One Dead Under the Cuckoo's Nest (16 page)

She stared at me a few seconds. “Fine. Just don't put on the television.”

I chuckled. “What the heck would be on right now anyway?”

“Movies,” a deep voice said from behind.

At first I thought it was Jagger in disguise, but I turned to see a damn fine-looking guy about my age, standing there in a white lab coat. Hmm. Maybe he'd replaced Dr. Dick.

“Movies? Well, that would be nice,” I said smiling, “but I don't want to wake anyone. I'll just sit and meditate.”

“I'll join you.” He stepped closer. “Terry. Terry Myers. Dr. Terry Myers.”

I looked to see Nurse Lindeman's reaction, but she had turned back to her computer. That was good enough for me. She didn't see any problem with me talking to this doctor. Maybe, without breaking any confidences, I could get some information that might help the case.

He followed me to the dayroom, sat opposite my chair and proceeded to tell me about his education, from Yale Medical School to his stint here. After I'd told him that I had gone to Yale for my master's degree, we reminisced about our alma mater.

“Small world,” he said, staring at my legs. “Same school.”

I had to believe that my Maciejko legs—inherited from my mother, grandmother and well, all the rest of the female clan—were of interest to him. I shifted and recrossed.

He continued to look down and told me how attractive I was.

Hey, wait a minute. Wouldn't that be considered unprofessional—even if true? “Yes, I guess it is a small world.” I tried to gain some eye contact, but he kept staring at my legs—and it started to get creepy.

I had to keep my eye on this doctor and hope he wasn't assigned to my case.

Then he stood, still looking at my legs. My investigator instinct told me this was no ordinary doctor. Sure, some psychiatrists seemed whacky themselves and could use a dose of their own medicine. Yet, something bothered me here.

“Dr. Terry” leaned forward to whisper, “I've seen you around here a lot. Lovely blonde hair.”

I pulled back and looked over his shoulder for Nurse Lindeman. With her back toward us, she looked as if she were typing at her computer.

Ruby suddenly appeared and grinned. “Hey, Terry. How's it hanging?”

“Don't ask me things like that, Ruby.” He looked at her, and then back at me. “Gray eyes. Interesting. You must be of European descent.”

I sucked in a breath and sat straighter, ready to bolt. “Polish.” Good, I thought, if Ruby stays, I'll feel better.

I could see her watching us, but then she turned and walked away. Wonderful.

His staring moved from my legs to my face. “I know.”

Gulp.

I got up.

“Well—” I yawned. “I think I could sleep now. Nice meeting you—”

“It wasn't our first time. And I love you, Pauline.”

Whoa, boy. I pulled back. “Good night, Terry.”

He went to reach out to me—I assumed for a hug—but when he reached out, his clothing shifted.

I gasped.

Beneath his lab coat was . . .
nothing.

Well, it wasn't exactly nothing beneath Terry's lab coat. It was without a doubt—
something.
Something any man would be proud of.

Great.

Just what I needed.

A naked patient, pretending to be a doctor, shrouded in a lab coat and in love with me. Why the hell hadn't Nurse Lindeman said something? Did all the staff here get so jaded that they thought nothing of the patients masquerading as staff?

Okay. To cut them some slack I realized some patients' idiosyncrasies had to be tolerated to treat them. Now what?

Jagger! I really needed his help. I had to get in touch with him. I had to be able to make a phone call. Not only was Terry a nutcase, but also he was a bit suspicious. He knew my name! I didn't remember telling him my name. Actually, he had introduced himself and then we'd gone off on a tangent about our schooling. I was certain now that I hadn't introduced myself.

He also said he'd noticed me before. I didn't think he'd heard Nurse Lindeman and I talking to get my name. Damn. Guess this was another one of the pitfalls of working in a mental hospital. I really had to get back to work and wrap up this case or I might
want
to stay here longer after my mind snapped.

Hm. Seemed “Dr.” Terry's room might be worth checking out—when he wasn't there. I edged toward the nurses' station. Terry moved forward. “Okay, Ter, time for you to hit the sack. I'm sure I'll see you in the morning.”

He grinned, rather an evil sight. “Why not join me?”

