A Dose of Murder (15 page)

I was beginning to develop paranoia toward black Suburbans.

I drove into my parking lot, parked and flew out of the car. I was up the front stoop and into the kitchen in record time. Miles was sitting on the window seat, sipping coffee and reading
GQ
. No wonder the guy always looked smashing in the clothes he chose.

“Where is it?”

“On the counter like I said.” He got up and hurried over. “Open it. Quick. I can't wait to see.”

“You?” I grabbed a knife from the drawer and, despite Miles's groan of protest, sliced open the package and took out my new video camera.

“A beeper? What the hell?” He leaned near. “What? You think Tina Macaluso is going to beep you when she's committing fraud?”

“No, silly. It's a camera!”

“Holy shit. No kidding.”

We looked at it thoroughly and decided it looked like a genuine beeper. Inside the package was my new digital camera too. “I can't wait. I'm off to Tina's now.”

Miles laughed. “You go, girl, again! Good luck,” he shouted as I patted Spanky a quick one and ran out.

This time I decided to go to Tina's colonial by the river. If she wasn't there . . . Wait , I had a brilliant idea. I ran back inside and yelled to Miles, “I'm a genius! Just wanted to let you know that.”

He watched me grab the phone book from the kitchen drawer. “What's up now?”

“Well, I don't know where Tina is, so instead of wasting my time, I'm going to call her!”

“Brilliant, Columbo. You think she's going to do something stupid after you've called?”

“Yes. No. No. No. No.” Exhausted, I sat down and took a cleansing breath. “You're right and I'm not that stupid. You're going to call her.”

“Me?”

“Just call and hang up when you hear a female voice. Simple as pumpkin pie.” Pumpkin was my favorite.

“Don't you think she has caller ID and will read the name?”

“Ack. Why didn't I think . . . Okay , no problem. Use your cell phone since it's unlisted.”

“Brilliant, my dear.” He dialed the number of the house by the river. We waited for a few seconds, then Miles's hand started to shake and he shoved his finger down on the disconnect. “She's there.”

“Yes!” I hugged him and danced him around. “Oops! Watch out for my camera!” I patted the “beeper” in my pocket.

“You know how to use that thing yet?”

“No, but I'll read up on it waiting outside her house. See you later!”

With that I was out the door yet again, and found myself down the street from Tina's without remembering the drive over. I worried for a few seconds about these memory losses, but told myself it was only because my excitement had me driving so fast and thinking of nothing else.

The memory losses I suffered when running out of my parents' house, I decided, were nothing to worry about either. They were a coping mechanism for my sanity and a speedy escape from potential Sokol hell.

I'd pulled over to the curb three houses down. There was a giant RV in the drive, and it provided wonderful cover for me to hide behind. Tina might remember my car, but I wasn't sure if she knew the Volvo I was standing next to in the parking lot yesterday was mine or the red Chevy Blazer next to me. Still, I didn't want to take a chance.

“Okay, Ms. Investigator, now you are really going to crack this case.” I wasn't sure if that was the correct term for investigating someone faking an injury, but it would glamorize the boring hours I might have to spend here waiting for Tina to do something. Now was a perfect time to read the instructions on my beeper/camera.

I opened the box it came in and took out the paper. Something caught my eye.

Tina's door opened.

“Shoot!” I dropped the instruction sheet. It floated to the floorboard beneath my feet. When I started to reach for it, she walked to her car, got in and drove out of the drive. I cranked my engine, waited a decent amount of time—not so long that I'd lose her—and followed.

“Tailing Tina Macaluso,” I said out loud in a similar voice the cops use on TV.

She headed down Maple to Olive and out onto Main. It wasn't the route to her husband's office. Great. I hoped I didn't have to follow her around all day before she did something I could get on my new camera.

And I hoped I'd have a few minutes to read how to use it.

She pulled into the Spring Mountain Weed and Feed store. I turned into the parking lot of the adjacent real-estate business and turned off my engine when she got out and went inside. What on earth would she need there—in the winter?

