Black Widow (3 page)

“You think they slipped you something else?”

“I’ve wondered about it. If they did, I hope I never get the chance to buy the stuff because I don’t think I could pass up the chance. The feeling was incredible. Like someone hit the happy switch, and all my stress was gone. It was also like . . . like I got a dose of aphrodisiac down where it counts.”

I turned to her as she turned to me. “You wanted honesty? I’m being honest. Maybe it was the dope. Maybe it was the guys — all muscles and curls. The other girls, they’d have to speak for themselves. But I lost control. What I did was wrong. I knew it, but I couldn’t stop myself. The way my body reacted . . . it was like riding a slow wave. The sensation was
unreal
. How clinical do you want me to be?”

I was shaking my head as I replied, “You can still be blackmailed, that’s all I need to know—” But she interrupted, saying, “No, I want to tell the rest. I’m not embarrassed now. I don’t want you to be. Maybe a man can make sense of what happened, because I’m driving myself nuts with guilt, trying to figure it out. I love Michael. I’m monogamous by nature. I didn’t even fantasize about other men after we started dating. But now . . . after the way it was that night on the island. My
God
.”

I interrupted. “Ransom’s from the Bahamas. Why not wait and talk to us both?”

“What? Now you
don’t
want the truth?”

We’d turned right on Tarpon Bay Road, and were pulling into a mangrove lane, bay side, feeling air humid and dense descend on the convertible. The gate to Dinkin’s Bay Marina was locked. Nearby, the path to my laboratory was marked by a glimmer through the trees, and also a friend’s bicycle: a fat-tire cruiser, peace signs painted on the fenders, and a basket on the handlebars that read, FAUSTOS — KEY WEST.

“Tomlinson’s here. Must be something important if he’s ashore this late.” I spoke as if surprised, but I expected him to be waiting. Tomlinson is a boat bum, a Zen teacher, a womanizer, a hipster academic, and my neighbor. He and Shay were close, but not confidants. It was a welcome intrusion. I was interested in assembling data about the woman’s blackmailer, but I didn’t want to hear her confession. It would include admissions, I felt sure, that would later distance us.

I asked, “Can we talk tomorrow?”

“
Tomorrow
. The wedding’s only nine days away. I don’t have time to breathe. But . . . okay, if that’s what you want, I’ll make time. What I don’t understand is, what does Ransom and the Bahamas have to do with—”

I said, “Saint Arc and the Bahamas have some similarities — cultural, I mean. She might pick up on things I’ll miss.”

“Like what?”

“Don’t know. But those guys didn’t come to your beach house accidentally. A cameraman wasn’t positioned with a view of the pool accidentally. What you felt, how you felt — maybe it was the drugs. Maybe it was you. We’re human. Ransom will have a better read on that, too. Either way, you were targeted. That’s why I’d like to wait awhile before we destroy the tape.”

“In case the cops get involved? Look, I don’t care what happens, no one can ever see that damn video—”

“No. I want a closer look at the cassette. The brand; how it’s wrapped. Maybe I can learn something. I’ll keep it locked. You can trust me.”

“I
do
trust you. But . . . you absolutely have to swear you won’t get curious and—”

“I didn’t watch it when I had a reason. I’m not going to watch now.”

“Okay . . . okay. When you’re ready, we’ll burn the damn thing and drink cheap champagne to celebrate. Doc . . . ?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m sorry I got you into this . . . made you fly to that damn island when you’d rather be here, messing with fish and your test tubes and books. I know how much you love that old house and lab. I tell everyone about the place.”

“When you asked me to be your unofficial godfather, I said
yes
, remember? It comes with the job. You also happen to be worth it.”

“That’s not how I feel. I feel like a tramp.”

“Don’t. When I told you to accept responsibility, I didn’t know the story. You were set up by someone who is very, very good. So stop punishing yourself. It’s what victims do — even when the guilt belongs to some asshole who gets his kicks preying on weaker people.”

“I’ve never been called weak in my life.”

“That’s not the kind of weakness I’m talking about.”

“Then why would I do something so damn stupid and destructive so close to my wedding?”

I didn’t reply. The question wasn’t mine to answer. I waited in the chirring silence of frogs and mosquitoes until she made an attempt.

