One Dead Under the Cuckoo's Nest

by Lori Avocato

  Despite my eyes trying to close, I had thought about the figure being male. Vito was out of the picture now, but maybe Spike had been in on it. I wasn’t sure if the figure could have been his size or not, since I had been lying on the bed, not to mention the Green Demon in my system.

  Things looked different from that lying-down angle. That I knew, from having slept with a few guys who, prone in bed, looked damn decent, but when they got up and gravity was involved, their sizes changed—and I’d realize I was not that desperate.

  So Spike, who, come to think of it was always around, could have been the culprit. The question of why me had stuck in my mind until sleep finally took over.

  Now I had to get up and see what I could find. I consoled myself with the reminder that the faster I helped Jagger crack this case, the faster I would be out of there. So I got up and headed out to the dayroom.

  Several patients rested on the pillowless red vinyl couch, watching the TV. Two men stood near the doorway, waiting for their pills, I assumed. Ruby and another young woman sat on the yellow vinyl chairs, Ruby’s with a crack up the back. On the wall above was a starving artist’s Picasso-style painting in oranges and reds. Didn’t seem a good idea to have such a confusing, modern painting in this place. We all needed reality, not more bewilderment. We were all supposed to remain there to take our medication, and then we’d be sent off to eat.

  Suddenly I craved Mother’s potato pancakes.

  My eyes started to tear up, so I immediately cut that thought short. Of course, as a patient here, I could probably get away with being “weepy,” but I wasn’t that good an actor. I’d probably blubber out that I was a PI.

  When I walked toward the couch to find a seat, I felt someone come up behind me, causing my breath to hitch and a chill to race up my spine, as if I were pantless and my johnny coat was slit all the way up my back.

  “How was your visit?”

  I swung around to see Ruby standing there.

  She just moved up a notch in suspicion if only for the fact that she managed to creep up on me like that. Either I was getting way too paranoid or she was a suspicious, sneaky teen.

  “How did you know I was out on a visit?” I sat on the couch.

  She flopped down next to me. “I know.”

  “You know how?”

  She shook her head—kinda like Jagger. “Look, I find things out in here. That’s all you need to know. What the hell else am I going to do to pass the time?”

  What’d all that mean? Was she trying to tell me something? Like she had some inside information? I wanted to ask her if she knew what had happened to Vito, but didn’t think it professional to ask a hospitalized drug addict for case information.

  Then I thought of Jagger, who’d more than likely do anything for a case.

  “Is Margaret around today?”

  Ruby clucked her tongue at me. “Where the hell else would she go?”

  “I … I don’t know.” Annoyed at her tongue clucking, I couldn’t think too straight. Kids nowadays had no respect for adults. When I got out of here, I planned to have a nice, long talk with all my nieces and nephews over the age of reason. “What I meant was, did you see Vito bothering her anymore?”

  Ruby jumped up.

  She knows something, I thought, but then looked to see Sister Barbara heading down the hallway with her medication tray. Now I didn’t know if Ruby was freaked because I’d mentioned the late Vito, or if she’d sprang up so fast to get her much-needed medication.

  Damn.

  I watched as Barbie doled out various colored pills. Most of the patients gobbled them down like tiny life rafts. How sad. Then I wondered how many stuck them under their tongues until I saw Novitiate Lalli making everyone open their mouths, stick out their tongues so she could aim her flashlight into their mouths as if she were on some big dig looking for a treasure.

  I knew that was for their own good, so no one could stockpile medication and end it all by taking them in one death-inducing swallow. But it still bothered me that she looked as if she enjoyed her job way too much.

  The novitiate moved further up my suspect list.

  Her motive had to be money, and being a new nun seemed way too convenient. She might be planted here pretending to be a nun. I’d bet she was originally a nursing assistant. Now I was determined to find out.

  But I had no clue how to go about it.

