can leave it at the desk downstairs, but I’d hate for them to forget. It’s a delicate bonsai, and it needs very special care. I’d rather . . . I don’t know, maybe tape it to his door.”
Mr. Clean Jr. looked at me as though I’d landed from outer space. “Can’t he just buy some more plant food?”
“Oh, I’m sure he can. But the bonsai is used to this particular kind. I’m serious. It’s a very delicate plant.”
Not only had the florist stated that a half a million times, but I’d also heard about the special needs of bonsai plants elsewhere. Not that I had any personal experience with them; I’m blessed with thumbs brown as dirt.
After an excruciating deliberation, he said, “If you say so . . .”
His skepticism crushed my hopes; his jangling keychain revived them.
“Here.” He held out his massive left hand. “I’ll put the fertilizer in his room.”
“It’s not fertilizer,” I said in my haughtiest tone.
“It’s plant food, specialized bonsai plant food.”
“If you say so . . .”
Despite his lack of conversational skills, he checked his computer printout, and then he took the packet of powder and his keys to room 43.
Score! “Thanks.”
“No problem.”
I left. I knew which room was Dr. Dope’s. And with any luck, I’d find a way to jimmy open the door with one of my credit cards. Or maybe my small embroidery scissors would do the trick. I’m not a fan of detailed needlework, but the tiny scissors come in handy when I need to snip off a loose thread in a tight spot. I do work on the occasional redesign and handle antiques for a living when I’m not sniffing out a killer. Or something like that.
I went and did that other work for the next two hours. I didn’t make too big a dent in the paperwork at the warehouse, but anything’s better than the paper version of the Rockies that had spread across my desk.
Then I returned to the resort—after I called and asked for the doctor and was told he wasn’t in.
I crossed the lobby as though I belonged there, pushed the fourth button on the wall, and counted the seconds until the elevator stopped. Without any idea how much longer Dr. Dope would be gone, I ran down the hall, credit card in hand, and began to work for real on my life of crime.
It never took off. I had no luck breaking, much less entering. Plus, I got caught.
“What are you doing to my door?” Dr. Díaz showed me no charm. “No. Don’t bother. I’d rather you don’t lie. You’re working on my lock, and I want to know why you want to invade my privacy.”
Since it’s said that a good offense is the best defense, I turned, stared him straight in the eye, and hit him with all I had. “Did you kill Darlene Weikert for her money? Were you afraid you’d lose the chance to continue your research without more funds? Did you poison the HGH you sold her? Did you get Cissy to medicate Jacob as well? And have you wormed your way into Cissy’s good graces? Is she ready to change her will in your favor?”
Dark, expressive eyes spit rage. “How dare you accuse me of harming a patient? I’ve always upheld my Hippocratic oath. I’d rather stop my research than hurt someone. If you want a culprit, then take a good look at Cissy Grover. She had the most access to Darlene. If anyone did anything to her, it had to have been Cissy. And now it’s time for you to leave. If you don’t, you’ll force me to call security.”
“Your oh-so-self-righteous anger won’t protect you if I find even a scrap of evidence against you.”
“And your smart mouth won’t protect you if I have to call Detective Tsu. Now I understand what last night’s fiasco at the restaurant was all about. Just go. Before I’m forced to turn you in.”
“Watch your step, Doctor. I’ll be watching you.”
I walked down the hall, my head high, my back firm, my steps measured and even. I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of seeing me sweat. Or flee.
By the time I reached my Honda, I knew what I had to do next. It was time to confront Cissy. I had to ask a number of tough questions. And I couldn’t let my feelings get in the way. Yes, I liked her, but Jeffrey Dahmer’s neighbors had liked him too.
I wasted no time driving to the address Cissy had given me when she told me the Weikert brothers had replaced her with a new nurse. She now lived in the first-floor apartment of an older home that had seen better days. The curtains were drawn, the porch had a dingy wicker chair as its sole embellishment, and most of the paint on the front door had peeled off.
This did not look like the home of a money-grubbing, will-changing swindler.
The short cement walkway wore a generous fringe of scraggly weeds up and down both sides. I made my way toward the front door, and a quiver among the shrubs partway down the right side of the house caught my eye. I craned my neck to see what might have caused the unnatural movement.
Among the leaves I spotted a hint of black. Maybe a neighborhood dog used the overgrown greenery as its preferred and private toilet facility. But then I noticed the broken window above. No dog had done that.
Who’d want to break into Cissy’s apartment? It was more than obvious she hadn’t lavished funds on this place. I’d be shocked if she had anything of value inside. That left only one other possibility. The broken window had something to do with the Weikert case—there was a Weikert case, contrary to popular belief.
The broken window proved it—as if I’d needed further proof.
And then another debacle developed. The hint of black became clearer. That was no dog behind the shrubs. But there was an animal there. Two, as a matter of fact.
