Table of Contents

Title Page Copyright Page Dedication Acknowledgements Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fifteen Chapter Sixteen Chapter Seventeen Chapter Eighteen Chapter Nineteen Chapter Twenty Chapter Twenty-one Chapter Twenty-two Chapter Twenty-three Chapter Twenty-four Chapter Twenty-five Chapter Twenty-six Chapter Twenty-seven Chapter Twenty-eight Chapter Twenty-nine Chapter Thirty Chapter Thirty-one About the Author
THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP Published by the Penguin Group Penguin Group (USA) Inc. 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto, Ontario M4P 2Y3, Canada (a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.) Penguin Books Ltd., 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England Penguin Group Ireland, 25 St. Stephens Green, Dublin 2, Ireland (a division of Penguin Books Ltd.) Penguin Group (Australia), 250 Camberwell Road, Camberwell, Victoria 3124, Australia (a division of Pearson Australia Group Pty. Ltd.) Penguin Books India Pvt. Ltd., 11 Community Centre, Panchsheel Park, New Delhi110 017, India Penguin Group (NZ), 67 Apollo Drive, Rosedale, North Shore 0632, New Zealand (a division of Pearson New Zealand Ltd.) Penguin Books (South Africa) (Pty.) Ltd., 24 Sturdee Avenue, Rosebank, Johannesburg 2196, South Africa Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the authors imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or thirdparty websites or their content. APHRODISIAC A Berkley Sensation Book / published by arrangement with the author PRINTING HISTORY Berkley Sensation mass-market edition / September 2008 Copyright 2008 by Roy LaPlante and Alice LaPlante. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the authors rights. Purchase only authorized editions. For information, address: The Berkley Publishing Group, a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014. eISBN : 978-1-436-25892-0 BERKLEY SENSATION Berkley Sensation Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group, a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014. BERKLEY SENSATION and the B design are trademarks of Penguin Group (USA) Inc. http://us.penguingroup.com

Round One . . . Eldridge zigzagged his way around the ring, shadowboxing his imaginary opponent. His hands were wrapped in bright orange tape and moved in a blur of speed. Beware of men with fast hands. Eldridge spun ninety degrees and backpedaled in my direction, just as my bottle of spring water slipped from my hand and bounced into the ring. Heads up! I shouted. No, I mean down! Too late. His right foot rolled over the bottle, and the most graceful man Id seen since Baryshnikov slid onto his butt. Im really sorry! Im good. In one fluid movement he slipped through the ropes, jumped down and handed me the bottle. Whats somebody like you doing here, anyway? Im hardly the only female in this club whos learning to box. You? A boxer? He coughed out a short laugh. Just because he had a point didnt mean he had to be rude. I happen to be a natural athlete. Then how come you couldnt hold on to that water bottle? Oooh. I should have thrown it at you instead. He crossed his arms, visibly amused. Hot-blooded. Thats right. Im a Mars in Aries. I tossed him a nasty, sexy grin. So, next time Im around, you better watch your step. Or what? You gonna trip me again? That was an accident. Maybe you should be more careful where you put your feet. Dont blame me if youre not attentive. I can be very attentive. Those chilling eyes of his were on me once again. In fact they were studying me from head to toe. I felt my face go hot. And a few other parts. For Adeline

Acknowledgments
Thanks to my brilliant, insightful and demanding editor, Wendy McCurdy, for choosing my manuscript and nurturing it into its final form. Many thanks

also to all the dedicated folks at Berkley. Thanks and a big hug to my amazing agent, Damaris Rowland, for your belief and guidance. And special thanks to Dr. Rachel C., sex therapist; Jim Strazella, professor of criminal law; Bruce Silverglade, owner of Gleasons Gym; Sunny and Tone Balzano, owners of Sunnys Bar; also Ari Lenchner, Dan Simotis, DUMBO General Store and Dumbo Arts Center. Please note that any errors (or fictional stretches) are my own.

Chapter One
A clinical study found that an effective way to sexually arouse a man is to waft the smell of pumpkin pie under his nose. I guess that means Thanksgiving should be declared National Erection Day. Call me old-fashioned, but Id sooner splash on Miss Dior than smear pie filling over my navel. Gwendolyn Applebee, my close friend since childhood, always said the olfactory sense was our most powerful medium, especially when it came to sex or danger. I discovered she was right. The hard way. It took me six weeks after her suicide to suspect shed been murdered. Heres the fun part: Gwen left me holding the bag. No surprise. Id been going to bat for Gwen since our teens in a suburb north of the Bronx. Shed been the class geek with buckteeth and thick glasses; the only girl who got ridiculed more than I did. And since Im about as physically threatening as a foot massage, I learned early how to use my big mouth to outsmart the bullies who picked on her. The kids tagged me the munchkin. Totally hilarious and highly original. Of course, it didnt help matters that I was the shortest one in the school. Or that my name was Saylor Oz. At age fifteen, my Russian ancestors Ozyutikoffsky DNA kicked in, blessing me with a classic jawline and a bottom shaped like an inverted heart. I figured I could say good-bye to that crapola nickname and maybe even land a boyfriend. But the guys at White Plains Senior High merely revised their greeting to Hey, munchkin, Ive got a lollipop for you. At thirty-two, high school is light-years behind me, but as I ride the subway to Brooklyn Ive still got charming men with ninety-proof breath offering me their lollipops. No wonder they call it the F train. However, the art of seduction, no matter how primitive, intrigues me. Its one reason I became a sex therapist. Not to be confused with an expert on love. If only it were that simple. The painful truth? Id always wished Id rated as beautiful. I hated the way they called me and Gwen the munchkin and the scarecrow. Hurts to admit it, but Ive never gotten over that. And neither had Gwen. My doubts about her suicide began the night Id gone with my best pal Benita Morales to a loft on Gold and Plymouth streets for a poetry reading called Eating Pizza on Mars. We zoned out somewhere between the lesbian astronauts and anti-gravitational foreplay, but we liked the free pizza and there was plenty of Merlot. At two a.m. we chugged down the stairs, slamming the clunky fire door behind us. It was a Monday night, and the streets were empty, with the exception of three men on the corner. They looked like a photo op for the cover of Lumberjack Quarterly, in their sleeveless plaids, denim vests and trucker caps. Way too country for my taste. Not that I was into picking up guys on Brooklyns waterfront in the

wee hours. Benita, nicknamed Binnie, with caf au lait skin and pixie short hair, resembled a Nuyorican Halle Berry; an eye-popping beauty whod broken her share of hearts. Me? I hadnt even broken the five-foot mark. We hoofed it along a desolate stretch of Plymouth. The street was a patchwork of cracked pavement over cobblestone etched with old railway tracks that once carted goods between the East River docks and the warehouses that were now being reborn as condos, offices and artists studios. The effects of three glasses of wine and the sultry July night carried me away in a romantic film noir swoon. Add to that the shadowy atmosphere created by the Manhattan Bridgethe giant blue dragon that loomed overhead and gave our neighborhood its name. DUMBO: Down Under the Manhattan Bridge Overpass. Every few minutes the Q train thundered along the bridges underbelly. The only other sounds were our feet on the sidewalk. Correction. I could swear I heard rapid and deliberate footsteps hammering along behind us. Glancing over my shoulder, I saw those three strapping country boys who were hanging out on the street when we left the party. We increased our pace. So did they. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up. I dont like this. Lets cut it, Benita said. I ripped off my white stiletto slingbacks and broke into a run. (No, I am not one of those women who spend gazillions on shoes while children around the world go hungry. But any height-challenged female with a generous bottom knows the wondrous transformation a few inches of heel can make.) Tonight Id pulled my strawberry blond curls into a ponytail and dressed in a ruffled gypsy skirt and spaghetti tank. Benita trotted past me in her favorite uniformrunning pants, Yankees tee and Nike sneakers. Shed wear that in her office if she could get away with it. The trio matched our speed. Sprinting at full tilt, I had no time to fish inside my bag for my cell. I went primitive. Police! Fire! Everything! Helllllp! Two men emerged from a lone car up the street. To lend a hand? Nope. They just snickered and stood there blocking our path. This way, Benita said. She ducked into the shadows of a construction site that had become an abandoned lot between two windowless brick warehouses. I followed, tiptoeing bare-foot at full speed, trying not to think about the squooshy lumpy things under my feet. Like doggy doo and trash bags that smelled of week-old Chinese take-out. Adrenaline pumping, I stumbled past a mattress and a bathroom sink. And, oh, yes. Tires everywhere. An endless supply. Landscaping by the Michelin Man. At the far end of the lot we ran head-on into a cyclone fence that was topped with a spiky furl of barbed wire. Climbing over it was not an option. Benita clenched her fists. I could tell what she was thinking. A financial analyst by day, shed also been a professional female boxer for six years. It gave her the confidence to hold her own against a man, but one at a time, and provided they werent armed. Dont even go there, I said, tugging her elbow. We sprang for the darkest corner of the lot. Crouched in the blackness, the two of us huddled between a disemboweled sofa and a pile of wornout radials. The tires smelled like stale condoms. Mosquitoes whined in my ears. I held my breath at the sound of footsteps crunching on rubble.

They were still about ten yards away. Could I phone emergency without revealing our hiding place? My fingers probed through my bag and came up with my Fleur de Sephora orchid spritz. Pfft. Pfft. I was definitely a perfume aficionado. Fragrance was a luxury you didnt have to be rich or sexy to have, yet it could make any woman feel both. What are you doing? Benita hissed. The smell of garbage makes me nauseous. Thats when my cell found me. A muffled ringtone played Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy. Benita grabbed my arm. Shut that thing up. Those guysll hear it. I prayed they didnt, throwing in a request for some divine intervention. Like maybe theyd all get a sudden case of dysentery. The caller ID was familiar. Its Candice Stoutz, I whispered. I have to take this. Now? Are you loca? She might be in crisis. What do you think this is? I flicked open my cell. Dr. Oz. All he wants is blowjobs, Candice sobbed. Hushing and racing my words, I said, Remind Harry of his contract from our last session. No more oral sex without attempting intercourse. But it wont work if youre still criticizing him. Resentment is the big spoiler. Dr. Oz? I can hardly hear you. I whispered a little louder. Actually, Candice, Im kind of in a jam. Binnie and I are trapped in a lot on Plymouth Street near Bridge. I need you to call an ambulance for me. Right away. Plymouth near Bridge. Please hurry. Thanks. I closed the cell, my hands shaking. Ambulance? Benita sounded irate. I meant police, okay? How could you be so dumb? We all make mistakes when were nervous. So, will you please call nine-one-one and get it right? Hold on. I leaned into the torn-up sofa next to me and snaked my arm through the stuffing and springs. What are you doing? she asked. Dont get mad, but I dropped my cell. Its in here somewhere. Ay, bendito. I knew I shouldve brought mine. Shhhh. Theyre getting closer. We pressed ourselves flat to the ground. The sound of a dreaded metallic click could only mean one thing. The cocking of a pistol. I froze, trying not to wet my pants. A mans voice. I got first dibs on the little one. You get sloppy seconds. Another man. Bitchs gonna give up more than that. Delete and cancel, please. My heart pounded. Was it Krav Maga time? Would I have to resort to gouging eyeballs? Urgh. I needed something to use as a weapon. Quietly reaching into my shoulder bag, I located a Jack Rabbit vibrator. Being a part-time distributor for Do-Me-Good sex products did have its benefits. I took hold of the red plastic shaft. Funny how even a fake penis brought out the animal in me. The next few minutes seemed liked hours. My face and body were drenched in sweat. The wine in my stomach turned to vinegar. Suddenly in the distance I heard the wail of a siren. Please, please come this way. It grew louder and louder. Next came the pitter-patter of our little muggers feet

