One Dead Under the Cuckoo's Nest (2 page)

My heart flipped like an Olympian off the high dive with only a tenth of a point to go to win the gold.

I looked at the envelope. Jagger had given me a birthday present. I touched it gently as if it were made of precious eggshells. With my mind still on the envelope, I heard his words.

Trust me.

Those fateful words must have been spoken to many a victim throughout the ages.

“Pauline, come in here. You have guests,” my mother called through the window she'd opened and then quickly shut, before I could answer her.

I rolled my eyes. Guests. All I had was family and my two best friends in the world. I started up the steps and then remembered . . . I had Nick!

Oh . . . my . . . God.

I'd forgotten Nick. And Nick liked me. Nick had actually asked me out, and I think, at least one time, he'd said that he liked me. I stuck Jagger's envelope inside my blouse. I didn't have pockets long enough in my jeans and figured it may be a present that shouldn't be bent, folded or mutilated.

I had to stop thinking about Jagger.

Once inside, my mother said, “Did Mr. Jagger leave?”

Damn. Even
she
couldn't stop thinking of him.

I sat back down next to Nick and leaned closer. He turned and kissed my lips. Yikes. It felt better than an envelope next to your breast.

From the corner of my eye I noticed my mother's eyebrows rise, and then she motioned for my father to look. Daddy licked frosting from his fingertips and nodded at me.

Great. At the age of thirty-five, I got approval from my parents for a kiss. What would they do if they knew Nick and I were sleeping together? That was a rhetorical question, by the way, since we actually hadn't progressed to that stage in our relationship yet.

But I was open-minded.

“Pauline, I asked you if Mr. Jagger left,” Mother repeated.

I nodded. “Yes, Mother,
Mr.
Jagger left. He said to say thank you.” Okay, he said no such thing, but my mother liked him so much I thought I'd make him sound polite.

My nephew Wally, my sister Mary's kid (Mary was going to be a nun at one time, but had chosen married life with kids thrown in to boot instead—after the good sisters had put her through college. Yikes.), shouted, “Open your presents, Auntie Pauline!”

I looked at Mary, dressed very much like the modern nuns. She always dressed in plain skirts and plain blouses, and I swear she sometimes wore a veil when home alone. I truly think she missed her calling. “Okay. Will you kids help me?”

A million nieces and nephews descended on my stack of loot. Well, at my age, the stack wasn't too big. Mostly envelopes and two fancy birthday bags, which I knew had come from Goldie and Miles. I touched the envelope inside my blouse. I probably should stick it in the pile, but decided it might have something in it that I didn't want the kids to see—or Nick.

Nick likes me. Nick likes me. Nick likes me!

Lately that had become my mantra to wash away “Jagger” thoughts and keep our relationship strictly business. Speaking of business, I groaned inside at the thought.

Scrubs.

Nursing.

Damn.

Wally held up a gift certificate to the local Stop and Save. Had to be from my parents. My mother thought I didn't eat enough and probably never cooked. Okay, I ate lots of takeout and was a confessed lover of hospital food. I figured no one could call me desperate until I started liking airline food.

Next was a check from Uncle Walt, my savior. He'd loaned me money on more than one occasion, which helped me get my new career started. Wally said there was four zeros on it, which meant Uncle Walt had either given me a hundred dollars or ten thousand, and Wally wasn't counting the cents.

I looked at the brightly colored birthday bags and turned to Goldie and Miles before even opening them. “Thanks, you guys. You didn't have to.”

Miles reached over and took a bag. “Okay, I'll return it.”

I grabbed it back. “No way in hell.”

Mother clucked her tongue. “Pauline Sokol. There are children in the room.”

“Sorry, Mother,” I said when I could have argued that “hell” in itself was not a bad word. Maybe if I had kids I'd feel differently.

I pulled the ribbon off the first bag and reached inside. Something soft and silky touched my fingers. I grabbed it and pulled it out. “Oh, my God!”

“Pauline!”

“Okay, I'll give you that one, Mother. Sorry. But, this is so . . . sexy!”

“Pauline!”

I looked at my mother's wild eyes and decided against giving her a lecture that sex was a normal (and damn fun) human experience and my nieces and nephews probably knew more about it than she did, but instead I said, “Sorry. Sorry. Sorry.”

