Aphrodisiac (22 page)

Benita went upstairs to dress and to set up the tape recorder in her Louis Vuitton bag. I borrowed a garden trowel from Lana and told her about my plans for tonight. When I got to our bedroom I saw Benita standing in front of the mirror in a pencil skirt, pink fifties-style eyeglasses and a wig with straight blond hair that fell to her shoulders.

She saw my stunned expression and turned to me. “I’m going in under an assumed name. Incognito.”

Terrific. I live with Inspector Clouseau. “Binnie, I’m the one with a picture on my website. I doubt Lady Viv would recognize you.”

“Curtis told you he knew who I was.”

“Because Curtis and his boys are the ones watching us. I assume that’s part of what they’re paid to do. Lady Viv—if she’s the one—might know your name, but I doubt she’s ever seen you.”

“You can’t be certain of that.”

“No. But I
am
certain the women at the retreat will think you’re a puta.”

She gave me a p.o.’d look and pulled off the wig.

I needed to blend into the darkness, so I donned black capris, a charcoal and gray print halter top and my black high-heeled espadrilles.

“Okay,” Benita said, now wearing a chartreuse capped-sleeve jersey dress. “We’ll have to set a time at X hour when we return to the Camry again and drive off. How long do you need in the garden?”

“Better question is—how do I recognize the tablet when I find it?”

“Come on, Saylor. It doesn’t take an archaeologist to see the difference between a clay shard covered in cuneiforms and an ordinary rock. It’s not something you generally find in most gardens.”

“Wait a sec.” I rifled through my canvas carry bag that sat on the bed and pulled out the poem. “There’s a line here in the poem that sounds like a possible clue from Gwen for identifying the tablet. ‘Over her words, a crescent moon of lapis blue set upon the heart.’ I’ll bet ‘her words’ are the prayer to Inanna that Tim said was on the tablet. What do you think?”

“Sounds plausible. And maybe a lapis lazuli stone is embedded into the clay.”

At eight thirty p.m. it was all systems go. We drove into the Northwest Woods toward the Circle of the Sacred Yoni retreat house. About a block from the retreat’s gate Benita stopped the car and said, “Okay. Time for you to get inside the trunk.”

“What? You know I’m claustrophobic, Binnie. Why don’t I curl up on the floor in the back beneath a blanket?”

“Because, A: We don’t
have
a blanket. And B: Even if we did, all we need is for one of those Yoni sisters to glance down at the backseat and notice something covered on the floor that is mysteriously in the shape of a body.” She got out of the car and opened the trunk. “Get in.”

“You can’t make me.”

“I’m wearing the Sacred Yoni bracelet, you’re the one playing Ninja.”

Using my penlight flashlight so I wouldn’t have a coffin attack, I climbed into the trunk and watched in horror as Benita slammed it shut. I heard the engine turn over, and we were moving.

What if we had an accident? What if Benita fell unconscious and was taken to a hospital? Who would know I was locked inside? Would anyone hear me if I yelled? And what if I’d passed out? There wasn’t a lot of air in here. The ambulance workers probably wouldn’t bother checking in the trunk. The car would be towed to some lot and left there. For days. Or, worse yet, put into one of those metal compacters and compressed into a cube.

Oh no. I was hyperventilating. Good thing I’d taken that course in treating panic attacks. Let’s see, count backwards, think good thoughts. Screw it. I started screaming, kicking and pounding on the trunk’s hood. “Hellllp! Get me out of here!”

The car stopped. The trunk flew open. “What is your problem?”

“Are we there yet?”

“Twenty feet to go. Now lay there and shut up.” My merciless roommate closed the lid.

About thirty seconds later, the car stopped. Soon I heard women talking to Benita and the car began to roll. That had to mean we were inside the retreat.

When the car stopped, Benita opened the trunk a crack and tossed in my canvas carry bag, leaving the lid slightly ajar. I heard her feet crunching on the gravel of the parking lot. She’d be pretending to be a member of the Circle who was on vacation in the Hamptons. Let’s hope she’d get a chance to talk with Lady Vivian.

I remained curled up in the dark, afraid to turn on my penlight until I knew if anyone was outside the car. When it seemed okay, I felt through the items in my canvas bag and pulled out the garden trowel I’d borrowed from my aunt. Leaving the bag in the corner of the trunk, I took my little shovel and penlight in hand and quietly slipped out.

