Aphrodisiac (19 page)

Benita flashed me the stop sign with the palm of her hand. “Don’t you dare open that now. Yesterday’s olfactory overload was bad enough.”

“I admit, last night’s shower did come as a relief. But somehow I feel naked without a perfume.”

“Too bad. Got no where to run inside this car.”

I resisted the temptation and tucked each bottle carefully back into the box. All of them appeared to be a third or half full. Something to look forward to.

We finished our lunch and joined the rush of highway traffic. Bumper-to-bumper at seventy miles an hour. Binnie’s staccato breaking style and liberal use of the horn sent my shoulders up to my ears.

At New London we took the ferry. A crisp salt air journey across the Sound to Orient Point, Long Island. The ferry, a floating parking lot, bulled its way slowly through the Sound. We got out of the car and stood on the deck a while, stretching our legs and taking in the salt water’s mood-enhancing ions.

***

“Dance Of The Sugarplum Fairy” tinkled from inside the tote bag at my feet. I scooped up my cell and snapped open my phone. “Dr. Oz.”

“Good afternoon. Walsh Plunkett here.”

“Excuse me, but how did you get this number?”

“From a lady at your Do-Me-Good party. Can’t recall her name.”

“Please understand, Walsh, I generally reserve this phone for personal needs and crisis calls from my paying clients. Has something upset you?”

“Me? Why would I be upset?

Defensive. Perfectionist. Impotence Prone Personality. These kind scare easily. I upped my gentle and caring tone. “If you’re worried about a sexual problem, I’ll be happy to discuss it during a session in my office. These things can be helped.” I thought of that old suit he wore. “If money’s an issue, I do have a sliding scale.”

“Sexual problem?” Pause. His tenor voice turned husky. “Dr. Oz, if you think because I’m a small man I have a little penis, you are very wrong.”

Why do men think implying they have a big dick is the answer to everything — and that it’s the hottest seduction line in the world? However, I must confess his insinuation did remind me of that old adage about men with big feet having big equipment. “Look, Walsh, I know it’s difficult to talk about certain subjects.”

“Good day, Dr. Oz.” The phone slammed in my ear. Not unusual. He’ll call back.

Benita snickered. “Don’t you see what’s going on? That Plunkett guy doesn’t want therapy. He wants to be your next hardship case boyfriend.”

“Yeah, well, this time I’m not picking up the bait.”

At Orient Point I took the wheel and drove through the North Fork to the Shelter Island Ferry to the South Fork and on to East Hampton. Benita and I discussed our plans and concluded the following:

One: Good chance we’d need a second day out here since it was almost dusk and we now had Capricia added to our list of suspects.

Two: Aunt Lana was the key to either getting us into Capricia’s house or planting the Teddy Cam for us.

Three: If Gwen buried her tablet in the fragrance garden she’d created at the Circle of the Sacred Yoni retreat—and her poem definitely implied that—we had some digging to do.

Four: I would be the designated digger. Benita would go undercover inside the main house using Raffy’s Yoni bracelet to gain access. We’d go there at nightfall, so I could sneak into the garden unseen.

Our long ride finally brought us cruising down a street lined with upscale boutiques and restaurants in the center of East Hampton village. This was
Martha Stewart Living
by the sea, with some of the most beautiful homes and highest priced real estate in the country.

That familiar ringtone. I told Benita to pick up. She reached into my bag and took out my cell. It was Raffy DiNardo, her favorite bartender. Benita put her on speaker. In the background we heard the clamor of customers at the Jewel.

“Listen,” Raffy said, “I remembered who Gwen stole that tablet from.”

“I thought she took it from the university’s archaeological dig,” I said.

“Not directly. There’s a professor who worked with Gwen at Columbia. Conrad Schumacher. I think she used to date him. He was in the habit of helping himself to unrecorded artifacts. Padded his income buying and selling stuff on the black market. Anyway, he’s the one who walked away with the tablet from the university. And Gwen removed it from his cache.”

Benita looked over at me. “Then he definitely knew about the tablet.”

I asked Raffy, “Was Gwen involved in his black market dealings?”

“No way,” she said.

“Did Schumacher know she took it from him?” Benita asked.

“Can’t answer that one,” Raffy replied. “But Gwen told me he never would’ve deciphered it right. Didn’t have her knowledge of the ancient plants. At least that was her rationale for lifting it.” She paused. We overheard some commotion at the bar. “Gotta get back to work. Hope to see you at my opening.”

