Chapter 13

I almost cannonballed into Lucia.

Actually, I stopped a foot short of her, but she seized the nearest doorframe, her acrylic nails scrabbling on the wood, and teetered on her hot pink heels for one long second before she regained her balance.

Up close, her fake tan had that orange tint that makes me thankful for my natural melanin. But her eyes were a clear and pretty blue-green, and her curves were still impressive in a low cut white T-shirt, stretchy leopard print leggings, and a bright pink coat, so she really stood out. Basically, she was as close to Barbie as I’d never seen in a living human being, and I had to stare at her for a second. “Sorry about that, Lucia.”

“No problem.” Steadier now, one hand crept to her platinum blonde hair. She tucked a lock behind her ear.

Archer appeared in his doorway. “I thought I heard—hello, Lucia!” He beamed at her like Dr. Huot with testosterone.

“Hello,” she said, still subdued.

Archer wrapped a possessive arm around her, hugging her into his side, and kissed her cheek.

She cleared her throat and glanced at me.

“Oh, Dr. Sze was just leaving. You remember her? She helped save Elvis’s life that day. The other doctor’s here, too. Tucker. He wants to help us figure out who wrecked Elvis’s stunt.”

Did Lucia blanch a bit? Hard to tell, under all that dye, but she wrapped her arm around his back while she eyeballed me. “How is a doctor supposed to help figure this out?” She had a mild Eastern European accent that drew out some syllables and made her come down on others. (“How eez a doctor suppozed to help us feegur diz out?”)

“I’ll let Dr. Tucker explain that,” I said, pointing toward the room where I could hear Tucker and Elvis’s voices. “But I was just curious if you remembered anything about Saturday morning.” My heart fluttered in my chest. I was not investigating. I was not. I was just…priming the pump for Tucker, who’d be asking her the same questions in a few minutes. I ignored the little voice that whispered, What about all those patients who tell one story to the triage nurse, another story to the med student, a third variation to the resident, and a swiftly-changing tale to the consultant? Leave now.

Archer smiled proudly as his broad palm rubbed circles on Lucia’s back.

Lucia patted her little pink purse. “I am sorry. I forgot something in Archer’s truck. I was hoping I could pick it up.”

“Of course! We could go right now, if you want.” Archer pulled his keys out of his pocket and jingled them.

“I’ll walk with you. I’m leaving, too,” I said, pulling up on her other side.

She glanced at Elvis’s doorway, but she started striding back down the hall in her high heels. On the rare occasion when I wear heels, I walk slowly, making sure I don’t sprain my ankle, and people turn around because the sound echoes around the hallway. She made it look easy. I was wearing flats, though, so I had no trouble keeping pace and asking, “Did you see Elvis before his stunt on Hallowe’en?”

“Naturally, I work with Elvis, so I saw him.” She didn’t bother to make eye contact.

“When?”

“At the Old Port, I was standing there when he and Archer drove in the truck.”

“Not during the show. Did you rehearse with him in the morning?”

She adjusted her shiny pink purse on her shoulder and took a hard left at the nursing station, toward the elevator. “We did not rehearse together. He was running and practicing on his own.”

Archer grinned. “He’s always like that. He doesn’t like to say it’s nerves, but he kind of disappears into himself on the day of.”

“You spent the night before at their hotel with them, though?” I said, wanting to make it clear that I already knew about her and Archer and she didn’t have to hide it.

Lucia punched the down elevator button, but she stopped and turned wide eyes on me. “No, I was working.”

“She works Thursday, Friday, and Saturday nights,” said Archer.

“What kind of work do you do?” I asked.

She flipped her hair and straightened up to her full height, which was probably about 5’9” even without the heels. “I am a dancer.”

“An exotic dancer?” I asked.

“Yes, exactly. I am not a stripper,” she said, holding her index finger in my face. I felt like batting her finger away, but the elevator door pinged open and a couple of old people stared at the Barbie girl, so she dropped her arm and let them file out of the elevator, although she didn’t bother stepping aside for them. She glided into the elevator like it was a carriage she’d called. Archer gestured for me to go ahead of him, so I did.

The doors shut on us. The elevator started to rise instead of descending, and Lucia sighed in exasperation, but I silently blessed the inefficiency of Montreal elevators, prolonging our interview time, and asked, “So when did you end up meeting with Archer and Elvis on Hallowe’en?”

