The Stiff and the Dead (31 page)

At five, the receptionist turned the phone lines over to the answering service, and I said good night to everyone and walked out the front door. I got into my car and drove around toward the back.

Dr. Handy was getting into his car as I drove by. He gave me an odd look, and I figured he was wondering why I wasn't driving out of the lot. Shit. At least I didn't have to talk to him.

Jagger's SUV sat amid the few cars in the back lot. I guessed the cleaning crew had already come in and was at work now. I hoped I didn't run into Grumpy Janitor.

I got out next to Jagger's SUV. He waved me in. When I sat down, he drove off, leaving my car there once again. Oh well, guess it would miraculously show up in my condo lot tomorrow morning when I needed it.

“Can't I go home and at least change?”

At the stoplight, he reached into the backseat and pulled out my navy overnight bag.

“What? How'd you get that?” I took it and looked inside to see my black gloves, a black top and black jeans along with my boots. “Did you break into my condo?”

Did I really need to ask?

“How do you know your roommates didn't give me the stuff?” I noticed him grin as he looked straight ahead at the other cars.

“I'm going to ask them, you know.”

“I have no doubt.”

I really wouldn't. Some sleepless night I might need a fantasy about him rummaging through my clothes, and if my roomies had given him the stuff, I'd have nothing to dream about.

We pulled into Dunkin Donuts. He looked at me as if I should be able to read his mind.

“Okay. I'll go change.” When I opened the door, I turned. “Damn. I'm getting pretty good at reading your mind now, Jagger. Look out.”

“Then you must have read that you should call Nick and cancel tonight.”

My hand froze on the door. How'd he know? After a few seconds of embarrassment, I started to slam the door. After the
bang,
I leaned close to the window. “Goldie's beads.”

He gave me one of those looks again along with the shaking head thingie.

Phew. This time I could “read” that he didn't know about the fateful “bead” incident.

In the ladies' room, I kept mumbling to myself about “feeling as if Big Brother was watching me all the time.” Sure it was good when I was being shot at, but now that I had a love life, I sure as hell didn't want “Big Boy/Big Brother” knowing any details. “You're being paranoid, Pauline,” I told myself and also agreed.

Once dressed, I went outside to the SUV. Jagger had gotten us coffee and my French cruller. My usual French cruller. I was that predictable to Jagger. And I hated that.

Suddenly I really had a craving for a glazed.

“Where are we going?” I asked Jagger as we drove down Olive Street.

“You tell me.”

I looked at him. What the hell was he talking about? After a long pause, I realized Jagger was giving me a lesson in Fraud 101. Obviously he didn't think I was ready for 201. “Well, Hildy moved out. Mr. W's house is done. Sophie is probably home, since there's no Bingo now.” I looked at the cars passing by and tried to think. Where else did we need to go?

Jagger glanced at me.

“I'm thinking.”

He looked straight at the road. I figured we weren't going to the clinic or pharmacy. “We've already searched the pharmacy several times, so that can't be where we are going.” I paused when we passed Pleasant Street.

At the red light, he turned toward me. “Cheater.”

“No . . . I . . . okay. So you already passed the turn.”

He took another look at me and when the light turned green, he started to go. I could get more hints when I saw which way he drove.

He pulled into the parking lot of McDonald's and parked. “You need to think harder, Sherlock.”

I mumbled a few times and then kept asking myself what we had missed. I ran a litany of suspects through my head, but most had already been mentioned. Hildy was gone to who knew where. Aha! I looked at Jagger. “You found Hildy!”

“No.”

“Shit.” It seemed as if hours flew by although it was probably more like twenty minutes. I thought again and again about both of our cases. Then it dawned on me.

There was only one place that we hadn't broken in to yet. One place that could hold the answer to all our questions.

“Leo's.”

He cranked the engine. We were off.

I felt real damn proud of myself.

Jagger, however, never said a word—but I took that as a sign of praise, coming from him. Hey, I'd gotten to realize that
not
having him shake his head at me was tantamount to getting a gold star on my homework.

