Something shady, p.27
Something Shady, page 27
part #2 of Stoner McTavish Mystery Series
Stoner threw open her window and leaned out. The air was sharp and cold. She breathed deeply, trying to expel the effect of the drugs. Her lips felt thick. The inside of her head was packed with wax. What she needed was a good, brisk five-mile walk along the shore, the crackle of dried grass underfoot, the tang of salt and balsam.
What she was going to get was breakfast and another session with Millicentunes.
She put down her tray and slid into her usual seat. “Thanks for last night,” she said. “It helped.”
Ione smiled. “The first few days are the worst.”
“You took a big chance.”
“I don’t get many opportunities to live dangerously.”
An aide delivered her thorazine from a tray of white plastic cups. He watched her swallow it, and moved on.
“How come you don’t have to take this?” she asked Ione.
“I did at first. Everyone does at first.”
Stoner kneaded her eyes with her knuckles. “I feel half-formed.”
“It hits you pretty hard. Maybe you should ask Dr. Tunes to reduce your dosage.”
“We don’t get along very well.”
Ione touched her hand. “Play along with her. It’ll be easier on you in the long run.”
“I wish I could.”
“I mean it, Stoner. One way or another, they always win.”
She looked around the room. “Does anyone ever get out of here?”
“Of course they do.”
“Have you ever actually seen anyone released? With your own eyes?”
Ione laughed. “You have the jitters.”She wiped a faint lipstick smudge from her coffee cup with her thumb. “I stopped wearing lipstick when I first came in here. Now I remember why.”
“Are they helping you?” Stoner asked.
“Dr. Tunes says I’m making progress.”
“Do you think you are?”
“It doesn’t matter what I think, does it, in terms of getting out?”
Stoner bit into a slab of soggy toast and washed it down with Mystery Juice. “Don’t you call her Millicent?”
“She wants me to, but I can’t bring myself to do it. It’s such an ugly name.”
She frowned. “I shouldn’t criticize. It’s not her fault, what her parents called her.”
“Lots of people I know have changed their names,” Stoner said. “To things like Solstice Fire and Moonwoman.”
“Really? Are you part Indian?”
She poisoned herself with a bite of scrambled egg. “It has to do with freeing yourself of the Patriarchy.”
Ione looked at her blankly.
“They don’t keep their fathers’ last names, because they’re male names, see, and male names are patriarchal. It’s like, if you keep your father’s name, or your husband’s name, that implies a kind of ownership, and...” She bogged down in the complexities.
“That’s very interesting,” Ione said. “I knew a girl named Roseann Tinklepaugh. She lived out at the edge of town, across from the Orange and Black Diner. They kept a bear in a cage, at the diner. Right in the parking lot. I don’t know why. It was next door to the canning factory, on a curve at the bottom of the hill. We called it Dead Man’s Curve because of the accidents. They had at least two accidents a year, usually on New Year’s Eve. They’d stop at the diner, you see, on their way home from the Ten Mile House. That was a road house, a gin mill. You couldn’t see the cars coming over the hill, and they’d pull out of the parking lot right into the traffic and through the Tinklepaughs’ front window. They straightened out that curve in 1951. They took the bear away, too, but I don’t remember when that was. I was 17 in 1951. I think the bear was gone before that. I guess it died. I would have, being kept in a cage in a diner parking lot.”
“Ione, you know more sad stories than anyone I ever met.”
“My husband says it’s because I look at things that way. But I didn’t make it up. The bear was really there. That can’t be my fault, can it?” She tapped the table with one fingernail. “Maybe I’ll change my name when I get out of here. But he wouldn’t like that.”
“I thought we were going to bag him and leave him for the garbage man.”
“I could change my name after that. Maybe to Personal Computer.”
“You’re getting the idea,” Stoner said.
“But I can’t get out until I remember when the milkman came.”
“What’s with the milkman? Did you have something going with him?”
“I have to get it all right, everything in the right order.”
“All of it?”
Ione nodded. “All you have is the past, you see. If you lose that, you lose everything.”
“What about the future?”
“If you think this world has a future,” Ione said, “you’re the craziest one in here.”
“Thanks. That makes my day.” She choked down another bite of cold egg. “Ione, do you have any idea why Mrs. Grenier was so angry about Claire seeing the files?”
Ione sipped her coffee and thought it over. “I guess she didn’t have the authority.”
“Claire’s a registered nurse. How much authority would she need?”
“Don’t ask me,” Ione said, piling her dishes on her tray and pushing back her chair. “People in the mental health business get a little nuts on some subjects.”
CHAPTER 11
Stoner shoved her hair into a semblance of neatness and made faces at Millicent Tunes’ Swedish ivy.
If Grenier’s right, if I really am Tunes’ “pet,” I should be able to work it to my advantage, right?
Wrong. We’re talking about manipulation, which is not something I do well. In fact, the only thing I do well - truly well, at genius level - is get myself into situations in which I don’t know what I’m doing. Such as the current one.
