Wendy Delaney - Working Stiffs 01 - Trudy, Madly, Deeply

by Wendy Delaney

  There was only one nightclub in town, where Jake Divine had witnessed the knife fight back in May.

  “I’ve got to go.” Steve touched my hand. “You okay?”

  I forced a smile and nodded. I hated the idea of him leaving me alone, but I understood that he had to do his job.

  He stared at me, the tic in his cheek counting off several silent seconds. “The hell you are,” he muttered, punching numbers on his cell phone.

  I must not have looked very convincing.

  Twenty minutes later, I was pacing the hallway outside Alice’s room when my mother stepped off the elevator.

  Wearing formfitting black denim jeans, my hooded sweatshirt from last night, black suede boots, and Gram’s Port Merritt PD cap, she headed my direction with a canvas knapsack slung over her shoulder. All she needed was a bandolier of shotgun shells strapped over the other shoulder to look like a cover model for Guns and Ammo.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked.

  Marietta sashayed past me, her chunky boot heels thunking against the linoleum. “Steve called me for backup.”

  And here I thought he and I were getting along so well.

  I followed her into Alice’s room. “You probably don’t need to stay. No point in both of us—”

  “I wouldn’t hear of it. Besides …” She patted the pink Taser holstered to her black leather belt. “… I brought protection.”

  The last time someone said that to me, he was talking about condoms. I didn’t feel any safer then than I did now.

  “I also brought reinforcements.” My mother unzipped the knapsack. “Steve told me you might be hungry, so I cut you a slice of birthday cake.” She handed me a clear plastic container and a dessert fork. “Your grandmother loved it, by the way.”

  “Great.” I stared at the plastic container in my hand. Steve was wrong. I was too tied up in nervous knots to be hungry.

  Marietta unscrewed an aluminum thermos and filled the lid with coffee. “I made it as soon as Steve called. Just guessed when I dumped the beans in. Hope it’s okay.”

  I sipped the steaming inky brew. If Duke’s was industrial strength, my mother’s coffee could double for jet fuel. “Holy moly!” I was going to be awake until Christmas.

  She winced. “Too strong?”

  I set down the cup and forked some birthday cake into my mouth to neutralize the acid threatening to dissolve my stomach lining. “Good and strong. Thanks.”

  Beaming, she peeked around the curtain separating the two beds. “How’s the patient?”

  “Sleepy!” Alice grumbled from the next bed.

  Marietta pulled back the ringed cotton room divider. “You’re awake.”

  Good. I wanted to ask my great-aunt a few questions.

  Alice blinked at the plastic container on my lap. “Is that birthday cake?” she asked, slurring her words.

  I put the cake down on the table next to me. “Yes, and since the doctor said that you’re going to be on a liquid diet for a little while, we’ll save you some.”

  Alice heaved a sigh. “Party pooper.”

  I held her plastic cup so that she could take a sip of water. “Aunt Alice, earlier tonight you said that you knew what was going on here.”

  She waved the cup away. “Uh huh.”

  “What did you mean by that?”

  Alice yawned, her pupils dilated, her gaze unfocused.

  I pressed closer. “Did it have something to do with someone you saw downstairs?”

  Her eyelids fluttered shut. “Wha …?”

  “Oh, no you don’t. Stay awake for a few more minutes and talk to me.”

  “Hmmmmm?”

  I touched her hand. “Remember how afraid you were before they wheeled you into surgery?”

  “Yessss ….” Her breathing slowed as sleep took hold, thanks to the narcotics being pumped into her bloodstream.

  “She’s out,” Marietta announced.

  “Damn.”

  “What do we do now?”

  I reached for the thermos. “We stay awake.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Pacing the length of Aunt Alice’s room while she and my mother snored like dueling buzz saws, I glanced at a wall clock—three fifty-four. Considering the time and my sleep-deprived brain, I was doing okay. But after sucking down all that coffee and the bottle of water I found in the knapsack, I needed to use the bathroom and soon or I’d be doing the potty dance instead of pacing.

  I stood over the spare bed where Marietta was curled up next to the Taser she’d unhooked from her belt. “Mom?”