I stepped onto the pebbled parking area, which had maybe eight or nine cars. For obvious reasons, my eyes had already adjusted to the blackness of the rural night. A massive old farmhouse with all its windows aglow stood a few hundred feet to my left. To my right was the street.

Out here in the woodsy far corners, passing cars thinned down to practically nothing at this hour. Though July was peak vacation season, things couldn’t get much quieter. I listened to the usual hum of crickets and cicadas, interrupted every so often by a strange shrill whistling. An owl, I guess. Forest preserves bordered the nine-acre retreat. I looked around. Nobody else nearby. I did hear the squeaky, repetitive sound of a swing and faint voices coming from the back yard in the distance.

Raffy had told me that Gwen’s garden was to the right side of the house facing the highway. I tiptoed my way across the front yard with no major mishaps—except for tripping over some football-sized rocks. When my hands hit the ground, I felt petals and earth instead of grass. I was in a garden, but which one? While searching the ground for the trowel and penlight I’d dropped, I sniffed deeply, trying to identify what was planted here.

It brought back memories of Gwen and the gardens she used to plant each year in her family’s yard. Portrait of a young archaeobotanist. She taught me to appreciate flora. Even at sixteen she used to say fragrance was all about danger and sex.

If a plant wasn’t busy trying to repel a leaf-eating insect, it was seducing a pollinator. And, like women, plants didn’t bother putting out too much if the pickings were poor. Which was why I could barely smell the snapdragons that got crushed under my knees when I fell. No lovers around for them at this hour. So I’d have to depend on my tiny flashlight and the strong sweet scents of moth-loving night bloomers like jasmine and the evening primrose that I knew Gwen had included in her flower patch.

I picked up the trowel and got to my feet. My espadrilles didn’t take to the uneven ground, but somehow the idea of bare feet and all the squooshy bugs wandering about kept me in my sandals. The dark forms of a willow tree with a smaller dogwood next to it loomed about ten yards away. Aha. Thank-you, Raffy. She told me to look for a willow, and just beyond that the oak and beech trees that were hopefully the ones Gwen described in her poem.

Inching carefully in that direction, I tried to recall anything Gwen might have said to me when she talked endlessly about this garden. Anything that might tell me where the tablet is. Dear Gwen. How many women do you know who can get that excited over lemon verbena, heliotrope and bearded iris?

When I reached a giant classic oak, I scanned the area with my penlight and saw what looked the coralbells. Aha. This must be the spot.

Without the glare of city lights, the full exhilarating brightness of the moon and stars dominated the sky. There was even a soft breeze. Sigh. What a sensuous night. And I’d be spending it digging up worms in Gwen’s garden in hopes of avenging her death. With no time for waxing romantic, I set right to work.

Squatting on my haunches, I first loosened up the soil below me with my trowel using rapid short stabbing motions. Then I sifted through the dirt, probing for objects with my fingers before digging a little deeper. My game plan was to break things up into four by four squares. Very methodical. I couldn’t help admiring the white blossoms of the moonflowers in front of me and promised myself not to do an Attila The Hun job on the garden.

Time passed. So far I’d uncovered nothing but rocks. Negativity began to seep in. Was this just another fruitless venture? I began to repeat the old line, “Quitting is not an option.” Chop, chop. Sift, sift. Up and down. Side to side. My hands started to move faster and faster. Of course, the fact that I couldn’t leave until Benita came out of the house, plus Curtis’s graphic description of what he’d do to me if I didn’t find the tablet did provide some inspiration.

Not that I intended to give over the tablet to Curtis and Chub Dubs. But what exactly did Gwen want me to do with it?

Chop, chop. Sift, sift. Up and down. Side to side. I was a human tablet-finding machine. Determined to succeed. Nothing could stop me now. In fact the more I kept going, the more empowered I felt. A sense of elatedness passed through me, giving way to an almost ecstatic high. Yes, there truly is something wonderful in working the land.

A bright light swept across my face. “Do you recognize her?” a voice said.

“Nope.”

“Identify yourself.”

I looked up and saw three women. One had a flashlight. They were not smiling.

So much for my Henry David Thoreau moment. “Me? I, ah…I’m planting some night lilies.”

One woman stepped forward. “Show us your Yoni Sisterhood bracelet.”

“Oh, right,” I said. “My bracelet. Well, actually that’s what I was looking for when you came along.”

“I thought you said you were planting night lilies.”

“Exactly. And while I was planting them, I happened to drop my bracelet.”

“What’s your name?”

