by Lori Avocato
“What did I say?”
“Er … they know about me.” I had to sit down with that tidbit of info on my mind and after watching him put on those shoes. It was almost sexy in a perverted sort of way.
“I said, you blew it.”
My body stiffened. “What? I didn’t blow—”
“Henry saw your … belly button.”
For several seconds, I could merely stare. Once again Jagger had astonished me, and I wasn’t sure if it was because he knew that or how he knew it or both.
Both.
He got up and walked to the door. “Don’t even ask how I know. Let’s go.”
I followed him out and said, “Where are we going? I have work to do.”
He swung around and nearly toppled over like a Playskool Weeble. I reached out as if I could catch him, but we both ended up against the wall—as close as our fake bodies would allow.
“We have work to do now, Sherlock. We.”
With that Jagger pushed us both up and started walking toward the hallway that led to the main building. I hurried next to him and said, “What do you mean we? I have my case—”
“They suspect you are not the size you are, Sherlock. It just became our case.”
And in that moment I knew the “competition” I thought we were in had turned personal.
Jagger once again “had my back.”
And a warmth spread throughout me—and this time it wasn’t sexually-based.
Jagger sat across from me at the breakfast table. Luckily no one was near enough to hear when he leaned forward and said, “Tell me what you found out so far.”
My competitive nature had me say, “I got into Henry’s office, all by myself but didn’t find anything—”
Jagger took a sip of his coffee, looked at me over the cup then set it down very gently—befitting a woman his size. “Everything.”
“Oh, crap. There’s a Pueblo-looking jar in his office that has a key in it. But I don’t know to what.”
He looked at me a few seconds.
“Really.”
“I know.”
And he did know. Jagger knew me better than I knew myself and was a close second to Stella Sokol in how well she knew me and all her kids.
“We get in there tonight and find out what the key fits.” He went back to sipping his coffee, not even touching the egg-white omelet we were served.
I couldn’t blame him on that one, but I was starved. “So, what have you learned?”
I noticed the hesitation and figured it killed him to share info with me, but suddenly that hesitation seemed to wane. “Mitsy Sparks died last night.”
I choked on my egg-white omelet.
Jagger jumped up and smacked me on the back, which caused a piece of white to fly out of my mouth. If he did the Heimlich on me, I think I’d have a few broken ribs.
Several staff hurried over but Jagger—Jenny assured them I was fine and they headed back to their work. I was miffed that they didn’t give me some TLC until I realized I really needed to talk more to Jagger.
“How did you … never mind. Mitsy. Dead. Why?”
“I thought you saw us meeting the other night out by the white veranda?”
Oh, boy. He’d been meeting her because she must have known something. “I … why were you meeting her?”
“Her real name was Michelle. She was a reporter for an Albuquerque newspaper. One of the few investigative reporters that really knew their job. Investigated, no matter what it took. Didn’t just write opinion. And it cost her.”
“You knew her?” I had to remind myself that there were many things about Jagger that I didn’t know, and may never know.
“We worked together on a few cases in the past.”
“That’s how Fabio got this case. You knew her.”
Jagger nodded.
“Did she … was it surgery? Complications?”
“The silver knife.”
Like the others, I thought, as I couldn’t speak.
“Let’s get out of here,” Jagger said.
We went to the exercise class, which, as usual, was a waste of time. These instructors were not skilled trainers. They would have been better to make us dance to “Sweating to the Oldies.” The “exercise class” was followed by a lecture in the meeting room, which had become a daily grind where all of the clients sat around and listened to Henry’s spiel about diet, and damn Nurse Ragget would come in and add her two cents.
I didn’t like either one but did that make them capable of murder?
The day flew by since my mind was on the investigation and before I knew it, Jagger and I, in full garb, were inside Henry’s office once we saw him drive off. The room remained dark but for the lighting of the fish tank.
It was almost romantic.
Then I smacked myself inside my mind to get back to reality. “Over there,” I whispered, pointing to the jar where the key had been.
Jagger walked over, took it out and looked around the room.
“I don’t see any file cabinets but my Babci used to have a fake drawer in her dresser …”
He’d started to walk toward Henry’s desk. At first I thought he’d shake his head at me, but he gave me a crooked smile. “Atta girl, Sherlock.”
