A Dose of Murder

by Lori Avocato

  He drove for a few minutes without answering. “Sounded like fun.”

  “Fun?”

  He let out a long sigh. Then he slapped himself in the head. “You need to set your private life apart from your work. We’re supposed to be convincing so no one suspects that you’re working for me.”

  Working for him! Okay, in a way I was. “I knew that.”

  “Then don’t sound so surprised that we would agree to go out with those two jokers.”

  “They are my best friends!”

  “Yeah, sorry.”

  He didn’t mean it, I could tell. “No you’re not, and you’d better be on your best behavior tomorrow night and not hurt either of their feelings.”

  He chuckled. “I’m going to have a headache myself tomorrow night, Sherlock.”

  “Oh no, you don’t!”

  He slowed, looked at me when we stopped at a light. I didn’t care though. He wasn’t going to insult Goldie or Miles if I could help it. So, I used my head and female intuition. “You owe me, Jagger.”

  “Owe you?” The light turned green and he sped off a bit too fast.

  I didn’t want to argue while he was driving, but I calmly pointed out, “I took this nursing job to help you. You’re the one who told Nick we were dating, and now we’re going out with them tomorrow.”

  “The nursing job is a moot point. My helping you with Tina erases that debt.”

  Before I could argue, I looked up to see we’d pulled into the Hope Valley Police Station parking lot. For a second, I’d forgotten about Eddy. Obviously Jagger never forgot a thing. He was out and up the steps before I had my door closed.

  Once inside, I became more confused about the mysterious Jagger.

  Seventeen

  The mysterious Jagger knew everyone.

  Make that everyone—all the cops, that is—knew him. At first I wondered if he had a past criminal life, which would make sense, but Goldie wouldn’t have let me even sample the “cocaine” if that were true.

  Nope. I had to conclude that Jagger spent a lot of time around here for years since the oldest to the youngest cops greeted him by name. Had me leaning toward FBI again.

  Jagger ushered me into an office at the end of a hallway. Files covered the gray metal desk and there was a hint of stale cigarettes. Old coffee mugs, some half full, some empty, lined the end like wounded soldiers. At first I thought this might be his office until I noticed a nameplate partially sticking out from under a piece of paper. Lieutenant S something. I couldn’t see the rest. Unless “Jagger” was his first name and his last started with an S, this wasn’t his office.

  Of course, he more than likely wouldn’t clear up the mystery of his name for me anyway.

  I was about to ask what was going on when a short stocky man wearing a wrinkled brown suit came through the door. He high-fived Jagger and gave me a nod. Balding, his hair was unflatteringly combed from one side to the other as if that would hide the skin underneath. As rumpled as the man appeared, he had a friendly face. I could read this guy, and he looked genuinely glad to see Jagger. Yet he had a look of concern in his eyes. I had to guess that was for Eddy Roden.

  Jagger sat with his feet resting on what little edge of the desk wasn’t covered. “Pauline Sokol. John Shatley. Lieutenant Shatley.”

  I smiled and said, “Nice to meet you, Lieutenant,” at the same time Jagger said, “Got my accident report for me?”

  The lieutenant looked at me and nodded. “Same here.” Then he fished around in the pile of debris on his desk. It reminded me of Fabio’s desk, and the lieutenant made me think of that detective who used to be on TV. Columbo. I smiled to myself.

  When I looked up, Jagger was reading something. The accident report, I assumed. After a few minutes, he got up, handed the paper back to the lieutenant and nodded. “Thanks.” He walked toward the door.

  I got up, held my hand out to the cop and shook when he took it. “Nice to meet you.” I’d already said that but was at a loss for words. We’d breezed in and now out so quickly, I didn’t have time to think.

  Jagger was already halfway down the hallway. He slowed near the desk. Well at least he had some manners, I told myself, until I saw him reach over the counter and snatch a chocolate-dipped donut from a box.

  So much for manners.

  The desk sergeant jokingly cursed Jagger, who held the donut up and took a giant bite.

  Hurrying to catch up, when I got near the desk I caught my foot on the leg of a fresh-looking teen sitting on a bench. I broke my fall by grabbing his shoulder.

