Nip, Tuck, Dead

by Lori Avocato

  “How’d you know? That is uncanny!”

  “He comes here every year to get away. Long time ago I’d heard about how Jagger was on some sailing team out here. Guess he likes the water.” With that he shivered.

  I too had fears of drowning, so I was with Goldie on this one. “How come you never told me this?”

  Goldie’s forehead wrinkled. “Guess it never seemed pertinent to the conversation, Suga. When would I have worked in, ‘Oh yeah, Jagger heads to Newport every year for some sailing and seafood’?”

  “R and R he calls it.” I slumped back in my seat. “Actually let’s drop Jagger-”

  Goldie waved his hands. “No problem for me, Suga.”

  “Stop that. He’s not like cocaine for me. He’s not going to make me feel wonderful and then make me crash and burn. On to my case-”

  Marilee caught my eye. Damn, I had to watch what I said, although she looked engrossed in finishing her job.

  “Case of poison ivy. Any good cures, Gold?” I lied.

  He winked at me. “Calamine lotion. Give it a try.” He settled back to enjoy the rest of his pedicure, and I sat with my mouth shut until Marilee left with a polite goodbye.

  I hurriedly told Goldie about his appointment (which Ian had already sprung on him, I’m sure just to come visit Goldie earlier) and quickly segued into last night and the scratch on Ian’s neck.

  “Jesus, Suga. You think Ian killed Mr. Baines?”

  “No! I really don’t, but I’m guessing our little Ian does know something that could help my case. I just feel it in my female premonition gut.”

  Goldie and I never did figure anything out about last night, and before I knew it we were seated in the office of one Dr. Neal Forsyth-a real looker if I ever saw one.

  I told myself that Jagger was here, in town, in Newport, but then the doc gave me a big smile and I melted much like Arlene.

  I gave him a smile back and noted that his teeth were perfect, whiter than the proverbial snow-hey, he was a plastic surgeon for crying out loud and probably traded favors with the dentist. His hair was a deep black with more than specks of silver. Although there wasn’t a sign of age on the guy, he was graying before his time-and looked delicious.

  “So, Goldie. May I call you Goldie?”

  “Go for it.” Goldie leaned back in his chair.

  I had to smile to myself because it sure looked as if Gold was very comfortable with this doctor-as opposed to old Doc Cook, who was, in fact, not any older than Neal…Dr. Neal or myself. Thirtysomethings filled the room, although I will say, he acted older. More mature. Good for him. It was good that Goldie trusted him. That would make my conscience ease a bit.

  And, I had to admit, I didn’t mind working with this doctor-only because he was so much nicer than Cook!

  “Fine. We work as a team around here and divide up everything evenly. I hope it’s all right with you that I’ll be performing your surgery.”

  I think I moaned some kind of sexual tone.

  The way Goldie and the doc looked at me, I was sure that I had. I cleared my throat and chose to ignore that the guy made me hot. After all, Jagger was in town!

  Then again, that was such a long shot; I decided I’d be a wee bit friendlier with this Neal Forsyth. Why reach for the stars when you have a gimmee right in front of you. Pauline! What the heck was I thinking? I didn’t even know if he was married. I decided to look at the prospect of the good doctor as attainable.

  I scanned the room for family photos and, phew, there were none. No ring. Which was not unusual for a doctor. Many that I knew didn’t wear them because of surgery.

  The décor of the place said bachelor. Leather. Glass. Chrome. No wife in her right mind would let a guy decorate his office in a way that would make the female patients think single.

  “Is that all right with you, Nurse Sokol?”

  “Hm?” I looked up. Neal and Goldie were looking at me. “Call me Pauline,” flew out of my mouth.

  Neal merely smiled. Nice.

  Goldie winked.

  And I swallowed so loudly to buy myself time that the entire room shook. Okay, it didn’t but it sure felt as if it did. With all the decorum I could muster, I said, “I’m sorry? I didn’t get what you said before.” Because I was gawking at you.

  “I’d like Goldie to take a few more days of our healthy diet, which is very high in protein, exercise and take more advantage of the use of all the pampering of our facility to make sure he’s in excellent shape-although I have no doubt that he is.”

