Quick Fix (34 page)

“Are you quite all right, Ciel?” Thelma inquired as the vehicle started to move. There was so much tender solicitude in her voice it made me want to barf.

“Well, now that you mention it, my arm hurts like a son of a bitch. Thanks for asking.” I showed her my teeth. (What? It was almost a smile.)

“We’ll give you something for the pain as soon as we get to where we’re going—”

“And where would that be?” I asked.

She ignored my interruption. “But for now, if you would be so kind as to tell us where Molly is, I would appreciate it greatly.”

“You’re kidding, right? Listen, lady, if I didn’t tell what’s-his-fuck there after he shot me, what makes you think I’ll tell you?” She didn’t answer, only smiled that annoyingly warm smile.

“I can have fifty of my people scouring the area within fifteen minutes. That might frighten a little girl. It would be so much easier on her if we just picked her up now. She could be with you. I’m sure she’d rather do that than be grabbed and hauled in like some sort of criminal, don’t you think?”

I stared her down. “Nope,” I said, leaving it at that.

Her crepey-lidded, grandmotherly eyes iced over. “Fine, dear. If that’s the way it has to be.” She pulled out her cell and shot off a text.

Crap.
I hoped like hell Molly got herself out of the park before Thelma’s “people” got there. And that she could, you know, manage to turn herself back into a human being again.

I looked at Devon. Anything to take my eyes off my erstwhile client’s face. “Who the hell are you really?”

He turned to Thelma. “Is it all right to drop this aura for a while? This stupid penis hurts like hell, and I think the stuff is wearing off anyway.”

“Of course, my dear. Ciel won’t be sharing your little secret with anyone.”

Well,
that
didn’t sound promising. But fear of my impending death stopped abruptly when I saw who was beneath Devon’s aura. It almost made me stop thinking about my arm.

“Monica? But you’re not an adaptor.” It had been Monica, not Devon, all along? Then it hit me. “Holy crap. You got hold of James’s adaptor juice, didn’t you? How’d you manage that?”

She smiled, looking exotic and beautiful and totally insane. “It’s more like a perfume. Just breathe in that lovely spray, and before long your birthright is unleashed. Sure, you catch a cold along with it—at first—but what are a few sneezes compared to being able to do what we can do?”

“But how did you … James would
never
give it to you. He told us he argued with you about it—that you wanted to be a test subject, but he wouldn’t let you.”

“No, he wouldn’t. Pure and noble James. He knew how much I wanted to be an adaptor.
Knew
it, and still he wouldn’t help. But only because he was too worried about me. So I had to take it while he was distracted with Molly. It’s too bad Molly played with it before I got to it—think of the worry I could have spared you all.”

“Yeah, right. Shame about that,” I said. Of course, then we would have never figured out what was going on with
you,
I thought. “So, how long have you been impersonating Devon? Are you the one who wrote Devon’s number on James’s arm?” And swabbed my tonsils when I was him, while you were at it.

She smiled brightly. “He told you about that? Yes, that was me.”

“Um, you didn’t happen to stop by James’s apartment when I was there, did you?” With Billy. In bed. Naked.

Her pretty brow wrinkled. “No. Why, did Devon show up? Damn it, he’s supposed to be gone.”

Whew. (Maybe. Not sure if it was better that the real Devon had seen my lady parts or not, but I was glad the guy I’d had a talk with afterward was authentic, anyway. For James’s sake.)

Thelma was watching us avidly, enjoying our interaction. I gestured toward the big boss with my chin. “Why drag her into it? You obviously got what you wanted.”

“That was Suze’s idea,” Monica said. “Why shouldn’t I make some quick and easy money? All the rest of you adaptors do.”

“But how did you know Suze?”

Monica shrugged. “She came to my parents’ restaurant one day. Introduced herself, and after my shift was over, we went for coffee. Let’s just say I liked her ideas. I agreed to introduce her to Brian—she was looking for an in with your family—and she agreed my bank account could use some upholstering. I was damn sick of being a waitress.”

“I don’t understand—your parents are well-off. You went to college. You don’t have to wait tables for a living.”

“My parents suffer under the delusion that it’s healthy to work for a living, and that restaurant owners should learn the business from the ground up. The restaurant was supposed to be my nest egg, since I didn’t inherit the family talent and all, and apparently supporting oneself is good for the self-esteem.” The last was said with enough disgust to let me know where she came down on the matter.