  Sister Barbie turned toward me. Shit. I was not going to take any more of her pills. Without a thought, I mumbled about having to use the powder room and rushed off. If she wanted to medicate me, she’d have to find me. I ran down the hall to my room, ready to open my bathroom door—but it was already open.

  Along with neat underwear, I have always kept the bathroom door closed. It was ingrained in me as a kid, and my brothers were probably the only males in Hope Valley that put the toilet seat back down.

  Slowly I peeked around the corner. The stark white toilet sat undisturbed, seat down, and the tub empty. There weren’t any shower curtains or rods in patients’ bathrooms. Couldn’t trust us. We all had to use the communal shower.

  Yeah, this really was the Ritz.

  I tiptoed in farther.

  Bang!

  “Shit!” I shouted, thinking I’d been shot. Then I looked down to see no red liquid oozing from any holes in me, nor was there any pain. I hurriedly spun around. The door to my room had slammed shut. That was the noise.

  The question was, Who slammed it? And where had they been hiding?

  And would I soon be following Vito to that big hospital in the sky?

  Nine

  After realizing someone had, again, been in my room, I actually did have to pee. Nerves. The door to the bathroom was fixed so that patients couldn’t lock themselves in, so I shut it and kept my ears wide open. But what the heck would I do if I heard something? I had no idea.

  I needed to learn to defend myself, and made a mental note to ask Goldie how.

  That conclusion hit me as I finished up and washed my hands. Jagger had always been around and made me feel safe. It occurred to me that when I had asked Novitiate Lalli to call him, he was there in no time. I wondered if Jagger stayed somewhere in the Institution, but I knew he’d never tell me. I scanned the room with the thought that Jagger might be watching. Then I told myself he was not some pervert, and that I was acting as crazy as the staff might think I was.

  I did not want anyone to think I was crazy.

  My behavior, not mentally ill behavior, was all I had going for me to get me out of there. That, and finishing the job for Jagger. Thank goodness Fabio was away, or I’d have lost my job by now. Unless he worked with Jagger. I shook my head. No way.

  Then again, Jagger’s cases always did coincide with mine. One more mysterious Jagger tidbit.

  As if I didn’t have enough on my plate, now it seemed that someone was spying on me. I didn’t need more bad news along with finding out who killed Vito, and why patients were being held here against their will. Damn.

  Chills chased up my spine at the thought. I’d been followed before on another case—by a murderer. No great surprise, but it gave me pause.

  What the heck had I done to get on someone’s bad side at the Institute?

  Then again, someone committing fraud for big bucks probably didn’t have a good side. Still, I had to find out not only who it was, but why. Why target me?

  I finished up and headed out to the dayroom. The place was bustling with activity, and Sister Barbie Doll was gone. Good. No pills for me. Across the room on the yellow vinyl chair with the crack in the back sat Margaret, staring into space.

  I smiled at some of the other patients and staff, and nonchalantly, I hoped, worked my way over to her. Ruby wasn’t around. Good, since I wasn’t sure if she was friend or foe or just a very confused, drug-addicted teen. “Hi,” I said and sat down next to Margaret.

  She turned but didn’t really smile. A blank look covered her face, and I worried that she’d been heavily drugged or had an
electric shock treatment. Damn. A wave of nausea floated inside my stomach at the thought. If it hadn’t been for Jagger, I …

  I made a mental note to remind him to be around for my next “treatment.”

  I felt horrible for Margaret. She sat so still. I looked in the direction she was staring. Spike sat in a chair next to the nurses’ station, reading a magazine.

  Our jailor.

  I leaned toward Margaret. “I know how you feel about him. He’s a bit much. Isn’t he?”

  She didn’t turn, but kept staring. “I … don’t belong here.”

  My heartbeat fluttered. I leaned closer but tried not to let Spike think I was chatting with Margaret. In order to do so, I had to call on my nonexistent acting skills. I started to twirl my hair over and over and hum the song “When the Saints Go Marching In.” I think Saint Theresa must have mentally nudged me that time and put that appropriate tune in my noggin. Amid choruses, I tried to communicate with Margaret. “ ‘When the saints go’ … I don’t think you belong here … ‘marching in.’”

