by Deb Baker
Gretchen visualized all three of them and the dogs attempting to sneak into the hospital. The Three Stooges, that's what they would be. They could stuff the canines inside their purses, even Tutu, who was a bit large for a handbag. She chuckled in spite of herself.
"How are we going to get into Intensive Care, boss lady?" April asked from her usual position of authority in the front passenger seat.
"Boss lady? Are you talking to me?" Gretchen asked. Starting tomorrow, Gretchen was absolutely, definitely driving her own car. No more of this backseat-with-theanimals traveling.
"You're the woman."
"I think one of us should go in," she said. "One will stand a better chance,"
"You're the one, boss," April said. "You've established a bond with the kid."
"You have to be kidding. He thought I was a cop! He decked me. The next time, on his porch, he wasn't much friendlier."
"See, he's warming up, boss."
"If I'm the boss, why am I in the backseat?"
"We're your chauffeurs."
Gretchen looked around at her luxury ride. Goo dripping from the back windows and dog hair coating the seats and her clothes. Nimrod climbed up her chest and licked her face. Tutu sat as far away from Gretchen as possible, pretending she didn't exist. Enrico was getting used to her. He only growled now when she shifted her legs or made sudden movements.
"How come I'm the boss every time you don't want to do something?" Gretchen wanted to know.
"I'd go in," her aunt said. "I'd do it myself, but I'm recovering from my tramatic fall to the ground."
Nina pulled into the visitors' parking lot. "We'll keep the getaway car running."
"Thanks, t-e-a-m." How bad could it be? It wasn't like she was trying to break into a gated senior community. Or like she'd disguised herself as a nurse. She couldn't get busted for impersonating medical personnel. Was that illegal? "Anyone have a nurse's uniform?" she asked. "I could sail right through with the proper attire."
"Getoutadacar," April said.
The gangsta doll appraiser was starting to get on Gretchen's nerves. She got out, strolled casually into the hospital, requested the directions to ICU at the information counter, and took the elevator to the second floor. So far, so good.
The roadblock came when she dead-ended at an imposing set of doors with a sign that said Restricted Area. A nurse passed her and pushed a button on the wall. The door swung out. The nurse walked inside.
Gretchen peered through the massive doors, studying the layout. The door swung shut. Easy enough.
"May I help you?" a different nurse said the instant Gretchen stepped over the threshold into intensive care. No tiptoeing past the guards, after all.
"I'm here to see Ryan Maize," Gretchen said.
"One minute, please." The nurse did something in a computer. "Are you family?"
"I'm his aunt."
"He's in room 220. It's down this hall."
Gretchen grinned all the way down the corridor. Detective Albright should take a few lessons from her. He hadn't managed to get past the nurses' station with his impressive credentials and flashy badge. All she had to do was walk in and ask to see Ryan.
The patient looked like something out of a bad sci-fi
movie. Tentacles jutted from the sheets on both sides of the bed, carrying colored fluids, some flowing in, some flowing out. Monitors hummed and beeped, displaying information Gretchen couldn't read. His eyes were open.
"How are you feeling?" She stopped at the foot of the bed.
"Not so good."
"You're lucky to be alive."
"I'm not so sure." Ryan didn't appear to be delusional, certainly not catatonic. Then, "Where's the carnival man?"
he said, crushing her optimistic outlook for him. Gretchen realized he might mean the doctor. She wasn't very good at street slang. "Do you need something for pain? I can call the nurse."
"Yah."
"Talk to me first."
He looked at her without recognition, his eyes glassed over from either inner demons or the effects of medication, or both.
"What happened to you?" she asked.
"A little friendly connection gone bad."
"What does that mean?"
Ryan didn't answer. He closed his eyes.
"Did someone do this to you?"
He nodded and squinted up at her. "Fruit of the gods. The end is unclear. It's what happens when you buy in. Trust is elusive."
This was hopeless. Gretchen wasn't going to learn anything useful from Charlie's son. He was too busy associating with goddesses and gods. A nurse came in and adjusted a few tubes.
