A Dose of Murder

by Lori Avocato

  “We have beer, but thanks.”

  He hesitated then walked in with Spanky jumping at his calves.

  “Get down, Spanks.” He did and ran to the kitchen and came out with his prize rawhide in his mouth, which he dropped at Jagger’s feet.

  “Thanks, buddy, but I’ll stick with pizza.” He followed me into the kitchen and set the box on the counter. He looked around and focused on the table. “No need to go through any trouble. Paper dishes will do.”

  “I … er … Spanky wants you to throw that.” Thank goodness the dog was at Jagger’s feet waiting patiently while the half-gnawed rawhide bone sat near his boot. Without another word, I scooped up the dishes, put them in the cabinet and got the paper ones out.

  Jagger threw the bone seventeen times.

  Then he took the beer out, held one out to me, which I took, while he popped the top on his.

  “Glass?”

  “I’m fine.” He brought the pizza box to the table, sat down and opened it.

  Half pepperoni. Half mushroom and sausage. “You didn’t have to go through any trouble—”

  “I didn’t make it.” He took a piece and bit off the end.

  I got myself a glass and piece of pizza, then sat down. Suddenly I realized I was alone in my home with Jagger. I took a bite and tried not to stare at him.

  I had noticed he had on jeans and a dark sweater of sorts under the black aviator leather jacket he always wore. A pair of black leather gloves were sticking out of his jacket pocket.

  He took a long swig of beer. “We?”

  I looked at him. “Excuse me?”

  “You said ‘we.’ ‘We have beer.’ Who else lives here?”

  I hesitated, caught off guard. I too took a long sip of beer, to buy time. “I would have thought you’d already have that information.”

  I think his lips formed a slight grin. He knew more than he would admit, of that I was certain.

  “Miles Scarpello, one of the nurses from Saint Greg’s actually owns the condo. I rent from him.”

  “I see. That’s how you got the job.”

  It wasn’t a question so I didn’t answer, though I wanted to shout that I could have gotten it on my own. But again, I was a lousy liar. I didn’t even know what an insurance-fraud investigator was until Miles sent me to the interview.

  Jagger finished his slice of pizza and took another. Before he bit into it, he said, “I wanted to go over a few things about tomorrow. Then I won’t bother you.”

  Bother? Bother? Having him sitting here, allowing my eyes to feast on his perfect bod was not a bother. “Good,” I managed to say although it shocked the hell out of me that a coherent thought could come out of my mouth. “I need to know why I’m actually taking this job.”

  He finished his beer, got up and took another one. He popped that one open and leaned against the counter. “Doctor Macaluso is committing fraud.”

  “I know. That’s why I’m following Tina”—I sat up straighter and set my beer down—“ ‘Doctor’? You mean ‘Missus’ Macaluso.” But I doubted Jagger ever said anything he didn’t mean.

  “Ever hear of a medical mill?”

  “I’ve heard of puppy mills.”

  He shook his head, sat back down and chuckled. “A medical mill,” he said, then took a sip of beer, “is when unethical medical practitioners, in this case the doctors, work in cahoots with scheming patients to create fictitious claims. They’re accident-related injuries, often the soft tissue—”

  “So more difficult to prove.” Wow! Where’d that come from?

  Jagger stared at me. I expected him to tell me to shut up since I didn’t know what I was talking about.

  Instead, he said, “That’s why you’re working there.”

  “My nursing background.”

  He barely nodded but it was the same as if he did. “The claims are often fraudulent disability, Workers’ Comp or personal-injury claims.”

  Fascinated, I set down my beer. “I can’t believe people would do things like that.”

  “Then you’re in the wrong business, Sherlock.”

  My mind got hung up on “Sherlock.” Although my inner self tried to tell me Jagger was being facetious, I chose to think it endearing. “I know people commit fraud. It’s just that—”

  “You’d never do anything against the law.”

  “I … No . I wouldn’t. That’s not such a bad thing. You know?” The nerve!

  He grinned. “You need to see as many patients as you can, evaluate their injuries and see if their charts reflect their care and actual diagnosis and, most important, their treatment.”