We pulled around the corner and into a subdivision. A rather nice-looking subdivision of huge houses lit up like New York City after dark.

Leo, I soon learned, had lived near the river. His house was a rather large one and not too shabby. Very modern, made mostly of cement with large columns and round sections as if someone had put it together like a Tinker Toy house.

Not a house an ordinary pharmacist could afford.

Jagger pulled down the street into the parking lot of Mario's Bar and Grill. Although the name sounded as if bikers frequented the place, nothing but BMWs, Mercedes, and SUVs sat in the lot. Inconspicuous. That was Jagger and me.

He shut off the engine, collected his flashlight and gloves and looked at me. I reached into the suitcase he'd brought me and took out my gloves. “I'm still going to find out if you broke into my condo to get these.”

He grinned.

I stuck on my gloves and hat that Jagger held out toward me. A basic black wool cap was next. I figured he'd want me to tuck all my hair into it this time. I did that and even shoved the collar of my coat up higher so my pale complexion didn't reflect any light.

We walked in the opposite direction of Leo's house and then turned and walked several blocks until we were behind it.

Damn, this guy was good.

My fear of getting caught breaking and entering was nullified as I kept telling myself that Jagger might be FBI or a cop or whatever. He did have Lieutenant Shatley on his side. He'd never arrest us. As Jagger jimmied a lock on the backdoor and managed to open it without a sound, I told myself that Lieutenant Shatley had probably said, “Sure. Go take a peek at Leo Pasinski's house. No problem, my friend Jagger.”

Jagger didn't turn on his flashlight but took my arm and guided me into the darkened hallway, where he fiddled with the burglar alarm on the wall as it made a little
beep-beep
sound. I hoped he was shutting it off. I surmised he didn't know the code, but also figured Jagger
knew
how to get around something like that.

The night was about to begin.

I soon stood in the kitchen still marveling that Jagger was so smooth. So knowledgeable. So adept. Adept at breaking and entering without a trace. That shouldn't be a good thing, but in our business it sure as hell helped.

He leaned close to me. “Don't try this on your own.”

I should have been insulted, but he was right. I could just imagine the cop's lights and them calling on a bullhorn for me to come out with my hands up, and Goldie and Miles crying in the parking lot while my mother yelled at the police all the while serving sandwiches made of leftovers. My heart started to beat a bit faster. Then I looked at Jagger's silhouette. He still hadn't put the flashlight on.

My heart slowed.

“What makes you think I couldn't do this on my own?”

In the dim lighting, his eyes sparkled as he grinned.

“Bite me,” I muttered.

I turned to look around the kitchen. It was even eerier than Mr. Wisnowski's house, since dishes still sat in the sink. The timer must have been set on the Mr. Coffee machine, because it had made a pot and turned itself off. How sad. Leo left for work one day and never came back—but the coffee got made.

A sad life indeed.

Jagger took my arm and led me down the hallway and up a circular staircase. “Investigators are not above the law, Sherlock.”

I knew that was a warning. And a damn sensible one at that. But I also knew that doing something like this with Jagger, although illegal, could only be a good thing. He really was trying to teach me the business, but his needing my help meant we did things his way—not the way I'd be doing them by myself.

I didn't even own a gun.

Jagger, however, did. Probably more than one.

We walked into a giant room with glass walls overlooking the water. In the center of the room was a circular bed, covered in a black silken bedspread with white pillow shams and a mirror above.

I felt my face grow hot and hoped Jagger hadn't noticed the mirror.

Jagger not notice something, and I did. What a joke.

“Swinger Leo,” he mumbled.

I forced a laugh. It was truly embarrassing, talking sex to Jagger even if in the line of duty. He opened drawer after drawer. Having no clue as to what to look for, I turned around. And gasped.

In the corner of the room was a huge porcelain tiger standing on its hind legs. Bigger than Jagger's six plus feet.

Jagger's hand grabbed mine. “It won't eat you, Sherlock. Try to keep the hysterics down.”

