Merry Jones - Elle Harrison 02 - Elective Procedures

by Merry Jones

  “I never said that he’ll love me more. But who knows? Maybe he will.”

  Susan smirked, shook her head.

  “Damn, Susan. What the hell’s wrong with you? Are you jealous? That’s it, isn’t it? You’re frickin’ jealous that I improved myself.”

  “Improved yourself? Really? If you want to improve yourself, learn Italian. Or read a book—”

  “You wish you had the guts to get your boobs done. Or some liposuction on your thighs and butt.”

  “You’re saying my thighs and butt are fat?”

  “I’m saying you’ve had three kids. And if you got your body back the way it was when he married you, Tim would love it.”

  “Tim wouldn’t notice.”

  “Of course he would. Don’t be embarrassed, Susan. There’s no shame in maintenance. We maintain our houses and cars, why not our bodies? I can hook you up with a great doctor.”

  “Unless he dies,” I blurted.

  They turned to me, startled, as if they’d forgotten I was there.

  “He’s not going to die,” Jen said. “Is he?”

  “Of course not.” Susan set her jaw.

  For a long time, nobody said anything. The silence was full of worries and doubts, but at least no one was bickering. And soon it would be morning, and we would go home.

  Sergeant Perez came by while we were having coffee. He’d stopped at the desk and retrieved our passports.

  “Have a safe trip home, señoras.” He laid the passports on the kitchen table.

  Susan offered him coffee. He accepted, took a seat beside Jen.

  “It’s been a long night.” He sucked his coffee with a loud slurp.

  “For all of us,” Jen flinched at the sound.

  “You’ve had quite a difficult week here,” he noted. “I hope you won’t think badly of Nuevo. It’s generally a very peaceful place. I hope you will come back again.”

  Really?

  “Oh, we will,” Jen promised. “In fact, Susan’s thinking of getting some work done when Dr. Du Bois recovers.”

  Susan glared. “Isn’t it time for your aloe treatment?”

  “How is he?” I asked.

  “He was sleeping when I was there. But I had a long talk with his wife.” Another loud slow slurp.

  We sat watching him, waiting for him to say more. He didn’t.

  “So did she tell you anything?” Susan prodded.

  “It’s confidential, part of the investigation.”

  Susan nodded, offered him a pastry.

  “Gracias, Señora.” He eyed them, selected a large one with cheese. “You know, since you are leaving, I suppose there is no harm in me telling you just a little bit.” He took a bite, washed it down with a noisy swig of coffee. “Señora Du Bois was quite adamant. She denies having anything to do with the deaths of her husband’s patients. In fact, she insists the killer was the doctor himself, dressed as a woman, impersonating her.”

  I swallowed. Saw the maid’s uniform hanging in her closet. A chill slithered up my back, encircled my skull.

  “Obviously, the woman is loca—I mean she needs psychiatric care.”

  “What else did she say?” My voice was unsteady.

  Perez hesitated. He set his cup on the table, blinked at it. “Tonterias—it’s nonsense.”

  We waited. My skin tingled.

  “I try to make sense of it, señora. She says her husband caused her to be—fea—ugly. Disforme. Your word is ‘deformed’? But she is a beautiful woman. Truthfully, I see no deformity. But she insists that Dr. Du Bois ruined her and then became determined to re-create her as she’d been before her injuries—”

  “So he did work on her,” Jen said. “That explains why she looks so good.”

  “No, señora. The work wasn’t on his wife. He tried to recreate her beauty by making his patients into likenesses of her.”

  Jen’s eyelashes flapped. She touched her nose.

  Susan said, “That’s crazy.”

  “Sí,” Perez chewed the sweet roll. “But, according to Señora Du Bois, these patients were never exact re-creations. They never met his expectations. So, like an artist unsatisfied with his work, he destroyed them.”

  “What?” Jen set her coffee mug down.

  “Ridiculous,” Susan said.

  “Indeed,” Perez agreed. “Nevertheless, she says she was only trying to stop her husband from hurting more of his patients. She insists that he is the only person she harmed—except, unintentionally, you, señora, when you discovered her.” He looked my way.