“Archer called me at 8 a.m.” She sighed and shook out her hair. I admired the way it swished. My hair is heavier, so it tends to hang instead of ripple.

Archer laughed. “Sorry, babe. I let you sleep as late as I could.”

“He wanted to practice. So, we came over at nine.”

“Nine-thirty, but it’s cool,” said Archer, kissing her neck. The elevator doors opened again, and a pregnant woman stepped in while firmly clutching the hands of two little boys. The boys watched Archer, wide-eyed, until Lucia nudged his side. He raised his head from her neck, but he kept his body next to hers as the elevator began its slow descent down the floors.

Lucia smoothed a wrinkle out of her top. “But Elvis is running, and then he wants to rehearse on his own. So Archer and Hugo talk about how to move the equipment and so on.”

I shuffled to the side to let in a man being pushed in a wheelchair. “What did you do while they were talking?”

She shrugged and adjusted her purse strap. “I waited for them to tell me what to do. That is my job.”

“Did you see the coffin and the chains?”

She nodded. “We practice on Archer. He put on music. We put the chains on him. He get in and out of coffin.”

Was Archer Elvis’s understudy? I raised my eyebrows. Archer just laughed and slid his hand low on Lucia’s back, just riding above her ass, while two respiratory therapists filed onto the elevator. “I wanted them to practice chaining, but Elvis was still doing his thing, so I got them to practice on me. I’m no escape artist, but I can tell them how to loop it, make sure they stand to one side and not block the view. That sort of thing. Then we had to get down to the Old Port. Well, me and Hugo and Lucia, anyway. Elvis wanted to practice with the coffin and chains by himself a few more times, but we packed up and left.”

“What time did you get to the Old Port?”

“The three of us got there around 10:45. I’d been there on and off for a few hours before that. I already had the admission and T-shirt guys set up, but there’s always last-minute problems I got to straighten out, and some of the fans were lining up at daybreak.”

I didn’t mention that one of those fans was Tucker. The elevator pinged and let off a bunch of people at the next floor. “How did Elvis get down to the Old Port?”

“One of the guys drove him down to a holding area, and then I picked him up just before the show.”

“Where did you put the coffin and chains?”

“Hugo and I hooked the coffin up out of sight as soon as we got there, so it would be ready to go. We kept the chains in the car. We’ve got a backup set of chains too, just in case.”

Hmm. It sounded like there had been lots of opportunities for someone to sabotage Elvis’s equipment. Lucia and Hugo and Archer had all practiced with it on the day of, and that didn’t count “the guys” who’d helped out. “Did you lock the truck and the cab at the Old Port?”

“I did.” Archer frowned. “I don’t know if Hugo did.”

Right. So their security wasn’t the best, even before the stunt. I assumed no one would sabotage the coffin while it was dangling off a crane, but the chains might have been accessible, and the coffin could have been manipulated beforehand.

The elevator stopped at the fourth floor where the parking tunnel hooks on to the hospital, and Lucia sauntered out on her stilettos, not waiting for either of us. I caught up to her easily and said, “We should talk to Hugo.”

Her head jerked toward me. “He is not here.”

“I know that, but Archer said you were bringing him.”

She shrugged. “I have not seen him for a few days. He is not answering his phone.”

I paused in the middle of the foyer, in front of a giant marble statue. “Isn’t that a little odd? Archer hasn’t heard from him either, even though he owes him money.”

Lucia tossed her hair like she was imitating a shampoo commercial again. “That is funny.” Her eyes strayed toward Archer, who stood behind her and placed both hands on her hips.

“Do you want to see if he’s all right? Maybe stop by his apartment?” I asked.

Archer smiled. “Hugo’s a big boy. I’m sure he’ll find us.” His head dipped toward Lucia’s neck. He parted her hair so he could press a kiss on the back of her neck.

She shivered.

Archer ripped his eyes away from her long enough to say, “Thanks for your help, Dr. Sze. We really appreciate it.” Then he backed her against the granite wall, beside the statue.

“You’re welcome,” I said, feeling about as useful as a lobotomized eunuch. I turned down the hall, toward the exit doors, mentally girding myself to bike uphill to my apartment. When I glanced back at them, they were still kissing, now with one of his legs pressed between hers.