Cornucopia (A Chloe Boston Mystery Book 16) Page 5

  “Where’s Margie?” the dentist heard me say.

  “She didn’t show up for work today,” Dr. Bester explained.

  “Huh, that’s odd,” I observed.

  I knew that Margie had seemed stressed of late. She had hinted to me that she was unhappy with her work, but she wasn’t one to shirk responsibility. At least I hoped she wasn’t.

  “I hope she’s still making the cupcakes. I’d hate to show up at the party with Santa’s sleigh and have no cupcakes to go with it.”

  “I’m sure. Now please, have a seat.”

  My entire head was throbbing now but still I felt the need to speak. You see, dentists’ offices make me nervous as do dentists themselves. I’m afraid of both huge needles and drills. Dentists possess them both. To me a dentist’s office looks like a modern-day torture chamber, which I suppose it is. And when I get nervous, I need to talk. A lot. It didn’t matter that my head felt like it was about to explode, I needed to either talk or run screaming from the office. Talking allowed me to sit in the dentist chair and spin my legs into place so that I could recline.

  “My, what a comfortable chair. A chair like this must have been really expensive. I wish I had one of these at home to relax in. Of course, I’d have to fight with Alex for it.”

  The doctor took a seat on a rolling stool and clipped a bib around my neck. Then he pressed a button and the couch I was on reclined further.

  “Whee!” I exclaimed nervously.

  “Now, open wide and let’s see what we have here,” Dr. Bester instructed.

  The doctor flipped on a blazing white-hot spotlight, like the type Nazis and the CIA use for interrogations, and shined it at my face. Next he rolled a set of instruments that clattered in their metal tray to his side. He donned a baby blue paper hat, mask, and gloves before he picked up a huge metal pick and prepared to begin digging around in my mouth. The instrument glinted in the glare of the overhead light. At the sight of the spike in his hand headed toward my face I felt the immediate need to say something.

  “It’s strange that Margie didn’t show up for work today,” I mumbled in dental patient speak.

  The dentist paused and looked me in the eyes as he considered my words. Though I could see only a portion of his face, what I could see of his expression showed concern.

  “Why do you say that?” he asked in a curious tone.

  “I’m just saying she’s a very responsible person. Do you know of any reason she might have been unhappy at work lately?”

  “No,” was the terse response I received. “Now, open your mouth wide.”

  Icepick in hand, the dentist descended into my mouth. I was afraid that I was going to choke on my own saliva, but then he stopped and inserted a small vacuum cleaner nozzle that made loud slurping noises. The saliva taken care of, he was back in my mouth again.

  “Oh yes,” he said, “this is bad. You’ve broken your upper right second molar clean in half. You said that you did this biting into a metal plate in your sandwich?”

  “Uh-huh,” was all I could manage.

  “That’s terrible.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Are you in pain?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Well, let’s take care of that right away.”

  The dentist removed his hands from my mouth to attend to the instruments on his tray. When he turned back to address me, he was holding a huge syringe with a large needle attached to it in his hand. I had to say something and right away.

  “Where do you suppose Margie is?” I asked.

  Again, the dentist paused to consider my question.

  “You certainly are obsessed with the whereabouts of my assistant,” he said. “Why is that?”

  “I guess I’m just worried about her. Aren’t you?”

  “No.”

  “Have you called her?” I asked as the needle approached.

  “Open your mouth wide again and let me worry about Margie,” the dentist warned.

  “Aaah.” I made this pathetic noise as the needle slid into place.

  I felt the needle pierce my skin between my tongue and gum line. It stung before becoming very uncomfortable. The dentist wiggled my lip to work the needle in all the way. He slowly depressed the plunger. Eventually he removed the needle and placed the syringe on the tray.

  “Now, let’s give that a few minutes to take effect.”

  “Aw-white,” I replied, already feeling my lip and tongue going numb.

  The dentist turned away from me to play with his tools lying on the tray. As he did so, he talked to me—I assumed to ease my nerves.

