“Are you sure you want gas, Mr. Fugal?” Kim asked, laying a hand on his shoulder. “Dr. Groene can numb the area without it, but if you’d prefer—”
“I don’t want no needles comin’ my direction! Not in my mouth nor anywhere near it. I know the doc means well, but the thought of him lungin’ at me with one of them syringes gives me the heebie-jeebies.”
“We can administer some gas to help you relax, but I’m afraid Dr. Groene is going to have to deaden that nerve before he pulls the tooth.”
“Aw, rats. That just burns my toast. I’m sixty-two years old and never been to a doctor once in my whole life. I was born at home, and I never set foot in a hospital except for the time my wife took sick. Cancer, you know. She had to have something for the pain, right until the end. But me, I’m healthy as a horse. I never took no drugs. Not even an aspirin. And here you go wanting to let the doc put a needle in my gums.”
Kim patted her patient on the shoulder.
“All right, start up the gas, honey,” Abe said. “Hit me good before the doc gets in here with his needle. I don’t want no part of that thing!”
Kim smiled as she prepared the small mask that would cover Abe’s nostrils. “Breathe through your nose, and you’ll start to calm down. When Dr. Groene comes in, I’ll tell you to shut your eyes. I bet you won’t even know what he’s doing.”
“Okay, I believe you, but only because you’re so purty. Put it on me now, and crank up the knob as far as you can. Get me through this, Miz Kim, and I’ll love you till the end of time.”
“Please tell me if you start to feel the least bit dizzy,” Kim urged him gently as he began to inhale the gas. “We don’t want you getting nauseous, Mr. Fugal. If the room starts to spin, squeeze my hand.” She slipped her palm over the gnarled fingers.
Abe tightened his hand around hers. Closing his eyes, he breathed in deeply. “I think you’re the sweetest young thing I ever saw,” he murmured.
“Thank you, Mr. Fugal.” Kim was accustomed to the slightly silly, sometimes emotional expressions the dental gas unleashed. She had dealt with giggly patients, groggy patients, weeping patients, and those who professed their undying and eternal love for Ben Groene even as he drilled straight into a cavity.
“How are you feeling now, Mr. Fugal?” she asked after Abe had been lying in silence for a few moments. “Are you dizzy at all?”
“Naw, I’m just a-layin’ here thinkin’ about my gal. My darlin’. Her and me sure had some good times together.”
“I bet you did.” As Kim adjusted the dial on the gas, she pictured Abe’s darling as the wife who had passed away from cancer some years before. As Dr. Groene’s assistant, she had often listened to patients who wanted to share their memories.
“I can’t believe she’s gone,” Abe told her mournfully. “Gone, just like that. Without even a word of farewell. She hollered, ‘Hep! … Hep me, Abe,’ and that was it. I tried. I done all I could to fetch her back onto the dock, but no sooner did I reach out for her, and she was gone.”
“The dock?” Kim asked. A prickle ran up her spine and lifted the hair on the back of her neck. “Your wife fell off a dock? When was this?”
A tear trickled down Abe’s cheek. “Not my wife. My darlin’ June bug. Weren’t but a couple months ago. We was havin’ ourselves a little party, you know. Just a beer or two. Catchin’ some fish off the dock by our trailer. And then I went back inside to fetch us another twelve-pack. It was a party, like I said. My little June bug and me used to party thataway nearly ever night.”
Kim swallowed as Dr. Groene stepped into the cubicle. Against all she had been taught about keeping the patient comfortable, moving ahead with procedures, warding off unforeseen problems, she held her index finger to her lip. Pointing at Abe Fugal, she shook her head fervently at Dr. Groene.
He frowned and took a step closer.
“Abe, how did June fall off the dock?” Kim asked, making frantic, senseless gestures at Dr. Groene.
“Awww … she was leanin’ over to pull our basket of fish out of the water, and in she went. Headfirst. She come up a-hollerin’. She yelled out that she’d got herself tangled up in fishin’ line and couldn’t move her arms. The line must’ve been driftin’ around underwater—you know how it does when you hook your lure onto a snag that snaps it right off the rod? All that flailin’ around probably knotted June up, and she wasn’t able to get free. I could hear her yellin’, but I couldn’t hardly see her no more. It was dark by that time, you know. The lake was nothin’ but a big black hole. And it just swallowed up my darlin’ June bug quick as a wink. She never was a strong swimmer, and with the fishin’ line … aw, rats, I hate to think about that. I can’t hardly bear it.”
