The Cyclops Conspiracy (13 page)

“Really?”

“Really. Like why your marriage ended, what you’ve been doing for the last thirteen years. And that other thing.”

* * *

Jasmine’s eyes darted between the couple she’d been pretending to be interested in and the pier. The pair ascended the sloped lawn. She heard the Christine woman say, “I have to find the little girls’ room.” Jasmine did not hesitate, intercepting Jason on his way to the bar. She slipped her hand in his and pulled him toward the dance floor. “You’ve ignored me long enough!”

She placed a hand on his lower back, toying with the thin line of appropriateness. The other slipped under his jacket between his shoulder blades, pulling him to her. Her floral fragrance and the pressure of her firm body started a chain of involuntary male responses. Restraint and desire became embroiled in a vicious tug of war.

Jasmine moved her lips to his ear and whispered, “Are you afraid of assertive women, Jason?”

“What makes you think that?”

“You
are
, aren’t you?” The whispered words were full of implied pleasure.

“No, Jasmine. I’m not intimidated. I’m here with someone. It’s proper that I respect that.”

“So if you were here alone, you would be more receptive to my flirting.”

“I didn’t say that either.” Jasmine spun them across the dance floor. Jason noticed Christine standing nearby, pretending not to notice.

“Your girlfriend is watching us,” said Jasmine.

He tried in vain to appear casual. “She’s not my girlfriend. Do you take pleasure in acting this way?”

“I’m enjoying it immensely.” Her black eyes tugged at his memory in a way Jason could not put a finger on. It was a quality he’d seen in Sam Fairing’s eyes as well, as if he were looking into a familiar but unfriendly face.

“Do you enjoy wreaking havoc with relationships?”

“I thought you said she wasn’t your girlfriend.”

“You’re trying to cause trouble.”

“I know what I want and I go after it,” said Jasmine as the song ended. She slipped her hand down his backside and squeezed a handful.

Jason pushed her away. “That’s enough!”

Jasmine was undaunted. “I’ll call you at work and ask you to lunch tomorrow. And you won’t refuse me.” She spun and wiggled away. Jason turned away from her retreating image in a tangle of bewilderment and arousal.

His cell phone chirped. “Hello?” Static filled the line. “Hello?”

More static. He flipped it closed and walked to Christine.

“Did you enjoy your full-body examination?” She forced a weak smile. “I want to go home.”

“It was just a dance,” Jason muttered.

“If there was a piece of coal between the two of you, a diamond would have dropped to the floor from all the pressure. That woman wants something from you, Jason,” said Christine.

There was a stirring in the crowd, and it parted. Zanns appeared, waving her arms, gathering everyone around her. A wheeled cart
draped by a white tablecloth appeared from inside the house, pushed by one of the liveried wait staff. On it rested a large bronze mortar and pestle. The guests circled close.

“And I think we both know what that is,” Jason rejoined.

“Think again, horn dog. Some women only use sex or the promise of sex to get what they want.”

“Do you speak from personal experience?”

“I speak as a card-carrying member of the female species. Some women use their bodies to get what they want.”

“So you’re admitting that you possess that power.”

“Of course I possess that power. Every woman has it. We have it because you guys are so driven by urges below the belt, you give it to us. All we have to do is turn it on.”

“And you’ve never turned that power?”

“I used it on my fiancé when I wanted him to cut the grass or take out the trash. But I never used it to advance myself in business or get information. See, Jason, honey, I only use my power for good, not evil. That’s the difference between me and Dr. Jump-My-Bones over there.”

“Where did you get your degree in social anthropology?”

Three quick, loud claps interrupted Christine. Lily Zanns called the gathering to order. “We have gathered tonight to honor a man who was a vital force to the profession of pharmacy over the last thirty years. I had the privilege of knowing Thomas Pettigrew for the last four. Many people have told me what a dedicated pharmacist and wonderful human being Thomas Pettigrew was. I saw those qualities every day as we worked together. We were to bestow upon him the Lifetime Achievement Award from the Peninsula Pharmacists Association for his contribution to the health and well-being of our community.

