I sat in my car—in shock.
Leo was Sophie’s son. No, Sophie was Leo’s mother. Well, after my teeth nearly fell out, I’d gotten it straight from Hildy: Sophie was Leo’s stepmother, making Mr. W his step uncle.
Sophie’d raised him since he was thirteen, so that was just as good. I couldn’t wait to tell Jagger. If he didn’t already know, that is. Nick had called me earlier, and we were “on” for dinner. On. I smiled despite my earlier shock.
I wouldn’t mind Jagger finding out about my plans for tonight.
Damn. How lame to keep thinking about him. I was pissed that my mind had a mind of its own.
A siren yanked my attention back to the present. As I watched the blue lights of two cop cars drive by the parking lot, I dug inside my purse and pulled out my cell phone. Once again I punched in #1. Had to. I needed to share this info with Jagger. The phone went into voice mail. Darn it all.
“It’s me. You won’t believe what I found out today. Leo Pasinski is actually—”
The passenger door flew open. Jagger jumped in.
“Drive.”
As if he had some kind of control over me (which, in fact, he did), I cranked the engine and drove toward the end of the driveway, where I had to slow to wait for traffic—and take a life-saving breath.
“What the hell are you doing?” I looked at him instead of the cars zooming by. “You scared me. Again!”
He was wearing his usual black jacket, jeans, and shirt, the wind had mussed his hair just the right amount. Where Nick was clean shaven, Jagger always had a shadow of a beard, as if his razor was set too high, like an adjustable lawnmower. But that five-o’clock shadow gave him a damn mysterious and sexy appearance.
One that took my breath away each and every time.
Damn it all.
“The question is what the hell were you doing?”
“I was trying to leave you a message to tell you—”
“Insurance Fraud 101, Sherlock. Don’t discuss the case over the phone. Especially in public in the very parking lot of the building where suspects are under surveillance. Or leave voice mails. What if you called the wrong number?”
I felt like a neophyte. And well I should. Why didn’t I think of these things? Mental note to myself, call Goldie. He has to be better now, and I needed him—so I could stop looking like a teenage Nancy Drew in front of Jagger.
All I could say was, “I’m sorry.”
Jagger nodded. “What’s the news?”
A horn honked in back of me. “Should I go or let you out here?”
“Go.”
I pulled out of the parking lot. “Where to?”
“Anywhere until you’ve told me.”
Okay. So I got to ride around, inhaling rugged man until I told him my news. I felt tempted to drive like a New York cabbie and take him the longest route. But then I noticed the time on my car’s radio. I had an hour to get ready before Nick picked me up.
“I can’t take too long.”
“’Nother date?”
I figured he already knew, but his tone didn’t sound like it. “Yes.”
“Then talk fast.”
No interest in my dating Nick. Damn. “Okay. I learned today that Leo Pasinski is Sophie Banko’s stepson.”
“Goddammit.”
“Why? That’s not a good thing to find out?”
“It would have been. Turn back and drop me off.”
Feeling as if he’d popped my balloon, I pulled into a Staples parking lot, turned in the other direction and headed back to the office parking lot. Since it had nearly emptied out, I could see Jagger’s SUV sitting all by itself on the west side. I pulled up to it and shoved my heater on full blast. Once the sun went down in the early evening, the days grew much colder.
Jagger opened the door and stepped out, shutting it behind. I pushed the electric window opener with my finger. “Hey. Wait!”
He turned slightly.
I actually turned off the heater’s fan to hear him better as the wind blew through the open window. “Hey, Jagger. No fair. What did you mean by ‘it would have been?’ I mean, I think that’s pretty helpful to know they are in cahoots. And related! What more could we ask for to help our cases?” Really getting pissed, I shut off the engine and shoved open my door.
As I stepped out, I asked, “Why are you so negative about everything?” I came around the fender.
He started walking to his car. “Go home and get ready for your date.” He looked in the direction of some cops who drove out from around the building.
Date? Damn, again I forgot poor Nick. “I have plenty of time.” I hoped he believed me, because that would mean he thought I didn’t need much time to look sexy and beautiful. He didn’t argue. Good. “Hey!”
He opened the driver’s door of his SUV.
