Aphrodisiac (24 page)

“What do you take me for?”

I answered with an indifferent shrug and hurried through the open yard to the entrance corridor. Eldridge walked next to me, his hand on the small of my back. It felt great, but I pulled away. The rain had slowed to a drizzle. I was already wet, so I strode forward into the parking lot that bordered the road. Eldridge followed and stood next to me, both of us engulfed by an awkward silence that had us fidgeting.

“You’re angry with me,” he said. “Because of Tara. But there was never anything real between us. We just kind of hung with each other for a few months.”

“Why are you telling me this? It’s none of my business.”

“That’s not the point. I don’t like you thinking I’m a guy who uses women. I may not be ready to settle down, and I enjoy my freedom, but I’m not a heel.”

“Even if what you say is true,” I said, brushing some rain-soaked hair from my eyes, “what’s in it for me? A fun spin around the block and then what? See ya later, pal?”

Hands on his hips, Eldridge looked down at the ground, and shook his head. “I can’t answer that.” Then he fixed those diamond eyes on me. “Does your next lover have to be your future husband?”

Next lover? That’s an interesting concept. Headlights swept across the parking lot. Then came that familiar beeping. I was saved by the Camry.

Eldridge held the car door for me. I extended a handshake. He instead leaned forward and planted a kiss on my mouth that would keep me awake most of the night.

As if my life wasn’t complicated enough.

TWENTY-TWO

As soon as we drove off, I filled Benita in on the particulars of my misadventure, including Eldridge’s take on Curtis, aka The Monster.

“Wait’ll you hear what I came up with,” Benita said, referring to her investigation at the Circle of the Sacred Yoni retreat house. “First I casually introduced myself to several of the retreat’s members, being the talented actor that I am. Everybody I met there seemed pretty nice. That Yoni crowd isn’t bad. I might consider becoming a member. You should see the inside of the house. Five stars all the way.”

I rolled my eyes. “Is that your big news? The retreat gets a thumbs-up rating. Who were you going undercover for, anyway?
Travel And Leisure
?”

“Excuse me, but you were suppose to be looking for the tablet, and instead you decided to go out to dinner.”

“You know that is not how it happened.”

She raised an eyebrow. “I see you ended up at the Mace-man’s lair.”

I looked away. “Why do screwed up men have to be so damned sexually attractive?”

“Hey, at least you didn’t marry one,” she said, hanging a left at the intersection. “Fippy made another proposal to me on tonight’s weather report. The idiot’s going to lose his job if he keeps it up.”

“Call him, Binnie. He deserves that much.”

She groaned. “
You
call him.”

After a tense pause where I didn’t dare make any further suggestions, I returned to our most pressing issue. “So, what’s the story on Lady Vivian? No sign?”

“She went back to the city. We’ll have to catch up with her at Raffy’s show. But I did get some juicy material. During a little chitchat around the coffee table I asked the sisters from the Circle how Lady Viv was doing, and one of the women mentioned her collection of art objects. You remember Raffy said she was obsessed with owning all kinds of artifacts related to goddesses. Now get this. According to two of the Yonis, Lady Viv is real excited because she’s about to get a supremely rare artifact from a source she wouldn’t reveal. Viv told one of the women she was really pushing the envelope to get it. The other woman implied it was some kind of illicit deal, something illegal, even dangerous. I tried getting more info, but the only other thing they knew was
when
Viv expected to be getting this priceless object…This weekend.”

“Whoa. Coincidence?”

“I call it interesting timing.” Pulling the car into the driveway, Benita switched off the engine and turned to me. “I’ve got more. Viv just acquired an antique Japanese figurine of Kwan Yin. They said it was eighteen inches high. Carved and painted wood. Sound familiar?”

“That thief.” It fit the exact description of a Kwan Yin statuette Gwen had given me years ago. And it was one of the things stolen by Curtis and company when they ransacked our last apartment. “I want my Kwan Yin back!” I said, stepping out of the car.

Eager to pursue matters further we hurried inside the house. Closing and locking the front door behind us, Benita said, “And let’s not forget that Lady Viv’s appearance might inspire a name like Chub Dubs. If it weren’t for Schumacher, I’d say that seals the deal.”

We made our way up the stairs. As we passed my aunt’s room, I peeked in. I was glad Lana was asleep. She had been my crying post since childhood, but I didn’t relish telling her about my ducking live rounds out on some empty road in the Northwest Woods. Give the poor woman a break. I could tell she was worried about us. She hadn’t smoked any weed all day.

We went to our room where I peeled off my wet clothes and fell exhausted onto my bed. Thanks to Gwen and her notorious perfume I’d been interrogated, forcefully evicted, chased and shot at this evening. Not to mention ending my involuntary celibacy with my voluntary Mohawk bodyguard.

