Saving Allegheny Green

by Lori Wilde

  Esme bolted through the front door before I had a chance to ring the bell, her purse clutched so tightly in her hands her knuckles had gone white.

  “Morning, Esme,” I greeted her.

  “Hello, Miss Ally,” she said, “and goodbye.”

  “Are you going somewhere?”

  She cast a glance over her shoulder. A look of disgust mingled with nervousness. “I’m going far from here.”

  “You’re quitting?”

  She nodded. “I never steal nothing in my life.”

  “Oh, course not.”

  I could see she was truly distressed, worrying her apron hem with her fingers, her hair flying haphazardly from her bun. “She say I do many bad things.”

  “Mrs. Swiggly?”

  Esme nodded. “I don’t know where to go. I don’t know how to get another job. But I can’t stay here no more.”

  “It’s all right,” I assured her. “You’ll find another job. In fact, maybe I can help you.” I thought of several of our patients who needed maid service as well as medical care while recuperating. I handed her one of my business cards. “Call me tomorrow.”

  “Thank you.” Esme blinked back tears.

  I patted her shoulder, then took a deep breath and went into the house, not knowing exactly what to expect. Confrontations with the maid, thefts by the sham physical therapist. Reverend Swiggly was excitable enough in the best of times.

  “Hello,” I called out, stepping into the foyer and shutting the door behind me. “It’s the home health nurse, Ally Green.”

  I heard the sound of hard-soled shoes clopping against the terrazzo tile then Miss Gloria came into the room blandly attired as always.

  “Oh, come on in. Ray Don needs your help in the bedroom. He’s having a hard time putting that telemetry thingy back on.”

  “Telemetry?”

  Miss Gloria frowned. “Didn’t they tell you?”

  “No,” I ventured.

  “He got so upset when he discovered Gunther was stealing from us that he started having those irregular heartbeats again. What do they call those? It’s some initials.”

  “PVCs. Premature Ventricular Contractions.”

  “That’s it,” Miss Gloria said. “Anyway, he took off that box to take a shower and he can’t get it back on by himself.”

  “It’s called a halter monitor.”

  “I’ll take you to him.” She motioned for me to follow her.

  We walked and walked and walked and finally ended up in the master bedroom. Swiggly was sitting on the edge of the bed in his silk pajama bottoms, his chest bare and his hair still damp from his shower. He was struggling with the monitor that was to record his heart patterns for the next twenty-four hours. He had the lead wires twisted in knots and his frustration level appeared to be reaching its peak.

  “Thank the Lord you’ve finally arrived,” he exclaimed when he spotted me. “Don’t just stand there. Help me out with this thing.”

  “Sure.” I smiled and set down my medical bag on the dresser. I accidentally knocked a small antique box to the floor, spilling its contents. Or rather, content. I stooped to pick it up.

  A crystal earring.

  Exactly like the one I’d found in the bathroom of Rocky’s trailer.

  A sudden chill ran though me. Nah. It couldn’t be. Not the mousy preacher’s wife. Why would her earring be in Rocky’s trailer? She had no motive. Hell, as far as I knew, she didn’t even know Rocky.

  Then again…I stared at Reverend Swiggly. Hard.

  I straightened. There was only one sure way to find out. If Miss Gloria could produce the other earring, then no sweat.

  “This must be yours.” I extended the crystal earring and the box toward Miss Gloria. “I knocked it off the dresser but I can only find one earring.”

  She snatched both the earring and the box from me and shoved them into the dresser drawer. “It’s all right. They were cheap. I lost the other one over a week ago and I don’t know where I could have dropped it.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  GET OUT OF THE HOUSE, every cell in my body screamed. But my brain wasn’t so smart. My mouth opened and words I’d had no intention of saying poured out.

  “Hmm,” I said. “That’s quite odd.”

  “What’s odd?” Miss Gloria asked. Her face took on a furtive expression. She formed her hands into half fists and cocked them in front of her breasts so that she resembled a curious prairie dog begging for treats.

  “I found an earring like this one the other day and, silly me, I can’t remember where. I’m wondering if it might be yours.”

  “Probably not,” Miss Gloria said, one furtive hand went up to finger her naked earlobe.

