[Sign Behind the Crime 01.0] Gemini

by Ronnie Allen

  John met the firm hand shake. “John Trenton, nice to meet you.”

  Marin cut right to the point, not mincing words. “You better be a gentleman with my daughter. I put the bad guys in jail.”

  “That’s why I’m still single, by the way,” she said.

  Good to know. “Well, I keep the bad guys out of jail and put them in mental hospitals.”

  “You a lawyer?”

  “Forensic psychiatrist.”

  “Ah. Consider yourself warned. Have fun, but not too much.” Marin walked off before John could respond.

  “So he drives around in those Dodge Chargers marked Sheriff? Isn’t he getting a little too old for that?”

  “Those are his deputies.”

  “Deputies? What is this, the Wild West?”

  She was insulted. “My father is an elected official, the top elected position in the county.”

  “Highest official? Like a police commissioner?”

  “Yup. Top cop.”

  Damn, I just can’t get away from it. “In New York, the police commissioner is selected by the mayor.”

  “It’s still top cop. And my father doesn’t appreciate being talked to like that, so you’re on thin ice already.”

  “So what else is new? I’m not going to worry about it.” He can’t watch us all the time. “You really care about those little kids don’t you? I liked the way you spoke to his mother.”

  “Thank you, darlin’.”

  ***

  John and Vicki, both wearing shorts and tank tops, entered The Country Ranch, the rustic country restaurant that prepared all of the regional southern favorites with Willie Nelson music playing to enhance the country atmosphere. The rustic feel resonated with John. It was completely wood paneled with comfortable booth seating and wrought iron light fixtures on the walls. Expired license plates for decoration, and art and crafts for sale by local artisans added to the rustic feel. They were escorted to a booth by the hostess, who wore jeans and the restaurant’s T-shirt. “Enjoy ya dinner, folks.”

  Their gazes cascaded over each other’s bodies and Vicki’s baby blues sparkled when she examined his biceps and pecs. He interpreted that to mean she wanted his arms wrapped around her. And he--he wanted to caress “the girls.” She giggled when she noticed where his eyes settled.

  To prevent her blushing again, John turned away and examined their surroundings. He stared at piled-high plates of food brought to the tables and fixated on one particular plate set down in front of a forty-something guy. “What’s that?” He grimaced. “That looks disgusting.”

  “Sausage gravy over biscuits and cheese fries. It’s delish. Want to try it?” she asked, teasingly.

  “No! That’s a heart attack waiting to happen.” He stiffened as he read the menu and dismissed the county favorites, reading them one by one. “Louisiana creole shrimp and grits; fried chicken and waffles with heavy syrup; turkey with corn bread stuffing, garlic mashed potatoes, and string beans sautéed in bacon fat; sausage meat loaf; coconut fried shrimp over creole rice; eighteen ounce chopped steak with fried onion straws, stack of onion rings; country fried steak.” He scowled at it all. “What are you having?”

  “The AUCE ribs. They’re amazing here.”

  “AUCE?”

  “All you can eat. Want to share?”

  “Don’t think so,” he answered without missing a beat.

  The server, a gal in her twenties, appeared. “What can I start y’all off with to drink?”

  “An unsweet ice tea, light ice, no lemon.”

  “And for you, sir?”

  “The same thing but with ice and extra lemon, thanks, and I think we’re ready to order.”

  “Okay, what will it be?”

  “I’m having the AUCE ribs, garlic mashed with bacon, and salad, ranch dressing on the side. And the sweet rolls, please,” Vicki said.

  John scowled at her for her choice.

  She scowled back. “And extra cinnamon butter, please.” She pursed her lips and gave him a corner of the eye stare.

  “And for you, sir?”

  “Rotisserie chicken, baked yam, salad with Italian on the side.”

  “Thank y’all.”

  She returned moments later with their drinks and a basket of fresh, right out of the oven, piping-hot, steaming sweet rolls, and two-ounce cups of cinnamon butter. “Enjoy, y’all.”

