Aphrodisiac (8 page)

But what about this tablet of Gwen’s? This recipe? What could possibly make it worth killing for? The answers were no doubt in her final message. If I could just figure it out.

I tidied up my dress and fluffed my hair. Opening my purse, I found a tissue and dabbed the blood off my lip. I took out my Healing Garden Pure Joy spritz and doused myself. With the promise of a hot bath to wash away the Curtis cooties, I got my bearings and walked home.

SEVEN

“That sickass gringo’s gotta die,” Benita said.

I paced the loft with my cell phone pressed to my ear. Two hours after my rendezvous with Don Juan Curtis the battle to control my fear and anger was still in high gear. “Thinking of that bastard hurting Gwen is just plain horrifying.”

“If they’d beaten or raped her the medical examiner would’ve found signs. Not that getting boozed up at gunpoint and dumped off the Beard Street Pier isn’t bad enough. I’m sure that’s what they did. Slick work.”

“We’ve got to find out why. And get proof. And stay alive to do it.” DUMBO’s shadowy landscape seemed more sinister than romantic tonight. I’d pulled down all the blinds and turned on every light in the loft. “Maybe we could go the witness protection route.”

“Forget it. That’s only for big stuff. Like mob hit men who rat on their boss. We don’t rate. Just as well. You want to change your name to Cooper and be forced to go live in the middle of nowhere?”

“And stalker protection won’t help,” I said. “I know from working with battered women that it requires a civil suit that takes forever. This Curtis guy would find out and kill us.”

“Not if we do him first. I want the pleasure of taking him out myself.”

“Stop it, Binnie. Just because some people are sick and demented doesn’t mean we have to act that way.”

“After what he did to you?”

“That’s still no reason to stoop to their level.”

“I’m buying a forty-five semiautomatic.”

“Will you please slow down and weigh the circumstances.”

“You weigh. I’ll slay. Soon as I get back, I’m going for a permit.”

“Listen to me!” I quit my pacing and sat down on the edge of the sofa. “Number one, getting a license for a handgun in New York City can take up to six months. And that killer has given us only one week to come up with Gwen’s tablet. Item number two, don’t think I’m not filled with rage. I’m the one who got the gyno exam in the back of the Hummer. I’m the one who supposedly knows Gwen’s secret. But we’ve got to stay cool and methodical. Item three, I love you for being such a loyal and protective friend. I’m so lucky to have Benita Morales in my life.”

I heard sobs from the other end of the phone. Then silence. Then, sounding fragile and barely audible, she said, “The thought of anyone hurting you…” More sobs.

“Right back at ya, sweetie.”

“I’ll chill. I promise. We’ll stick to game.” Her voice grew stronger. “But I’m also freaked about your laptop they ripped off from our old apartment. All they needed was to figure out that goofy password of yours, and bang, there it is. The names and addresses of our families and everyone we know.”

“You’re telling me? I called my mom and my brother to be sure they were okay as soon as I could get my head straight.” Steven and his boyfriend Marc were in Provincetown doing theater work, and my mother was in a Florida senior community with security guards, but Curtis made it sound as if distance were no obstacle. Both were fine. Still, I wondered…“What about your uncle’s house in Puerto Rico? Maybe you could go there with both our families and lay low until this is over.”

“No way. I’m in this with you, Saylor. And if we tried rounding up everybody and shipping them off on a surprise sojourn, we’d have to tell them why. Can you imagine my
papi’s
reaction? Not to mention my brothers or Uncle Ramon. Talk about protective. They’d be out for blood. I don’t want to start a war.”

“Cancel that plan.” I stepped into the living room for a quick look at Uncle Pete, who was sitting quietly in his cage, cleaning his feathers. “I did memorize their license plate number.

Maybe I could use one of those online services to give me the name and address of the Hummer’s owner. Using an Internet service is hardly the same as turning to the police or a private investigator.”

“Give it a try. But don’t get your hopes up,” Benita said. “Probably stolen plates. They aren’t gonna make it that easy. We’ve just got to play it super tight. Don’t give them any reason to move on our families.”

I caught myself biting my nails. Hadn’t done that since seventh grade. “Good thing Aunt Lana’s going back to East Hampton tomorrow. I want her kept safely out of the loop.”

“Be careful you don’t break down when she comes in tonight.”