  “Hey,” Swiggly interrupted. “Who cares about a pair of earrings? Help me get this damned thing back on.”

  “Ray Don.” Miss Gloria sucked in her breath. “You said the D word in front of a guest.”

  “She’s not a guest, she’s a nurse and I’m sure she’s heard the D word before.”

  “I’ve heard the D word,” I assured him.

  “You’re going to hear it again if you don’t get over here and strap this thing on me.”

  Not knowing how to make a graceful exit, and to keep Swiggly from turning the air blue with a plethora of D words, I sidled over to him but still managed to keep a close eye on Miss Gloria.

  What was her earring doing in Rocky’s trailer? As far as I knew, she had no connection to the man. Unless Rocky and Swiggly had been lovers.

  Maybe that’s where Rocky had gotten the money he’d been bragging about—by letting Swiggly become his sugar daddy.

  A pensive, dreamy expression came over Miss Gloria’s face as if she was concentrating on something far away, a look not dissimilar to the one Aunt Tessa got when she morphed into Ung. The comparison made me nervous.

  I pulled fresh lead pads from my pocket and bent to slap them in place on Swiggly’s chest. When I raised my head, Miss Gloria had disappeared.

  Damn.

  Great. Now I was using the D word.

  Hurriedly, I snapped the lead lines to the pads, stuck the monitor back into its pouch then hung the pouch strap around Swiggly’s neck. “There you go.”

  I went to the dresser, anxious to retrieve the crystal earring, take it to Conahegg and have him compare it with the one I’d found.

  “Wait a minute,” Swiggly said. “Where you going? I need a foot rub. The doctor said that it was essential for me to relax.”

  “Just a sec.” I raised one finger to silence him and slid open the dresser drawer with my other hand.

  “Hey, what are you doing in my wife’s drawer?” He had risen to his feet and was coming toward me.

  “It’s all right.” I plucked the earring from among a stack of old-lady-style beige cotton panties.

  Gak! Even her underwear was an off shade of brown. No thongs or high-cut briefs for our Miss Gloria. No silk or satin or lace. Plain and brown and nondescript like the woman herself. I wondered if Miss Gloria ever got tired of being invisible.

  “Are you robbing me?” Swiggly yelled, his face turning an interesting color of crimson. “I don’t believe it. First Gunther, now you.”

  “I’m not robbing you, Reverend Swiggly. Please, take a deep breath and try to control yourself before you throw an embolus.”

  “A what?”

  “A blood clot.”

  His breathing was ragged. He put a hand to his heart. “Maybe you’re right.”

  “I wanted to compare your wife’s earring to the earring I found.”

  “Why are you so concerned with my wife’s jewelry? I’m the patient. You should be giving your attention to me.” He jerked a thumb at his breastbone.

  “And I will,” I soothed, lying through my teeth. “Come on, pop back under the covers.” I moved to the bedside, held up the top sheet and patted the mattress.

  Reluctantly, Swiggly got into bed. “My feet,” he moaned.

  “Tell you what,” I said. �
��Let me go get some hand lotion.”

  “In the bathroom,” he said. “Get the aloe vera gel.”

  I slipped from the bedroom, but I had no intention of retrieving lotion to rub Swiggly’s feet. I was getting the hell out of the house and over to Conahegg’s office, pronto. But to keep from drawing attention to my plan, I had to leave my purse and medical bag sitting on Swiggly’s dresser. Luckily, my car keys were in the pocket of my scrub pants.

  With Miss Gloria’s single crystal earring pressed in my palm, I tiptoed down the stairs as quickly and quietly as I could.

  And I almost made it to the front door. My feet hit the terrazzo floor in the hallway, my soft-soled sneakers squeaking loudly.

  “Going somewhere, Nurse Green?” Miss Gloria asked in a voice much stronger than any I’d ever heard come from her mouth.

  I turned and saw her standing in the doorway of the living area.

  She held a mean-looking shotgun in both hands.

  Uh-oh.

  I was scared. Very scared. If I hadn’t developed excellent bladder control after years of Kegel exercises, I would have wet my pants on the spot.

