Stella, Get Your Man

by Nancy Bartholomew

  “Well, if he’s a nut he’ll have to take a number. We’ve got enough psychos hunting us to populate a mental ward. All we can do is keep our guard up and make sure she’s safe.”

  “What about your case?” Spike asked.

  “Well, there are a few complications,” I began. “For one thing, our client isn’t who she says she is.”

  “But that’s not uncommon,” Jake added.

  “Told you she had bad karma, didn’t I?” Nina said to Spike.

  “So you’re still working for her?” Spike asked. The expression on her face clearly showed her disapproval.

  I shrugged. “I figure we find this missing brother of hers, but before we tell her about it, we make her tell us who she is.”

  Jake sighed. “Look, we’ve got ten thousand dollars, cash. I’ve got a call in to a friend of mine. If she can’t find out who we’re dealing with and assure me that this is on the up-and-up, I’ll be the first one to hand the money back, minus expenses and our daily fee, of course. For now, we need to keep looking.”

  Nina leaned back in her chair with a satisfied smile. “Does anyone at this table still doubt the need for a mission statement?” She slowly shook her head. “I think not.”

  I looked at her. “I think you need to go back to that library and see if you can’t find out something about Doug Hirshfield, like where he lives, or what happened to him after high school. This time you might consider at least looking in those archives.”

  “Has anybody looked in the phone book?” Spike said, pulling the book out of a drawer.

  “Been there,” I answered. “He’s not listed.”

  “Oh, well, it was worth a shot,” she said, putting the book away.

  “Okay, how about this,” I said. “I’ll take Nina back to the library so she can work her magic with the librarians and the archives. And I’ll go to the nursing home and see if I can learn more there.”

  Spike frowned. “They won’t release any information to you, you know. There are laws…”

  I smiled at her. “I know all about the laws. I’m just saying Mrs. May might be more clearheaded today.” But I was thinking the staff might be more careless if there was a distraction or two.

  I saw the gathering thundercloud of disapproval on Jake’s face.

  “Of course,” I added, “if you think we should do this another way, I can…”

  The storm blew over. “No, what I need to do I can do here while I’m keeping an eye on your aunt.”

  Spike sighed. “I can go with you to the nursing home, if you’d like,” she said. “Maybe you can find out what you need to know without, you know, breaking any laws.”

  I smiled at her. “You’re a sport, Spike. Trust me, the trauma of your former career as an assistant district attorney will one day fade into oblivion and you will be just as corrupted as the rest of us are.”

  Spike raised an eyebrow. “I sincerely hope not,” she said. “I intend to change the system from within.”

  “Virtuous,” I said, “but sometimes impractical. However, I will do my best to stay within the legal limits and confines of the law, for your sake.”

  I crossed my fingers under the table.

  Nina jumped up, looked at us still sitting around, and said, “Well, let’s get a move on. The library closes at five, you know.”

  I looked at my watch. “Nina, it’s only eleven. We haven’t even had lunch yet.”

  Nina smiled. “I know. But developing relationships takes time. I need to bond with my women.”

  I started to say something sarcastic but stopped. Nina had turned out to be a highly skilled investigator. Her methods were strange, but they were, so far, very productive.

  Spike and Nina went upstairs to gather up their coats and bags. Jake was leaning in the kitchen doorway and when I started past him, he reached out and grabbed me, pulling me close with a strong grip that said he meant business.

  “Listen, you be careful,” he said. “Joey Smack is gonna be pissed about us taking Lloyd back. And until we know more about our client…”

  “I thought you said…”

  “Never mind what I said. I’m checking her out.”

  I wanted to close my eyes, just for a moment, and step into his arms. The musky scent of him was intoxicating. I could feel him wanting me, could feel the raw energy that seemed to course between the two of us, and knew without a doubt that we would not wait much longer.

  “So you’re saying I’m right, we do need to check her out,” I murmured.

  Jake’s hand cupped my chin as he raised my head to meet his lips. My eyes closed. My skin tingled with the anticipation of his lips on mine.

