Lori Avocato - Nip, Tuck, Dead

“I hear you.” He leaned over, kissed me on the cheek and went to gather up his clothes.

I got up and pushed the door open, then walked out, looking all ways in case the bitch was lurking in some dark corner. Laughing to myself, I passed by the reception desk ready to ask Ian what that was all about.

Empty.

I looked at my watch. It was lunchtime even though Gold had slept in and had such a late breakfast. I chuckled out loud and ignored the odd looks given me by two patients, bandaged to the hilt on their faces from laser surgery, as they walked by. I could still tell the look they gave me was odd even though I only saw their eyes.

“Ladies,” I said and nodded as I walked out the door.

On the way to the side street entrance to Cliff Walk, I decided a walk really was what the nurse ordered. The day was so sunny that I almost wished for a few fluffy clouds to float by and give me a bit of a breather from the sun.

Thank goodness gigantic old trees surrounded many of the mansions there, oaks maybe that kept the streets bathed in shade. At the end of the sidewalk I turned left onto Cliff Walk. It was the part that wasn’t paved, as the first section was, but I felt a bit adventurous today.

Anything to take my mind off things and to clear it.

After a few minutes, and my maneuvering over a rocky section, I noticed a couple walking ahead of me. Good. Made me not allow any stupid fear to materialize about being followed by someone who would attack me. Obviously they were honeymooners by the way he held her and how they stopped to take a picture.

“Want me to take one of both of you?” I asked when I got closer.

“Sure,” the groom said. Both stood with the ocean to their backs, making a beautiful scene that they’d cherish for years while the sun sparkled on their new gold wedding bands.

“Just back up a bit more so you’re not in the shadow of that bush, but be careful,” I said, looking through the camera at what the shot would look like.

They stopped.

I clicked and walked forward to hand them the camera.

“Thanks,” the girl said as she reached out.

I thought she had the camera, so I let it go. With horror, we all watched it drop to the ground and bounce like a child’s ball over the edge.

“Oh…my!” I shouted and hurried closer.

The three of us leaned over-and collectively screamed.

Camera aside, lying on the jagged rocks below-with waves washing over it as the rocks held it captive-was a man’s body.

After the newlyweds and I stopped screaming, I yanked out my cell phone, called 911 and told them about the body.

Sure looked like a body now (a dead body), and not a person with any hope of saving. The groom took his bride and moved her away from the edge with a “Sit over here, honey.”

They both sat on the small hill of the land side of the walkway-away from the cliff. Not that I wanted to look down myself, but this all seemed so surreal that I just had to.

A whitecap of wave slammed into the body as I leaned over and looked with clearer vision.

The man’s shirt, although soaked, was a deep color. Black? No. When the sun hit it, I saw more red. Crimson. Wet hair looked much darker as the waves washed over the body, bobbing back and forth on the tide. Part of the clothing had been harpooned onto a jagged rock, which must have prevented the body from floating out to sea.

When a whitecap washed over it, I noticed the shoes were still on. Black wing tips.

“Oh…my…God.” Although it must have been about fifty to seventy-five feet below, there was now no doubt in my mind.

Ian James.

The dead body was dear Ian.

Suddenly I felt sick and pulled back as the sound of sirens pierced the air. I’d die of embarrassment if I vomited in front of the newlyweds, who, by the way, were both as pale as the fluffy white clouds I’d hoped for earlier.

I sat down next to the guy, bent my head toward my knees and took some very long slow breaths. The sickness in the pit of my stomach was for Ian. Dead. So young. And now so dead.

I called Goldie to tell him and let him know I’d be running a bit late.

Before I could sit and compose myself, wondering if Ian had fallen-or was pushed, a gang of cops in uniforms and a few in plainclothes hurried along the path.

And directly behind them was my buddy, Jagger.

He was walking a bit slower than usual. Oops. Maybe I should just throw myself off the cliff in order to avoid any further embarrassment.

“You look like shit, Sherlock.” He reached down for my hand and pulled me up to stand.

“Thanks. New makeup.” I stood on wobbly legs and actually had to hold one hand against his chest to steady myself. Really! “And you look very fit,” I said.

Jagger growled.

The cops started asking questions, and between the newlyweds and myself-we were of no help at all. No, we hadn’t seen anyone. No, we hadn’t heard anything. No, the camera was not there with the body.

“She dropped it over the cliff,” the bride said in what I thought was an unnecessarily accusatory tone, and the pointing at me that she was doing seemed highly rude.

I started to protest when Jagger glared at me. I leaned toward him. “She let it go.”

Jagger stood silent.

“All right, all right,” I said. “The camera is a moot point since a man is dead. You know how that bothers me, but she did let it-”

In order not to sound too childish-make that more childish-I dropped the subject and answered a few more cop questions involving the fact that I knew who Ian was and had only seen him a short time ago.

“Well, for one thing, he was working earlier. And…er…he did have a sort of argument with someone at work.” Maybe I was prejudging the situation. Maybe Ian and Mrs. Wheaton-Chandler were really not at odds. And maybe Ian actually survived the fall. “Seemed to be, or make that appeared to be arguing. I mean allegedly arguing.”

Yeah, right.

So I told the cops everything I could think of, ending with, “And I said, ‘Excuse me?’ That was right after she’d ordered me to get back to work.”

The main one, who I assumed was the detective in charge, said, “That’ll do for now. We’ll need names and phone numbers for our records.” He looked at me through squinted eyes.

Did he suspect me?

Why is it that my Catholic-school-induced conscience always had me feeling guilty when I knew I wasn’t? Damn. All I had to do was look at Jagger to see that he believed me. Of course, his look was not one of accusation, more of how difficult it was for him to control shaking his head at me right then.

After we gave all our names and info to the cops, I said goodbye to Mr. and Mrs. Bret Johnson from Lowell, Massachusetts, who were, in fact, married last Saturday.

Talk about a memorable honeymoon.

Not exactly what I’d have in mind for mine. Mine. Hmm. How odd that I’d even think about getting married when I had decided nothing was more important to me than my career.

Jagger took me by the arm.

Suddenly I wondered if my sister Mary’s youngest daughter would make a good flower girl.

I really should have flung myself over the cliff.

While an ambulance crew worked on getting the body up from the ocean, we walked along the cliff to the exit. When we got to the side street, I saw the Johnson couple getting into their car. “Just a sec,” I said to Jagger and hurried over to them.

“I’m so sorry about everything. Look, can I send you a new camera?” Please say no since it will cost me money.

Bret looked at me with green eyes that were not quite as accusatory as his bride, Shauna’s. “It was an accident. No problem.”

“Oh. Fine. Have a great life you two.”