One Dead Under the Cuckoo's Nest

by Lori Avocato

  Jagger obviously had my number.

  The old one though.

  I told him and myself that I would do my best and not feel sorry for anyone who had attacked me or hurt someone else.

  He leaned forward, touched my cheek and said, “I’m glad you finally believe that advice, Sherlock.”

  After I’d changed back into the janitor’s outfit, Jagger pushed all the furniture back in order so that Miles and Goldie would not see it and have a collective fit. Just as we were about to leave, the door opened and my two best friends walked in, screeching, hugging and kissing me.

  Jagger stood to the side and watched.

  I could tell there were no derogatory thoughts in his mind. He actually looked a bit jealous of our friendship.

  “What the hell?” Goldie said as he held me out to take a better look. “I didn’t know Halloween was in March!”

  Miles looked concerned. “That’s part of the job, isn’t it? I really think you should let me call my friend Hammy and set you up with a job in his furniture store.”

  I smiled at both of them. “I’m fine. Really. Jagger just taught me some self-defense moves—”

  “Whoosh!” flew out of my mouth.

  Before I knew it, Goldie had me in some kind of body lock. I didn’t even think, but reacted with what I’d been taught by stepping on Goldie’s little toe, causing him to let go, then I grabbed his arm and flipped him onto the floor. I knew then that if it had been for real, I would have done my moves with a hell of a lot more force.

  Goldie got up and kissed my cheek while Miles hugged me. “Okay, get the hell on out of here,” Goldie said like a proud mamma, taking a zebra handkerchief out of his black furry purse. He dabbed his eyes and waved me off with the hanky.

  I walked on air past a smiling Jagger.

  Sixteen

  I barely had the energy or appetite to go to the dining room to eat that night. Jagger had gotten my hospital gown and pants back, walked me to my ward and left me in my room after reporting to Sister Liz that I was back.

  I sat on the bed contemplating poor Margaret in the other ward. Why on earth did they move her? I figured that someone knew this place was being “looked at.” But how? Jagger and I had been so secretive. Still, maybe I was wrong. Maybe my imagination had me thinking someone had found out about our investigation, but they really hadn’t. But there was the broom handle … maybe I was a target for another reason.

  Maybe I should just chalk it all up to bad vibes from being in here. After all, the aura of these patients had to be in shades of gray to black. Sad but true.

  “Hello, Pauline.”

  I swung around to see Terry in my doorway!

  “Oh. Hey, Ter.” I shifted on my bed ready to get up and react if need be. “You know you can’t come in here. No visiting in other patients’ rooms. Sister Barbie … Barbara Immaculatta’s rule.”

  Terry poked his big toe through the doorway.

  Despite my exhaustion, I pushed myself up to stand. “Where are your shoes, Ter?”

  He wiggled his toe. “Why do I need shoes for what I need to do?”

  Yikes! My throat went dry. “Er … what is it that you need to do, Terry?”

  He stepped forward.

  Instead of my life flashing before my eyes, Jagger’s self-defense instructions played like a video before me. I ran my finger across my bracelet. “I’m going to have to call Spike or whoever’s working this shift if you come any closer.”

  Terry laughed. What a God-awful sound. Talk about chills running down your spine. Mine were on speedboats. He wiggled his naked foot. Even that looked sinister.

  I backed toward the wall, wishing I could get past him and out the door. But Terry was a decent size in height and a generous portion in weight.

  I couldn’t take him.

  What I could do was protect myself with Jagger’s techniques and taser Terry’s butt if necessary, along with screaming for help.

  “Well, it’s time to go to the dining hall, Ter.You hungry?”

  He stood still. “Don’t call me ‘Ter.’ He called me that and look what happened to him.”

  Whoa boy.

  “Who called you that?”

  He clucked his tongue. “You know. Him. He called me ‘Ter,’ so that happened to him.”

  “Um. What is that, Terry?”

  “You know.”

  “No. I don’t … remember.”

  He walked toward the bed. “Stop fooling me, Pauline. You know. You are smart. That’s why you’re here.”