  “What about me?” Jen asked. “She pretended to be a nurse and brought me salve that almost burned my skin off.”

  “Oh, yes, the salve. I almost forgot. She insists that she picked it up from Dr. Du Bois’s office when she checked his schedule. He had made up the cream and the prescription bottle had your name on it, so she brought it along. She said she had no idea anything was wrong with it.”

  Susan and I exchanged doubtful glances.

  “Inez Du Bois will be charged with the murders, of course. But clearly, the woman is loca.” Perez pointed to his head.

  “Insane,” Susan said.

  “Sí. Insane.”

  Or was she? Inez’s story was detailed and consistent. Could an insane person create such details and consistency? I repeated her version of the facts in my mind, trying to find a discrepancy. But I couldn’t. Maybe Inez had misinterpreted events. Or projected her own guilt onto Alain or twisted facts to fit her distorted perceptions.

  Or maybe she was simply stating unbearable but nevertheless actual truth. After all, hadn’t I already considered the possibility that Alain had murdered Claudia and Greta? Hadn’t I imagined that he’d impersonated Inez, wreaking her vengeance on women he’d had affairs with? I’d discounted these suspicions, discarded them. But what-if? Was it possible that I’d been right?

  No. It wasn’t. I hadn’t been. When it came down to it, I couldn’t imagine Alain’s wiry male body stepping into a maid’s uniform. Or any other woman’s clothing. And even if he did, he wouldn’t pass for a woman. Didn’t move like one. No, he hadn’t posed as a woman to kill his patients. At worst, he was guilty of hiding evidence that would incriminate his wife.

  Even so, I shuddered at Inez’s vehemence. The woman was determined to ruin Alain by blaming him for her own crimes. Punishing him for whatever harm—real or imagined—that he’d caused her. But Alain could not be a murderer. I would have sensed murder in his touch, wouldn’t I?

  But then again, had I sensed Charlie’s cheating in his kiss? Or seen his lies in his eyes? Nope. I hadn’t had a clue. Had been deceived and naïve. So, if I hadn’t sensed treachery in my own husband, how could I be sure of a man I’d met only a week ago?

  Perez’s hand extended before me, a foot or two from my chest. Oh dear. I hadn’t noticed it. How long had it been there, waiting for me to shake it?

  “Señora?”

  I grabbed it in both of mine, met his eyes. Hoped he hadn’t noticed me drifting. “Thank you for all you’ve done, Sergeant.” I started to get up to say good-bye.

  “No, sit. You need to rest.” He moved on, shook Jen’s hand, then Susan’s. Wished us all well and said that he hoped we’d return. “Hasta la proxima!”

  Susan showed him to the door, pushed her hair behind her ear. Taking a deep breath, she gave us each our passports.

  Our suitcases were packed. A doctor dropped by with Jen’s discharge papers.

  Becky still wasn’t back when I limped over to the clinic to see Alain. He was hooked up to IVs and looked ashen.

  “Elle.” His eyes brightened when I came in. “I thought you’d left without saying good-bye.”

  “No. I wouldn’t.”

  “Your face is healing nicely.”

  I shook my head, smiling. “In the last week, I’ve had more injuries than I had in my whole life.”

  “Well, at least nothing was life threatening.” He paused. “And I hope the week wasn’t all bad.”

&
nbsp; “No. It wasn’t all bad.” I went to the bed, kissed him, felt no murderous emanations. “How are you, Alain?”

  “An inch deeper, I wouldn’t be here to answer you.”

  “So you’ll live?”

  “It looks that way.” He smiled, but the light faded from his eyes. “She isn’t responsible, you know.”

  “Alain, your wife tried to kill you. And she blames everything on you.”

  “Yes. Sergeant Perez just came by. She told him the deaths were all my fault, not hers.” He reached for his cup of water, but had trouble lifting his arm.

  I held the cup for him while he drank. When he finished, I sat on the chair beside the bed. “Tell me, Alain.” I needed to hear him explain. “Why is your wife accusing you?”

  “Because I’m at fault.” He sighed. “Inez is a passionate woman. And jealous. And possessive. She wants me to suffer the way she has suffered.”

  I shook my head.