  “You are such a smart-ass,” he whispered. “Always have to be right.”

  I brought my hands up to touch the sides of his face, felt the rough stubble of beard, and pulled him to me, kissing him hard, not caring that he knew how badly I wanted him.

  A low moan escaped from somewhere deep inside his chest and he gripped my shoulders. His tongue slipped inside my mouth, tasting me, exploring and promising. Only the sounds of Nina’s and Spike’s footsteps on the staircase kept us from losing complete control.

  Jake pushed me away, still gripping my shoulders, and looked deep into my eyes.

  “Be careful,” he said. “I have big plans for you later. I wouldn’t want you to mess them up by getting yourself in a jam.”

  I felt my stomach flip over as a shiver of anticipation reached every nerve ending in my body.

  “Don’t worry,” I whispered. “I might just have a few plans of my own.”

  “Do you now?” His eyes twinkled and a grin tugged at the corners of his mouth.

  “Oh, most definitely. If I were you, I’d rest up.”

  His eyes darkened dangerously. “Maybe you should be taking your own advice,” he murmured.

  Chapter 12

  By the time the others reached the living room, I was standing at the door, keys in hand, and Jake was nowhere to be seen.

  Nina gave me a knowing grin. “You are so not subtle,” she said, giggling.

  I felt my face redden. “Shut up.”

  I opened the door and was halfway out when I heard her tell Spike, “Look at her. She has beard burn on her cheeks. Five dollars says they get married.”

  Spike’s answer was lost as I ran down the steps to Jake’s truck. This was no time to be thinking about Jake Carpenter. We had work to do. I forced myself to return to cop mode, relying on the skills I’d built up over the past years to switch my mind back into a fighting, ever-vigilant professional attitude that had saved my life in the past and would protect all of us now.

  But even after I dropped Nina at the library and drove to the nursing home, I could feel Jake’s body on mine and taste him on my lips. My mind was on the case at hand, but my body belonged to him.

  Spike’s anxiety was what finally pulled me all the way back to the reality of our situation. She practically levitated off the truck’s bench seat, her body humming with paranoia.

  “Don’t worry,” I said. “This’ll be a piece of cake. Doug’s phone number is probably written down on a piece of paper next to her bedside table.”

  But of course, it wasn’t. First rule of private investigation: If it was right out in plain sight, if it was easy, they wouldn’t have hired you.

  “If it isn’t, we’ll just go to plan B,” I added.

  Spike frowned. “Plan B? Is plan B legal?” she asked, her tone edging into that of a professional attorney on the job.

  “Sure it is,” I said, mentally crossing my fingers.

  I pulled into a parking space.

  Spike hopped out of the truck, headed for the front door of the nursing home. I knew without asking that she didn’t have any faith in my ability to find Doug’s address, but that didn’t matter. Results were the only thing that mattered.

  The two of us slipped down the hallway, easily anonymous in the bustle of lunchtime preparations and medication checks. We couldn’t have pi
cked an easier time to visit Fred May’s mother. Carts carrying covered trays rolled slowly down the corridors. Nurses wearing brightly patterned scrubs sorted through drawers on other carts, pulling out pills and pouring water into cups. Spike and I plastered smiles on our faces and walked as if we knew where we were going, which, in fact, we did.

  I stopped outside of Mrs. May’s door and looked at Spike. Inside we could hear the sounds of the TV blaring out a game show.

  “She’s a little hard of hearing,” I cautioned.

  Spike’s eyebrow lifted. “So whatever we ask her will be broadcast down the hallway?”

  I shook my head. “Just ask if she’s seen Doug lately. That wouldn’t be out of place.”

  “But she doesn’t even know me,” Spike protested.

  I smiled. “Spike, she doesn’t know anybody. She won’t know she doesn’t know you. Just tell her you’re a friend of Doug’s.”

  Spike looked as if she was about to bolt and run, but from inside the room an announcer yelled “Come on down,” and I shoved her through the doorway.

  Mrs. May was absorbed in her program, her wheelchair pulled close to the set, her eyes glittering with excitement as a model in an evening gown spun a giant wheel.

