Blown To Pieces (PTO Murder Club Mystery Book 2) (5 page)

Thirty minutes later, my minions were hard at work, or pretending to be hard at work—I don’t micromanage—so I closed my office door and got down to business.

I typed “Prather, T” into the search window of our electronic records software. I didn’t know if Big Tommy was a Tom, Tomas, Thomas, or some other variation. Nothing came up. On the off chance that he went by Big Tommy, I typed that in too. Lo and behold, we had him as Big Tommy Prather. I couldn’t imagine that Big Tommy was on his insurance card, but maybe it was. I pulled up a copy. Sure enough, it appeared that his legal name was Big Tommy Prather. In Texas we like to make up ridiculous nicknames and then turn them into something legally binding.

I scanned his medical records for something interesting. A few cuts and some arm burns. Things you’d expect from someone in the restaurant trade. Once, he came in with nausea, and another time with a sprained ankle. I pulled up the first record. It was dated two months ago. The emergency contact was Mira Lawson. The next record was from a year ago. That emergency contact was Carolina St. James. The third record was from five years ago, and the emergency contact was Abigail Zigler. The fourth and fifth records had Lulu Montgomery and Kitty Van Duran, respectively. Man, Big Tommy got around. I hit print and printed off the records. After Minerva, my printer, belched them out, I scanned for referrals to other doctors. I found a couple, called their offices, and requested records. An hour later, I was in possession of everything medically known about Big Tommy Prather. I was also out of copy paper.

I glanced down at my green button-up silk shirt. Thank God I’d worn my good push-up bra. Momma needed some copy paper. I unbuttoned the top two buttons until a nice amount of cleavage was showing and walked out of my office.

I popped my head into the minions’ office. “Going on a supply run. What do we need besides copy paper?”

“Rubber bands, binder clips, and there’s a rumor that Radiology scored some homemade cupcakes from a patient this morning.” Mellie looked up from the rejected claims report on her monitor. “You might go one more button. I hear they’re German chocolate.”

“That would be Juanita Smith’s German chocolate cupcakes. They are legendary. Jeez, Radiology must have saved her husband’s life to warrant those. I stole one from Admitting once, it was a life-changing experience.” I unbuttoned one more button. In my book, cupcakes were a food group...along with cookies, coffee, and pie. Some people have accused me of being a carb-o-holic, but I prefer to think of myself as a carb advocate. There are so many people hating on carbs these days that I feel they are an underserved food and someone needs to stand up for them. I’m the Joan of Arc of pasta. In the words of another carb advocate, “Let them eat cake.” Then again, things hadn’t exactly gone so well for Marie Antoinette.

I pulled out my burner cell—the phone I used that wasn’t bugged—as I stepped into the hall and headed for Radiology. I texted a pic I’d taken of Big Tommy’s emergency contact names to Haley and Monica. Before I had time to slip the phone back into my pocket, I got a text from Haley.
Dinner tonight
?

I rolled my eyes. Today was Tuesday. Per the terms of my rental agreement, I had to attend the Monday night séance at my landlord’s house, but because I’d still been recovering yesterday, the séance had been moved to tonight. I texted back that my séance reprieve was over.

My phone rang, and I glanced down at the number. It was Haley. “Hello.”

“Monica and I have already been hit up for the séance tonight. Astrid is contacting Big Tommy. She wants us there to make sure he comes through clearly. Really, I think she’s a little worried about you.” Haley was prone to bouts of insanity, and clearly she’d been hit by the insane stick really hard this morning.

“I’m not sure that’s possible. She’s probably more worried about her séance room burning down with me not there, since I’m the one who keeps her weird friends in line.” Astrid Petrie is
Downton Abbey
meets
The Real Housewives of Dallas
. There’s lots of big hair, servants who want to spike her lemonade with antifreeze, and ridiculously ornate furniture that serves no purpose. Seriously, you can’t throw a rock in that house without hitting six crystal table lamps. “I’ve got all of his medical records.”

“Tonight? Your house at six. That will give us time to go over them before the séance.” Haley blew out a loud breath. “I forgot, your place is bugged.”

“We’ll figure something out.” We needed to discuss Big Tommy, but it was going to be hard.

“I’ll have Anise pick up dinner and watch the kids.” Haley was so generous with her nanny, Anise, helping out with the kids. Every time I tried to pay Anise, she wouldn’t take extra money, which was good because I didn’t have extra money.

