“Tomorrow is Kyle’s birthday,” Margaret said while I was celebrating the fact that now I knew both she and Mason clearly had been hijacked here against their will for the insurance money.
“I worry that he thinks I’m not coming back to him. My poor baby.”
My heart sank.
“I’m so sorry. But you know what, Margaret? I think . . . no, I know you will be seeing him very soon. Very soon.”
She gave me a look that said she was close to hopeless yet willing to give me one last vote of confidence.
I couldn’t let this mother down.
I walked her to her room, where she flopped on the bed. I pulled the covers over her and took her son’s picture from her hand. “If it falls when you are asleep, it could go missing.” I tucked it under her mattress at her request and patted her on the shoulder. “Good night. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
When I walked out of the door, making sure that no one saw me coming out, I leaned against the wall and silently cursed whoever was so evil, so money-hungry that they’d separate a mother and child—and commit murder.
Thoughts like that made me realize that I was way out of my league sometimes and it was right of Fabio to give me easier cases like Workers’ Comp and Dr. De Jong’s treatment of teens. I could see that he assigned me cases that coincided with Jagger’s so I could learn from him—although I felt certain that Jagger didn’t work for Fabio. I was kinda glad the doctor wasn’t committing fraud, because right now I needed some belief that humans were inherently good.
Some, however, got sidetracked.
I walked away from Margaret’s room and toward the quiet dayroom. I needed to sit and vegetate like a real patient. Today had been a long, difficult day. Too much action for my taste and investigative skills. When I came around the corner, I stopped.
Sitting on the couch a few feet away from the window was Jagger, talking to Mason.
Yikes.
They looked up simultaneously and both smiled.
My female instinct said their smiles came from the same place—noticing me.
Oh . . . my . . . gosh.
I walked toward them and wondered if Jagger had told Mason exactly who he was. Then again, I didn’t know who Jagger exactly was. And he damn well better not have told someone else—some stranger—first.
Mason jumped up. “You look nice in your outfit, Pauline.” His French accent did something to my name that made my heart flutter. Then I looked at Jagger and felt my cheeks burning.
I must be as red as the pj’s of the elderly gentleman who was fast asleep on the loveseat. At least he wouldn’t be eavesdropping.
“Please sit down, mademoiselle.”
If the Cheshire Cat wore Burberry, I’m quite sure I could have passed for him at that moment, with the grin on my face.
Jagger grunted.
I sat next to Mason. “Hey, Jag—”
His eyes flashed what had to be a warning.
“JAG. Did either of you watch that television show about the military tonight? JAG?”
Jagger shook his head.
I thought I did a damn good job of sidestepping my faux pas, and thought that Jagger just didn’t want to give me the satisfaction of doing something correct.
He really did seem as if he were a bit perturbed at Mason.
But, ever the professional, Jagger sat there, just looking at me—and more than likely transferring his dismay to me.
I leaned toward Mason. “Margaret’s husband booked her trip with your new agent. Arnold, the old agent, was her husband’s friend!”
Mason gave me a look of trust but flashed his eyes at Jagger.
I quickly said, “He’s all right. He’s my doctor. We can talk in front of him.”
Jagger looked at me as if I should just shut up, so I leaned toward him. “Mason knows that I can help him. Margaret does too.”
“How are you going to help them, Sherlock?”
Mason looked confused. “Sherlock?”
Now I looked at Jagger, accusing him of a faux pas, and then turned to Mason as if I could wave away his confusion with my hand gesture. “Don’t pay attention to that. What we need to do is get more info to corroborate. It certainly sounds as if both of you, and we don’t know how many more, were brought here just to get the insurance money. Maybe not only from the New Orleans area, but from all over the country.”
I asked a few more questions about the van, the driver and anything else Mason could think of. “Tomorrow I’ll see if these match what Margaret says. Then we’ll be home free.”
Jagger leaned near. “And whom are you going to accuse, Pauline?”
I pulled back. In my excitement, I didn’t realize that we still were no closer to finding out about Vito’s death or who was the ringleader in all of this fraud. Oh, I knew that we’d have to complete that, but with the horrible day I’d had, I’d let my excitement get away from me.
Mason excused himself and told me he’d meet me for breakfast tomorrow. I smiled and agreed, then turned to see Jagger standing there shaking his head.
“What? He’s a nice guy.”