“Kim?” Dr. Groene asked, his brow furrowed. “What’s going on here?”
Without thinking twice, Kim began to turn down the gas. “Mr. Fugal,” she said, “I’m bringing you back.”
“Are we done?” His rheumy eyes blinked. “Hey, you was right, Miz Kim! I didn’t feel a thing. ’Cept my tooth sure does hurt. Oops, Doc, I think you missed your target. I can still feel that tooth right there where it always was.”
“We haven’t done the extraction yet, Mr. Fugal,” Kim explained as she leaned in to where he could see her face. “I need to talk to Dr. Groene for a minute. You were telling me about June, and I don’t want you to keep talking until I’m sure how to proceed.”
“Aw, shucks.” Abe shook his head. “You turned off that gas, didn’t you?”
“Yes. You should be able to think more clearly now.”
“Clear as I ever could,” he said with a wry chuckle. “Which weren’t much.”
“Do you remember what you told me about June?”
His expression sobered. “Yeah, I do. I didn’t come in here aimin’ to talk about it, but you’re so purty and sweet that I decided I might as well ’fess up.”
“’Fess up to what?” Dr. Groene asked. “Abe, what have you been telling Mrs. Finley?”
“Well, I went ahead and told her about my sweet lil’ June bug fallin’ into the lake that night after we’d been partyin’.”
“Are you talking about the woman who used to come with you to your appointments? I met her once or twice.”
“Yep, you did. June done most of our drivin’, bein’ as I’d lost my license a while back on account of too many DWI tickets. I was in so much pain with that tooth that June convinced me to let you have a look at my chompers.”
“I didn’t realize she had passed away.”
Kim spoke up. “Dr. Groene or I might have wanted to go to the funeral, Mr. Fugal. When was it?”
The corners of Abe’s mouth turned down. “It weren’t.”
“You had a memorial service for her?” Dr. Groene asked.
“Naw. I decided not to spill the beans. Didn’t tell nobody June was gone, because … well, if you want to know the truth, I didn’t have the guts. See, we’d been drinkin’ and maybe doin’ a few other things we shouldn’t of that night—if you catch my drift. I didn’t want to get neither of us into trouble. Besides, she don’t have no family other than me, and we wasn’t even married.”
“So … she drowned?” Dr. Groene asked.
“Didn’t you hear about it on the TV? It was on the news for a while after they found her. They couldn’t figure out who she was, but I knew. I knew it was poor June.”
“I think it would have been better if you’d reported this to the authorities, Abe,” Dr. Groene told him.
“Maybe so, but my daddy used to say, ‘Dead is dead.’ I figured that’s the way it was with my darlin’ June bug, and not a thing I could do about it. Like I told you, I was flat-out scared to own up to what had happened that night, because of the drinkin’ and so forth. June used to watch them detective shows on TV, and these days they can pretty much tell whatever you’ve been doin’ or even might have did a long time ago. Not to mention that I been in the clink a time or two already, and there’s somewhat of a record on my name ov
er to the police station.”
“I need to call my husband,” Kim said quietly.
“Use my office,” Dr. Groene said. “Abe, since you’ve told Mrs. Finley and me about June already, I guess you’re willing to tell the police what happened now, aren’t you?”
“I know I should. Yeah, I’ll do it. They’ll probably lock me up and throw away the key for the rest of my life. I reckon I deserve it too.”
“I doubt they’ll be that harsh under the circumstances.”
“Well, like I said—I’ve done time before, so I know I can bear it. In fact, I’m glad I told you the truth. The grief was about to kill me.”
Walking toward the dentist’s private office, Kim could hear the two men continue to talk as she keyed in Derek’s number. He would still be out on the water, but she knew it wouldn’t take him long to get to Dr. Groene’s office.