  “Thank you. They make them from scratch here.” Vicki helped herself to one, almost dropping it. “Yikes, that’s hot.” She tore the soft, fragrant roll apart, gently collapsing it in her fingers, and spread a tiny amount of cinnamon butter on a small piece. Then, with the smile of a temptress, she slipped it into her mouth, enticing him. “That’s so good.”

  “Now who’s starting?” He enjoyed her playfulness. He adored her softness and innocence. She was angelic. He grabbed a roll, ripped it apart, spread it with the butter, and popped it into his mouth. “Oh God, this is good. Really good.” He downed the remaining part of the roll in less than a minute. He could relax with her, not be on edge. He could just be a man with Vicki without the tough upscale image he had to uphold in New York.

  Their dinners arrived and her plate overflowed with the ribs and enough mashed potatoes for a few heavy-weight Sumo wrestlers. “You’re going to eat all that? Don’t you even think it. And you needed the extra bacon? Really?”

  “John, I didn’t start yet, and the calories only count if you consume them. And I just like a little of the bacon for flavor. And--who died and left you my boss?”

  “We’ll see how much of it you eat.”

  “So you only eat healthfully all the time?”

  “Ninety-five percent. I work too hard in the gym, but I’m sure tempted to make an exception down here.”

  He dove into the chicken while she teased him with the ribs. She broke one apart from the rack on her plate. The meat fell apart with her touch, and the tangy and sweet sauce spread onto her fingers and around her lips. She nibbled on a rib, moaning with satisfaction. Bite by bite, the meat came off the bone as she devoured it. Then she slowly licked it down to its barren white core with her saucy tongue and held the bone by her teeth as it dangled from her lips, giving him the distinct signal that she was ready to be consumed by him, tonight. He didn’t need to be psychic to understand that one.

  Laughing, he dug into her plate with his fork and helped himself to two ribs. “You better feel honored. I don’t play ‘Have Fork Will Travel’ with just any woman.”

  The owner of the restaurant, a woman in her forties, approached the table. “Hi, Miss Vicki! How are y’all enjoying dinner? Everything yummy?”

  “It’s very yummy, Sally, thank you.”

  “And you, sir?”

  “Very good. Thank you.”

  “Good. Send my regards to your father.” Sally walked off to another table.

  “I will. Thanks.”

  “Do you come here often?”

  “Yes, but everyone here in the county knows me.”

  “Ah, the sheriff’s daughter. Okay.”

  “Does that bother you?”

  “No. Not at all.” But deep down inside, he was knocked off his throne.

  “Betcha just can’t eat just those two. These are addicting.”

  He chomped on the ribs without taking his enraptured eyes off her. “Oh man, these are good. Order more. I can see how my father gained so much weight down here.” He winked at her and she blushed again. “You really have to tell me what that’s all about later.”

  “What what’s all about?” She knew darn well. She stopped dead in the middle of salivating on a rib, receiving his signature look.

  CHAPTER 20

  Present Day:

  “How’s my girl?” John asked Gladys as he approached the nurse’s station, knowing today would be a rough one, based on what he planned. Gladys had been observing Barbara who was reading an issue of Glamour Magazine. Another nurse, Mary, late fifties, was with Gladys doing paperwork at the desk. Otherwise, the unit
was quiet. Barbara was the only patient in an observation room.

  “She’s calm today, Dr. Trenton. She let the techs take blood this morning without incident, and both results are in her file. And the Valium you prescribed got her through the MRI, PET, and CAT without too much difficulty. The results didn’t come up yet, though.”

  “Too much difficulty?”

  “A lot of whining, but she was too relaxed for an aggressive outburst. They managed to keep her still for the scans.” Gladys handed the file to him. “And she’s been asking for you all morning.”

  “Thank you. Did she say why?” He sat down, eager to learn the results. Opening the file, he read every detail, nodding his head as his expectations were confirmed. He had a lot more on his hands than he’d bargained for. Some small favor Carlson had asked of him. The additional information he wanted was on the second page. As he turned the page, Gladys pointed out the item he had specifically asked for.