“Fine. I understand about the money—you’re a greedy bitch.” Her lips tightened in a gratifying manner. I hurried on. “I get that now. But why risk using an untested formula on yourself? Geez, you’re stunning. If I had to be stuck with just one aura, I sure wouldn’t mind yours.”

“Why, thank you, Ciel. What a lovely compliment.” Apparently it distracted her from the “greedy bitch” thing I’d let slip—gotta love a limited attention span. “But what good is a female aura, no matter how beautiful, if you’re in love with a gay man?”

“What? James? You love my brother?” Holy crap. How had none of us ever realized? “But you could have any man. Why…?”

“Why James? Oh, maybe because he’s gorgeous and brilliant, and totally understands how it feels not to be the one thing you really want to be. He’s always so nice to me. He
gets
me. How could I not love him?” Tears glistened in her eyes.

“God, Monica. I’m … sorry.” And I really was, at least a little bit. It’s hard for me not to identify with unrequited love. “But someday you’ll meet the right—”

The tears dried at once, leaving her eyes hard-set with more of the crazy. “There
is
no one else for me. If James can’t love this … this female
thing
that I am, then I’ll be someone he
can
love.” And slowly, the effort showing, she became Devon once more.

I looked at Thelma sharply. Her face had gone from phony warm to calculating. “See?” she said. “There’s no reason we can’t all benefit from some sort of arrangement.” Holy shit. She was as loony as Monica. I had a bad feeling about this.

“Monica,” I said carefully, “where’s the real Devon? You had to pick up his aura somewhere—it’s too good to be cardboard.”

She puffed up, pleased with herself. “He won’t be a problem. We gave him some money and sent him off to Hollywood to find fame and fortune. After I got his cell phone with all that handy information, naturally. That was Thelma’s idea.” She glanced at the older woman, making good use of Devon’s fuck-me smile. “Of course, he won’t make it all the way there. He’s so pretty he’d probably become a huge celebrity, and wouldn’t
that
be awkward. But don’t worry, I’ll be so much better for James than he ever was. Loyal. I’d never cheat on him with a woman the way Devon did.”

Okay, this was really freaking me out. The car was moving too fast for the moment, but next stoplight …

Thelma casually pulled a small gun from her understated Coach bag and laid it on her lap, leaving her hand wrapped loosely around the grip. What was she, a mind reader? Better keep talking to Monica.

“How do you know Devon cheated on James?” I asked.

“Who do you think was the woman he cheated with?” she said, her Devon voice laced with pride.

“Geez, Monica, and that makes you better than Devon how, exactly?” I blurted.

“Don’t be silly,” she explained patiently. “I didn’t
want
to cheat. I only did it to show James that Devon couldn’t be trusted. Too bad that didn’t seem to matter—he’d still rather have Devon. But James never blamed me. Our friendship meant more to him than that.”

“Meant?”

“Well, yes. Because I’m dead now, don’t you see? You should—you found my body. If I’m going to be Devon from now on, I couldn’t very well keep up with being
her,
could I? It’s hard enough to keep track of one life.”

Um, yeah. Back in Crazy Town. I almost told her that James knew she wasn’t really dead—that he was onto the whole fake-her-own-death thing—but then I thought better of it. Hell, the woman had just shot me. No telling what she’d try if she thought her plans weren’t going to work out.

“Wow. You know what, Monica? That’s really kind of brilliant. I’m glad my brother is going to be with someone who obviously loves him so much.” Yeah, I know. It didn’t sound sincere to me, either. But I had to try.

Oddly, Monica swallowed it whole. Thelma, on the other hand, wasn’t buying it. “You’ll see it’s the best thing for all concerned, Ciel,” she said. “Besides, you’d like working with your new lover, wouldn’t you?”

That made me sit up straight.
Ouch.
Stupid gunshot wound. “You have Billy?”

“Not precisely. But I’m quite sure he’ll be happy to work for me, after the police finish investigating Monica’s disappearance.”

“Billy didn’t kill anyone. You can’t blackmail him with that.”

“Well, no, he didn’t. But you weren’t the only one to see him in an intimate embrace with Monica—several party guests did, too.”