“She’s so hot on Irv that she won’t be back till morning.” I went to the bathroom, turned on the tap for the bathtub and sprinkled in some lavender oil for a relaxing effect. Boy, did I need it tonight. For the first time in my life, I felt skittish about getting naked. Aftershock. But, unlike our place in Williamsburg, this building had great security. Any stranger would have a hard time getting past the lobby. Of course, there were other things that worried me. “Could this Curtis guy be tapping our phones?”

“Answer’s no. Tough thing to get away with. All we’d have to do is have the phone company check it out and the law would be on his ass. Try not to get too paranoid.”

“What I can’t fathom is how Gwen got her hands on an object that valuable. And why she put that note about me in her journal. She never told me about hiding a tablet. I’m guessing it’s one of those archaeological shards. And once we find the thing—”

Benita cut me off, saying, “We give it up. It’s too late to save Gwen.”

“I disagree. I think we should set a trap.”

“Set a trap?
¿Eres loca?
This ain’t no Hollywood movie. This is real time. I have no intention of getting dead over Fred Flintstone’s letter to Barney.”

“Sorry, but if Gwen was willing to die to protect this tablet and spent her last moments trying to contact me with a secret message, I’ll be damned if I’m going to let those Hummer hounds get their mitts on it. I just have to come up with that tablet without Curtis and company finding out. If I let Gwen down, her death was for nothing.” I paused, letting my intentions sink in. Then I added, “Since we’re talking about harsh realities, let’s not kid ourselves. Her killers probably plan to do away with us even if they get the tablet.”

“In other words, we’re dead if we do and dead if we don’t. You sure I can’t talk you into an Uzi?” Benita was pissed again. The possibility of being murdered does tend to put one in a foul mood.

“We’ll let the evidence be our weapon by finding proof of who murdered Gwen before our time is up. Enough proof for the police to make an
immediate
arrest.”

“Convincing the cops should be interesting given Gwen’s documented history of depression, an examiner’s report that showed her blood was ninety proof and no signs of violence. And don’t forget the suicide note in her handwriting. At least we’ve already got a pretty good idea who did it.”

“Yes and no,” I said. “Curtis spoke about sticking to orders, and his buddy mentioned someone called Chub Dubs. Sounds like a nickname of the person who hired them.”

“Okay. Let me see if I got this down. Unravel the secrets in Gwen’s poem. Locate the tablet without letting anyone know we’ve got it. Do whatever Gwen might be telling us to do with it. Figure out how and why Gwen was killed. Link this Curtis dude and his choirboys to Gwen’s murder. Figure out who this Chub Dubs is. And, oh, yeah, get the police to book these assholes before they whack us. All in just one week. Hey, no problem. I’m a multitasker.”

***

Early the next morning Aunt Lana and Irv Monsky woke me up. Luckily it was Saturday and summer, so I had no therapy sessions scheduled. I was curled up on the living room sofa in my purple chenille bathrobe. The TV was still on. QVC. After my joyride in the Hummer, state- of-the-art leaf blowers had more appeal than the standard cable fare of murder, rape and drug deals.

I’d spent a good part of the night mulling over old conversations with Gwen. I had absolutely no recollection of her ever mentioning a special tablet, much less where she might have hidden it. I also searched through Gwen’s personal items in the box Darryl sent us. Nothing offered a clue.

My aunt changed her clothes and gathered a few of her things while her limo driver waited on outside to take her to East Hampton. Guess she’d invited Irv to join her out there to continue their lusty “still doin’ it” marathon. After running in place and performing a set of fifty push-ups, Irv went for an abdominal routine on Benita’s Swiss ball. Feet planted on the floor, his back arched over the large yellow orb, he proceeded to knock out a frenetic succession of one hundred sit-ups. From where I sat I had a pretty good shot at his left hip. All I needed was a tranquilizer dart.

I switched off the TV and peeked out the window. No sign of the black Hummer on the street below. Trying to look and sound normal, I shuffled about in a grog, tilting the blinds, flooding the place with sunlight. I cut up a slice of cantaloupe into bird-sized pieces and put them in Uncle Pete’s cage along with a few softbill pellets.

“Fuckin’ bitch pussy. Fuckin’ bitch pussy.”

“Now, Petey, that is one phrase you are going to unlearn.”

When Lana and Irv left, I made myself scrambled eggs and toast, smearing on gobs of comforting butter. Benita wasn’t here to lecture me. Once I cleared my head with three cups of coffee, I went to my bedroom, taking Uncle Pete with me for company despite his untidy habits.