  “She suspected I was having affairs with my patients.”

  “And you were.”

  “Yes, a few. But, since the accident, Inez felt unattractive. She would have suspected me of being unfaithful even if I hadn’t been. After I had her admitted to the clinic, she decided to punish me by eliminating the women she thought were my paramours. She was quite clever about gaining access to them. She dressed as a maid and asked Claudia to help her change a light on the balcony. When Claudia stood on a chair to hand her the lightbulb, Inez shoved her over the balcony. As you know, Claudia caught the railing, and Inez would have forced her to let go, but she heard you on the other side of the wall and ran inside. In fact, she came to your suite next, pretending to be working, watching to see what would happen. Obviously, she was relieved when Claudia fell.” He paused, wheezing a little.

  “More water?”

  He shook his head. “She got into my office at the clinic and looked up my schedule. Found my patients.” His eyes became empty. “She dressed as a nurse to visit Greta. Greta’s face—I’d made it exquisite—practically identical to Inez’s. When Inez saw her, she became enraged. She destroyed it.”

  I stiffened. Alain had made Greta’s face almost identical to Inez’s, just as Inez had said. What else had Inez been right about? I didn’t dare find out. I started to stand. “I ought to go.”

  “Wait. I want you to understand, Elle.”

  “What’s there to understand, Alain? Inez is a murderer. She tried to kill you.”

  “She was on a rampage, avenging her wounds. Protecting herself. Preventing me from finding happiness with another woman.”

  “So she’s not at fault because?”

  “Because of the crash—I caused it. A shard of glass cut her face.”

  “So?” What did that have to do with murder?

  He met my eyes. His lips formed a smile, but his eyes remained dour. “She believes she’s disfigured. I treated her after the accident. She thinks I damaged her.”

  “But her face is fine.”

  “She believes she’s terribly scarred. Her self-perceptions are—not accurate.”

  Wait. His wife had that disorder? The one that distorted self-perceptions?

  “Inez has body dysmorphic disorder. She sees any small imperfection as grossly catastrophic. The scar on her face—”

  “I saw it. It’s barely noticeable.”

  “It was her undoing. In the years after the accident, she sunk into depression. Cut off contact with her friends. Refused to appear in public. Railed at me for deforming her. Confined herself to her bedroom. I gave her antidepressants, but they didn’t work. About a month ago, I finally moved her into the clinic for in-patient psychiatric treatment.”

  “That’s sad. But it doesn’t mean she isn’t at fault. Lots of people are depressed, and some think they’re ugly. But they don’t go around killing people.”

  He didn’t move. “Inez is not well. Her thinking is—skewed.”

  Skewed, yet well organized and capable of complicated planning. Able to disguise herself as a maid and get into Claudia’s suite. Able to construct a way to push her over the railing. And able to get out of the clinic into the hotel.

  “How did she do it, Alain?”

  He tilted his head, not understanding the question.

  “If she was here in the clinic, how did she kill people in the hotel?”

  “She was a patient, not a prisoner. Inez came and went freely. She took her medications and participated in therapy sessions. She wasn’t confined. No one suspected that she’d hurt anyone.”

  I eyed him. “Not even you?”

  His eyes shifted slightly. “Of course not.”

  “Come on, Alain.” I leaned close to him, lowered my voice. “You knew how angry she was. And how jealous. And how unstable. When women you’d had affairs with began dying, you must have suspected your wife.”

  He looked at the window. Didn’t answer.

  I sat in silence until I understood that he wasn’t going to say anything else.

  “Well. I’m glad you’ll be all right. Good luck, Alain.” I stood to go.

  “Elle, please—” He turned to me, his eyes haunted. “Have you ever loved someone deeply?”

  I didn’t answer.

  “I mean so deeply that they became everything to you? So deeply that you lost yourself in them, that your own essence faded into theirs?”

  What?

  “Have you been so close to a person that you actually see the world through their eyes? Feel their joys or pains or sorrows as your own? Overlook their failings? Forgive them anything, no matter how heinous?”

  I didn’t move. Charlie appeared beside the window, winked at me.