  Margaret leaned forward slightly, a hint of a smile on her face.

  Great. She got my poor attempt at acting. We won’t get into my singing ability, but I will say that in second grade, Miss Burdacki, the music teacher, told me to mouth the words while the other kids sang.

  “Let’s turn sideways … ‘go marching in’ … so he can’t see our lips.” I finished humming instead of using words.

  Margaret turned toward the television.

  There was my buddy Jerry on the screen. His large men in black were pulling apart two females. All I heard among the bleep-outs were “sister,” “baby’s father,” “whore” and “hamburger.” I didn’t know you could say “whore” on television and didn’t even want to think about what the “hamburger” part was about.

  I peeked over to see Spike. Still reading. He seemed

  engrossed in it, so I turned to the television but said to Margaret, “I’m in this place against my will too. How did you get here?”

  For several seconds she hesitated. I noticed her fingers folded on her lap with the two thumbs twirling around each other.

  I twirled my hair in unison in case old Spike looked up.

  “I have a drinking problem. Or … at least my husband said I did.” She sucked in so much air, I thought my body would be pulled toward her. As she blew it out in a gust, she added, “I drank martinis at lunch with my garden club. But Stephen said I needed to get some help. More like a rest from the stresses of my life. Stephen’s friend was a travel agent and said he’d heard about this place … and here I am.”

  I blinked. Didn’t help to digest the words any better. “I thought you said you didn’t come here on your own?” I was getting darn good at talking with my lips firm.

  “I was told I was coming to a resort.”

  “To get rest and relaxation.”

  “Massages, facials and eat healthy,” she whispered.

  And here she’d ended up at this Ritz.

  “So, what happened that you couldn’t call Stephen and go home?”

  Despite our jailor sitting a few feet away, Margaret turned to me. “I don’t belong here,” she reiterated, then went into statue mode.

  “I … wait, Margaret!” I looked at Spike, who had set down his newspaper and stood.

  Damn.

  I’d have to reconnect with Margaret some other time. I really didn’t want her to suffer from something because of what I did. Before I knew it, Sister Liz had bustled out of the nursing station toward us.

  “How are you today, child?” she asked, looking at me.

  “I … okay.” Why’d I say that? I needed to see Jagger. “Okay. Okay. Okay,” I started to sing. Margaret looked at me. I think there was a hint of a grin on her lips, but Sister Liz merely frowned. For some reason, I think she liked me.

  “Oh, dear,” she muttered.

  “Okay. Okay. I need to see my doctor. Okay?” This last part I sang so loudly, Spike was over in a flash, holding my arms behind my back as if I were ready to attack Sister Liz’s rosary beads again.

  I tried to pull free. Wasted effort. Before Sister could stop Spike, Dr. Plummer zoomed around the corner.

  “Let her go!”

  I wanted to wrap my arms around Jagger’s neck and whisper a “thanks” in his ear. Okay, I wanted to wrap my arms around him for the hell of it, but did neither.

  Spike looked at Jagger and then let me go. “She needs the wet packs,” he mumbled and walked toward the nurses’ station.

  My eyes widened at that thought. Staff stripping me to my undies and wrapping me in wet sheets. That was one experience I did not want to have. The thought alone was claustrophobic. Calming. Yeah, right.

  Darling Sister Liz said, “I think she’s settled down now, Doctor. Do you want to speak to her?”

  “I’ll take her to the office,” Jagger said, taking me by the arm.

  Now that touch felt … good. Safe.

  Once in the office, he sat on the chair and motioned for me to sit on the couch. Why the hell didn’t we go into the exam room? I obeyed and flopped down.

  “Margaret was talking to me.”

  “And?”

  I hesitated, thinking I really didn’t have much to report, but what I thought and what Jagger thought could be very different. So I shared with him what she’d said, finishing with, “Then Spike attacked.”

  I think Jagger winced.

