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“I was born in the thriving metropolis of Oshkosh, Wisconsin,” writes Mabel Maney. “‘I’ll never forget that night,’” she recalls her mother telling her. “‘We had that big lightning storm that knocked out all of Oshkosh and most of nearby Menasha. I always thought Mabel had something to do with it,’” Mabel’s mother chuckled.
After her parents were lost at sea, Mabel took up residence with her Great Aunts Maude and Mavis Maney, who had as young women earned their living as bareback riders in a traveling circus before settling in the farm town of Appleton to write their memoirs, Circus Queens.
Mabel’s life was idyllic until the arrest and conviction of Great Aunt Maude for the murder of her late husband, whose body surfaced from under Maude’s wisteria bush during the summer of the Great Wisconsin Rains.
Mabel spent the next three years dividing her time between Appleton and the State Penitentiary for Women in LaFayette, After her Great Aunt Maude’s release, the trio moved to Bear Lake, where Mabel attended Catholic Girls School, graduating with highest honors in Conversational Skills and Table Manners.
Mabel Maney’s installation art and hand-made books, self-published under the World O’Girls Books imprint, have earned her fellowships from the San Francisco Foundation and San Francisco State University, where she received her MFA in 1991. Her art has been exhibited in numerous galleries throughout the United States. Artspace wrote of the hand-made World O’Girls edition of this book: “In Maney’s refigured narrative, The Case of the Not-So-Nice Nurse, gay heroine Cherry Ames moves unhampered through a world populated by lesbian nuns and adventuresses, even engaging in a one-nighter with Nancy Drew. Entertainment aside, by appropriating and redefining the sexual orientation and cultural limits placed upon her fictional female characters, Maney provides a powerful reminder of the exclusionary nature of the ruling (in this case, straight) culture, with its power to define specific roles and acts as ‘natural’ while denying or marginalizing others.”
A Nancy Clue Mystery
The Case of the Not-So-Nice Nurse
Mabel Maney
www.spice-books.co.uk
MILLS & BOON
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For Tom Metz, the real Cherry Aimless.
Thanks to Gigi Hanna for the title.
Introduction
I WAS BORN IN APPLETON, WISCONSIN, a small town famous for being the birthplace of Harry Houdini, and as producers of high quality cheese. Escape and cheese: two things, I believe, that made this series work. When The Case of The Not-So-Nice Nurse came out, in 1993, a friend said: “Mabel, at your sanity hearing, this book will be used against you.” I agree, and, if the letters I get are any indication, so do my readers.
Appleton is a scenic spot an hour from Oshkosh, where they make fine overalls. The town has a river running through it, with the Appleton elite—cheese factory owners, Cadillac dealers, and the like—on one side, and the descendants of German and Irish immigrants on the other. I was born downwind of a cottage cheese factory, to a salesman and a housewife. I believe the story of my birth, which includes a thunderstorm, a ruined cocktail dress, and a cheese log, was a portent of things to come.
One night, my mother, a slip of a lass (like many women of her time, she believed coffee and cigarettes the fundamental building blocks of nutrition, with an occasional crumb cake thrown in for variety) ventured forth into a rainstorm in her best black cocktail dress, suede pumps, and high school graduation pearls, for a night on the town. After one dance at Appleton’s finest supper club, she felt a contraction, and raced to the nearest Catholic hospital, spoiling her shoes in a puddle. When she informed the Obstetrics Ward head nun that she was having a baby, she was told to go home, put on a few pounds, and come back in six months. Her fear of nuns greater than her fear of giving birth on cold linoleum, she withdrew to the waiting room, to take a load off and have a cigarette. In the middle of a Redbook quiz, The New Boxy Suits, Are They For You?, her water broke, and the dress, an organza A-line with a black sequined net overskirt, copied by her seamstress mother from a Doris Day film, the movie star my mother most resembled, was ruined. My grandmother rushed to the hospital with a silky hostess pajama set, and a cheese log, which the nuns greatly enjoyed.