“Hey, beautiful,” Derek said when he answered. “Is Dr. Groene letting you off early today? I was hoping—”
“Derek,” Kim cut in, almost breathless with excitement. “I’m still at work. You have to get here right away.”
“What’s wrong, honey? Is this is an emergency?”
“No, but it’s urgent. Derek, I need your help. I don’t know what to do. One of our patients is here—Abe Fugal—and he confessed something to me while he was being sedated. I turned off the gas as quickly as I could, and I think he’s still willing to talk about it.”
“What did he tell you, Kim?”
“He was with a woman the night she fell off a dock. He knows she died, because he saw reports about it on the news. But he never told anyone what had happened, and there was no funeral or memorial service. Derek, I don’t think anyone else knows about this woman’s death.”
“Are you telling me the man didn’t report a possible drowning?”
“That’s right. They had been drinking all evening. He said she was reaching off the dock for a basket of fish when she tumbled into the water. He told me that she wasn’t a good swimmer, and she yelled out that she had gotten tangled in fishing line. He tried to reach out for her, but he couldn’t find her in the dark. Then he lost sight of her. He thinks she drowned.”
“I’m on my way,” he said. “I’ll be there in fifteen minutes. Calling the police to put a stop-and-hold until I can get to you. Stay with me, Kim.”
A moment later, Derek’s voice became muffled as he spoke by radio first to municipal authorities and then to the Water Patrol dispatcher in Jefferson City. Kim heard him give his badge number and then say, “Jeff, I’ll be off the water … 10-6 at the dental office of Dr. Ben Groene on Highway 5, Camdenton.”
He returned to the cell phone. “Honey, are you in any danger that you know of?”
“I’m sure Mr. Fugal is harmless. He can barely see, and only one of his hands works right. But please hurry, Derek. He may change his mind and try to leave. He told us he does have a criminal record.”
“Can you get me his date of birth, Kim?”
“No, his health data is confidential.”
Derek spoke on the radio again. “The subject will be a possible 10-99 out of Camden County,” he said, informing the office of the man’s checkered past. “The name is Abe—as in Abraham—Fugal. No date of birth available. Can you run a 27, 28, and 29 on him?”
The dispatcher confirmed that Mr. Fugal’s name would be checked for possible warrants as well as records on whether he might be dangerous. In moments, the dispatcher asked Derek, “Are you 10-12?”
Kim knew the code well enough to understand that Water Patrol wanted to know if he was already at the scene. That indicated they had turned up something suspicious in Mr. Fugal’s documentation. Cell phone still pressed against her ear, she walked back down the hall and glanced into the cubicle to find that Dr. Groene and Abe Fugal were discussing baseball standings, particularly the St. Louis Cardinals and whether they had another shot at the World Series this year.
“Derek,” Kim said as she stepped back into the hall, “I think this is it—the clue you’ve been looking for to identify the body you found at the start of summer. I think the woman who died lived with Abe Fugal in an old trailer around the bend not too far from Deepwater Cove. You know the one that lost part of its roof in last year’s big storm? I’m pretty sure I know who she was. I used to see her here when she came in with Abe. Her name is June Bixby.”
“June Bixby,” he repeated. “Good. I’m on my way. Listen, I want you to know that when I get there, we may be separated. I’ll need to work with the Major Case Squad, and I’m sure the police will want to question you. I doubt I’ll make it home for dinner tonight.”
“It’s okay, Derek.”
“Kim, you might not think the old guy is dangerous, but he does have a record. Be careful, honey. I don’t want anything to happen to you.”
“I’m fine,” she murmured. “It’s all right.”
“I just want to make sure you know I love you. We’ve been through a lot lately, and I need to tell you—”
“Derek, I hear you. I understand what you’re telling me.” Kim paused. “And I love you, too.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
With a fair amount of trepidation, Patsy eyed the lawn chairs as she carried her plate of appetizers toward the group of men gathered near their grills. She spotted a sturdy plastic chaise lounge that would easily bear her ample figure, so she sat down on it and stretched out her legs.
“Hey, fellas,” she said.
The men interrupted their discussion for a moment to greet her. “Hey, Patsy,” they offered in a chorus of tenors and basses. Then they went back to talking.