“We need to come up with a code or something so we can talk about Big Tommy at my house.” Daman had given me a signal jammer, but I’d lost it.

“I can play my recording of James Earl Jones reading the New Testament. Whoever’s listening could use some Jesus.” Haley had used the Bible recording before to deter would-be listeners. “Or what about some really loud disco divas...oh wait, we have to listen to it too.” Her voice turned sticky-sweet, and I knew she had this. “I’ve got the perfect solution.”

“Works for me.” I stood outside of Radiology. “I’ve got to go and show my boobs for some homemade cupcakes and office supplies.”

“Sounds like a plan. Got to use your assets. See you tonight.” Haley hung up.

I slipped the phone back in my pocket.

Séances and messing with people...if you threw in some cheap beer and sex it would be just like college all over again.

At precisely six that evening, Haley knocked on my door. For her, punctuality was an art form.

Monica opened the door while I unloaded the dishwasher.

“I stopped by Rosie’s Tamale House and picked up some food.” Haley set two large, brown sacks on my little bistro kitchen table. “I wore sunglasses and a hat so no one would notice me. If Humberto finds out I went to Rosie’s, I’ll be cut from his wife’s tamale list.”

She was risking a lot, since her gardener’s wife made the best chicken tamales.

“I hope you don’t get busted.” Monica was sincere. Haley passed her the occasional chicken tamale because she’d been knocked off the list when her mother had accidentally rear-ended Humberto’s truck. Insurance had paid for the damages, but Humberto still held a grudge.

After we’d eaten and put away the leftovers, Haley, Monica, and I sat around my table and I pulled out all of Big Tommy’s medical records.

“Wait, I almost forgot.” Haley grabbed her purse that was hanging from her chairback. She pulled out four iPod Shuffles—two pink, one red, and one green—all with white headphones attached. She set them on the table and reached back into her Hermès. She came up with a roll of clear packing tape.

“What are you doing?” I looked at Monica in case she knew.

Monica shrugged. “You got me.”

Haley pointed to the underside of my table and mouthed, “For the bugs.”

She taped one of the pink iPods under the table and taped an earbud to each of the two bugs. She moved around the room doing the same to the other bugs. Thank God all of the kiddos were playing in Max’s room.

Once all of the earphones were taped in place and the volume was turned up to high, Haley returned to the table.

She sat and scooted her chair back in. “I downloaded two hours of chanting Thai Buddhist monks. It’s both peaceful and irritating.”

“Good one.” It wasn’t
Prussian War Poetry
, but it wasn’t bad.

“Did you find anything out today?” Monica looked at me. “Besides the names of Big Tommy’s girlfriends?”

I stacked all of the medical records I had on Big Tommy into a neat pile.

“You mean ex-wives.” Haley pulled a water bottle out of her purse and took a long pull. “The list of ladies you gave me from his medical records were all his ex-wives. They all kept their last names.”

“He has five ex-wives?” I only had one ex-husband, and that was one too many. “Five, that’s a lot of community property.” We don’t have alimony in Texas...just community property.

Haley set her water bottle down. “I have calls out to all of them, but I haven’t heard back.”

“Five exes.” Monica shivered. “I can barely stand one.”

Monica was divorced from Landon’s father. She never talked about it and I didn’t ask.

Monica thought about it for a minute. “How many times can you legally get married in the state of Texas?”

“As long as you’re not married to more than one person at a time, there’s no limit.” Haley shrugged. “What, I looked it up.”

“Just making sure you haven’t been secretly married ten times before Daniel.” One side of Monica’s mouth turned up as she tried really hard not to grin. Messing with Haley was Monica’s favorite pastime.

“Do you think people who have lots of exes have some sort of frequent marriage punch card? You know, like the fifth one’s free?” Every tenth ice cream I got at Amy’s was free. Why not marriage?

“In my experience, it’s not the wedding that should be free, but the divorce attorney.” Monica had a point. The ink was barely dry on my divorce decree, so the whole attorney thing was still fresh in my mind.

“We need wine.” I stood, stretched my back, and grabbed a bottle of Cab’ and three glasses off the counter. I loved Haley for her kind spirit, her willingness to feed me, and her vast wine cellar. I opened the wine and filled our glasses.

