Lori Avocato - Nip, Tuck, Dead

Go, Ian. You may be the ticket to a quick-solved case bonus. But now I had to maneuver myself like a damn contortionist to see the monitor.

“Is there somewhere I could get a cup of tea, Ian?” I leaned so far over, my sunglasses fell off of the top of my head onto Ian’s desk. “Oops. Sorry.”

By the look on his face, I should have stuck with the subject of Goldie. Oh well, at least I knew how to get the most mileage out of Ian, I thought as I reached for my sunglasses-just as Ian’s hand grasped mine.

I gasped and looked up.

His face had grown stern and his eyes darkened. I looked down to see that beneath the sunglasses was a printed page of several paragraphs. Ian didn’t want me to read it.

While still holding my hand (and not in the least bit sensual way), he grabbed my glasses with his other. “Here.”

Once he let go, I rubbed my wrist so he could see it smarted. It really didn’t, but I thought I’d make Mr. Ian think twice about touching me again. And I didn’t have to think twice about coming back here during his coffee break.

“Thanks and sorry.” No point putting off my investigation. I looked down toward his computer although he tried to turn it farther away. “Well, I can see you are busy. I’m off now but, as I said, will be back. Have a great day!” I added that last part to try to get on the good side of one Mr. Ian James.

“Welcome to the Samuel Freeman Lodge,” Arlene Hallowell, the innkeeper, said.

“This place is gorgeous.” I turned around to check out the foyer where I stood while Arlene filled out some paperwork on the other side of the counter. From there I could still see the main foyer whose forty-foot ceiling gave the place an air of gothic beauty. Dark oak paneling covered all the walls, staircase, and ran right up to the ceiling. Stained-glass panels hung freely at the top, and the windows were leaded glass. Wow.

I turned back, leaned on the bottom part of the door and sighed.

This job was going to be glorious.

Living in a mansion that Fabio was paying for (okay, against his knowledge, but my buddy and his receptionist, Adele, had set it up for me; I owed her big-time) would be fab. What Fabio didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him had become my motto after Adele had put the idea into my head.

“Thanks.” Arlene told me how the place had been the home of a Samuel Freeman in 1892. Apparently he’d been one of the leading politicians in the area, although not very well liked. She actually intimated that old Sam might still be around. Yikes. Then she called to one of the other staff to give me a tour.

Tina took me on a short walk around, and after telling me to make myself at home, showed me the refrigerator, the complimentary coffee and tea setup, and the porch were I could sit and rock to my heart’s content. While we headed up the stairs, she added, “No red wine in the rooms. Stains the carpets. You can have any other one though.” She seemed to get a bit nervous when she said, “Arlene is a stickler about the red wine.”

I couldn’t even concentrate on wine or the fact that I’d rather have a Coors. There was an air of opulence, a feeling that I’d stepped back into the enchanted Gilded Age when I walked up the staircase. At the top, Tina opened the door to my room and stepped aside.

Suddenly I felt as if someone else was in the room-but it was only the two of us. Hm.

The room was tiny by comparison to the rest of the lodge, with a bed built into the wall with drawers underneath. It looked as if it had come off a sailboat in the 1800s. She showed me the bathroom, which in fact was much larger than the room and had a double shower.

I looked at it and groaned. What a waste.

Who was I going to share it with? Before I could get maudlin, or start fantasizing about Jagger, I thanked Tina as she left, stuck my suitcase on the bed and flopped down when the door clicked shut. “Ouch!” I’d hit my head on the back wall in the tiny space, but excitement had me ignoring it.

This was going to be a fabulous gig.

And the best part was-I was going to do it myself.

A cold breeze swept across my face-and the windows were closed.

“Oooooooh!” Goldie shouted as Dr. Cook placed a tiny nose speculum into his right nostril.

I leaned forward and grabbed Goldie’s hand. “Try to relax, Gold. He’ll be done in a minute.” I turned to the doctor and gave him a “you better not hurt him again” kinda look. In all honesty though, I knew Goldie’s level of pain wasn’t very high. If I thought the doctor was doing something he shouldn’t have been doing, I would have been out of my seat and complaining in a heartbeat-or maybe even clocked the guy.

No one ever hurt Goldie.

For a few seconds I watched the doctor, until he’d finished the exam. All in all he seemed ethical, knowledgeable, and not bad to look at. He stood there wearing a white lab coat over what had to be a silk shirt and tie. His shoes alone probably cost more than my college education. Fabio was right about Newport being a wealthy town.

Then again, maybe old Doc Cook could afford to look so good because he was scamming the insurance companies.

I leaned over as nonchalantly as I could to see what he wrote about Goldie. Nothing. From that distance I couldn’t see anything. Gold caught my glance as he wiped a tear from his eye. Nasal exams’ll do that to you. Suddenly I heard a cling on the floor. “Oh, Nurse Sokol,” Goldie said. “I dropped my watch. Could you please get it? My vision is still a bit teary.”

Only my darling Gold.

“Sure,” I said as I bent to get his watch, which had “fallen” nearly under Dr. Cook’s feet. When I got up, I said, “Excuse me,” let the watch fall onto the desk and practiced Evelyn Wood speed-reading dynamics.

Deviated septum. Deviated septum? Goldie? He’d never complained of having any breathing problems so why would the doctor think Goldie’s nose wasn’t divided evenly?

“Is there something I can help you with, Ms. Sokol?”

“Hm?” I looked down to see Dr. Cook seated in his chair and holding out Goldie’s watch toward me-while I read his notes over his shoulder.

Oops.

“Oh, no.” I grabbed the watch. “Nope. No. No. Just getting the note…the watch. My Goldie’s watch.”

“Please sit down so that I can explain Mr. Perlman’s options.” He gave me a nasty look.

I flopped down next to Goldie and opposite the doctor. Goldie was still blotting his eyes. This should be good.

Dr. Cook stood then seated himself on the edge of the desk in front of us. “First of all, let me say we here at Highcliff Manor put the patient first for the utmost care. We pride ourselves on our skills and the unmatchable postoperative care that our nurses give.”

I cleared my throat.

“Oh, true. You will have your own private duty nurse, Mr. Perlman. But unless Ms. Sokol is planning to move in here at Highcliff, you will be taken care of by our staff at certain times.”

And he’ll be snooping for me while they’re caring for him, I thought.

Then I looked at Goldie wiping his eyes so much they were starting to turn red. Gold didn’t exactly have the highest tolerance for pain or, for that matter, being uncomfortable in any way. I wondered just how much help he would actually be. After all, his recovery came first.

“So,” Dr. Cook continued after explaining how the staff worked as a team around there, “on to your diagnosis, Mr. Perlman.”

Goldie’s hand flew from his face and waved the tissue in the air. “Diagnosis? I’m here for a nose job.”

“Yes. Yes, you are, sir. However, you will be glad to know that due to your deviated septum-”

It was then confirmed that Goldie was not going to be of any help to me. He wailed and continued waving.