  Oh … my … God. Terry knew! “Hooow?” my words kinda croaked out.

  This time Terry came within taser distance.

  Good. I actually felt rather brave with the knowledge that Jagger had given me, not to mention the weapon on my wrist. I could do this, I told myself. Of course, I could scream too, but knew full well what happened to screaming patients around here. Terry would be out the door in a flash and no one would believe me as I rambled on while tucked in the wet sheets. The nuns already thought I’d hurt myself.

  He clucked his tongue. “You know you are smart and they have you here for that. You know that I only wanted him to see the light. You know all that, Pauline. I don’t see why you are pretending.”

  Suddenly I knew what it meant when someone’s eyes grew cold. I eased back and swallowed.

  “Pauline. Pauline. Pauline.” He started that laugh again.

  Oh, boy. Terry’s elevator didn’t go to the top floor. It was actually plummeting to the basement before my eyes, like the Tower of Terror at Disney. “Okay, I’m just hungry. So, let’s go see what there is to eat.” I called his bluff and started to walk past him. Not knowing where the courage came from, I let adrenaline power my legs as I looked him in the eye and walked toward the door. Then I stopped and realized maybe I could get more info out of Terry.

  He must have killed Vito. He’d just about confessed.

  “You’re not afraid to die, Pauline?” He closed the door.

  Got my attention with that one. I turned around. “Die? Why would I die, Terry?” I stood firm and decided I had to do my job and part of that job might just involve Vito’s death.

  Terry started to hum and wiggle his toes. If I wasn’t facing a probable murderer, his actions would be comical. Instead, they came across as disturbing. Evil.

  “I guess we all have to die someday, Ter.” I’d purposely used the nickname to rile him. I figured he might spill more beans while losing what little control he actually had.

  I preferred him spilling his beans instead of spilling me. I held my bracelet with the other hand.

  “And you want to see the light on Tuesday?”

  Today was Tuesday. “No, Ter. I want to see my grandchildren’s children grow up. No light for me yet.”

  He came closer and looked much larger.

  Gone was the pleasant doctor look that I’d originally seen when we first met. Mentally ill folks do have some chameleonlike qualities. That’s what makes psych so hard to work in. One never could tell if someone was sane … or not.

  I was going with “not” for Ter.

  For a second, I wished Jagger would come running in the door and zap Terry. But then I decided I could do this. I was an investigator and needed to face the risks of the job on my own.

  So, going for the sixty-four-thousand-dollar risk, I asked, “Hey, Ter … did Vito see the light?”

  “Vito!” he shouted then lunged at me with all his crazy force. I fell against the wall and started to call for Spike or anyone. Someone! Terry had wrapped his gigantic hands around my neck and wasn’t about to let go. He started to squeeze as he asked, “Is the light getting brighter yet? Is it?” he raised his voice.

  The damn light is about to wink out, I thought. I tried to move, but ended up flailing about under his weight. Taking a hint from Spike, I spit at Terry. He shifted and

  cursed while I lifted my knee to his groin enough to get him to jerk up and yelp.

  Then he grabbed my wrist
against his shoulder … and tasered himself.

  His eyes bugged out. His body had some kind of convulsion. And Terry landed like a limp, gigantic rag doll on my chest, with a whoosh of air into my face.

  Geez. I would have thought his reaction to being stunned would have been different. More stiff. I pushed at him until he tumbled to the side.

  In the meantime, I jumped up so fast my head spun, while a gang crowded into the doorway. The first row of spectators consisted of patients. Staring. Mumbling. Hollering. Some woman with a Barbie doll stood in front shaking it at us.

  From behind, I could hear Spike and the staff yelling at the spectators to move. Spike shoved past everyone.

  I straightened up and said, “Terry’s not feeling well.”

  Kneeling next to Terry, Spike said, “He’s dead.”

  Seventeen

  “I killed him. I killed a man,” I wailed, as Jagger held me. Thank goodness he had appeared only seconds after Terry’s demise and whisked me off to the treatment room after I had experienced “the trauma of seeing Terry die directly on top of me.”

