“You mean, every time someone goes in and out, it’s recorded?” I took out my memo pad and made a note to check on that.
“From what I understand, yes, if the security system is armed.”
“What?” Mrs. Romero yelled.
“Do you want the usual?” Della yelled back.
The woman nodded and closed her eyes, apparently her naptime.
I dragged as much information out of Della as I could before heading out. She agreed with everyone else. Nathan was a saint. A pillar of the community. And oddly enough, as much as she cared for Teresa, she seemed to think Teresa was the reason their marriage was in trouble. Obviously, the doctor could do no wrong, so it had to be Teresa’s fault.
With my list whittling down to almost nothing, I decided to hit the doctor’s office just before closing, when everyone was tired and wanted nothing more than to go home. People in that position talked less and got to the point faster. Because the doctor always left early to do his rounds at the hospital, I figured he’d already be gone when I walked into his offices. He was apparently an otolaryngologist. I couldn’t begin to guess what that meant.
The receptionist was just packing up and had to hurry out to pick up her daughter from daycare. Luckily, one of the doctor’s assistants, an audiologist by the name of Jillian, was still in, finishing up some paperwork.
“So, have you worked for Dr. Yost long?” I asked her. Jillian was a big-boned girl with curly blond hair and one-too-many chins to be considered traditionally pretty. But her features were pleasant, her eyes warm. I could see her working with kids. The waiting room had toys and games scattered throughout.
We sat in the receptionist’s area on padded chairs that rolled. It took every ounce of strength I had not to take advantage of that.
“I’ve been with Dr. Yost for twelve years,” she said, her eyes filling with sadness. “He’s such a good person. I just can’t believe this is happening to him.”
Wow. Fooling friends and family, I could see, but fooling someone you worked with day in and day out for twelve years? Who was this guy? “Did he seem different lately? Upset about anything? Or possibly mention someone following him or calling and hanging up?”
At this point, I was trying to figure out how premeditated the doctor’s actions were, if he’d set up an alibi beforehand. Had he been planning to harm his wife or was it a spur-of-the-moment thing?
“No, not until that morning.”
“Can you describe what happened?”
“Well, I don’t know really,” she said, shaking her head. “He just called my house Saturday morning, frantic, said he couldn’t get in to do his rounds at the hospital that day and to see if Dr. Finely could cover for him.”
“Did he tell you his wife was missing?”
After grabbing a pen from her lab coat, she nodded and said, “He even asked if she’d called me. He said the police were at his house and would probably be over to talk to me.” She transferred some numbers onto a chart, signed it, then closed the file.
“And did they come?”
“Yes. An FBI agent came to my house late that afternoon.”
“Agent Carson?”
“Yes. Are you working with her?”
“In a way,” I said, trying not to stretch the truth too far. “So, there were no noticeable changes in his behavior in the days prior to his wife’s disappearance?”
“No, I’m sorry. I wish I could be of more help.”
Well, whatever happened, it didn’t sound premeditated. Then again, the guy was obviously good.
“After everything he went through before…”
I froze. “Before?”
“Yes, with his first wife.”
Those bells that ding between boxing rounds? Yeah, in my head. “Right, his first wife. Tragic.”
A tear that had been shimmering against her eyelashes finally pushed past them and slid down her cheek. She turned to get a tissue, embarrassed. “I’m so sorry. It’s just … I mean, for her to have died so suddenly.”
“Oh, no, I completely understand.” I tried not to notice how her curls vibrated when she blew her nose.
“For her heart to just stop, and while on vacation, no less. He was just so alone after that.”
Now we were getting somewhere. Didn’t Agent Carson mention something to that effect? One stick and her heart would stop? “I can’t believe it myself.”
I had to look into this ay-sap. And Jillian seemed more taken with the guy than I’d originally assumed. I wondered how much of her ignorance was him and how much of it was her. Puppy love was a powerful elixir. I should know. The things I did for Tim La Croix, my senior-year crush. Unfortunately, I’d been in kindergarten at the time, otherwise he might have taken note.