  What continued to perplex me, however, was motive. Why would a mild-mannered, unassuming woman like Gloria Swiggly kill a road toad like Rocky and risk losing her mansion on the hill? And kill him in such an exotic, erotic manner? It was completely out of character for her. The MO didn’t fit the brown little woman with zero personality.

  And then it occurred to me. Maybe Rocky and Miss Gloria had a thing going, not Rocky and Swiggly, although this was a little harder to imagine. Then, when pressured for money by Dooley Marchand, Rocky threatened to tell Swiggly about the affair. Maybe Miss Gloria paid him off and that was where he was getting the money he had bragged about.

  Okay. That explained Rocky’s sudden wealth, but not his kinky murder.

  “Give me the earring,” she said, extending one hand but keeping a steady grip on the gun with the other.

  “What earring?”

  “The one in your fist.”

  “Oh, you mean this.” I held up the dangly earring. “The one whose mate you dropped in Rockerfeller Hughes’s trailer house. What’s the deal, Miss Gloria? Were you having an affair with him?”

  “I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about,” she denied.

  “Then why are you pointing a gun at my head?”

  “Give me the earring,” she repeated.

  I gestured to the front door a few feet away, so close and yet so very far. “I think I’m going to leave.”

  “You do and I’ll blow a hole through you so big your Mama wouldn’t recognize you.”

  I stared at her, bug-eyed and gaping like a catfish. Who would have thought she had it in her?

  The doorbell chimed, playing “Lamb of God,” and scaring the bejesus out of us both.

  I could scream and get the attention of whomever was on the doorstep. UPS dude, Esme returning for her aprons, I’d even be happy to see Gunther.

  Reading my mind, Gloria laid a finger over her mouth and shook her head. “Shh,” she cautioned. “Don’t say a word.”

  The doorbell sang “Lamb of God” again.

  It was surreal. I was being held hostage by a gun-toting religious fanatic, listening to the door bell chime gospel music while my life ticked away.

  I couldn’t die. Not yet. I’d never traveled. I never learned to snow ski. I’d never dined in a fancy French restaurant.

  I’d only had sex with Conahegg once!

  Sweat popped out on my forehead. I stood frozen waiting for a brilliant idea to strike.

  None did.

  A knock this time, thankfully silencing “Lamb of God.”

  “Reverend Swiggly,” a man called from the other side of the heavy oak door. “Sheriff Sam Conahegg. I’m here to investigate the thefts you reported.”

  Knock. Knock. Knock.

  That’s one thing I admired about the man. He was persistent as a bloodhound with the scent of jailbird in his snout. And more than anything in the world I wanted to wrap my arms around his neck and kiss him full on the mouth.

  “Conahegg!” I shouted. “Help!”

  “Shut up,” Miss Gloria hissed, running to close the distance between us and shove her shotgun under my rib cage.

  I guess I was expecting Conahegg to bust the door down using his big strong shoulder as a ramrod. It was a little anticlimactic when he simply turned the knob and walked right in.

  “Ally.” He stared at me, quickly taking in the situation.

  “Close the door, Sheriff,” Gloria said.

  “What’s going on here, Mrs. Swiggly?” Conahegg asked, giving her his best disarming grin. “You and Ally having a tiff? If you are, I can understand. The woman is so hardheaded she could win an argument with a billy goat. But violence won’t solve anything.”

  Win an argument with a billy goat? That comment was un-called for.

  Gloria was not to be dissuaded. “Kick the door closed with your foot, Sheriff, and move against the wall, hands on your head. I’m sure you’re familiar with the procedure.”

  Conahegg did as she asked. His flint-gray eyes met mine and welded there. What in the hell is going on? his gaze asked.

  I arched an eyebrow and silently mouthed, “Rocky.”

  He frowned, not understanding my meaning.

  “Turn around backward,” Gloria commanded, favoring me with an excellent view of Conahegg’s behind. Unfortunately, I was in no mood to appreciate it.

  “Mrs. Swiggly, need I remind you that holding an officer of the law as a hostage is a very serious offense,” Conahegg said.

  “Shut up.” She stepped over and removed his service revolver from the holster at his hip.

  From behind us came a noise like a chain smoker scaling Mount Saint Helens on a windy day. We three turned to see Reverend Ray Don shuffling toward us. He had thrown an expensive silk robe on over his pajamas and his feet were slippered in leather house shoes.