It was not my mother’s first clothing catastrophe, nor would it be her last. In 1968, an incident with an ironing board scarred her, and soon her fear of ironing and ironing-related appliances began to take an ugly turn. One hundred percent cotton clothing was banished from the house. The kitchen curtains disappeared, followed by the fringed fingertip towels in the guest bath. We felt powerless, as, at this particular time, the American Mental Society had not yet recognized cottonophobia as a treatable disorder. Luckily, the 1970s were right around the corner, and with it, polyester acceptance unheralded in American history, proving, once again, that my mother was ahead of her time, fashion-wise.
Next came a period in my life best left unexamined. All I can say is that it involved reform school, and more polyester clothing. While I was “away, studying in Europe” my Uncle Wesley, who raised Dachshunds, all named Fritzi, was involved in an accident far more serious than my mother’s run-in with the ironing board. My Uncle Wesley had married Aunt Alice because she was a woman who knew her way around a kitchen, pie being her specialty. In the 1960s, my Aunt Alice won the Wisconsin State Fair Bake-Off five years in a row, until an interloper, whose name I’ve since forgotten, snatched away the crown with a prune Brown Betty. My mother had never approved of Alice, who went everywhere in curlers, even to the tavern, and whose undergarments lacked adequate support. One day, Wesley announced that he was leaving, and that he was sick of pie. Alice accidentally shot him, and, after a stay in the same Catholic hospital where my mother mussed her dress, he went home, quietly, with a new appreciation for Alice’s cooking, and minus a limb.
At this point you may be asking yourself, if indeed you are still reading, what does her wholesome Midwestern upbringing have to do with the ruination of a beloved childhood heroine? The answer involves a fire, ruined clothing, and another story about my mother.
In 1991, I decided to reread the Cherry Ames series I so enjoyed as a girl. Beginning with Cherry Ames, Dude Ranch Nurse, I worked my way through the series, a few weeks later, sadly, coming to the last page of Cherry Ames, Boarding School Nurse. For those who haven’t picked up the originals, I recommend doing so. They are a homoerotic, fetishistic cheese fest, escapism of the purest form. Who wouldn’t want to live in an all-girl dorm, giggle late into the night, and wear a starched uniform and jaunty cap? Finally, a girlfriend my mother would approve of!
I wondered what life would be like with Cherry. The uniform fixation I could work with, and her experience with medication would come in handy, but her slavish devotion to righting wrongs, at the expense of her own health (See Cherry Ames, Cruise Ship Nurse) worried me. Could we find a 12-step program that would help her actualize her potential, yet still allow her to iron my sheets? For so many reasons, too embarrassing to list here, that relationship could never work out. I was on the verge of abandoning Cherry, too heartsick to pick up, say, Cherry Ames, Country Doctor Nurse, and read of her adventures with attractive, uniformed women, when my mother suffered yet another tragic mishap, one that gave birth, in a roundabout way, to this series. A fire broke out in the garage of her ranch-style house, and the flames snaking up the side, completely consuming a closet filled with cruise wear, one hundred percent synthetic clothing covered with sparkles and sequins. Her collection, which included tops and bottoms, swimsuits and beach robes, melted into one big toxic blob. Four firefighters carried it from the house, set it on the front lawn, and hosed it down. The house was saved, but the contents had been destroyed by smoke and water. Nothing of our past remained, except for a little wooden bookshelf, tucked in the corner of the basement, containing my complete set of Nancy Drews, which my mother promptly shipped to me. When they arrived, a little smoky, I began reading. I knew I had the Cherry puzzle solved. She would date Nancy, tormenting her with her goodness, medical advice, and cheese puff recipes. And I would get to watch the whole thing.