I tried to look at the camera directions at the same time I watched out for her. What little I had time to read seemed simple, so I attached the beeper to the belt of my jeans, grabbed my purse and got out. I'd have to go into the store and see if she was doing anything worth filming. When I got to the doorway, I noticed a poster of winter birds. Purple finches. Although their feathers were more red than purple.

Birdseed!

Maybe Tina was buying a fifty-pound bag of seed. It was common for folks around here to feed the birds in the wintertime. Perfect! I walked cautiously into the store. No Tina near the cash register. Good. I was ready with a lie if she saw me. But she wasn't in aisle one or two. A young teen with bad acne sat on the floor, stamping cans of paint with the pricing gun.

“Excuse me,” I said in a low voice.

“What?”

I jumped at his loud tone, then thought of the poster in the front doorway. “Where is the birdseed?”

“I can't hear you, lady.” He gave me an odd look.

No wonder. I was acting odd. A bit louder I said, “Laryngitis. Where is the birdseed?”

“Aisle five.” I think he rolled his eyes at me, but I'd headed off too fast to be sure or to give him a lecture on manners. I waited between the ends of aisles five and four by the shovels. A man came close. He looked as if he was going to ask me if I needed help so I gave him a nasty look. He turned down aisle four, and I decided I may never be able to set foot in this store again.

Tina's voice floated down the aisle. “So, you think they like more sunflower seeds?”

A young man's voice said yes.

I eased past the shovels to see Tina's back to me. Good. I opened my jacket enough to reveal my “beeper.” Then I pressed the
RECORD
button. The man turned and walked toward me. Ack! I closed my jacket, swung sideways and pretended to look at household cleaners. He went past me. I looked around.

Tina was reading the posted ingredients on the shelves of birdseed. Good. I opened my coat again, held it away from the beeper/camera and waited. She read for what seemed like hours. I had no idea how long the video would work, but I had to wait.

Then—thank you, Saint Theresa—Tina bent over without even a groan, and lifted a hefty sack of seed from the bottom shelf!

My back hurt watching her. She lifted it over the side of the cart and set it inside. When she started to move, I swung around and scurried toward aisle six. From the end of that aisle, I watched her go through checkout and wheel the cart out of the store. I followed, ignoring the strange looks of the clerks, who probably thought I was shoplifting a hammer or something.

I stood behind a giant blue spruce and opened my jacket again. I got her lifting the bag of seeds from the cart into the trunk. From here I could tell it was a forty-pound bag. Wonderful!

She got in and drove off.

I should follow her but couldn't wait to get to the office and show Adele and Goldie that I'd made a major dent in my case.

My excitement couldn't be contained. I ran into Nick on the way into the office and babbled about my case. He laughed and graciously said he'd love to see the tape. Adele was genuinely excited and unfortunately, Fabio was standing in the hallway and heard my news.

“Okay, doll, let's see what you got,” he said over my head.

Adele took me by the arm. “Goldie has the only VCR here. You got the connection wire to hook your camera to the TV?”

I proudly held it up. Yes.

Pauline Sokol was on her way!

Goldie jumped up from his desk with excitement when Adele gushed on about me. “Everyone sit,” he ordered, and took the camera and connection wire. “Allow me, Ms. Sokol.”

“Gladly.”

We all settled around his office. Adele sat next to me on the arm of the leopard-print chair.

My heart was doing a jig. It felt so good. Fabio might be able to use this tape alone and get his money back—and I'd get mine.

The room hushed when the TV went from snow to blue screen. Then, the picture cleared to the taping of Tina Macaluso committing fraud.

I could only stare in dumbfounded silence when Tina's knees came into view, followed by her large ass. I heard Goldie gasp. Nick gave me a comforting smile. Adele touched my arm and sighed and Fabio growled, “What the fuck? How we going to use this tape?”

True.

The entire video was of Tina—waist down—no face ever in view, since I'd worn the camera on my belt the whole time.

I covered my eyes with my hands and willed myself to die in Goldie's flamboyant office until I heard a faint chuckle. Hurt that one of my coworkers would laugh at me, I peeked between my pointer finger and the next one only to see that they sat stoically glaring at me.