Benita changed into yellow plaid pajamas and sat quietly in the rocker. Her short hair stuck out in wisps. “Guess we better allow for the possibility that it may not be
your
Kwan Yin figurine.”

“You’re right. I’d been so certain Kyle Drummond was our man, and thanks to my stupidity that poor soul was murdered.”

Bam! Benita’s fist slammed against the rocker’s arm. “Cut it out. Drummond was not a poor soul. He was a rich sleazeball who stuck his greedy nose into the path of Gwen’s killer.”

She walked to her bed, and the two of us lay on our backs gazing out the skylight windows at the dark and cloudy night.

In my half-sleep I heard her murmur, “You’re not responsible for anything Gwen’s killer does. All you can do is prove who the hell it is.”

***

Sunlight came bursting through the skylights painting everything in its brightness and making it hard to have any bad feelings about the world. Salt air and the faint rumble of the surf came through the open windows. I lay there listening to seagulls in the distance and songbirds right outside in Lana’s garden. My body felt rested and my brain refreshed. I sat up. Nine a.m. Nothing like six solid hours of deep uninterrupted sleep, a rare commodity in the city. I looked over at Benita’s bed and saw that it was made. Obviously she’d gotten up and off to a head start. Last night I’d taken a hot bath in a soothing remedy Inez had given me and could still smell the lemon and coconut. I scooted off the bed and shuffled to the bathroom adjoining our room. I wiped a damp washcloth over my face.

Benita came through the door in her running pants. “I just went for a jog on the beach. Tossed in a little shadow boxing, some push-ups, sit-ups. This is our last day, and, man, I am ready to kick ass.”

Friday. One more day before the boys from Hummerland come to collect. So much for my peaceful morning.

Benita stripped and skipped past me with her towel. She turned on the water and

stepped into the shower.

I found my cell in the heap of yesterday’s clothes that I’d thrown on the floor. I checked for messages. No clients. And no Eldridge. Too early.

Hmm. What if I gave him the wrong cell number? Maybe he left a message at the loft. Best to check and see if any clients called on that phone, anyway. I punched in the digits, entered the code for my voice-mail and waited. One message about a client referral from a doctor at Beth Israel Hospital. And…who else? Walsh Plunkett. Asking me out to dinner. Again. No mention of an appointment for therapy.

I fluffed out my hair and smudged on some eyeliner and lipstick. The split lip Curtis gave me last week had pretty well healed. I flipped on a bright pink and green sundress. The colors lifted my spirits, and it would be comfortable for our long drive back to DUMBO today. Plus I looked pretty good in it. There was that slight chance Eldridge might appear out of the blue. He had a tendency to do that.

I couldn’t help dwelling on that last thing he asked me about: my “next lover.” But I also wondered what became of him and Tara last night. Did they kiss and make up? Were they still in bed, or maybe scrambling eggs side by side in that charming little kitchenette? Then again, he may have finally given her the boot. Kicked her out of his life, then drove himself to some lonely Montauk bar to have a beer and congratulate himself for once again successfully preserving his precious male freedom.

Cut it out, Saylor, I told myself. Don’t get your panties in a twist over this guy.

You’ve got far more important things to think about.

Benita toweled off and hopped into a pair of jet black and hot yellow boxing shorts that looked about ten sizes too big.

“Where did
those
things come from?”

“Used to be Jaleel’s.” She pulled on a bright red tank. “What say we get to the computer before breakfast?”

We headed downstairs to Lana’s office. If Eldridge’s hunch about Curtis was right, then we now had a last name on the guy. We Googled Curtis Bardarson, but aside from a chiropractor in Detroit, nothing of interest came up. I don’t suppose many hit men have their own websites.

We’d searched for Lady Vivian Hatch-Oliver yesterday, but today we entered words that got us a magazine article on her collection of goddess objects, her home in Surrey outside London, plus a confirmation of the NYC address Raffy had written on a napkin for us the other night.

“I knew Lady Viv’s address looked familiar,” I said. “It’s the same high-rise where Candice Stoutz lives.”

“Name sounds familiar. Refresh me.”

“A long-time client of mine. Remember the woman who got into a little tiff with Walsh Plunkett at my Do-Me-Good party?”

“Oh, yeah. Her husband only wants blowjobs.”

“Right. And Candice is the one who called my cell when the posse had us trapped in that lot last week. What I’m thinking is that she might be a way to get into Lady Viv’s place. I tell the doorman I’m there to see Candice. She tells him to let me in. After a brief ‘I was just in the neighborhood hello’ I go to Viv’s apartment instead of leaving the building.”

“Fine. But how do you get through the door of Viv’s apartment?”

“Pretend I’m a cleaning person?”

Benita shook her head. “As rich as she is, she might have full-time live-in help. If not, you can bet the doorman calls her if one of the peons working for her is on their way up.”