Mabel Maney
San Francisco
July 2002
Contents
Cover
About the Author
Title Page
Dedication
Acknowledgements
Introduction
1 A Tragic Blunder
2 An Important Assignment
3 The Journey Begins
4 What a Conundrum
5 An Odd Occurrence
6 A Quick Escape
7 An Amazing Coincidence
8 Kidnapped!
9 An Important Clue
10 San Francisco Bound
11 Follow That Car!
12 A New Identity
13 Startling News
14 Missing!
15 A Special Kiss
16 An Unexpected Awakening
17 Held Captive
18 A Confession
19 An Unfortunate Slip
20 The Countdown Begins
21 Just in Time!
22 A Sumptuous Banquet
23 A Shocking Revelation
24 Cornered
25 A Strange Dream?
26 “Cherry, Come Quick!”
27 The Call to Duty
28 A Gay Day
29 Oh, Nancy
Endpages
Copyright
CHAPTER 1
A Tragic Blunder
Cherry Aimless cut an attractive figure as she dashed through the crowded lobby of Seattle General Hospital, her striking royal blue nurse’s cape sailing behind her and her crisp white cap perched precariously on rumpled curls. Her rosy cheeks were even more flushed than usual, for she had run the entire ten blocks from the children’s free clinic so as not to be late for the night shift on the Women’s Psychiatric Ward. On clinic days the head nurse usually forgave a late entrance, but there would be no forgiving smile awaiting her now, for Head Nurse Margaret Marstad, the strictest nurse in the hospital, would be Cherry’s boss tonight.
Cherry was in a cheery mood, for tomorrow morning she would begin a well-deserved vacation. “In just a few days I’ll be in sunny San Francisco!” she murmured happily. While she was certainly looking forward to visiting her family in Pleasantville, Idaho, for a few days first, she had to admit she was more excited about going to San Francisco to see her beloved Aunt Gertrude. Although they had kept up a regular correspondence for the past five years, the two hadn’t seen each other since Cherry was a child. “And I haven’t had a chance to thank her properly for this nifty graduation present,” Cherry thought, looking fondly at the sturdy nurse’s watch Aunt Gert had sent her when she graduated from Stencer Nursing School, class of 1957.
“Jeepers!” she cried, realizing the time. “In another minute, I’ll be late!” Cherry took a shortcut through the hospital newsstand, and in her haste caught the toe of her freshly-polished white nurse’s shoe on a crack in the linoleum floor. She landed face first on a bundle of newspapers.
ATTORNEY CARSON CLUE MURDERED!
Longtime housekeeper admits dastardly deed!
screamed the headline.
“I’ll take a paper!” she cried, searching in the pocket of her white uniform for a dime.
“I’m sorry miss, I have to count the papers before selling any,” the newsstand operator explained. The frantic look on Cherry’s face convinced him to hurry, and soon she was racing toward the elevator grasping a copy of the Seattle Post. For once Cherry was thankful that the creaky old elevator was its usual slow self, for it gave her a chance to read.
River Depths, Illinois—Well-known attorney Carson Clue was found shot through the heart early today in the kitchen of his exclusive River Depths home. Although he was a successful attorney in his own right, Carson Clue was perhaps best known as the father of girl detective Nancy Clue, whose exploits are familiar to newspaper readers everywhere.
In a dramatic call to police, long-time housekeeper Hannah Gruel confessed that she had murdered the popular attorney during a domestic quarrel.
“I told that man time and time again to keep out of my kitchen while I was baking!” Miss Gruel declared as she was led away in handcuffs to the Illinois State Prison for Women.
According to Miss Gruel, at the time of the shooting, Nancy Clue was camping with her closest chums Bess Marvel and George Fey at nearby Lake Merrimen. After making a short statement to the police, the young detective headed west to stay with relatives.
Cherry read the story over and over as the elevator crept to the sixth floor. She could scarcely believe it—Nancy Clue’s father dead at the hands of kindly housekeeper Hannah Gruel! It just couldn’t be!
