One Dead Under the Cuckoo's Nest (6 page)

I let out a long sigh. “The reason, Jagger. What the hell is the reason I am locked up here against my will?”

This time he started to shake his head, but stopped and said, “You won't be here long if you cooperate.”

Typical Jagger. Even when I was being held hostage in a whacko hospital, he wouldn't tell me why. I folded my hands across my chest. That's when I realized I didn't have on my bra (The nuns took it so I wouldn't hang myself with it, and right then I just might have done that if I'd had my 34B handy. Guns I didn't know from caliber, but bras I knew cup by cup.) Suddenly I felt naked.

And, believe me, you don't want to feel naked around Jagger, especially when you are so pissed at him you still want to strangle him. I tightened my arms, as if that might keep him from noticing, but all it did was pull his focus to my chest.

I think Jagger blushed.

But with the red wig, I wasn't sure if it was a true blush or a reflection of the Ronald McDonald color. I wanted it to be a real flush—however, that didn't seem like a Jagger thing.

Stop it!
I had to get back to the matter at hand and not let his being here distract my furor. “What is really going on, Jagger?” Okay, it did come out a bit shaky with tears but, damn it, I felt like crying. Maybe that would get him talking. Appeal to his senses, his humanity.

“Oooooooh!” I opened the dam and let the tears begin. With a few added sniffles and sobs, I started to wipe at my eyes. I might not be good at lying, but I was totally good at acting.

Jagger looked a bit shaken. Then, since the guy must have been made of steel like his chest, he said, “Don't waste them on me, Sherlock. You're here and when you do your job, you'll get out.”

Dumbfounded, I sucked in a breath and the last sniffle. “Creep.”

He nodded, in what I termed was agreement. “It won't take long if you help me.”

I grabbed the end of the exam table—and tightened. Ouch. I eased up a bit and said, “Help you, as in escort Mary Louise Huntington? For only a few hours? Oh, wait, you forgot to tell me the best part. That I was going to get kidnapped. Is that the kind of help you mean?”

“It isn't easy to get someone into this place. That guy dressed as a nun is the one you need to find out more about. Have you seen him since being here?”

My heart started to race a bit. I could see the guy's evil face poking out of his habit. Then I rubbed my arm as if I could feel where the needle went in. “No. Why? What the hell was that all about?”

“I'll fill you in later.”

“I want answers now, Jagger!”

“Look, Pauline—”

Gulp. Guess he wasn't going to meet my demand.

“—The less you know the better. I need you to stay here a few days and keep an eye out for that guy.”

“I have a case of my own to do, you know.”

He merely looked at me. Of course Jagger knew about my case. He seemed to know everything, but really wasn't good at sharing. In my anger I pictured him as a selfish kid not sharing his toys.

“I know about your case. Fabio gave you that one so you could . . . it's a small case, Pauline. Won't take you long.”

Now my heart sank. There was a connection, a reason why Fabio had given me the psychiatric case—so I could get stuck in here for Jagger.

Sister Wacky shoved the door open. “Everything all right, Dr. Plummer?” She gave me a sympathetic look. I really liked the woman now.

“Fine. I have a bit more to discuss with my patient—”

“Oh, dear.” She touched her short-nailed finger to her lip. “Oh, my.”

“Is there a problem, Sister?”

“Why yes. Mary . . . Pauline is due for her first treatment. Dr. Pinkerton wrote the order before he left.”

Treatment—in a mental hospital!

Now my heart really raced.

It wasn't
my
treatment she was talking about but Mary Louise's. How was Jagger going to get me out of this one?

“And what treatment is that, Sister?” he asked.

“ECT.” She looked at me.

ECT? My mind searched my old mental nursing files. What the hell did that stand for and why the hell did they have to use so many abbreviations in medicine?

Sister touched my arm. “Electroconvulsive therapy, my child.”

I swung around to Jagger, who at least had the good sense to look stunned, as I murmured, “
Electric shock treatment.”

Before Sister could explain, I screamed, “Jagger! Jaaaaagger!”

Dr. Dick gave the nun another
Playgirl-cente
rf
old
smile.

“What is a Jagger?” the nun asked me.