* * *
Before heading home, I hit the Chocolate Coffee Café for a mocha latte, Macho Taco for a chicken burrito with extra salsa, and a twenty-four-hour convenience store for a couple packages of microwave popcorn and some chocolate to tide me over for the night. I wasn’t sure how much longer I could stay awake, though. I’d have to watch action movies, or horror, something bloody. Even then, I figured I had a 50/50 chance.
What had Reyes said? He wasn’t angry because he didn’t want to be there, but because he did? I didn’t know how to take that. My innards were in turmoil, but leaning toward happy, as desperate and pathetic as my innards were. Mostly ’cause Reyes did things to them. Delicious, devilish, heart-stoppingly decadent things. Damn him.
Before I could ponder myself into an orgasm, I opened my phone and called Cookie.
“Hey, boss. Where are you?” she asked.
“I just picked up something to eat. What about professional belly dancers?”
“Um, I don’t know, maybe with horseradish.”
“No, our new careers. We have to look to the future now, and I’ve always wanted to learn how to do the wave with my stomach. Not to mention the fact that my belly button could use the exposure. Almost no one knows about it.”
“You’re right,” she said, playing along. “I don’t even know its name.”
I gasped and glanced down. “I don’t think Stella heard you, but you need to be more careful. Oh, I meant to tell you, I think that server at Macho Taco with the short hair and strange eyebrows is Batman.”
“I’ve wondered about her. Did you want to discuss anything that actually pertains to a case?”
“You mean besides the fact that our Dr. Yost was married before?”
“You’re not going to believe this, but I was just about to call and tell you the same thing. It’s like we’re connected or something, like we have ESP.”
“Or extrasensory perception.”
“Exactly. I got a number on Yolanda Pope and left a message on her cell.”
“Most excellent. I’m dying to get the story behind those charges she filed on one Mr. Nathan Yost. In the meantime, I want you to get everything you can on Yost’s first wife.”
“Got it. I’ll put everything I’ve found so far on your counter. You’re on your way home, right?”
“I am indeed,” I said, turning onto Central.
“See. I didn’t even need to ask.”
“I know. It’s weird.”
“How many cups of coffee have you had today?”
I counted on my fingers before remembering they should remain on the steering wheel at all times while driving. “Seven,” I said, swerving to narrowly miss a horrified pedestrian.
“Just seven?”
“And twelve-halves.”
“Oh, well, that’s not bad. For you. Maybe now that you’ve talked to Reyes, you can get some sleep. Maybe, you know, he’ll stop.”
“Maybe. Sleep sounds really nice about now,” I said, the mere mention of it weighing me down, coaxing my lids closed before remembering they should remain open at all times while driving. So many rules. “I’m not sure, though. I get the feeling he doesn’t have any more choice in the matter than I do.”
“It’s all
so cosmic,” she said, a wistful sigh in her voice.
“It’s definitely something. Okay, I’m almost home. Be there in a jiff.”
* * *
At exactly 8:23ish I stumbled across the threshold of my apartment, food, coffee, and DVDs in hand, while fishing through my bag for my phone. I had a text from Garrett. He was probably going to bitch me out for waking him before the sun shone that morning. I flipped it open. It read,
Four: You’re killing me.
I texted back.
Clearly I need to try harder.
“Hey, Mr. Wong,” I said after dumping the contents of my arms on the kitchen counter.
While Garrett’s list of the top five things you never want to say to the grim reaper was interesting, I had a better list for him. A to-do list. Vacuum. Clean out my fridge. Do the dishes in his underwear. Though why he would have dishes in his underwear was beyond me.
Just as I began perusing the research Cookie had put by Mr. Coffee—she knew me so well—someone knocked on my door. I found the prospect appealing. Maybe I’d won a million dollars. Or maybe someone was going to try to sell me a vacuum cleaner and would offer a free demonstration. Either way, it was a win–win.
