Sugar & Spice (2 page)

The twins followed Heather at a distance down Pacific Coast Highway, discussing whether they should use the bumper on the Hummer to push her off the cliff into the Pacific Ocean. Having something better in store, they decided not to.

Heather Connelly turned into the parking lot of the Pier View Café and backed the Bentley into an open space between a black Porsche Carrera GT and a fire-engine red convertible Lamborghini Diablo near the canopy entrance of the restaurant. She planned to have brunch with Sandra Rhodes and Paula Stevens, her loyal Malibu High School friends. Heather got out of her car and strolled into the restaurant. She was wearing a white, oversized, V-neck sweater and lavender spandex leggings that showed off her long shapely legs.

The twins parked the Hummer several rows away from Heather's Bentley and watched her float into the café as if the world were hers to do with as she pleased. With high-powered binoculars, they could see Heather approach Sandra and Paula who were waiting for her on the deck. They watched the women talk for about an hour, sipping cool beverages from tall hand-painted margarita glasses and eating jumbo shrimp. On occasion, the women laughed and slapped high-fives.

“Look at them, Sam!” Alex blared in the Hummer. “Greedy bitches!”

“Let 'em enjoy their little meeting,” Sam hissed. “It'll be their last.”

Breast implants were the words that ran though the minds of the twins as they looked attentively at the statuesque women. With the exception of their enlarged bosoms, all three women looked virtually the same as the twins remembered—better in fact. It was clear that they had kept themselves in shape, probably on one of the stairmasters at the Malibu Health Spa.

After about an hour and a half, Heather Connelly, Sandra Rhodes, and Paula Stevens left the Pier View Café. Sandra drove the Diablo. Paula drove the Carrera GT. No doubt about it, all three women had done well for themselves over the past ten years. They zipped out of the parking lot like three adolescent males trying to prove their manhood and raced down the Pacific Coast Highway. Sandra and Paula headed toward home, but Heather went on to Santa Monica.

Less than thirty minutes later, Heather Connelly had reached the Santa Monica Mall, where she searched diligently for the perfect lingerie that would set Jasper Hunter's heart aflame. After scouring Neiman Marcus and Dillards, she finally settled on a red silk teddy with a plunging neckline, matching fishnet stockings, garter belt, and stockings from Victoria's Secret.

Having found the seductive garments, Heather drove back to Malibu with Destiny's Child's “Independent Women” blasting in the CD player, still unaware of the yellow Hummer that followed at a distance.

Heather sang along with the Grammy-winning trio:

“Lucy Liu…with my girl Drew… Cameron D and Destiny…Charlie's Angels come on. “

It was almost six-thirty when she pulled up to the gate. The power window hummed as it slid down. After hitting the appropriate numbers on the keypad, the gate swung open and she drove up to the secluded French Normandy mansion that boasted a thirteen-car garage and parked the Bentley.

The twins waited for what they thought was sufficient time for Heather to park the car and enter the house, then drove up to the gate. They knew the code. The gate opened and they drove in undetected.

The twins parked the yellow Hummer in the garage. With backpacks strapped on, they followed the paved trail that led to the white solid oak French doors of the mansion. After shutting off the alarm, they entered the multimillion-dollar residence with a key that had been given to them.

Heather hadn't bothered to change the locks or alarm codes in the ten years that the twins had been away. It wouldn't have mattered even if she had changed the codes. The twins were prepared. Thanks to the Internet, they were able to find and purchase an electronic device that was capable of finding the code to virtually any alarm system.

The Connelly mansion was exactly as they had remembered it. A familiar scent filled the air. Heather always burned jasmine incense when she made love, the twins remembered. Standing in the foyer, they looked at the white painted walls, the black and white marbled floor, and the crystal chandelier that hung above the split stairway that led to the bedrooms.

Quietly, they walked up the carpeted staircase to look for Heather. They knew her habits. She didn't spend over three and a half hours shopping for a silk teddy for nothing. She was expecting a man to come over later. By now, Heather was taking a bath, washing the day's dirt off her sculptured body. Or relaxing in the sunken tub as the mini-jets massaged every part of her.