I hurried toward him. “I tell you a wonderful morsel like that and you say it’s not a good thing. I’ve stumbled onto something here—” I looked around to see if anyone was in the parking lot. Empty. I still whispered, “—and Leo’s connection to Sophie is enormous. What could be better?”
“If he were still alive.”
“Take a deep breath,” Jagger said, rather hushed. Or maybe rather annoyed.
I inhaled and let him fan me with a magazine he’d had in his SUV. I hadn’t passed out again, but got a bit woozy at his tidbit of info.
Leo Pasinski was dead.
Damn. Murder was not covered in Insurance Fraud 101. This was two for two, and I didn’t much like those scores.
“How? What happened? When?”
“A few minutes ago a janitor found him in the men’s room.”
“Shot?”
Jagger just looked at me. “Why would you think someone shot him?”
“I . . . I don’t. I don’t know. Maybe déjà vu about me almost getting shot. How else would someone kill a sleazy pharmacist . . . Poison?”
“Well, the place is full of medication. Maybe someone gave him an overdose of something. Lieutenant Shatley’s investigating it.”
“And he’ll let you know? I saw the cop cars earlier, but had no idea that a possible murder had been committed.”
“Leo’s death will be treated as a murder—until proven otherwise. Could be natural causes, but until the autopsy, any accidental, unattended or unexpected deaths are suspect.”
“Unattended. That means no one was around to see what happened.”
Jagger had a way of locking your glance to his. “When was the last time you saw Leo alive?”
I was still mesmerized and mumbled something even I didn’t understand. Then it dawned on me. Jagger was questioning me!
My mouth dried instantly as if I’d been given a bottle full of antihistamines.
“You think I killed Leo?”
“Did you?”
“Whaaaaaaaat?”
“Sherlock, I hope the hell you have the sense not to kill off one of our suspects—even accidentally, but the police are going to question everyone—and I want to make sure you can stand up to it.”
Shit. There was that time I had blacked out when Jagger had stopped the elevator between floors to question me. Hey, I never sought therapy for that phobia because I never expected anyone to trap me in an elevator!
I pulled back. I should be honored that he cared, but his implication was that I’d fall to pieces when the bright lights hit me. Then again, I’d certainly been affected last night when he’d scared me, and when he told me about Leo, whoa, boy.
I pulled myself up straight and repeated in my head over and over that Polacks were strong as bulls. “I saw Leo a few minutes ago—”
“That’d be right about when he died. So you saw him being murdered? Possibly murdered?”
“Oh my God! Jagger, stop that. You are making me nuts, and confused. I can’t think straight.”
“Well, you said a few minutes. Was it really that amount of time that you sat in the car? The cops aren’t going to be as nice as I’m being.”
A traitorous tear formed in my eye. I hated almost crying in front of Jagger, but murder did that to me. I sucked it up and blinked a few times. Here I thought this case would be so different from the last one. But again, a person had lost his life.
I sniffled.
Jagger reached in back and pulled out a tissue. He took it and touched my cheek.
Oh . . . my . . . God.
I’d never be able to think clearly now.
“Call Nick and cancel.”
Nick! Even Jagger remembered my date when I’d clean forgotten it. Well, when you were out of circulation for so long, dating doesn’t come back like riding a bicycle.
“Why? I can get ready in—” I looked at my watch. “A half hour.”
He looked at me. “Obviously you’ve been sitting in your car longer than a few minutes. And—” He looked me up and down. “I’m sure you could get ready in a few minutes, but this is important.”
As if my date wasn’t.
I dug around again in my purse and called Nick. He understood about work—but I hadn’t mentioned that I was with Jagger. “Tomorrow?” I asked, trying to see Jagger’s reaction through my peripheral vision.
Nothing.
So what was new? “That’d be great. And, sorry, Nick.” I made sure Jagger could hear and added, “I really was looking forward to tonight.” I tried to sound sexy, but came out sounding more like a middle-ager who’d just exercised. I pressed the red button and tried to shove the phone back in my purse.
“What the hell do you carry in that thing?”
I looked around the car. “At least it doesn’t look as if I live out of my purse. I pulled out my calculator, tissues and . . . I shoved the Tampax tampon further inside.
My glasses case fell out.
Jagger bent to get it at the same time I did.