We’re no closer to solving this thing than we were two days ago. Claire is still missing. We don’t know why she’s missing, except that it has something to do with the files, which are also missing. We’ve made an absolutely brilliant connection between the new moon, low tides, and ships hovering offshore - which connection I could have made without ever leaving home. I’m pretty sure something is being brought in up the cliff, but I don’t know what. Illegal aliens? Defectors from Communist countries?
Oh, great, let’s blow the lid off an underground railroad from Russia.
Or maybe they’re taking something out. Plutonium for Libya? Designer jeans for Poland? Defectors from Capitalist countries?
Defectors from Capitalist countries?
Possible. Very possible.
What kind of defectors? Folk singers? Exchange students? CIA agents bound for the jungles of Nicaragua? Secular humanists?
My God, what if Millicent Tunes is working for the Government? What if Shady Acres is a front for a secret government agency selling peace activists into slavery in England?
Cute, McTavish.
Well, what are they up to?
Who would want to get out of the country under cover of darkness, sneaking away like a thief in the...
Criminals!
Of course. It was right in front of me the whole time. Now all we need is proof.
Which puts us back on square one.
“You’re very pensive this morning,” said Millicent Tunes, presenting herself in lime green. Her Ode to Spring, no doubt. Not her best color.
“Hi.
“Lovely day, isn’t it? One can almost feel the sap rising.”
Stoner, who had begun to rise, dropped back into her seat. “It’s very nice, yes.”
“I have a surprise for you.”
“You do?”
“Today we’re going to hunt rats.”
“We are?”
“If I show you there are no rats, you won’t be obsessed with them.”
I don’t want to look for rats. I want to look for EVIDENCE. “That’s nice,” she said.
Millicentunes frowned disapprovingly at her lack of enthusiasm. “Of course, if there are things you’d rather talk about…”
“I’d love to look for rats,” Stoner said quickly. “You see, with the drugs and all... I‘m a little off-center. But I do honestly think it’s a great idea. I can’t think of a thing I’d rather do than look for rats.” Oh, shut up, she told herself.
Millicent looked at her oddly.
“My head isn’t very clear,” Stoner said. “The drugs?”
“An excursion’s exactly what you need, then.” She tossed a lime green sweater across her shoulders and strode toward the hall.
“Uh,” Stoner said, lurching after her, “Dr. Tunes, do you think maybe you could cut my dosage? I feel funny.”
“Millicent. You agreed to call me Millicent.”
“It doesn’t seem right.”
Millicentunes smiled condescendingly. “Authority problems.”
“Naturally. I’m American.”
“You’ll find out in time,” Millicent said, “that I may be in charge here, but underneath I’m just human.”
I have some serious doubts about that, but I’m not about to argue authority problems with the authorities.
They climbed the stairs to the third floor and passed behind the nurses’ station.
“That’s where the keep the drugs,” Stoner said. “The ones I think I’m getting too much of.”
Millicent opened a narrow door. “This isn’t really an attic.” A blast of cold air fell out. “More like a crawl space. But you can see it’s perfectly clean.”
It ran the length of the house, with space enough to stand only beneath the peak of the roof.
“Look around all you like.” Millicent flicked on a single light. A naked bulb. The ubiquitous naked bulb, symbolizing squalor and lost hopes in all movies, plays, and TV dramas.
Stoner pretended to search the room, knowing there was nothing to find. The floor was clean enough to perform surgery on. “I guess I imagined it,” she said. “Probably because I’m taking too many drugs.”
“Now the cupola.” Millicent pulled down a trap door in the ceiling. A flight of narrow steps descended to the floor. “Be careful on the stairs. They’re steep.”
Stoner hung back. If I go up there and she closes that trap door…
“You’re not afraid, are you?” Millicent asked. The idea seemed to amuse her.
“I’m not quite steady on my feet, that’s all. You know, the drugs?”
Millicent’s smile rivaled the White Cliffs of Dover. “Don’t worry. I’ll be right behind you.”
Heavy irony.
She took a deep breath and scrambled up the steps, turning quickly at the top.
Millicent was right behind her.
She looks like a lime popsicle, Stoner thought.
“Isn’t this cozy?” Millicent asked.
It was a small room, about seven feet square. The floor was worn and dusty. Glass windows looked out on all sides. The widow’s walk encircled the cupola.
“How did they get out there?” Stoner asked, pretending to be fascinated.
“There used to be a door. It’s been boarded over for decades. The Winthrop ladies would wait up here for the men to come home from the sea. They’d hang a lantern from that hook at night to welcome them.”
The lantern hook was attached with new, Twentieth Century nails. On a dark night, the light would be visible far out on the ocean.
“Interesting.”
“Isn’t it?”
Stoner touched the window panes. On the outside was a heavy wire mesh. She looked at Millicent Tunes questioningly.
“That screening was put up long ago. To keep the birds out.” She pointed out a rough hole in the pine board wall. “As you can see, it didn’t work. They peck their way in.”
For long-ago screening, it was suspiciously rust free.
Millicent came to stand beside her. Her arm brushed Stoner’s. “Charming view, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“I like to imagine the old days, when they sat up here on summer evenings to watch the stars and catch the breeze off the water.”
Sometimes they wander over the cliffs. Do they ever wander off the widow’s walk?