Why, just last night, while relaxing in the probation nurses’ lounge, Cherry had read an article about the Clues and their beloved housekeeper Hannah. The latest issue of Girls’ Life magazine had arrived that day in a care package from her mother, along with dusting powder, cologne and iced raisin cookies. Her roommate, Nurse Cassie Case, a perky brunette with a winning smile, stopped by the lounge to sample one of Mrs. Aimless’s prize-winning cookies. She kidded Cherry when she caught her carefully tearing a photo of Nancy from the magazine. “Is that for your shrine?” she joked.
Cherry had blushed. It was no secret that she practically worshipped Nancy Clue. More than anything, Cherry wanted to be courageous and forthright, like Nancy. Although they were as different as two girls could be, Nancy with her immaculately groomed titian hair, charm school education and fearless nose for danger, and Cherry, a small-town girl with a hopeless mop of unruly curls and a shy manner, she nonetheless felt that, given the right opportunity, they could become fast friends.
“Nancy’s done so much good for so many; if only there was something I could do to help her!” she cried aloud, forgetting for a moment that she was in a crowded elevator. She clapped a hand over her mouth and blushed a deep crimson. Thankfully, the elevator had arrived at her floor. She tucked the newspaper under her arm and rushed from the crowded elevator—and smack into Head Nurse Margaret Marstad!
“Oh, I’m so sorry!” Cherry cried, reaching out a hand to help the handsome head nurse regain her balance. Nurse Marstad haughtily straightened her cap and got a grip on her armload of medical charts.
“Nurse Aimless, you’re late,” she said curtly as she stepped into the vacancy Cherry had left in the elevator. “And fix your cap; it’s all askew,” she added, as the doors closed in front of her frowning face. Cherry brushed aside hot tears and raced past the main nurse’s station and down the long, brightly-lit corridor that led to the Women’s Psychiatric Ward. She straightened her cap and raced through the oak double-doors opening onto the ward.
Nurse Penny Perkins was waiting for Cherry at the far end of the open thirty-bed ward. She smiled when she saw her frazzled friend.
“Am I ever glad to see you,” said Penny. “I told Marstad that the clinic called and said there was an emergency and you would be late, but you know how strict she is. Why, the way she acts, we might as well be in the army!”
Cherry nodded. It was no secret that Nurse Marstad was a tough taskmaster. She was just about to tell Nurse Perkins about her run-in with Nurse Marstad, but her co-worker wasn’t finished yet.
“It’s been so quiet all day Marstad asked me to go help out in Emergency. Call her at her office if you need help,” she added as she threw a regulation nurse’s sweater over her strong shoulders and began gathering up her things.
Cherry shuddered at the thought of admitting to Nurse Marstad that she needed help. When Cherry had met the capable yet stern head nurse a year ago at her interview for the coveted job of General Hospital nurse, she had resolved to be the best probation nurse ever. More than anything, she wanted Nurse Marstad to like her!
“Now I’m in trouble because I stopped to get the evening paper,” she thought, unfolding the newspaper she had tucked under her arm, intending to show the headline to Nurse Perkins. “Guess what happened!” she cried. But before she could continue, the emergency light flashed twice.
“That’s my call,” Nurse Perkins said gaily, sweeping past Cherry and heading toward the elevator. She waved back at Cherry. “I should be back in a couple of hours. Tell me then.”
While Cherry was most anxious to discuss the murder of Carson Clue, she realized she had a job to do, and got on with the business of nursing. It was almost time for evening medications, and Cherry busied herself preparing the pills and injections that would help her patients get a good night’s sleep. A half hour later her task was completed, and she found her attention wandering back to the newspaper story. Try as she might, she just couldn’t stop thinking about the murder. Something just didn’t seem right.
“Hannah’s been like a mother to me,” Nancy had been quoted in the Girls’ Life article. “How strange,” Cherry mused, “that helpful Hannah, who had given a lifetime of care to Mr. Clue and his motherless daughter, should turn out to be a murderess.” She wished she had time to examine the newspaper article. Perhaps there was something she had missed, something that would explain the odd turn of events.