“It’s odd...” Haley sipped her wine. “I don’t know any of Big Tommy’s exes all that well. I’ve seen Kitty Van Duran at Lakeside Country Club a couple of times, and Carolina St. James used to be in my neighbor’s Bunko group, but I’ve never met Mira Lawson, Abigail Zigler, or Lulu Montgomery.

“That is odd.” I played with the stem of my wineglass. Haley was on the board of most of the charities in Lakeside and had lived here her entire life. She knew everyone.

Forty minutes later, I sat at the séance table with Haley on my right and Monica on my left. In true, crazy-assed rich lady fashion, Astrid had spent a fortune outfitting her media-room-turned-séance-prison. The windowless room was painted floor-to-ceiling in a dark red that was somewhere between gushing flesh wound and cheap Merlot. Tiny octagonal mirrors glowed from random intervals on the walls, and miles of black mosquito netting frothed all around us in what I liked to think of as Gothic Safari Chic.

Haley, Monica, and I sat on hard-backed chairs waiting for the séance to start. In front of each of us sat giant glass bowls full of candy. According to Astrid, the spirits enjoyed a good sugar buzz more than a five-year-old on Halloween.

“Think Astrid ever notices that the only candy eaten is yours?” Monica pointed to the bowl of Peanut M&M’s sitting in front of me.

“Nope.” I had a gallon zipper bag folded in my back pocket. “I wait until everyone is chanting and their eyes are closed, and then I steal from everyone’s candy. Since Astrid is convinced that spirit guides like sweets, everyone feels like they were visited from beyond.”

What can I say. I’m a humanitarian.

“That’s sweet, in a weird way.” Haley reached over and grabbed a handful of Haribo gummy bears and dropped them into her open purse.

“Stealing from the spirits?” Monica cocked an eyebrow.

“No, I’m doing my part to end celestial type 2 diabetes. Insulin must be hard to come by in the afterlife.” Haley popped a white gummy bear in her mouth. “Plus, I like gummy bears.”

Monica and I gasped in unison. Haley didn’t eat sweets, except for the occasional chocolate.

Monica grabbed her chest dramatically with one hand and lifted the other heavenward. “Jesus, please don’t let the world end now. I’d hate to think that the last thing I see is that creepy crystal skull in the middle of the table.”

“Stop it,” Haley said around the gummy bear. “I eat sugar...occasionally.”

“Yeah, and I occasionally fix dinner for my son.” I have a recipe allergy and an inability to follow directions. I call it an independent spirit, while past employers have called it a pain in the ass.

“Papa Murphy’s take-and-bake doesn’t count.” Monica reached across the table and helped herself to a Skor bar.

“Hello, I have to turn on the oven to bake the pizza, so it totally counts.” Just like takeout counts as homemade if you serve it on plates.

A loud, static-y blowing noise erupted from the whole house speaker system. Someone was doing a mic check. “The séance will begin in five minutes.”

“I can’t believe I’m here...again.” Monica shoved the rest of the Skor bar in her mouth, crumpled the wrapper, and hid it under the crystal skull.

Kudos to her for touching the thing. While I was pretty sure the skull had been mass-produced in China and didn’t have actual magical power, I wasn’t willing to take the chance. I eat carbs; that’s enough risk.

“It’s not that bad.” Haley eyed the skull like it was toxic waste.

Faint lines dented Monica’s Diet Coke–smooth brow as her eyes bored into Haley’s. “Are you high? This is right up there with computer solitaire and reality TV as the world’s stupidest ways to waste an evening.”

As I’m known to play computer solitaire while watching
Southern Charm
, I declined to comment.

There was more blowing on the intercom system. “Please take your seats. The candle-lighting ceremony is about to begin.” Astrid’s voice boomed in her fake British accent. I was convinced that she used the accent because she thought it made the words coming out of her mouth sound less crazy. Since the accent made some of her words incomprehensible, I guess it worked.

“Oh God, I thought the candle-lighting ceremony only took place on the full moon.” Monica whipped up the silver-and-purple tablecloth and looked under the table for the fire extinguisher.

Based on the one and only séance she’d been to here before, she knew “candle-lighting ceremony” was code for attempted arson.

“Check under your seat.” I’d had Astrid’s housekeeper, Dulce, Velcro small fire extinguishers to the undersides of all of the chairs. “Astrid decided that since the last candle-lighting ceremony brought Sebastian Sidebottom, her spirit guide, in so clearly, it needed to be added to every séance.”