First Bali shot out from the bushes. Then Bella fell. Finally, the other cat—maybe that was Bali and the first one was the Faux—sped off to parts unknown.
I sighed. “Are you all right, Bella?”
“Nope. My pride’s all dinged and danged.”
“But otherwise you’re okay?”
“I suppose.”
“Then suppose some more. Tell me what you’re doing here, in the thick of Cissy’s wilderness, with your two untamed beasts.”
“I’m doing my job, Haley girl.”
“I thought your job was the pet detective gig.”
“Remember? I have an associate now. To mind the shop.”
The hazy picture began to come into focus. “And I bet you gave her a ton of bogus work to keep her busy while you came and busted her window. I have to wonder if this was what lurked behind your supposedly generous job offer.”
“The window wasn’t my fault,” she wailed. “Some know-nothing fool painted the window shut, and when I went to push up the bottom half so I could crawl in, it wouldn’t budge. So I pushed and pushed and pushed until my hand slipped.”
“Oh no! Did you cut yourself?”
She huffed. “’Course not, Haley. I’m a professional. I wore leather gloves. I don’t leave fingerprints, and I do protect my hands.”
Bella might be nutty, but she’s not dumb. “I’m glad you’re okay. But you didn’t make it inside the house, did you?”
“Nope. And now who knows where my kitty cats went. Please find them for me.”
Yeah, I know. I can’t believe I did it either.
On my way down the shabby street, while I called out a series of ridiculous “Here, kitty, kitty, kitties,” I tried to figure out how I’d wound up in this ludicrous situation.
But when I lurched forward, arms outstretched, determination at its strongest, and wrestled one of the Balis into a bad excuse for submission, the answer came to me. I groaned. The realization mortified me.
I couldn’t avoid the comparison.
Now I knew how I appeared to any observer, herding cats and tangled in their dangling leashes, not to mention how I’d appeared to Dr. Díaz forty-five minutes earlier. Bella had nothing on me. In fact, the comparison put me in the most unfavorable light.
I’d become a younger version of Bella—a nosy busybody, and a clumsy snoop to top it all. Maybe Lila should arrest me, if for no other reason than to protect me from myself. Goodness knows jail’s where Bella needs to be. At the rate she was going, the killer would soon get her.
As soon as he—or she—finished me off.
11
“You owe me big time.”
“I’m sorry, Haley girl.” Bella’s sheepish look screamed how well she knew how much trouble she was in. “How could I know I was going to break a window and slip on rotten leaves, and that the Balis would run away?”
I bit my tongue to stop any snotty comment. A box in my trunk that had once held four gallons of paint served to cage the wildcats in the backseat. Then we got into my car, since Bella had taken her beasts on a walk over to Cissy’s.
“Huh? Aren’t you going to answer?” Bella is persistent. “How do you figure I’d know ahead of time all this was gonna happen? Huh? Mental telegraphy or something?”
“Gee, I don’t know, Bella.” I let the blooper go and tried to sit on my sarcasm. “Maybe the window was an out
-and-out accident, but anyone who skulks through shrubs has to know what kind of slippery goop lurks beneath.” And now covered my passenger seat. “As far as the Balis go? You have to expect the worst when they’re around. I’ve told you a million times. They’re a fur-covered threat to the universe.”
“Humph! You’re just anti-cat.”
“I have nothing against cats in general. It’s just your two beasts that make me nuts. Look.” I held out my bloodied arms. “See what your two ‘sweetie cats’ did to me? And all I did was try to keep them from becoming urban roadkill.”
“Okay, so you did catch Faux before that truck squished her.”
“I told you so.”
“No need to gloat.”
“No need to pretend they’re cherubs in fluff either.”
“But they only behave like this when you’re around. It’s your fault.”
Yeah, like smog is my fault too. “All right, already. Let’s call a truce. Your cats aren’t the most innocent around, and I have a rotten time around them. Agree?”
She mulled it over a couple of minutes. “Okay. Truce.” I breathed a sigh of relief. I love Bella. Even though she drives me up and down the wall. Now at least we could talk.
“How about you tell me why you want to break into Cissy’s house?”
“Gotta tell you, Haley girl. I really, really like Cissy. And things don’t look so great for her right now. With the murder, you understand.”
“You’ve gone out on a kinda lonesome limb with the murder suspicion.”
She scoffed. “What about that Larry guy? He thinks his mother got whacked.”
“Hey! Watch the language. That’s awful.” She really had to curb her cable news and Court TV habit. “Okay. So there’s the two of you.”
“Cissy’s sure Darlene got killed, and if you quit being Miss Snooty Pants, you’ll admit you think so too. You were the first one, remember?”
I couldn’t lie. “Okay. You’re right. I do think Darlene was killed. But why would you want to break into Cissy’s house?”
“Because I want to find something, anything that’ll show us one way or the other how she’s involved.”