  I’d seen patients pass away before my eyes, but I had never been the cause.

  “You didn’t kill him. He killed himself. And besides, you didn’t know that the taser gun could affect him like that because of the medication Terry was taking. There’s only been a few cases where cops tasered perps who happened to be on medication for some form of mental illness … and they died. It’s controversial and it’s rare. Very rare, Sherlock.”

  “But it happened.” He held me tighter. I wondered how Jagger had known that there had been some very rare cases where cops had tasered suspects and they had died.

  I figured he didn’t tell me because then I’d hesitate to use the taser around here—even to save my own life.

  “True, it did happen, Sherlock, but you said he was going to kill you. You said he had killed Vito. And he killed himself instead. Ironic, but justice nevertheless.”

  “No. I … well … he—” I sniffled again and Jagger handed me a tissue from the box on the counter. “He actually didn’t say he had killed Vito. He kept talking about ‘seeing the light’ so when I asked him if Vito had seen it, he attacked me.” I blew my nose and continued, “Kinda odd. Isn’t it? I mean I only had to ask about Vito and Terry went off like crazy.”

  “He was crazy.” Jagger touched his finger to my forehead, this time so gently I had to struggle to feel it. I did feel my hair being moved back again. Real nice touch.

  As I basked in Jagger’s hold, he continued, “Terry was in here for hurting his younger brother. Terry denied it though.”

  “That’s not uncommon.”

  “No, but Terry tried to throw a hairdryer on full blast into a Jacuzzi with his brother in it.”

  I shuddered. “Oh, my.”

  “But good old Terry had said that he only wanted his brother to experience ‘seeing the light.’ Never meant to hurt him. He said he planned to pull the plug right after his brother had the opportunity to see the light.”

  “He wanted me to see the light,” I whispered.

  “I’m taking you home tonight, Sherlock.”

  “I guess that would be a good idea. Then I can come back tomorrow and find out more. I mean, Jagger, Terry killed Vito. Now it’s safer for me to be here. We only have to find out about the fraud ring and get Margaret safely out of here.”

  “We don’t know for sure that he killed Vito,” he said.

  “But he must have. I feel better knowing he is the one who did it.”

  “Yeah, whatever.” Then he pushed the hair back from my face and kissed me on the forehead.

  I held my breath. I could have taken the gesture as one of friend to friend, adult to child, or Jagger to woman.

  I was going with the last.

  Yeah, whatever? That was not something one would expect to hear from confident Jagger.

  When I got home, I found that Goldie and Miles had gone out for the night. I wondered, only for a few minutes, what story Jagger had concocted to get me another pass, then found out he’d wowed Sister Barbie enough so that she had me temporarily moved to another unit—or so she thought—after Terry died on me. But in reality, Jagger had sneaked me out.

  The guy could be crafty.

  Besides, who would they report missing, Mary Louise?

  I actually thought that maybe Sister Barbie or someone higher up there knew all about Jagger and me. Well, at least Jagger. He knew his way around the Institute too damn easily. Maybe that’s how he got away with so much—thank goodness. Before he’d sent me upstairs to bed and said he’d be bunking on the couch, he’d mentioned that now I’d have time to finish my case.

  I’d thanked him for getting me out of there for a few days to do that.

  But once tucked in bed, I realized that Jagger had no intention of my ever going back to the Cortona Institute of Life.

  Three strikes and Pauline was out.

  Percolating coffee. Frying bacon. Citrus.

  I opened one eye and inhaled. Breakfast. I was starving since I never did make it to dinner last night in all the hubbub of Terry killing himself.

  Throughout the night I’d tossed and turned, feeling horrible about his dying, and did come to the conclusion that it wasn’t my fault. I did, however, still say some prayers for his confused soul.

  When I looked at the clock to see it was after nine, I jumped up. No Spanky on my duvet. Jagger was downstairs and Spanky, the little rascal, knew it. He also must have known that Jagger was making breakfast. Miles and Goldie only did the big breakfast on the weekends. Today was Wednesday. Jagger had turned into a chef again.