  I’m sure Goldie only heard “pampering.”

  “Is that all right with you, Gold? It will prolong your stay here.” I leaned forward.

  Doc Forsyth smelled good. Rich. Not that money influenced me, but the scent of rich was very sensual. I’d dated doctors before and found this to be true, unless they were penniless interns or residents. Then I had to focus on other things, like great sex.

  Suddenly my face felt flushed. Neal was looking at me while Goldie was thumbing through a brochure on the “facility.”

  “Warm this month. Isn’t it?” I wiped at my forehead. Sweat! I actually had sweat on it. Geez.

  Neal chuckled. “I’ll have Ian turn up the AC, Pauline.”

  I nodded and got up to hightail it out of there to save face. Before I could make it to the door, Neal said, “Oh, Pauline?”

  I swung around. “Hm?” He was right behind me! In my space. Now some women might find that unsettling, but I just thought-welcome. “Yes?”

  “Goldie tells me you are single.”

  My eyes widened in horror. Thank you very much my dear, dear friend, I thought. “Very busy career,” I lied.

  He laughed. “I hear you. But could I show you around Newport sometime?”

  Without a thought, I looked at my watch, then his hand covered it.

  “Tonight I have hospital rounds and am on call for several days, but maybe next week?”

  Oh hell. Did I seem too eager?

  One could only hope that crimson went well with gray eyes and blonde hair-and that single plastic surgeons were not astute enough to notice.

  Six

  I decided to head over to The Market and pick up something for lunch. Being a place the locals frequented, I decided to join them since the other day the food was wonderful. Besides, it wouldn’t hurt to sit around and “eavesdrop” on the locals.

  I had a feeling that Newport was a close-knit community-if you had the bucks to be included. Thus, the eavesdropping.

  Goldie had decided to go back to his room and “study” the brochure. I had to laugh, thinking he didn’t want to miss out a second on the pampering. The meals they had fixed him here were not only gourmet, but nutritious and exactly what the doctor had ordered.

  A butterfly darted inside my stomach-and not from hunger.

  I pushed the idea of Dr. Forsyth into the back of my mind as I headed out the front door. Ian wasn’t at his desk so I had to literally force my feet toward the door instead of toward his desk and valuable computer. This was going to be one of my more difficult cases, as far as trying to snoop around eagle-eyed Ian, I concluded, walking toward Bellevue Avenue. The good news was, it didn’t seem dangerous-to me anyway. Poor Mr. Baines might think differently.

  However, working by myself and having to do real nursing for my friend was proving more difficult. I pulled my shoulders straighter, turned onto Bellevue and hastened my pace.

  I would succeed at this case.

  And hopefully not die trying since every case I’d had so far ended up with me in some kind of hot water.

  Had to laugh inside my head at that thought. If I didn’t, I knew I might change my mind about the danger element. I concluded that staying at the lodge was more of a threat-from a ghost.

  And…Jagger.

  I nodded to a few women walking toward me. Of course, they’d given me odd looks since I had laughed out loud. Oh well, no one knew me around here.

  Once I passed the Tennis Hall of Fame, I got
to the end of the block and took a right onto Memorial Boulevard. The day had turned rather warm for the late spring, so I slowed my pace and in a few minutes noted the sign for The Market. Before I could turn into the driveway, a black Lexus limousine pulled up to the curb. The thing was so long it had to be the stretch version. I’d learned plenty about “real” cars from my uncle Walt, but limos were another story.

  For some reason, I paused to see who stepped out. Mentally I chastised myself for being so “touristy.” I usually didn’t get enamored of money or celebrity, yet I bent down and started tying and untying and retying my shoe just to waste time so I could watch.

  When I heard the car door close, I looked up in time to see Babette LaPierre and Daphne Baines walk into The Market.

  Damn!

  Now what? I wondered. They could be involved in the very fraud I’d come to investigate, and here I’d walked a good twenty minutes, was hungry enough to not even watch my carbs, and had to get back to do my jobs in a decent amount of time. I’d passed other small restaurants on Bellevue, but I was dying for the clam chowder from here, and besides, being waited on would take a lot longer.