  “Watch it, bitch!”

  Jagger spun around.

  The kid looked from Jagger to me. “Sorry,” he muttered.

  Yikes. Now that look on Jagger was clearly readable.

  “No. I’m the one who is …” Some pictures hanging above the kid caught my eye. They weren’t exactly Wanted pictures like you’d see in the post office, but a collage of newspaper clippings. The title of the bulletin board was “Have You Seen These Locals?” as if it were some sort of contest.

  Jagger took another bite of his donut. “Let’s go, Sherlock.”

  The kid grinned. One of his front teeth was missing and his hair was slicked back with enough gel to lubricate a set of automobile brakes. So many dangly silver earrings pierced his skin that I wondered he didn’t get some kind of metal poisoning.

  I felt sorry for someone trying to look so “cool” when he was probably hurting inside and would rather hide from the world.

  The teen looked at me. “Sherlock?”

  Jagger grabbed my arm. “You got a problem with that, son?”

  “Er … nope.”

  “Nope, sir.” Jagger started to move.

  “Wait!” I hadn’t meant to shout like that. The kid jumped and started to apologize profusely, calling Jagger “sir” and me “miss.” Two cops at the front desk turned and stared, and Jagger asked, “What now?”

  I pointed to the wall.

  “Yeah?” He bit into his donut again.

  “That’s him.”

  “Him?”

  “The capper.”

  Jagger let go and swung around. “Which one?”

  I leaned near and touched a picture of the capper playing street basketball. The caption under the picture said it was a Hoop It Up game in downtown Hartford. His face was circled in yellow. I leaned nearer, “Walter ‘Chewy’ Barchewski. Oh my God. He’s Polish!”

  Jagger gave me a tug. “Come on.”

  “But … did you hear me? His name. I mean. I can’t believe it.”

  We were now outside the police station, and I couldn’t stop myself. “I mean,” I repeated, “Polish!”

  Jagger let go and stopped. “Jesus. Not all criminals are Wops, Sherlock. I’m sure there are a few crooked Polacks out there.”

  “Yes, there are. Chewy, for one.”

  Once at his Suburban, he unlocked the door and got in. I got in and pulled my door shut. I started to go on again about Chewy but this time was able to stop myself. Silently I thought, I can’t freaking believe it.

  “So?” I asked.

  Jagger looked at me, licking the last bit of chocolate frosting from his finger. “What?” He looked down at his finger. “You wanted one too?”

  “No. I didn’t want a donut. What did you find out on the accident report?”

  “Not much.” He started the engine and backed out.

  I wrapped my jacket tighter as the night temperature had more than likely dropped below zero. Good thing I hadn’t had to walk home with wet pants. The heater blew air on my legs, but the engine hadn’t warmed enough to make it comfortable. “That’s too bad. Or maybe that’s good. Maybe it really was an accident that killed Eddy, since you didn’t find out much.”

  Jagger pulled onto Elm heading toward the river. “Yet.”

  “I—” Yet? Not much yet? That meant he expected to learn more eventually. “What do you expect to find?”

  We turned down River Road. I felt my stomach knot.
I really didn’t want to see where Eddy had gotten killed.

  Murder was not in my job description.

  Jagger should have left me home. I had only agreed to follow people to film them and, if need be, snoop in office files. But when the M word came into play, I was outta here.

  “Take me home.”

  He slowed and pulled over into the parking lot of Sam the Clam Diggers dive. “What now? You got to pee?”

  “No, I don’t have to go to the bathroom. I want to go home. I didn’t agree to anything that has to do with murder.” There. I put my foot down.

  “No one said it was murder … yet.”

  “There’s that ‘yet’ word again. You imply that Eddy may have been killed. I don’t want anything to do with—”

  “I’m not driving you across town and then coming back. It’s getting late and you have to go to work tomorrow.”

  “I may call in sick”

  He leaned near.

  I inhaled chocolate. Um.

  “We have a deal.” He remained near.

  “And … when is the …” It was hard to concentrate. I swallowed, thinking that would help. Then I pulled back until my head touched the window. “When was the last time we went to spy on Tina?”

  “I had planned to tonight, but Eddy inconveniently died.”