  “Find out more.”

  “It’s not easy with old Spike watching.”

  Jagger brushed a strand of red hair from his forehead. I was getting real used to seeing him as Dr. Plummer. But, then again, Jagger as a janitor made me hot on a past case.

  “We need to get a move on things here. If Margaret is being heavily medicated, we might not get much out of her.” He stood. “Also, I wrote an order not to medicate you, but if that damned efficient nun insists, you have to protect yourself. I don’t have to remind you that this is a private place and they can do what they want in some instances.”

  He was protecting me. My heart warmed. Then I realized Jagger would always look after the innocent. “Great, but she’s got that novice nun, who, by the way, is first on my list of suspects—”

  “Why?”

  Yikes. I knew it would not be a good idea to tell him it was because I plain didn’t like her, so I said, “She’s … nosy.”

  He shook his head … once.

  Phew.

  Then he said, “She’s a nun and a nurse in a mental hospital. I’d think being observant would be a good trait.”

  I curled my lips at him, knowing damn well it would be. “I don’t think she’s a real nurse, and anyway I’ve never seen her giving out the meds. She’s always given the job of checking everyone’s mouths with a flashlight when pills are given out.”

  “Open up.”

  I stared at him.

  “I said open up.”

  After a few hesitant seconds, I opened my mouth and Jagger proceeded to show me how to hide a capsule under my tongue, flip it up and out when she looked under and then back again to spit it out later. Somewhere along the line there was a sneeze involved, an occasional cough or some other variety of distractions. Damn. He was ingenious and good at just about everything.

  The process was tricky, so he’d taken out a Tic Tac from his pocket and we practiced for several minutes. I wondered what the nuns would say if they saw my “doctor” teaching me this trick. I kept harboring that question because Jagger was getting closer. Touching my cheek. Breathing his faintly coffee-scented breath at me … and making me feel as if I’d been drugged again.

  The pheromones jumped from Jagger to me like some mystical, magical crickets. Similar to tiny Jiminy himself. Only these had the power to make a fairly intelligent woman lose her mind.

  During the entire process, I swallowed seven Tic Tacs—whole.

  Finally I pulled my coherent thoughts forward and said, “I’ve got it.” I popped a Tic Tac into my mouth, sh
ut it, and eased back so as not to be too noticeable when it was the real thing and the nuns were watching.

  Damn it but he grinned.

  And, as usual, my face burned, letting me know I was redder than the emergency call bell light. Oh well, I told myself, at least red goes with this stupid white hospital johnny coat.

  “Talk to Margaret,” he said as he stood. “And, by the way, Ruby Montgomery’s doctor is Dr. De Jong.”

  I sat stunned. “Really?”

  He looked at me, walked to the door. “Use her for your case,” he said and opened it.

  I forced myself up as if I were twice my weight, walked to the door and turned. All I could think to say was, “There’s a difference between ‘observant’ and ‘nosy.’”

  I had my work cut out for me, I thought, as I walked into the dining room for lunch, took my tray and got my food. Rubbery chicken. Yuck.

  The room held three long dining-room tables parallel to each other with uncomfortable straight chairs for us to sit on. Guess the Institute didn’t want the patients taking their time eating while the staff had to stand around and watch. Food was served cafeteria style so we each had to get in line and grab a brown plastic tray at the end of the room near the door.

  Although the wallpaper was a bright white with green flowers, this room was my least favorite one—not that I really liked any rooms in this place. But too many of the patients looked sicker—sadder—while trying to eat. This place didn’t give the atmosphere of any restaurant I’ve ever been in.

  Ruby was across the room, and Margaret sat near the window with the dark green drapes that matched the wallpaper. Who should I pick to interrogate first?

  And what would I ask Ruby?

  I wimped out and went with the “easier” job. “Hi, Margaret,” I said, sitting down next to her. “Chicken doesn’t look too good today.”

  “Never does,” she said, spiking a cherry tomato with her fork and nibbling at it.