EIGHTEEN

It was seven thirty when we turned off the Montauk Highway and meandered through winding back roads, finally arriving at a two-story Traditional enclosed by hedgerows. Pebbles crunched under our tires as we parked in front of my aunt’s garage. I walked to the house, rang the doorbell, and there was Lana, naked.

“Answering the door in the nude may not be such a good idea,” I said, gesturing to the collegiate-looking gardener. “There’s a man in your front yard.”

“You mean Michael? It’s okay. He’s sees me this way all the time.”

“Isn’t it late in the day to be trimming the hedges?”

“But it won’t be dark for another hour.”

“How well do you know this guy?”

Lana reached out and pulled me into a warm hug. “Stop all this worrying about me.” She stepped back. “Come in, come in. So good to see you both.”

“Sorry to barge in on such short notice,” I said, though I knew Lana was one of maybe three people in the world who actually meant it when she quoted the old “love is never having to say you’re sorry.” The smell of incense—and freshly smoked Mary Jane—wafted into the foyer.

She brought us seltzer with ice and lemon, and we sat in a broad yellow room glowing with afternoon light. Binnie and Lana each took one of the stuffed fuchsia chairs. I flopped onto the coral pink carpeting. This house always made me think of paintings by Matisse. There was a white piano, goldfish, potted ferns, azaleas and Areca palms.

It took me about fifteen minutes to muster the courage to tell Lana the true reason for our visit. I began with the Hummer incident, Curtis, my potentially fatal countdown and the reason I couldn’t hire the PI she had suggested. Then there was the night they wasted Kyle Drummond down on John Street. I watched my aunt’s face. Being an uber-shrink, Lana knew how to listen to the most upsetting stories without showing her reaction. But I could see she was disturbed by the news. It’s not every day your favorite niece becomes the object of a hit man.

When I paused, trying to formulate the best way to bring up Capricia, Lana spoke in a calm, firm voice. “I am going to the police.”

I shifted to my knees and reached for her hand. “Please, don’t. Gwen’s killers stole my laptop and know where Mom and Steven live.”

“But Steven is in Provincetown for the summer.”

“I’m hoping that keeps him safe, but I can’t be sure. Curtis knew Mom was in Florida and distance was no obstacle when he made it clear he’d hurt her. He also threatened to hurt Binnie. And you.”

Lana crossed her arms, lifting her ample boobs. “We cannot allow evil to dictate our lives. I’m calling in the authorities.”

Benita sat forward. “The police can’t lock up a guy on hearsay. Even if they bring this Curtis dude in for questioning, they can’t hold him without evidence. And as soon as they release him, both Saylor and I are marked.”

“Or maybe sooner, since he’s not in this alone,” I added. “Twice now, Binnie and I had close calls with five others who are working for him. So, whoever hired them has some money. And after what I saw down on John Street, I’m convinced they’re not playing. Until we can prove who is behind Gwen’s murder, none of us will be safe.”

My aunt closed her eyes and shook her head. Her long auburn hair fell across her shoulders. “Oh, the dark side of humanity.” She opened a cloisonné box, pulled out a neatly rolled joint and lit up. “Would you like some?”

“No thanks, we need to stay alert.” I squeezed her hand. “Forgive me for bringing this to your door, but you’re our only way of getting into Capricia’s house.”

Lana knit her brows. “Capricia?”

I nodded. “Have the two of you discussed me lately? Has Capricia asked you anything about me or my life?”

“No, not at all,” Lana said.

Not surprising. I’m not exactly hard to find. “Since you’re her therapist, I realize you might be reluctant to help us, but there’s a chance Capricia may be one of the people behind Gwen’s murder.”

“Murder?” She coughed out a wad of smoke. “Capricia?” She shook her head waving the smoke away from her face. “Granted she’s done some rotten things to certain people, but killing someone…not Capricia.”

Benita reached into the pocket of her shorts, pulled out the newspaper article and handed it to Lana. “With due respect to your professional opinion, there are those who consider her to be a ruthless bitch. Too many things line up here.”

Lana scanned it quickly. “Yes, I know about this already. And I know Capricia can be very cruel. But try to realize, the poor woman had a dreadful childhood. Beneath the surface she’s just a sad little girl.”

