Lethal Seduction (29 page)

“H
I, HONEY
—how are you feeling?”

Rosarita gave Dex a wary look. Why was he acting all concerned? “I'm feeling fine, thank you,” she said, although she wasn't, having had an extremely frustrating trip to several bookstores. It wasn't easy digging up information about poisons, but she'd managed to do
some
research. Strychnine, she'd discovered, increased reflexes, caused jumping of the muscles when touched, followed by painful spasms, dilated pupils and asphyxia cyanosis—which did not tell her a lot.

Arsenic was not much better than strychnine. Heat and irritation in throat, vomiting, cramps and restlessness, even convulsions, prostration and fainting.

How was she going to find a nice, quiet poison that would seep into his system and kill him within an hour? An hour would give her time to send him out to the casino, where he would conveniently collapse and die while she was nowhere in sight. She didn't need him having fits and delirium and all of that. She had her alibi all planned. She would be somewhere public with Chas and her parents-in-law. Cast iron. No arguing with
that.

Goddamnit! Even poisoning somebody wasn't easy.

“Can we talk?” Dexter said, taking her by the arm and leading her into the bedroom.

Oh God, what now? Had Joel called and revealed everything?

“What is it, Dex?” she said irritably. “I just got in. I'd like to relax and have a cup of coffee before you come to me with all your problems.”

“No problems, honey,” he said in that same smooth, incredibly aggravating tone. “I know you were probably waiting to tell me later, only I found out, and I can't keep it to myself. Now don't be mad at me—'cause I've already called my parents and told them.”

“Told them
what?”
she said, alarmed at his sudden concern.

“You're such a clever girl,” he said. “I'm so proud of you.”

Clever girl? Proud of her? What the hell was he on about?

“Dex, will you kindly explain what you're talking about,” she said, speaking slowly.

“The baby,” he said, beaming.
“Our
baby.”

Oh my God! Somehow or other he's found out I'm pregnant. This is all I need!

She sat down on the edge of the bed, her stomach fluttering. “How do you know?”

“Dr. Shipp's secretary called to make an appointment for you. I had a hunch, so I asked her.” He moved in front of her, taking her hands in his. “Why didn't you tell me, honey?”

“I . . . I only found out myself this afternoon,” she stammered, caught off guard. “I was planning on telling you tonight.”

“I'm so happy, Rosarita,” he said, pulling her up and enveloping her in a hug. “It's great news.”

“I suppose it is,” she said, still trying to collect her thoughts. It probably was a good thing he knew, because to the world they'd now be this loving and united couple. United, married and having a baby—so that when he dropped dead, she would not be a suspect. Instead people would feel sorry for her. The bereaved widow. The
pregnant
bereaved widow. A part she could play to perfection.

How would all this sit with Joel? Should she run it by him?

Absolutely not. He might not condone murder as the answer to her marital woes.

“I'm glad you're happy, Dex,” she said, deciding to go with it. “It came as a shock to me because, as you well know, I always use my diaphragm, and uh . . . I can't understand how this happened.”

“Protection is never one hundred percent,” he said. “Besides, I
wanted
us to start a family.”

Thank God he was understanding. Another man might have said, “Since you always use your diaphragm, how could this be? Have you been sleeping around?”

“I'm sorry this had to happen while you're out of a job,” Rosarita said. “It seems a pity to burden you with further problems.”

“You can be so thoughtful,” Dexter said. “Much as you try to keep your sweet side hidden, it's always there—underneath the tough-cookie act.
That's
why I married you, 'cause
I
know the real you.”

“Thank you,” she said demurely.

“You're welcome.”

“What did your parents say?”

“They were excited. I was thinking—if it's a boy, can we name him Dexter?”

“Of course.”

“And how about Rosarita for a girl?”

“Whatever you want, darling.”

“I'm planning to treat you like a princess,” he promised. “You can have anything you want.”

“Thank you, Dex, but perhaps you shouldn't make too big of a fuss. Let's wait until we get back from Vegas and tell people then.”

“I'm wondering if you should still take that trip.”

“What are you talking about?” she said quickly. “I'm pregnant, not an invalid.”

“Do you really think it's wise?”

“I
love
Vegas. All that shopping. I can take Martha
shopping, and Matt too. In fact, I'll take everybody shopping. You know I'm a world-class shopper.”

He smiled. “Yes, I know that. And I promise you, Rosarita, I'll get another job that'll be better than the soap. I'm planning to be the star you always wanted. Will you trust me on that?”

“Yes, Dex,” she said, nodding. “I know you won't let me down.”

•

“Madam Sylvia?”

A suspicious, “Who wants her?”

“I'm calling to speak to Madam Sylvia. I was given this number by Testio Ramata.”

“Never heard of him.”

Oh Christ,
Joel thought.
What am I doing? This isn't going to work.

“Testio Ramata, the photographer,” he said. “Put Madam Sylvia on.”

“Wait a minute,” the voice said, and went away.

A few moments later the phone was picked up again. “This is Madam Sylvia. Can I help you?”

“Yeah, um . . . Testio told me to call you. He said you'd have what I want.”

“And the password is . . .?”

“I don't know any fucking password,” he growled, beginning to lose it.

“Then I'm afraid I can't help you.”

“Do you know who I am?” he demanded.

“No.”

“Joel Blaine—Leon Blaine's son.”

“Give me your number, Mr. Blaine, and I'll call you back.”

“Is that necessary?”

“It is. If your secretary picks up, I'll use the alias Mrs. Brown.”

“Don't bother. I'll give you my private number.”

He did so and waited impatiently by the phone. Within
seconds she called back. “I'm sorry, Mr. Blaine, can't be too careful.”

“I understand,” he said, although he didn't.

