But I still repeated over and over. “Sky. Sky. Sky?” as the doors shut. Thank goodness we were alone. “Sky and Pansy. Eeeeeeyew.” We looked at each other and made disgusting faces. Then I wondered if some lovers’ spat had him trying to kill her. But why would he have killed Payne?
Mistaken identity?
I told myself that was not a very Christian attitude to have.
“Pansy certainly does not appear to be the pilot’s taste,” Lilla said.
I shook my head. “I know. Interesting though. Maybe he wanted a raise?” I chuckled, but Lilla just looked at me. Sometimes I forgot that foreigners did not get some Americans’ sense of humor. Okay, make that my sense of humor, as evidenced by Lilla right now and many of the foreign doctors that I used to work with there.
“What does ‘wanted a raise’ mean, chéri?”
I explained that maybe Sky slept with Pansy so she’d treat him better than the other employees. Maybe he was using her. Maybe, though, they had a spat. “But what did Pansy get out of it other than…” My face burned. “Okay. He is one hot tamale. Guess they both had their agendas.”
When the elevator stopped on the Central Supply floor, we hustled out and hurried to the exit.
“Pauline? Pauline Sokol?” I heard someone say so I grabbed Lilla by the arm and yelled, “Nope!” to Janet-who used to be my boss.
I dropped Lilla off at TLC, noticed Jagger’s SUV was not in the parking lot-so he wasn’t on a run with ER Dano-and decided I needed a powwow with none other than him, so I called his cell and said, “Meet me at the office,” on his voice mail, which he never answered, but I knew he’d show up.
While I drove toward the old building that housed Scarpello and Tonelli Insurance Agency, a thought flitted through my brain. Was Jagger’s last name really Tonelli, and did he really have any ownership in this…oh…my…God.
Airbrush Lady drove out of the parking lot in a hot pink Mercedes-obviously special ordered, as I’m sure the folks at Mercedes-Benz had never made that color before. Didn’t seem to fit in with the original classy German style.
She didn’t notice me-or maybe ignored me, was more like it-but I turned in and, fuming for no reason, pulled into a space near Goldie’s yellow Camaro. I needed a good dose of Goldie right about now.
A real big dose, since Jagger’s SUV sat at the end of the parking lot.
I got out, went inside and had a quick chat with Adele, who said Jagger had stepped out for a few minutes (probably after seeing Airbrush Lady). Adele was thrilled to pieces with my praise of her daughter, Lilla, and then I slunk down the hallway to Gold’s office in order not to run into Fabio.
When I opened the door, I groaned.
“Hey, doll, when the hell is that case going to crack?” Fabio asked, standing next to Goldie’s glass-top desk.
Gold rolled his eyes at me and I nodded.
“Oh, Fabio. I’m so glad you are here. It is coming along so well that I will be done in…a very short time.”
Goldie stood and took Fabio by the arm. “Isn’t she just a peach?”
“Yeah, fucking peach,” he mumbled while Goldie ushered him toward the door.
“You feel free to start assigning her the next case, since she’s so close to cracking this one, boss,” Goldie said in such a flamboyant manner, he had me choking back a laugh.
Mesmerized by Goldie, Fabio seemed speechless. Finally he muttered, “Um. Yeah. Next case. Working on it.”
I wanted to shout, “What? I will have a next case? What is it?” but held my words. I wanted Fabio to leave more than I wanted to find out the case info.
Before I confessed to him that I really had nothing.
Yikes.
Once Fabio was safely out the door, Goldie shut it with more force than needed and leaned against it, looking very much like a tortured Marilyn Monroe in his blonde curly wig, gold brocade dress with a flared bottom and his arm pressed against his forehead. “Why did his old man have to die and leave him here?”
I laughed. “I heard the father didn’t make much money though.”
Goldie left his post at the door, got a peach vodka on the rocks from his wet bar, handed me a diet Coke and draped himself over the leopard couch. “True. But he was a sweetie. A real human being. Fabio sucks.”
I held up my drink to a toast and said, “Hey, listen to this,” and told Goldie everything about Pansy, Sky and how Lilla and I were so successful.
Goldie screeched a few times (appropriately) and toasted again. As he held his glass up, a knock sounded on the door.
“Enter!” Goldie yelled and looked at me, “Hope to hell it’s not Bosshole again.”
“Would he knock?” I asked, causing Goldie to spit out a sip of his drink.
I kept laughing, until Goldie’s face grew serious as he looked behind me. I swung around.
“Goldie. Sherlock,” Jagger said, looking oh-so delicious, I took a sip of my diet Coke and thought it was jam-packed with sugar.
Thankful that I didn’t spill my drink, I said, “Hey.” Jagger helped himself to the beer Goldie offered and then sat opposite me on a stool resembling an elephant leg.
“Where’d you go?” he asked.
None of your business sat on the tip of my tongue, but then I remembered we were working a case.
Together.
Go figure.
“Well,” I hesitated, knowing I’d have to face the fallout of Jagger’s possible wrath when I said Lilla and I had sneaked into the hospital to see Pansy. Oh, well, I decided to go for it, and what could Jagger do to me anyway?
Once I finished my story, I found out. At first he took a very long, slow sip of his beer. Occasionally he looked from Goldie to me and back.
Poor Goldie looked as if he’d seen a spider-and everyone knew that gay guys couldn’t really handle spiders very well, as evidenced by Miles and Goldie found up on a chair in the kitchen when one ventured in when Spanky stepped out last summer.
I could take Jagger, but it wasn’t fair to upset Goldie, so I said, “Come on. Get it over with. Give me your two cents’ lecture so we can move on.”
Goldie gasped. I think he wanted to jump up to protect me, but this was Goldie. Poor guy didn’t do too well with brute force or anything that might break a nail.
Still in no hurry, Jagger sipped even more slowly.
“Stop that before Goldie has a stroke!”
Jagger smiled at Goldie. “Why would he?”
I set my glass down on the desktop with a thump and a splash. “Because you are going to chastise me, and he’s my friend and you nearly have him suffering apoplexy!”
Goldie said, “Apo-”
“Spitting mad, Gold. Give it up, Jagger. You’ve held us in suspense all along. What about my investigating without you?”
He set his beer down next to mine without a sound or a splash. “Excellent.”
My jaw did its “amazed at Jagger” routine, landing wide open and nearly at chest level. Excellent? Was there really such a word in Jagger’s vocabulary? I was ready to say, “Says you, Jag.” Then I’d follow it with, “And I think I did a great job,” but I no longer needed those words, and I didn’t have any backup ones ready.
Goldie and I exchanged glances and smiled.
Since Jagger and I needed to get back to TLC and explain our “absence,” we drove from the office parking lot to TLC in record time. When I parked, I noticed Buzz Lightyear walking toward the building.
His shift wasn’t over yet, so I wondered what he was doing there. I followed him to the entrance, and had to bite my tongue when I was tempted to say, “Didn’t Pansy look pale?”
Instead I shifted my thoughts. “Hey, Jeremy, have you heard any news about how Pansy is doing?”
His hand tightened on the door handle. Poor kid. He’d had a rough day and I was making him relive it.