I put down my chicken burrito and opened the door to my good fortune, realizing I would do anything I could think of to stay awake.
Cookie’s daughter, Amber, stood on the other side. Well, not the other side, just the other side of the door. She would have been tall for a twenty-year-old, but she was only twelve, which made her really tall. I could’ve sworn she was much shorter that morning. Fresh out of the shower, her long black hair smelled like strawberry shampoo and hung in wet tangles over her shoulders. She wore pink tank-topped pajamas with capri-styled bottoms covering the longest, skinniest legs I’d ever seen. Dancer’s legs. She was like a butterfly on the verge of bursting out of her cocoon.
“Are you going to watch TV on your TV?” she asked, her huge blue eyes completely serious.
“As opposed to on my toaster?” When she pressed her mouth together and blinked, waiting for a response, I caved. “No, I’m not going to watch TV on my TV.”
“Good.” She grinned and bounced past me.
“But I am going to take a shower in my shower.”
“Okay.” She picked up the remote, plopped onto my sofa, and draped her bare feet over the side. “Mom canceled our cable prescription.”
“She didn’t,” I said, fighting back a giggle.
Cookie came out her door and into mine just then, also wearing pajamas. I glowered at her in horror.
She rolled her eyes. “Has she convinced you to call child services yet?”
“Mom,” Amber said, flipping onto her stomach, “it’s just wrong. Why should I have to pay because you want to be all healthy?”
I cast her another horrified glare. “You don’t,” I said, the contempt in my voice undeniable.
She sighed and handed me another printout after she closed the door. “My doctor says I need to lose weight.”
“Dr. Yost?” I asked. The paper she handed me had our would-be client’s name on top. Why would an otolaryngologist tell her to lose weight? Especially if she wasn’t going to him?
“No, not Dr. Yost.” She padded over to the bar and climbed onto a stool. “Why would I go to Dr. Yost?”
“Oh, this is his arrest record.” I scanned it while taking another bite of burrito, then asked, “So, what does your losing weight have to do with cable?”
“Not much, besides the fact that it’s much more expensive to eat healthy than it is to eat junk food.”
“Exactly why I don’t eat healthy.” I shook my chicken burrito at her. “There’s a lesson to be learned here.”
“You don’t count. Skinny chicks are dumb.”
“I beg your pardon. You think I’m skinny?”
“The doctor’s right. I have to cut back.” Her shoulders deflated. “Do you know how hard it is to diet with a name like Cookie?”
“That’s so weird.” I stared off into space, marveling at the similarities of our situation. “It’s hard to diet with a name like Charley, too. Maybe we should just change our names?” I said, refocusing on her.
“I would do it in a heartbeat if I thought it would help. What do you think?” She gestured to the file she’d left while reaching over the snack bar and pouring herself a cup of coffee.
“You have all the movie channels!” Amber squealed. “How did I not know that?”
“Seriously?” I asked. “No wonder that bill is so friggin’ high.” I zeroed in on a newspaper article about Yost’s previous wife. “Dr. Yost’s wife was found dead in her hotel room of an apparent heart attack.” I looked up at Cook. “She couldn’t have been more than twenty-seven. A heart attack?”
“Keep reading,” Cookie said.
“According to sources,” I said, reading aloud, “Ingrid Yost, who was on vacation alone in the Cayman Islands, called and left a message on her husband’s answering machine only minutes before her heart stopped, so despite the strange chain of events surrounding Mrs. Yost’s death, police say there will be no follow-up investigation.” I glanced up at Cookie. “The strange chain of events?”
“Keep reading,” she said, tearing off a bite of my chicken burrito.