  “No. She didn’t tell me why. You know what you have to do now, don’t you?”

  “Believe me, I know very well. How late will you and Mary be here?”

  “Four.”

  “I want you both on stand-by.”

  “Yes, Dr. Trenton.”

  “Okay, here we go.”

  ***

  John stood at the door of Barbara’s room, taking a moment to reflect upon what he wanted to accomplish today. He wondered what kind of battle he’d encounter. She was one dame he didn’t understand yet. “Good afternoon.”

  “It’s about time you got here.”

  “It’s only noon and I have other patients to see as well. Why the rush?”

  “I want to do what we have to do so I can get out of here tomorrow.”

  He walked to the chair on the window side of the room. “Correction, the day after tomorrow. Today is the second day. And, yes, we have a lot to do. So are you telling me you’re going to cooperate?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. Because this afternoon I’m meeting with Lieutenant Carlson and the team, and we’re going over everything. And what we do here, I’m bringing with me, so if we can make sense of it, that will mean an expedient release for you on Thursday.”

  “And if you can’t make sense of it?”

  “I’m hoping we can, so let’s cross that bridge when we get to it. Okay? I’ll share everything with you tomorrow.” She agreed. “I want to go over your blood tests results.” He sat in the chair and made himself comfortable.

  She propped herself up, with her legs crossed, facing him. “What’s wrong?”

  “Actually, there are several imbalances we need to address and take care of.”

  “But I take very good care of myself.”

  “You think you do.” He scanned the file as he talked to her. “Your serotonin level is very low, much lower than the normal range of 101-282. That could be why you go into aggressive behavior so quickly along with the anxiety attacks. You’re low in Tyrosine, GABA, Taurine, Inositol, Choline, all the B vitamins, zinc, Omega-3 fatty acids, magnesium. There are trace mineral imbalances and toxic metals. You have high blood histamine and lead. Your blood glucose is elevated, as are your triglycerides. You’re just below diabetic, but if you don’t watch your carb intake, you can progress into that. And your blood sugar can drop too low as well.”

  Her temper soared. “You’re kidding me, right? You’ve seen my body! Do I look like I need to lose weight?”

  “Angry already? Noted. And for what reason? See what I mean?” He stared her down. Barbara gasped and lowered her eyes. “It has nothing to do with weight, not in your case, anyway. No, you don’t need to lose weight, but I’m going to teach you the carbohydrate exchange system so you’ll know how many carb units you need to maintain your weight without spiking your blood sugar. Okay? And I’m going to add nutritional supplementation. I’d prefer to do it through an IV if you’d allow it.”

  She commenced her little-girl-whining routine. “I exercise like crazy. I don’t need to do all that.”

  “Would you rather I start you on anti-psychotic medications?”

  “No!”

  “Didn’t think so. What do you eat? Do you cook yourself well-balanced meals?”

  “Honestly, no. I’m so busy, I eat a lot of fast food. Chinese. Italian. I figure I burn off the calories.”

  “Fried, greasy, empty calories? Come on, you’re an intelligent woman. Just go with me here. When was the last time you had a panic attack? Aside from with me?”

  She lowered her guard and finally admitted a truth. Her aura lightened. “A couple of weeks ago. I had a meeting in the city for a grant, and driving through the Hugh L. Carey Tunnel always gives them to me.”

  “What do you feel?”

  “Breathing is hard. I perspire. I get dizzy, headaches, heart palpitations, stomach cramps, jittery, nausea. You name it. I get it.”

  “Apprehension?” Nod. “Confusion?” Nod. “Anger?” Nod. “Lightheadedness? Leg cramps?”

  “That’s a big one! While driving, that’s no fun.”

  “That’s your magnesium deficiency. What time was this?”

  “Around four.”

  “When did you eat lunch?”

  “Around noon.”