“Unfortunately, he was tragically taken from us a few weeks ago. Tonight, we honor him posthumously. Tonight is a celebration of not only his professional career but also his life. I would like to invite his daughter, Christine, to join us in accepting this award this evening.”

Christine fought the urge to turn and run. Jason gently grabbed her elbow and guided her through the crowd. The levies opened and tears flooded her eyes as Zanns hugged her. Christine stood with her arms hanging limp by her sides, too devastated to return the embrace.

Zanns continued, “I would like to now introduce to you the president of the Peninsula Retail Pharmacists Association.”

Chrissie didn’t catch her name. The middle-aged woman spoke about Thomas Pettigrew’s accomplishments over his long, distinguished service career. His participation in local organizations was well chronicled. The words did not register with Christine as she stood with eyes lowered. Then she was handed the large mortar and pestle engraved with her father’s name. Polite applause followed. In the moment of awkward silence that followed, Christine felt all eyes on her. She choked back tears and spoke softly, barely audible. “Daddy would be very proud of this honor,” she said. “He was a decent man. Someone who always wanted to do the right thing. It’s a blessing to have people in your life who do the right thing.” Christine looked at Jason, her eyes delivering an uncomfortable message.

She wiped her eyes, as the sound of her sobs was drowned by more applause.

* * *

Jason, relieved the soiree was ending, guided Christine to the front entrance, where most of the partygoers were headed. Christine clutched the heavy mortar and pestle in both arms.

At the door, Jasmine offered her hand to Jason and said, loudly enough for Christine to hear, “I’ll talk to you tomorrow, Jason.” The doctor also offered a hand to Christine, who responded only with a frozen stare. Outside, they waited for the valet and chatted with other departing guests.

Then Jason recognized the familiar outline of the approaching figure. “Oh, no,” he said.

“What’s wrong?” Christine asked, following his gaze.

A woman was marching up the circular driveway, weaving through a line of cars. Her eyes were locked on her ex-boyfriend and the woman standing with him. Her auburn curls bobbed with each determined stride.

“This is gonna be ugly,” Jason croaked.

“Who’s that?” Christine asked.

“It’s Sheila, my ex.”

“What the hell is she doing here?”

“I was just asking myself that same question.”

Sheila Boquist stomped to a halt. The veins in her neck looked like taut computer cables beneath her pale, flushed skin. Her cobalt eyes burned with anger. “I thought you said you weren’t seeing anyone,” she snapped.

“Sheila, this isn’t the time or the place.”

“Bullshit! You’ve been cheating on me since day one, haven’t you? You lying piece of shit!”

Dozens of eyes were fixed on the confrontation.

“Sheila, I’m not going to do this now.” Jason’s eyes searched the faces of other departing guests. Shocked, tense smiles greeted him.

Sheila looked Christine up and down. “Is this the tart you’ve been screwing?”

“Sheila! That’s enough!” he whispered harshly. He moved between the two women before Christine could react. He put his hands on Sheila’s shoulders to turn her away. “Let’s just go—”

Distracted by embarrassment and Sheila’s audacity, Jason had let his defenses down. Sheila raised her knee quickly and mashed it into his testicles. Bolts of lightning paralyzed him. Air escaped his lungs in a loud whoosh. He sank to both knees and grabbed his groin, retching in a violent, silent scream.

In her living room, Jason looked up at Christine as she assessed his pitiful state. The bag of frozen peas rested gingerly between his legs, darkening Jason’s trousers with moisture. He’d been trying to get comfortable for the last ten minutes. After she’d delivered her blow, Sheila had stormed off. He barely recalled being lifted by strong hands into the car. He spent the ride to Christine’s house curled into a fetal position in the passenger seat. Christine drove, suppressing a smile the whole way.

“I’d offer to rub it, but I’m not that kind of girl,” said Christine.

Jason winced and readjusted. “You think this is funny, don’t you?”

“The comedic value is priceless. You’re welcome to sleep in the spare bedroom. I wouldn’t want you getting in an accident because all your blood rushed to your balls and you couldn’t concentrate on your driving,” she said. “Now, I’m going to take a shower. I’ll check on you before I go to bed.” As she turned to go upstairs, Christine stopped, another thought occurring to her. “You can throw the peas away. I don’t think I’ll be eating them anytime soon.”