"He says he's in pain," Gretchen said to her.
"This will help." She injected something into an IV.
"How is he?"
"He's doing really well."
"Any signs of drug withdrawal?"
"No."
"Isn't that unusual for a drug addict? Not to have withdrawal symptoms?"
"Who said he was an addict?" she said. "Epinephrine was the only drug in his system when he came in." The nurse finished up and left. "He was sick enough with what he had."
So maybe Ryan was riding high on hospital drugs. Yet he had been living in a drug rehabilitation house. He was drug-free when he checked into the hospital (well, other than the epinephrine). Who ever heard of an epinephrine addict, anyway? "Who gave you the drugs that made you ill?" she said to him, noting that he was about to nod off.
"Carnival man. He came through my window every night. I tried to stay away, but he forced me."
"I thought a goddess came through your window," she said, remembering the conversation with his roommates.
"Who is carnival man?"
"Bad dude. Green hair." He made a weak gesture with both hands. The IVs followed his arms. He placed his hands on the sides of his head, then shoved them away like he was saluting.
This wasn't getting her anywhere. But she had to try.
"What else do you remember about him?"
Ryan's hands fell to the bed.
His words were slow. There must have been a sedative in the injection the nurse gave him. "Bald around the top of his head, green hair on the sides, man, I don't know, sticking straight up."
Gretchen sagged against the bed. This guy had really gone insane. The epinephrine overdoses might have sent him permanently over the edge, but he'd been headed to the cliff long before this. She couldn't imagine the depth of his mother's grief at her son's state. How long ago had Charlie lost her son? How long had she tried to save him from himself before she realized she never would? That kind of heartache must live inside a person forever. Ryan's mouth was moving, but the words came out too softly to hear. His eyes were shut.
Gretchen moved around the side of the bed and leaned closer, trying to catch his last words before the drugs eased him into a deep sleep.
"Big red nose," he whispered. "Big red feet." Then he was asleep with his mouth still open.
Gretchen's legs weakened when she realized what he had been trying to tell her. She plopped down on the side of his bed, carefully moving his arm to the side so she wouldn't bump the tubes. She watched his face relax. The carnival man had come in through his bedroom window, so the others living in the house wouldn't know. Getting him to cooperate the first time would have been the hardest. Or would it? Hold the promise of drugs right under his nose, hand it to him, offer him just a little. He could have gone along. After the first time, it would have been easy to continue to poison him.
He was already a little overloaded with the first major dose of epinephrine, seeing things a little skewed. Every night, giving him another dose, making him appear crazed, focusing all the attention on him. Ryan Maize was the perfect murder suspect.
Based on information from his roommates, Ryan Maize had been on the road to recovery. Then suddenly, one day, he began hallucinating, seeing demons, fighting them off. That explained why he had struck out at her so viciously. What horror had he seen in her that day to pr
ovoke him into violence and into such fear? She'd read it in his eyes at the time. Unbelievable fear.
Gretchen rubbed her forehead with both hands, feeling a headache coming on. She was as crazy as he was. Why couldn't she let it go, let the police wade through all the lies and deceptions?
Because she could feel the truth, and she wasn't convinced that they would. She felt it strongly. Not that Gretchen would ever say that to her aunt. Nina didn't need any more fodder to fuel her belief in the family's psychic abilities. This was plain old intuition.
Ryan Maize was as much a victim as his Aunt Sara and his mother had been. And he would have followed right behind them to his own grave, dying soon from an intentional overdose. They would have said he committed suicide because he had killed his own mother. That he didn't want to live after what he had done.
Gretchen knew who the murderer really was. She hadn't been paying attention at the time, because she was late and in a hurry. The crowds and the parade had distracted her. Yes, she'd had an encounter with the person who poisoned Charlie, and she'd had it right after Charlie had succumbed to the toxins.
Gretchen remembered looking up from where she had fallen at the parade, seeing the bald head and green hair sprouting from the sides in comic tufts.
The killer had been disguised as a clown.
