by Lori Avocato
Ruby had headed down the hallway toward the dayroom without the television. But before she got there she turned into her room. Damn. I huddled in the alcove near the nurses’ station to wait and see if she came out.
Several minutes passed and no Ruby. I noticed Margaret walk from the dining room and head down the hallway. I waved for her to come over. “Did you see that Ruby had on black slacks? She never wears black slacks.”
Margaret seemed to contemplate Ruby’s wardrobe. “No, I’ve always seen her in jeans. Did you ask her about them?”
I grimaced and figured I might be loading too much info on a layperson like Margaret. After all, she was a Southern housewife and mother, not some PI. “No, let’s not say any—”
Nurse Lawson came down the hallway, gave us a look and went into Ruby’s room. Before I knew it, Ruby was coming out—with her suitcase!
The nurse turned to her, “Say goodbye to the other patients, Ruby.”
I wanted to melt into the alcove, but Ruby turned around with the most devious look in her eyes and said, “Goodbye, Pauline.”
That speedboat of chills maneuvered up my spine again.
When Ruby and Nurse Lawson disappeared from the unit, I leaned against the wall and sighed.
“How nice that Ruby is getting out. I guess she is all cured,” Margaret said.
I could only sigh again and think that was good news for me too. With Ruby gone, I was safer—until I realized we didn’t know who had put her up to attacking me. Of course she could have done it on her own, but I doubted that. In my gut I knew someone must have influenced Ruby. She had no reason to attack me otherwise.
I sat in the quiet dayroom after Margaret decided to go take a nap. Her medication must have made her sleepy. My Green Demon’s effects had been overridden by my astonishment. Ruby had to have been the one to attack me. But why?
I needed some outside help.
When I saw the Doll Lady come by with a brown ripped teddy bear, I hurried out of the dayroom to the nurses’ station. Sister Liz was on the phone. Nurse Lawson was charting and Novitiate Lalli was writing on what looked like the medication records.
Sister Liz it was.
I made my way over to her side of the desk and waited by the glass window until she looked up. Finally she did and said, “Hello, Pauline. What can I do for you?”
“I need to talk to my doctor. I’m feeling very—” I had to choose my words carefully in this place. One mention or hint of suicide could have me on constant watch. “Well, you know, Sister, I just need to talk to him.”
She looked as if she was trying to find his number, and I said a silent prayer to Saint Theresa that Jagger/Dr. Dick was still listed as my doc. Please. Praying to a saint with a nun as an interceptor had to garner extra points. In a few minutes, Sister Liz was sliding the glass window to the side. “Please be brief, Pauline. We can’t tie up this line before … Sister Barbara returns.”
I smiled at her, knowing that Sister Barbara would more than likely not let me talk on the phone. I pulled the receiver close to my ear and said, “Dr. Plummer, I need some help.”
Silence.
I half expected to hear the dial tone at any minute.
Instead, I shut my eyes a second when Jagger’s voice said, “What do you need?”
No argument. No lecture.
Of course, he knew I was probably standing in front of some staff here and didn’t want to risk my getting caught. I was also quite sure, however, that the next time I saw him in person, he’d let me have it.
I whispered to him to find out about Ruby and how she had gotten released. I was certain she would have been here much longer by the sounds of things when I first met her.
I knew Jagger had nodded and then hung up.
What I didn’t know was that within a few minutes, Dr. Plummer would summon me to the examination room. My escort, Spike, seemed to take pleasure in bringing me down there as if he thought I was going to get zapped again.
When Spike walked out, Jagger turned around. “Ruby was released early. Two months early.” He leaned against the wall and for a few seconds I thought, Great, this is going to be business as usual.
Then Jagger came closer. “What the hell were you thinking, Pauline?”
I could barely think when he used my real name. “Well, I had to … Margaret is back on this unit. They moved her back right after I questioned Novitiate Lalli as to where Margaret was and why she was moved.” Damn, I sounded as if I really did know what I was talking about.
