Pyramid Deception (15 page)

Once he got the door unlocked he shoved it open as if he expected an ambush. The room was dark except for the moon glow coming through the windows. It was soft indirect lighting like the kind you see in a movie that you're supposed to interpret as total darkness. He wanted to see her sleeping form lying in the
bed, but it was not there. He turned toward the windows and that was when fear wrapped its icy fingers around his heart and squeezed.

He took it in all at once without any processing time. Cindy sat slouched in the chair over by the window as still as a corpse, wearing only her lacy silk black bra and panties. She was backlit just as he had been that morning, except that the sunlight had given her skin a golden glow while the moonlight stole the color from her flesh. One small foot was curled under her while the other dangled toward the floor. He head lolled back and to her left. Her hands rested on the tables to either side of the chair.

The Unisom pack lay beside her left hand. The flat plastic and foil pill card was pushed out of its colorful sleeve. The fingers of her right hand were curled up against a light rum bottle as if she had been holding the bottle and then her hand had simply fallen from it. The bottle was three-quarters empty.

Arms spread, head tilted, one leg bent, she looked like some sick take on a crucifix with the pills on one side and the rum bottle on the other serving as the nails holding her hands in place.

Hannibal's chest imploded, forcing a hoarse, guttural sound out of him. It was somehow less than a scream but more than a crying sob.

Hannibal forced himself to breathe and rushed toward Cindy. But after three steps he pulled up short when her head snapped up and her eyes popped open.

Fear contorted her features and her mouth gaped wide, pushing out an inarticulate scream. Hannibal stopped and even took a small step backward when he realized that it was his form speeding toward her that had frightened her.

“What? What?” Cindy stared left and right, eyes wide, panting hard.

“Easy, babe,” Hannibal said, palms forward. “You scared the shit out of me. Are you all right?”

“I scared you?” Cindy leaned forward as if to stand. Her eyes rolled upward and she slumped back down into the chair. Hannibal started forward but her raised hand stopped him. Then she looked again left and right, took in the objects that she must have been holding when she passed out and raised her eyebrows.

“Oh. I see.” She raised a small half-smile and picked up the rum bottle as if to see how much she drank. Hannibal watched her closely, her soft golden face and shoulders caressed by the moonlight. He watched thoughts dance across her face but had no idea how to react to what he saw.

“Nothing to say?” Cindy asked, her words just a little slurred. “It's okay. I get it. When you came in I was passed out. You saw the pills and the booze and you figured I couldn't stand to accept that some little shit killed Jason. Right? You thought I curled up in this chair and committed suicide.”

When he opened his mouth to speak, she thrust her right palm at him to freeze the words in his throat. Then she picked up the little packet of pills and began to turn it in her hand, examining it
as if it were some ancient artifact no one had ever seen before. Then she smiled. Not at Hannibal, but at the pills.

“I could have done it, you know. I thought about it. I was here all alone and I thought about it. I couldn't talk to you. I couldn't even talk to Daddy. It would have meant admitting failure that I had given up. I didn't want to figure out what to do next, how to start over. I just wanted to go to sleep and forget the losses. And I had these little beauties.”

She turned to face Hannibal. “Diphenhydro…dyphun… hmmm…I guess I did drink a bit.” She shook her head and focused on the package in her hand. “Diphenhydramine. That's what's in these things. Kind of a mild sedative. Each one is 50 milligrams. Anything over 300 milligrams is considered an overdose. So, with 18 of these and a nice bottle of rum I could have just gone away. No pain, no anger, no guilt, no shame, no embarrassment, just a nap that would never end. I really thought about it. I could have done it so easily.”

“Yeah, but you didn't,” Hannibal said, sitting on the edge of the bed.

“Nope. I just doubled the dosage on the rum side.” She picked up the bottle by its neck and sloshed its contents around. “I looked myself in the face and decided that I wasn't going to do it. I could have, I just wouldn't. Know why?”

He did, but he shook his head. He knew she needed to say it.

“Because,” she said, leaning forward, “It would have meant admitting failure. That I had given up.”

