The Stiff and the Dead (15 page)

He then shoved my wallet, with my hand still attached, back into my purse.

“No. I can't let you pay for me.” I started to grab for my wallet again.

“B—eleven,” the announcer called.

Shoot. I couldn't be fiddling for money and watch these stupid cards, even if I did have only two. So I politely thanked Joey and stuck the wallet back. As I did, my license slipped to the side.

PAULINE MALVINA SOKOL.

Oh . . . my . . . God. If it had fallen out earlier, Joey and the entire bunch would have seen my picture and real name. Thank goodness for chivalry.

The game progressed, and again, I was the only one at the table who didn't ever get a Bingo. Now I was mad. A pissed-off seventy-four-year-old is someone to be reckoned with. Good.

All these old folks seemed so nice, even darn Sophie. I had to remind myself that she was more than likely a criminal, even though she was kind enough to help me find B-7 on my card when I'd missed it.

During the break, refreshments were served. I figured this would be a good time to corner Sophie, by the cookies, and see what I could find out.

I found her eating chocolate-covered strawberries and a chocolate-chip cookie that was the size of a saucer. So, I grabbed one for myself, telling myself it was all right since I'd eaten such a small dinner. “You sure have the luck, Sophie.”

With a mouthful, she nodded.

We stood for several minutes eating before I realized I had to go to the ladies' room. Too much tea, and not a good time to leave. But my luck changed when Sophie said she'd go with me. Joey had come up from behind, and I could see his questioning look as to why women had to go to the ladies' room in tandem.

I for one thought it was great, since I'd get Sophie alone. We excused ourselves and headed up the ramp to the hallway. I let Sophie go first and gave her enough room in case she started to slide backward. Even with all my padding, a woman her size could squish the daylights out of me.

Once in the bathroom, I opened the door to one of the stalls.

“Want me to hold your purse, Peggy?” Sophie asked way too sweetly. “We do that for each other ever since poor Betty Wheelman, who suffers from Parkinson's, dropped hers into the commode. What a mess. All her Bingo winnings soaked.” She held out her hand toward me.

Hmm. So that's how she gets the numbers from unsuspecting women. Wow! I was thinking like a criminal. I mentally patted myself on the back. Even so, at first I was ready to say no because I didn't want her to find out about me. If she snooped, she might find my license. But then again, this could be my big break.

But no camera glasses yet!

And no beeper on Peggy, since I'd never be able to explain that one.

Still, I'd at least get a good lead and know what to catch her on the next time. “Aren't you sweet.” I handed her my bag and hurried inside. I couldn't pee right now though. I had to peek over the door to watch her. So, I silently put the toilet seat down, stood up and looked over the door. If she looked as if she was going for the license, I'd zoom out.

Another woman was washing her hands. Sophie stood by watching, waiting. That a girl, Soph. Hang yourself. When the woman left, Sophie looked around. I could jump down or nearly fall to my death. Okay, I wouldn't die from falling from this height, but from embarrassment, yeah. Especially if Joey and Uncle Walt had to come in to pry me out from between the commode and the wall.

She set my borrowed purse on the counter. Then, with her chubby fingers, she started to pull at the zipper. Thank goodness Mrs. Honeysuckle had purses the likes of which Brinks couldn't get into very quickly.

Sophie pulled and tugged.

The zipper opened.

I stumbled off my lookout perch, shoved the toilet handle down and flung open the door.

She stood smiling at me, my purse all tidy and appearing untouched.

Very clever girl, Soph.

Next time you'll be on film.

I looked at the satchel Sophie carried and wondered why on earth she would need to lug around such a huge bag. Had to do with crime and insurance fraud. I felt it in my thirty-four-year-old gut. She headed toward the stall. I held out my hand. “You wouldn't want your purse to take a dip. Would you?”

Her face grew as red as the strawberry drippings on her blouse. For a second she hugged the purse to her chest. Sophie didn't trust me—she was protecting whatever was in the bag. Then she gave me a smile and held it out.

“I only have to pee. Very quickly,” she said, as if I couldn't be trusted not to look in her bag!

She shut the door behind her. I heard the toilet seat lift up.