  “Yikes. Anything else?”

  “Yeah.” He leaned over and touched my hand. “Be careful.”

  Twelve

  With my sudden onset muteness, I could only stare at Jagger. After what seemed like hours and his possibly thinking that I, in fact, really did do drugs, I managed to recover. “By ‘be careful’ do you mean … don’t let them see me spying on them?”

  “That too.”

  “Too?” I swallowed. “Then you mean my life could be in danger?”

  He let go of my hand, but it felt as if he was still touching me. That didn’t surprise me. Being touched by Jagger was a mind-altering experience. Phantom touches were becoming old hat.

  He ran his hand through his hair. “I wouldn’t ask you to risk your life for a case, Pauline.”

  “Oh. Wow. Good.” My underarms were soaked. Partly from fear of the job, partly from him being here. Forget the touching incident. With shaky hands I took my beer.

  Jagger leaned over. “I said I wouldn’t put you in any danger. I just need a little help.”

  Help? I’m helping Jagger? My hands calmed—he didn’t touch me again. I waited, took a deep cleansing breath and exhaled, cleaning out the cobwebs this guy seemed to form in my brain.

  He grinned.

  “Okay. I’ll bite. You, Jagger with no other name knows it all. Why would you need my help?”

  He laughed. “If I knew everything, would I need to send you in undercover?”

  “Oh. Yeah.”

  “Look. You, a nurse turned investigator, fell into my lap… .”

  I knew he was talking again ’cause I saw his lips moving. But I was hung up on the “falling into his lap” part. Suddenly I saw myself falling from the ceiling into his lap. Actually saw it! Like how Ally McBeal used to have those visions on the old show with the dancing baby and all.

  Suddenly I felt something.

  “What?” I yelled.

  I looked up to see Jagger touching my hand and staring at me. “You don’t use? Do you?”

  That’s the second time someone had asked me that this week!

  “No. I’m a nurse. I wouldn’t abuse drugs.”

  “Sherlock, nurses have the perfect opportunity to get drugs.”

  “I wouldn’t. My mind drifted off because … I’m tired. Not using.”

  He got up and started to collect the things from the table. “I won’t keep you then.”

  “Wait!” Yikes. I calmed my hysterical voice. “No need to rush off. You never told me why you suspect that practice.”

  He held the dirty dishes for a second and looked around.

  “Under the counter.”

  He opened it and dropped them into the trashcan. “One of the best sources for reporting fraud is a disgruntled employee.”

  “Who? Who is the disgruntled—”

  “The less you know, the safer … better, it is. Disgruntled employees are our best sources. They sing like canaries.”

  “I see,” I said, but wasn’t sure if I really did. Who would squeal on their employer? Actually, I guess I would if I found out they were breaking the law. That “safer … better” thing was a bit disconcerting.

  “You look for what seems out of the ordinary tomorrow, then we’ll talk.”

  “Gotcha. Anything out of the ordinary. But nurses don’t really do the billing—”

  He bent his head and li
fted his eyes toward me. Damn. I felt naked again. I lifted the napkin from my lap and stupidly held it in front of me, pretending to wipe my lips.

  “Come on, Pauline. I’ve seen you in action. I’m guessing you can be resourceful when push comes to shove.”

  “Resourceful. Oh. Yeah. I’ll see what I can do.”

  “Don’t tell anyone that you are doing this. Especially anyone in that practice.” He got up. Shrugged into his jacket, took his gloves out of his pocket and put them on. “Anyone, Pauline. Anywhere.”

  I followed him to the front door.

  He stopped and turned. “No one. That means even Doctor Vance Taylor.”

  I wished Adele was here to push my jaw back up from my chest. “Vance? How?” I shut my mouth and watched him walk down the stairs into the cold, now dark, night. “Jagger?”

  He stopped but didn’t turn around.

  Fine by me. I could stare at a butt like that for quite a while. But it didn’t take too long before I asked, “Who the heck are you?” and he merely said, “Jagger.”

  When he drove out of the parking lot, I collapsed against the door frame. He had to be FBI. Now there was no doubt in my mind.