Mother Mary of God, the man had just given me a compliment! There went that new, yet strange, feeling throughout me.
Jagger felt around the desk, looked at the sides, the front and then I started poking around the area nearest the fish tank and … a piece of the heavy wooden Spanish design popped out into my hand. “Oops!”
He started to shake his head but instead winked at me.
Winked at me! Be still my heart.
The key fit the tiny lock that revealed itself when the piece had fallen down. As I struggled to bend down to pick it up, Jagger already had the little drawer open and held out a stack of papers. “Hm.” He lifted one up toward me. “Right up your alley. You’re the expert, Sherlock.
As the medical “expert,” I sat in Henry’s chair and read to Jagger. “These claims are bogus. Psychiatric claims are billed as if eating a Big Mac was a mental health issue. And here, this one says an outrageous amount for acupuncture is to be billed as ‘therapeutic injections.’ Meditation is ‘psychiatric therapy.’”
Jagger leaned over my shoulder. “Exercise classes billed as ‘physical therapy’ yet we know those instructors don’t seem to know their gluteus from their maximus.”
I had to smile. “Jagger, they are making big bucks off the insurance companies through fraudulent billing, but that isn’t the worse part.”
“No, I’d say the worse part is yet to come for you two,” came a voice from behind—along with a click.
A click I think, since I was no expert, that was a gun being cocked or whatever they called it.
Henry stood behind Jagger with a gun pointed toward him. For as much as I was pleased to have recognized the sound, seeming as if I were a true professional, fear gripped me inside, and I immediately started to think of what I could do.
But nothing came to me.
So, I remembered that criminals liked to brag. Jagger had taught me that. Their “bragging” rights often got them to spill their guts about the case. “Henry, you are brilliant.”
I saw him hesitate, but he took his left hand and wrapped it over the right one that held the gun. Was he loosing some power? Needed to steady himself?
“Yeah, I mean, these billing scenarios are brilliant.”
Just as I’d said it, Hannah walked in.
And she was half the size!
All I could think was there must have been a recent sale on body suits. Then my next thought was, no wonder Henry recognized a fake bellybutton. She walked to Henry and grabbed the gun from his head. Her hands never shook.
“Get the hell out of the way, baby brother,” she said, pushing Henry away. “Take the files—”
“Wait!” I said, with no idea wh
at would follow.
Jagger started to turn, but Hannah smacked the gun against his head.
I screamed.
Jagger tumbled to the floor. A pile of purple Jenny.
And Henry started yelling at Hannah.
They started to argue so I ran to Jagger and told myself that head wounds looked much worse than they were. I ripped a piece of cloth from my blouse (thank goodness for the plus size) and held it against the wound with all the pressure I could muster.
“You fool!” Henry yelled. “Why’d you have to hit her?”
“Stop being such a baby. She’s gigantic. She was going to grab the gun.”
They still didn’t know who Jagger was.
Not sure how that would help, I said, “Jenny wasn’t going to grab anything unless it was edible. She needs stitches.”
Both looked at each other.
I was guessing if you had something to do with murder, you didn’t really care much about a cut on the head.
They ignored me as the argument continued with Hannah commanding, “Call the doc now!”
“Good, he can suture her—” I started to say.
Both of them laughed. Eerie. That was the tone I’d use to describe it.
“That fool probably couldn’t suture a football,” Henry said.
The paperwork caught my eye. There was something more to this than fraudulent billing. Goldie and I had figured out that Nurse Ragget fudged on the weights to meet the 100-pound minimum that someone had in order to have the insurance pay for the gastric bypass—bingo.
Dr. Burger didn’t do the major surgery with an incision. He must have done a simple laparoscopy, which would have been a heck of a lot cheaper to do but billed for the major surgery including a longer hospital stay. More money in their pockets and the patients long well healed.
Jagger’s color looked okay. His respirations were fine and I put my finger on his pulse. Okay. He would come to soon and the bleeding had slowed. I knew he’d be all right so I couldn’t resist saying, “Laparoscopy.”
They looked at me as if insane, but then Hannah said, “Yep. Smart girl. We know you aren’t the size you pretend to be. Just who the hell are you? Or make that what the hell are you? We know you’re not a real client.”