I didn’t let him say anything but waved my hand like Sister Liz and told him all about my theories, what I’d found out and my attack earlier that day.
Before I could go on, he moved closer, gently eased my bangs to the side and cursed—but not at me. He let go and looked as if about to ask a question.
“I’m fine. Just fine. So, by moving Margaret back, and taking Ruby away, I think someone is trying to tell me something. Something like they are in charge.”
Jagger remained silent.
I assumed he was upset and needed to compose himself. In a few minutes, he grabbed the rolling doctor’s stool with his foot, sat and said, “I’m going to assume you and your skills were the reason you didn’t get killed this morning, and not some dumb twist of fate. That you used your skills, what I taught you, and your brain.”
I nodded since I knew anything I said would be a lie. I found I could lie with body movements better than with words.
Jagger then proceeded to review the case with me—no more mention of my coming back—or leaving anytime soon.
“So this means I get to stay?” I asked, smiling.
He looked at me.
“Come on, Jagger. You know we … I need to be here. To do this for Margaret and anyone else involved.”
Jagger rolled his stool toward the wall and leaned back. “You’re on probation, Sherlock.”
I straightened up in a flash as if that would give more credence to my words. “Fabio let me off probation—”
Jagger leaned near. His nose barely touched mine. I felt his warm breath on my right cheek. “My probation, Pauline. My probation.”
I looked at him. “Fine. Your stinking probation.” I didn’t want him to think he’d gotten one over on me. “But, Jag, this is the last time I take a nursing job. If you want my help, you’ll have to ask for it as an investigator.”
I know I’ll always wonder what that look on Jagger’s face meant—because I sure didn’t think it was agreement.
Jagger had left me with the “order” to find out if there were any other patients here that didn’t belong—who could have been kidnapped, admitted and had their insurance cards stolen.
Ha. No easy feat.
Half the chameleons around here looked sane one minute but in the next instant were tearing off dolls’ heads or carrying on conversations with Napoleon. Still, it was a good idea, and I had agreed to get to work on it.
So I headed out to the dayroom with the television set, the hub of Psych Ward 200.
While Oprah talked to actor Johnny Depp about a newly released movie, I sighed a few times in honor of Johnny and sat myself down on the couch, ready to study this gang.
Sometimes my job was really easy.
Talking to Johnny from her seat on the dayroom’s recliner was Suzanne, a wannabe actress. She’d corrected me several times that her name was pronounced, “Suzonne” with a French accent. Then she argued with Johnny about why he got movie contracts and she didn’t. Ha. Ruby had told me once that Suzanne had played in local high school productions and a few bit parts at the of f-Broadway theater, the Shubert, in New Haven. Now she worked at a fast-food restaurant to pay her bills and had started to smoke pot to fight depression, not to mention that she argued with stars on television.
Conclusion: Suzanne belonged here.
Next to me on the couch was the Doll Lady, who was snoozing with a stuffed rag doll tucked beneath her arm. No one would believe that only yesterday she was a doll decapit
ator.
Belonged here.
My gaze spun past three men in their red pj’s who were all sitting in a catatonic state and were well into their seventies. I figured they belonged in a nursing home rather than here, but must come from money, and maybe kids who put them here. What they most likely needed was loving family members—and had greedy heirs instead.
Didn’t belong here, but weren’t hijacked either.
“Is anyone sitting here?” a deep, male voice with a slight French accent asked.
My female instincts perked up and I turned to see a damn good looking, dark, swarthy guy—in navy silk pj’s with a navy silken robe and Italian leather loafers on.
Wow. I sure hoped he didn’t belong here.
Suddenly I was beginning to like the policy of patients wearing their pj’s. I knew it was so they couldn’t escape, but damn, some looked real good in them.
“No. Have a seat.” I inhaled some very expensive
cologne. It had to be expensive because everything about this guy dripped money, and it didn’t smell like anything any of my male relatives wore. Then again, this guy could be a poverty-stricken chameleon.
