Read One Dead Under the Cuckoo's Nest for Free Online Page B

family.
    â€œTuesday, child.” With that she opened the door and ushered me in.
    I let out a sigh. As long as it was the Tuesday that followed the Monday I’d gotten my new assignment, I had only been gone overnight.
    The stark room held a mint green examining table in the middle, with glass-front cabinets—all locked, I was certain—along the walls. A doctor in a white coat sat with his back to us, reading a chart. My chart, I guessed.
    Oh, God. I had a chart in a mental institution.
    Sister pulled the roll of paper on the table so I’d have a new sheet to sit on. She patted the table. I sat.
    â€œOur regular doctor, Dr. Pinkerton, is out for a few days. We have another doctor who will cover for Dr. Pinkerton. He’ll start with your intake exam. Dr. Richard Plummer.” She looked at the man reading the chart. “Doctor?”
    He swung around on his chair. “Sister, I seem to have left my stethoscope at the nurses’ station. Would you be a doll and get it for me?”
    Her cheeks turned redder than this “visiting doctor’s” hair. But as a redhead, he wasn’t bad-looking. His mustache was a much deeper, more auburn shade. Damn. I had no business ogling the guy who got me in here. I had to smile at the nun’s reaction to being called a doll.
    The nun hesitated. “I’d be glad to, sir. Shall I send in another chaperone until I come back?”
    â€œJust leave the door open.”
    Great. Privacy is what we needed.
    The sister walked out.
    The hum of the ward filled the air.
    The new doctor leaned forward.
    And I fell off the examining table as I reached out . . . to strangle him—D E A D.

Four
    I grabbed the “doctor” by his lab coat’s lapels and tugged. “What the hell! What on earth! What were you thinking? Why’d you do that to me, Jagger?” Okay, admittedly I did more than “tug.”
    He, in return, kicked the door shut with his foot and yanked at my hands until my grip was broken. “Calm down before they really lock you up!”
    My eyes grew large. “Lock me up? Really lock me up as opposed to . . . what? . . . the fake shackles I’ve had on my . . . Let me go. I won’t touch you.”
    For a second he paused, then released. “Are you all right, Sherlock?”
    I slammed my fist into his chest. Ouch! Damn, the guy was solid as a stinking rock. Then I kept swinging like some pint-size boxer—careful not to touch his face. Only thing was, he again grabbed my arms and this time held on.
    â€œI thought I could trust you, Sherlock.”
    His voice came out in a sexy tone. Shit. I had to mentally order my hormones to cease and desist before my mind lost all control. Why’d he have to call me Sherlock? Damnit all. Damn him. That could be my undoing. “Let me go.”
    â€œNot a chance.”
    â€œWhat are you going to do with me? Keepme hostage here until . . . until what? What the hell am I doing here?” Those last few words came out a lot louder than I’d intended.
    The door swung open.
    In rushed Sister Wacky, who was looking pretty good to me right then. I really wanted to hug her. I knew I could trust a nun. Behind her came running a million-pound fullback. He grabbed me so fast, my hands slid from Jagger’s before he could even let go. Damn the king of disguise.
    â€œOuch!” I shouted.
    Jagger yelled, “Stop that! Let her go.” He looked from the fullback to me. “She’ll behave. Won’t you?”
    I bit my lip. Literally. Ouch again.
    â€œYes. Let me go, and I’ll be fine. I’ll be a good girl.”
    The orderly looked from Jagger to Sister Wacky, who nodded. With a thump , I landed on my feet like a cat from a ten-foot-high tree. I looked Jagger in the eyes. “Thanks. For nothing.”
    Sister Wacky came closer. “My child, Mary Louise. If you cooperate, things will go much easier