“Not much, besides the fact that it’s much more expensive to eat healthy than it is to eat junk food.”
“Exactly why I don’t eat healthy.” I shook my chicken burrito at her. “There’s a lesson to be learned here.”
“You don’t count. Skinny chicks are dumb.”
“I beg your pardon. You think I’m skinny?”
“The doctor’s right. I have to cut back.” Her shoulders deflated. “Do you know how hard it is to diet with a name like Cookie?”
“That’s so weird.” I stared off into space, marveling at the similarities of our situation. “It’s hard to diet with a name like Charley, too. Maybe we should just change our names?” I said, refocusing on her.
“I would do it in a heartbeat if I thought it would help. What do you think?” She gestured to the file she’d left while reaching over the snack bar and pouring herself a cup of coffee.
“You have all the movie channels!” Amber squealed. “How did I not know that?”
“Seriously?” I asked. “No wonder that bill is so friggin’ high.” I zeroed in on a newspaper article about Yost’s previous wife. “Dr. Yost’s wife was found dead in her hotel room of an apparent heart attack.” I looked up at Cook. “She couldn’t have been more than twenty-seven. A heart attack?”
“Keep reading,” Cookie said.
“According to sources,” I said, reading aloud, “Ingrid Yost, who was on vacation alone in the Cayman Islands, called and left a message on her husband’s answering machine only minutes before her heart stopped, so despite the strange chain of events surrounding Mrs. Yost’s death, police say there will be no follow-up investigation.” I glanced up at Cookie. “The strange chain of events?”
“Keep reading,” she said, tearing off a bite of my chicken burrito.
I took a bite as I read, then put the article down. “Okay,” I said, swallowing hard, “so Ingrid Yost files a police report stating her husband was threatening her two days before she files for divorce. Two days after that, she flies to the Cayman Islands packed with little more than her toothbrush, calls and leaves a message on the doctor’s home answering machine about how she was sorry she wasn’t a better wife and how she no longer wants a divorce, then she dies five minutes later?”
“Yep.”
“With no previous history of heart problems?” I picked up the phone and speed-dialed FBI Agent Carson. Cookie’s brows raised in curiosity as she tore off another bite.
“So, what’s wrong with this picture?” I asked when Agent Carson answered.
“Hold on, let me get to another room.” After a moment, she asked, “Did you find Teresa Yost already?”
“Where are you?”
“At the Yosts’ house. My partner still thinks there’ll be a ransom demand.”
“Over a week later?”
“He’s new. What’s up?”
“His first wife had filed charges against him two days before she filed for divorce, two days before she flew to the Cayman Islands and died of a heart attack? Really?”
“So, you haven’t found her.”
“A divorce in which he stood to lose a small fortune?”
“And your point is?”
“Um, maybe it’s all connected?”
“Of course it’s connected, but try proving that. We checked the doctor’s passport and flights. He didn’t go to the Cayman Islands. Says he went hunting to try to work things out in his head.”
“That doesn’t mean he didn’t do it. The doctor’s loaded. He could have paid someone to dispose of her. He had more than enough knowledge on what drugs to use to induce a heart attack. And don’t you think the message on the answering machine was a little much?”
“In what way?”
“I’ll give you two ways. One, according to the police report, she was hysterical. Who’s to say she wasn’t being coaxed or threatened to leave that message?”
“True, but to what end?”
“To allay suspicion. If they were making up, no one would suspect the doctor of any wrongdoing. It would cast sympathy on him and the whole situation.”
“That’s possible. And two?” she asked.
“Since when do doctors have answering machines at home? Don’t they have answering services for that? Voice mail at work? It just seems really convenient.”
She was quiet a long time, but I heard footsteps as if she were moving in and out of several rooms. “You’re right. And he doesn’t have one now. Let me check that out, find out when he got the answering machine and how long he had it.”
“Sounds good. And can you get a copy of the message she left?”
“Mmm, I doubt that. Since there was no investigation, I can’t imagine anyone would have kept a copy, but I’ll find out.”
“Thanks. And can you check on the security system as well? Della Peters from the beauty salon said Yost knew Teresa never made it inside that night, because the security system would have recorded her entering.”
“It would have, had it been armed. That was one of the first things we checked. Yost said he forgot to arm it.”
“Then he’s a liar, liar, pants on fire.” I made a mental sticky note to that effect, in case I forgot later. “Thanks for the info.”
“You’re welcome. And, no offense, but shouldn’t you have found her by now? I mean, isn’t that what you do?”
“I’m working on it. Don’t push me.”
She sniffed. “Okay, just don’t forget about this.”
“Never.” I knew what was at stake for anyone in law enforcement. Making a name for oneself got you noticed. Took you places. And I wasn’t just talking about the Sizzler.
Cookie and I made plans for the next day as I drank two huge glasses of water. The natural tears I’d been using to moisturize my eyes were losing their efficacy and my mouth was full of cotton. Too much coffee, too little sleep. I needed to rehydrate.
“So, I’ll keep on the Yost case,” she said, writing down some ideas, “and you’re going to try to see Rocket.”
“That’s the plan. At least we can find out if Teresa Yost is still with us.”
She took the cup of coffee I’d just made out of my hands. “You need to get some sleep.”
“I need to soak in a hot bath, hydrate myself from the outside in.”
“That’s a good idea. Maybe it’ll relax you so much, you’ll fall asleep whether you want to or not.”
“Are you on my side, or what?”
An evil grin spread across her face as she called out to Amber. “Come on, hon.”
“Mom!” Amber said without ungluing her eyes from the TV screen. “This movie just started.”
“It’s almost your bedtime.”
“It’s okay,” I said. “She can stay.” I leaned in and whispered, “She’ll be asleep in no time.”
“True. But are you sure?”
“Of course,” I said, shooing her out the door. “I’m just going to soak a bit, then join her.”
Amber was watching one of the horror movies I’d rented. Come to think of it, that movie might keep her awake. At least it would keep one of us awake.
“I’m going to take a quick bath, kiddo,” I said, leaning over the sofa and kissing her forehead.
“Don’t make the water too hot. My teacher says it gives you old-timers.”
After squelching a snicker, I said, “I don’t think hot baths have anything to do with Alzheimer’s, but I’ll take that under advisement.”
“Okay, but my teacher says,” she warned. I could see why Cookie threatened repeatedly to sell her to the gypsies if she weren’t so cute.
Chapter 7
I totally take back all those times I didn’t want to nap when I was younger.
I stripped down and sank into the tub, cringing when the scalding water slid up my legs and torso. A sultry heat settled around me, the steam seeping into my skin, and my lids started to drift shut almost immediately. My mind wandered aimlessly to greener pastures. Pastures with a four-poster bed perched in a field of grass with fluffy down pillows that just begged to be slept on. And baby ducks. For some reason, there were baby ducks. I rubbed my eyes, forcing myself back to the present, and led a dampened strand of hair behind an ear. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all. If I was going to make it another night without sleep, the last thing I needed was a hot, relaxing bath.