  “So, do you have any plans for the weekend?” he asked.

  “Just baking my Santa cake.”

  “Yes, you mentioned that. What is that all about?”

  “It’s a cake in the shape of Santa’s sleigh,” I explained. “Margie is bringing the reindeer cupcakes to the party.”

  I was relieved that the pain was going away; however, the Novocain was also making it even more difficult to speak. Additionally, I had no idea whether I was chewing on my tongue, though I certainly felt like it.

  “Are you and Margie close?”

  “Not very, but I like her a lot. She speaks very highly of you.”

  “Oh? Does she talk about her work much?”

  “Sometimes,” I said, feeling that I’d said enough and wanting to divulge no more.

  “Well, hopefully she has only good things to say about this place.”

  Actually, she didn’t. Margie hadn’t said anything directly, but she had hinted to me that something at work was making her unhappy, something related to Dr. Bester. Knowledge of her unhappiness combined with the doctor’s questions was making me uncomfortable. When he suddenly grabbed my arm I jumped in my seat.

  “My, but you’re on pins and needles. You don’t like coming to the dentist much, do you?”

  “Not much, no,” I confessed.

  “I tell you what, I’m going to give you a little something to calm you down before I begin working on you.”

  Good Lord, not another needle, I thought. Sure enough, the next time the dentist turned to face me he had another syringe in his hand, though this one was considerably smaller. Before I could comment he had wiped my arm down with alcohol, poked the needle into my arm, and depressed the plunger.

  “There, that should help,” he said, setting the needle aside.

  And it did. It took only a few moments for me to begin feeling the effects of the drug. And it felt wonderful. It also made the office a little cloudy and brought the ceiling closer to my face.

  “Wow, doc. What was that you just shot me up with?”

  “Just a little Sodium Pentothal to help you relax. How do you feel?”

  “Relaxed,” I admitted.

  Though I could no longer feel much of my face, I was pretty sure that I was smiling. I may very well have been drooling as well, but I didn’t really care. I began slapping the arms of the chair and bouncing while the dentist toyed with his instruments. Then I started to giggle.

  “So, do you think that Margie will be missed if she doesn’t show up at this party?” the dentist asked.

  “What do you mean?” I asked dreamily.

  “Does Margie have any other friends who might wonder where she is?”

  “That’s a funny question,” I giggled.

  “Yes, I suppose it is,” Dr. Bester replied with a chuckle.

  The next time the dentist turned to face me he had a drill in his hand. It may have been my imagination or the effects of the drug, but I could have sworn that I heard the drill’s high-pitched whir as the dentist revved its engine. My foggy mind cleared in an instant. I needed to say something and say it quick.

  “I think Margie is mad at you about something,” I blurted at the dentist.

  Once more the dentist paused to consider my words.

  “Now, that’s a very peculiar thing to say. What makes you say such a thing anyway? Did Margie say something about me? About the two
of us?”

  “Not directly. She just hinted,” I mumbled, looking wide-eyed at the drill.

  “Why would you mention such a thing at a time like this?”

  “No particular reason,” I replied sheepishly, attempting to melt back into the chair away from the drill.

  The dentist considered me a moment longer before shrugging his shoulders and leaning back over me.

  “Okay now, open wide. This won’t hurt a bit. Just a little discomfort.”

  The whirring sound started again, and then changed pitch as the drill came in contact with what remained of my molar. The change in the sound was akin to a similar change produced by pushing a piece of wood into the blade of a table saw. The high-speed whirring was replaced by a grinding, chewing sound. As the dentist drilled deeper I began to smell and taste burning tooth which replaced the medicinal scent of his office. My feet began to wiggle of their own accord while I dug my fingers deeper into the armrests. I wanted to scream but knew that if I did I might shock the dentist into drilling an errant hole in my head.