and the slamming of car doors. Benita took a quick peek. Theyre going. Moments later, I saw flashing lights bouncing off the walls of the warehouse buildings around us. Okay, so it was an ambulance. As we say in therapy, whatever works. A hot-looking EMT helped me find my phone and shoes. We rode in the ambulance to the police station, where we filed a report. Our lack of information wasnt much help. I doubted Logan would be on the case anytime soon. A sweet young uniform brought us coffee and even drove us home. Whats with all these sexy civil servants? Its enough to give a woman a daily outbreak of Damsel in Distress Syndrome. The police car turned onto Main Street in DUMBO. From the backseat I stared out across the East River at the Manhattan skyline and thought of the years Benita, Gwen and I ran around the city together, dancing at CBGBs, puking up our first martinis and panicking over missed periods. The three of us had shared an NYU dorm room in the early days and an apartment during grad school. Now Benita and I were roommates again, thanks to her recently divorced status. We werent exactly a perfect match, but over the years wed grown closer, while Gwen had drifted away from us. Gwendolyn Applebee had always been kind of a loner, a brilliant egghead who fit perfectly in her chosen field of archaeobotany. She could be maddeningly antisocial at times. Like the way she refused to buy a cell. Said it was too invasive. And she never answered the phone when she was engrossed in her work. But the last time I assumed she lost track of which century we were in, Gwens body was discovered a few feet off the Beard Street Pier, floating facedown in South Brooklyns Erie Basin. How close had Benita and I come to joining her tonight? It didnt take five guys to steal a purse. Would they have done the ultimate nasty on us and left our bodies in the lot with the garbage? I pictured a crowd gathered around my corpse, as it lay draped over a pile of tires. Good thing I was dressed to party and not on my way to the Laundromat. Which reminds me of a detail about Gwens so-called suicide that just didnt add up. The fanny pack. When they found Gwens body, she was wearing one of those silly-looking hernia belts meant for carrying a weeks supply of trail mix. But I doubt she even owned a fanny pack. Shed always despised them. Id been so upset over her death, it had gone right by me. And thered been no reason to be suspicious. Until now. Maybe Ive been lucky, but after fourteen years of living in New York City Id never been robbed or assaulted. Tonight was the second time Id been the target of a crime since Gwen died. Was I seeing a pattern? Sure, being a therapist, I was pattern obsessed. But as we stepped out of the patrol car in front of our door, I factored in the reason we moved to DUMBO a month ago. Benita and I had been living in a two bedroom in Brooklyns Williamsburg section. When someone broke in and turned that apartment upside down, the police saw it as just another robbery. Yes, we had an alcoholic super and neighbors who happily buzzed in anybody who sounded remotely related to the primate order. Still, those little red lights inside me were flashing. I couldnt help asking if those thieves had been the same men who chased us tonight. The seek-and-destroy job done to our ex-apartment didnt make a lot of sense. It wasnt just the degrading woman-hating gynecological

references scrawled across my bathroom mirror with lipstick. It wasnt that they snatched my laptop, twenty-three dollars off the dresser, some costume jewelry, bric-a-brac and three beers from the refrigerator. What I wanted to know was, what made them riffle through every single drawer, cabinet, bookshelf and closet, tearing open pillows, gutting the sofa and doing a filet job on my mattress? All this for spare change? The worst part? If my hunch was right, if tonights bad hombres were the same guys, how did they know Benita and I had moved to DUMBO? Sometimes I wondered if Gleasons Gym was the reason Benita agreed to move to DUMBO with me. Especially since the loft we rented belonged to my aunt, who comes in from Long Island for periodic overnighters. Benita wasnt crazy about that idea. However, the loft also happened to be a stones throw from this world-famous boxing gym on Front Street. Benita and I went there determined to clear our heads after last nights harrowing episode. It was seven oclock Tuesday evening and the summer heat hadnt let up. My kiwi print tank top and black Lycra capris were soaked through. Because of the large number of hunks at Gleasons Gym, Id left my shoulder-length curls hanging loose. Thanks to the heat frizzies I probably looked like Goldilocks from hell. It must be a hundred degrees in here. They never heard of air-conditioning? Cut the whining. Thats what gives this place flavor, Benita said. Its the real deal. Id gone two rounds, practicing my newly learned jab-cross combination. How did a totally nonviolent person like me ever agree to join this gladiator factory with bloodred walls? Eggshell white would have been more tasteful. Focus, will ya? Benita stood there with her arm wrapped around the heavy bag to steady it for me. Her enviably flat abs showed beneath a gray crop tee. Bend those knees. Youre starting to look like the damn Statue of Liberty. I am bending them. I went into a deep crouch. Now you look like a friggin crab. My arms are ready to fall off, and youre expecting Raging Bull. So, I wasnt exactly Olympic material. My petite hourglass figure wasnt all that bad, despite my eternal hope that Id still grow a few inches. Im getting dizzy. I need a donut. Are you here to eat or work out? The gyms snack bar has Danish. Then theres a Blazing Donutz on Jay Street. You said you wanted to lose some pounds. My concentration just wouldnt kick into gear. Youd think Id be fantasizing a skinny-dip in a cool stream with Oscar De La Hoya, but after last night my mind kept recycling the same questions about Gwen. I just couldnt believe her death was a suicide, even though the medical examiner reported no signs of struggle and the police found two empty vodka bottles on her desk, plus a good-bye note in her handwriting. Yeah, she sometimes drank too much and, granted, she needed antidepressants when Rob left her. The thing is, I knew her like a book. I would have seen it coming. And rule out the accident theory. Gwen wasnt into getting bombed and roaming the docks. She was murdered. I could just feel it. But why? She didnt hang out with low-life criminal types. Benitas keen eye picked up on my thoughts. I know whats going on in your head. Give it up. But what if the police were wrong? I said, punctuated with my best one-two of the day. Come on, Saylor. They checked for foul play. There wasnt any. And Gwens body had enough booze in it to drop an elephant. What more do you want?

I want to know the reason she was wearing a fanny pack. Same as anyone else. To carry her money and cards. Now, put more on that jab. Would you carry an ID if you were going to kill yourself? Of course. How else would they know me once the fish started eating my face? I dropped my hands. That wasnt funny, Binnie. She rested her forehead against the brown leather bag. Look, I cant keep going over this territory with you. We need to start letting go, all right? Im sorry. Six weeks had passed since Gwens death had hit us like a wrecking ball. I sometimes forgot that Benita, my rough-on-the-surface buddy, was a vulnerable tenderheart underneath. But I came from Russian Jewish stock; digging into human suffering was in my blood. I wasnt about to let go until I found out the truth. In fact, Id already e-mailed Gwens twin brother, Darryl. I shifted my thoughts by using the only subject as powerful as death and danger. Sex. I focused on the men around me. Their naked torsos were shiny with perspiration. Their fabulous breathing came in bursts, hissing in and out through the nose, interspersed with short grunting sounds. So carnal. I was in testosterone heaven. I love the smell of men when they sweat. Studies prove that women experience mood elevations when exposed to the scent of male underarm secretions. Not your sweaty armpit theory again. Well? Doesnt it make sense? Maybe if youre a female deer, she said. Now zip that hole in your face and show me some work. I caught a glimpse of a guy shadowboxing in one of the four rings. He was as sculpted as Michelangelos David. Say hello to instant orgasm. My next punch missed the bag completely. Benita rolled her eyes. Unreal. Whose buns are you watching this time? A dull beep signaled break time, and the percussive symphony filling the gym subsided to a murmur. I stepped close to my friends ear. In the second ring. No shirt. Black and red trunks. Shaggy brown hair. She followed my gaze and turned back to me. Thats Eldridge Mace. Retired pro. Half-Mohawk, half-Irish. Made sense. That mix of copper skin with pale blue eyes. Please tell me hes not married with six kids. Thirty-five and single. But, trust me, you dont want to mess with that. Hes going nowhere these days. You can do better. Dont worry. He wouldnt be interested in me, anyway. Jaleel Thomas, Benitas friend and trainer for the past eight years, ambled our way. I heard you two ladies were playing hide-and-seek down on Plymouth Street last night. He was a bear-sized, baby-faced man with dreads hanging beneath his black do-rag. Jaleel no longer resembled the aspiring middle-weight hed once been. Five years back he married a female attorney who also happened to make the best cheesecake in Brooklyn, and he shot up to his current two hundred fifty pounds. He extended a cordial fist to Benita, who then gave it a light pound with her own. Respect. Today we got worse problems. Benita pointed her thumb at me. Saylors gone hot for Mace. Jaleel laughed. Uh-oh. Good boxer, but watch out, Saylor. I hear a woman never come back the same after a night with the Mace-man. Sign me up. He seems mysterious.

Jaleel rocked the bag with a short left hook. Crazy more like it. Im a therapist; I like crazy people. In fact, I was a magnet for dysfunctional men. Id helped Peter get over a painful divorce, Simon overcome his panic attacks and Mickey face his alcohol problem. True to form, they all dumped their surrogate mother figure as soon as they got back on their feet. When the beep sounded for the next round, Jaleel tapped Benita on the shoulder and left. Im going for a jog on the treadmill, I said, slipping off my gloves. I picked up my bottle of Poland Spring and strolled away. It wasnt as if I was the only person wandering around. People often showed up at Gleasons just to watch the fighters train. It was one of the few gyms where kids from the projects, movie stars, Wall Streeters and even a klutz like me could train alongside worldclass champions. On my way I paused for a closer glimpse of Eldridge Mace. Just to study his form, of course. I suddenly realized who he reminded me of. Eddie Rivera. My first. A sleek sprinter with a sweet, sexy mouth that every girl in my high school had been dying to kiss. On a balmy July night in the parking lot behind Lazkovs Deli hed actually kissed me, the munchkin. One ecstatic month later we did it in his fathers car. By September he not only stopped calling me, but the buzz in study hall was that Id been a yock hed practiced on while his real girlfriend was away for the summer. The fact that Eldridge Mace provoked a spontaneous regression to my unhappy youth should have made me instantly turn and leave. Instead I found myself inching forward in a slightly mesmerized state, until I stood smack against the edge of the rings elevated floor. Eldridge zigzagged his way around the ring, shadowboxing his imaginary opponent. His hands were wrapped in bright orange tape and moved in a blur of speed. Beware of men with fast hands. He pivoted and glanced right at me. Caught unsuspecting, I felt a shudder of discomfort. His eyes definitely had a scary, distant, I-could-hurt-you-and-not-care look. Trying to appear unruffled, I casually sipped on my water bottle and took my time screwing the cap on tightly. Eldridge spun ninety degrees and backpedaled in my direction. Just as I began to hope he might be purposely moving closer to me, my bottle of spring water slipped from my hand and bounced into the ring. Heads up! I shouted. No, I mean down! Too late. His right foot rolled over the bottle, and the most graceful man Id seen since Baryshnikov slid onto his butt. Eldridge got to his feet in a flash, snatched up the bottle and stepped toward me. This yours? he asked with a slight Brooklyn accent. I nodded. Guilt City. Figures. I stood there feeling clumsy and squat with my thighs bulging against my tight capris. Running shoes were not exactly the footwear of choice for a woman my height. Im really sorry. Ill gladly pay for any doctors bills. Im good, he said, bending and flexing his right ankle. In one fluid movement he slipped through the ropes, jumped down and handed me the bottle. Whats somebody like you doing here, anyway? His attitude caught me off guard. And pissed me off. Whats that suppose to mean? Im hardly the only female in this club whos learning to box. You? A boxer? He coughed out a short laugh.

Just because he had a point didnt mean he had to be rude enough to share it. I happen to be a natural athlete. I played semi-pro soccer for two years and pitched in a womens softball league. I sounded positively pathological, but as long as I was lying I might as well chuck in a biggie. And in college I led our gymnastic team to the nationals. Then how come you couldnt hold on to that plastic water bottle? Oooh. I should have thrown it at you instead. Then you wouldve really needed a doctor. I already half hated him just for resembling Eddie Rivera. He crossed his arms, visibly amused. Hot-blooded. Thats right. Im a Mars in Aries. I tossed him a nasty, sexy grin. So, next time Im around, you better watch your step. Or what? You gonna trip me again? That was an accident. Maybe you should be more careful where you put your feet. I mean, isnt that part of boxing? Dont blame me if youre not attentive. I can be very attentive. Those chilling eyes of his were on me once again. In fact they were studying me from head to toe. I felt my face go hot. And a few other parts. The Id-like-to-screw-your-brains-out energy between us was as thick as a gob of K-Y jelly. Typical me, I sabotaged the delicious moment by wondering if it was my anger that excited him or if maybe he got off on pint-sized portable models he could easily maneuver into position. A voice near the front desk called out, Dr. Saylor Oz! Could it be? I looked past Eldridge to see Tara Buckley. As if I hadnt been through enough trauma in the last twenty-four hours. Tara breezed her way across the floor in her tiny shorts. Miss D-Cup Hollywood Blonde with the Legs. Turning heads as usual. Including the Mace-mans. Hi. I put my face on auto-smile. I know Im early, Tara said, giving Eldridge a quick squeeze and a peck on the mouth. I couldnt believe it. Of all the single women in New York City, he would have to pick Tara Buckley. Or, knowing Tara, shed most likely picked him. The Mace-mans body language was super casual, not possessive. Were they an item or just fuck buddies? She turned to me with her own well-practiced look of canned sincerity and compassion. The kind only a twenty-five-year-old life coach whod become a multimillion-dollar self-help guru could give. Perfect for winning over blank-faced audiences on book tours. For the past year she and I had been on the same speakers and seminar circuit. Except that Tara was usually the featured guest, while I was relegated to a filler spot. Her book, How to Be the Woman Every Man Dreams Of, was going into its second year on the bestseller lists. She spoke in one of those melodious, breathy voices that women find repulsive but that apparently stimulate the male species. She grasped Eldridges hand with two of hers while leaning her cheek against his shoulder. Saylor is one of my older colleagues. What a surprise that you know Ridge. Ridge? Actually, Im new here, I said. He was just offering me some tips on my hand-eye skills. The corners of his mouth turned up in a boyish half smile that made my knees weak. Waitll you hear how Ridge and I met, Tara gushed. I saw this incredibly sexy Spider-Man dangling thirty-one stories above Third Avenue, right

outside my office window. The only thing between him and the sidewalk below was this itty-bitty seat under his cute little heinie. I wrote a note on a piece of paper, pressed it against the glass, and Ridge had a coffee break in my office hell never forget. Like I really needed this. My only consolation was the uncomfortable look on Eldridges face. Youre a high-rise window-washer? I asked. Eldridge nodded. A drop-man. Not to be confused with a person who drops things. He watched for my reaction. I kept a straight face. I assume it also doesnt mean you drop off the side of a building. Actually it does, he said. We dont use scaffolding. Just ropes and a harness. Then we drop straight down from floor to floor. More fun that way. Fun? Jaleel was right. He is nuts. Heights scared the hell out of me. Climbing on a footstool to reach my closet shelf gave me vertigo. Eldridge looked at me and said, Now its your turn. My turn for what? To do you in my office? He looked tickled. I was asking about your work. Lets just say orgasms are my business. His eyebrows shot up. That got his attention. Tara moved in quickly to dampen the effect. Saylors a sex therapist whose specialty is teaching women how to give themselves orgasms. Necessity is the mother of invention, right? Of course, Im a woman who never has to fly solo. She winked at Eldridge. I forced a smile. The kind you flash people before running them over in your truck. Well, gotta hurry. My weekly Clitoral Culture Group meets at eight in SoHo. Perfect exit line. Not so fast. Tara was on a roll. Saylor also gives workshops for couples who need help with their sex life. A breathy laugh. Guess you could say, Those who can, do. Those who cant, teach. Please, Universe, may a pigeon with a rare disease leave its droppings in her hair. As Tara rambled on, Eldridge remained poker-faced. Couldnt figure if he was concealing a case of advanced nausea, as I was, or if he was just another sexy-looking asshole. Why was I wasting my time here, anyway? There could be a response from Gwens brother sitting in my e-mail right now.