  She stirred. “Hmmmmm?”

  “I have to go to the bathroom.”

  She rolled onto her back. “So go.”

  Entering the bathroom in Alice’s room, I left the door ajar so that I could see the nurse if she came in to check on Alice while I was on the toilet.

  Just as I dropped trou, I saw a shadow cross the doorway and my heart almost jumped out of my throat.

  I told my sphincter to hold tight for a few minutes, pulled up my pants, and crept to the door to listen for movement. Other than the roar of my pulse pounding in my ears, I heard nothing but some unladylike snoring.

  Pushing the door open, I stepped out of the bathroom and saw Suzy standing next to the bed, smiling down at Alice like an adoring mother beholding her newborn.

  “What are you doing?” I demanded, the hair on my arms standing at high alert.

  Suzy sucked in a breath and tucked her right hand into the front pocket of her light blue tunic. “You startled me.” She aimed a cool smile at me. “I just wanted to see how Alice was doing.”

  Lie.

  She wanted something more, and I knew it had everything to do with what was in her pocket.

  “Her color has certainly improved since she came into the ER,” she added, as if sugar-coating the lie would make it easier for me to swallow.

  “You were working in the ER when Alice arrived?” Where she would have heard my great-aunt’s accusations, maybe more than one of them aimed directly at Suzy.

  She nodded, fingering the IV tubing connected to Alice’s arm just like the nurse who had come into the room almost an hour earlier. “I’m on a break, but I thought I’d check in on our patient for a few minutes.”

  My mother sat up, blinking at Suzy. “What’s she doing here?”

  I inched closer, my focus on Suzy’s hands—empty—but I wasn’t taking any chances. “Step away from Alice, now.”

  Alice snorted awake. “What?”

  Suzy tilted her head at me. In the low light her pale blue eyes looked glassy, like lifeless doll’s eyes. “I’m just here to help.”

  I didn’t doubt she had told the truth, but I couldn’t imagine who she thought she was helping.

  “What’s going on?” Alice asked, her voice groggy with sleep.

  I patted her ankle. “Don’t worry. I’m here, so is Mom.”

  I kept my gaze fixed on Suzy. “If you want to help, why don’t you start by telling us what’s in your pocket.”

  “It’s nothing. Just some medication I’m taking,” she said in a melodic, high-pitched voice as if she were speaking nonsense to a toddler.

  Lie.

  “Mom, go to the nurses’ station and tell them to call security.”

  Marietta ran out the door.

  “And call Steve,” I yelled after her.

  “This is silly.” Suzy pointed at the empty coffee thermos as she stepped toward the door. “If you drank less of that stuff you wouldn’t be so nervous and leap to all these crazy conclusions.”

  Or need to pee.

  I stepped in front of her, blocking her escape route.

  The planes of her pixie face hardened as she narrowed her gaze. “If you’ll excuse me, I have to get back to work.”

  “I’m sure they can spare you for a few more minutes.”

  Suzy’s eyes widened. “I have patients who need me.”

  I had the sick feeling that her patients would rest much easier
if I kept Suzy occupied. “I’m sure you do.”

  “And not just patients, family members. I’m sure you saw it tonight in your own family, when a loved one is suffering, everyone suffers. Truly, they need all the comfort they can find during these difficult times.”

  “Is that what the syringe in your pocket is about? Ending suffering?”

  She eased closer to the door. “I already told you that’s my medication.”

  “I don’t believe you. I think that’s something you injected into Trudy and several other patients in this hospital.”

  “You’re delusional,” she said, trying to push past me.

  “One of us certainly is.”

  I grabbed Suzy’s arm to throw her to the spare bed and pin her there until security arrived, but she had leverage on me, forcing me down spread-eagle, my chin landing hard on my mother’s Taser.

  Suzy made a break for the door. Since she’d been working out forever and I’d taken one aerobics class in the last ten years, I knew there was no way in hell I could outrun her. But I did have one thing in my favor—Marietta’s Taser.

  I rolled off the bed and ran into the hallway, fumbling with the Taser in my hand.

  Standing at the nurses’ station, my mother dropped the phone that had been to her ear and stood in front of the elevator like a linebacker, ready to take Suzy down if she made a break for that escape route.

