“More than twisted. I broke it.”
“You were in second grade. That’s ancient history. You need to get over it and get serious about your workouts. You’re dealing with grownups now.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You know what it means. You’ve been going through the motions at judo tournaments for years, but you’re still a sissy when it comes to a real fight.”
“You don’t know that. I’ve never needed to fight. The Tango Bueller incident doesn’t count. He caught me off guard.”
“It might count next time. You’d damn well better decide what you will and won’t do.”
“Like what?”
“If he comes after you again, you’re going to have to hurt him. Are you ready to gouge his eyes out if that’s what it takes?”
“Of course.” But the thought of gouging eyes from their sockets made me feel faint. I left the table and took our wine glasses to the sink so Harry wouldn’t notice.
He went to use the bathroom while I was rinsing the glasses in hot water. I reached for a dishtowel hanging on a rack near the door. I stopped in mid-reach when I saw the doorknob jiggle. I stood very still, holding my breath. Call out for Harry? Find a weapon? The knob jiggled again, more forcefully. What kind of prowler would be that obvious?
When Harry came out of the bathroom, I put my finger to my lips to shush him and pointed toward the doorknob. It jiggled again, then we heard a plaintive meow just outside the door. Fanny! Harry’s face broke into a grin. He cracked the door open, and Fanny charged in with a disgusted cat noise somewhere between meow and it’s about damn time.
I’d forgotten about the old firewood box next to the door. A perfect height for a smart cat that knew tapping on a doorknob would magically cause a door to open.
After Harry left, I locked up, poured another glass of wine, and crawled into bed with Fanny. While I waited for sleep, sinister visions of the Bueller brothers danced in my head. Spit-and-polished Marco with the buzz cut, and Tango, the loose-limbed, mop-haired gypsy.
Chapter 14
Tuesday morning began with a sunrise assault on my sleep-deprived senses. Jack’s tom turkeys strutted below my window, greeting the day with a cacophony of alpha male gobbling that set my ears ringing. Fanny jumped on the bed and tried to roust me by kneading my back with surprising force. I enjoyed the massage until she worked her way south and sank her needle-sharp toenails into my left butt cheek. I yelped and jumped out of bed, vowing to clip her claws as soon as I got home from work. She dropped to the floor unfazed, shook her great gray plume of a tail, and stalked off toward her food dish.
I dressed for the day’s predicted heat in a cotton shift and low-heeled sandals. No worries about getting too chilly at work; the air conditioning was as old as everything else in the antiquated building that housed the library.
It took my entire allotment of self-discipline to put my personal troubles on hold once I reached the hospital. The possibility of Harry being arrested took first place on my list of worries, but Tango Bueller’s parole came in a close second. A shiver crossed my skin, raising pimply flesh on my arms every time I thought about him.
I passed the main parking lot and checked the small lot closer to my building, where I got lucky and found an empty space. When I reached the library door, my luck soured. Orrie Mercer was manning the entrance. What was he doing there? Then I recalled seeing him with Maybelline. Maybe they were an item and he’d requested a duty change to be closer to her. Whatever the reason, he was the least of my worries, so I acknowledged his presence with a nod and went inside.
Lola was due at nine o’clock. That gave me an hour to get organized. I started by checking messages. The first one I heard took my breath away.
“Hi, Ingrid. This is Arnie Palmer. I enjoyed meeting you at the museum last Sunday. I’ll bet you’re surprised to hear from me. I understand about the fake name; a woman can’t be too careful these days. I hope you’ll call me.” He left a number with a Manton prefix.
I was beyond surprised. Stunned was more like it. How had he found me? I called the gun club and asked for Russell West, who had worked there for years.
“Yeah,” Russell said, “a new guy just joined the club. We got to yakking, you know, about women who shoot. I told him you were the only woman I knew who had dated one of our instructors. But I said your name was Aimee Machado, not this Ingrid chick he was looking for.”
“Did you tell him where I worked?”