Chapter Two
Wednesday. Four weeks since Id moved to DUMBO, and I was finally starting to feel at home. My bedroom here in my aunts loft was larger than the one Id had in our Williamsburg apartment. I could actually fit a queen-sized bed plus a small oak dresser, mini-desk and night table without turning the space into a rush-hour subway car. And the windows were enormous. With the vertical blinds opened for maximum sunlight, I sat on the cool hardwood floor unpacking a few leftover boxes. After arranging my collection of plastic dinosaurs on one of the bookshelves freshly constructed by my orderly, doit-yourself fanatic roommate, I sorted through some CDsDave Brubecks classic hits, Brahms cello and piano sonatas, Alicia Keysand set them in a pile next to the stacks of books I hadnt yet shelved. Every ten minutes I checked the e-mail on my new laptop. Aha, there it was. An e-mail with an attachment from Darryl Applebee, Gwens twin brother. He was only twelve minutes older than Gwen, but that

had never stopped him from acting the part of officious older brother. Including with me. Like the time back in seventh grade when I was brushing up for a big speech contest by practicing in front of Gwen at her house. In walked Darryl, the man with all the advice. He told me he knew a trick used by all great public speakers: Whenever you get nervous, nod your head. The nodding would supposedly relax my neck, while making me look intelligent to the audience. The second I got on stage and saw all those faces, I found myself in a panic. I went into a very serious nodding spree, which made my fellow students snicker and murmur things to the person sitting next to them. More nerves, more nodding, more laughter. Finally, I scrapped the rest of my speech and bolted from the auditorium. Thanks, Darryl. I went from munchkin to bobblehead for the rest of the week. In Darryls e-mail he dismissed my theory about the fanny pack as nonsense, but at least he sent an attachment with a scanned copy of the suicide note. It only took him six weeks. Id been asking to see the note since the day he notified me of his sisters death. With all respect to Darryls grieving over the loss of his twin, I knew there was another reason behind his lack of responsiveness. Us. Mr. Conservative tended to look down on Binnie and me as a pair of weirdos who encouraged Gwens off-the-wall behavior. Truth was, we had to work to keep up with the strange mind of his sister. I opened the attachment. The fancy loops and curves of the writing were unmistakably Gwens. Darryl had told me her suicide note was another one of those corny poems. He was referring to the absolutely over-the-top lyrical poetry Gwen used to write. Shed been published in several journals. I skimmed the page and smiled. Tears came to my eyes. He was right. It was undeniably one of her gloppiest. Reading it again, I got stuck on the first line: This is my farewell, golden priestess of the sa-ziga. Golden priestess of the sa-zi-ga? Wait a sec. That was a nickname Gwen had given to me. The sa-zi-ga were ancient Mesopotamian remedies and incantations used primarily to cure mens sexual difficulties. Yep, even four thousand years ago guys had problems with their dicks. According to Gwen I was a contemporary version of a sa-zi-ga priestess. When I thought about it, addressing her final note to me seemed a reasonable thing to do. I had keys to Gwens place. She mustve assumed Id be the first one to check in on her as the days went by. But only one day had passed before her body was found in the water. At least thats what the police said. And because there was ID in her fanny pack, the cops went straight to Gwens next of kin. Darryl. I read through the poem again and noticed another line: The loyal sentry of my youth. That couldnt be referring to anyone else but me. But why didnt she just use my real name? Why hide it? Why not say, This is my farewell, Saylor? Was Gwens artistic nature the reason? Or was she trying to tell me something she didnt want anyone else to know? I had an ominous feeling about this. One great thing about moving into my aunts place was the fact that I could give up paying a colossal rent for a dingy closet-sized office at Eleventh and Broadway. Her DUMBO loft came with a home office just perfect for my private therapy clients. And, oh, those windows. All that sunlight pouring

in had to have a positive effect on client morale. On the wall was an abstract painting done by my aunt back in her expressionistic period at the Art Students League. It was awful, but it came with the room, and I didnt have the heart to remove it. In the corner was a futon sofa bed that my aunt sacked out on during those nights she came into the city. The open floor plan of the loft and walk-thru kitchen allowed for speed when traveling between my office and the refrigerator. I could zing to the food zone, down a mouthful of pasta salad and be back in my chair before my clients returned from their trip to the bathroom. Of course, there was the time Marjory Lolopps gave me a strange look and said, Eew. Is that a noodle on your sweater? My Wednesday noon session was with a dental hygienist Id been treating for Hyperactive Sexual Desire. Kim assured me shed gone past the G-spot and was now on her way to H. As soon as we finished, I stuffed a printout of Gwens poem into my purse, spritzed on the bold scent of Stella and hopped into the salsa red Camry Binnie and I had bought from her cousin. I drove to the Seventy-fourth Precinct. It covered the area of Red Hook where Gwen had been living. And where she died. Detective Dan Roach had a heavy Brooklyn accent and puffy eyes that spoke of too much caffeine and not enough sleep. Just to make sure I understand you, youre referring to the floater we found in the basin last month. Suicide victim. Victim, yes. Suicide, no. Dressed in a beige linen suit with a snug-fitting blazer and A-line mini, I sat in an office chair beside his desk, trying to sound direct and businesslike. Men werent always inclined to take women seriously when we acted like, well, like women. All around us, cops at gray desks drank their coffee. Loud voices talking, phones ringing, air conditioners buzzing. So, youre saying the robbery of your apartment and a group of men chasing you on the streets at two a.m. have something to do with Gwendolyn Applebee? His gaze never left my legs. Its hard to sound businesslike to a man when hes talking to one of your body parts. I tugged at my skirt. Correct. Dont you see? Binnie and I were her best friends. He gave me a blank look. So? Thats only the beginning, Detective. I also know that Gwen would never want herself to be found wearing one of those marsupial things. A fanny pack. She had style. I mean, occasionally her taste in clothing was truly abominable. There was her cargo pants period. They just werent right for her figure. Sometimes shed even pair them with a baggy Planet Hollywood sweatshirt that made her head look like a peanut Hold on, Ms., um, what was your name? Oz. I counted down. Ten, nine, eight . . . here it comes. An amused glint. Like the wizard? Exactly. Remind me to change my name. Ms. Oz, Im familiar with the case, and I can tell you our medical examiner was quite certain there was no struggle. He opened a file and slid a pair of glasses on for a quick read. Nothing in the way of breaking and entering at her residence. Prescription antidepressants less than a year ago. Next of kin acknowledged some problems with alcohol. Both the brother and handwriting analyst confirmed that the suicide note was written by the deceased. Pretty open and shut. Id heard it all before and wasnt convinced. The suicide note was my next point. I placed my copy on his desk, since he made no effort to

search the file for the one that was most likely in it. See the first line about the golden priestess of the sa-zi-ga ? Thats me. Whats you? I am the golden priestess of the sa-zi-ga. Congratulations. He nodded the way you do when humoring someone gone bughouse. I realize my dull strawberry blond curls may not look so golden at this moment. Im overdue for a highlighting. Tell me something. Just what does this crap have to do with your friends suicide? Time for the hard sell. Gwendolyn Applebees suicide note is not a suicide note at all. It is a beautifully written poem filled with metaphors that contain a covert message. A message written under the eyes of a killer she needed to deceive. And the secrets within it will lead us straight to her murderer. Right. I saw that movie, too. Unfortunately, in the real world most people in a situation like that couldnt even write their own name, much less compose some kind of mystery poem. Gwendolyn Applebee wasnt most people. She could name every botanical species on the planet. She could read three ancient languages. Her articles were published in academic journals. She was an accomplished poet. And, oh, you should have seen her watercolors. Im sure they were lovely. Sorry about your friend, Ms. Oz. However Believe me, this poem is not just a poem. One line refers to a magician. Then theres the garden of bells and a pearl. A crescent moon. Oh, yes, the loyal sentry. Thats me again. I am the sentry as well as the sa-zi-ga priestess. Welcome to the land of Oz, he murmured, no doubt thinking I wouldnt hear it. He cleared his throat. Ms. Oz . . . Its Dr. Oz, Detective. Reaching into my purse I handed him my business card. With all due respect, I am a psychologist, and while Gwendolyn Applebee may have been a complicated woman, she was not suicidal. I didnt like being ridiculed, and the edge in my voice showed it. He responded in kind. I dont care whether youre Dr. Oz or the wizard himself. Unless you can come up with some earthshaking details, no way are we going to pursue this case any further. And to think I considered giving him a tube of Do-Me-Good personal lubricant as a thank-you gift for reactivating Gwens case. Detective Roach casually glanced down at my card. Sex therapist? That is correct. And that is what the sa-zi-ga is all about. Its an ancient form of sex therapy that was practiced about four thousand years ago. Remedies for helping men maintain their erections, increasing their ability to pleasure a woman, all sorts of things. He broke into a demented grin. Do you find this funny, Detective? You think there werent premature ejaculators in the days of the pyramids? He sat there speechless, his mouth hanging open like a hound dogs on a hot day. His eyes panned left to right, checking out his colleagues at the surrounding desks. Leaning forward on his elbows, he lowered his voice. So youve actually got patients who are men? Of course. Tell me something. Detective Roach paused and flicked a glance at my legs and back up to my face. If a certain man was to make an

appointment with you . . . would this man, uh ... you know . . . would he . . . Would he what? Get some? Oh, what Id do right now for a can of Raid. By the time I made it back to DUMBO I was still fuming over Detective Roach. I did my best to think happy thoughts while passing through the lobby of my new address. I didnt feel like advertising my emotional state to my neighbors, even though looking pissed off and ready to kill is considered perfectly acceptable in New York City. I entered the marble high-ceilinged foyer where Caspian, the concierge, manned his station. Our converted luxury loft had originally been one of several turn-of-the-century warehouses built by an ambitious industrialist. Such businessmen gave birth to Brooklyns commercial waterfront. Men like paper mogul Robert Gair. He owned so many buildings here they once called this neighborhood Gair City. He also invented the corrugated box. Thanks to him our pizza gets delivered to us still hot and with that delightful cardboard taste. On the sixth floor I opened the door to the loft and saw my sixty-nine-year-old Aunt Lana strutting around in her favorite statebutt naked and smiling in ecstasy. Seeing her classic before figure gave me impetus to put in that extra mile on the treadmill. Yep, same genes. My mothers oldest sister. Unlike Detective Roach, she took the dirty out of au naturale. Still, I quickly pulled the door shut behind me. Wouldnt want the neighbors kids to catch another glimpse of her in the nude. Three times was enough. The bright, uncluttered living room area was flooded with waves of patchouli incense and audio bliss. After twenty years she was still into Kitaro. Aunt Lana knelt in the center of the room beside a small potted plant, studying its leaves. Im communing with this begonia. Its not doing well. I tried rocking it in my arms, but it doesnt want to be held. For most people, New Yorks intense pace, competition and high cost of living created an overwhelming sense of urgency that made day-to-day friendliness and sanity a prized commodity. But Lana lived in a time warp of harmony and balancemade possible by the joint I noticed in the ashtray and the fact that her late husband had been an ad agency kingpin who died leaving her about forty million dollars. Since Aunt Lana now lived year-round at her house in East Hampton, shed offered us a discounted rate on her DUMBO condo. Her only request was that she be allowed to make overnight stays. Consequently, the futon bench in my office. Not a problem. Who could refuse such a super deal? After our apartment in Williamsburg was ransacked, Benita and I agreed it had rotten security and negative energies. Did the two of us actually earn enough to live in a cushy doorman building in a two-thousand-square-foot corner loft with two bedrooms, two baths, an office and floor-toceiling windows? Maybe, if it were in Allentown, Pennsylvania. But not in New York City, where idiots like me pay five times the national average. Warm hug. Big kiss. Lana, I dont see Uncle Pete. I closed him inside Benitas room. This begonia is in a delicate state, and Petey was making his usual offensive remarks. Crossing to Benitas door, I opened it a crack and was greeted with the latest one-liner from her pet mynah bird. Fuckin bitch pussy! Fuckin