“Hysterics!” I yelled hysterically. Then I decided to take a few deep breaths.

I didn't need to look back to know he was shaking his head. “Stop doing that.” I walked toward the tiger. “This one's face looks like the one Goldie has on his sparkly shirt. Did I ever tell you that the tiger's eye on Goldie's shirt is a mini video camera?”

I felt Jagger close behind me. His flashlight clicked on, aiming at the tiger. “You don't say.”

“I do say. It was funny. One day he took a video of me with his shirt. Well not the shirt per say. The eye of the tiger was a big gem that popped out. Well, the eye was a camera, not a real gem. It's amazing what technology can do nowadays.”

“That a girl, Sherlock.”

I turned around, but Jagger eased past me, still shining the light on the tiger. Its eyes, actually. He reached up and touched the left one. Nothing.

“Oh, my! You don't think . . . Do you think the eye . . . ? Naw. That'd be way too coincidental . . . . Do you really, Jagger, think—”

Before I could finish my nervous rambling, Jagger touched the right eye. The silence in the room was deafening. Then there was
a pop.
I looked down to see the “eye” in Jagger's hand.

And behind us a wall safe's door flew open.

Jagger leaned over and whispered in my ear, “We've never been here.”

Again with the warning as if I was going to call the Associated Press to tell them we broke in to a dead man's house.

“What do you think is in the safe?”

He looked at me.

“Okay. So we should go look to find out.” I was beginning to think Jagger just liked looking at me. At least I told myself that foolishness in order to save face.

I followed him to the safe. He kept the flashlight on now.

“Jesus. Look at this.”

I leaned closer. Momentarily, I couldn't comprehend what I was looking at.

“What . . . what is it?” I managed to ask as if I'd never spoken the English language before.

The flashlight remained aimed inside the safe. “Leo had quite the business here. There is a downside to being a nerdy perfectionist though.”

“Like what?”

“The fool has notes here, spelling out his entire scheme. Even graphs of revenue and sales. What a shit.”

Hildy.

That made me think of Hildy.

“Is anyone's name . . . on anything?” Please, not
Hildy's.

Jagger went about taking pictures of everything. This time he had a tiny camera that looked like a tiny camera. “Hildy's name is not on anything, Pauline.” He took the papers, spread them on the bed and clicked away.

I stood in a huff for a few seconds. “I was thinking about Sophie. Sophie Jones.”

Without looking up, Jagger muttered, “Banko. Sophie
Banko.
”

And
Hildy
Jones.

I couldn't get the kid out of my head and said a silent prayer that we were wrong about her.

But as much as I believed in miracles, this time I didn't think even my Saint Theresa could right Hildy in this one.

While I stood there stewing about my concern and admitting I really shouldn't get so involved or care so much about someone like Hildy, a possible murderess, Jagger cleaned up the bed and put the papers back.

He took out a stack of bills, still in their wrapper. Next to it was an empty one. Obviously some of the money had been taken. By Leo?

Or Hildy?

“Pasinski was two-timing the insurance companies,” Jagger said. “He'd send in the fake prescriptions Sophie gave him, then ‘fill' other prescriptions with the medication and sell it to someone else.”

“We knew all that already.” I felt my chest poof out, pointing that out to Jagger.

“But what we didn't know was that the reason he ‘filled' the empty prescriptions was to let someone working in the pharmacy know which ones they were.”

Damn. I stood there a few minutes, hoping that the epiphany Jagger just had would sink in. But for the life of me, I didn't know what the hell he was talking about. And, I hated to say “I don't follow,” so I bit my lower lip.

He shut the safe, returned the tiger's eye and led me to the bathroom. “There's a mole in the pharmacy.”

My mind flashed to those tiny furry creatures without eyes. At least I didn't think they had eyes, and I surely didn't need them to burrow through people's yards, ruining their grass. Then I shifted back into investigator mode.

It wasn't easy being in this house alone with Jagger—with no one knowing where we were.

And that big bed with the mirrored ceiling.

Jagger could take advantage of me, and I'd be helpless.