He held out his hand before sitting. “Mason Dubois.”
I scanned the room to see none of the staff was watching, shook his hand and said, “Dubois. Sounds French. I have a dear friend who is French Canadian.” For a second I missed Adele and the gang terribly, but told myself I’d be out of here real soon.
“Cajun French.” He sat down with the grace of a dancer.
My eyes widened. “Cajun French, as in from the South?”
“New Orleans.”
My mouth went dry. New Orleans. If this guy was “recruited” here by the same sleaze that kidnapped Margaret, we could have something soon. “Oh. New Orleans. Small world.”
“Have you been there, mademoiselle?”
The accent and the looks sidetracked my mind. Mademoiselle? How cute. How European. How sexy.
Suddenly I hoped this guy wasn’t a nutcase. He appeared to be too suave to be a real patient.
“The name’s Pauline. You know, Mason, I haven’t seen you around here before.” And you stick out like a swarthy sore thumb.
His eyes darkened. More like anger than sadness. “I only just arrived.”
Hmm. We needed to talk. I looked around and saw Nurse Lawson approaching. Didn’t the woman ever have a day of f? She walked to the Doll Lady and checked her pulse. Geez. Had she gone to that big dollhouse in the sky while I sat here?
Evidently not, since Lawson smiled at Mason and went back to the nurses’ station, where several nuns worked. Spike was on his perch at the end of the dayroom, glaring at me. I nodded and smiled. No reaction. Good. At least he didn’t come slap me upside the head.
“Pauline? I asked you if you’d been to New Orleans.”
“Hmm? Oh, no. But a friend … another patient from here has. Well, she lives there. Margaret Seabright. Do you know the New Orleans Seabrights?”
“I’ve heard the name, but no, not personally.” He looked around the room and shook his head. “How sad.”
I nodded and my gut said Mason Dubois did not belong here.
Spike was coming toward us.
I motioned for Mason to watch the television.
“Everything all right here, Pauline?”
“Why wouldn’t it be? We are watching Johnny Depp, for crying out loud.”
Mason chuckled.
Spike glared at me.
I grabbed the arm of the couch in case he got the idea to lift me up and shake me like the Raggedy Ann doll that Doll Lady held and was now twisting its head around and around. Must have had a bad daydream.
“Everything is fine,” Mason reiterated.
Spike turned and over his shoulder said, “Better be. Don’t annoy the new patient, Pauline.”
Well! I could have given him a good piece of my mind, but knew my place here and wasn’t in a “wet sheet” sort of mood. I turned to Mason. “Don’t pay any attention to him. He’s a bully.”
Mason looked at me as if I were the Doll Lady. Oh, no! He wouldn’t confide in me if he thought I’d flown over the cuckoo’s nest.
I had to gain his confidence to investigate more. So I decided to tell him the daily schedule of Ward 200 in case he hadn’t heard it. Then he seemed to be paying attention, so I looked around to see Spike embroiled in a conversation with Nurse Lindeman. I made my move.
“Mason, what brings you here?”
He hesitated, but I could tell he was dying to say something. Did it have to do with fraud? For a few seconds he remained silent. Smart man not to trust another psych patient. I gave him extra points.
“Look, I don’t belong here,” I said, then followed his gaze up and down my outfit. “Oh. Don’t let appearances fool you. The policy is that they take all your stuff around here to keep you safe.” I waved my hand. “Not that I’m not safe with my stuff.”
Now he looked confused. How to convince him?
“Mason, I am … not who you think I am.”
His eyebrows rose and I could tell I was losing him, and no wonder. I was beginning to sound as if I not only belonged here, but should put up a shingle naming it my permanent residence.
I took in a breath and let it out slowly.
Then I told him a little about Margaret, her family, where her house was and how she got here.
Mason’s interest peaked.
“Did you come here in a white van?”