  He’d done it before for me.

  I heard laughing—male laughing with a few giggles interspersed—and knew my roomies were downstairs with Jagger. Feeling as protective as a mother lioness, I jumped out of bed, not sure how Jagger and my roomies would get along. I didn’t want them to feel uncomfortable with someone they didn’t usually hang out with. I loved them both too much.

  Since I couldn’t appear in my nightie and robe, I shoved on undies and a jogging suit, headed to the bathroom, brushed what needed to be brushed, combed what needed to be combed and tried to cover up any facial wrinkles with makeup. My cut had scabbed and looked well on its way to healing. I needed Goldie’s expertise right about now but had to settle for something more along the lines of what a mortician’s makeup artist would come up with.

  On the way down the stairs I stopped and listened. More laughter. I could tell Miles’s since I’d known him for so long, and Goldie—well, there was that giggle again. But the new laughter, the deep, sexy laughter had to be coming from Jagger.

  I nearly ran into the kitchen to be sure.

  There, seated on the counter, holding traitor Spanky, was Jagger, smiling, sipping coffee and, yes, laughing.

  “You’re sitting on the counter,” was all I could manage, knowing Miles must be having a fit.

  But Miles laughed again and said, “Ease up on him, Pauline, we like him.”

  They like him? They like him? They like him!

  Something had transformed around the condo during the night, and it wasn’t me. I did, however, accept the cup of green tea Goldie handed me. He was wearing a peach cashmere sweater, peach suede slacks and a white ostrich feather pin to the left side of his chest.

  “Thanks,” was all I could get out. Goldie must have known how flustered I was as he led me to the table and practically had to sit me down.

  I whispered, “He’s sitting on the counter. Miles can see him!”

  Goldie patted my shoulder. “Suga, you all right?” He sniffled.

  I looked up to see Miles wipe his eyes too.

  “You shouldn’t have told them,” I said to Jagger. “They have a tendency to worry.” I smiled at Goldie and Miles. “Guys, I’m fine. I wasn’t hurt.”

  “Well, I for one am glad that whacko offed himself,” Goldie said.

  “He was sick, Gold.”

 
Goldie waved a hand at me and held his fingers out. “Don’t you go feeling sorry for some nutty nut who could have hurt you, Suga.” He snapped his fingers with a crack.

  Miles gasped.

  I jumped.

  And Jagger shook his head—twice.

  Goldie and Miles both stood and started to clean up.

  “I’ll get that, guys. You go ahead,” I said.

  Goldie leaned over and kissed my cheek. Miles gave me a bear hug that had me nearly out of breath. “You two stop acting as if I was nearly killed. I can handle … I handled myself. I’ll be fine when I go back.”

  Goldie screeched but not as loudly as Miles. They both spun around toward Jagger as if he could help them.

  “Guys, don’t look at him. I am going back.” I actually couldn’t look at Jagger. If I did, I was afraid he would put some kind of Jagger-influenced curse on me, and I’d be following an order not to go back to the Cortona Institute of Life.

  “I am,” I reiterated.

  Silence.

  Spanky jumped down from Jagger’s lap as a squirrel had the nerve to tap his paw at the glass of the French door that led out to the patio. Miles opened the door. “Get the varmint, Spanks!”

  While the dog barked, the squirrel jumped to the brick wall and turned around as if to laugh at darling Spanky. Miles and Goldie excused themselves to head off to work. “Chickens,” I mumbled as they both went out the door. Goldie said that neither would be home until late tonight, so we were on our own for dinner.

  I looked up. “I am going back, Jagger. I am.”

  Jagger and I never began a “discussion” about my going back or not going back to work on the case. Instead, we headed off to Dr. De Jong’s practice, and before I knew it, we were in the backdoor, down the hallway and into the reception area sooner than anyone could see us.

  “Isn’t this breaking and entering?”

  Jagger merely looked at me. I knew it was, but I also knew he had friends in the police department, and we were not going to do any harm or take anything or break anything. Jagger had jimmied the lock without leaving a smudge.