bitch pussy! This addition to his vocabulary arrived courtesy of those refined gentlemen who robbed our last apartment. Dont thieves ever just plain whistle while they work? That isnt to say that what Uncle Pete picked up listening to my roommate and me was Shakespeare. He just had a flair for dialogue that came straight from the crotch. I dropped a handful of food pellets into his cage and stroked my fingers along his shiny black feathers, repeating the irresistible line, Im a pretty bird. Ever the optimist, thats me. I closed the door behind me. Youre so tense, Lana said, studying me. Silver-streaked auburn hair tumbled to her waist, tan sloping shoulders peeking through. Still grieving over your friend. You want the truth? I think Gwen was murdered. And no one believes me. I just spent forty minutes with a cop who practically came out and called me a nutjob. Dont let that bother you, sweetie. Lots of people call me that. Take off your clothes and relax. Ill make some tea, and you can tell me all about it. I knew those words meant I was about to have a therapy session with the woman whod sparked my interest in psychology. Hippie, Earth Mother and Esalen devotee, Dr. Lana Klein was an endangered species. She still had a small private practice of clients who stayed amazingly loyal. In fact, she mainly came into the city to give her Love Your Body, Love Your Self workshops. Friday evening Id be assisting. It didnt take much to get me talking, crying and ranting. Lana had always been my favorite shoulder to weep on. When I was growing up, my preoccupied and emotionally unavailable father never had a clue, and my mother usually got so hysterical Id pretend to be fine just to calm her down. My parents used to run The Foam Barn in White Plains. Foam cut while you wait. Cushions. Mattresses. Open Wednesdays and Fridays till nine. Financing available. I worked the register after school when I wasnt babysitting my younger brother, Steven. To this day he cant sleep without his egg crate mattress pad. I always envied Marilyn Gorman, whose dad was the local beverage distributor and brought home tons of orange and cherry soda. Meanwhile, my dad made sure I had all the foam a girl could ever dream of. Then again, Marilyn never had an insiders view on the rise and fall of the Nerf ball. During my high school years, Aunt Lanas apartment in the Village became the place where I escaped. She took me to the Guggenheim and Lincoln Center, introduced me to Indian food, cappuccino and Jung. She showed me a world filled with people who didnt all look, think or act the same. This afternoon she didnt laugh or criticize or tell me not to be angry. And she offered me more than comfort. When we finished she suggested I hire a private detective and send her the bill. After Lana left to have dinner with her latest boyfriend, I checked my business phone. I kept it on the oak night table in my bedroom so it didnt interfere with my clients sessions. One flashing light. I hit the PLAY button. Who else? Walsh Plunkett. This marked his fourth call. Mr. Plunkett was the squeamish type when it came to actually scheduling his first appointment. Never met the gentleman, but on the phone he sounded rigid. There was a tightness in his voice, possibly indicative of a sexually repressive parent. Id already given him all the assurance I could. There simply wasnt

anything left to say. Dr. Oz, I enjoyed our conversation on Monday. I would like to take you out for lunch. Just to talk some more. Please call me at 908-6382378. Was he pulling the old sneakaroo? Conservative middle-aged man in need of sex therapy but too ashamed to sign up. Or did he want to fulfill the score with a younger woman whos a sex expert fantasy? Maybe he got the wrong impression from my website. Think Ill invite him to my next DoMe-Good sex toy party and evaluate him safely in a crowd of twenty people. While I jotted down his number, my phone rang. Caller ID broke the news. Hi, Mom. Silence. Great. Whenever my mother started with a long pause, it meant she was composing herself before opening fire. Saylor, I just got off the phone with your cousin Naomi. She saw you on one of those dirty cable shows. A program called Real Sex. How could you? Mom, it was a documentary. Your cousin was too embarrassed to describe what she saw. Naomi? Right. A closet porn star. It was about a retreat for couples with intimacy problems. Strictly educational. Whoever heard of a sex therapist? I still dont get it. My daughter, the smut peddler. Time to change subjects. I wasnt about to worry her with my latest theory on Gwen or tell her about our adventure on Plymouth Street. And I didnt dare suggest she listen to the Kahuna Derrick Maui Sunrise Relaxation CD that I gave her. Hmm. Maybe the weather. It must be awfully hot in Miami now. Why dont you come up to East Hampton and stay in Aunt Lanas guest suite? Shes always inviting you. Shell be in town for I didnt call long-distance to blab about my big sister. That kook. I blame her for ruining you. I had such hopes. You could have been a respectable doctor. Straight-A student, graduated at the top of your class. Mom, I Why didnt you become a cardiologist? Or even a dermatologist like Felice Resnicks daughter. She gives her mother free collagen injections. My daughter gives me heartburn. Theres my call-waiting. Saved. Might be a client. Ill buzz you later this weekend. It was Ti-Jean, a Haitian artist Id met through Gwen. He was one of her neighbors in Red Hook. Ti-Jean made plaster casts of peoples belly buttons. He and I dated about a year ago. After four months, I thought we might actually be getting serious, until he told me our long, heartfelt discussions gave him the courage to admit he preferred men. Oh well. At least I can say my tummy was a hit at the Venice Biennale. You hear anything from Gwens brother about who might be moving into her old place? he asked. Darryl Applebee was a friend of the buildings owner. I had no idea it was even rented yet. For the past two nights Ive seen carpenters working over there. At least I hope thats who they are. Hate to think they could be the new tenants. Look like a bunch of macho lumberjacks. Scary looking. Straight out of Deliverance. Lumberjacks? That was all I needed to hear. My detective cap was on. As soon as I hung up, I flipped through my Rolodex on the night table. My eyes locked onto a card next to Darryl ApplebeesGwen and Rob, 718-555-2791. A wave of sadness swept over me. Three years ago Gwen

and her rock musician lover had moved into a giant warehouse in Red Hook, one of Brooklyns oldest waterfront neighborhoods, south of DUMBO and much bigger. When Rob walked out on her four months later, taking his band to Berlin, Gwen turned more and more to Benita and me, and the three of us started hanging together once again. I called Darryl. No answer, so I left an urgent message for him to get back to me pronto. In the meantime I decided to have another look at Gwens so-called suicide note. Something was definitely off here.

Chapter Three
Being a vegetarian, pasta was one of my staples. I emptied a pack of linguine into boiling water and dumped a jar of marinara into a saucepan. A portable Sony TV sat on the kitchen counter. I turned it on so I wouldnt wander off and burn the sauce. All too often smoke detectors acted as my kitchen timers. Qu pasa? Benita walked in wearing a sheath of soft turquoise. She looked more like shed just stepped out of a Bloomingdales catalog than the York Street subway stop. Even after six rounds in the ring, she could go from gym rat to fashion model in a New York second. A talent I wish I had. She set her briefcase on the kitchen island and climbed onto a wooden stool. I slid her a Pellegrino and leaned against the counter in my grubby shorts. Forgive me for not asking how your day went. Im in the middle of processing my anger. In other words, youre halfway through the Eskimo bars. Not there yet. Just save me a few. The policeman I met with didnt even blink at the information I gave him. Benita shook her head. I told you the cops would blow you off. Where I grew up theyd shoot you thirty times just for going for your pocket comb. You think they want to start all over on a closed case involving some unemployed academic? You ought to watch Law and Order, then youd understand these things. But Im certain Gwen was murdered, I said, draining the pasta. I can feel her spirit is not at rest. At this very moment shes probably wandering the streets of Red Hook, singing a heartrending lament. I hope you didnt say that down at the precinct. I was about to bring up Ti-Jeans phone call, but my roommate was no longer listening. She was glaring at the TV, watching her ex-husband describe a blast of much needed Canadian cool sweeping into the tristate area. And by the middle of the week we can say farewell to the muggies. Voted New Yorks favorite weatherman, Fippy did look damn good standing there all proper and shiny with his radiant smile and just enough pinch in the brows to convey that professorial side all meteorologists pretend to have when pointing out frontal systems on the Doppler. She grabbed the remote and switched off the TV. Im in no mood for Mr. Weintraubs phony cheer. Back when Benita had completed her masters in business, shed landed a job at a major television network, where she met Phillip Fippy Weintraub, then a budding weatherman wannabe. They married while Gwen and I were still at Columbia University working on our doctorateshers

in archaeobotany, mine in psychology. My thesis was titled The Unconscious Response to Sexual Objectification and Inferiority in the Female Organism. In other words, do women with small breasts feel threatened when shopping for melons at the supermarket? Anyway, a year ago Benitas marriage fell apart. Fippy had trouble controlling his addiction to breaking in the stations twenty-one-year-old interns. Upon my advice, shed refrained from using her boxing skills on his perfectly sculpted chin, and instead she took a new job as a financial analyst for a midtown securities firm, opted for a hefty alimony rather than their co-op apartment in Murray Hill, and moved in with me. Youve got him on his knees begging for another chance, I said. Why dont you go out with him next time he calls? Which was at least five times a week. Yo. Whose side are you on here? His celebrity went to his head. And from there to his pinga. Time out. For what? My professional opinion. Do I have to take notes on this lecture? Yes. Then make it all in one sentence. Fine. Monogamy is deviant behavior in the animal world, affairs occur in most marriages, couples survive them, Fippy regrets his little ventures into pussyland, give him a break, the guy still loves you. I set two plates of spaghetti on the island and passed Benita the cheese. Your turn to grate the Parmesan. She went quiet. Talking about Fippy did tend to have that effect on her. I only wished Id meet a guy who touched me that way. Not that I wanted marriage and children as badly as Benita did. In fact, I wasnt at all sure I was wife material. But I definitely wanted love. Not the pokey, practical kind I saw in so many couples. I wanted a tornado: hot, passionate, movie-drama love. Trouble is, Ive always been a magnet for guys in need of a nursemaid to walk them through their personal crises. Female patients often complained to me about sexy guys whose primary mission in life seemed to be filling as many holes as possible. My boyfriends seldom cheated on me; they just turned into nonpaying clients. I wondered about Eldridge Mace. Thoughts of his muscular, sweat-slicked body and those clear blue eyes that burned into you like dry ice nearly sent me over the edge. Benita finally put down her fork and said, I know I can be too hard sometimes. Hardheaded is more like it. I guess my marriage did have some good things. The sex was outrageous. And Fip could be so sweet. Like the way he bought Uncle Pete for me when I had mono and I couldnt stand being home all day with nobody to talk to. She glanced around. Dnde sta Tio Pedro? Lana banished him to your bedroom because of his foul tongue. I pulled my copy of Gwens mysterious farewell note from my pocket. I was studying the suicide poem earlier and found something I have to show you. Spreading it out on the counter, I dragged my fingertip along the left side of the poem. Check out the first letter of each line. Read it as a sentence.

MY FINAL GOOD-BYE This is my farewell, golden priestess of the sa-zi-ga. Heavens Daughter has brought the storm upon me, I meet my end. Embark for the Jewel in the center of Pearl. Behold the words of Raphael. You will meet the scribe, magician of a million creations. Garden of bells amid beech and oak, my heart sleeps here. Over her words, a crescent moon of lapis blue. The loyal sentry of my youth, this last crusade you must endure. My dream is now your dream, and you are its watchman. Eternity awaits. GWEN Benita read, They got me. She looked up with a smirk. Dont tell me you think Gwen did that on purpose. Im certain of it. So, how come the police didnt make anything out of it? I doubt they noticed it. Even if they did, all signs pointed to suicide. Plus, I think the secret meanings in the poem can only be understood by someone who really knows Gwen. Saylor, you dont really believe she could pull this off? Look how she buzzed through our college calculus like it was a kiddie game. And how she learned to read and write hundreds of cuneiform marks in half the time it takes most scholars. Gwen couldve gone to any university she chose, but she wanted to be my roommate at NYU. We are not talking about the average intelligent person here. Binnie held a hand up to stop my tirade. Gwen was no doubt the smartest person Ive ever met. She had an encyclopedic mind. But are you forgetting she might have had a gun at her head at the time? Thinking youre about to die isnt exactly conducive to creativity. Wrong. If I had a killer ready to put me away and make it look like a suicide, I know Id be damn determined to find a way to communicate that to someone. Wouldnt you? Sure, Id try. But composing an impromptu poem complete with clues and hidden messages and lines that begin with specific corresponding letters? Thats just it. When I saw they got me I realized Gwen was using a game shed made up when we were in junior high. Id forgotten all about it until now. Remember I told you how the other kids in school bullied Gwen and me? Well, this was our way of sending each other notes that couldnt possibly be read by the classmates who made fun of us. We called them Puzzle Poems. The verses would contain hidden meanings related to a subject that was spelled out by the first letter of each line. We wrote them to each other all the way through our teens. Gwen was much better at it than I. Could even do it verbally, like when we were around her nosy brother, Darryl. As a psychologist I can look back now and see that it wasnt really a game, but a clever method for two friends to maintain secret contact in an unfriendly environment. I picked up the suicide note. This is definitely one of our Puzzle Poems. Benita stared at me with an open mouth. Maybe you aint gone wack on this after all. Gee, thanks. Does that mean you believe me now?