34
Gretchen didn't sleep much Sunday night. She spent the time going back over her encounter with the clown at the Parada del Sol, searching her memory for any clues to his identity. How could she possibly recognize anyone under all the layers of makeup and clothes? Perhaps the killer clown wasn't even someone she knew.
She went through the scenario for at least the hundredth time. They had collided in the middle of the street at the very tail end of the parade. Gretchen had fallen down. The clown hadn't made any effort to help her up or to offer an apology. That was about it. Wait. . something else. . the clown had spoken to her.
"Watch where you're going." That's what he'd said. He?
Was it a man's voice? She hadn't been paying enough attention. She thought the voice had been gruff, but that didn't mean anything. A woman could easily lower her voice if she wanted to disguise it.
Remembering back, she thought the clown wasn't very adept with that white goo that clowns use on their faces. A rush job? Trying to remember more was fruitless. The interaction had been too brief and hurried. In the morning Gretchen drove to Curves. She, April, and Nina had agreed to work out earlier than usual, before the other doll collectors arrived. After that, they had a meeting with Detective Kline. Nina had willingly taken that assignment, arranging the meeting the night before.
April had been incapacitated after hearing one brief, paralyzing sentence. "We're looking for a killer clown,"
Gretchen had said. That was it for April. All her words since had been inaudible croaks.
This morning, April looked closer to normal, greeting Ora, the manager, then bouncing onto a platform next to Nina and Gretchen. "Sorry about fainting again," she said.
"Good thing Gretchen caught you," Nina answered.
"Otherwise, you could have really hurt yourself."
Gretchen didn't mention her bruised shoulder and aching hip where April had slammed into her. She hadn't exactly caught her. She'd accidentally broken her fall.
"You can't image how scary this is for me," April said.
"It's scary for all of us," Nina reassured her. "That's why we're turning it over to Detective Kline. We aren't going to get involved anymore, are we Gretchen?"
"Right," Gretchen agreed. "A killer clown fascinated with toxicology who poisons victims isn't exactly what we envisioned."
"Nothing in the world could be more horrifying," April said, thumping up and down on the stepper. "I'll do a lot in the name of friendship, but this has crossed the line. I'm going to the meeting with you, and then I'm through."
"What about the kitchen room box?" Nina asked. "Was I wrong to think it was important?"
"I don't know," Gretchen admitted. "At first, it seemed like the best evidence. But, even if it is important, the killer has had plenty of time to remove it. What is or isn't evidence doesn't matter anyway, because we're out of it. We'll share all our suspicions with Brandon and let him decide what to do with the information."
"What about Matt Albright?" April said, brightening perceptibly. "Shouldn't we tell him what's going on, too?"
She caught the look on Gretchen's face. "I know, you don't want anything to do with him, but you two didn't have some kind of agreement, did you? You weren't exclusive, right?"
" Change stations now. "
Gretchen moved to the next platform, arranging her face to appear indifferent. With a little more time, she hoped it would come more easily and honestly. "We'll leave the information with Brandon, and he can share it with anyone he chooses," she said. "As far as a relationship, you are correct. We didn't have a verbal understanding. It was more like. . uh. . unspoken."
"Maybe he didn't hear it the same way you did."
"What's going on with Caroline?" Nina asked, tuning in to the conversation and realizing it was time to change the channel.
"She left early this morning for Apache Junction,"
Gretchen said. "She's looking at a doll collection. She'd be happy to hear that we're going back to our routine lives, only she didn't know we were still pursuing bad guys. I have a workshop full of dolls waiting for my attention, and I can't wait to get started on them."
"And I have a long list of clients to train. I'll need help catching up. I'll have to find Daisy."
They were on the sidewalk in front of Curves discussing whose car to take when Bonnie pulled up and parked. "Oh, no," April gasped, her solid frame blocking Gretchen's view. At first, Gretchen thought April was overacting because of the killer clown. Maybe Bonnie's stiff red wig and painted face reminded April of her all-too-real fears. Matt's mother tended to look a bit clownish.