Jason limped to the spare bedroom and dropped onto the bed. It took thirty minutes before sleep arrived. The repose was anything but restful.

The chirping of his cell phone woke him from one of his brief naps. He glanced at the red numerals of the clock on the nightstand. It was 1:28 a.m.

“Hello?” His voice was gritty, his testicles felt like grapefruits. Jason’s eyes focused on the shadowy outline of the bronze mortar Christine had left on the dresser.

“I’ve been trying to contact you all night.”

“Who is this?”

“A new friend,” the voice said. “Meet me tomorrow morning at the fountains in City Center at eleven.”

“Who is this?”

“Be at the fountains at eleven,” the baritone voice repeated.

He bolted upright. “I’m not going anywhere unless I know who I’m talking to.”

“If you want help finding out what happened to T. P., you’ll be there.”

The initials brought Jason to full alertness. “How will I know you?”

Jason’s neck muscles felt like thick, waterlogged ropes twisted into tight knots; his head pounded and his testicles, sore and swollen, tugged at his groin with each step.

Two more stacks to go. White, corrugated-cardboard boxes leaned precariously in varying directions, creating a miniature, cellulose skyline. The “keeper” pile had been lugged to the distant end of the hall near a small bathroom, the “throwaways” to the entrance for pickup by a shredding company. Dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, he and Brandon, the football player, had been shuffling cartons since seven. The high school senior was gone now, having rushed off to his first class.

Jason was taking a break, leaning on the doorframe, when he noticed the black console mounted on the opposite wall. It had been hidden behind the mountain of boxes. Wires, spaced at five-foot intervals, descended from the ceiling, disappearing into the top of the unit. Another, thicker cable meandered from the underside, circling into the ceiling again near the outer wall.

He climbed up on a box, pushing a ceiling tile out of the way. He peered over the upper side of the darkened tiles. Slivers of light seeped up through the joints. Sam and Kevin Mitchell could be heard conversing below. The thin wires snaked over the ceiling squares and terminated at small, cigarette-pack-sized boxes. He climbed down and examined the thicker cable. Held in place by U-clamps, it poked through a hole in the roof.

He walked into the pharmacy and spent a few minutes in each bay, pretending to be examining stock bottles for expiration dates. Jason shot furtive glances up at the ceiling. It took a few tries, but he finally spotted the tiny holes. In each bay, a miniscule lens poked through the foam of the ceiling tile, flush with its surface, nearly imperceptible. Pinhole security cameras.

The Colonial had been equipped with a closed-circuit video system.

Jason was familiar with every inch of the Colonial. There was no supporting hardware anywhere in the building. Questions bombarded him. Where were the monitor and recording equipment that must be capturing the images? Who was accessing the images, and where were they being stored? Had there been a problem with theft? Who had installed the system? Lily? Pettigrew?

Jason returned to the hallway, perplexed. He gripped a box on the last stack, holding it by the cutouts. Expecting a packed, heavy load of papers, he jerked it into the air. It was nearly empty, causing him to lose his balance. He tumbled backward, hit the bathroom doorframe, and kicked a wheeled janitor’s bucket. The mop it was holding fell away. Dirty brown water sloshed up over the sides, crashing in waves. A flash of metal in the trough of a wave caught his eye, the shine and texture incongruous with the brown muck. He nudged the bucket with his foot as if it harbored a disease, and again saw the flash of metal. Pulling up his sleeve, he plunged his hand in and fished out the object.

A flip phone.

He placed the phone in a plastic baggie, then dropped it into his briefcase. Wondering who might have lost the phone, he checked his
watch. Nine thirty. Time to do some real pharmacy work. He abandoned the boxes, promising himself to finish sorting them this weekend. Retrieving his dress clothes from the car, Jason gently rolled the dirty bucket from the bathroom and changed.

* * *

“We’d like you to start right away,” said Jason.

“I think it’s appropriate to give them some notice,” Billy Parks said over the phone.

“I understand that. But if you come on board right away, Lily Zanns has authorized me to pay you quite well and provide a bonus.” Jason recited the figures to an astonished Parks.