An Uplifting Murder (12 page)

“Did you know Frankie Martin?” Josie asked.

“Oh, yes.” Edith sipped her coffee and made a face, but Josie thought it was the mention of Frankie, not the coffee, that triggered the grimace.

“I worked with Frankie in the ER at Holy Redeemer. That’s where she met her husband, a plastic surgeon. Dr. Tino was called in to stitch up some poor woman’s face after a terrible car crash. Frankie married the surgeon. She finally left the hospital last year. Frankie said she was retiring from nursing. I was at her good-bye party. The whole staff was. We all celebrated when she left. We were terrified she’d change her mind and stay on.”

“Was she a bad nurse?” Josie asked.

“No, Frankie was competent and careful. She did everything by the book. But she was mean. If she had to take off a bandage, she’d say ‘This is going to hurt,’ and the patient would scream in agony while she slowly pulled the adhesive away from the skin.

“Other nurses could remove bandages from the same patients without the suffering. If patients complained, Frankie told them they were . . . what were her words? Oh, yes. She called them ‘pansy asses.’ She made them ashamed to report her to someone in authority.”

“There had to be more than ripping off Band-Aids,” Josie said.

“There was. Frankie was no healer. She liked power. She liked pain. She also liked getting sensitive information about people and tormenting them with it. Naturally, she gravitated to the ER. People in trauma let slip lots of personal information. Frankie seemed to feed off it.”

“I’m not sure what you mean,” Josie said.

Edith looked around the restaurant. The other diners were engrossed in their own conversations. The waitress was across the room, delivering plates of eggs to the businessmen. Edith still lowered her voice.

“We had a young man undergoing gender transformation come into the ER. He’d had an allergic reaction to one of the drugs he took in preparation for his final surgery. Frankie told him, ‘I don’t know whether to call you miss or mister. Maybe I should call you both.’ You can hear everything through those flimsy ER dividers. He was mortified.

“Frankie told a young woman who nearly OD’d that she should do a better job next time. ‘You’ve wasted my evening. I could have been helping a sick person.’ ”

“Good Lord,” Josie said. “Didn’t the families complain?”

“The drug user’s parents were eager to hush up the incident in case it hurt their daughter’s chances for college. The gender-transformation candidate wanted to keep his sex change as quiet as possible. He planned to move to another state after the final surgery.

“Frankie even told her husband-to-be, Dr. Hugo Agustino Martin, that his first name was for a hurricane. She started calling him ‘Tino.’ Said it made him sound like a Latin lover. We thought he’d object, but Tino let her change his name. He seemed flattered. Tino made new business cards and a new sign for his practice. He’s been Tino ever since.”

“Frankie was mean when I was in school,” Josie said. “She was wild, at least by high school standards. How was her behavior as a nurse?”

“Some of those young nurses lived pretty fast, but Frankie was a handful. She managed to avoid getting caught by anyone in authority. I never saw her study much, but she passed her exams. Holy Redeemer hired her right after graduation. They’re a small hospital, no competition for top-notch institutions like Barnes-Jewish or St. Louis University Hospital.

“The other staff nurses wanted to get rid of her. We watched Frankie, hoping we could catch her blackmailing a patient with the information she collected. But we never caught her asking for money or stepping over the line in an obvious way. She was careful to say her ugly things when she thought no one was listening. We tried to nail her. Believe me, we wanted her fired. Frankie had a charmed life.”

“If Frankie liked pain and power so much, why did she quit nursing?” Josie asked.

“Her biological clock was ticking,” Edith said. “Frankie was turning thirty. Rumor said Dr. Tino was attracted to his new receptionist, who was sweet, shy, stacked—and younger than Frankie. The new receptionist doted on babies and fussed over every child brought into his office. She might as well be wearing a sign that said, ‘Want a baby? I’m ripe and ready.’ Frankie wasn’t stupid. She knew she’d lose her meal ticket if she didn’t have a child.”

“Do you think this new receptionist killed Frankie?”

“I don’t know. There are easier ways to kill doctors’ wives. Less risky ones, too. I think Frankie said something nasty and the woman fought back.”

“Any idea who it could be?”

“No,” Edith said. “I saw the tape on television. Could have been anyone. But if you catch the woman, let me know. I want to shake her hand.”

Chapter 12

“I’d like an appointment with Dr. Tino Martin,” Josie said into the phone.

“Why do you want to see the doctor?” said a sultry voice.

To find out if he killed his wife, Josie thought. Husbands are always the prime suspects, and any sane man would want rid of Frankie Angel. So why didn’t the police arrest her husband?

“Ma’am?” the receptionist said, interrupting Josie’s internal monologue. Her voice was a shade less velvety. Was this the receptionist who was supposed to be having a fling with Dr. Tino? “Why do you need an appointment, please?”

What body part should I say needs sculpting? Josie wondered. I’m not taking off my top again, so a boob job is out. My nose looks okay.

“I’d like to talk about a face-lift,” she said.

When Dr. Tino Martin saw Josie was only thirty-one, he’d probably throw her out of his office, but at least she’d get a look at Frankie Angel’s husband—and Frankie’s possible rival behind the reception desk.

“Dr. Martin has a cancellation for three o’clock today at our Clayton office,” the receptionist said.

“I’ll take the appointment.” Josie wrote down the address.