“I worry that . . . no matter how good I get at pretending, I can’t change the blood that’s in me. I’m
afraid
, Doc. Scared that I’ll go back to being what I was born to be, no matter how hard I fight. What’s the term? Self-sabotage?”

“Don’t be silly.”

“The voice inside a person’s head may be wrong, but it’s not silly. It tells me I can’t change where I came from. Especially when I pull some crazy stunt like this. Your house and lab — that’s who
you
are. You told me that once.”

Had I? I didn’t remember the conversation, so I said, “We identify with all kinds of things. But we don’t come preprogrammed. We make choices.”

“It wasn’t by choice I grew up believing I was redneck trash. That little voice knows. Sometimes it tries to drag me back into the hole where Daddy lived.”

“A panther would be easier to drag into a hole. That’s what I think.”

We were out of the car. Shay stood facing me. I couldn’t see her clearly in the car’s parking lights, and for a moment I thought I’d made her laugh. No . . . she was crying. I let her lean into my arms and held her, face buried in my chest. As she sobbed, I stroked her hair until the spasms slowed.

“You’re too stubborn to go back to that world. You’re also too smart — take my word.”

“I wish I was as confident. I’ve worked so hard to get where I am, but that damn little voice is real. It keeps reminding me I’m Dexter Money’s daughter. It’s like a curse.”

I gave her a little shake.“Women with master’s degrees don’t waste time on superstitious crap. They aren’t afraid of witches and dragons and trolls — unless you count the insurance adjuster you dated from South Beach.”

The girl snorted, hiccupped, and began to sniffle. “Oh, God! Don’t remind me.”

After a minute, I said, “Why don’t you come inside? Have some tea, lie in the hammock, and look at the stars until you calm down.”

“Can’t. I have so damn much to do. Planning the wedding is pressure enough. Three hundred people, half of them speak French, and the only woman that ever impressed my future mother-in-law is a dead virgin named Mary. The perfect Catholic girl — kept her knees together but still gave birth to a saint like Michael. And Joseph actually
believed
her. Now I have to deal with this bullshit.”

“She’s that bad, huh?”

“Michael’s mother? Her name’s Ida. As in ‘
I’d’a
rather never met her. Ida is a ball-breaker, especially when it comes to other women — maybe because she has six sisters. Michael says they’re ball-breakers. Lots of family money, but still serious overachievers. All five are coming to the wedding. Now do you see why I ran away to the Caribbean?”

“All six sisters, you mean.”

“No . . . just the five. One’s an invalid; lives at a facility near Paris because of some kind of birth defect. His mother doesn’t talk about it — probably because it would be admitting her family’s not perfect.”

I smiled. “Have you been getting any sleep?”

“You’ve got to be kidding. Even if I take a couple of Xanax, I wake up in the middle of the night, my heart pounding so hard it shakes the bed. Sometimes I feel like I really am going insane.”

“When did you start taking Xanax?”

“It’s one of my prescriptions. Everyone takes Xanax. Or something like it. They’re mild.”

“
One
of your prescriptions?”

“Yes, Dr. Ford, I have more than one prescription. Do you even realize what a prude you can be? They’re for when I get overwhelmed. Like right now.”

“Instead of taking a pill, stay here. I’ll be up most the night anyway, working in the lab. You’re not crazy; I think you’re having panic attacks. Talk to Tomlinson. He can discuss both from personal experience.”

It got a chuckle, but her tone said,
Why do I bother
?

Shay gave me a squeeze, pulled away as she wiped her eyes, then added a smile to prove she was under control. “Thanks, but I can’t stay. Beryl’s dad will be worried if I’m not home soon. You know how he is.”

No, I didn’t know. Shay had been unofficially adopted into Beryl Woodward’s family during college, but all I knew about the father was that he’d made a pile of money buying floundering hotels and turning them into five-star resort spas. He would be giving Shay away at the wedding. For some reason, Shay found the topic awkward, so seldom mentioned it.

I asked, “Does he know what happened on Saint Arc?”

“Bill? Good lord, he wouldn’t believe it, anyway.”

“What about Beryl?”

“About being blackmailed? I told you, my bridesmaids don’t know anything.”

“That was before we agreed to be straight.”