Hannibal's heart swelled then and he stood up and gathered his woman into his arms. She stood to embrace him and he could almost feel the last of the fear and uncertainty seep out of her.

“I love you,” he whispered.

“Do you?” When he nodded, she asked, “Will you forgive me for being a baby and blaming you, God and everybody else for my bad time?”

“Nothing to forgive.”

After three deep, shaky breaths she asked, “Will you find the bastard who killed my friend?”

“I promise,” He said, noting with a smile that she made no mention of the lost money.

She hugged him tighter. “Will you take me to bed and make me forget who I've been for the last couple of days?”

Hannibal lifted, and Cindy slipped her legs up and around his waist. He turned and walked toward the bed.

“Welcome back, babe.”

She awakened him by nipping at his chest with her tiny, perfect teeth. The sun, just crawling over the horizon, burst through the window and made the room so bright it blinded him. Hannibal took the two hints and rolled over onto her. His mouth covered hers and she moaned low and opened herself completely to him.

The night before their lovemaking had been fast and hard. Hannibal made their morning love agonizingly slow, but no less intense. Cindy strung her releases together like pearls on a necklace, each a tiny bit bigger than the last until he couldn't stand the pressure any longer and added his voice to hers.

Later, when Hannibal was propped up on two pillows sipping room service coffee, Cindy was still wearing her mischievous grin. “You really like that don't you Poppy?”

“What?”

“You know,” she said, lightly punching him in the ribs. “That part when you give me a temporary case of Tourette's syndrome.”

“Well, yeah. You never use that kind of language any other time, do you? And I love it when you start throwing Spanish at me, even though I don't understand a word of it.”

“Maybe not, honey, but you always seem to get the right message.”

They decided to take advantage of it being Sunday and enjoy a leisurely brunch. They lazed in the room until after ten o'clock, watching music television and cuddling without much conversation. When they finally got up Cindy took Hannibal's hand and led him to the bathroom. There they shared a hot
shower, lathering each other and scrubbing each other's back. Playful teasing pushed business further and further from their minds.

Back in the bedroom Cindy pulled on a casual blouse and a skirt that was a couple of inches shorter than her usual business wear. Swayed by the view of her perfect legs Hannibal grudgingly agreed to leave his gloves and tie in the room, and to park his sunglasses in an inside suit jacket pocket.

The dining room glowed with the golden sunlight and the couple enjoyed the muted atmosphere. Hannibal ordered steak and eggs, while Cindy went for something more exotic.

“Fish for breakfast?” Hannibal asked when their orders arrived. The aroma might have been pleasant if it didn't clash so hard with the steak.

“You are a heathen,” Cindy said, picking up her fork. “First of all, this is brunch, not breakfast. And this lovely orange sesame glazed smoked salmon is insulted to be referred to simply as fish.”

“Right. Fish with an attitude.” Hannibal sliced into his own food, noting the perfect pink inside the steak and swirling it in an egg yolk.

“Well you certainly made good on your commitment last night, kind sir,” Cindy said with a wink.

“One does what one can. And I had some excellent inspiration.”

Cindy looked down and focused on her plate. “So, what about your other promise last night? Are you going to find Jason's killer?”

Hannibal sighed around a mouthful of meat. The steak was perfectly crunchy on the outside and moist on the inside. Why was she in such a hurry to spoil their meal with business?

“Yes, dear, I will find him.”

“And will you take him out?”

Hannibal eyes went to the ceiling before finding Cindy again and he pushed back from the table a bit, hands spread wide. “What, you want me to put a bullet in his dome? I've got one
suspect who might have enough of a motive and I'm going to try to get a read on him when I leave here. But even if it turns out to be him I don't think I'm ready to carry out any frontier justice. What I will do is make sure he faces justice. With two premeditated murders and another failed attempt, there's no doubt a Virginia jury will give him the death penalty.”

“Good,” she said in a calm voice that Hannibal found a bit unsettling. “And what about George Monroe?”

“Wash? What about him?” Hannibal began the efficient process of policing up all of the egg yolk with a piece of toast.