As the twins approached the top of the staircase, they heard Heather's
unmistakable sighs. They were familiar with her distinctive sounds because they had heard them many times before. Stealthily they crept to the open door of the master bedroom where they watched Heather and a man they had never seen before making love.

Heather was on top of the man, riding him at a fiery gallop, writhing with tight twisting motions that drove the man wild. The sight of their passionate lovemaking threatened to ignite their lustful appetite and set it ablaze. Just as their corporeal urges began to kindle, Heather sighed loudly, fell forward, and panted heavily. The twins leaned against the hallway walls and listened to them.

“Jasper,” Heather began in soft intimate tones, “I talked to Sandra and Paula at the café and they agreed to a foursome tonight; if you still want it.”

“Really?” he asked skeptically, but also excited.

“Yeah. They're coming by later tonight.”

After hearing that, the twins smiled, then tiptoed back down the hallway, back down the staircase and out of the house. This was better than what they had planned. Now they could kill them all at the same time. At a brisk pace, they followed the paved trail to the back of the mansion and down the stairs, past the swimming pool, past the tennis courts to the guesthouse to wait for Sandra Rhodes and Paula Stevens.

Being in the guesthouse again triggered a bit of nostalgia for the twins. It was there that they had met Heather, Sandra, and Paula at a swimming party the Connellys had thrown for their daughter. Almost all of Malibu High had attended the teen shindig.

Reminiscing, the twins could almost hear the screams of young teenage bikini-clad girls who had been pushed into the crystal blue pool. Cameo's “Word Up” had been blasted repeatedly that day. They could even smell the catered Mister Big Stuff Plantation Barbecue. They could almost taste the succulent meat and the accompanying special sauce that separated Mister Big Stuff's barbecue from all others.

Their anger began to swell when they thought about what had been taken from them. They had missed Malibu and everything about it. Late at night, in their cell, they pretended to be on the beach basking in the glow of the Malibu sun. Remembering the hot summer days and cool nights were a welcome getaway from the brutal realities of prison. But now, they had to focus on the task at hand. In a few hours, Paula and
Sandra were coming to the Connelly mansion and then the fun would begin.

Alex pulled out the high-powered binoculars and looked at the master bedroom. The mansion was full of picture windows and the couple would be easy to spot. For a moment, Alex wondered if Heather and her friend had seen them scamper down the paved trail to the guesthouse, then dismissed it. A few seconds later, Heather and the man in her life were spotted getting into the Jacuzzi in the raw. The twins decided to relax, too. They had waited ten years. They could wait a few more hours for Paula and Sandra to arrive.

Looking in the mirror, I could still see some of the dark bruise from the broken jaw I had sustained last month. I had been in a barroom brawl at a jook joint called The Spot in Lower Manhattan. I picked up my toothbrush and dabbed it with some Colgate gel before putting it into my mouth.

The vestiges of After 7's “Ready or Not” played softly on the clock radio when I turned it on. I loved that song. While I brushed my teeth, I thought about the murdered warden and his wife. I knew I was on vacation, but I was still an FBI agent and the murders had puzzled me the entire day. The piece in
USA Today
led me to believe that the warden and his wife were killed for personal reasons. Otherwise, why leave the drugs? And more importantly, why leave the money? The killer must have wanted the authorities to know that the warden was involved in the drug trade. That was the only thing that made sense to me.

“How long you gon' be in here?” I heard my husband ask me.

I could see his image in the mirror. He was leaning against the opening of the bathroom, wearing a pair of navy briefs that hugged his tight loins.

“Not long,” I said after spitting out the used Colgate.

“You thinkin' about those D.C. murders?” he asked. It seemed to be more of a statement than a question.

“Yeah,” I answered. “Have you given it much thought?”

“Some, but not much. I'm on vacation,” he said sarcastically.