Oh no. It might get back to Lady Viv if I tell them. I wasn’t what you’d call a member of the club, anyway. “Um, um, ah…”

“I think you better come with us.”

We were headed straight for the parking lot. “Which is your car?” The woman with the flashlight sounded more like a cop. Totally humorless. Guess they didn’t like trespassers.

“This is mine.” I opened the door to the driver’s seat of the Camry, hoping Benita had left the keys.

“Not so fast.” She grabbed my arm. “That car belongs to one of our members.”

I wonder who.

The hand gripping my upper arm did not release. Instead it turned me toward the street entrance, and the three women walked me to the gate.

“Get out and stay out!” They locked the gate behind me.

TWENTY-ONE

The house was a long way from the front gate. I considered yelling for Benita at the top of my lungs, but that was not an ideal move in a covert operation. My watch read nine fifteen. We’d set our time to meet at eleven. That gave me almost two hours to sit here and feed the mosquitoes.

Of course, I’d left my cell phone in my bag, and my bag in the trunk. And the trowel in the garden. At least I still had my pen light so I could see a big two feet in front of me on this ridiculously dark street. Couldn’t they spare a few more streetlights out here? Not to mention sidewalks.

There had be a way to back inside the retreat. I plodded along, checking out the high, wrought iron fence, looking for some point where I could possibly scale it. A swatch of light caught the tree branches above me, followed by an obnoxious fingers-in-the-mouth “hey you” type of whistle.

Two shadowy figures moved toward me. One of them had a flashlight. My turn to get mad. This time they were violating my civil liberties. “Listen,” I yelled. “You don’t own the damn street. So keep your freakin Yoni sisterhood mitts off me.”

They came closer. That’s when I realized they weren’t from the sisterhood. In fact, they weren’t anybody’s sisters. They were men. And judging from the gun the tall rangy long-armed fellow was pointing at me, not very nice men.

The one with the flashlight was a hefty dude with a shaved head. With a sinking feeling, I recognized him as the chauffeur of my Hummer tour. “Let’s have it,” he said, flashing his light in my eyes.

I gave a sort of spastic headshake. “Have what?”

“The tablet.”

So that’s it. They thought I just found the tablet. And now that I supposedly had what they were looking for, they wanted to take it and be done with me. The bastards. Could it be Lady Viv heard about the odd newcomer in the garden? Did she alert her private hit squad to swoop in on me? Curtis wasn’t on board this time. What was this? The East End division? I held my ground. “I don’t hand over anything to you until Saturday. That was the deal.”

“Give it up, bitch. Now!”

The rangy one shoved me down and stood over me with the gun aimed at my face. A cold, ugly realization that I might die right here and now gripped me. But chasing the fear was rage. And my innate hatred for bullies. And the fact that I was damn sick of these dickheads threatening to rip away my life. “You want it? Here. Take it!” I reached my hand toward my hip pocket, but I grabbed a small rock that I felt under my butt and hurled it over his shoulder.

As they went for it, I sprang to my feet and tore ass down the road in a zigzag pattern. Every woman knows running zigzag is the best way to avoid a possible bullet.

From out of nowhere came a screech of tires and bright headlights. A pale-colored SUV roared down the street in my direction. I dove for the side of the road, scraping my shoulder against gravel and getting slimy dead leaf muck in my mouth. Ungraceful, but effective.

I watched the SUV swerve and, instead of coming back toward me, it raced straight for the two men, bouncing Mr. Long-lanky off its fender. It jammed on its breaks, backed up and zeroed in on the hefty guy, who went bolting for the woods across the street. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. The driver was as loony as my pursuers. It was too dim to be sure who was in the car, but the SUV looked an awful lot like the silver Pathfinder belonging to Eldridge Mace.

A crack split the air. Gunfire. It came from my incapacitated assailant who was lying not far from me on the asphalt, moaning in pain. The SUV pulled up next to me on the wrong side of the street. Not that there was any traffic in this spooky place.

“Get in. Fast.” Eldridge looked down at me from the driver’s seat. I was too busy being scared to be surprised.

Rather than risk running around to the passenger side, I jerked open the back door and scrambled in. My knees slammed against the hard surface. The seats were all folded down and the back was filled with ropes and things, probably for his window cleaning business. “Let me guess. Jaleel told you where I was.”

“Never mind. Just keep your head down,” he said, then pulled a squealing U-ee that sent me and the window washing equipment sliding across the back. We sped forward. My jaw dropped when I saw the bullet hole in the rear windshield. Two more shots rang out. I’d once read a statistic about how few bullets actually hit their mark. Oh, please, let’s hear it for statistics. Meanwhile, the fetal position never felt so good.