“
Ay, Dios mio
.” Visibly flustered, Benita got up, walked over to the window and stared out.

“Aunt Lana,” I said, “the professor named in this article, Conrad Schumacher, was a close colleague of Gwen’s. In fact she dated him as well. I’m not sure if he and Capricia worked together in the killing of Gwen, but I have reason to believe it’s a possibility.”

“But why would they want to murder Gwen?”

“Let’s just say it has to do with a very special perfume.”

“Perfume?”

Benita and I dove in, telling Lana all about Gwen’s ancient tablet and Heaven’s Daughter.

“We have only two days to either prove or disprove our suspicions,” I said. “We just need to spy on Capricia a little. Can you somehow get us into her house?”

“Like tonight?” Benita said.

Lana sighed. “I do hate violence, but I know it’s a part of life. A wolf cannot feed its young unless it hunts.”

Benita rolled her eyes.

Lana’s hand cupped my cheek. “I adore my two sons and their children, but you, Saylor, are the daughter I never had.”

“You’ll help us?”

She nodded. “You’re in luck. During the summer season Capricia has nightly martini bashes at her place. Friends, admirers and other glitterati stop by and sit around the pool sipping cocktails or doing coke or just talking. That sort of thing. I always have a standing invitation. Which means you’re in.” She paused. “But I do have one question. If Capricia is who you think she is, then what will she do when she sees you?”

“Good question,” Benita said. “But it’s a chance we’ve got to take. How else will we be able to gather any incriminating info on her?”

Lana stood up. “So, get dressed right away.”

An important idea hit me as she pivoted to leave. “Aunt Lana, one more thing. The men who threatened me referred to their boss as Chub Dubs. I was wondering. Did Capricia have any odd nicknames like this as a kid?”

Benita quickly added, “Or a current slang name?”

“The answer to both questions is, not to my knowledge. But men, particularly the kind you’ve described, might use a derogatory term to describe their boss, especially if it’s a woman.”

“Something to think about,” I said.

We rushed upstairs to change our clothes. Good thing we had eaten those sandwiches en route. Benita had also bought a fruit basket at the deli and now added the Teddy Cam into the arrangement of fruits and cheeses. The chubby little bear sat between a bottle of sparkling cider and imported crackers.

After dressing in a silk cami and an A-line skirt with a sailboat print, I decided to give myself a treat. I opened the Tinkerbell jewelry box, lifted the base and selected one of the vintage perfumes bottles in Gwen’s carefully hidden collection. I thought about how much she’d loved these and how precious they’d been to her when I pulled the stopper out of the Vol de Nuit. It smelled a bit tart, but what did I expect? The stuff had been sitting around since the thirties. I indulged in an ample dousing.

Lana drove us all to Capricia’s house in nearby Bridgehampton in her hybrid SUV. Yes, my aunt did put on clothing for this event. A gold floor length jalabaya. Benita looked great in white linen shorts and a red-checkered blouse tied at the waist. She carried the fruit basket complete with hidden Teddy Cam. It was my turn to carry the Louis Vuitton bag with Benita’s tape recorder rigged up inside. If Capricia was the one behind the sordid plan that took Gwen’s life, then we had to find a way to get it on record for the police.

A white archway opened onto a long, skinny drive leading to a French Normandy-style house straight from the pages a child’s coloring book, its colors softened by the encroaching twilight. I heard rock music coming from behind the house.

Four people stood smoking on the front porch. A black haired middle-aged woman in a calf length skirt looked at us and said, “Can I help you?” She peered over the top of her sunglasses. “Oh, it’s you, Dr. Klein. She’s poolside.”

“That’s Capricia’s personal assistant,” Lana said to us as we walked up the driveway.

In the back yard a huge white patio surrounded an oval pool. A babe wearing a shiny one-piece swimsuit floated on a blow-up lounge chair in the center of the pool. She laughed while being splashed and teased by a skinny bald guy. Under a striped tent six men and women sat talking over drinks in front of them on a round glass table. I thought I recognized an actor from an old TV series. “Need You Tonight” by INXS played over the speaker system.

Sliding glass doors opened from the back of the house. Capricia stepped out, clad in a bikini top and floral wraparound. A tabby followed at her feet. In her hand she held a giant martini glass. She was painfully thin and had the requisite features of an American beauty queen: honey blonde hair, an oval face, short nose, big blue eyes and enormous boobs. The famous TV star had already been dumped by two husbands who were driven nuts by her megalomania. Now after bombing miserably in a few leading roles in motion pictures she’d fallen into the category of B-list actor and was desperate for any small part she could find.