  Shoot. I couldn’t argue with that. “But I don’t want to … What do you think you’re going to see down here anyway?”

  “I don’t know, Sherlock. That’s why I’m here. To look. Tire marks. Broken pilings. Who the hell knows?”

  He didn’t let me argue anymore, but shoved the gear shift into drive and sped out of the parking lot.

  “Slow down!” I ordered.

  “Relax. I don’t plan to visit the fishes like Eddy.”

  And neither did I, but feared there was a chance I might if I got caught snooping around the office tomorrow.

  I was never so glad to be home as I was right then. Jagger pulled up to the doorway. Good: He wasn’t getting out. I reached down to get my purse. He leaned back and pushed a few hairs from his forehead.

  I guessed that made him think better. He might have a lot to think about after our little trip down River Road.

  I had stayed in the SUV while Jagger got out and walked around the scene several times. The only thing I’d noticed was skid marks, which told me nothing, but I guessed Jagger could read something into them. Then there were the broken pilings near a dilapidated dock. The only thing Jagger said when he got back into the Suburban was that’s where they fished out Eddy’s car.

  I shuddered again as I had when he’d said it. Eddy was no prize, but no one deserved to die like that. Falling into the river. How horrible. I repeated the silent prayer that I had said earlier asking Saint Theresa to have allowed Eddy to be dead or at least passed out before his car hit the water. With my phobia, I couldn’t imagine being submerged in a car and not being able to get out. That’s why I carried a hammer in the glove compartment.

  You never knew when you’d need to smash your windows to prevent yourself from drowning. I shuddered again, wondering if a hammer would have helped Eddy.

  “Good night,” I said softly, since that’s all the energy I had left.

  Jagger touched my arm. Yikes. It wasn’t a hard grab like at the police station, signaling that he was annoyed with me. No. It came more from concern.

  “Look, Pauline, you really have to be extremely careful and closemouthed at the office now.”

  My heart beat faster. I wanted to believe it was because Jagger touched my arm, but this time I knew it came from fear.

  “Actually, you can back out of the deal if you want.”

  “Then how are you going to investigate?”

  He looked at me.

  “Oh. Silly question.”

  He let go.

  For a second, I felt disappointed.

  “I can manage, although I’ll admit that you’re working there would speed things up,” he said.

  Eddy may have died because of all of this mess. Suddenly—and this is not my style—I felt a sense of responsibility to help out in Eddy’s memory. I normally would run a marathon or bake a cake for any cause, but spying on alleged criminals was not me—until now.

  “I’ll do it for Eddy.” Oh, God. I’d just committed myself.

  Jagger nodded. “Since the stakes are higher now, I can’t ask you to do it as a trade for Tina’s case.”

  “What? I agree to help you longer and you renege on our deal?”

  “Relax, Sherlock.” He flipped a switch that unlocked my door. I opened it and started to jump out. “I’m not reneging.”

  That got my attention. I stopped.

  “I’ll cut you into the profits.”

  “Money!” Oh damn. I sounded pathetic. I sounded like a pathetic loser only interested in the almighty dollar.

  I sounded like I saw a light at the end of my financial drought’s tunnel.

  “Fine. That’s a deal I’ll accept as long as you still help me with Tina.”

  “Never said I wouldn’t.” He stared at me for a few seconds. “Listen, Sherlock, you can’t finish your case with Tina … yet—”

  “What? You promised!”

  “I know what I said. If you uncover her now, a much bigger job will be botched.”

  “Your case. Why does yours take precedence over my—”

  “Thirty-three thousand, eight hundred ninety-two dollars and seventy-seven cents versus over three million.”

  Suddenly I felt as if I’d sealed my fate.

  And, oh God, how I hoped my fate wasn’t similar to Eddy’s.

  I miss Goldie’s chicory coffee, I thought, as I sipped on my Dunkin Donuts hazelnut decaffeinated. Besides, it was freezing this morning and sitting in my car instead of going into the office seemed a stupid idea. Knowing what kinds of cars the doctors drove didn’t seem pertinent to me. Most doctors could afford something nice, although working in a practice like the ortho one, strictly governed by insurance rules, didn’t produce millionaires.