“Did Testio tell you that this is an escort agency for women only? I do not supply gay companions. I supply straight men for straight women, so I really don't see how I can help you.”

“I have this uh . . . problem,” Joel said. “It's something I feel uncomfortable talking about on the phone. Can we meet?”

“That's most unusual. Generally I do not meet potential clients.”

“Listen,” Joel said. “I've told you who I am. I'm not likely to turn up with a wire attached to my chest and a couple of cops trailing me.”

She chuckled politely. “I didn't think so, because I
do
have our conversation on tape, and I'm sure you wouldn't want it made public—just as
I
wouldn't want anything
I
say made public.”

“Then can we meet?”

“Very well,” she said. “How about the bar at the Four Seasons Hotel at seven?”

“How will I know you?”

“If you're who you say you are, I'll know
you.”

Joel slammed down the phone, feeling foolish and inept. He'd gotten himself into this situation because of Marika the Asian cunt. Damn her! Why had he told her he was bringing Carrie Hanlon to Vegas, the most difficult girl in New York to nail?

He walked across to the window of his apartment and stared at Central Park spread out before him. Unfortunately for him, there were no other apartments in sight. Sometimes, when he was desperate for an audience, he booked a high-rise suite at the Four Seasons, invited a girl over and made love to her in front of the bedroom window, which was conveniently overlooked by the hotel next door. That was always a kick. Tourists staying in the other hotel must really think New York was a hot place. Joel chuckled at his fond memories.

Maybe he should do that with Rosarita. He hadn't seen her
in a while, and she was probably pissed at him, but so what? He was sure that once he said “Meet me” she'd come running. Married women were the best kind, because if you treated them like shit, there was nothing they could do about it.

Rosarita had always warned him, “Don't call me, I'll call you.” But since he'd been giving her the brush, he knew if he wanted to see her again he'd have to make the effort.

Damn! All he needed was the husband answering. That big ox of a handsome TV guy with bird seed for brains. Joel kind of got off on the thought that she preferred fucking
him
instead of the pretty-boy husband. And why not? Joel had the goods
and
the money. When his father dropped, Joel would be megarich. Leon Blaine was almost seventy. How much longer did the old cocker have?

On a sudden impulse he looked up her number in his little black book and picked up the phone. A female voice answered. “Rosarita?” he said.

“Joel?” she whispered, sounding panicky. “I told you never to call me here. Where have you
been?
Oh God, let me call you back.”

“I'm at my apartment,” he said. “I have a new number.”

“I know,” she said. “It's unlisted. I couldn't get hold of it. Your bitch secretary wouldn't give it to me. What is it? Quickly.”

He told her the number and hung up. Mistake. He should never have given her his new number, considering the reason he'd changed it was because of her.

But then again, she was certainly the most adventurous woman he'd ever come across, and she wasn't a hooker. It was one thing for a hooker to be adventurous, but to get a normal woman to do the things he liked to do . . . well, that made it all the more exciting.
And
she gave the greatest head
he'd
ever come across.

A beat of ten and his phone rang. He grabbed it. “Meet me at the Four Seasons Hotel in half an hour,” he said.

“I can't do that,” she said, still sounding panicky.

“Why not?”

“I have a husband at home.”

“Tell him you gotta go out.”

“Where would I be going at six in the evening?”

“I thought you ran your own life. Isn't he working on a soap?”

“It's been canceled. He's home, in the other room. You made a mistake calling me here, he could have picked up the phone.”

“Well, he didn't, so quit bitchin'.”

“I can't have him finding out about you, Joel.”

“Why?”

“I told you, he'll soon be history.”

“Yeah, yeah—you've been saying that forever. Can you meet me or not?”

“Well . . .”

He knew he had her. “Four Seasons, the lobby. Don't be late. I haven't got a lot of time.”

“Is there anything special you want to tell me?” she said, waiting for him to say something nice.

“What do
you
think?”

“How do I know
what
to think? I've been trying to reach you for weeks; now you call me out of nowhere and insist I meet you immediately.”

Women! Why did they always have to talk? Why couldn't they just shut the fuck up? “Did you get those crotchless panties?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said breathlessly.

“Wear 'em. I'll see you soon.”

•

“Who was that on the phone?” Dexter asked as she ventured into the den where he was watching TV. “It was Chas,” she said. “He needs to see me. I think it's about that woman he's living with. The one he
pretends
is a nurse.”

“Why does he have to see you?”

“It's a family thing,” she said vaguely. “I must go over there.”

“I'll come with you,” Dexter said, clicking off the TV.

“No,” she said quickly. “He wants to see me by myself. Mumbled something about it being private.”

“If it's family business, maybe I
should
be there,” Dexter said. “Anyway, now that you're pregnant, I can't have you running around town by yourself.”

“Don't get paranoid, Dex, I'll be back in an hour.”

Rosarita had never been the best of liars, but she seemed to have pulled this one off, because Dexter stopped objecting and switched the TV back on.

She hurried into the bedroom, went straight to her lingerie drawer, opened it and inspected the supply of crotchless panties she'd purchased in every color imaginable. They were stuffed in the back of the drawer so that Dex wouldn't come across them by mistake. Not that he searched through her lingerie, but she could never be sure. Choosing a scarlet pair with black lace trim, she rushed into the bathroom, locked the door and slipped them on. Then she touched up her makeup and reached Chas on her cell phone.

“Daddy, this is important,” she said, speaking fast. “I'm coming over to see you, but not really. If Dex calls, tell him I'm on my way. If he asks for me, say I've just left. Okay?”

“What the fuck's goin' on now?” Chas grumbled.

“Nothing to concern yourself with. I have some private business to conduct, and Dex is determined to stalk my every step.”

“You doin' somethin' you shouldn't?” Chas asked suspiciously.