“I’m a nurse and now I know Dr. Burger wasn’t doing major surgery.”
“Impressive,” Henry said. “I knew there was something about you when I saw that fake belly button and realized you weren’t fat.”
As if she wouldn’t let her brother one-up her, Hannah said, “Laps are much faster, cheaper and then he tones and lipos the hell out of their bodies. Quick results and mucho bucks in our pockets.”
“I’ll bet you could do a lot in one day.”
“Right again, nurse. We like to call them ‘litter mates.’” They both laughed.
“Litter mates?”
Henry nudged his way in. “Like kittens. We can run so many through in one day, they are like kittens in a litter.”
As he laughed, the door opened.
Doctor Burger stood there staring. “What the hell?”
I looked at him. “You’re not even a board certified surgeon. Are you?”
“What the hell is going on?” he demanded again.
While Hannah and Henry filled him in, I realized they looked alike and close in age.
Twins.
Evil twins.
That’s what they were.
“Hold on, baby,” Hannah said.
Ah, that explained the trio. Evil twins and her lover, who happened to be a doctor even if a rotten one.
“You all must make quite a bundle with that plan,” I said, leaning over Jagger to make sure his cover wasn’t blown. “Does nurse Ragget get a cut?”
Absentmindedly Henry replied, “She gets paid to lie. That’s all she knows.”
“Get them out of here,” the doctor ordered, but by the expression on Hannah’s face, I sensed that she wore the pants in that relationship. Or should I say the scrubs.
And she didn’t much like the doc cutting in on her territory.
“Leave … Jenny here,” I said. “She has nothing to do with it. I’m a private investigator under cover. She’s a real client and knows nothing.”
“So why was she in here with you?” Hannah asked.
Bitch. “I … I told her … there were snacks hidden in here. All the clients know that.” Thank you night janitor.
For a few seconds they all kinda stared at each other.
“Please. You’ll only make more trouble for yourselves if you hurt an innocent … client.” As if the murder of Mitsy and whomever else Jagger had known about wasn’t going to cause them enough trouble.
“Take her out to the desert and come back alone,” Doctor Burger said.
I had the feeling he wasn’t the brightest bulb in this trio and not the usual ringleader, but I hoped they’d follow that order and leave Jagger here alone.
“I’ll tell Jenny she slipped and hit her head when we came to look for snacks,” I pleaded, hoping they wouldn’t mention that I’d probably never be back to see Jenny.
And also praying to St. T that I would be back.
Hannah took the gun and pointed it at me. “Get up.” She couldn’t resist yanking me by the arm … and that proved her downfall.
I always knew Jagger was superhuman in my eyes, but to see him come to, and despite the extra hundred-plus-pound weight on him, still manage to fly up from the ground, take down Hannah while a stunned Henry, Dr. Burger, and, yes, I admit, myself watched was incredible.
It was as if he rose from the dead.
Before I knew it, I had slugged the doctor—an easy, not physically fit target-and Jagger had Henry down on the ground next to his sister with the gun in his hand.
Phew.
“Call 911,” Jagger said, and then pulled me as close to him as two people in latex and stuffing could manage.
The New Mexico sun lit the room like a thousand tiny white lights on a Christmas tree. Christmas was my most favorite time of the year, so the analogy was perfect.
I leaned over and touched Jagger, a sleeping softly snoring Jagger, on the cheek.
He didn’t even stir.
I had to touch him to make sure it had all been real.
Then I chastised myself for a second.
How could I even think our night of lovemaking was not real?
Oh … my … god.
“Morning.” Jagger’s eyes were now open and his husky voice made me gulp.
“Yeah. Morning.”
He leaned over and pushed a few strands of hair from my forehead. “Morning, Sherlock.”
I smiled then looked into those dark, dark eyes, thinking it was time. “There is something I need to know, Jagger.” It felt odd calling him by name. “Jagger?”
And to this day I will never forget that Jagger had this way about him. A way to know me so well. A way to know so much about the world, the cases. And a way to know how to make my life seem as if a fairytale dream that even Stella Sokol couldn’t conjure up had come true.
“My last name,” he said. “Stanley’s my first.”
From then on, I always called him Jagger.
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