“Is he the man who swindled Jason and me out of our savings?”

The question was too direct to dodge. “I don't have any hard evidence but yes, I believe he is. He's also the man who lost his wife a few days ago. And I'll be getting together with him later today to try to follow the trail to the killer, or killers.”

“Really?” Cindy took small, ladylike bites of the salmon. “What do you think he can tell you?”

“He's my best shot at pinning down everybody who might have motive,” Hannibal said.

Cindy started a sentence with, “Well, I'm…” changed it to, “I want to,” and finally settled on, “May I come with you?” Her head was still down but she looked up from under her brows at him.

Hannibal smiled and nodded, again thinking to himself, “Welcome back, babe.”

They took a short, quiet drive to meet Hannibal's next suspect. Cindy's hand settled onto his thigh but she stared out the windshield. Hannibal knew she had something on her mind, but it would be up to her to open the conversation. When they pulled up to the security gate He gave his name to the elderly uniformed guard and had his ID ready, but it was unnecessary.

“No problem, sir,” said the guard, staring through thick reading glasses. “You're right here on Mr. Leotta's guest list.
Couldn't miss a name like yours. Go straight up and then right to the clubhouse parking.”

“So how did you know to bring us here?” Cindy asked as Hannibal pulled into the parking lot.

“A couple of phone calls was all it took,” he said, slipping into a space between a Lexus and Jaguar. “And no surprise. Where else would you find a real estate mover and shaker on a Sunday morning? Talking business during church is still frowned upon.”

On his way to opening Cindy's door, Hannibal let his eyes wander across the grounds of the River Bend Golf and Country Club. As a non-player all such clubs looked the same to him. The gently rolling countryside yielded such an open view in all directions it gave the impression of being miles from any civilization. The well treed and carefully manicured grounds were primed for promotional photos. The air was crisp and sweet. Even the birds contributed to the pastoral scene, warbling as if auditioning for a Disney cartoon.

“Don't you play?” Cindy asked as they walked under the brick arch in front of the clubhouse. “I've never seen you but I always assumed…”

“Never not once,” Hannibal replied. “Just can't see spoiling a long walk through the woods by batting a tiny white ball around.” As close as they were, it was funny what they didn't know about each other. Inside the clubhouse was all leather and hardwood, the atmosphere jovial but subdued. Cindy wore her cocktail hour smile but Hannibal's senses went on alert. He had scanned the room and noted only one other person of color. That man moved toward Hannibal as soon as they made eye contact. He was much darker than Hannibal and had him by two inches of height and a good forty pounds. And while Hannibal kept his expression neutral the other man's face was hard. Not street thug hard but rather Marine Corps or Ranger hard.

Hannibal moved his right foot back and his hands just below his waist. This subtle ready stance would mean nothing to a
casual observer but the man moving toward him nodded and stopped outside of arm's reach.

“Mr. Leotta will meet you in the upstairs lounge.”

The other man turned and walked toward a flight of stairs. Hannibal took Cindy's hand and followed. Halfway up the stairs he spoke to the back of the other man's head.

“You know who I am, right? Hannibal Jones. Private investigator.”

“Cramer,” the other man replied without turning around.

Hannibal had not seen recognition in Cramer's eyes but did consider that he was big enough to be the man in the bar with the broken bottle. If it came to a conflict, he would be a hard man to put down.

Cramer held the door for Hannibal and Cindy to enter, then followed them in and stood by the door. The lounge was paneled in the kind of dark wood that makes you imagine you smell cigar smoke. Four overstuffed leather chairs stood at the corners of a large oak table. Two of the chairs were occupied by athletic blonds wearing white golf shirts and brown loafers. The woman wore a knee length shirt and sat back in her chair with her ankles crossed. The man, in khakis, sat forward on the balls of his feet. As Cramer closed the door he stood and stretched a hand toward Hannibal.

“John Leotta. This is my wife Joan.”

After freeing himself from Leotta's fierce handshake Hannibal shook Joan's hand more gently and introduced Cindy. She and Hannibal settled into their chairs. John Leotta returned to his perch at the edge of his leather cushion.