Josie would have to ask her mother to pick up Amelia at school. Jane had her moments, but she never complained about helping out with Amelia. Josie felt too lazy to run upstairs to ask her mother in person, so she made a second call.

Jane sounded uncommonly cheerful when she answered. “I’ll be glad to pick up my granddaughter. But why can’t you? Are you working again today?”

“I need to see a doctor.” Josie tried to stave off a barrage of motherly concern with “Nothing serious, I promise.”

“Are you sure?” Jane asked. “You don’t usually go to doctors unless you’re really sick. Were you upset finding that dead woman? That would make me sick.”

“Just a routine checkup,” Josie lied.

“Good,” Jane said. “You’re finally getting some sensible habits. I’ve been after you to start getting an annual checkup since Amelia was born. If you’re feeling under the weather, I still have some homemade chicken soup left over in the freezer. It’s better than penicillin.”

“Your chicken soup is better than anything,” Josie said.

“Amelia and I are making stuffed green peppers in our cooking class after school today. Would you like to come upstairs for dinner?”

“Thanks, Mom. Ted and I are going to Failoni’s tonight. Alex Junior is singing, and Ted has reservations for seven o’clock.”

“That Alex sounds just like Sinatra,” Jane said. “An evening of music and Sicilian cooking will cure what ails you. If you want, Amelia and Harry can stay overnight with me, so don’t worry about coming home early. Amelia and I can make waffles for breakfast together, since she doesn’t have school on Saturday.”

A double gift. Jane didn’t like cats until she met Harry. She actively disliked Ted at first, calling him the “animal doctor,” as if he had four legs and fleas. Now Jane loved these two new additions to Josie’s life.

“Thanks, Mom,” Josie said. “I’m lucky to have you.”

“Don’t forget that,” Jane said. “Time for my soap opera.” She hung up.

Josie was glad her mother was watching soap operas. Not too long ago, Jane had been a serial-shopping addict, buying everything from cubic zirconias to collectible dollars on the shopping channel.

Josie called Ted at his office. In the background she could hear barks and an outraged meow.

“Sorry,” he said. “I’ll shut the door so I can hear you better. My partner is wrestling a twenty-pound feline. That cat doesn’t like visiting the vet.”

“I do,” Josie said. “I have a babysitter for tonight. Mom is letting Amelia stay overnight.”

“So I can come over to your place?” Ted asked.

“Uh, my mother lives upstairs and she has sharp ears,” Josie said. “Also, my daughter will see your car.” Josie was careful to shield Amelia from her sex life.

“Then maybe you can stop by and see Festus and Marmalade,” Dr. Ted said. “I’ll try to get as much dog and cat hair off the couch as I can.”

“I’m used to pet hair,” Josie said.

Her day was improving already. Josie put on a flattering pink sweater and a little lipstick and decided she looked good. She was ready to meet Dr. Hugo Agustino Martin.

The plastic surgeon’s Clayton office was hushed and plush. The walls were a summer sky blue. In the soft waiting room light, Josie studied framed ads featuring attractive, ageless women. “Radiesse,” said one. “For the treatment of facial folds.”

Was that what plastic surgeons called wrinkles? Josie wondered.

Dr. Martin’s receptionist seemed familiar, but Josie wasn’t sure why. Lustrous brown hair fell past her shoulders in dark waves. She seemed sweet, shy, and “stacked,” as Edith said, a word Josie thought was used only in old movies. Were the receptionist’s curves real or the work of Dr. Tino Martin? Her name tag said she was Shannon.

An impressively built nurse in a trim blue uniform showed Josie into an office. Again, Josie wondered if her amazing chest had been enhanced by her employer. The plastic surgeon’s desk was big as a parking lot and empty except for a telephone. There were no family photos. The fat volumes on the bookshelves looked like they’d cause serious reading wrinkles.

Dr. Hugo Agustino Martin bustled in. He was probably in his fifties, but was eerily youthful. Even the gray at his temples looked like an artful addition to make him seem serious. His white coat crackled from the starch when he sat in his leather chair.

“So, Miss”—he checked his notes—“Marcus. How can we help?”

“I’m thinking about a face-lift,” Josie said, “but I don’t know if it’s too early.”

“Oh, it’s not too early.” Dr. Tino’s smile revealed blinding white teeth. Josie wished she had sunglasses to protect her eyes.

He stood up and came over for a closer look at her face. Josie could smell his citrusy aftershave. “Time, stress, and sun exposure take their toll, even in the midtwenties,” he said. “I estimate you are in your early thirties.”

“Thirty-one,” Josie said.

“Hm.” He studied her face. “You need a little tightening around the jawline and your eyelids could use some work. The wrinkles are starting to come out on your forehead and around the mouth. The lines at your lips should respond to collagen. A rhinoplasty could reshape your nose.”

Josie’s face fell as he talked. She could feel the wrinkles grow deep as ruts in a country road while Dr. Tino listed all the work that needed to be done on her face.

He brushed her hair back lightly. “Your ears are fine.”

Terrific, Josie thought. I cover up the one part that doesn’t bag or sag.

“I might be able to get your insurance to pay for the blepharoplasty—that’s an eyelid lift,” Dr. Tino said. “But you’d have to pay for the face-lift, collagen, and rhinoplasty. However, we do have financing and an easy payment plan.”

“Thank you,” Josie said. “You’ve given me a lot to think about.”

“Don’t delay,” he said. “These problems don’t cure themselves. They only get worse.”