She gave me an apologetic nod. I hate being pushed, okay? Truth is, I remember how she called you the sa-zi-ga priestess, and I did begin to wonder why Gwen would disguise your identity in what was supposedly her farewell letter. For some reason she didnt want to reveal even your first name. Exactly. If shed been alone when she decided to end it, she wouldve spelled my name straight out. The only logical explanation is that she wasnt alone when she died. And she wasnt safe. Thats why she created a Puzzle Poem. Unless the Puzzle Poem was Gwens attempt at dark humor before she did herself in. No, Binnie. A real suicide farewell would be addressed to family and friends, not just to me. Shes not just saying good-bye, shes making a request. I handed her the paper and pointed to the seventh line. She studied the poem. Youre clearly the loyal sentry of her youth. Ive heard those stories about how you protected her back when. Hmmm. This last crusade you must endure? Theres something she wants me to do for her. Wow. Benita sprang from her seat and began clearing away our plates. Two heads are better than one . . . as long as theyre not on the same person. If youre the one Gwen chose to fulfill her last request, weve got some work to do. Talk about making a hundred-and-eighty-degree turn. Now shes Miss Marple. I felt like belting her, except she was 14 and 0 in the ring. Well, Im going to hire a private detective. I lugged the metropolitan yellow pages to the kitchen counter and began leafing through them. Benita placed her hand on top of the phone book. Dont do that. I suppose you have something against them, too? Trust me. We dont want no fat-ass PI involved. I pulled mugs out of the cupboard and started the coffee. Something tells me this is all about your issue with authority figures. Private detectives have earned their nickname of dick. Well, my plan is for a female PI. Gwen would want it that way. I Do you know how much they charge? Benita interrupted as usual when she started talking a mile a second. Why spend money for somebody to do a job you and I can do? When I was a little girl my papi always said, never go hiring some clown when you can do it yourself. Tell me about it. She was the only woman I knew who had a shelf full of recorded episodes from the Do-It-Yourself Network instead of Sex and the City. Get real. People do not simply become private investigators overnight. So? We take a couple days. She had that runaway train expression. I know lots of websites on investigating and forensic stuff. Not to mention the Free Library. My voice scaled about five octaves. Wait a sec. Are you forgetting how dangerous this could be? If Gwen really was murdered, it was by a . . . well . . . a murderer. And they kill people. Never mind. Well cross that bridge when we get to it. Terrific. Benita took our coffee mugs to the open living room space and sank into a French club chair. When the thieves made rubbish stew out of the furniture in our Williamsburg apartment, wed been left with the bare minimums. Lucky for us, we didnt need much here. Lanas place was tastefully decorated in a combination of art deco and modern. I parked my tush on a green leather ottoman and gave Benita a rundown of my conversation

with Ti-Jean. Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy played, and I grabbed my cell. It was Darryl Applebee returning my call. He sounded less than enthused. I knew I was on sensitive ground, but I had no choice if I was to get started in my search for the truth about Gwens death. Darryl, I need to ask a favor of you. Could I please get a flash copy of Gwens computer files? Odd request. Ill explain. Save it. Because there was no hard drive in her computer. You mean the hard drive is missing? I looked at Benita, who gave me a just-as-I-thought nod. So? he said. You know how she was. So secretive. Probably has it hidden. Or else it was taken. Taken? Are you starting up with that ridiculous fanny pack thing again? Darryl, I realize this may come as a shock, but Gwen may have been the victim of a violent crime. The police havent been much help, so Benita and I are doing a little bit of legwork on our own. You see, Gwens poem is riddled with clues The only thing riddled is your brain. Not only is your idea far-fetched, Saylor, but Im disappointed in you. Here I am struggling to cope with my sisters suicide, and you come along and want to turn the picture into a sordid murder story. Guess my approach was a little abrupt. I apologized, telling Darryl I was here for him anytime, and I once again recommended a colleague who specialized in grief counseling. As usual, he rebuffed my gestures of friendship as well as my professional advice. What did I expect from Mr. Ultimate Authority? Ever since we were kids he seemed to relish snubbing my ideas. Still, I needed some answers. I owed it to Gwen. This time I practiced a little more artistry. Since Darryls friend owned the warehouse that Gwen had lived in down in Red Hook, I had to at least find out if those men Ti-Jean saw could be hired workmen or new tenants. Gradually switching subjects, I asked about it in a casual tone. Had it been rented? Was it being fixed up? The answer was no to both. That lit a fire under my butt. I closed my cell. Benita shook her head. I cant believe how much you just revealed to Darryl, Ms. Motormouth. Ms. Motormouth? Thats your nickname not mine. Its one thing to pump him for info, but its another to go blabbing about our investigation. So what if Darryl knows what were up to? Hes Gwens brother. Saylor, you just dont have a criminal mind. Is that a compliment or an insult? She tilted her head, giving me a narrow-eyed look. You really think the hard drive was missing from her computer? Maybe theres stuff on that computer he doesnt want anybody to see. For all we know, Darryl was the one who snuffed Gwen. Gimme a break. Why would Darryl want to kill his own sister? Oh, come on, youre the psychologist. When it comes to sibling rivalry, twins are the worst. Competition starts right in the birth canal with whos gonna squeeze their way out first. So much for all those biogenetic studies that suggest just the opposite. Benita kicked off her shoes. Actually, Robs the one Id like to bring in for questioning. He was Gwens last live-in beau. Really, Binnie, just because the name of his rock group was Bullet 4U doesnt mean hed act out. Besides, I ran into the groups drummer last month, and he told me Robs living in Germany with a French lighting designer. And what about the guys Ti-Jean saw in Gwens loft?

There are always vandals and crackheads breaking into empty warehouses. Except his description of them made me think of the men who chased us. All this talk, Benita said. Time to get real. What say we head over to Gwens loft tonight and see whats up? Lets do it.

Chapter Four
The July night carried stagnant remnants of week-old humidity. A full moon hung, lethargic, above the rooftops like an oversized dinner plate. Our Camry sailed down Columbia Street on our way to the Back, Red Hooks desolate west side; a timeless place where at four a.m. the ghost of Marlon Brandos Terry Malloy might be seen, jacket slung over his shoulder, ambling slowly toward those once-famous Brooklyn docks. A red light nabbed us at the corner of Dwight and Verona. On the sidewalk to our right stood an unshaven elderly man in an undershirt and baggy pants with a crotch that practically hung to his knees. He was a sad sight and could have failed the Breathalyzer from a hundred yards. Benita and I made the mistake of allowing brief eye contact with him. Now he stumbled his way toward the car while unzipping his fly. Oh no. Not tonight. Good thing we had the air conditioner running so the golden arch of urine merely pattered against my closed window. My verbally gifted roommate opened the car door and jumped out. Huelebicho! That meant dick-smeller. Me cago en tu madre! I shit on your mother. Binnie! Time for therapeutic intervention. Remember, its not personal. Get back in the car. The light is green. She reclaimed her seat and slammed the door shut in disgust. We left the human carwash tottering in the street, still wagging his droopy dog. As we rounded Van Brunt and made our way up Beard we saw a light coming from inside Gwens place. JMC Heating and Cooling occupied the first floor of the three-story redbrick warehouse. Lets park up the street, so we dont look obvious. Benita pulled the Camry to the curb a healthy distance away from Gwens building. We got out and walked the length of the block. Beard Street had turned into an endless construction site, leaving parts of it torn up and covered with planks, piles of debris and broken cobblestones. Streetlamps made us easily visible. We decided to hide behind the hulking red Dumpster diagonally across from Gwens door. Crouched and huddled together, we watched for activity on the third floor. After twenty minutes of staring at blank windows, I whispered, How long do we have to stay all bent up like this? Or are we aiming for the Beavis and Butt-Head award? This is surveillance. You gotta be patient. Well, Im getting a cramp in my thigh. Benita glanced at me. You white chicks are so stiff. Get into a deep squat. Cant. My jeans are too tight. Why didnt you wear running pants like me? I hate running pants. They make me look chunky. So, unsnap your jeans, piggy. I gave it ten more agonizing minutes. I bet nobodys there, and they just left the light on. I say we call it a night. Tomorrow I hire a pro.

No way. Were going inside. Ive got my camcorder. Great. And if we run into these gonzos we just say, Dont mind us. Were making a documentary on low-life scum. No. We shoot and run with the evidence. You call that evidence? We cant just . . . My words trailed off. Benita was already making her way across the street. I confess, my cowardly first impulse was to let her be the scout while I held down the fort, so to speak, here in the shadows of the Dumpster. But my keys to Gwens place were inside my handbag. I scuttled after Benita, my eyes glued to the window just in case there was someone in there who could look out and see us. At the door I was half hoping theyd changed the locks. I slid the key in the tumbler. It clicked open. We bypassed the gray steel freight elevator. The stairwell was lit by one feeble bulb and stank of mold. I winced with every creak our feet made on the old wooden steps. We reached the second-floor landing and stood with our ears pressed against the door to Gwens loft. Nada, Binnie said. I turned the key. In we go. As soon as I opened the door I was struck by the barrage of scents still present from the fragrances Gwen made here. And by the undeniable reality that something was wrong. Several floorboards had been torn up all across the room. Sheetrock that covered the brick walls had been busted and torn, leaving large holes and craters. Somebodys looking for buried treasure, Benita said. Whoever the pirates were, they had defiled sacred ground. For years this had been a very special place to me. Half shutting my eyes, I could still see Gwens jammed but neatly organized workspace. A series of cluttered tables and shelves. Beakers and flasks of perfumes being made in her home laboratory. Fossils, shards and other artifacts were usually scattered about. A microscope used to mark the table where she analyzed ancient plant remains. Gwen had been an archaeobotanistan archaeologist who specializes in ancient plants and agriculture. But since her layoff from Columbias faculty last year, shed become engrossed in the making of perfumes and aromatic oils. Instead of looking for another teaching or research position, Gwen had decided to start her own home business selling her fragrances. Benita used to say her place smelled like Nefertitis burial chamber. Okay, lets do some video action. My roommate swept the space with her camcorder. I walked the length of the room. The place was empty, as expected. Darryl had cleared out all of Gwens things. I had no idea what I was looking for. Suddenly the buildings front door slammed. Mens voices. Sounded like a battalion coming up the stairs. Benita and I exchanged a silent glance. Quick, I whispered. The fire escape. Trying not to trip on littered floorboards and the holes they left behind, I scurried to the window. I was straddling the sill when I heard a voice right outside the door saying, How many more times are we supposed to search this place? That fuckin bitch pussy probably hid it somewhere else. I tossed words over my shoulder while racing down the fire escape. Did you hear what he said? Zip it and keep moving, Saylor.