I lay curled on my side, blinking back tears. Fighting against the image of a hairy, tattooed arm extending toward me and a gun pointed right at my head. Had Gwen felt the same horrible fear the night she wrote the suicide poem? Had they forced her at gunpoint to drink herself into a stupor, before dumping her into the basin? Was that my future?

We rounded corner after corner, heading who knew where. The AC in the car was a break after my itchy, buggy communion with nature in the garden. I studied the Mace-man in the dim light. His strong arms and hands, his firm grip on the steering wheel. I was relieved he couldn’t see how shaken I was, or that my face was covered in slime and panic drool.

Finally Eldridge said, “It’s safe to come out now.”

Was it? I sat up cross-legged and brushed dirt off my pants with trembling hands. “I owe you one, Eldridge.”

“Fun way to get your heart rate up.” He tossed his words over his shoulder into the back seat. His voice sounded calm, almost indifferent. Not a Catastrophizer. But definitely an Excitement Addict. “Hungry? Want to go for a bite?”

Hungry? Hey, if there’s one thing that gets my appetite up it’s being shot at. Was this guy strange or what? “Um…”

“Couldn’t make the drive out here until late this afternoon. I haven’t had dinner yet.”

“You think it’s safe? Maybe they’re following us.”

“Along this dark maze of country roads? Forget it. Not with the lead I got on them. I saw how far away they parked their Jeep. Besides, one’s probably gonna want to go to the ER at Southampton Hospital.”

“How did you find us?”

“That was easy. Once I got to your aunt’s place, I just followed the red Camry.”

“So, I guessed right. Jaleel is your informant.”

He let out a short laugh. “Where do you want to eat?”

I checked my watch. Nine forty. Binnie wouldn’t be looking for me until at least eleven. And knowing there might be people watching for me on both sides of the retreat gate—people who did not have my best interests in mind—trying to get back in there to finish my search would screw up everything. Appetite or no appetite, the idea of being swallowed up in a crowd of people in a public restaurant seemed comforting.

And the idea of spending a little more time with Mace did have a certain appeal. “You pick the place.”

He drove back to East Hampton village and parked in the lot of the Hearth Bar and Grill. I stepped out of the car on shaky legs.

“Don’t worry,” Eldridge said. “You’re with me. Any problems, I’ll take care of it.”

He held open the restaurant door. A hostess greeted us. I was glad when she said we’d have a short wait for a table. It allowed me to make a beeline for the restroom.

Having Eldridge rescue me and see me as a helpless female grated against my feminist pride. I knew how to take care of myself, dammit. I didn’t go for the “Me, Tarzan, you, Jane” crap. However, it wasn’t everyday a woman had a loaded gun pointed in her face. I closed myself in a stall and sat on the throne blubbering out my fear and anger into a wad of cheap toilet tissue. My training in Gestalt Therapy would’ve had me pounding and kicking the walls, but I decided it might interfere with my sex appeal if Eldridge saw them taking me away for sedation.

I stepped out of the booth, washed the dirt off my arms and face, and caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. Boy, did I look like hell. Those lovely post-crying jag eyes. No makeup. And my hair was beyond hope. Oh, well.

Returning to the main room where two large barn ties held up the cathedral ceiling, I spotted Eldridge seated at a back table. A chiaroscuro portrait nestled in shadow and candlelight. Strong Mohawk features, full lips and yes, eyes like diamonds. I’d always liked the cozy feel of the redbrick walls and cedar posts in this restaurant. Perfect for romance. Couldn’t help but wonder how the controlled and mysterious Mr. Mace would react to a dose of Gwen’s perfume.

The small square table had four chairs. I took a seat across from Eldridge.

“Ordered an appetizer,” he said, pouring me a glass of wine from a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon. Guess I looked like I needed it. In fact, I noticed him eyeing me strangely. “Turn your head to the side for a second.”

I gave him my best profile. His hand caressed my hair. Wow. This guy moved in fast. Just as I began to get that tingly sensation, his fingers gently tugged on a few strands.

“Got it.” He held up a dead grasshopper with a triumphant smile.

Eeuw.

I changed the subject. “Poor Binnie. She’s still at the retreat and will freak if she can’t find me. Can I borrow your cell?” He slid it across the white linen tablecloth.

She picked up on the first ring. “
Hola
.”

“It’s me.”