I held up the bright green camisole top from Miles. Then, I noticed Nick's eyes light up. That'a guy Miles. He sure knew how to buy a present.

“Hurry up, Suga. I can't wait!”

“Okay, Gold. Calm down.” I took his bag and shook it. “Hmm, let's see. A car?”

He and Miles laughed.

“No? All right.” I squeezed the bag. “A new condo!”

Goldie grabbed the bag. “You'll be thirty-six by the time you open it.”

My hand flew to my chest. I really thought I was having chest pains at that thought. In the meantime, Goldie had pulled out his present from the bag.

“Here, Suga!”

I looked at the lovely beaded necklace—and my face caught on fire. I couldn't look at Nick because the necklace was an exact replica of one that I'd borrowed from Goldie one time—and in the throes of passion with Nick, the beads exploded—and Nick and I didn't.

I leaned over and kissed Miles and Goldie. “You guys are the best.”

Nick reached into the pocket of his chocolate suede jacket. He pulled out a little box. “Open mine next.”

Jewelry. Damn.

I really wasn't the jewelry type.

It kinda hurt that Nick didn't know that. Despite the kids' fussing, I took it to open it myself. Slowly I pulled the red ribbon and started to lift the top off of the box.

Nick leaned over. “Happy Birthday, Pauline.”

Some days I wished Nick had some kind of pet name for me. Not a donut though.

I kissed his cheek and pulled the top of the box off. A key chain. Not any key chain but one with a black remote box that I figured locked and unlocked my Volvo's doors. It also had a panic button on the top. Maybe Nick thought I'd need that in my line of duty. (Guess he knew me well enough not to buy me a gun, since I could hurt myself or someone else, having a history of shooting an elevator—twice.) I smiled at him. “This is a perfect gift, Nick. Really perfect.” And it was. It was Nick's and my relationship.

The
envelope
poked into my skin.

As soon as everyone left, I kissed Nick appropriately, and he also appropriately said he'd call me—and I knew he would.

Then, unable to wait to open the envelope until I got back to the condo, I ran into the bathroom. I was worse than a kid on Christmas morning.

I slipped the envelope out of my blouse and stared at it. Then I told myself I was so interested because it came from the mysterious Jagger. That was it. He wasn't the giving-birthday-presents type. No, Jagger was so different, in a wonderful, mysterious, sexy sort of way that I couldn't imagine what he had slipped into this white envelope.

My fingers shook. Pausing, I reached for Mother's can of Renuzit air freshener, sprayed, inhaled and felt a bit of comfort. Her overuse of the pine scent (throughout my entire life) had led me to an addiction. It'd become a nostalgic salve for my soul. Inhaling, I held the envelope to the light to see what I could.

Nothing.

I felt stupid and swore I'd never let anyone know how foolish I was, shaking, inhaling and gingerly tearing at the seam to open it. The silence of the room filled with the
drip drip
of the sink faucet and the singing of the paper tearing.

Then, I pulled the envelope open.

Papers. It was filled with papers.

I looked up and saw the reflection in the mirror of some writing on the back of the envelope. So, I turned it over before I took out the papers.

Monday morning. Nine sharp. Front of your office. Dress in blue scrubs. Don't bring a purse.

Jagger's handwriting.

Jagger's instructions about the case.

His
stupid case.

He had to ruin my birthday present by writing directions on the back. I seethed for a few seconds then let inquisitiveness take over.

I yanked at the papers.

Holding them up in front of me, I read the first few words.

And cursed.

Big time!

I leaned against the blue sink in my parents' bathroom and let out a string of more curse words—some I don't think have ever been used in any X-rated videos yet. Then I sprayed my mother's Renuzit again and inhaled. I didn't actually inhale the spray as it dotted the air, more like breathed in a bit of the scent. Usually that familiar fragrance calmed me.

Not now though.

The papers dangled in front of my eyes. But it wasn't Jagger's handwriting on these papers.

It was slimy Fabio's.