“I
am
being straight. There’s no reason to drag the girls into this.”

“If you haven’t discussed it, how do you know they weren’t sent the same video samples?” It wasn’t the first time I’d asked.

“Because I would
know
, okay? I’m the one who rented the beach house, so my personal information’s all over that goddamn island by now. And there was no reason for the girls to give out their e-mail addresses. So why involve them?”

“I can think of a hundred and nine thousand reasons. You paid the whole tab.”

“I told you right off the guy wanted money. I told you I was negotiating.”

“You didn’t tell me it was six figures.”

“Maybe I’d have done it different if it wasn’t for the life insurance. At first, the jerk wanted a quarter million. We settled for what I had in cash.”

“That’s very thoughtful. You have lucky friends.”

“We’re like sisters. They’d do the same.”

“That’s what’s surprising. You’re so close, I’d think you’d want to share the burden. Or at least warn them.”

“We
are
close,” Shay replied, her voice louder. “Just like Michael’s close with Beryl’s fiancé. And Liz’s fiancé. And he’s pals with Corey’s husband, even though Vance is a dick. They were
fraternity brothers
at Gainesville, for God’s sake. Summers, Michael and Elliot both worked for Beryl’s father, renovating old hotels. That’s the point. We are a tight little group. If one of our guys finds out, all the guys find out.”

“I guess that makes sense.”

“Does that mean I get an
A
?” she snapped. “I thought that part was obvious. How many times have you heard me talk about Michael and his buddies? Maybe
you
need to lie in the hammock and get some rest.”

That quick, the tears were gone.

“No reason to get mad.”

“I’m not mad, just tired. We can talk tomorrow, but tonight? I don’t feel like repeating myself.”Abruptly, Shay was her alpha-female self, sliding into the car, impatient and eager to get going.

She was also lying again. Why?

I THOUGHT ABOUT IT as Shay drove away. I didn’t doubt she was protecting her bridesmaids. The video might contain shots of them that were equally graphic. But it was also possible that something else happened that night on Saint Arc, and the camera had captured it.

Shay hadn’t lied about being intimate with a stranger. For a young bride, what could be worse? So it had to be something she considered even more incriminating. A crime . . . an accident . . . what?

The pressure was getting to her. There’d been an edge of hysteria in her voice. Telling. The girl didn’t rattle easily.

It worried me. On another level, it also disappointed me — my small, selfish reaction to the girl being human instead of the caricature I had created. I admired Shay Money, so I’d constructed that caricature to mirror my own conceits.

The girl wasn’t exaggerating when she spoke of her toughness. Shanay Lucinda Money grew up motherless, servant to an abusive seven-foot, three-hundred-pound father who brokered dogfights and smuggled cocaine. Once, when Shay’s ninth-grade boyfriend misspoke, Dexter Money had stripped the boy naked, then forced his daughter to watch while he spanked the kid raw. The boy was so intimidated, he never told the cops.

At sixteen, Shay single-handedly extracted herself from Dexter’s influence, moved out, moved on, and changed lives. She got her GED while working a full-time job, then continued studying her butt off until she was offered academic scholarships at the University of Florida. The troubled girl with the redneck accent gradually vanished, along with her name. Shanay Lucinda became Shay — just Shay.

The reinvented Shay knew what she wanted, and where to find it. Even with the scholarships, she had to work nights, but she still found time to seek out the wealthy and the well-educated. She wangled invitations to their parties, then stayed quietly in the background, listening and remembering, until she’d learned the social niceties.

Shay once said to me, “People who inherit wealth tend to inherit beauty. You ever notice that? But they seem less hung up on looks when it comes to choosing a mate. That’s not as true of people who pile up their own fortune — you know, guys who want trophy brides. Why, do you think?”

The question was touching: Shay has a buxom, Southern, pheromone sensuality, but she’s not a great beauty, and the question implied that a man who’d inherited wealth would be more likely to find her attractive.

I’d told her I was a biologist, not a social scientist. That was Tomlinson’s field. Even so, I was impressed by her gift for observation, and her unsentimental approach to mapping a future. Shay was soon an accepted associate of that interesting caste known as Old Money. Once married to Michael Jonquil, she would become a full-fledged member.

I saw less and less of her, but she stayed in touch.