“Nope. I said I didn’t even know if you were still in town. Did I screw up? He seemed like an okay guy, you know? Kind of puny and harmless.”
I reassured Russell he’d done nothing wrong, and hung up. Add Arnie Palmer to my list of things to worry about. He might be smitten with Ingrid, or he might be Bonnie Beardsley’s stalker. Possibly both. He certainly had gone to a lot of trouble to track me down.
My second message was from my romance author friend Vanza Von. No doubt she was curious about Nick and me, since she was the traitor who had told Nick where I worked. I called her back, planning to give her some grief. She stopped me before I warmed to the subject.
“Listen girl, you need to cut Nick some slack. He’s one of the good guys.”
“How would you know?” I said. “All the men in your books are macho misogynistic narcissists.”
“I may write trash, but I’ve done my research. My heroes are domineering and powerful, sultry and charming. Granted, they’re the worst husband material a woman could dig out from under a rock, but that’s what my readers want.”
“What’s your point?”
“Nick’s a hunk, and definitely eye candy, but trust me, sweetie, he’s the real deal. Give him a chance.”
“Is this why you called?”
“Partly. The other reason is Milton Palmer. What’s with him?”
I’d almost forgotten about the jilted news anchor. “What about him?”
“Haven’t you heard? He’s in your hospital.”
I nearly dropped the phone. “What? Why?”
“If I knew that, I wouldn’t be calling you. Last I heard, you were thinking about dating him.”
I told Vanza that hadn’t worked out and got off the phone.
When I checked the hospital’s online roster showing the day’s new admissions, there he was: Milton Palmer. His room number indicated he was on the surgical floor. Just then Lola appeared, tiny and hunched, her white crown of hair looking freshly coiffed. She wore lipstick in a cheerful shade of red, and her cheeks were lightly blushed.
“Morning, Aimee. What lovely tasks do we have today?”
I pointed out a stack of new journals to be shelved. She went off into the stacks humming a Stockwell tune while I focused on the calendar on my computer screen. It highlighted my morning appointment with Dr. Beardsley—the one I would be late for if I didn’t make tracks. Beardsley was waiting for me in a small conference room adjacent to Jared Quinn’s office. He greeted me with a look that suggested he was envisioning me in a kimono. It might have been my imagination, but I wasn’t seeing much evidence of grief in this man. He showed no sign that he was worried about the police investigation, either.
We took care of library business in five minutes. He listened to my proposals about the forensic collection and how best to spend the allotted funds, nodded enthusiastically and approved everything I suggested. Good news, as I could make headway with the job I’d been hired to do. I was crafting a graceful exit line when Jared Quinn materialized in the open doorway. His Cheshire cat qualities were unsettling. He seemed to materialize as if by magic, and his quizzical smile lingered after he was gone.
“How are you two this morning?”
“Jared, come in,” Beardsley said.
“Don’t want to interrupt.”
“Nonsense. We’re finished with our little meeting.”
“That’s right.” I rose from my chair. “I was just leaving, so if you two have business—”
“Nothing like t
hat,” Quinn said. “Just my morning rounds. Would you like to walk with me, Aimee? You don’t get to spend much time in this building. I’d like to give you a tour of the tower.”
“I should be getting back to the library. Lola may need me.”
“Lola is a capable woman.” Quinn smiled at the thought.
“You know her?”
“I know all the volunteers. I attend their monthly meetings. You would be surprised how much I learn about this place.”
I tagged along while Quinn strode the halls looking in on various department heads, offering upbeat comments, asking about families, dropping a compliment here and there and introducing me along the way. No wonder he was a popular administrator. I had no idea he put such stock in building morale.
On the surgical floor I spotted Milton Palmer’s room number. It was a single room, and the door was closed. As we walked toward the nurses’ station, I heard snippets of a conversation, which I assumed concerned Palmer.
“Toupee glue? Hair grower?”
“… scalp was covered in boils.”
“… debridement took two hours.”