Case #3. Psychiatric fraud. Fabio was going on a trip to the Mohegan Sun casino, so he'd written info on picking up the file at eight Monday morning. I hoped he lost his brown polyester shirt and brown polyester pants on the slot machines. Then I thought it really wasn't fair to wish bad luck on Fabio.

He was giving me my third case. Another chance to earn some much-needed money.

I looked down at the envelope and sighed. Jagger'd made it seem as if this was a birthday present. Or, had my thirty-five-year-old mind had a moment of insanity and foolish hopefulness, and I only
wished
it were?

I had to reign in my Jagger-thoughts.

Pauline Sokol, medical insurance fraud investigator, was about to solve another case—and hopefully this time I wouldn't almost get killed.

It'd happened before—twice.

“You're going to be late, Suga!”

As Goldie called out to me a few more times, I looked at myself in the mirror. My undies were pink today to match the bra. Not that I thought anyone would be seeing them unless I, God forbid, got into an accident, but I stood there in my room partially undressed because I didn't want to don my
scrubs.

They lay on the bed looking so very blue and innocent.

Wearing them meant going back to a career I'd burned out on after a long thirteen years. Oh, it had been fulfilling and what I was cut out for at the time, but nursing was a tough job. Emotions got involved. Skills had to be tweaked constantly. And the hours were murder. I'd be another gazillionaire if I had a penny for every time I'd had to do shift work while my friends partied. Weekends. Nights.
Holidays.

I'd had it.

The scrubs glared at me.

I cursed Jagger with one of those X-rated curses I couldn't believe I even knew. My mother would be in the confessional on my behalf if she heard my language or at the very least she'd have the priest over to “exorcise” me.

“Suga!”

I grabbed the top of the scrubs. “Be right there, Gold.” Goldie was a fellow investigator at my firm, so he'd offered to give me a ride to work today since my Volvo was in for a much-needed tune up. I didn't exactly have a lot of liquid assets, so until I got paid, the car just might be held hostage by Tony the mechanic. Tony was an old friend and ex-patient and gave me good deals, but even good deals needed cash for payment, and I hated owing friends.

The bottom of the scrubs glared at me. “Stop it!” I shouted. “Just 'cause Jagger needs help, doesn't mean I have to like wearing you.” Admittedly I was glad to have been “instructed” to wear the drab blue since it seemed to be a “mourning” color.

Anxious to see the file about my case, I ignored my outfit in the mirror, grabbed my purse and headed down the stairs.

Goldie sat in the white beanbag chair holding Spanky, a shih tzu-poodle mix weighing in at five pounds and eight ounces, although lately the little pooch tipped the scales closer to eight and had to be put on a diet. Miles and I were co-owners of the dog. Since Goldie had recently moved in, we allowed him to adopt a third of little Spanky. At this rate, we'd get more pet for our money with a school of goldfish.

But we all made wonderful doggie stepparents.

I slumped down on the white sofa.

Goldie looked at me. “You look gorgeous, even though I know that outfit is killing you.”

“I feel as if I have on a second skin. One that I'd shed months ago and did not want back. More like snakeskin.”

Last night I'd told him about Jagger needing my help, since Jagger hadn't said to keep my mouth shut. Besides, I could trust Goldie and Miles with my life. Whenever I mentioned Jagger though, Goldie always gave me some kind of lecture. This time it was “Jagger's like chocolate. He'll make you feel on top of the world—then mess your hips up at the end. But you can trust him with your life.”

And trust him I did.

If I sat down and analyzed why, I'd probably be shocked to realize that I shouldn't, in fact, trust him. But I did, and that made my learning this job a hell of a lot easier—and safer.

On the way to the office, Goldie and I stopped to get coffee at Dunkin Donuts. That was Jagger's and my “hangout.” Whenever we had business to discuss, we headed there. He always ordered for me without asking since, I admit, I am not one for change. Hazelnut decaf, light and sweet. French cruller. That was me.

Jagger was black coffee sans donut.

Most mornings at the office, Goldie would fix me his New Orleans favorite of chicory coffee with hot milk and plenty of sugar. But since I had to be there so early, he needed the caffeine on the way.

“Any idea what Fabio has for you today, Suga?” Goldie pulled his banana yellow sixties Camaro into a space outside our office building.