I opened the top of her bag with such silence, I became teary-eyed at my skills. Nursing had come in handy once again. Efficient. Clean. Organized. That was me.

As disgusting as it sounded, I just about timed her peeing, and looked inside her bag for a second. Good thing I had a strong stomach from my nursing days.

About ten prescription bottles were inside her purse.

I pulled one out. Colchicine. Used for gout when needed for pain. The name on the bottle was “Mr. Richardson.” The man with the gigantic prostate. What the heck would Sophie be doing with this?

The toilet flushed.

It'd take a few seconds for her to shimmy up her undies.

I dug deeper.

Next bottle was Bennie's. For Clarinex. Used for allergy symptoms when needed.

Damn.

Now I was confused.

I could just about hear her pulling down her blouse and straightening out her outfit. What the hell? I looked at one more.

Blue pills.

Viagra.

Name on the prescription: “Mr. Henry Wisnowski.”

On the way home to change for my “date,” I said several thank-you novenas to Saint Theresa. After all, it had to be some divine intervention that had the bathroom stall door stick on Sophie so I had time to shut her bag and stand there innocently smiling like some demure seventy-four-year-old.

When I pulled into my driveway, I knew I had to do something with the information I had found. Obviously it was a good thing that Nick was coming for me in fifteen minutes. Damn. I might need to say another novena that I could be back to myself in that short a time—and looking, please, God, at least a little sexy?

I shut off the car, hurried inside, gave a quick pat to Spanky, who growled at Peggy, and shouted, “Miles!” No answer. Great. I was thankful that he must have been at Goldie's, so we didn't waste time talking. I looked at my watch. Twelve minutes to show time.

Not that I was nervous, but it had been eons since I'd had a real date. The years I'd spent using Doc Taylor for sex, and vice versa, didn't count. Despite his being a loser in the end, I always felt comfortable with him. As I hurried toward the stairs, I slipped off Mrs. Honeysuckle's black pumps, pulled the slacks off and left item after item on the stairs as I ran up in my own—thank goodness—undies.

I figured Spanky would have the clothes in a nice pile in my room by the time I got out of the shower. “Get the nylons, too, Spanks,” I called as I adjusted the hot water nozzle and stepped in.

With only minutes to go, I took the fastest shower on record. Didn't even have time to listen to Miles's shower radio. It was a bright plastic pink-and-white fish that had great reception in the shower. He called it his “tune-a-fish.”

I jumped out and ran into my room with only a towel on. Then it dawned on me that I had no idea what I was going to wear. Did I really want to impress Nick? Encourage Nick? Or make him want to
peel off
what I chose to wear?

Whoa! I had to take a deep breath at the thought and grabbed my black bra and black panties. I drew the line at thongs. A thin line that felt as if I had a constant wedgy. I'd stick with the lacy panties, bikini style.

Once in the sexiest underwear that I owned, I looked into my closet.

Ring. Ring.

Shit! I didn't have time to talk to anyone. Must be Goldie. I opened my bedroom door to hear whoever it was when they started to leave a message.

“Pick up, Sherlock. I know you're home.”

I froze.

Froze in the doorway of my room, nearly naked.

And wondered if Jagger could see me now.

I unfroze at the sound of the doorbell. Damn! As exhausted as I was from such a long day, I sprinted into action and shoved on my silky black, long-sleeve top—I think Goldie had actually left it over here one day 'cause it had shrunk too much for him—and shimmied into my jeans. Nick wasn't a jeans sort of guy, but I wasn't the sort of gal to answer the doorbell in my undies either.

Spanky did his barking-at-the-doorbell routine. What a watchdog.

“Be right there!” I shouted.

I gave a quick glance in the mirror and told myself that my messy blonde hair was the new rage.

I looked damn sexy.

As I ran down the stairs, nearly tripping on Mrs. Honeysuckle's clothing, I decided I had to talk to Jagger about Sophie.

From the kitchen came, “Okay, play it your way. Catch you later.”
Click.

Phew.

I opened the door and audibly gasped, then promptly turned red.

“Hey.” Nick leaned over, gave me a peck on the cheek and walked inside.