Scurrying to the bottom platform, I saw the rickety iron ladder that hung over the sidewalk. It looked like it hadnt been used in a hundred years. I knew fire escape ladders were notorious for jamming, and of course, this one followed suit. Benita grabbed hold and gave it a solid jerk. Nope. I joined her efforts, trying not to fall, but years of rust had left it frozen. We stared up at the window to see if the men had drawn a bead on us. No sign yet. Lets jump, she said. Wait. I reached inside my bag and pulled out a plastic bottle of Do-Me-Good lime-flavored personal lubricant. I poured it liberally up and down the stubborn section of ladder that was refusing to slide. Now lets try it. We gave it another jerk. Swoosh. The ladder glided down to the sidewalk. Two more satisfied Do-Me-Good customers. We hit the street and broke into a sprint for the Camry. Luckily Id worn my Asics gels tonight. Even so, I could hardly keep up with Benita, who was way out in front. Id puke if I had to run much faster. We dove into the car and took off. That was him, I said. The guy who taught Uncle Pete his new one-liner. Lets go to the police. Yeah, sure. Just tell them we met some creep who uses the same profanities as my pet mynah, and theyll hop right on it. She turned down Richards Street. Those men were trespassing on private property. So were we. And we dont need no donut-eaters butting in and asking us all kinds of questions. Whats wrong with that? I asked. Anything to get them off their butts and back on Gwens case. You are dreaming if you believe in that fairy tale. This is the big city, honey. Precincts have to wrap things up and show productivity like any other business. Just because we found some guys prowling around in a vacated warehouse wont mean diddly as far as Gwens death is concerned. Not to the cops, anyway. She had a point. Okay, forget the police. Only what the hell is going on here? First Gwens body is found in the Erie Basin. Next somebody ransacks our apartment. A pack of good ol boys chase us into a barren lot. And now it looks like the same dudes are tearing up Gwens floor. Theyre hunting for something. And either we have what theyre looking for, or else they think we do. Comforting. Maybe they saw us. I checked the streets to see if anyone was following. Doubt it, Benita said. We outslicked them. I need a drink. Lets go to Sunnys. Were on. She turned south on Van Brunt. We parked at the end of Conover near the vacant, windswept piers of New York Bay. From the sidewalk I could see the waterfront in the distance. Tonight prevailing breezes carried a faint scent of garbage from marine transfer stations. Benita took her camcorder to the trunk. Wouldnt want to tempt anyone. Before tossing my purse in next to it, I doused myself with Baby Phat Goddess and stuffed a few bills in my pocket. We walked to a brick storefront with striped awnings and a sign that read only BAR. In the window a neon dolphin swam around a glowing

anchor. It was a good-sized crowd for a Wednesday night. Down-home, definitely not Manhattan chic. The scene here was more like Sunnys private den than a commercial bar, and the decor was equally unpretentious: one of those old Schaefer beer signs above the bar, a pair of worn out boxing gloves on one wall and an abstract painting by Sunny. Before the death of Brooklyns shipping industry, longshoremen working the Red Hook docks came to this same bar in droves. Now it attracted a mix of artists, writers, carpenters, plumbersand two frantic girls from DUMBO in need of alcoholic sedation. As big as it is, Brooklyn can be a very small world. I immediately recognized the head and shoulders a few feet in front of meshaggy hair and hawkish nose, granite deltoids bursting out of a burgundy T-shirt. Eldridge Mace. The sight of him standing at the bar in tight denims was all I needed to make my already four-star night complete. And no doubt Tara Buckley was lurking nearby. Lets get out of here. I cant do this. I turned to leave. Benita held me by the arm. All because of the Mace-man? Of course not. Im not interested in him. Hes probably just another obnoxious alpha male obsessed with Monday Night Football and topless dancers. Really, Binnie, you do have a way of jumping to conclusions. Okay, so maybe Id spent the last two days interrogating her on everything she knew about him. I, um, are you sure we shouldnt call the police? Listen, Saylor. Those clues in Gwens good-bye note look like things only a close friend would understand. I dont think well be able to convince the police of anything until we figure it out ourselves. She brought her mouth next to my ear. I can tell hes alone. That Tara chick isnt here. Besides, youre better looking than she is. Benita and I had been prodding, bickering and rescuing each other since our freshman year of college. Even though I earned a living analyzing relationships, I was always amazed at the way ours worked. She wasnt really the huggy type, but she gave me one anyway. Now, get your ass in here, she said. Theres a martini with your name on it. I combed my fingers through my curly flyaway hair and headed for one of the vinyl booths. On my way, I glanced at Eldridge and discovered he was watching us. I cursed myself for once again being caught in sneakers instead of high heels. At least my forest green scooped-neck jersey cinched at the waist so I didnt totally resemble a tree stump. Or worse yet, a munchkin. He tossed me a ruggedly handsome smile and tapped the empty stools next to him. The temperature between my legs shot up about a hundred degrees. Behold the laws of attraction in the human species. There are three stages of sexual response: desire, arousal and orgasm. Arousal and orgasm are physical. But, I reminded myself, desire is totally psychological. Then again, who cares? As long as it gets you to the next two. Benita nudged me toward the long mahogany bar. Sup, Mace-man. She slid onto a stool, leaving the one next to Eldridge for me. You remember my friend Saylor? Sure do. He held out his hand. Sailor. Like on a ship? Wow. A handshake can be sooo nice with the right man. Thoughts of getting naked with him brought a sudden case of dumb-osis to my Phi Beta Kappa brain. It took me half a minute before I answered him. Not quite. Saylor is a family name.

He bought a dirty martini for me, a Guinness for Binnie and another beer for himself. His being a boxer, I envisioned he might wear Everlast cologne, but instead he smelled like cinnamon and juniper. My friend Jerry is playing steel guitar tonight, the Mace-man said, gesturing to a lone musician in the corner. Tall and gaunt-faced with an unlit cigarette hanging from his lip. Eldridge turned to me and I noticed a small gold hoop in each of his earlobes. What brings you ladies to the Hook? I fidgeted nervously with my toothpick and olive. We were just out looking for some murderers. Eldridge laughed. I doubt he intended it to be sexy, but believe me, it was. Meanwhile, Benita flipped me one of her evil looks. What can I say? Im a really bad liar. My fibs always come out sounding like those stupid things I told Eldridge at the gym. Speaking of which . . . I apologize for ruining your workout on Tuesday. Sorry I reacted the way I did, he said. Guess its because youre the first person to dump me on my ass in over forty fights. Benita patted me on the back. Way to go, champ. My lips twisted into a pretzel. Hope you dont want a rematch, Ridge. Call me Eldridge. Tara called you Ridge, I said. Taras got her own ideas about a lot of things. He sounded annoyed. Aha. Could it be the door was open? It certainly appeared that way. Are you two seriously involved? Eek. That was dumb. I felt like Doris Day after she blurted to Rock Hudson that oh-so-revealing conversation killer: Are you married? Nah, he said. I dont do relationships. Im a born loner. At least the guy was honest. Im pretty independent myself, I mumbled. Eldridge and I sank into an awkward silence. Benita chatted with some literary type guy on her left. I stared down at the reddish brown mahogany bar, distracting myself with the curvilinear patterns of grain running through the wood surface. It didnt take a course in Freud to interpret the results of my impromptu Rorschach test. All I saw were erect penises and people copulating in various positions. Youd think nearly coming face-to-face with a team of deadly slimebags an hour ago would have dampened my sex drive. What did I expect? I hadnt been laid in over two months, and here I was rubbing shoulders with the best cure to come my way in years. I heard a giggle and saw a tan, razor-thin twenty-something brunette in a periwinkle tank and denim shorts standing behind Eldridge. Sometimes I believe there is a higher power that enjoys lobbing a hair into my soup whenever the going gets good. Hi, Lauren, he said, twisting around to greet her. She gave him an embarrassingly long kiss. Embarrassing for the woman who sat watching, which just happened to be me. Lauren whispered something in Eldridges ear, and he gave me an apologetic can-I-help-it-if-women-adore-me shrug. Feigning indifference, I leaned toward Benita and joined in her conversation with the poet from Weehawken. I wasnt about to let myself come off as another desperate, ego-battered, past-thirty, unmarried female with a grudge. Not that I didnt feel like asking Eldridge what he saw in that ignorant-looking slut in the trailer park fuck-me outfit. I felt a tap on my shoulder. Eldridge introduced me to Lauren, who took the hint and politely retreated back to her table of friends. Did he mean to get rid of her? Could it be I actually won that round? Or more importantly, did I want to get mixed up with some South Brooklyn stud who had women

crawling all over him? He edged closer to me and rested his elbows on the bar. Jaleel told me you see therapy clients in your home, he said. Isnt that risky? There are some pretty nutty guys around. Jaleel told him? Had Eldridge asked about me? I carefully screen all new clients. If someone sounds like theyve got a heavy-duty issue, I refer them to a colleague at NYSPI or treat them in the outpatient program at the Institute for Sexual Counseling, where I work once a week. My private practice is limited to your everyday dysfunctionals. The worried well, as we call them in the business. I noticed several nicks and scars on his face that Im sure didnt come from shaving. Youre obviously a person who likes danger, going toeto-toe in the ring. And anyone who can enjoy working thirty stories up, wow. That gives me absolute nightmares. Howd you ever get into doing high-rise windows? Runs in the family, working in high places. A subtle light went on in his face. My dad painted all the bridges from the Verrazano to the Triborough. Just like his dad. Hell, I had a great-uncle who was a riveter on the one hundred second floor of the Empire State back in nineteen thirtyone. Theres a famous picture of him sitting on a girder overlooking the skyline with seven other Kanienkehaka Mohawks. Then you grew up in the city? The Red Hook projects, he said. My dad died young, but my uncle took me up to our tribal lands pretty often. Lacrosse and high steel are traditions for my fathers tribe upstate. I never got into lacrosse. Boxings always been my game. I never really got into sports. No? What about the womens gymnastic team and the semi-pro soccer? Oops. Oh, that. My face flushed. He gave me a slow, triumphant smile. I think you need another drink. Who knows what youll confess to next? We laughed, and he pressed his shoulder into mine. Damn. Its Eddie Rivera redux. I was orbiting the moon and the view was ecstatic, no doubt heightened by the haunting sounds of his friends steel guitar. And two martinis. Thats a beautiful song. He nodded. Its called Sleepwalk. I heard myself saying, Dance with me. Eldridge didnt answer. He just stood there casually draining the last of his beer. I wanted to crawl under the bar. Why did I open my mouth like that? I was about to say, Only kidding when his arm slid around my waist, and he guided me off the stool. He pulled me close, and I reached up, draping my hands around his neck. His solid, muscular body felt as good as it looked. And the Mace-man could dance. His movements were rhythmic and confident. A strong leader, as my mother would say. She and my father loved ballroom and used to head off to the Borscht Belt a few times a year, leaving my brother and me with Aunt Lana. By the time the song ended, Benita was encircled by four men trying to pick her up. Best friends like her arent exactly confidence builders. How many women do you know who can look gorgeous wearing baggy running pants, a ratty Yankees tee and sneakers? We found two seats farther along the bar, and Eldridge ordered that third martini he said I needed. He stroked the small of my back as we talked.

In fact, I was sure he was giving me that look. Definitely an intense pheromone exchange going on here. Then I saw it. The face of a ghost peering back at me. My breath was stolen from my chest. I stared at the photograph hanging on the wall behind the bar. The frame was embellished with a wreath of dried flowers. A small plaque beneath it said, Our hearts are with you, Gwendolyn. I realized Id let the conversation lapse. I glanced up. Eldridge seemed to be waiting, almost listening to my thoughts. Most guys would get antsy and tease me or excuse themselves. Maybe thats what prompted me to say, How far would you go to help a friend? Especially if theyre already dead? A friend? I nodded toward the little altar that had me fixated. Gwendolyn Applebee. We were very close. Sad what happened. She was a very special person. You knew her? Dont tell me Gwen was another one of his conquests. He wasnt her type at all. He nodded. I live a couple blocks from here. I used to take my ten-year-old nephew for walks along the docks. One day we ran into this woman writing poetry by the canal. Kevin wasnt well, and she was real gentle with him. Became good friends. He loved to hear her stories about warrior gods. And they both collected rocks. Gwen gave him some of hers. Shed take us to her place and show him all kinds of ancient relics. He really liked her. I had a vague memory of Gwen once talking about a sickly little boy who used to visit her with his uncle. He must be upset that shes gone. He wouldve been, but Kevin died a few months before Gwen. Leukemia. Im so sorry. He bit down on his lip. Beats me why such a kind, generous woman like Gwen would take her own life. I fiddled with my martini glass. Maybe she didnt. Eldridge pulled back his chin. What do you mean? It wasnt suicide. She was murdered. The police have new information? No, but I do. He studied me, puzzled. Something was obviously going through his mind. You werent kidding earlier when you said you were out looking for murderers. I avoided his eyes and sipped my drink. Eldridge waited for an explanation, but when he didnt get one, he said, I hope that silence doesnt mean what I think, or you could be getting in over your head. There are some mean dudes out there. Believe me, you dont want any part of them. I can take care of myself. He raised his eyebrows. You dont seriously believe that. Why is it men assume women are helpless when the going gets rough? My lips pulled back tight against my teeth. Ive worked in clinics in some pretty bad neighborhoods. Believe me, Im no pushover. Maybe those mean dudes out there better be afraid of me. He laughed and took a swallow of his beer. Gimme a break. You must think youre pretty dangerous. What are you five feet? And a big one thirty?

What? I have never weighed that much in my life! Well, maybe I did come close while completing my doctoral thesis. For months it was just me, my computer and a case of Twinkies. Easy, he said. Im no expert at judging a womans weight. Fact is, I think youre pretty cute. Cute? Thats what people call their pet ferret. Next hed be calling me a munchkin. What do you want? Sexy? Yeah, I think youre sexy. Keep the charity. I downed the rest of my martini in one gulp. Ugh. Then I half slid, half fell off my stool while trying to get tip money out of my tight jeans pocket. Eldridge stood up, looking bewildered and annoyed. Setting my attitude on maximum-level haughty, I placed a Lincoln under my glass and stepped away from the bar. One of the miraculous things about being petite is that it takes only one martini to nudge my delicate bodys chemistry over the line into funhouse land. So, you can imagine what three did to me. In other words, I had no idea how plowed I was until I got off my stool. The room was spinning, and the floor wavered beneath me. Still, I raised my chin and strutted away, showing off my best feature, the Ozyutikoffsky inverted-heart fanny. Every woman knows a man will size up her ass the instant she turns her back. I made it across the room and stepped to the door in a manner I once saw demonstrated by Gwyneth Paltrow in a nineties movie. I forget which one. Actually, Id forgotten a lot of things while caught up in my Tanqueray huff. Including the fact that I came here with Benita. Set to leave, I thrust my shoulder against the front door just as a man on the outside yanked it open. I can still taste the pavement. Wouldnt you know Eldridge Mace had to be obnoxious enough to come running out and scoop me up by the seat of my jeans. So much for my Hollywood exit.