I took a bite as I read, then put the article down. “Okay,” I said, swallowing hard, “so Ingrid Yost files a police report stating her husband was threatening her two days before she files for divorce. Two days after that, she flies to the Cayman Islands packed with little more than her toothbrush, calls and leaves a message on the doctor’s home answering machine about how she was sorry she wasn’t a better wife and how she no longer wants a divorce, then she dies five minutes later?”
“Yep.”
“With no previous history of heart problems?” I picked up the phone and speed-dialed FBI Agent Carson. Cookie’s brows raised in curiosity as she tore off another bite.
“So, what’s wrong with this picture?” I asked when Agent Carson answered.
“Hold on, let me get to another room.” After a moment, she asked, “Did you find Teresa Yost already?”
“Where are you?”
“At the Yosts’ house. My partner still thinks there’ll be a ransom demand.”
“Over a week later?”
“He’s new. What’s up?”
“His first wife had filed charges against him two days before she filed for divorce, two days before she flew to the Cayman Islands and died of a heart attack? Really?”
“So, you haven’t found her.”
“A divorce in which he stood to lose a small fortune?”
“And your point is?”
“Um, maybe it’s all connected?”
“Of course it’s connected, but try proving that. We checked the doctor’s passport and flights. He didn’t go to the Cayman Islands. Says he went hunting to try to work things out in his head.”
“That doesn’t mean he didn’t do it. The doctor’s loaded. He could have paid someone to dispose of her. He had more than enough knowledge on what drugs to use to induce a heart attack. And don’t you think the message on the answering machine was a little much?”
“In what way?”
“I’ll give you two ways. One, according to the police report, she was hysterical. Who’s to say she wasn’t being coaxed or threatened to leave that message?”
“True, but to what end?”
“To allay suspicion. If they were making up, no one would suspect the doctor of any wrongdoing. It would cast sympathy on him and the whole situation.”
“That’s possible. And two?” she asked.
“Since when do doctors have answering machines at home? Don’t they have answering services for that? Voice mail at work? It just seems really convenient.”
She was quiet a long time, but I heard footsteps as if she were moving in and out of several rooms. “You’re right. And he doesn’t have one now. Let me check that out, find out when he got the answering machin
e and how long he had it.”
“Sounds good. And can you get a copy of the message she left?”
“Mmm, I doubt that. Since there was no investigation, I can’t imagine anyone would have kept a copy, but I’ll find out.”
“Thanks. And can you check on the security system as well? Della Peters from the beauty salon said Yost knew Teresa never made it inside that night, because the security system would have recorded her entering.”
“It would have, had it been armed. That was one of the first things we checked. Yost said he forgot to arm it.”
“Then he’s a liar, liar, pants on fire.” I made a mental sticky note to that effect, in case I forgot later. “Thanks for the info.”
“You’re welcome. And, no offense, but shouldn’t you have found her by now? I mean, isn’t that what you do?”
“I’m working on it. Don’t push me.”
She sniffed. “Okay, just don’t forget about this.”
“Never.” I knew what was at stake for anyone in law enforcement. Making a name for oneself got you noticed. Took you places. And I wasn’t just talking about the Sizzler.
Cookie and I made plans for the next day as I drank two huge glasses of water. The natural tears I’d been using to moisturize my eyes were losing their efficacy and my mouth was full of cotton. Too much coffee, too little sleep. I needed to rehydrate.
“So, I’ll keep on the Yost case,” she said, writing down some ideas, “and you’re going to try to see Rocket.”
“That’s the plan. At least we can find out if Teresa Yost is still with us.”
She took the cup of coffee I’d just made out of my hands. “You need to get some sleep.”
“I need to soak in a hot bath, hydrate myself from the outside in.”
“That’s a good idea. Maybe it’ll relax you so much, you’ll fall asleep whether you want to or not.”
“Are you on my side, or what?”
An evil grin spread across her face as she called out to Amber. “Come on, hon.”
“Mom!” Amber said without ungluing her eyes from the TV screen. “This movie just started.”
Third Grave Dead Ahead Page 9