  “Your blood sugar dropped. Your fear caused an out poring of adrenalin, which caused sugar in your body to pour into your blood to give you energy. Very simply put, you used it up. Too much adrenalin can bring on the attack. And you needed to eat to balance the insulin that’s being produced, or blood sugar drops too low. Next time, eat healthful foods before you go. Nothing white.” Her confused look forced him to explain. “No white flour, no sugar, no milk, no white rice, try to eliminate dairy. Understand?”

  “Nothing white? That’s too hard. No.”

  “You have to do it. Sugar imbalance does create mood swings and you’ve got them. I’ve seen that first hand. And serotonin is a major factor in aggression responses. Something physiological is causing your erratic behavior. And you should be happy about that because it’s an easy fix. Well, only easy if you follow it. I’m ordering a low carb, high in fiber, and low fat diet for you while you’re here, and I want you to continue this when you leave. We’ll check your sugar a few times a day. So how about it? Can I start an IV?”

  “No IV, but I will take supplements orally.”

  “Okay, I’ll give you that one. Only because I wouldn’t want you to pull it out if you go into a rage. What do you do for exercise?”

  “I dance a lot.”

  “What kind?” He wrote everything down in her file, verbatim.

  “Ballet and modern dance.”

  “Where?”

  “At a dance studio near my apartment.”

  “For how long and how many sessions a week?”

  “A couple of hours and two to three times a week.”

  “Did you tell Carlson this?”

  “Yes. He thought this might have originated from there.”

  “Did he check it out?”

  “I don’t think he checked out a damn thing!”

  Her defiant attitude struck an unpleasant chord within him, but he remained official-sounding and spoke in a monotone voice. “What’s the name of the studio?”

  “Marigolds Dance Studio. I bring my own music and pay monthly for the use of the room, consistent times and days.”

  “Good. Very good. Now...” He smiled at her, knowing she hid more than she let out. “Where else do you dance?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I’m guessing you dance somewhere else, too.”

  “What?”

  “Come on. Honesty, here. You’re cooperating, remember?” He just glowered at her, observing a change in breathing, nervousness setting in. She looked away in avoidance.

  “Okay, Dr. Clairvoyant. Where do you think I dance?”

  “You really want me to answer that?”

  “Yes. I do. Because you’ll be wrong”

  “You asked for it. Judging from the way you weren’t shy bein
g all exposed in your tantrum when the blood techs were here yesterday and those uh...” He had to think of a way to keep it professional. “...extravagant boots, your toned legs, and your guarded behavior, I’d say you’re an exotic dancer in a strip club on the lower west side. Can’t be the east because of zoning laws. How did I do? And I didn’t even need to be clairvoyant.”

  “Oh, my God!” She flipped over on her stomach on the bed. “Go away. I’m not talking to you anymore.”

  “Cooperation lasted less than fifteen minutes. Just what I expected. What’s the name of the club?”

  “John, I can lose my job.”

  “First, I didn’t give you permission to address me by my first name. Second, you should have thought of that before.”

  He approached her and untied the top of the hospital gown.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Relax. You’re a bundle of tension. Let me work some of this out.” He applied pressure to her shoulders and the base of her neck, focusing on the upper and middle trapezius fibers and splenius capitis in the neck.

  “Oh God, that feels so good.”

  John pressed harder on the cervical armor area to get her to emote. “Breathe, inhale, and exhale deeply. Got to break up this tension. This is the anger center. All gets lodged in here.” She breathed deeply and seemed to be relaxing. “What’s the name of the club?” he asked again.

  “Do we have doctor patient privilege?”

  “Not in this case. Look, Barbara, the nut you say is chasing you could have come from there.”

  “I can’t tell you. That hurts!”

  He bent down closer to her while he continued to press on the points in her neck. “I know. I have to work deep. Look, Carlson and his team are experts. They know what they’re doing. All they have to do is take that boot to a few clubs, and they’ll find it. May take them a day, but they’ll find it. So if you tell me now, it’s less work for them, and Thursday’s release won’t have to be delayed because they didn’t get the information they need.”

  She began to cry. Then she whimpered which turned into sobbing.