Dr.
Dick
interrupted with, “That's just a term Pauline told me she uses instead of cursing. She uses ‘Jagger' instead of those nasty four-letter words.”

I turned toward him. “Jagger
you
, buddy.”

After my “foulmouth” incident, I watched Sister Liz, as I fondly called her now, leave. I used to have an internal feeling that I was always safe around Jagger—until now. Now I turned my feelings of safety to Sister Liz.

She
had to be my ticket out of here.

Jagger leaned closer to me.

“Don't touch me, or I'll deck you again.” Not that I could, but the words gave me some kind of power.

“Look, Pauline, this is a job. How we got here doesn't matter. You said you'd help me, and—”

“Not that I want to harp on it again, but getting here as a
patient
was not in the plan. Where the hell is the real Mary Louise?”

Jagger glared at me.

For a few seconds I only stared back. It was so easy to mindlessly stare at Jagger. I used to enjoy it. But now, being deceived like this kinda took away the fun. Damn it!

Then he touched my arm, and I didn't pull back. Not that I didn't want to, but suddenly his touch was comforting. Jagger may have gotten me into this, but in my heart I knew he wouldn't let me get hurt. After all, he could have let me get killed several times before on other cases and never had.

“Look, Sherlock, we need to find out more about the guy from the airport. Be on the lookout for him. His name is Vito Doran. Works as an orderly.”

“What if I see him?” Okay, with Jagger's hand still on my arm, my temper had defused—for now. Hey, Jagger's touch could work miracles . . . and he knew it.

And I knew I couldn't fight it.

“If you see him, tell me.”

“Oh, sure, Dr. Dick. I'll phone you pronto. How the hell am I going to get in touch with you? They don't exactly
give me phone privileges around here. They don't even give me my clothes.”

Jagger shook his head—once. And then he grinned.

I mentally slapped myself in the head. Of course, Jagger would always be around or at least popping up when least expected.

I chose to look at that as a bright side to my incarceration.

He let my arm go and turned toward the door.

“Okay. I'll watch out for Vito.” Before Jagger stepped out, I said, “Oh, hey. Where's the real Mary Louise?”

He paused and said, “Missing.”

“Miss . . .
missing!”

Jagger stopped, turned and shook his head.

“Sorry. I didn't mean that to come out so loudly. But, I mean,
missing
?”

“Yes, Sherlock, she disappeared at the airport.”

Now I shook my head, this time in disgust. “Great. I'm trapped here. The male ‘nun' is on the loose, and your client is missing. Some case we got here.” He didn't move, so I said, “Speaking of cases, what about mine? Number three? How am I going to do it while here helping you?”

“It'll get done.”

That was it. Short and sweet. It'll get done. And, it probably would, because I'd make damn sure that Jagger paid me back by helping me out. I needed money real soon.

“You're going to pay me for this, too.” I said it with as much bravado as I could muster, knowing I couldn't force Jagger into doing anything he didn't want to.

He merely looked at me.

For a second I thought I saw disappointment in his eyes as if I was accusing him of trying to cheat me. Then, I realized Jagger had every intention of paying me, and really didn't stick me here for any other reason but his case.

What a guy.

I groaned. From behind Jagger I could see Sister Liz approaching. Yikes! She was coming to get
me.
“Jagger, do something.”

He looked at me. “About?”

Through clenched teeth I said, “The treatment. My treatment. The brain-zapping thing.
My
brain.”

While he looked at me the nun came closer.

“Are you finished, Doctor?”

He nodded.

“Fine. We need to get you upstairs, Pauline, before you are late. No one wants to be late for
that
technician.”

I looked toward Jagger. Make that looked toward where he'd been because now it was an empty hallway. Gone. He was gone like some magical creature.

And me on my way to get my brain zapped.

Sister Liz took my arm to guide me upstairs. We never had to leave the patient unit. There was a locked stairway that she opened and, I assumed, if I ran down instead of up, the doors would all be locked too.

No means of escape.

“Um, Sister Liz—” I paused on the stairway and looked at her. “Can I call you Sister Liz?”

A ruddy hue spread up her cheeks. “Oh. My. I guess that will be all right.”