“Darling. Just darling.” He took my arm and led me toward the examining room, stopping at the desk long enough to inform Nurse Lindeman that he’d be “seeing” me right now.
I grinned all the way down the hallway.
When we got to the exam room, the door was closed. Before Jagger could open the door, Vinny came bounding out.
“Oh, hey, Doc. This room is in use. You can use the one on Ward 200B. It’s down the hallway and to the right. No locked doors in between. It’s part of the same unit, but the more . . . sicker patients are kept there.”
“Thanks,” Jagger said, taking my arm.
I heard a female’s snicker. Apparently Vinny was using the exam room.
I smiled at Vinny and followed along like the ever consummate, cooperative psych patient that I’d become.
When we got to the end of the hallway, I realized I’d never ventured this far, thinking all the doors were locked. Then it hit me: the sicker patients?
“Maybe we should wait until tomorrow and stay on Ward 200. Plain old 200?”
Jagger shook his head—twice.
“Hey, you’re the one who can come and go around here. They get me on Ward 200B, and they might make me a permanent resident.”
He chuckled. “What? Are you afraid they’ll think you are a bit . . . different, Sherlock?”
I looked around to make sure no staff was watching and slapped Jagger’s arm. “No, Jag, I’m not. Oh, hell. I . . . yes, I am. Do you know what it’s like to be wrapped in wet sheets like a mummy?”
Suddenly, he had me in his arms. The feel of his heart next to mine nearly had me drop to the floor. Instead I struggled on wobbly legs. Jagger gently stroked my hair and whispered, “I’m really sorry about that, Sherlock. Really sorry.”
I knew he meant that he wasn’t around to stop it, and I sure as hell wasn’t going to tell him that the sheets were a bit comforting and at least not as bad as I’d thought it would be.
Instead, I leaned closer to him and said, “It was horrible. The worst thing that’s ever happened to me.”
His kiss came softly, gently, as if stealing into the night. Before we could continue, a door clicked shut in the distance—and Jagger released me.
It was well worth my little white lie.
Jagger guided me down the hallway, following Vinny’s suggestion and instructing Nurse Lawson to make sure we had time to talk uninterrupted. She agreed and as we headed down the corridor, a woman’s scream filled the air.
I froze.
Jagger yanked at me and said, “Ignore it. The staff will take care of her.”
But before we could get past Room 201, the door swung open and a pillow flew out, hitting Jagger in the back of the head. If it were a much heavier object, I wouldn’t have laughed.
Suddenly I sobered when the culprit came out the door shouting.
Mary Louise Huntington!
Jagger’s grasp on my arm tightened.
I grew faint at the comparison of her standing there in the johnny coat, which I no longer wore since getting my Burberry outfit, her hair as messy as mine, and her face, a bit younger (which I attributed to a more expensive facial cream than I could afford), but very similar to mine.
Way too similar.
She started to curse at me—mostly incoherently. I figured the Green Demon had visited Mary Louise too.
Jagger ignored her and pulled me toward the exam room.
Once inside the room, he grabbed the stool with his foot, yanked it over and sat. “Sit down.” It came out very much like an order and I wondered if Jagger was just as shocked as I was.
Then I looked at him.
“She was here all the time.” I sank onto the exam table as the accusatory words came out. “And you knew it.”
Jagger stared, but there was no look of apology in his eyes. “She fell into my lap for this case, Sherlock.”
“Call me Pauline.”
“I needed to get into this place to crack this fraud ring and when I saw her picture in a file on Dr. Pinkerton’s desk, I knew you would be perfect for this job.
“Not because of my skills?”
He ignored that and continued, “Mary Louise was brought here from Minneapolis. She’s a convicted felon who got off with an insanity plea. Her family had her transferred here because her brother worked here and they thought he could keep an eye out for her.” He rolled closer. “Vito was her brother.”
I gasped.
“But you should have told me she was here—”
“She wasn’t.”
“Mary Louise might know who killed Vito,” I mumbled more to myself than to Jagger, as if I wanted his approval.
I felt him touch my hand. “I’m proud of you, Sherlock.”
Do not let that be your undoing! I shouted in my head. I was still angry with Jagger for all of this.
“Does she know you? Did she recognize you?”
He shook his head.
“But, unfortunately, Pauline, I’m sure she recognized you.”