“That does it. Nurse! Nurse Lindeman?” I pushed past Terry and ran toward the desk. Two other staff members came from behind the desk. “He's bothering me,” I said.

One staff member was a young male who looked like an assistant and the other Nurse Lawson.

She spoke first. “Terry, leave the other patients alone. Get back to your room now, or no television tomorrow.”

I leaned forward. “You might want to remind him to dress properly or he'll catch a cold.” Sure I knew you had to come in contact with someone who had the virus to catch a cold, but it was my subtle way of saying Terry needed some boxers.

She clucked her tongue. “And put on your pajamas.”

Terry turned and skulked down the hallway as the male assistant followed a few feet behind.

I looked at Nurse Lawson. She'd taken me out to meet my “mother” the other day at the last minute when Sister Liz was called to an emergency.

Nurse Lawson had several body piercings with lovely diamonds, about six of them, in her right earlobe. They went well with her blonde, spiked hairdo. All in all she looked friendly. I liked her from the first time we met.

Momentarily forgetting I was supposed to be a patient here, I held out my hand to the nurse. “Thanks. Please call me Pauline Sokol. I was a nurse too.”

She gave me a “yeah, right” look, and I figured she'd worked psych for sometime and was rather attuned to patient behavior. But she smiled pretty nicely and said, “I'm Nurse Lawson. Melissa Lawson. We met the other day, but I didn't get to tell you my name.” She had the courtesy to shake my hand. “You'd better head off to bed now, Pauline. It's after two.”

Two
A.M
.!

I didn't even stay awake on New Year's Eve until two.

I started to turn, and then remembered I needed to talk to my partner. “Could I make one phone call, Nurse Lawson? Please.”

She hesitated as if she was going to let me. “Since we are a private institution, some patients—very few, that is, and under the staff's supervision—do get to make calls. But it's very late.”

Right. Hmm. Think fast, Pauline. “I know. My brother works the night shift over at—” I had started to say Hartford Hospital but then remembered Mary Louise wasn't from around here. Since I was to pick her up at the airport, she'd flown in, so she must come from another state. I cleared my throat and finished with, “—his job. I feel so lonely and we are very close. My doctor at home encourages me to talk to my brother whenever I need to.” I took a step closer to engage her confidence yet not invade her personal space. “Please, Nurse Lawson. Please.” After a few silent prayers, my best begging face, and several more lies, I stood and stared at her.

She let out a breath. “Follow me.”

I thanked Saint Theresa that this was a private institution and the employees obviously had some leeway. Nurse Lawson led me to the doctor's office and pressed one of the many buttons on the phone. “I have to stay with you.”

I nodded and for a second couldn't remember one digit of Jagger's cell phone number. Then I told myself to be professional and the numbers flooded back. I smiled at Melissa Lawson while the phone rang three times.

“Yeah?” His voice now sleepy and sexier than usual had me hesitate.

“I need you. I
really
need you. To see you.”

Silence.

“I said, I need to—”

“Damn it, Pauline. You went back.”

Footsteps clattered along the hallway outside the office, and Nurse Lawson's eyes grew big. “I . . . you have to get off the phone. Now.” She reached for the receiver, took it and shoved it down.

Startled, I knew she was worried we'd get caught, but I couldn't blame her. I wouldn't risk my job for a patient like me either. I smiled at her. “Thanks.”

Jagger would come.

He would come.

On the way out, we ran into Nurse Lindeman in the hallway. She looked at us oddly and said, “Pauline, you have to go to your room now. Get some sleep or just rest.”

I feared she might try to medicate me, and my tongue was too tired for any acrobatics so I nodded and turned toward the wing where my room was. Once there, I looked into the bathroom, behind the furniture and in every corner for someone hiding there—or for Terry.

Finding it safe, I flopped onto the bed and snuggled under the covers. Terry. Suddenly Terry became a real concern. A real possibility. A real threat.

Could it have been Terry in my room that night I was sent off to Rain Tree Forest La-La Land? That would mean no one was after me—at least in this place. But wait. The white van. My tired brain became too confused, so I shut my eyes and heard Jagger's voice in my ear.