  Well, I said to myself, he did say he would help out with my case if I helped him. And if anyone could get my money for me faster, I was all for it. I knew Goldie could, but since he was so busy himself, I decided I’d go with Jagger’s offer. Yet I wondered what the heck I was getting myself into. I wanted to ask Goldie, but Jagger had said not to tell anyone.

  And he knew about Vance and me!

  I decided I needed to get to bed early. If I waited until Miles came home—and I was dying to know how that date turned out—I’d more than likely be tempted to tell him in great detail about my night.

  But I’d promised.

  And with my Catholic-school-induced conscience—compliments of the nuns, no less—I was also true to my word.

  I thought being locked in the elevator was claustrophobic. But this situation I’d gotten myself into with Jagger had me sweating, palpitating and feeling as if I was back in that elevator again—except that now it was half the size.

  “Linda Stark please,” I said to the receptionist as I reported for duty. It was a killer to don my nurse’s clothes this morning, but I had to look the part. I’d chosen my comfortable white clogs and a blue-and-green striped top with blue scrub pants. As usual, I pulled my hair up, very nurse-like.

  The receptionist, Trudy Blackwell, who apparently had never gotten out of her baby-fat stage from her youth and was wearing a paisley green smock, showed me to Linda’s office.

  When she knocked and opened the door, Linda got up. Trudy introduced me.

  “Thanks, Trudy,” Linda said, taking a stack of files from one pile on her desk and putting them in the OUT tray. Linda moved with great efficiency. Her short black cropped hair and fitted black suit gave her an air of authority. Her black Woody Allen–style glasses, however, gave me the creeps. She showed me around, ending up at the nurses’ station, and introduced me to the other nurse who was working that day.

  Eddy Roden, no less.

  Great. Now I would have to deal with him bugging me along with trying to do my job for Jagger.

  “Come on, Pauline. I’ll show you where the coffee is,” Eddy said. “That’s the most important thing in the office.”

  Linda laughed as she walked away, but I got the impression that she didn’t think Eddy was really funny. Join the club, I thought. Then again, no telling what Eddy really had in mind. After we got our coffee, he showed me what to do, and I came up with the notion that Eddy was not a happy camper.

  A disgruntled employee.

  And, he’d been talking to Jagger in the cafeteria the other day. I wanted to ask Eddy about it, but remembered my promise. It made sense, though, that if I talked to anyone here, the entire case could be ruined. Even Fabio’s case on Tina would be, too. She’d find out who I was and put two and two together. Nope. I couldn’t discuss fraud with Eddy.

  We took our coffee out to the nurses’ station and he showed me how the files were arranged for the patients who were in the waiting room. I set my mug down and took the first file.

  Sixty-three-year-old male. Mr. Johnson Suskowski. Broken femur. I guessed no one could fake a broken bone, so I marked him off my mental list of suspects in case any patients were involved in fraud too. The main problem with Mr. Suskowski was that his doctor was Vance.

  And I hadn’t had a chance to call him and give him the good news that I’d be working here.

  Okay, truth be told, I’d been putting that tidbit off, since I had no earthly idea of what reason I’d give him for being here. The saving grace I counted on was that Vance would be too busy seeing patients to run me through a mill of questions.

  “Mr. Suskowski?” I called out to the full waiting room.

  An elderly man, one of three with casts on their legs, got up and hobbled toward me. He came up to my shoulders and had the most adorable smile. He seemed to have a bit of trouble dealing with the crutches, so I stepped closer to him.

  “Let me help you with those, sir. You need a wheelchair?”

  “No, sweetie. I’m fine.” He grunted and hobbled forward. The cast looked as if it weighed more than Mr. Suskowski, even though it was the lightweight material.

  “All right,” I said, thinking he wanted to retain his independence much as my Uncle Walt, who wouldn’t even let me hold his elbow to walk down a set of stairs. And Uncle Walt tended toward wobbly nowadays. “Make sure you don’t rest the tops of the crutches under your arms. It could damage the nerves.”

  He grinned. “They already told me that a long time ago. Cast is due off soon.”