  To soothe my nerves, I forced myself to ruminate over Margie, treating her disappearance as a detective case. There was something about her not being here today that disturbed me. Now, what could it be? I replayed my trip through the office in my mind. I remembered that I had checked out the Christmas decorations in the receptionist area while noticing that Margie wasn’t at her usual station. Something else that I’d seen in that area was the source of my discomfort, I was sure. Then it struck me in a flash. Margie’s coat and scarf were hanging on the coatrack in the corner. I’d seen her wearing the same outerwear a dozen times this season. Now why would she leave the office without taking her coat and scarf with her?

  I was totally immersed in my thoughts, happily ignoring the activity of the dentist within my mouth. But then I jumped when he touched a nerve with the tip of his drill. The dentist pulled back and straightened up.

  “Are you alright?” he asked.

  “Not really!” I mumbled.

  My tongue naturally made its way to my molar to examine the damage. I couldn’t feel much but could still tell that most of my molar was now gone, a result of the dentist’s efforts to turn the tooth into a post to hold a crown.

  “Why don’t we take a few moments to rest before I start again?” the doctor suggested, rinsing my mouth with a water nozzle before retrieving the vacuum hose from my mouth.

  “Okay,” I eagerly relented.

  “So, tell me what Margie has been saying to you,” he prodded.

  Wow, now Dr. Bester was the one obsessing on Margie, I thought.

  “It wasn’t so much anything she said,” I tried to explain. “It’s more a sense I got.”

  “You got a sense that she was upset?”

  “Yes.”

  “About work?”

  “Yes.”

  “And about me specifically?”

  “Possibly.”

  “You get a lot of these senses, do you?”

  “I guess so.”

  “And based on these senses you feel the need to pry into Margie and my life?”

  I was struck dumb by the sudden accusation.

  “Ah yes, I’ve heard about you. You’re the famous amateur detective. You must get odd feelings about everyone that you meet.”

  “Not necessarily,” I replied defensively. “It depends on if they’re acting oddly.”

  “But you find it odd that Margie decided to take a day off work?”

  “I find it odd that she didn’t call in.”

  “And now you’re obsessed.”

  “I’m concerned about my friend.”

  “And what about me? Am I acting oddly?”

  “You are now,” I admitted.

  “Come now. To hear you talk, everyone you meet must be a closet murderer,” the dentist teased as he toyed with his tools.

  “Honestly, to hear you talk you must have Margie’s dead body hidden in your office closet,” I countered with little thought.

  I was shocked by my own words. The dentist flinched, almost knocking over his tool tray. His face snapped back in my direction. Our eyes met. His were wide open in dismay. Mine were equally wide open but from budding fear. This time it seemed that I had touched a nerve with my flippant statement.

  “What an awful thing to say,” he announced, quickly looking away.

  Remembering the shock in his eyes, I still felt bad for what I had said. I’m normally not that rude, so I could only assume that it was the drugs that had been talking. But at the same time that I bemoaned my words, I had an uneasy feeling inside. A bright red warning light was flashing inside my mind.

  “I’m sorry, I don’t know why I said such a thing,” I apologized.

  He didn’t immediately turn back to face me. When he did, the shock was gone from his eyes and I even thought that I sensed a smile beneath his mask and in his voice.

  “That’s alright. It was probably just the drugs speaking.”

  “That must have been it.”

  I caught his eyes darting across the room. I followed his gaze and saw the closet door standing shut. And wouldn’t you know it, as we were both gazing at the door a loud clunking sound came from within as if something had fallen off a shelf. Our eyes snapped back to each other and locked.

  “What was that?” I asked.

  “Nothing, I’m sure,” the dentist assured me.

  “Is there something in the closet, Dr. Bester?”

  “Nothing you need concern yourself over. Now calm down, you’re letting your imagination get the better of you.”

  He was probably right, I told myself as I settled down deeper into the chair.