He'd called me Pauline. His serious name for me.

Yikes.

The next morning came way too soon. While I yanked my blanket higher, I heard Spike's voice. “Up and at 'em, Pauline. You miss breakfast and you don't eat until lunch. This ain't a hotel.”

I peeked at him through one lifted eyelid. He looked enormous. I had to force myself to get up, which I did, all the while mumbling that I was sorry—even though I had no idea what for—so he wouldn't manhandle me.

Thank goodness he left while I washed up and brushed my teeth. Gigantic circles, dark as eclipses, had formed under my eyes. I needed some miracle facial cream but in this place would more than likely have to settle for Vaseline. I hurried out of my room and toward the dining room, hopeful that Terry had slept in today.

Why the heck didn't they keep the men and women separate in this place?

Guessing it would be too expensive to build two of everything, I found an empty seat next to Ruby and took my napkin off the table.

She stared at me. “You look like shit.”

“Thanks.” I managed a chuckle. “Couldn't sleep.”

Ignoring my explanation, she took a sip of her black coffee and looked at me over the mug.

“Oh, hey, Ruby. I'm thinking of changing doctors. How's yours?”

“Fine.”

Typical teenage response. “Who is she?”

“How'd you know it was a she?”

Oops. “I heard the nurses talking. You like her?”

“I've had better. But she's square.”

I'm guessing she didn't mean Dr. De Jong was a geek. “Square” seemed to be a term kids used nowadays to mean something was okay. “Good. Been seeing her long?”

“Too long.” She proceeded to tell me about her doctor.

All sounded legit. Interesting.

“So you heard?” she asked, obviously changing the subject.

I looked up to see the breakfast line getting shorter. “Heard what?”

She sipped again. Actually she sipped several times as if taking her time. It began to seem as if Ruby was stalling until she said, “Margaret. Margaret is missing.”

“What!”

Before I knew it, Spike was at my back, grabbing my shoulder. “What's going on here, Sokol? You want to start a riot or something. Maybe you don't want to eat today. All day.”

“Take your hands off of her.”

I spun my head around as much as possible, since Spike still had my collar in a death grip, only to see Dr. Dick standing there. I shoved free of Spike, jumped up and very unprofessionally, yet with every ounce of fear that Ruby had instilled in me, grabbed Jagger and hugged him.

Over my shoulder he said, “I need to talk to Ms. Sokol now. Fix her a tray, Spike, and bring it to the office.”

On the way, and only after I'd pried my arms off of Jagger, I realized that Spike would probably spit in my food.

The pitfalls of investigation—there were many.

I poked at my food, looking for Spike's saliva, and decided to only eat the items that I felt certain he hadn't left his mark on. I munched on an individually wrapped bran muffin while Jagger sat on the edge of the desk, looking gorgeous, sexy and furious.

I waved my hand at him. “No need for a lecture. I had to come back, and you know it.”

“What I know is that—”

“Let's just drop the whys and concentrate on the fact that Margaret is missing.” That felt so good! I had actually taken control. I sat up straighter.

I thought I noticed a hint of surprise on his face and wondered if I had indeed found out some info that Jagger actually didn't know yet.
He probably won't admit it
, I thought as I opened my milk carton. Had to be safe and saliva free, since it was still factory sealed.

“How do you know about Margaret?” he asked, sitting up straighter himself.

Hmm. There could be some kind of power struggle happening. Imagine, me in a power struggle with Jagger. The winner would be him. Done deal, if that was the case.

But he, obviously being a stand-up kinda guy, said, “I didn't know she was missing. How did you?”

My shoulders sank. Maybe it wasn't true! Maybe I had heard wrong! Or maybe Ruby had made it up or was lying!

No, I had heard correctly and didn't see Margaret in the dining room before I'd been “handled” by Spike. Margaret was always there early since she hated cold food. Had to be part of her Southern upbringing.

“You didn't know . . . she is missing. She
is
,” I reiterated. “We have to find out what happened to her. She's a nice person and doesn't deserve this.” I sipped my milk but didn't even taste it. “She has a little boy.” As if that would be the only reason we needed to find her.