“I flew from New Orleans, and, yes, a white van picked me up at Bradley International Airport.”
I nodded. “So did Margaret.”
Finally he said, “My ex-wife caused me a great deal of pain. Left me. I was totally unaware, and she did it with a note on the refrigerator. We were going to start a family soon.”
Wow. How cold. “I’m sorry.”
He nodded. “When Francine left, I was very down.
You know, Pauline, it really wasn’t from her leaving, but more the prospect of not being able to have a child. I love children.”
My biological clock alarm sounded.
What a guy. Good-looking. Money. Nice. And wants kids. I was ready to sign us both out and put a down payment on a house with a white picket fence.
“I have several nieces and nephews.”
He smiled at me, gently. “No children of your own?”
“No husband of my own.” Then I stuck up my hand. “No one else’s husband either!”
Mason laughed. “So, I called my travel agent, a new one, mind you. Arnold, my regular agent, had recently retired and moved to his cottage on the Gulf. So, this new agent, whose name I will not mention, suggested I come to a resort in New England. I needed a change of scenery and climate. I could rest, relax, forget my problems and play tennis … indoors.”
Mesmerized by Mason, I muttered, “We have Ping Pong on the unit.”
His laughter yanked me out of my cloud.
“So, you didn’t know you were coming to a psychiatric hospital?”
He looked insulted. “No, mademoiselle.”
“Did they … do you have very good coverage for mental health? Insurance coverage that is.”
“Excellent.”
“Mason, you don’t belong here, and I can help you.”
He leaned over and took my hand, bent and kissed it.
When I looked up in a tizzy, behind Mason stood … Dr. Dick.
Twenty-one
Great. There I was, making … er … making progress in my case with Mason, and Dr. Dick had to show up.
And he didn’t look all that friendly.
“Doctor, this is Mason. He’s from New Orleans—”
“It’s time for your treatment, Pauline.” Jagger glared at me and ignored Mason.
I started to stand. Jagger took my arm. Behind him I could see Spike starting to get up. Geez. I stood and smiled. “Fine. Fine. I’m all set.” I turned back to see Mason, looking at me as if I would make a perfect nutty snack for any squirre
l.
Once inside the examining room, I yanked free of Jagger. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Saving you, Pauline.”
I rubbed my arm where he’d held me, although it didn’t hurt a bit. He winced. Good. “Don’t call me that.”
“Okay, Mary Louise.”
He didn’t even grin.
I pushed past him and sat on the edge of the exam table. “You shouldn’t have pulled me away from talking to Mason. I was making progress with him!” I did not need saving.
“More like time,” he muttered.
I had to smile to myself.
“I wasn’t flirting with Mason.”
“No, he was flirting with you. French accent, my foot.” He sat on the doctor’s rolling stool. It rolled into the wall with a thud.
I think he smacked his head, but ignored it.
“Jagger, Mason Dubois is from New Orleans. Like Margaret—”
“Small world.”
“No it isn’t. He’s been brought here under false pretenses too. He thought he was coming to a resort, but they took his insurance card, airline ticket, and all his stuff. And he has damn good mental-health coverage.”
Jagger looked at me. “I’ll take you back now.”
I smiled. That was enough of an apology from Jagger.
I have to get Margaret and Mason together soon, I thought as I headed toward the dining room. When Jagger had dragged me away from Mason, he looked as if he thought I was a real patient. We had to convince him otherwise. Hopefully there would be something Margaret could say that would get him to open up to us.
Jackie Dee sat at the table near Mason. Damn. I did not want to cause her to relapse again, and she was just nosy enough to listen to everything we said. Margaret was a few seats down. It would look too suspicious if I asked her to move near Mason and we all started whispering. Darn it all, it’d have to wait.
Since I was late and had spent some time surveying the room as usual, the only seat left was next to the Doll Lady. She was feeding Raggedy Ann a slice of white bread. I only hoped she hadn’t buttered it.