  Suzy hesitated, and I took the shooter’s stance I saw Marietta use Thursday night, pushed a button and fired … a flashlight beam at Suzy’s back. “Shit!”

  “You need to activate it!” my mother yelled.

  That little detail hadn’t been mentioned during Thursday’s demo. “How do you do that?”

  “Give it to me!”

  With a shaky hand I slid the Taser across the linoleum to her.

  “What’s going on?” A nurse in pink scrubs demanded, stepping out of a patient’s room and colliding with Suzy.

  “Stop her!” I shouted, running as fast as I could.

  Suzy stumbled down to one knee. As she scampered back to her feet, I lunged at her, knocking her face down to the floor.

  She bucked and kicked as Marietta circled with the Taser. “Let go!” Suzy cried. “You’re making a big mistake.”

  Not this time.

  Grabbing Suzy’s wrists, I straddled her, bearing down with the full force of my hundred and sixty-four pounds. Probably the one and only time I was grateful to outweigh someone.

  She squirmed, twisting, cursing. Then, Marietta pressed the Taser against Suzy’s neck, and I felt the body underneath me go rigid.

  Rolling off of Suzy’s back, my chest heaved to suck down oxygen as I shuddered at the sight of her convulsing body. She moaned, mewing in pain—pain that my mother and I had caused.

  I’d never wanted to cause anyone physical pain before. Of course, this bitch had tried to kill my aunt Alice and had been responsible for at least five other deaths.

  I could easily make an exception for Suzy.

  “Are you crazy?” yelled the nurse in pink scrubs as she ran to Suzy’s side.

  “No.” I pointed at the serial killer next to me. “But she is.”

  The nurse glared at me as she checked Suzy’s pulse. “Security’s on the way.”

  Good. Hopefully with a pair of handcuffs. And if the security guy didn’t have any, I knew a detective who would.

  “Are you okay, honey?” my mother asked, squatting beside me as I sat on my butt, my rubbery legs splayed like a rag doll. “Your nose is bleeding.”

  I used the sleeve of my sweatshirt to swipe at my oozing nose. “I’m okay.” Which was more than I could say for Suzy, who was still twitching.

  Another nurse handed me a tissue. “Oh my God, what’d you do to her?”

  “Nothing that she didn’t deserve.” My mother stood, pointing at Suzy with the Taser. “You don’t mess with me and mine.”

  I had a hunch that Marietta was quoting from one of her old space cowboy movies, but I didn’t care. I just wanted someone from security to arrive so that I could haul ass to the nearest bathroom before I peed my pants.

  As I pushed myself to my knees, the elevator doors opened and I looked up to see Kyle Cardinale staring at the Taser in my mother’s hand. “What the hell is going on here?”

  Not a guy with handcuffs, but close enough.

  “I don’t have time to explain because I really have to pee. Just keep an eye on Suzy. I think she’s the one who killed Trudy.”

  * * *

  I woke up to the heavenly aroma of the mocha latte Steve had in his hand.

  “You know that isn’t on my diet,” I told him.

  He smiled and sat on the edge of the double bed in his guest room. “I think you’re entitled this afternoon.”

  “Afternoon?” I read the clock on the nightstand. It was almost one o’clock—over seven hours since Steve tucked me into his spare bed. “I should go.” Take a shower, brush my teeth, put on some makeup.

  “Maybe you could drink your coffee before you run off. I was also thinking you might be hungry. You missed lunch.”

  Breakfast, too. Birthday cake before three a.m. didn’t really count.

  I propped myself up with a couple of extra pillows and sipped my latte. “Are you done at the station?”

  When Steve had brought me home to his house from the hospital, he said it would take a while. He’d never booked a serial killer before.

  “Done for a while,” he said, brushing back a strand of hair from my face. “She didn’t have much to say other than to protest that we were keeping her from her work.”

  “Killing people?”

  “She prefers to call it alleviating their suffering.”

  “So I heard from the Angel of Mercy herself when she went after Aunt Alice to shut her drug-induced big mouth.”