I stopped brushing for a second and looked into his brown eyes to see if he was angry with me. He folded his massive arms and a smile emerged. One of the things that bothered him were all the hours I spent working my cases. You would think he'd understand, having been an agent himself. But it's like that when you're a woman. Men expect everything from you, regardless of your chosen vocation.

“We're going back to Washington tomorrow. Our vacation is just about over. So please don't give me attitude, hear?”

“You ready to get back to work, huh?”

“Yes,” I told him. “Too much vacation can wear a sista out.”

“Savannah's asleep,” he said.

My husband was telling me that he expected to get some on our last night before going home. And there was no way I was going to get out of it, not that I wanted to. I smiled at him, and then spit the residual toothpaste into the basin. Keyth walked up behind me and rubbed himself against me. I wiped my mouth and smiled again.

I squeezed the bulge in his shorts after turning around and facing my husband. He put his arms around me and we kissed softly. Our lips made a smacking sound when we pulled away.

“You think the way they were killed was a message, don't you?” Keyth asked.

“Either that, or it was personal,” I answered. “A message or not, it's weird for someone to kill that brutally and leave drug money at the scene.”

“Yeah, it was weird. Kinda rules out a former prisoner, doesn't it?” Keyth asked.

“I tend to agree with that, honey. But who the hell knows these days? They could have left it to let the police know that the warden and his wife were involved in criminal activity. Or they could have left it to fool the police into believing that an ex-con had nothing to do with it.”

“So you think that a former prisoner did it and left the money to cover his ass, believing that the police would never believe an ex-con would leave the drugs and money that could have easily been taken?”

“It's possible, but I doubt it,” I said. “To tell you the truth, Keyth, I have a hard time believing that any convict would leave money and drugs there when they could have gotten away clean.”

“Yeah, me too. If I were running the investigation, I would still start at the prison, wouldn't you?”

“Probably, but if the warden was in fact buying and selling drugs, someone
on the street would know about it. Someone on the street had to be moving the stuff for him, assuming of course that he was involved in the drug trade.”

“So then, you think it was about drugs?” Keyth asked again.

“I think it was personal, no matter who was involved. Whipping them makes that clear. Plus, I just don't see drug dealers leaving the drugs and money there.”

“What if they were in a hurry, Phoenix?”

“Why would they be, Keyth? According to the paper, the victims had been dead for about a week, which means the killers had plenty of time. And on top of that, it took some time to dismember them. No, he wasn't in a hurry. The killer took his time. And what about raping the wife? Would a drug dealer rape the wife and leave the money? That's been buggin' me all day.”

“Speaking of taking his time.” Keyth smiled. “I plan to take my time, too.”

My body trembled at my husband's touch. We were still in the bathroom, still standing, still facing the mirror. My eyes were closed. Keyth's hand was inside my panties, moving slowly—deliberately. His fingers found my sensitive areas with ease. With his other hand, he massaged one of my nipples through my bra. I couldn't resist, even if I had wanted to. I was putty in his hands. We had been married for eight years and our sex life was still incredible. I felt myself starting to sway rhythmically as the pleasure he gave me began to mount.

I opened my eyes and saw him watching me voyeuristically. I could tell that the pleasure he gave me somehow stimulated him. I closed my eyes again, which seemed to enhance what I was feeling.

“Just like that,” I heard myself saying.

Moments later, my legs started to shudder as I approached orgasm. I could feel my husband's hardness pressing against my back, threatening to puncture my skin. Even though Keyth initiated the sex, I needed it also. I was almost there…almost there.

“Yes…yes…yessssssssss!” I shuddered.

That was all Keyth needed to hear. I swear two seconds hadn't passed before we were on the bathroom floor, thrusting our pelvises relentlessly, moaning and groaning like animals in heat. The floor was hard, but I didn't care. My body demanded pleasure and I gave into it. Our bodies slammed hard against each other in perfect harmony until we climaxed together.

We lay there on the floor, catching our breath. Keyth's head was on my chest and I stroked his hair gently as we listened to Billy Preston's “With You, I'm Born Again.” Keyth had dedicated that song to me at our wedding reception.