I turned around to see who the chuckler was. Standing in the doorway for what I'd have to believe was the entire viewing stood Jagger.

I stood with my head resting against Goldie's red-and-black-striped top—sobbing—in the ladies' room. It didn't even faze me that Goldie came rushing in like one of us females. Adele kept wiping my face with a damp paper towel and crooning, “It'll all be okay,
chéri
.”

But it wouldn't.

I'd been humiliated in front of everyone—and Jagger.

I sobbed louder.

“I'm . . . usually . . . not . . . a crier . . . except”—I blew my nose on the toilet tissue Adele gave me, then took a long controlling breath—“at funerals and weddings. I cry at weddings, but that's 'cause I'm always a bridesmaid.”

Goldie hugged me tighter. “You'll be a bride someday, suga.”

“I don't want to be a bride anymore.” Oh my God! I'd never even admitted that to anyone, let alone myself. Getting married and having kids took a backseat to career since the big change. “I want to be the best medical fraud insurance investigator that I can beeeeeeeee.” It started again, the sobbing.

Goldie held me tighter yet again, and Adele had just about used up all the paper towels not to mention the fact that my hair was now damp from them. She meant well and moistened hair was the least of my problems.

Goldie went on about the small community of investigators around here and what a close-knit group they actually were. Well, he'd added, except for Jagger. I'm not sure why he rambled on about that other than my behavior had him out of whack too. “You'll learn how to use your camera and get Tina real soon,” he tried to assure me.

But he didn't sound too convincing.

“I'm a failure at this job. I should have taken the time to read the instructions. I mean—” I pushed away from Goldie and forced a smile at both of them. “Thanks.” After another whopper of a breath in and out, I said, “She lifted a forty-pound bag of birdseed with extra sunflower seeds in it, twice. Twice, and all I got was her knees and ass. You couldn't even tell whose ass it was, although she has a distinctly large one.” My gaze caught Goldie's then Adele's.

We broke out in hysterics.

“Sheeeet,” Goldie said, wiping his eyes. “Now you've got me tearing up with that one.”

“It was rather funny. I mean, not getting any of her face to prove who it was.”

Adele took the last paper towel and wiped her eyes. “Adele would give her right nipple to see the look on Fabio's face again. Shock. Delicious anger. Fabio fury. Wonderful. I think I peed in my pants!”

We laughed louder.

Goldie let go and took my hand. “Glad you can laugh about it, suga. That's the only way to get through life.”

Wise transvestite.

I know he'd been through some of life's tough lessons, but Goldie was a trooper. My Polish stock were no slouches either. I would get my girl, and my paycheck, in due time.

“We better get out of here before Fabio cans all our asses,” Adele said.

I nodded and followed Goldie to the door. He turned to me after Adele had walked past. “Jagger is like cocaine, suga. He'll make you feel on top of the world—then fuck you up at the end. But, you can trust him with your life.”

I stood digesting that info.

Goldie stuck his head out the door and looked both ways. “Come on.”

I could only guess that he was checking to see if Jagger was out there and to help me save face—or what little face I had left to save.

After two cups of chicory coffee with double amounts of sugar in them (since Goldie said sweets would help and he was all out of chocolate—rats!), I sat on the leopard chair and finished reading the camera directions.

“I see the problem now.”

He'd been writing in a file and stapling surveillance photos to a manila folder. “You sure, suga?”

“Stand up.” I got up at the same time and hooked the camera onto my belt. “Walk toward me.”

He not only walked, he pranced, he mamboed, he cha-cha'd, and finally flung himself on the zebra couch and sang two choruses of “I Feel Pretty.”

Despite the laughing, I followed him along with my beeper still attached. Then we hooked it up to the VCR and watched Goldie's antics. “You should be in show biz,” I said. Truthfully, the picture swayed about as much as Goldie but at least showed his face.

He leaned back, his hand on his forehead. “I'm getting seasick, suga. You've got to practice steadying yourself.”