Quinn leaned on the counter. “Hello there. How’s it going this morning?”
“Not bad,” the older nurse replied. “Our celebrity is pretty uncomfortable, but we’re keeping him medicated.”
“Good. Refer any inquiries about his condition to Public Relations.”
“We know,” the nurses answered in unison.
“You do good work,” Quinn said. The nurses beamed.
I left Quinn to finish his rounds and went back to the library where I pondered what to do about the message from Arnie Palmer, the man I suspected of being Bonnie Beardsley’s stalker. After a moment, I realized the answer was obvious. I’d already told him I had a boyfriend. I called the number he’d left, praying I’d get a message machine. Another prayer went unanswered.
“Arnie Palmer here.” My day for Palmers, but the name was common, and Arnie was obviously no relation to the pitiful patient. He sounded pleasantly surprised even before I spoke, as if he didn’t get many calls. Words like stalker and pervert spun in my mind, but they just wouldn’t come to rest on this innocuous but persistent man.
“Arnie,” I said. “This is Aimee Machado. How clever of you to find me.”
“Then you’re not upset?”
“Of course not, I’m flattered.”
“Whew, that’s a relief. I’m not too good at this yet.”
“Good at what?”
“Meeting women. I guess I’m what you’d call a late bloomer.”
“Here’s the thing, Arnie. You may recall my telling you I have a boyfriend. The one who works at the gun club?”
“Yes, I do. But let me tell you why I called you earlier. I have tickets to the ballet tomorrow night. Giselle. I was hoping you might know someone who would like to join me.”
It was my turn to be disappointed. I adore ballet. Nick hates ballet. And worse yet, Nick wasn’t really my boyfriend; therefore, there was no reason I shouldn’t go with Arnie, except that he might be a stalker and/or a murderer.
But then maybe a date with Arnie wasn’t such a bad idea. How could I assess him as a suspect if I didn’t learn more about him? Like Russell West at the gun club had said, he seemed puny and harmless.
“You know, if we make it a platonic thing, I’m sure my boyfriend wouldn’t mind. That is, if you need someone to use that extra ticket.”
“Really? That would be wonderful. I mean, great. Platonic it is. Tell me where you live and I’ll pick you up. We can have dinner first.”
“Um, that might be pushing it. How about I meet you at the Civic Center? What time does the ballet start?”
“Eight. Meet me in the lobby about seven thirty?”
“Sounds perfect.” I jotted a note on my desk calendar.
“Right. Then … goodbye for now.” He sounded pensive, a little sad, and anything but menacing. I considered the odds of being attacked while surrounded by balletomanes and decided they were slim to none. On the other hand, this was a chance to find out whether Arnie was Bonnie’s museum stalker, and I would get to see Giselle in the bargain.
“I finished shelving the journals, Miss Machado. Do you have any special tasks for me this morning?” I looked up from my desk to see Lola smiling at me. The smile told me she had overheard me making the ballet date.
“No, Lola, nothing special.”
“All right, then, I’ll just do some mending.” She went to work on repairing textbooks with loose pages. The mending skills she had acquired during her longtime career at the county library still served her well.
Chapter 15
Lola left at noon, and I spent the rest of my workday on small but critical details only a librarian could love. Harry’s dilemma, Tango’s parole, and my date with Arnie Palmer vied for my attention. There was nothing I could do about any of them at the moment, but Milton Palmer’s proximity could not be ignored. If only I could drop in on him. But how? Use my Ingrid persona? Call him expressing concern? No. Ingrid had told him she was leaving town.
I couldn’t afford to miss the opportunity, so I closed the library at five o’clock and trekked to the third floor of the main tower where pre- and post-surgery patients were housed. Celebrity or no, as soon as Palmer’s IV line was pulled, he’d be discharged. Health insurers have a reputation as heartless bean counters for a reason.
When I reached Palmer’s room, I squared my shoulders and stepped inside. A young brunette woman sat on a chair next to his bed holding his hand. Although I was sure we’d never met, she looked familiar.