A pause. The sound of walking. She spoke in a hushed voice. “I’m ready to blow this place. Meet me at the car in five minutes.”

“I’m not at the Yoni retreat.”

“What do you mean you’re not at the retreat? Where the hell are you?”

“I’m out having dinner with Eldridge.”

I could almost hear her internal computer short-circuiting. “Run that by me again.”

“They caught me digging. Threw me out. Two guys tried to kill me. Along came Mace. Now we’re at The Hearth.”

“Thank you, Doctor, for the concise synopsis.”

“By the way, no sign of it.”

“I figured.”

“How about you?”

“Viv went back to the city this afternoon. But I did get something real juicy on her. Tell you when you get home.” She cleared her throat. “You
will
be back later tonight, won’t you?”

“After what just happened, I need to chill in a bad way. I estimate six glasses of wine should do it.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“I know.”

Pause. “You aren’t wearing the stuff are you?”

“No, dammit.”

Benita agreed to pick me up if and when I decided to split. Meanwhile, she was heading back to Lana’s.

Our waiter, a tan-faced surfer boy with windblown hair, placed a dish of mussels in garlic sauce on the table. Eldridge ordered grilled salmon with zucchini and fries. He seemed disappointed that I only wanted an arugula salad, but was polite enough not to ask me if I was on a diet.

When the waiter left, I said, “Thanks again for what you just did, Eldridge. But I don’t want you risking your life for me.” Slightly ridiculous to say at this point. The gunshots tonight were way too real. “Don’t tell me you came all the way out here to play bodyguard for me?”

“I’m into winter fishing.”

“Bullshit.”

He leaned in close. “I told you before. You’re cute.”

I wanted to slug him and ram my tongue down his throat at the same time. “Sorry about the bullet hole in your windshield. I’ll cover the damages.” I walked over to the bar where I borrowed a pen to write both my cell and business numbers on a coaster. Clever way to give a guy your digits. Wreck his car and offer to pay for it. I could feel Eldridge watching me as I strolled back and handed it to him.

He stuffed it in his T-shirt pocket. “I knew this would happen if you messed around with bad company. You’re in over your head. You need me.”

Aside from his strong feelings about Gwen and her friendship with his late nephew, I now knew what was perhaps the most powerful reason behind his sudden pro bono protection services. I decided to bring up my conversation with Jaleel. Of course, I’d leave out the part where Sub-Z called Eldridge a Mohawk wild man. “Jaleel told me about the terrible thing that happened to your mother.”

His eyes searched my face. “I have a special loathing for men who abuse women.”

“Want to talk about it?”

“Don’t play therapist with me. I don’t need that.” His controlled voice that was clearly holding back a volcano ready to erupt stopped me in my tracks.

Okay, so it was a bad move. I wasn’t used to a man who didn’t want me to be his nursemaid caretaker. “Understood.”

He softened. His sexy smile returned. “So tell me, got any idea who these guys are?”

Eldridge didn’t know the meaning of the word quit. No wonder he was such a good boxer. I glanced around. We were sitting in a back corner, and the couple at the nearest table was busy cooing and whispering to each other. (Can’t say I wasn’t envious.) There was no point in my holding back on him after what he did tonight. And the truth was, the thought of divulging the story of our nightmare to this strong, intelligent man comforted me.

I took a deep breath. Speaking in a near whisper, I started at the beginning with the ransacking of our apartment, the five men on Plymouth Street, the fanny pack, Detective Roach, Gwen’s poem, the search being made in her empty loft, the thief who influenced our pet mynah, the Hummer, the journal and the fact that Gwen passed the deadly baton on to me. When I described the slit-eyed hulk named Curtis, Eldridge stopped me.

“Bad set of teeth? Space between the front two?”

“That’s right.”

“Number thirteen tattooed on his forearm?”

My eyes widened. “You
know
this man?”

His energy shifted. The playful seductiveness was gone. “Curtis Bardarson,” he said. “Nickname, The Monster. Ex-drug dealer, ex-pimp, leg-breaker for hire. Reputation for being one of the meanest bouncers in Brooklyn. Killed a man once while working the doors.”

“Any convictions?”

“Been up for manslaughter three times. Each time he got off, thanks to some slick lawyers. Don’t ask me who paid their fees.”

“Maybe the same person who hired this ‘monster’ to kill Gwen,” I said. “A person Curtis lovingly refers to as Chub Dubs. That nickname strike any chords?”

Eldridge answered with a definitive no.