Whoa, boy.
My hand touched his. His fingers burned mine. My breath held. His breath burned my cheek. And together we picked up the glasses case.
“I didn’t know you wore glasses, Sherlock.” He took back his hand.
“Oh. I . . . don’t . . . They are . . .” Pull yourself together, Pauline! I blinked a few times, as if that would clear my mind. “They are . . . oh, my, Jagger!”
He pulled back.
“They’re a camera. A camera! Nick helped me buy them, just like my beeper.”
I think Jagger growled.
Maybe I imagined it, but he did make some sound that said, “Not Nick again.” I waved the glasses at him. “I have pictures of Leo and a Billy Idol lookalike! Arguing. I think they were arguing.”
Jagger shook his head once, turned on the engine and drove out.
Before I could ask a clear, nonsensical question, we had pulled into the parking lot of his “friend’s” place where my film was developed, and then we drove to my condo to view the photos.
When the engine turned off, Jagger looked at me. “I hope this isn’t like the beeper film.”
As I walked across the parking lot, inside the condo, and through the kitchen door to let Spanky out and back in, I mumbled on and on about the beeper film not being my fault. Jagger had stopped listening around the first step up my porch. I could tell by that glassy look in his eyes, but I kept rambling on as if that would convince him of something I knew was my fault.
This time, on my coffee break, I’d studied the directions of the camera/glasses.
But that didn’t make me any more confident as I clutched the envelope in my hands, sat next to Jagger on the couch—and held my breath.
“Let’s see the video first,” he said.
Gulp.
I took the remote, turned on the TV and the VCR and held my breath even longer.
The screen turned royal blue. I figured my lips would soon be that same shade if I didn’t take a deep breath. I did and then the screen flickered, fuzzed and then brightly colored packages of condoms filled the picture. I thought I’d been looking at Leo and Billy—but apparently not.
Jagger turned to me.
I refused to blush. “Hey, I was in a pharmacy, for crying out loud.”
Then Leo and Billy appeared, arguing. Every once in a while a package of Ortho Tri-Cyclen, Nordette or the Ortho Evra patch would show up in the picture.
That’s when I’d swallow so loudly even Spanky looked up.
The camera kept panning in to them, then to the birth control stuff, then back until I thought I’d get seasick. I had to learn not to keep looking away when I had on those glasses.
The screen turned blue after several minutes.
“That’s all you took?”
“I . . . I didn’t want them to see me. Besides, that was good stuff. Maybe Billy killed Leo because he was gouging the price of Viagra. What the hell would a kid his age want with Viagra anyway?” I really didn’t want an answer to that, I realized, when Jagger turned to me. “Something illegal?”
“Kids use it to enhance the effects of Ecstasy. Mostly at Rave parties. Sustains an erection . . .”
I know Jagger was talking. His lips were still moving. But my Catholic-induced conscience had shut down my hearing.
Erections!
I was sitting in my living room with a guy fantasies are made about (at least mine were), and he’s talking erections.
Maybe I should go back to nursing.
Jagger had left last night soon after the viewing of my surveillance tape, but not before a snide comment about seasickness, and the photos weren’t any better. Good thing he’d left, ’cause I couldn’t have sat there staring at him much longer. There was something that tested my self-control each time I was alone with him. Something I wasn’t getting any better at ignoring.
So, I got up early this morning to meet him at Dunkin Donuts. We’d have a few hours before I had to be at the clinic. I couldn’t imagine what work would be like with Leo’s possible murder hanging over everyone.
I had tossed and turned all night worrying about Hildy. I hoped to hell that she didn’t have anything to do with it. After all, she’d never had a good thing to say about Leo. Then again, I’d heard him being short or snappy to several of the pharmacy staff. Leo didn’t seem to have any friends there. It had dawned on me around midnight: my case with Sophie might come to an end—without my help.
If her stepson was killed, would she continue her illegal claim filing? And how would I “get her” on that?
But the real clinker that stole my beauty sleep was, now that Leo was dead, was Jagger’s case over?
I’d called Goldie around one thirty in the morning not a bit worried that I’d wake him. Goldie was an owl. He required very little sleep and had said I could call him anytime. He’d agreed to meet me at lunchtime to go over some things. It was then I’d decided not to ask Nick for help with work.