  The dentist rose to walk across his office. I could hear him as he rummaged in a drawer in the far corner of the room. When he returned, he was holding something I couldn’t see in his hands. He remained standing, looking down at me as he addressed me.

  “Now, Ms. Boston, the next part of the procedure is very delicate. To aid me in my work I’m going to have to make sure that you don’t move.”

  “I won’t,” I lied.

  “But I need to make sure. This may seem a bit odd, but I have these restraints which I’m going to use to bind you to the chair.”

  “Restraints?”

  My mind was still a bit cloudy and preoccupied but the mention of restraints struck me as very odd.

  “Yes. They’ll only be temporary and I’ll remove them when the procedure is over.”

  I felt the doctor grab my nearest wrist and heard a distinctive sound as the restraint was ratcheted closed on my wrist before being attached to the chair. The dentist then leaned across my reclined body to secure my other wrist. Had I really heard a ratcheting sound? My mind sent off alarms which were confirmed when I finally managed to look down and see that the restraint he had chosen to use on my right wrist was none other than a pair of handcuffs. When I felt the second set of cuffs close around my other wrist I reacted instinctively and with great vigor.

  With my upper body effectively pinned between the doctor’s chest and the chair, I exercised my limited freedom of action to pull my legs up into a deep crunch. I was hoping that such a movement would knock Dr. Bester’s body off of mine but ended up accomplishing a great deal more through the powerful action. Flying up to my chest and lifting my ass and lower back from the chair, my right knee made contact with the doctor’s chin so fiercely that his head spun around nearly backward on his shoulders. The contact was accompanied by a satisfying thud and groan from the doctor. He went down like a sack of potatoes, first falling into my lap and from there sliding to the floor. Cindy, my aerobics instructor, would have been proud.

  When the action was over, I came to the stunning realization that I had just coldcocked my dentist. I still had a strong suspicion that something odd was going on. Now I realized that I’d better be right or I was in for a night in the slammer for assault and battery. Surely handcuffing me to the dentist’s chair had to be a sign of foul play. It wa
s time to prove my case.

  I rose to a sitting position and almost fell off the chair I was so dizzy. The room continued to spin as I tried to steady myself. Eventually things settled down and I was able to consider standing. Unfortunately, I wouldn’t be going far since I was still handcuffed to the arm of the chair. I looked down to see that the chair was mounted firmly to the floor and realized that I wouldn’t be dragging the thing anywhere. Across the room my purse was resting on the counter with my cellphone in it. There was no way that I could reach it.

  Looking around the room, I saw that the closet door was within reach if I used my foot to turn the handle. I recognized that there may not be a dead body inside the closet but hoped that there may be a weapon that I could use to defend myself should the doctor wake up or something that would help me to unlock the cuffs. Rising carefully to my feet, I decided to give the closet a try. Holding onto the arm of the chair with my handcuffed hand for balance, I stretched my leg out until the ball of my foot rested on the levered handle of the door. I then depressed the lever and the door popped open … and the dead body of Margie Livingston slumped out of the closet onto the floor of the office.

  Sometimes I hate always being right when it comes to these murder cases.

  Looking beyond the body, I saw nothing in the closet that would be of any assistance to me in my current predicament. Now that I was standing, I was able to examine the instruments the dentist had arrayed on the nearby tray. I picked up one of the metal dental picks and began working on the lock of the handcuff holding me to the arm of the chair. After several minutes spend digging away at the lock I came to the conclusion that I would be unable to free myself using this makeshift lockpick. Next I spotted the drill sitting in its holder.

  After some research and experimentation, I found that the drill was operated using a foot pedal located below the dental chair. The drill screamed as I pressed its tip to the metal of the cuff. I tried the best I could to keep the drill away from my skin but had to stop when the metal of the cuff began to heat up and burn me. The drill made a piercing screaming sound that set my nerves on edge. It was undoubtedly the screaming of the drill that prevented me from noticing as the doctor woke and began to rise from the floor. This was too bad because I almost had the cuff off when he struck.