  Once Mr. Suskowski was seated in an exam room, he told me that he’d broken his leg playing golf, when he went to fish his ball out of the brook and got his foot caught on a rock. I stuck his chart in the holder on the outside of the door and flipped the red marker over to signal the doctor that a patient was waiting inside. I told Mr. Suskowski that it would be a few minutes and turned to go get the next patient—and ran smack-dab, as they say, into Vance.

  “Pauline? Again? What are you doing here?”

  “Oh, well. Not much time to talk. Mr. Suskowski is waiting for you—”

  He took my arm. “You are acting weird. Weirder than usual.”

  Coming from Vance, that wasn’t a joke. If he accused me of ‘using,’ he’d end up with a broken something. “I’m filling in for Tina Macaluso.”

  “But what about your being burned out from nursing?”

  He looked genuinely concerned, and I didn’t want to make him feel any worse, so I said, “We went to school together,” as if that would explain anything.

  What it did do was confuse Vance enough for him to merely shake his head, reach up to get Mr. Suskowski’s chart and say, “I’m too busy for this.”

  I smiled to myself. “Call me on Friday, and we’ll make plans.”

  After shuffling about fifteen patients in and out over the course of the morning, my stomach was starting to growl. I’d managed to grab a fast cup of coffee but really wanted something substantial and warm. Eddy said the office closed from noon to one, so then I could go out and get lunch. Good thing he didn’t ask to join me. I looked at my watch. Eleven forty-seven. I had thirteen minutes to find out whatever I could for Jagger.

  Otherwise I’d be working here longer.

  The annoying part was that the nursing routine had come flooding back to me without a thought. Still, I told myself, it wasn’t what I wanted in my life right now. Being here was okay since there were no babies pooping, no teens shouting, no one vomiting on my shoes. And no staff for me to fire.

  But as unglamorous as this job was, investigating was a hundred percent glamorous as far as I was concerned. Besides, it was a hell of a lot more exciting than ushering patients in and out of examination rooms.

  Eddy passed by with a cup of coffee. The coffee area, which was right by Linda’s glass-walled
office, was used as a lounge. I smiled to myself over Jagger’s calling me “Sherlock.” He’d said I was resourceful, and even if he’d meant it sarcastically, I was going to think I was resourceful enough to find something out today.

  “Eddy, any coffee left?”

  He paused and took a sip, then held out his cup.

  “Not from yours.” You jerk.

  He laughed. “In Linda’s office. You could scrape out the bottom of the pot.”

  “Thanks.” I hurried off before he mentioned lunch. I looked at my watch. Eleven minutes to find out what I could.

  Linda sat at her desk with her Woody Allen black-framed glasses perched on her nose. When I stuck my head in the open door, she shoved a few files into the OUT tray again. I thought she really was speedy at getting done whatever it was she did. She looked up.

  “No more patients until after lunch. Mind if I get some coffee?”

  She didn’t budge. “Help yourself.”

  I tried to look at her desk as I passed by the transparent partition, but she glared at me with every step. So, I took my coffee and planted myself in the chair opposite her desk. She gave me an odd look.

  “It’s been fun working here. I’m glad Tina mentioned it to me.” Ha! I headed off any thoughts she might have of asking me to leave by reminding her that her boss’s wife had told me to work here.

  “Glad it’s working out.”

  “Yeah. Bummer how those agencies don’t have enough temps to help you.” Comfortable that I’d cemented my relationship with her, I took a sip of coffee. Yuck! It really had come from the bottom of the pot. Jagger owed me. And I’d tell him so.

  Linda looked back at her desk. “Excuse me.”

  “Pretend I’m not here.”

  She turned around, typed something on her keyboard at her computer station, then clicked the PRINT icon on her monitor and got up. When the printer spit out what she wanted, she took it, opened her desk drawer and removed her purse and walked to the door. “See you after lunch.”

  I looked at my watch. Three minutes, but I got up and took my cup to the sink and washed it out very slowly. I walked back to her desk and with one finger, gingerly opened the top file in the OUT tray.