She looked up at the rafters, then down at the floor. Nesting birds make a mess. Bits of mud, twigs, droppings. There wasn’t even a stray feather.
“It must be lonely for you here,” Millicent said in a low voice.
“A little.” No rust on the wire, no litter on the floor.
“Cut off from your lover this way, it must be a worry.”
Stoner looked at her. “It must?”
“You never know what might be going on. Is she attractive?”
“Very.” She studied the hole in the broken boards. The wood was splintered outward. Nothing had tried to get in, but something had definitely tried to get out.
“Do you like attractive women?”
“If their hearts are pure.” The lantern hook was twisted, as if someone had pried it loose and used it as a wedge.
“Have you been lovers long?”
“Not very.”
“Oh, dear,” Millicentunes sighed.
“Oh, dear?”
“New love is thrilling, but until the relationship is firm, anything can happen. Don’t you agree?”
“I haven’t given it much thought. The drugs make it hard to think.”
“Was she in a relationship when you met her?”
“Sort of. She was married.”
“Oh, dear,” Millicent repeated with greater emphasis.
“It was a crummy marriage.”
“Has it occurred to you, Stoner, that she could be involved with you on the rebound?”
Stoner looked at her. “I really doubt it.”
“Well, of course you’d know better than I, wouldn’t you?” She patted Stoner’s shoulder, and left her hand there.
“Yes. I would.”
“You don’t have to convince me.” Millicent squeezed her shoulder. “I don’t even know the woman.”
Is something going on here?
“On the other hand,” Millicent continued, moving her hand to the base of Stoner’s neck, “if you have deep-seated doubts you’d like to talk about...”
She slipped away and pretended to be intrigued by the view from the north window. “I don’t have any doubts.”
“Of course you don’t,” Millicent purred. “Dear Stoner, so trusting.”
She nearly laughed. “That’s me.”
Tunes propped one lime green hip against the shallow window sill. “How would you like to give her a call, just to relieve your mind?”
Now, there is one wonderful idea. To hear her voice... “Great.”
“Of course, you really aren’t permitted to make phone calls.”
Stoner faced her. “I thought you were in charge.”
“I am, but there are certain rules we can’t break. For the sake of the morale of the other guests, you know.”
Yeah, I noticed morale was at an all-time high around here.
“Well,” Stoner said, turning back to the window, “it was a nice thought, anyway.”
Millicent crossed the room. “On the other hand, if you were to come to my house tomorrow evening...” She touched Stoner’s back. “.. you could call from there.”
“Your house?” Stoner asked warily.
“I have a cottage just off the grounds. It overlooks the ocean. The view at night is an enchantment.”
She couldn’t think of a thing to say.
“We could have a fondue, and a little fire in the fireplace. I have an excellent collection of classical music. Do you like classical music?”
“Sort of.” Millicent was fondling her hair.
“I live alone. We wouldn’t be disturbed.”
Who wouldn’t be disturbed? I would be disturbed. I’m already disturbed.
“It’s a date, then?” Millicent asked.
What do I do if she makes a pass at me? Kick her in the... “Well, I appreciate the offer and all, but you must have better things to do.”
“No.” Her voice was husky. “I don’t.”
“Like reading medical journals or something?”
“There’s more to life than medical journals.”
“Writing up case histories?”
“You must think I’m terribly stuffy, Stoner.”
“Not at all,” she said quickly. “Only, well, you’re my therapist.”
“And a woman.” She ran her hand down Stoner’s spine. “Come, now, surely you’d like to get away from here for a night?”
A night? A night? By all known standards, supper and music are an evening, not a night “Well…”
Maybe I can deteriorate between now and then. Start raving. Hallucinate. Tear my clothes.
Channel 5: Sexually frustrated psychotherapist lures innocent travel agent to isolated beach house for fun and games. Strong language, adult situations.
“I’m waiting,” Millicent murmured.
“I’d better not. Gwen might get the wrong…”
The hand against her back went dead. “Gwen? Is that your lover’s name?”
Christ and all his disciples! “Glen!” she said loudly. “Short for Glendora. A nickname. Kind of a joke between us...”
“Really?” Millicent asked flatly.
Get yourself out of this, McTavish. “Hey, what the heck? Sure, I’ll come. She doesn’t have to know, does she? I mean, this is between us, right? Patient and therapist, right?“
Millicent looked at her for a long time.
“Did I say something wrong?” Stoner asked. Oh, shit.
“Patient and therapist,” Millicent said.
“Yeah. You know, me patient, you therapist?”
A tiny smile curled at the corner of Millicent’s mouth. It was worse than the full- tooth treatment. “Then it’s all settled. I’ll pick you up by the front door at five.” She looked hard into Stoner’s eyes. “You won’t be sorry.”
Sorry? I’m already sorry. Consumed with remorse. In Jerry’s words, chickenshit. “Should I... should I bring anything?”
“I have everything we need,” Millicent said.
I’ll bet you do. Rubber hoses, cattle prods, bamboo under the fingernails, sodium pentathol... “Good,” she squeaked.
Millicent turned and glided down the narrow stairs. Stoner followed like a dog trotting after its master.