After all, we were an “us” now, and pleasure came before business when you were still single at my age.
I did my morning routine, kissed Spanky on his little squirrel head and ran out the door. Today was a beautiful sunny winter day. The old snow from weeks ago had melted, leaving golden yellow grass and twigs of trees to hint at spring. I only wished it would come soon—except for the fact that it would then mean my birthday would have come and gone.
Nick was looking better and better.
On the drive to meet Jagger, I allowed myself to wonder if Nick liked kids.
Why? I had no idea, I told myself when I pulled up next to the black SUV and felt a bit Jagger-induced jittery before my first cup of caffeine.
Jagger already had our order in the car and motioned for me to come sit in the passenger’s seat.
I opened the door, inhaled hazelnut mixed with his scent of male. “Smells good,” I said, taking the coffee into my cold hands. I held the cup a few minutes before taking a sip. I noticed my French cruller sat on the dashboard. “What if I wanted jelly today?”
He looked at me.
Damn. I hated him knowing me so well when he was such an enigma.
“I talked to Shatley. He wants your tape and photos.”
“My tape!” Suddenly I felt scared. “My photos!” It made sense that a homicide investigator would want my surveillance stuff, since I might have been witnessing a pre-murder argument.
And the killer was still at large.
If it got out that I had the stuff and had seen them . . .
“Do I have to give them to him?” I took a large bite of donut that I really didn’t want anymore.
“Why wouldn’t you?” He looked at me. With one finger, he wiped a dollop of sugar from my lip.
Suddenly I forgot what we were talking about.
“Look Sherlock, whoever killed Leo, if, in fact he was killed, more than likely murdered Wisnowski, too.”
That’s right. Murder. We were talking murder. “Right. But if that’s the case, the kid Billy might not be the one.”
“Let Shatley deal with the deaths. Your job is nailing Sophie—before someone bumps her off.”
“Whaaaaaaaat?” I started coughing on a piece of donut. “Do you really think someone will kill her too?” I nearly coughed up my coffee and the cruller bites I didn’t want.
“Sherlock, in this business, anything is possible. You have to start thinking that way.”
“Be suspicious until proven not guilty.”
He took his coffee, looked at me over the rim, and swallowed. “We have to go talk to Shatley now.”
I couldn’t eat another bite.
“Good to see you again, Pauline,” Lieutenant Shatley said, taking my hand in a firm grip.
I smiled, not being able to shake the nervous feeling from being in the police station.
And being questioned about a possible murder.
Why did I feel guilty?
Had to be that old conscience thing again. Someone who had little, if any, conscience wouldn’t be nervous. I sucked it up and answered all of the lieutenant’s questions and gave him my tape and pictures.
They really didn’t help my case anyway.
Truthfully, they really didn’t help Shatley’s case either.
I had to get back to Sophie. Fabio would be calling me any day now, asking for an update. And what could I give him? Sophie is doing something illegal—but I can’t prove it. Sure. That would go over big with my boss.
We said our goodbyes, and Jagger walked me to the parking lot. I’d taken my own car from Dunkin Donuts.
“You all right to drive?”
I looked at him, kneading my fingers inside my mittens. “Of course I am. Why wouldn’t I be?”
The look.
“Stop insinuating that I can’t handle myself. I’m fine.” I looked down to see my watch, but had a hard time reading it since my hand shook so.
Jagger reached over and steadied my hand.
“Eight thirty. I have to leave.”
He didn’t let go yet. “Be careful around the clinic today.”
Like I needed that warning! Before he’d said that, I really wasn’t worried. It was a good thing I’d seen the time earlier, because now my watch might go flying off my shaking arm if I tried to look at it.
“I’ll be fine.” I tried to sound convincing, but even I wasn’t buying it. “Jagger, does this mean your case is over?”
“Nope.”
That was it? Nope? He wasn’t going into any detail of why he still had a case. “Do I really need to stay working at the clinic?”
He just grinned.
“Shit. Then I’ll see you around.”
He nodded.
Now I felt better, knowing he would be there in some disguise—to protect me.