“His clothes—you sent that guy Billy’s clothes. How’d you get them?” I asked.

“Oh, that was easy,” Monica said. “I just grabbed them when I was picking up Molly to take her to James’s lab for our little field trip. A big handbag, a quick trip to the ‘bathroom’ upstairs while Mo was busy with Molly, and voilà! The authentic touch.”

Thelma nodded. “And now traces of poor, missing Monica’s blood are all over your parents’ grotto—”

“How? She wasn’t really shot, or stabbed, or whatever you set up,” I said.

“Drawn ahead of time, and spread by Monica when no one was looking. And it’s so difficult to remove blood entirely, you know. Also, I’m afraid you were witnessed violently attacking your lover’s car. We have pictures. Susan Hatcher is handy with a telephoto lens.”

So Suze
had
been there. All of a sudden I was freezing.
Great. Fucking fantastic.
“What makes you think Billy is my lover?”

“Please. After what you did to his car? Such a temper you have!” Thelma chided. “The little something Susan added to your Manhattan might have loosened your inhibitions, but there had to be a basis for it to work with. It won’t be difficult for the police to put two and two together, and convict you of Monica’s murder.”

“You
drugged
me?” I was outraged, of course, but part of me was kind of relieved that what I did to Billy’s car wasn’t my fault. “How?”

“Quite easily. Susan had some doctored cherries with her, and slipped them into your glass while you were distracted. You always order Manhattans, don’t you, dear? We’ll have to teach you not to be quite so predictable.”

“But there’s no body,” I said, ignoring the implication that I’d be working for her. I was pretty sure you had to have a body to make a murder conviction stick.

“No, but there are pictures of a body, which can easily be sent to the police by an ‘anonymous’ source. Those, coupled with the blood evidence, and the proof of your violent temper … Well, it could get very messy for you indeed. Unless, of course, Billy decides to cooperate.”

“How could you know about Billy and me ahead of time—that the drug would make me bash up the Chevy?” I swallowed hard, still feeling somewhat guilty in spite of the extenuating circumstances. Mom’s saying kept creeping into the back of my head.
God punishes … Damn.
I knew the thing with Billy’s car would come back and bite me on the ass somehow. I’d just thought it would be Billy doing the biting.

“Oh, we didn’t,” Thelma said pleasantly. “That was just a fortunate turn of events. Before we knew you and Billy were involved—you really should be more discreet about kissing in doorways, my dear; you never know who might be watching—we’d been planning to set up Billy for Monica’s murder. A lover’s quarrel gone bad, that sort of thing. We thought we were very clever, killing two birds with one stone—making Monica disappear, as she wanted, and getting leverage over Billy. But when this opportunity presented itself, we couldn’t resist. This way we get you, too. You’re like a bonus. The third bird, so to speak.”

“Well, isn’t that nice?” I said with just a trace of a Southern drawl. A former client had once told me any woman south of the Mason-Dixon Line knew that particular phrase, when delivered with the right amount of saccharine, meant “fuck you.” Thelma’s smile froze, so I guessed she had some confederates in her ancestry.

“It is for me,” she said, shaking off my little zing. (It
had
been kind of pathetic.) “Don’t you worry, dear. You’re going to love working for me. I understand you at one time planned your own career with our agency and were sidetracked by Mark?”

Where the fuck was she getting her information?

She answered my unspoken question. “Yes, I’ve been following your life for some time. Your whole family, in fact. Once I learned about Mark, his connection to you made you all quite interesting.”

“Peachy,” I said.

“Look at it this way—now you’ll be able to fulfill your dream. And Billy … well, he practically works for us as it is. It won’t be that big a change for him, other than reporting to me instead of Mark.”

“But why do you need us at all? Monica got you the fucking formula. Why not just make your own adaptors out of some gung-ho Agency sheep?”

“You know the answer to that. It won’t work on just anyone, will it? You have to have a latent adaptor gene, and that’s a rare thing. Besides”—she glanced warily at Monica—“who knows what side effects might emerge. It will require further study.”

“Hey, Monica … or Devon—whoever the fuck you want to be—how does it feel to be Thelma’s guinea pig?” I said. Why should I be the only uncomfortable person in the car?

The Devon aura wavered, the violet eyes shifting to deep, dark brown. “I don’t mind a bit—I’d do anything for James.”