Gretchen watched the passenger door open and Matt's rodeo date step out. Gretchen heard Nina inhale sharply behind her. She felt her blood pressure rising.
Bonnie, who claimed she wanted Gretchen and Matt to get together, was parading his new woman right in front of Gretchen. And at Curves. The group's special place. What nerve! What a slap in the face!
"Hey," Bonnie called. "Are you girls done working out already? What's the story? You should have called me. We could have come earlier."
"We're in a hurry," Nina said with narrowed eyes and a reddening face. She was working up some steam on Gretchen's behalf. She sashayed forward with her hands on her hips, snorting fire. "And who might this be?"
"Let's go, Nina," Gretchen said, placing a hand on her aunt's shoulder. "It isn't important. We'll be late."
"Not quite yet."
April popped into the conversation. "I think we should go."
"Not quite yet."
"What's wrong with everybody?" Bonnie said, her penciled eyebrows in one big question mark. "Usually a workout puts everyone in a better mood. You sure are crabby."
No one answered. Nina snorted again while Bonnie searched their faces for clues. Gretchen risked a glance at the woman. She was blonde and beautiful. Not a blemish on her porcelain skin. Gretchen had dolls with worse complexions. The woman passed Gretchen and peered into the workout room.
"You go on ahead," Bonnie said to her. "I need to talk to my friends for a minute."
"Former friends," Nina said.
"What is going on?'
The model/Hollywood star opened the door and disappeared inside.
"Who is that?" Nina demanded, pointing a ramrod-stiff arm at the empty space where the woman had just been standing. "And why in the world would you bring her to Curves, of all places? You knew Gretchen would be here. Didn't you? Admit it."
"What are you talking about? Meggie-"
"That was so underhanded," April chimed in.
"Let's go," Gretchen pleaded. "This isn't worth destroying our relationships over."
"If someone doesn't tell me what's going on, I'm going to scream," Bonnie shouted.
"I'm leaving," Gretchen said.
Bonnie let out a scream so high and piercing, windows within two miles were sure to blow out. Nina and April had their hands over their ears.
The Curves door opened. Starlet peeked out, looking worried. "What's up?" she called loudly trying to be heard over Bonnie. She glanced at Gretchen apologetically. "She hasn't been herself lately. That's why I'm visiting for a while. Auntie Bonnie!"
Bonnie quit screaming.
Nina's mouth fell open.
"Coming, Meggie," Bonnie said meekly. "Sorry, ladies."
"This was all a misunderstanding," Nina said. She hugged the confused president of the Phoenix Dollers Club.
Gretchen couldn't help it. A big grin spread across her face.
"We're losing her," April said. "I knew I should have driven."
Gretchen was trying to keep up with Nina on the drive over to the Scottsdale police station. Her aunt drove like a NASCAR racer, darting and weaving through traffic without so much as a backward glance to see if her niece was still behind her.
The three dogs were in Nina's Impala, and Gretchen caught a glimpse of them in the backseat now and then. After running through several questionable yellow lights to stay behind Nina, Gretchen gave up. She used her cell phone to call the station and ask for an address. Nina disappeared from sight after another acceleration and another yellow light. Gretchen didn't care. She was elated.
Model Girl, aka Meggie, was Bonnie's niece. That made her Matt's cousin. Gretchen couldn't see the family resemblance, but then she didn't see any between Bonnie and Matt, either. She should have guessed, or at least considered the possibility that the blonde woman was a family member. Had Gretchen wanted to think the very worst of Matt?
Was that how she planned to dodge commitment for the rest of her life? By being overly suspicious? She should have communicated her concerns to Matt instead of leaping to conclusions. It was apparent she still hadn't recovered from the residual effects of her last relationship. The scars ran deeper than she thought.
"Next time I'm driving," April announced. "I could keep up with her." Gretchen didn't say anything about the condition of April's Buick. It had more crumpled metal than a demolition car. No way was she ever riding in a car with April at the wheel. "I'm off my diet," April said.