Chapter Five
On Thursdays I usually worked until four at the Institute for Sexual Counseling, but today my last two appointments canceled. At two fifteen I took the F train from midtown Manhattan and managed to reach York Street in DUMBO with only one generous offer for a tongue bath. Making my way down Bridge Street in my denim gauchos, artichoke print shell and ankle-tie wedges, I passed the local Dominican eatery, which had been here long before developers started converting rundown warehouses into luxury lofts. The delicious smells made me realize how hungry I was. Id eaten only blueberries for breakfast and didnt allow myself lunch, thanks to Mr. Maces rude estimation of my weight. I rounded the corner of Front Street and shuffled down a block with lovely old brick town houses. After two more blocks my grouchiness got the best of me. I was hungover from last nights martini fest, and as any medical professional knows, the best cure would be large doses of sugar. I made a pit stop into DUMBO General Store, which was not really a store, but a caf frequented by neighborhood residents. It also sold art supplies, held drawing classes and hosted music performances. The place was cool, dark and not too crowded at this hour. Two ponytailed guys, who were obviously artists, sat at a long wooden table near the baby grand piano. I heard them talking about the current exhibit on the walls. Photographs of empty closets. The show was entitled Gone.

I studied the chalkboard menu over the bar and ordered a cappuccino and three brownies. Taking a seat at the long table, I wolfed down my sixhundredcalorie remedy. One of the artists in a paint-splattered tee started razzing me about how fast I motored through all three brownies. Was every man on the planet concerned about my weight? Yeah, well, my next stop is Blazing Donutz. So, there. Of course, my mouth being stuffed, naturally I sent a barrage of chewed brownie fragments airborne across the table. Very attractive. My little comment started him on a rant about Blazing Donutz. He educated me quickly and sharply on the neighborhoods disdain for the donut franchise that had moved in and threatened the homespun businesses that were the heart and soul of DUMBO. I stood up. Point taken. Cant say I dont agree with you. Its just that Im new in the neighborhood. Now if youll excuse me, Im battling a triplemartini headache and must prepare myself for a session with a man who gets aroused by vacuum cleaners. The endorphins from the chocolate helped carry me the few blocks to my place. In the lobby Caspian handed me a large UPS box that had arrived. I turned into the elevator alcove and, while waiting for one of the gold metallic panels to slide open, glanced at the boxs return label. Darryl Applebee. Must be the package he mentioned to me at Gwens funeral. Some mementos hed put aside for Benita and me. I heard the clickety-click of doggy toenails on the tile floor, followed by the sound of shuffling feet. Oh no. Come on, elevator. Open fast. A raspy voice asked the doorman-concierge, Didnt I see Dr. Oz? I need to talk to her. Ninetyyear-old Mr. Fellows lived here with his son, who seemed to travel a great deal. In my three weeks here I hadnt seen or met the younger Fellows, but considering what his father was like, I wasnt sure I wanted to. Yes, shes right here, Caspian said. Thanks a mil. Fellows chugged toward me, his white miniature poodle, Renoir, dancing at his feet. Wait, Dr. Oz. I have something to tell you. Guess you and Renoir had your daily walk, I said, trying to sound chatty. Dressed in yachting pants and a polo tee, Mr. Fellows looked like a cross between Yoda and the Pillsbury Doughboy. The elevator arrived, and he wobbled on, the only man I knew who was actually my height. I pressed floors six and seven. We stood facing the doors. As soon as the car began to rise, so did Mr. Fellowss hand. I felt it caressing my backside. Mr. Fellows. Please. I shifted the box to one arm and pried his hand away. Ive asked you twice to stop this. I had another one of those dreams. I pretended not to hear him and stared up at the glowing numbers. Same as before. The wet kind . . . about you . . . and me. Delete and cancel, please. Last time hed launched into a description of us doing it doggy style on his Prestomatic adjustable bed. Keep the details to yourself. My Martha passed on so long ago that my jolly wally is good and ready. And youre the bestlooking woman around here. You really get me going.

Lucky me. Was this my karma? To be the hot pick for lecherous ninety-somethings with a fondness for rear entry? His palm did an encore on my buttocks. Stop it! I swatted his hand. He looked hurt. What was I supposed to do? Beat on a defenseless old man? Mr. Fellows, I can imagine being alone must be difficult, but you simply cannot What Ive lost in stamina, I make up for in technique. He let out a hoarse chuckle. Looking down so I wouldnt have to watch all four of his chins moving in tandem, I instead experienced the thrill of noticing the erection in his pants. Geeeez. The elevator hit my floor. I leaped out and hurried down the hall to the corner loft. Once inside the apartment I was greeted by Uncle Pete. I farted. I farted, he said. Im not interested, Petey. I set the box on the floor. Charming gentlemen everywhere. Some even have wings. Youre in a great mood. Benita was home this afternoon prepping for a weekend business conference in Atlanta. I think Ive discovered a new listing for the DSM-IV. Horny Nonagenarian Disorder. The Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders was the bible for people in my field. Not Mr. Fellows again. Hes always so polite when I see him. Are you sure youre not doing anything to lead him on? Very funny. She bit back her laugh and knelt on the floor next to the box. Whats this? Actually, its for both of us. I tore open the lid and read the enclosed note. Saylor, After having sold a few of these perfume bottles from my late sisters collection I decided to be a nice guy and give you a break. I know that you and Gwen had this thing for perfume. And quite frankly I know that if my sister had made a will, she would have left these to you. The rest of the garbage in the box is stuff that Im sure means more to you and Benita than to me. Darryl Applebee P.S. If you want more, come on by. My basements full of crap. Thanks to my pack-rat sister. I sighed. How sweet. The guys an actor, Benita said. Pretends to be all upset over Gwen, now hes calling her names. But Gwen was a pack rat. I dont care. Dont trust him. She shook her head. Hes our man. Impossible. Darryl can be a steaming asshole, but hes no murderer. Maybe his relationship with Gwen wasnt exactly close; still it wasnt all that bad. And what would he possibly have to gain by killing her? Hes a successful real estate broker, and Gwen was a starving academic. We started digging through the box. No big surprises. Nothing we didnt already know about our friend. There was her favorite book of womens poetry. A coral necklace Gwen frequently wore. An ashtray from our night at the Trump Taj Mahal in Atlantic City. One minute our eyes were wet, the next, we were squealing with laughter. Ohmigod. I held up a curled and faded eight-by-ten of Binnie, Gwen and me sporting bikinis and sunhats in Cancun. Look at this. I gave her strict orders to destroy it. Instead, my Danny DeVito look-alike photo comes back to haunt me.

Nah, the light just caught you at the wrong angle. You look more like David Letterman. I pulled out a rolled up movie poster and opened it. Breakfast at Tiffanys. Id given that to Gwen on her seventeenth birthday. Along with . . . there it was. The poster of Funny Face, in which Audrey Hepburn played Jo Stockton, an intellectual beatnik who goes from working in a Greenwich Village bookstore to becoming a high fashion model. Gwen and I had both yearned to straddle those two worlds. In our freshman year of college we explored the big city together. We pretended to be part of a sophisticated world of style that neither of us could afford. And we searched for New Yorks bohemian philosophers that were long gone by the time we arrived. Next I unwrapped a newspaper bundle to find an empty Jean Patou crystal flacon with a golden lotus stopper. Ooh. I remember when Gwen bought this one. Benita uncovered another. Rubbing her thumb across the gold filigree top of a Givenchy miniature, she said, Are perfume bottles that valuable? Darryl mentioned selling some. Well, it depends on how old and rare they are. Most are worth, say, fifteen to fifty dollars. But a few of Gwens would definitely be priced in the hundreds. To her, every single one of them was precious. I pulled out a square bottle that once held Tigress, a sixties cologne, and burst into tears. My roommate placed her hand on mine. Why dont we just leave these alone for now? Later, when things smooth out, we can take time to enjoy them. I nodded and started rewrapping the bottles Id removed, carefully fitting them back into the box. All I could see was Gwen working in her lab trying to create her own fragrances. Remember the perfumes she used to make? Yeah. Talk about hit-and-miss. Her mixology did get a touch heavy-handed sometimes. How about the one she made for your birthday? Binnie wrinkled her nose. The one she named Puppy Love. And you suggested calling it The Pungent Puppy. Man, did she get pissed. I feel bad now for saying that. Im surprised Gwen wanted my opinion on the name of her latest perfume. My hand flew to my mouth. Whats the matter? I jumped to my feet and hurried to my bedroom, where Id left the poem. Benita chased after me. I grabbed the paper from my bureau. Read it. The second line. Heavens Daughter has brought the storm upon me, I meet my end. So? Gwen named her last perfume Heavens Daughter. Now theres a catchy title. Its about Gwens favorite goddess, Inanna. A really ancient love goddess. The first Venus. Gwen had been an authority on the early female deities. And shed been devoted to them. They were so closely tied to vegetation that her work in archaeobotany had often dealt with their religious rituals. Benita shrugged. Maybe she was just getting spiritual in her last few minutes. Maybe its got nothing to do with her perfume. My tone was insistent. I think it does. Explain. I sat on the bed. A few months back Gwen and I were eating lunch in Chinatown. She was giddy with excitement. She said the big fashion

houses would be lining up and begging for her newest fragrance. And now its in her secret message. Benita reclined next to me, leaning back on her elbows. Her look reminded me of the one I got from Detective Roach. Arent you stretching things a bit? Think about it. The name of the perfume, next to the words has brought the storm upon me. Sounds like it had something to do with her murder. That is pretty weird. She cocked her head. Except, how come you didnt recall that conversation with Gwen? You know how manicky she could be. I wrote it off as just another one of her wild fantasies. What else did Gwen say? Nothing. She was afraid shed jinx it. Wanted to wait until an agreement was signed. So, I forgot about the whole thing. I sighed. I shouldve pried it out of her. But with Gwens vivid imagination, half the time I didnt know what was real and what wasnt. Did she mention the names of any contacts? No. But, since my Thursday private isnt due until five thirty, Im going to make a few phone calls to fashion houses. Benita helped me find the numbers online. We divided them, eight apiece. I did Vera Wang, Calvin Klein, Este Lauder, Revlon and Chanel. And the LVMH group that included Givenchy, Dior and Guerlain. Talk about frustrating. None of them had ever heard of Heavens Daughter or Gwendolyn Applebee. When I asked about them buying a perfume of hers, I was told the companies get their new scents from big fragrance houses, which have their own staff of professional perfumers. My heart sank. Poor Gwen. She really could get delusional. Benita walked into my room, cell in hand, Petey on her shoulder. She had the same results. Something told me this idea was too far-fetched. I crumpled my list of numbers into a ball and hurled it at the trashcan. My absolutely abominable toss missed by a yard, but at least it was sufficiently violent. Are we out of our minds? Shouldnt I hire an expert to do the legwork? We could go around in circles forever. Hey, weve barely started. Let me do some net searches on Darryl, Rob and that grad student who was Gwens assistant at Columbia. Okay, but if we havent made any headway in a week or so, we call in the troops. Not that I think some PI is going to fathom the mind of Gwendolyn Applebee. For all we know she had a double life as a hooker or something. I doubt it. You gotta shave your legs if you want to be a hooker. Benita rushed around getting ready to leave. Her limo to the airport was due any minute. Hopefully before my five thirty client arrived. Adios, To Pedro. Benita coaxed the mynah onto her finger, gave him a quick smacker on the beak and set him back in his cage. She put three shopping bags next to her suitcase. Presents for her nephews. Benita was taking an early flight so she could visit one of her five brothers before checking into the hotel for the conference. Roberto lived in Atlanta with his wife and three children. I helped her cart her bags to the company limo waiting outside. Across the street I spotted one of those super wide military-type vehicles parked on the corner. This one was all black. I cant stand those cars. And theyre so popular these days.

You mean the Hummer, Benita said. Id take one. Its the mack daddy of wheels. Just wish theyd go hybrid. Reminds me of a giant water bug. Creeps me out. Got tinted windows. She bobbed her eyebrows Grouchostyle. Maybe Detective Roach is at the helm, trying to get a better look at you. Come on, Binnie. Its a parked car, which means its empty. Probably belongs to that macho guy who lives on the third floor. At least I hoped so. My doubts about Gwens suicide had me scrutinizing every walking, rolling or flying unidentified object. We traded hugs. The driver held the door, and Benita hopped inside. On my way back to our building, eerie feelings continued to gnaw at me. I stepped into the foyer and decided to ask the doorman. Caspian, do you know who owns that black Hummer parked across the street? No, Dr. Oz. Never saw it before. The two of us stood there looking at it, when suddenly the engine started, and the Hummer moved slowly away.