The red message light on my business phone blinked away. Last night I’d been too chicken to listen to any messages. I couldn’t deal with the possibility of hearing Curtis’s voice again. Especially since this whole thing was real now. I was no longer just following a hunch. Gwen had indeed been murdered. And this was day one of a deadly seven-day race. It felt like reality TV except the stakes couldn’t get much higher.

I pushed the playback button. One message. I held my breath until I heard the familiar voice of a client. Just another going-on-vacation cancellation. In the summer months people were in a hurry to blow this town. Normally I’d bemoan the financial downside, but not now. My latest project demanded attention 24/7.

My cell phone sat on my dresser, where I’d left it last night. It rang twice while Lana and Irv were here, but I’d carefully ignored it. With a touch of butterflies, I flipped it open. Not Curtis, please.

A message from Rochelle Thomas: “
Just wanted to remind you about our picnic down at the Lot. I know Benita’s in Atlanta, but we’re expecting to see you for Jaleel’s birthday. My man’s turning the big 4 - 0. We’ll be right outside your door, so boogie on down, girl. Party starts at noon. Be there.
”

After yesterday’s episode, I figured I’d pass on the picnic. Jaleel probably wouldn’t notice if I didn’t show. But his wife would. Rochelle was a corporate lawyer with a head for details, and she always remembered everything about everybody. She’d be royally pissed. Especially since my out-of-town roommate already told Rochelle I’d be bringing Jaleel a special birthday gift.

Dammitall. It was bad enough I’d probably lose a couple of clients from this mess, did I have to lose my friends as well? I played the message again and decided that sunshine and good company would be therapeutic. Would hiding out really save anybody’s life or help me find Gwen’s tablet? And in the back of my mind I knew that Mr. Mace would no doubt be there. But did I want to see him?

Tabling that question with a big sigh, I sat on the bed in my bathrobe and focused on more urgent matters. A logical step one—phone call to Darryl Applebee. Careful not to give any hints that I was in sleuth mode, I started right in thanking him for sending me those perfume bottles of Gwen’s. “It was so thoughtful of you.”

“Don’t thank me. I’m just doing what my sister would have wanted.”

“You said there was more in the basement that was up for grabs. Sounds great. I’d love to come over and browse.”

“Sure,” he said. “Maybe we can set up a time in the next few weeks.”

“Actually I need to do it right away.”

“Excuse me?”

“I’m sort of in a hurry.”

“Why? You want to be the first to claim her old Scrabble game?”

“It’s my mother’s birthday,” I said. “I’ve been racking my brain all day for the perfect gift.” Oh, the joys of pathological lying. I had no idea how much fun it was or how easily it would come to me. Amazing how the fear of death tends to bring out one’s hidden talents. “And I decided on a tablet.”

“A what?”

“A tablet. I’ll be glad to pay you for it.”

“Saylor, what the hell are you talking about
now
?”

“A tablet that belongs to Gwen.” I waited. Darryl obviously had no idea what I was after. Come to think of it, did I? Who knew what Curtis was talking about? Gwen always used the word “tablet” to refer to those inscribed fragments. Could it be anything else? “Did you find any kind of engraved shards of pottery or stone hidden among her things? Or maybe stashed away in her safe-deposit box?”

“No I did not,” he said.

Benita would say he was lying. And although my dear roommate might be ultra-practical in many respects, she had an imagination that sometimes went bonkers. I could never picture Darryl as an evil godfather who gave the orders to put a hit on his own sister. Not in a million. “Are you absolutely sure? My mother will be very disappointed.”

“The only artifacts I found were an urn and a figurine. And I already have a buyer.”

Due to his emotional state plus his innately impatient personality, Darryl’s observation skills might not be one hundred percent lately. Which was why I needed to go through Gwen’s leftover belongings myself. But out of respect I had to leave the ball in his end of the court. A risk I had to take despite my deadline. “Tell ya what. How about you call me as soon as you think it’s okay for me to come over and look around.”

“Will do.”

After hanging up, I nearly had a panic attack over the possibility of Darryl unwittingly throwing out the tablet along with whatever else he considered worthless clutter. I used my counseling skills to calm myself. Anything to keep a case of the dreaded what-ifs from incapacitating me. What reassured me most were the words from Gwen’s journal: “Only Saylor knows where I hid the tablet.” So, it couldn’t have been thrown out, because she’d hidden the damn thing in a place where Darryl may not be able to find it. And somewhere deep within the synapses of my brain, I knew where that place was.