“Hello,” I said. “I’m Aimee Machado, TMC’s librarian.”
The slender woman stood and smiled, showing a dimple in her right cheek. “I’m Penny Palmer.” The voice on the phone. His daughter.
“I hope I’m not interrupting,” I directed my words to Palmer, whose head was swathed in white bandages. The rest of him was covered by white sheets. The Mummy Returns.
Palmer slurred, “Iz ah righ.”
Penny murmured, “Excuse me. I need to make a call.”
She left me alone with a heavily medicated Milton Palmer, so I decided to go for it. Chances were good he’d never remember I’d visited him.
“Mr. Palmer? Would you like me to bring you something to read? We have a nice collection of bestsellers in the hospital library.”
He turned toward my voice, but stared through me at something only he could see. “Netta? That you? So … sorry.”
Netta? That had to be his wife, Arnetta, whose revenge for his adultery had been a bitter legal battle over their property settlement. According to Harry, she got the lion’s share, and yet the man was still racked with guilt.
Penny Palmer returned to the room. She bore only a slight resemblance to her father, but she definitely looked familiar. She sat next to him and nodded with relief when he closed his eyes and slipped off to sleep.
“It was nice of you to come by.” She patted his shoulder. “Dad’s been through so much.”
I was touched by her concern for him. “Have you had any dinner?”
She shrugged, looked embarrassed. “I don’t think so. It’s been a long day. I ate a vending machine snack while he was in surgery … I mean, I guess it wasn’t an operation.”
“Casa Loco is close,” I said. “Do you like Mexican food?”
“I’m not very hungry.”
“You need to keep up your strength. Are you the only caregiver your father has?”
“Yes, at the moment.”
“What about your mother?” I faked ignorance of their family situation.
“No, she’s … not available.”
Penny Palmer’s reluctance reminded me of what Vanza had said. There was some condition in the Palmers’ legal agreement prohibiting them from talking about the circumstances surrounding their divorce.
“I didn’t mean to pry,” I said.
“I wish I could talk to someone.” Penny’s eyes filled
. “It’s so hard, loving both of my parents, seeing what’s happened to them.”
Wicked anticipation sat on my right shoulder and guilty conscience on my left. Blessed with loving, happy parents myself, I truly felt sad for this girl. And I wanted to know more. Needed to know.
“Let’s get you away from here for a while. I’m guessing your father will be out for hours.”
The Casa dinner crowd was light when we arrived at six. We were seated right away. The waiter brought our chips and salsa and took our orders—two Caesar salads with shrimp—in less than ten minutes.
Penny picked at her food, sighing occasionally. She didn’t offer conversation. I decided I’d get nowhere without some gentle prodding.
“How long can you stay with your father?”
She looked confused. “What do you mean?”
Oops. I wasn’t supposed to know anything about her. Milton had told Ingrid that his daughter was going to college in Florida, but neither he nor his daughter had told me.
“I thought I’d heard you were living out of the area.”
“I was here on school break from the University of Miami when this happened. I brought him to the emergency room. He was so miserable, his scalp was all broken out in those … it was so ….” She looked down at the fleshy pink shrimp curled on her salad. Her face went pale and she pushed her plate away. I did the same.
“It’s going to be okay, you know. He’ll be better soon and you can go back to school.” I took a chance. “Does your mother live with you?”
“I live in Coral Gables, where the campus is. Mom lived with me at first, right after they separated.”
I waited for her to explain. She nibbled on the edge of a chip. The devil on my left shoulder prodded. I felt the pitchfork jabbing me in the neck. Ask her. Ask her.
“Is she still in Florida?”
Penny looked surprised. “Who?”
“Your mother.”
“I’m not supposed to say where she’s living.”
“Oh. I’m so sorry.” A flush of guilt burned my cheeks. The angel on my right lit up with approval. “I shouldn’t have pried. It’s just that you said earlier you wished you had someone to talk to.”
Due for Discard Page 9