Great. One step closer to becoming friends with my ticket out of here. “Wonderful. I really don't feel too well. My head is killing me. Sinuses. You know.”

She nodded and guided me to the door, which she unlocked. Stepping aside so I could walk in, she said, “Oh yes, child. Sinus problems are horrible. I suffer in the spring, so I barely go outside.”

I may never see the outside again.

“Yes. But since my head hurts, perhaps my treatment could be postponed.”

Sister stopped. “My, no. We have to keep our schedule around here. Sister Barbara is quite adamant about that. No. You cannot postpone anything. Besides, my child, your head will feel better after . . . you know.”

You know. You know. You know!

Yeah, I'm guessing a gazillion volts of electricity could make a headache go away if your head didn't zoom off your neck in the process. Sure I knew this treatment wasn't that much electricity, but I preferred
no
electricity to my brain.

I looked around the room. Stark. A treatment table with that paper roll thingie tucked beneath. A few cabinets. And a horrendous looking gizmo of a machine near the bed sprouting wires and leads and electrodes. On a nearby table were a tongue depressor and some gel.

I could bite my tongue during this treatment.

I did not want my tongue bitten by anyone, even me.

Well, I'd learned to save myself in my past cases, and now was no exception. So, I took in a deep breath and shoved Sister Liz with all my hundred and fifteen pounds. This was one time I wished I was a plus-size kinda gal.

“Oh!” From the corner of my eye, I noted that the sister had landed on the treatment table. But that was all I saw since I ran so fast to the door. Shit! It was locked. I hurried back to her and stared to grab her habit. There had to be a set of keys hanging from her rope belt. “I'm so sorry to have to do this!”

“Stop, child!”

I felt something and grabbed with all my strength. A hundred pearl-looking balls scattered to the floor. Sister's rosary beads. Oops. Not only did I face a brain zapping, but surely I was now on the wrong side of the higher-ups, who'd probably punish me for trashing a blessed set of rosary beads. I quickly said a silent prayer/apology to Saint Theresa so she'd pass it up to them for me.

While preoccupied, I felt something on my shoulders. I spun and came around face to face with Spike—and he didn't look any too pleased with me.

Within seconds, I was strapped to the treatment table with Spike standing guard at my feet. Sister Liz stood in the background, fingering her broken beads. Every muscle hurt, especially my arm where I'd received that shot at the airport.

I looked at her. “I'm sorry. I'll buy you a new set. It's just that . . . Please. Listen to me. I am
not
Mary Louise. And I'm a Catholic! I am
Pauline Sokol
, a nurse—”

The door swung open. In walked what looked like a Swedish masseuse, dressed in a white pantsuit. Gigantic. Arms like boiled hams and a head of straight brown hair. I had no idea if it was male or female.

Sister Liz nodded. “She's going to behave now, Gretchen. Aren't you, Pauline?”

I looked from one to the other to Spike. I should lie here quietly, I thought. After all, the procedure couldn't be too dangerous, or they wouldn't be doing it on the mentally ill. Then again, I was sane, and what the heck would happen to my normal brain cells once they fried? That, I hadn't learned in nursing school.

Then again, maybe I too didn't have any normal brain cells. After all, I'd taken this job.

I felt a glob of gel on my skin and Gretchen sticking the electrodes to my head.

I could lose my memory. Never know my family again. Never know Goldie or Miles. Never know . . . Spanky.

I sucked in a breath as Gretchen continued to connect
the machine's electrodes to my head. Then, I started to shake my head so vigorously, the leads pulled off. Amid Gretchen cursing in some European language, Spike's warnings, and Sister Liz's prayers, I fought with all my might to get out of this treatment.

Boom
!

I screamed, thinking my head had exploded off my neck in time to see Dr. Dick hurry through the door. “Sorry I'm late.”

“Late!” I screamed. “How about stopping this insanity!”

Within seconds, Gretchen had me reconnected, the machine made a soft whirring sound, and I shut my eyes, ready to convulse.

Nothing.

I felt something poke my arm and peeked out of one eye to turn and see Jagger glaring at me, with a look of “you'll have to do better than that” and noticed the electric chord in his hand.