It didn’t bother Patsy that the men ignored her. On the Fourth of July, she’d drawn enough attention to last a lifetime. Not only had she endured that awful lawn chair collapse, but her slightly over-the-top patriotic outfit and star-spangled hairdo had only added to the spectacle.
For the Labor Day barbecue, Patsy had decided to go for a more sedate look with an autumn influence. She had returned her hair to the color closest to the one she remembered from childhood. Unfortunately, that particular hue might best be termed dishwater blonde or mousy brown or something in between. So Patsy had added a few golden highlights and then some auburn ones to brighten it up a bit.
As it was still hotter than blazes outside, she had chosen to wear a short-sleeved top with a taupe, brick red, and black leaf print. In order to give it a little more autumn flavor, she had pinned on a brooch that had belonged to her mother—a real maple leaf dipped in acrylic. Its lovely red-orange color perfectly matched the knee-length shorts Patsy wore. And the whole outfit coordinated well with the black platform sandals she had chosen from her closet.
She dipped a corn chip into the puddle of black bean salsa on her plate and chewed thoughtfully. Too bad Pete Roberts wasn’t going to make it to the barbecue. He had decided to keep Rods-N-Ends open for the last of the summer gas-guzzlers passing through. She couldn’t blame him. The end of the season meant a lull that nearly put the Lake of the Ozarks community to sleep. This was the time when the weakest businesses began failing left and right. Only the locals and a few off-and-on visitors kept stores and restaurants alive through the down season. Pete’s first year had been rough, Patsy knew, but he thought he was going to make it.
Bitty Sondheim’s Pop-In, however, appeared to be doomed. Two weeks ago, a Closed sign had appeared on the front door, and the inside of the little restaurant remained dark day and night. Patsy hadn’t seen her neighbor in several days, so she was happy to spot the Californian with her long hair and swoopy, ankle-length skirts arriving at the barbecue. Bitty was in the parking area, and she seemed to be wrestling with something large in the back of her van.
“Hey, Brad,” Patsy called, drawing the attention of Ashley Hanes’s handsome young husband, who sat nearby. “How about you, Derek, and Steve helping Bitty out over there? Looks like she brought half her restaurant.”
“Probably trying to unload her leftovers on us,” Br
ad said. He glanced at his wife, who was selling beaded necklaces from a table set up under a tree. “Ashley keeps dragging me to the Pop-In. If I never eat another eggplant wrap it won’t bother me a bit.”
With that, he and several of the other men pushed themselves out of their lawn chairs, checked the pork steaks on their grills, and then lumbered over to see if they could carry anything for Bitty. Patsy had hardly had time to sample the pimento cheese–filled celery sticks on her plate before Brad was back, more animated than she’d ever seen him.
“Charlie!” he hollered. “Patsy! All you guys, come see what Bitty’s done. You won’t believe this!”
Not wanting to miss out on any excitement, Patsy scrambled to her feet and hurried across the lawn to the long foldout table where Bitty was opening boxes and spreading her wares. The bad news was that she looked close to tears as she set down rows of plates and began laying one or two parchment-wrapped packages on each. The good news was that Brad Hanes had tasted one of these wraps and was about to go berserk with joy.
“Chicken-fried steak!” he exclaimed, displaying the innards of the rolled item he’d just bitten into. “It’s covered in mashed potatoes and gravy—with buttered Texas toast on the outside! And she grilled it! It’s good. It’s delicious. You gotta try one.”
“Chicken-fried steak in a wrap?” Patsy murmured, picking up a plate.
“That’s not all,” Bitty said in a wounded, snippy voice. She pointed to one item after another. “Right here, you’ve got your batter-crusted catfish. It’s coated in tartar sauce and covered with a deep-fried hush puppy batter. This one is your chicken wrap. It’s a large fried-chicken tender, rolled in a mixture of mashed potatoes and green beans, and then covered with baked homemade dinner roll dough. And finally, here’s your ham wrap. It’s got a big chunk of canned pineapple on it, along with a thick layer of applesauce, and it’s been baked inside a coating of corn bread dressing.”
Summer Breeze Page 25