  “Hey, sweetie,” I said, touching the woman’s shoulder. “Remember me?”

  Mrs. May looked up at us, momentarily confused, then smiled.

  “Why, of course I do, Maisy,” she said. “Where have you been?”

  I crouched down beside her wheelchair and pointed to Spike. “I brought an old friend of Doug’s by. I thought you’d like to tell her all about how he’s doing.”

  This brought an unexpected reaction. Tears formed in Mrs. May’s eyes and her face crumpled.

  “I can’t, honey,” she whispered. “He’s dead.”

  Spike took over, edging me out of the way with a sharp look of disapproval.

  “Here, sweetie,” she said. “Here’s a tissue.”

  She patted Mrs. May’s arm softly and I stepped back. Mrs. May had told us the same thing yesterday, only I thought she was confused. Now I wasn’t sure. Had both her sons died?

  I stepped over to the bedside table, looking for anything that would tell me who to contact in case of emergency, and found nothing. I slowly slid the drawer open and began inspecting its contents. Nothing. A hairbrush. A picture of an elderly man, probably Mr. May, and a small box of tissues.

  I slipped over to the dresser and pulled open the drawers one by one as Spike talked to Mrs. May about the game show. Again nothing. There was no indication that Mrs. May hadn’t dropped into her room from Mars, bringing only pictures and no identifying papers or documents. I had only one other option, her medical chart.

  I signaled to Spike. “Be right back,” I whispered.

  Her eyes widened with alarm. “Wait, I’m coming with you.”

  “Spike, I’m going to the nurses’ station. It’s the only way…”

  Spike nodded, her lips compressed into a tight line. “I know. I’m coming with you. I’ll distract them or something. Besides, if I don’t come, you might get caught, then where would I be?”

  “In the clear comes to mind.”

  Spike scowled. “Well, I can’t let you get locked up. Nina’d kill me.”

  I grinned at her. “And that scares you? I didn’t think anything scared Spike Montgomery.”

  Spike smiled, just a little bit, but nonetheless, it was a smile. “I didn’t say it scared me. I just like to keep her happy, that’s all.”

  I shook my head and walked out into the hallway. Up until now, I’d assumed Nina did far more worrying about what Spike thought and felt than Spike did about Nina. Obviously I’d been wrong. No great surprise; lately I’d been wrong about quite a few relationship issues.

  We approached the nurses’ station as if we owned it, Spike following my lead. The charts sat right behind the desk on a rolling rack, arranged in rows by room number. A few charts lay open on the desk where someone had been writing. People were everywhere, bustling up and down the hallway, in and out of rooms, but not behind the nurses’ station.

  I slipped around the counter, walked to the rack and grabbed the chart to room 131. Easy as pie. I stood for a second assessing the risk, determining my next move, and decided that walking off with the chart might call more attention to myself than just standing still and reading it.

  I leaned against the counter using Spike for cover and began to rifle through the pages near the front.

  “May I help you?”

  A tall, thin man wearing a multicolored scrub top stood just in front of Spike, bending his body like a Gumby doll in an attempt to see past her to me.

  Spike matched his contortions, leaning in closer to the counter and said, “No, I think we’ve got everything we need.”

  “Who are you?” the man asked.

  “Who are we?” Spike echoed. “No one told you?”

  This took him aback for a second. I flipped to the emergency-contact page and caught my breath. Doug Hirshfield wasn’t dead after all. He was apparently quite well and living right here in town.

  “Um,” I said, poking my head around Spike’s thin shoulders, “I could use a pen and a piece of paper. How about that notepad?”

  I indicated a notepad by the man’s elbow and was amazed when he turned and handed it to me.

  “Marge Adams,” I said, smiling. “Blue Cross, Blue Shield?”

  Spike nodded, catching on. “Chart audit,” she whispered. “Routine but completely unannounced. Regulations, you know.”

  The man nodded, fingers toying with the ends of his stethoscope nervously. “How’s it look?” he murmured.

  I scribbled the address and phone number down hastily while Spike fielded the question.