  I’d turned off the engine to be less conspicuous as other staff drove in to work. I’d wondered, if I was seen sitting in my car with the motor running, someone might think I was trying to commit suicide. A crazy thought, but somehow not that far off base when I thought of Eddy.

  Maybe he knew he’d get caught, so he killed himself. I’d have to discuss that one with Jagger if he hadn’t already thought of it himself.

  An engine roared in the distance. I sipped my coffee and watched over the rim.

  A California orange ’99 Lamborghini with California plates pulled into the space marked for Dr. Levy. Levy was a common name I told myself so maybe it wasn’t our Dr. Levy. Sure enough, I noticed his Italian leather shoes as he climbed out of the car and walked toward the staff entrance. Hmm. Couldn’t be paying too much for call girls if he could afford alimony and that car.

  Unless he was getting money from the insurance companies.

  I fished around in my purse, looking for a pen and piece of paper. I knew my cars but wasn’t sure if my half-frozen brain would remember who drove what. All I could find was a canceled check for Jeanine’s car payment. I grabbed my Estêe Lauder All Day Starlight Pink lipstick and wrote “Levy—Lambor.”

  Before I could write “ghini,” a black Bentley pulled into Dr. Feinstein’s space. Wow. Even a 2001 Bentley Arnage had to run over two hundred grand. With four kids in Ivy League schools?

  I’d liked Dr. Feinstein when I met him, but I put a lipstick star next to his name. He was my number-one suspect.

  Then I saw Linda Stark get out of a silver minivan. A Dodge Caravan, older model. Jagger had said to spy on the doctors, but Linda was there and soon Trudy drove in. Now she surprised me as she got out of a candy-apple red Chevy truck! You go, girl!

  Soon Vance pulled in driving his Mercedes. I sunk down in my seat. All I needed was him seeing me and asking foolish questions. Of course, “Why are you spying on the doctor’s cars?” wasn’t reall
y that foolish of a question.

  A noise caught my attention. Around the corner sputtered a white Toyota Corolla with a huge dent in the back fender. I assumed it was one of the staff.

  But it was Charlene O’Connor. She got out and greeted Vance, and they walked into the building together. I’m not sure what shocked me more, her car or her friendliness toward Vance.

  And no, I wasn’t jealous!

  It’d fit right into my “breaking up” plans to have him dump me. Truthfully it wasn’t that friendly of a greeting, more my wishful thinking. Besides, I wasn’t sure how old her kids were, and truthfully, I really couldn’t see Vance as an instant father. Actually, I couldn’t see him as a “nine months till the baby’s due” father either.

  In my heart I think I always knew what kept me from marrying Vance. He just wasn’t Michael Sokol.

  My coffee was gone and my toes were numb. Not to mention I’d fogged up the windows of my car with my breath. I knew Donnie drove a Porsche ’cause I’d seen it at his and Tina’s house, and she drove a Lexus, so I didn’t need to sit here any longer freezing my bejeevers off. I had the docs covered.

  Made me think of Jagger.

  As much as I tossed and turned last night, thinking of Eddy Roden possibly being murdered, an overwhelmingly comforting thought convinced me that Jagger wouldn’t let me get hurt.

  Not ’cause it was me.

  He wouldn’t let anyone get hurt if he could help it. I wasn’t going to concentrate on the last part of that theory. Goldie said I could trust him with my life if not my heart, and I was holding that good thought for today.

  I stuffed my empty cup into the Stop and Buy plastic bag that I used for a garbage bag in my car and grabbed my purse. Once in the building I had to wipe my eyes when I thought of Eddy.

  Not a friend by any means, but I already missed him and felt horrible that he was dead.

  When I got into the office, I nearly lost it. There on the reception desk was a bouquet of black flowers, roses, standing tall above a picture of Eddy Roden. Someone had typed the year of his birth and subsequent death on a sheet of paper and cut it out to tape it to his picture.

  I’d always loved roses. They were my special flower, since Saint Theresa sent them as a sign that she heard someone’s prayers, but now, looking at these black ones, which I think were actually a deep purple, I felt as if the rose scent would make me sick. Right here in the waiting room.