  Oh, well. I stood, made sure the last thing I’d done was to retie my shoes, and then walked into the store. Neither woman was in sight at first and there was a line near the deli counter. Good. I walked over and got in place, noting the fantastic looking guy in what had to be a black Armani suit in front of me. Of course, I only noticed him to make sure the clerk knew I was next to get waited on.

  Yikes. The guy looked like someone who had stepped out of GQ.

  Tall, past the six-foot mark. Light hair with greenish eyes that spoke to you (I ignored my mother’s old teaching of don’t talk to strangers) and a build that said daily gym membership.

  I nodded and smiled at him while I ran my gaze around the store. I couldn’t see past the cash registers too well, but neither woman was near the produce. No great surprise. I couldn’t imagine Babette or Daphne doing any grocery shopping.

  When I leaned over to see the section of tables as best I could since there were shelves blocking the way, I bumped into the man. “Oh, excuse me.”

  He smiled. “Hey, baby, don’t sweat it.”

  My jaw dropped, but lately I’d gotten used to this phenomenon, so I quickly shut my mouth. Sometimes eye candy should not open their mouths.

  It really was amazing and, yes, probably biased on my part to be surprised that someone who looked like this guy would talk like that. Sounded more blue collar than Jeff Foxworthy. Not that there was anything wrong with being blue collar. My dad, uncle, and one of my brothers all fit into that classification. But what didn’t jibe, to me anyway, was the contrast of this guy’s looks, including clothes, and the way he talked.

  “Next?” the Irish clerk asked.

  “That’d be me, Red,” the guy said. He turned toward me and gave me a big smile. “Hope you’re not too hungry, babe, this could get complicated and take a while.” With that he laughed as if he’d told some hysterical, more than likely sexual joke.

  I swore I’d never judge a book by its cover again.

  Mr. Contradiction wasn’t kidding. The other clerk was busy doing a phone order, so I had to stand there and listen to the order, of tomatoes on the wrap, but no skin. Roast beef rare, but not too. Nothing with peanuts, but a dab of Beluga caviar and five black oil-cured olives on the side. Five, he repeated.

  I rolled my eyes and Mr. C went on and on and my stomach growled at him louder than a pit bull eyeing the rare beef.

  When he was done, he took his order and turned toward the table section. I ignored his comment of “Later” as I eased up to the counter and ordered my clam chowder. That was all the time I could waste here, but I knew it would fill me up until dinner.

  When the Irish girl, who I’d learned was named Sheila, handed me the take-out container, I thanked her, got my plastic spoon, bag of oyster crackers and a napkin. I turned toward the window to see Mr. C sitting with Daphne and Babette.

  Oh…my…God. Was he “man-made” like the two of them?

  After gawking at Mr. C and the two plastic surgery addicts, I decided I better get a table before my chowder got cold. Since I’d been so preoccupied with the threesome, I noticed several customers had just about filled up the small section of tables. The area wasn’t large by any means, so now I was stuck.

  There was, however, an empty chair to the back of Babette and one table over. Only one young girl sat at the table for four and she was reading the morning newspaper.

  In this job I had to learn to be assertive and not worry about what anyone thought about me, so I made my way over to the seat saying “Excuse me” several times as I bumped into diners in the close quarters.

  “Hi. Is this seat taken?” I asked.

  The girl looked up at me, looked around the room and said, “Uh hah.” With that she went back to reading.

  Perfect. At least I wouldn’t have to make empty conversation with her-and instead be able to eavesdrop my heart out. Now thankful that the place was crowded, that my chowder smelled heavenly, and that neither Babette or Daphne paid me any mind, I sat down, lifted the container lid off, ripped the plastic off my spoon and took a spoonful. It really was heavenly. Again the butter swam atop the liquid. I should have probably skimmed it off, but what the heck. I told myself this job was like a vacation. Who wouldn’t think that about swanky Newport?

  “Just the tip of my nose,” I heard Babette say.

  My forehead wrinkled. Surely that wasn’t dining conversation-except maybe for poor BDD sufferers. I wanted to swing around and shout that her nose was perfect and no one could improve on perfect, but I had to fill my mouth with a huge spoonful of clam chowder instead.