Capricia greeted Lana with one of those double-cheek air kiss things that people in the Hamptons all seem to love. “So glad you finally made it over here. I see you brought your niece along.”

“Yes, Saylor’s here with me for a few days,” Lana said.

Gee, Capricia recognized me pretty fast. Could it mean we were actually facing the real deal here? And of course I’d forgotten to turn on the recorder. I began fumbling in my bag, trying to find the switch.

“Saylor? Say-lor,” Lana said in a what-the-hell-are-you doing tone.

I looked up and pulled my hand out of my bag so quickly that the scarf covering the recorder went flying into the pool. “Ooops.”

Capricia shook her head and my hand at the same time. “Somebody’s got the jitters.”

Lana put her arm around Benita’s shoulder. “And this is a client of mine who also happens to be a devoted fan of yours.”

“Thank you for having us,” Benita said. “I brought you this.”

“Oh, how sweet,” Capricia cooed, unconvincingly.

“Well, you are my favorite star,” Benita said. “Should I just go set it on the kitchen counter for now?”

Capricia tilted her head, looking at the basket. Benita stood rigid. I held my breath. Please, please don’t say ‘Let’s open it up and share with the guests.’ Even Lana looked worried. As soon as Capricia said, “That would nice,” my roommate made a beeline for the sliding glass doors.

Benita disappeared inside the house, fruit basket in hand. Operation Teddy Cam was in swing. Lana said something about getting a drink and steered me to a table spread with finger food and bottles of liquor.

I asked Lana out the side of my mouth, “Shouldn’t I stick close to Capricia and, you know, try to, um, interview her, so to speak?”

“Avoid her for now,” my aunt said. “You’re way too edgy. You should’ve smoked some weed before coming here.” After ordering me to make myself a vodka and tonic, she went back to join Capricia’s little entourage and keep tabs on the conversation for me.

Resting my Louis Vuitton bag with the recorder inside on the grass next to the table, I took advantage of the liquid sedation and waited for my nerves to calm. And for Benita. The clocked ticked. No sign of her. I wanted to stay where she could see me when she returned from her mission. Feeling self-conscious, as if everyone knew why I was here, I busied myself petting an orange cat and harpooning olives.

“First time here?”

I glanced up. Wow. He had one of those perfect angular jaws framed in five o’clock shadow. His navy silk shirt was unbuttoned, showing off his smooth, bronze, underwear-model chest. That got my juices flowing. He extended his hand. “Anthony.”

“Saylor.”

We started right in on cutesy small talk. His sexually evocative, slinky posture indicated Anthony was on the make. Too bad I was here on business.

A guy in Speedo trunks joined our conversation. A hard-muscled, green-eyed gymnast who was just my size. Say hi to Chip, Capricia’s fitness instructor. He kept touching my arm and talking about the wonders of the anatomy. Definitely the type who likes to wrestle in the sack.

With Mr. Neiman Marcus Catalogue on my right and Mr. Gym Fit on my left, I was beginning to enjoy the fact that Benita was taking so long. About ten minutes into our happy three-way, things started to get a tad surreal. Both men stopped talking and instead just stood there gazing at me with this goofy look.

Chip ended the silence with a shocker. “Do you know you’re the most beautiful woman in the world?”

“What?”

“He’s right, ”Anthony said, sounding as if he were in a trance.

Was I dreaming? I mean, I’m fairly good-looking, but let’s get real. “You guys are putting me on.”

“Is
this
putting you on?” Chip leaned in and kissed me on the lips.

“My turn,” Anthony said, pushing him aside. “This woman deserves all the love a man has to offer.”

More incoming to the mouth. What can I say? My hands instinctively went to the back of his neck. Chip caressed me from behind. How did I get into this?

We were halfway to ménage à trois on the nearest table when I glimpsed Capricia approaching us. “Is this a private orgy or can anybody join?” She sounded extremely annoyed. No surprise coming from a woman desperately seeking a concoction that will make her so irresistible and sexually alluring that no one will notice her atrocious acting.

I pushed and squirmed until I freed myself from their grip. “Anthony, Chip, stop it. This isn’t a bacchanal.”