  “That’s how deeply I’ve loved Inez. Sometimes it’s as if she and I are one being, two halves of the same soul. Whatever she says, whatever she does, becomes part of me. I can’t judge her.”

  What was he trying to say? That he’d known she’d committed the murders? That he hadn’t tried to stop her?

  “I know it sounds crazy, Elle. But Inez owned me. Even when I was with other women, it was only because when I looked at them, I saw her.”

  What? No way. He couldn’t have seen her in me.

  “Except once. You.”

  My face got hot. I didn’t move.

  “I meant what I said, Elle. I didn’t think of Inez when I was with you. I reemerged, the person I used to be. Before.” He tried to smile at me. Failed. “You are the only woman I’ve been myself with. The only one I haven’t tried to change or felt I had to lie to.”

  Again, I wondered why, out of all the women he knew, he’d picked me.

  “There’s something about you, Elle. I’ve tried to figure it out. It might sound crazy, but I think it’s your energy. Or—what do they call it? Your aura? Something. It attracts me to you, pulls me in like a magnet.”

  Oh God. Madam Therese laughed in my ear. “I told you so. You believe me now?”

  I glanced at the window. Charlie was gone.

  I leaned over, kissed Alain good-bye. “Good luck, Alain,” I said. It seemed inadequate, but I couldn’t think of anything else.

  I hurried out of his room, past the front desk. On the way out, I noticed a woman sitting in the corner of the lobby, her face covered with a scarf.

  I stopped, spun around, went back into Alain’s room.

  “Just tell me,” I burst through the door. “No bullshit this time.”

  “Elle?” Alain’s eyes widened. He pressed against the pillows as if he thought I’d strike him.

  “Were you there when Claudia died?”

  “What?”

  “Your story about how Inez lured Claudia onto a chair and pushed her off the balcony. How can you possibly know that?”

  “What?” He seemed unable to say anything else.

  “How do know what happened to Claudia? Unless you were there?”

  “What? You think I was there?” He coughed, held his chest. “You think I stood by and watched?”

  “Did you?”

&
nbsp; “Why don’t you just ask if I killed her myself?”

  “All right. Did you?”

  He looked away, slumping in the bed, shaking his head. “You think that little of me?”

  “Answer me, Alain.”

  He looked up. His eyes were dull, hopeless. “I know what happened to Claudia because Inez told me.”

  I didn’t know what to say. How should I know if he was telling the truth? “Okay. I needed to hear it.”

  “No. You’re right. I’m guilty.”

  What?

  “I didn’t push her, but I’m just as much to blame as Inez. Maybe more. In a way, I killed Claudia. And Greta, too.”

  I stood perfectly still.

  “If I hadn’t been unfaithful, if I hadn’t molded women to look like Inez, if I hadn’t crashed our car and scarred my wife, no one would have died. But I did all those things. I did them even though I knew Inez and the fire of her passion and the possessiveness of her love. Inez and I are as one, and we are both to blame. I lit the fuse. Inez had no choice but to explode.”

  Waiting for our plane to take off, we sat at a bar at the airport, having a last drink to toast our trip.

  Becky was tearful. “Chichi wouldn’t let go of me. Did you see how he held onto my hand? He didn’t want me to get into the taxi.”

  Jen rolled her eyes.

  “You can come back.” Susan downed a shot of tequila. “Christmas break starts in a week.”

  “He’s going to try to get time off and come up to Philly, but it’s tourist season. He might have to wait until summer.”

  “You’ll have to pay for the tickets, right?” Jen examined her nail polish.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It means Jen needs to back off,” Susan warned. “You have your own stuff to worry about, Jen. Like how you’ll explain your swollen black-and-blue marks to Norm.”

  Jen swallowed. “I’ll tell him that they’re a surprise for Christmas, like I said.”

  “Uh-huh. Never mind that you lied to him—”

  “Susan, back off. Norm’ll be fine. In fact, he’ll be fucking deliriously happy. He’s been like a lost puppy without me.”

  “Yeah. Tim’s been a mess, too.”

  “I get it,” Becky sniffed. “I’ve been away from Chichi for only an hour, and look at me. I can’t stop crying. It’s so hard to be away from the person you love.”