Nick. Nick was dressed in black pants—no, they'd be called slacks—and what had to be a very expensive black leather jacket, suit style, and a cream-colored cashmere turtleneck (I guessed without touching) sweater underneath.

He took one look at the clothes tossed on the stairs. “Am I interrupting something?”

“Ha.” I tried to make my face look as if what he said was funny. “No, silly. I was in a hurry and the dog—” Did he really think those were my clothes? Suddenly I felt frumpy instead of sexy.

Because no matter what I wore now, Nick thought I dressed in polyester.

“Another wine?” Nick asked.

Another? I'd barely finished my first when my mind began to spin around like a dog chasing its tail. Not having eaten much tonight, my alcohol tolerance was low.

But boy did Nick look tasty.

Probably because of my unexplained protest of going to Dunkin Donuts earlier, he'd taken me to a wonderful and secluded little Italian restaurant instead of just a coffee place. Sammy's Place. Classic red-checkered tablecloths, black enameled table legs and matching chairs with red seats added to the décor. Thing was, at any second now, I half expected some mobsters to come through the door shooting tommy guns.

But as far as I knew, there was no mob in Hope Valley.

Crime we had, but apparently not organized. I looked over my wineglass to see Nick staring. “What?” Did I have drips of chardonnay on my nose or something?

He smiled. Nice. “Nothing. Okay, truthfully, I can't stop looking at you.”

“What did I do?”

He chuckled. “Nothing, Pauline. It's just . . . you look so different tonight.”

My hand flew to my face. Did I still have a glob of Superglue stuck to my cheek? Felt smooth.

Nick reached over and took my hand away from my face, then held it. Whoa, boy. His grip wasn't tight, but gentle. Much like Nick himself. I imagined Jagger grabbing my hand in a much tighter hold. A hotter hold, if that was possible.

Stop that! I shouted inside my head. Stop thinking of Jagger. You're with Nick, who
asked
you out.

“More wine?” He still held my hand.

I smiled. “I'm afraid if I have any more, I won't be responsible for my actions.” As soon as the wine-induced words came out, I froze. That sounded like a come-on!

Nick smiled at me—and then poured.

I thanked him and kept telling myself this was chardonnay and not grape juice. Sip slowly. Sip slowly. Swip swolly. When I took the time to look at Nick, there was a fuzzy haze around him. Very romantic. He had a kinda Casablanca-meets-Bond thing going on.

Suddenly our gazes locked. I felt myself sway. Thankfully I was still in my seat. Nick leaned over and moved the wineglass to the side. I noticed his flawless complexion, with only a hint of beard.

When his finger touched my chin, lifting it ever so slightly, a very ladylike gasp slipped out of my mouth.

He came closer. His lips touched mine with his finger guiding my chin to meet him.

Wow. Wow. Wow.

Tipsy interest zoomed throughout my body, reminding me that I was a woman. Apparently a very desirable woman, if this guy was kissing me. Who would have thought I'd be Nick's type. Probably not even Jagger.

Jagger!

I pulled back.

“You all right?”

He looked adorable when confused. “I . . . Nick, I have to ask. Are you doing this—” I waved my hands about the restaurant and table to make sure he knew I meant this date tonight“—to get back at Jagger?”

Nick looked as if I'd wounded him with a pizza cutter.

“I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked such a stupid thing.” I felt like a fool. No, a jerk who just insulted a really nice guy. And, besides I told myself, that implied that Nick thought Jagger cared.

Nick leaned back.

I assumed he was composing himself. Maybe controlling some urge to throw the wine at me.

“Pauline, you're a great person. Considerate. Smart. A sexy woman with brains. I asked you out because I'm
attracted
to you.”

Again I tried to shrink. This time I wanted to end up under the table where I couldn't see Nick's hurt expression.

“I really was out of line, Nick. It's just—”

He touched my lips with his finger. “I, above all people, know what kind of effect
he
has on women. But this isn't about him, Pauline. It's about us.”

My heart fluttered like a damn butterfly. Nick was really interested in me. My mother would have a conniption if she'd heard me insulting such a great catch. I decided then to ignore any “Jagger thoughts” and give Nick a chance.

After all, it was about
us.