  “Well, according to the HIPPA guidelines, there may be a few problems. For one thing, these charts just sitting out here where anyone could read them…”

  “Oh, man. I knew it.”

  I pinched Spike’s side softly. “Done,” I whispered.

  “We’ll be in touch with the results in a few weeks,” Spike said calmly. “Thank you for your patience.”

  As we walked away I could hear the guy behind us hastily rolling the chart rack back against the far wall.

  We kept our pace brisk but unhurried, heading toward the exit and freedom.

  “I hope that was worth it,” Spike said.

  “Completely. Hey, where’d you get all that stuff you were spouting back there?”

  Spike shrugged and the beginnings of a smile tugged at the sides of her mouth. “It’s just attorney stuff,” she said. “I know a few phrases that pertain to almost every area of the law, just enough to make it sound like I know more than I do.”

  “Well, thank God,” I said, passing through the exit and into the relative safety of the parking lot. “’Cause we got Doug Hirshfield’s name and address out of that little dog-and-pony show.”

  “So is that where we’re going now?” The excitement in Spike’s voice was obvious. She’d had one adventure and was ready for more.

  “Nope. Next we check in with Nina, and then we talk to Jake and see what he’s found out about our client. You know, there’s always the possibility that Doug Hirshfield isn’t even the man we’re looking for.”

  “But I didn’t find any other record of—”

  “I know, but we need to approach this thing cautiously. We don’t even know who our client is yet.”

  Spike sighed, disappointed, and climbed up into the cab of the truck.

  I started up the truck and pulled out of the nursing home’s parking lot. I was as anxious as Spike to find out more, but there were too many other questions to answer first.

  “Why don’t you call Nina on her cell and see if she’s ready to be picked up. Maybe she’s found out something interesting.”

  Spike pulled her phone out of her bag and began dialing. I drove slowly in the direction of the library, casually inspecting the homes we passed and trying to imagine Surf
side Isle in the busy summer season.

  “Already?” I heard Spike say. “Okay, we’ll be there in a minute.” Spike laughed. “I know, that’s a new world record for you, isn’t it?”

  Spike flipped the phone shut and turned to me. “She says she’s done, and not only that, she has something to show us that will bust this case wide open.”

  “‘Bust this case wide open.’ She actually used those words?”

  Spike laughed. “Yeah, she watches a lot of TV. But she sounds pretty excited, even for Nina.”

  I made the turn onto the block where the library was and caught a flash of white in my rearview mirror. As we rolled to a stop and Nina came walking toward the truck, the white Lincoln Town Car swung into view.

  “Spike, tell Nina to hurry. We’ve got company.”

  Spike threw open the door and yelled, “Nina, run!”

  Nina froze for a moment, eyes wide, and then turned her head slightly, aware now of the white car. She broke into a run, crossing the short distance to the truck and half hurling herself up into the cab. I tromped on the gas pedal and we were off, the Lincoln close on our tail.

  “Is it Joey Smack?” Nina cried.

  I glanced in the rearview mirror and spotted Cauliflower Ear at the wheel. “Yep,” I answered. “Hold on.”

  I wrenched the wheel hard to the left, cut a sharp U-turn and tore off away from the library and closer into town.

  “How’re we going to lose them?” Spike asked.

  “We’re not.” I said. “There’s no way to lose them. The island’s too small.”

  I shot past Marti’s Café, cut right, rounded the block and came out in front of the courthouse.

  “Now what?” Nina yelled.

  “Watch.”

  I turned left again, cut behind the courthouse and made a beeline for the low-slung white brick police department. The Lincoln was barely a car length behind us.

  “He’s sticking a gun out the window!” Nina screamed.

  I drew even with the police department, jumped the curb and drove right up to the double glass doors that marked the department entrance.

  The look of surprise on Cauliflower Ear’s face was priceless. He turned, said something to his short friend and the gun was abruptly withdrawn from view. Cauliflower gunned the engine, the Lincoln shot off, only to come to a screeching halt halfway down the block. The street was blocked by Tom’s unmarked police car.