  Steve shook his head. “There was nothing angelic about the vial we found in her pocket.”

  “What was it?”

  “Something I can’t pronounce. According to Dr. Cardinale, it’s a paralytic drug used in anesthesia. A hefty enough dose … instant cardiac arrest.”

  Which explained why pulmonary failure was the cause of death for most of the names on my victims list—all of them with family members who attended Suzy’s dance class.

  With the one exception of Norm Bergeson. “But why kill Trudy?” I asked.

  “I know Norm brought her to the ER three times in the last seven months, so Suzy didn’t need a class at the senior center to get to know Norm and develop a relationship with him. And when the opportunity presented itself a couple of weeks ago ….”

  “Suzy made a decision that both Norm and Trudy had suffered enough and made her move,” I said. “Then, after the funeral, Virginia Stratham would enter the picture to play Cupid with the suddenly single family member—”

  Steve blew out a breath. “You’re not going to let go of that matchmaking thing, are you?”

  “Because it makes perfect sense. And it gave Suzy even more satisfaction because she got to see the fruits of her labor blossom at the senior center.” Like at the dance class, she saw Jayne, Ernie, Sylvia, and Nell—all smiling and happy, probably for the first time in years. “Crazy satisfaction.”

  I shivered. “Makes me wonder how long she’s been in the mercy business.”

  Steve nodded. “The FBI’s been called in since this has a lot in common with a string of suspicious deaths—mercy killings—four years ago in Portland.”

  “Suzy told me she used to live in Portland. That’s where she took dance lessons.”

  Steve nodded. “They’ll want to talk to you. Your mother, too.”

  No doubt Marietta would make sure plenty of local media were on hand to conduct follow-up interviews. That meant at least another week of me sleeping on the Crippler.

  I sucked down some more coffee, willing the chocolate to transport me to my happy place. “So, what happens until the FBI gets here?”

  He blew out a breath. “We wait.�
�

  “Again? I swear, you do more waiting than anyone I know.”

  A smile teased at the corners of his mouth. “It comes with the territory. But while we’re waiting, how about some lunch?”

  “What’s on the menu? I’m on a diet, you know.”

  He shot me an evil grin. “I thought we’d start with dessert.”

  THE END

  Acknowledgments

  I am indebted to a small army of friends and advisors who helped me breathe life into this story.

  First of all, I must offer my gratitude to my critique partners and friends, Jacquie Rogers, Ann Charles, and Sherry Walker. You who truly are This Side of Deranged helped me find my way on this writing journey and never failed to cheer me on when times got tough. Thanks for all the years of unfailing support. And to Ann Charles, a special thanks for being my creative partner in crime for the last fifteen years.

  Thank you to former Jefferson County Prosecutor/Coroner Juelie Dalzell and Funeral Director Real Robles for generously sharing their time and expertise with this mystery writer. Because of you, I knew I had a story.

  To Lee Lofland, I so appreciate you helping me get my facts straight and for not reporting me to the police when I asked about how I could get away with murder.

  Thank you, Renee (aka Eyes for Lies). Charmaine wouldn’t be nearly as interesting a character if not for you.

  Mary Buckham, a wonderful writer and teacher, will always have a special place in my heart because of the time and attention she gave my book. Mary, I count myself lucky to call you friend.

  Thank you to my talented cover designer, Adam Linstad. Working with Team Linstad has been a delight and means more to me than you’ll ever know.

  Many, many thanks to my readers and critiquers: Ann Charles, Jacquie Rogers, Kathy Coatney, Chassily Wakefield, Sabrina York, Celeste Deveney, Polly Iyer, Linda Lovely, Kari Townsend, Jim Vavra, Merry Parisotto, Pamela Hiestand, Karen Linstad, June Linstad, Odette Tanner-Holmyard, Karen Haverkate, and Bryan Tretheway. I’m so grateful for your invaluable feedback.

  To the Goal Girls—Gerri Russell, Joleen James, and Ann Charles—thanks for the years of unfailing encouragement. Achieving this goal is one I’m happy to celebrate with you.

  A special thank you goes to the fabulous Vicki Lewis Thompson. How lucky I am to have met such a generous spirit.