  I tried to lean back more but didn’t want to be obvious. Thank goodness there was a table full of jock boys between us. I guessed they were from Salve Regina, and they were eating half the deli in one swallow. Luckily they weren’t rowdy though. I could still hear Babette and sometimes Daphne talking.

  A few times she sounded a bit tearful, and I had to remind myself that although she was out to lunch with supposed friends, her husband died yesterday.

  Allegedly murdered. Yikes.

  One might assume she’d be home mourning-or at least dressed in darker clothes.

  But nope. Daphne wore a shocking pink set of slacks with a pink (exact shade) and white striped long-sleeve top. Her hair was pulled back into a chignon, which made her facial features (yes, perfect ones) stand out. Not to mention what it did for the gazillion carat diamond stud earrings that she wore. Wow.

  Accidentally I made a slurping sound that drew the girl at the table’s attention. “Oops. Sorry.”

  At first she looked annoyed, then she looked more-amused.

  I took that as a sign to speak to her. “Sorry again. I’m just so hungry and need to finish fairly soon.”

  “Where you nursing?”

  I was ready to ask how she knew I was a nurse then realized I had on my pink scrubs. “Oh, I don’t work around here. I’m only temporarily at Highcliff Manor doing private duty nursing. Only one patient.”

  “And a rich bitch I’m sure.” I noticed her knuckles whiten as she held the newspaper tighter.

  Hm. Interesting. “Actually a male and a sweetheart. I’m Pauline.” I held out my hand.

  She hesitated then released her life grip on the paper and shook, very weakly. “Lydia.”

  Hm, again. Why the hesitation?

  “Nice to meet you. This place is amazing for its food. Isn’t it? So, what is your favorite dish here?” I’d read a long time ago, to entice someone into a conversation, not to ask only questions that could be answered with a yes or no. Before she could answer, I noticed her look past me and frown.

  “The beef tenderloin,” she said in a matter-of-fact way.

  I tried to sweep my hair back with my hand to use the gesture to turn a bit. All I could see was Mr. C, glaring at Lydia. What the heck? I had to act fast and won
dered what Jagger would do in my position. Since I could never second-guess a Jagger-action, I said, “You know him?”

  She looked back at me. “Do you?”

  “Oh. No. I merely stood behind him in line. Took so long I thought I’d pass out from low blood sugar.”

  “Blood sugar?” She released the paper and let it fall to the table.

  I had to remind myself that Lydia was a kid. Geez, that made me sound so old. But she couldn’t be more than seventeen or so. Technically I could be her mom. Yikes. “Low blood sugar from being so hungry.”

  “Oh. That doesn’t surprise me.”

  I felt my forehead wrinkle again. Had she assumed I’d have low blood sugar? Did she even know what that was? What the heck was she talking about? I had learned from Jagger to get my facts straight, so I asked, “Excuse me? I’m not following, Lydia.” I set down my spoon and remembered that I had forgotten to get a free cup of water. No way was I going to get up now, in case Lydia might open up again or leave.

  She motioned with her head toward the threesome. “Him. Devin. Doesn’t surprise me that he’d push his way in front and take forever to order. Jerk. Selfish jerk.”

  Very interesting indeed!

  Seems that not only did Lydia know Mr. C, but she also wasn’t too fond of him. “Selfish jerk. Wow. That’s a pretty heavy accusation.”

  She looked at me. “It’s not an accusation. It’s a fact.”

  My heart started to race as it so often did when I was about to learn some tidbit of info for my case. I knew the feeling and this sure was it. One darling Lydia was about to spill her guts about the guy I suspected had made the rounds on the O.R. tables.

  Suddenly I wondered if my buddy Ian had snooped in on any of Devin’s cases. Had he frequented Highcliff Manor too? That was the more important question. This was getting very interesting because if Devin suffered BDD too, how was he paying for his surgery? Rich wife? Family inheritance?

  I looked up at Lydia. “Fact?”

  “The asshole is married to my aunt.” She started to rip edges of the newspaper off and leave them in little piles on the table.