The clinic’s grapevine was swelling with gossip today. Talk of Leo’s death had the place in an uproar. Thank goodness the word “murder” hadn’t surfaced—yet. It took all of my control not to get into any “discussions” about it with any of the staff. I thought that was the professional thing to do. I did hurry over to the pharmacy on my coffee break to see Hildy though.
She was out sick today.
Damn it. That didn’t look good, and I didn’t even know her home phone number to call and see if she was all right.
I only hoped that she really was sick and not out—to cover up something.
Not much investigating would get done today.
Once the clock hit noon, I was outta there, to meet Goldie at the diner across from the clinic building. I went inside and looked around.
“Suga!” Goldie sat in the last red booth by the window. He’d worn a silver-blonde wig today with a ski jacket, a paisley pink-and-gold ski jacket and matching neon pink leggings. His size elevens were covered in furry pink boots that hit him mid calf. Despite the heat in the diner, he kept on a gold knitted headband over his ears. Beneath dangled lovely gold and diamond earrings matching the bracelet on his right wrist and the rings on every finger of that hand.
That’s my Goldie.
I gave him a big hug. “You feeling better?”
“Heavenly. I’m going back to work next week.”
“That’s great, Gold. I can’t wait. I’ll clean my stuff out of your office.”
“And go where?”
“Good question.” I laughed.
He leaned near. “You’ll stay put.”
I had more on my mind than to argue with such logic.
The waitress came over with two glasses of water. “Coffee?”
Goldie said, “High octane for me.”
“Decaf,” I said.
She scurried away, a stream of cheap rose-scented perfume hanging in her wake.
“So, tell me everything,” he said.
I looked at my watch—and momentarily cringed. Then I filled Goldie in on the case, on Nick and on Jagger.
The waitress came and left with our order. Goldie, the club sandwich without mayo. Me, the tuna with extra mayo, although one might assume by the smell in there that fried food was all they served.
He looked around and leaned close before the waitress came back. “Don’t forget my Jagger warning.”
“I know, Gold. It’s not easy though.”
He shook his head. “Tell me about it, Suga. If it weren’t for Miles, I’d be hunting and pecking around too.”
Hunting and pecking? I barely remembered that I had a date with Nick tonight. “Gold, what do you think of Nick?”
“Not my type, but a doll for you. He’s not macho or ragged, like Jagger. He’s more suave, movie-star handsome. Yeah, suave handsome. That’s Nick. But, Suga, Nick’ll treat you right. I’ve already told you that.”
“I know. How do I get my emotions to know?”
Goldie laughed as the waitress brought our food, set it down and pulled the check off her order book. She put it on the table, turned and left.
We made some small talk over our sandwiches. Goldie really sounded as if he felt much better, and that made me happy. Maybe today was going to be better than yesterday.
Of course, if there were no homicides the rest of the day, it would be even better.
“So, Suga,” Goldie said, dabbing a paper napkin to his bright pink lips. “We need to get you going on your case. Fabio will shit a brick if you don’t give him something to placate him soon. He call you yet?”
“I’ve been avoiding him.” I took a bite of my sandwich and sip of my decaf. “I really have to get on Sophie’s good side. If she was giving Leo insurance numbers, I need to find the proof before the case is over and done with.”
“Back to Peggy Doubtme.”
I groaned, knowing he was right.
Goldie laughed, very ladylike. “What you planning next, Suga?”
“I figure if Sophie was making money with Leo on the Viagra, she may just keep up that end of the business. Maybe she even was selling on the side, too. I hear one pill sells for twenty-five to thirty bucks on the black market. Imagine?”
“Suga, I can imagine. That stuff’s like gold to some of us.”
I blushed, knowing my color made me look like a Raggedy Ann doll. “Gold, you don’t mean—”
He waved his hand. “Not anymore. Not needed with my Miles. Speaking of Miles, Suga . . .” He touched my hand.
“Oh . . . my . . . God, Goldie. What is the matter?”
He squeezed my hand. “Nothing is wrong, Suga. It’s just, well, I promised Miles I’d wait to tell you together, but . . . I just can’t wait!”
My hand turned numb from the pressure. “What is it? You’ve got me all excited!”
“Miles and I are moving in together. He asked me to live at your place.”
Which meant I was now homeless—with no solved case to get paid for—and two dead bodies.