“Well, maybe we’ll get all we need at Raffy’s art show tonight.” I braced my forehead against my palm. “Wait a sec. How can we go to Raffy’s show in DUMBO when we’re supposed to go to Manhattan to spy on that meeting Schumacher is having with his ‘boys’?”

“No problem. Raffy’s art opening starts at five thirty. If we leave by six forty-five we can make it to 126th Street in time to catch Schumacher. Of course, if we get something on Lady Viv that tells us she’s our man, we’ll skip Schumacher and just head to the police with our evidence.”

“And if she’s a late-comer?”

“Then I’ll have to leave you there and handle the uptown expedition solo.”

I nodded. “Sounds like a plan. Now, let’s do breakfast.”

Lana’s kitchen had red tiles, orange Formica counters and bright flowered curtains. We found a pot of hot coffee on the stove and a serving dish filled with smoked salmon, cream cheese and bagels on the table. We dug in.

My aunt walked through the back door. Her hair was in two long braids. A knee length Batik sarong was tucked around her breasts. Her face and arms were covered in perspiration.

“Gardening?” I asked.

“No. I’ve been in my pottery studio.” She poured herself some coffee and sat at the table. “How did
your
gardening go last night?”

I said only, “No tablet.”

Lana patted my hand. “I thought that was a pretty formidable task.”

I glanced at Benita. “Think we should go back and try again before we leave for the city?”

“In broad daylight?”

Lana set down her coffee cup. “So, what else happened?”

Benita saw me balk and jumped quickly into a rundown on Lady Viv and the possibility of the stolen Kwan Yin figurine.

“But how can you prove it’s Saylor’s?” Lana asked. “Is yours catalogued or registered?”

“No.” I slumped in my chair.

My aunt sat forward. “Did you include it as missing in your police report? Did it have any distinguishing marks?”

“There’s tiny chip underneath the right elbow,” Benita said. “And, yes, we did put it in the report.”

I forked a piece of salmon and draped it over my bagel, feeling hopeful again.

“Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy” rang out. Had to be Eldridge. My heart did one of those flutter things. Bad sign, Saylor. Caller ID told me it was Inez. Was I disappointed or relieved? Actually, I was worried. “
Hola
, Inez. Are you all right?”

“Yes, everything is fine here. But where is my daughter? Why is she not answering her phone? I know there is more danger than you’re telling me.”

“Don’t worry, Inez, she’s safe.”

The frustration grew in her voice. “I’ve been calling her since early this morning.”

I looked up at my friend. “Your
mami’s
been trying to get through to you.”

Benita shrugged. “I turned off my phone.”

Lana gave her a sympathetic smile. “Sounds like you’re afraid you’ll answer it if Fippy calls.” Knowing Benita’s feelings on the subject, Lana stood up. “I have to check something baking in my kiln.” She walked into the back yard and headed for her pottery studio.

“Benita’s right here,” I said to Inez. “I’ll put her on.”

“Wait,
florecita
, first tell me…what did she do when she saw the headline and that terrible photo?”

“Headline?”

“Then she hasn’t seen it yet.”

“What?”

“Today’s
Post
. There’s a photo of Benita and Fippy on the cover.”

“Oh no.”

“Go get a copy. And call me back,
floricita
. I know my daughter won’t.”

***

The
New York Post
lay there on the bed. Big thick letters spelled out: “Lovesick Weatherman Wants Her Back.” Below that was the photo taken of the happy couple at last year’s Metropolitan Museum fundraiser. Benita unfortunately was caught with her mouth wide open as usual. Not a flattering shot. Fippy, of course, had that well rehearsed pose of a man who’s on camera every night.

The story was on page six with the rest of the celebrity gossip. Its started out in bold lettering that read: “The entire tri-state area awaits her answer. Will Benita take him back? And if so, will he keep his pants on this time?”

Oy vey
. I’d had no luck trying to calm her down. You’d need a sense of humor the size of Jay Leno’s chin to absorb this kind of shock. Lana did the smartest thing and reminded her of that grinding noise in the Camry’s engine. Benita had told my aunt she wanted to check it before we left. A perfect way for the doer side of my friend to shed some of her frustrations with a little hands-on work.

I glanced out the window at the driveway below. All I could see was Binnie’s derriere and those awful shorts of Jaleel’s. The rest of her was underneath the steel panel hood. She was adept at fixing many things, but I gave her a C in auto mechanics. Let’s hope we made it home.

The time had come to head back to DUMBO. I hustled around the bedroom gathering my clothes, make-up and shoes and zipped them into my large floral travel bag. I wrapped the Tinkerbell jewelry box in my bathrobe and stuffed it in. Last night I’d opened and sniffed all six bottles of Heaven’s Daughter once again. Sure enough, every one held the same fragrance. It was an odd perfume with notes of jasmine and bitter orange. Maybe also coriander. And some deep earthy scent I’d never encountered. I carried my bag downstairs, prepared to greet the dragon.