  “They know,” Gloria said.

  “Handcuff the sheriff,” Swiggly instructed his wife, relieving her of both the shotgun and Conahegg’s thirty-eight.

  She unhooked Conahegg’s handcuffs from his belt and clicked them into place around his wrists. She turned back to Swiggly. “What about her?”

  “Go get those heavy-duty zip ties from the pantry.”

  Gloria obeyed and disappeared.

  The sound of Swiggly’s labored breathing filled the room.

  “Reverend Swiggly,” I said, “are you all right?”

  “No thanks to you. If you’d gotten that hand lotion and rubbed my feet like I told you,” Swiggly lamented, “none of this would have happened.” He shook his head as if I’d disappointed him deeply.

  “If your wife hadn’t been having an affair with Rocky Hughes none of this would have happened.”

  “Mrs. Swiggly was having an affair with Rocky?” Conahegg asked.

  “No,” Swiggly snapped. “You’re wrong.”

  “So tell us what really happened,” I coaxed.

  “Shut up.”

  For a preacher, he could get really snarly. Miss Gloria returned and zip tied my hands together much too tightly.

  “What are we going to do with them?” Miss Gloria murmured to her husband.

  “Shh,” he said. “Let me think.”

  Miss Gloria fidgeted while Swiggly cogitated. He whispered something to her, she disappeared again then came back with a set of keys on a red-and-white fishing bobber. Swiggly ordered me and Conahegg to walk down the hallway toward the back of the house.

  Without Swiggly to tell us where to go, we could have wandered through the house for hours and never found our way out. With his instructions, we reached the back door within a couple of minutes. We passed through the pool area where I’d met Swiggly and Gunther on my last visit.

  But, we didn’t stop at the pool. Swiggly and Miss Gloria marched us down an elaborate stone walkway leading to the river. Swiggly held the shotgun. Miss G
loria carried Conahegg’s revolver.

  To our left lay the large copse of blue spruce trees that separated Swiggly’s property from mine. It was frustrating to realize that my own house lay no more than the length of a football field away. But with the trees and the stone wall blocking the view you couldn’t even tell there was a house on the other side.

  I closed my eyes and sent out mental vibrations and prayed Aunt Tessa’s psychic antenna was tuned to my frequency, but I wasn’t counting on it. Obviously, Conahegg and I were going to have to get out of this mess on our own.

  We arrived at the river’s edge, still out of view from the other houses on the water. Swiggly had constructed himself a nice little fortress, much to our misfortune.

  “Keep going,” Swiggly growled.

  “You want us to walk into the water?” Conahegg asked.

  “Out on the dock.” He motioned with the shotgun. “Then get on board the boat.”

  We did as he said, stepping aboard the huge boat, that was this side shy of a yacht and far too big for the river.

  “Miss Gloria,” he said, keeping Conahegg far enough ahead of him so he couldn’t lunge for the gun. “Put a couple of those cinder blocks into the boat.”

  We were going to die. Swiggly was going to take us out on the river, put a bullet in our brains, weigh us down with cinder blocks and toss us overboard. Our bodies wouldn’t be found for a long time.

  I gulped. Much as I love the river, I wasn’t ready to lie with the fishes. Panic rose in me. Wild-eyed, I looked to Conahegg.

  He was completely calm. Face expressionless, posture casual, as if he were out for an afternoon of pleasure boating rather than preparing to meet his maker. The man was too cool and I drew a modicum of strength from him. He must have a plan. I’d keep my eyes open and be ready for any signal he might throw my way.

  Grunting, Miss Gloria hauled four cinder blocks into the boat.

  “You drive,” Swiggly said, tossing her the keys. “You two, sit down together in the stern.”

  We sat in unison on the cushioned seats at the back of the boat. Swiggly perched opposite us, the shotgun clutched in his lap.

  Miss Gloria got in and rested Conahegg’s thirty-eight on the dashboard. From where we sat you could see into the cabin below. A kitchenette complete with sink and stove. I supposed farther inside were sleeping quarters and a bathroom. I’d been to the Tarrant County Boat Show. I knew these puppies ran about a hundred grand.