Like her heroine, Cherry had earned a reputation as a detective. In her first month at General Hospital she had solved the mystery of the vanishing valium. Using cool logic and keen sleuthing, she was able to follow a trail to Dr. Kildare and expose him as a thief who supported a lavish lifestyle by selling dangerous drugs pilfered from the hospital. Now her detective skills were being put to good use on the psychiatric ward, where hospital authorities had twice called upon her to help identify amnesia victims.
The drama of hospital life suited Cherry, who was happiest when she was helping others. The recent nursing school graduate found her work at the big city hospital exciting after a lifetime in the sleepy farm town of Pleasantville, Idaho. And she especially loved a good mystery! She had already helped to identify one amnesia victim, now home and safe with her family. But try as she might, she wasn’t getting any closer to identifying the other amnesiac, tagged Jane Doe #313 by hospital authorities, but nicknamed Lana by the nurses because of her striking resemblance to the beautiful blond movie star Lana Turner.
There certainly weren’t many clues to go on, Cherry thought as she reviewed the case. Lana had appeared at the hospital two days before, carrying a paper sack containing a small black plastic comb, a brand-new tube of red lipstick, and a hardcover book to which she seemed unnaturally attached. No identification papers were found, and her simple, well-made clothes had no labels.
Lovely Lana quickly became the newest attraction on the ward, charming everyone with her delightful manners and sweet disposition. Even gruff Head Nurse Marstad had succumbed to her charms and had been seen at Lana’s bedside with a box of chocolates in her hand.
So far, Cherry had been frustrated in her attempts to draw anything personal out of Lana, who had remained vague during their two late-night conversations. Cherry sighed. Despite all her efforts, she had been unable to find even one piece of the puzzle.
“Tonight I’ll try extra hard to dig up a clue,” she vowed, as she carried the tray of medication through the ward. She smiled as she surveyed the attractive room, painted a cheery salmon and filled with flowers. Many nurses disliked the night shift, and would have let the long hours dampen their spirits, but not Cherry. She loved nursing under any conditions, and she especially liked working at the overcrowded old city hospital, where the patients really seemed to need her.
As a young girl she had often dreamt of a night just like tonight; dreamt of being in charge of a ward of patients, ready to soothe their pain using her gentle bedside manner in combination with the most up-to-date medical equipment available. Cherry patted her little cap and smoothed her hair into place. What a picture she made with her starched white uniform ironed just so and her crisp white cap pinned at a jaunty angle atop shiny black curls.
Suddenly the squeak of rubber-soled nurse’s shoes on shiny linoleum woke Cherry from her daydream.
“Sleeping on the job, Nurse Aimless?” Nurse Marstad asked, her arched eyebrows framing steely gray eyes. Cherry was too afraid to answer. She shook so hard the pills on her tray rattled.
“Well, Nurse?” Nurse Marstad asked, tapping her pencil against the little black book she held in her hand. Everyone knew Nurse Marstad kept a record of every infraction and referred to the book when deciding upon promotions and salary increases. Cherry had worked and prayed all year for a promotion from probation nurse to permanent staff, and so far her record was spotless. But today she had been caught off her guard twice. Surely Nurse Marstad wouldn’t be so cruel as to blemish her record over these slight transgressions? Or would she?
Cherry looked at the stern nurse through teary eyes. Nurse Marstad was scribbling furiously in her book. Hadn’t her mother warned her to get her head out of the clouds before something terrible happened? “Oh, why didn’t I listen to mother?” Cherry groaned to herself. “And on the eve of my big vacation!”
Cherry took a few deep calming breaths and got down to the business of nursing, under the austere gaze of Nurse Marstad. She was relieved to see that her first patient was Miss Lillian Bee, a quiet elderly woman suffering from a strange sleeping sickness. Cherry took a deep breath and began preparing Miss Bee’s injection. She blushed as she readied the syringe. Nurse Marstad’s attention made her nervous, and she clumsily dropped the needle. She hastily prepared a fresh injection, hoping the head nurse hadn’t noticed.