Chapter Six
The large meeting room in the Center for Being, on Broome Street in SoHo, had minimal furnishingspotted ferns, batik pillows and beanbag chairs around the perimeter. Tonight it was filled with unclothed men and women. For those New Yorkers not lucky enough to spend the weekend at the beach, the next best thing was going bare ass at Dr. Lana Kleins Friday evening Love Your Body, Love Your Self workshop. Truth was, I relished being naked as much as Lana did. In my developmental years Id been one of those toddlers who ripped off her clothes and went running around in front of company. Guess I started embarrassing my mother pretty early. Lana glided to the front of the room and spoke, accompanying her rich alto voice with sweeping hand gestures. A psychologist, but not a sex therapist, her brand of humanistic therapy came straight out of the seventies. Right now we were in the midst of the walk around. Everyone, unclothed and without a word, circulated among the group. At Lanas instruction they would stop and offer a silent greeting to the person in front of them. A smile, a handshake, an admiring or maybe embarrassed look. No inappropriate touching was allowed. Later there would be trust-building exercises with holding and touching under Lanas careful direction. Of course, there was the occasional nudeworkshop erection. No big deal. Just a sign of appreciation. When Lana gave me the nod, I pulled back a curtain to reveal a wall of full-length mirrors. She usually capped off the walk around with this exercise. Find a place in front of the mirror, Lana said. I want you to observe your own body and face. Without judgment, without shame or criticism. I remembered my first date with the mirror at one of her nude workshops. I was nineteen, and as luck would have it, I stood alongside one of New Yorks supermodels feeling like a can of Bud next to a bottle of Mot. Tonight I observed from the safety of the sidelines, and I felt someones eyes on me rather than on his own reflection. I met his gaze in the mirror. How did I miss seeing this one? He smiled. Nice dimples. Had we met before? He seemed familiar, but I couldnt place the trim six-footer with a head of black cherublike curls. His crows-feet signaled midlife, but he had a

boyish face with devilish brown eyes. I smiled back, and we made eye contact for a few moments. Easy, Saylor. Remember the APA guidelines. No hitting on clients. Then again, he wasnt actually my client. Was he? Lana rolled on doing what she did best. The queen of catharsis led them step-by-step through the process of self-examination to confronting the critical voices inside. A lumpy freckle-faced woman broke into tears. I stepped in to comfort and encourage. Suddenly I was taken by the distinct fragrance of Nina Riccis LAir du Temps. Gardenia, rose and sandalwood. Id already caught a whiff of CK and Ysatis on top of my Sicily, but LAir du Temps was like having Gwen in the room. It had been one of her favorites, and the smell of it threw me off for the rest of the evening. Lana traditionally ended her workshops with everyone swaying arm-in-arm in a circle like the Whos from Whoville. This was one place where my aunt and I parted ways. Dont ask me where she got her music. Songs created to restore balance and harmony even if the sappy vocals killed you. Im all for healing, but give me a ditty with a beat, something I can bump to. In her final announcements, Lana included some glowing words about my sex therapy practice and my weekly sexual awareness programs for women, while I passed out invitations for my Do-Me-Good demo party to be held here at the Center for Being on Monday. As clients of Lana, I want you all to have an invitation, plus one for a friend. Adults only, of course. Hands came from all directions. Remember, sex toys are fun for everyone. Dr. Oz. The dimple-cheeked cutie came up to me. This phone number on the invitation, is it yours? Yes, it is. I heard Lana call you Alan, right? He nodded and extended his hand. After getting the most electrifying handshake of my life from Eldridge Mace, I wasnt surprised at the ho-hum nature of this one. Until he said his name. Alan Grossman. The Alan Grossman? I turned red. Now I knew why he looked familiar. Id seen his face on the Oscars and in magazines. Of course. I recognize you now. Youre one of my favorite directors. Alan pretended to be flattered, but hed probably heard that line a million times. We talked briefly about his movies. Turned out he was a client of Lanas out in East Hampton. His barrage of questions about me and my work kept me on my toes. He didnt act flirtatious, so I figured he might be doing movie research. Except, when he said good-bye, he stroked a finger along my bare shoulder and said, Have dinner with me sometime? Sure, I said, a little dazed. After everyone left, Lana and I curled into beanbag chairs and talked. I stuck to sharing feedback on how the workshop went, hoping she wouldnt ask if Id hired a PI yet. Id decided not to tell her about the Red Hook episode or our decision to go the do-it-yourself route. Keeping my mouth shut on this was difficult, but the more real the possibility of foul play became, the more certain I was of my choice to keep my aunt out of it. At one point she lifted an eyebrow and said, I see you hit it off with Alan. I wish. Lana gave me a knowing smile. I knew hed be your type. Hes gorgeous and has a small dick. Its not easy to find someone my size. It kills me the way men all wish they had a king-sized package. They should just try being a tiny woman.

Um, you wouldnt consider discussing his sexual habits, would you? Just as a colleague, of course. She shook her head. Well, Ill tell you this much as a warning. Alan has already been married and divorced three times. Major intimacy issues, which makes infidelity a favorite sport. I rolled out of the squishy chair and stretched from a downward dog into a cobra. Id settle for a one-night test-drive. Hes also fresh out of rehabfor the third time. So far hes been a good boy, but hes got a terrible weakness for new drugs of any kind. A true hedonist. Cant seem to help himself. Hell do anything to reach that euphoric state, especially if it enhances the sexual experience. How long has he been your client? About two months. Capricia referred him to me. She and Alan go way back. Lovers in their early years, now very close friends. Capricia, alias Susan Bronfman, had been the star of a smash-hit detective series. However, her bid for the big screen was a major failure. Shed been a therapy client at my aunts East Hampton office for several years. Lana was from the old humanistic school where client and therapist could also hang together socially, so Id met the sleek quasi-anorexic blonde a few of times. That ladys got to be going through some stuff. Huge hit on the tube, ends up doing B-list roles in B-list movies. Talk about comedowns. If theyre so close, why doesnt Alan use her in his films anymore? He cant risk ruining his own career, Saylor. He already put her in three of his movies. Each one flopped. She seems to have that effect on films, largely because as everyone knows with the exception of Capricia herselfshes the worlds worst actress. For all her beauty, she just doesnt have that spark, that kind of sex appeal that radiates animal magnetism. And she hangs on to Alans friendship because shes hoping hell eventually give her another crack at a big role. And Alan doesnt have the balls to tell her its never going to happen. Correct me if Im wrong, but Capricia strikes me as someone whos miserable unless shes number one. You have no idea. Just between us professionals and never to be disclosed . . . Lana caught my eye and waited. When I drew my fingers in a zipper motion across my mouth, she continued. Capricia is turning forty this month and her obsessive tendencies have gone through the roof. Lately shes into finding some sort of magic elixir that will give her sexual magnetism and put men totally under her control so she can make herself the Hollywood diva she feels ordained to be. Capricias gotten involved with some dubious professor who claims he can invent some special formula for her. Ive cautioned her against this. Afraid hes just scamming her. But shes just so angry. And determined to find a way. Glad shes your client and not mine. I went to the coat-rack in the corner where Id hung my clothes. Hmmm. There were my dress and my sandals. My bra. But no panties. I got down on my knees and inspected the landscape from a cats-eye view. Nothing. No sign. Lose something? asked Lana. I stood there with my dress folded over my arm. My undies are gone. She looked around. What kind are they?

Victorias Secret. Blue satin with lace trim. Id worn a sleeveless flowered dress with a short flared skirt. I pulled it over my head and tucked my feet into my white high-heeled sandals. Maybe somebody took home a souvenir. Do I detect the work of a paraphiliac? Could be. I can give you a pair of mine. Im fine. Any panties that fit Lana were bound to be way too big for me. And if theres one thing worse than a bad hair day, its a baggy underwear day. All I have to do is brave it half a block and hop a cab. Gazing at me with enough love to rival the Buddha, Lana rested her hands on my shoulders. Such a dear. A peck on both cheeks. Are you sure you wont stay and have a late snack with Irv and me? Dr. Irving Monsky, director of the Center for Being, had gray hair that hung past his chin and a wardrobe consisting of flowered tai chi pants and Birkenstocks. He was one of those wiry men who at seventy looked forty and, according to Lana, could screw like a twenty-year-old. Thanks, but I ate a fast dinner before the workshop, I lied. I wasnt in the mood to be a third wheel. Have a good one. I will. And dont wait up for me. Ill be spending the night with Irv. It was almost eleven p.m. when I walked to Broadway and Broome and held up my arm to hail a cab. Humidity had fallen, making it a perfect summer evening. I heard the deep growling of a motorcycle engine slowing to a halt on my right. Yo, Doc. Where you going? A squarely built guy in a cutoff tee and cargo pants sat revving his Harley. On second glance I recognized the ruddy complexion and sandy blond ponytail beneath the green open-faced helmet. Sean Kennedy. A tugboat captain I dated last summer. He was out of work at the time, and Id nursed him through the male insecurity issues unemployment brings on. Hed insisted we do it missionary style every time, no doubt to fulfill his need to be captain at the helm. I smiled. To DUMBO. I live there now and get to see tugs on the river all the time. Makes me think of you. Why dont you climb on? Ill buy you a drink, and well shoot some pool at Superfine. He reached behind himself and turned back to me with a spare helmet. A pretty black one with yellow flames painted on it. How could I refuse? I managed to get my leg over the cycle without revealing my bare bottom. We went south on Broadway to Canal and straight over the Manhattan Bridge. The trip was exhilarating. Wind blowing across my face. A spectacular view of the city. Then there was the view I provided for a carload of guys behind us honking and laughing. Though Id done my best to tuck my dress underneath my butt, it was too short and kept flapping up to my waist. Sean yelled over his shoulder at me. Whats with all these cars honking and waving at us? Oh, just people being friendly. When we reached DUMBO, the motorcycle bounced over the wildly uneven, dimly lit streets. Streets that were loaded with soul. Id only lived here a few weeks, and I was already in love with the old Brooklyn waterfront. Although new buildings were going up everywhere, this upscale neighborhood would never completely shed the gritty aura of its merchant marine past. Sean parked his Harley right outside the weathered redbrick exterior of Superfine, one of my favorite restaurants. We moseyed inside. A bar ran along the wall to a rear dining area. To my right a ramp led to

an open upper level where the orange felt pool table was, thankfully, already in use. We sat at the bar, and I insisted on buying the first round. Sean drank Cutty and water. After last nights overdose of martinis, I stuck to cranberry juice, but my appetite had returned. I put in an order for their yummy polenta and mushroom dish just before they stopped serving dinner. By midnight I was surrounded by Sean and three of his buddies from Queens. Sounds sexy, right? Not when theyre all talking to each other and ignoring you. Sorry, no women allowed in the guy club. And Sean was a guy with a capital G. He loved to hang with the Guyseven if it meant forgetting about the lady he invited for a drink. Thats one reason I hadnt been all that crushed last fall when he drifted off after he got a job and his ego bounced back. To leave, or not to leave? I had trouble making up my mind until Eldridge walked in with Tara Buckley on his arm. Marvelous. Another chance to hear Tara rave about her sexploits with the Mace-man. And to watch Sean and his friends drool over her. No thank you. Shrinking lower behind my huddle of men, I waited for Eldridge and Tara to pass. They walked all the way to the back. Whew. I excused myself from the conversation (that I was not in) and slithered toward the door. Sean actually noticed. He offered to take me home, but it didnt seem right to pull him away from his inspiring seminar on the NFLs best rookies. Once outside, I couldnt help wondering about Eldridge and what he thought of me. His hands sure seemed to like me when we danced Wednesday night in Red Hook. I began mulling it over as I walked home through this beautiful summer night. I started down Front Street and saw a black Hummer parked along the curb. Was that the new car of choice? As if SUVs didnt use enough gas. When I got a few steps closer, goose bumps formed on my arms. Was it the same one Id seen parked near our loft earlier today? Was I being followed? I hung a right and headed south a block, then left on Water. My eerie feelings didnt exactly disappear. This street was dark as hell at this hour and felt somewhat creepy. Shit. I took this route to get away from that stupid car. I must be crazy. No way that car has anything to do with what happened to Gwen. Hearing tires on the pavement behind me, I turned. There it was. I stared into the headlights of the black Hummer. I prayed it would simply keep going and drive on by. Instead, it cruised down the street alongside of me. I looked around for company, but saw only empty sidewalks and tall, shadowy buildings. Not consoling. I walked faster. The Hummer matched my speed. I stopped, pivoted and jogged in the opposite direction. The car screeched to a halt and shifted into reverse. Heart pounding, I broke into a fast run and turned onto Adams Street, thinking they wouldnt dare go against the traffic on a one-way. What traffic? There was none at this hour. This was DUMBO, not the raucous East Village. The Hummer charged straight up hilly Adams Street and slammed on its brakes next to me. A car door swung open. Suddenly I felt the powerful crushing force of a mans arm wrapped around my ribs. My screams were drowned out by the Q train roaring across the bridge directly overhead. In one quick motion, a man the size of a linebacker scooped me up like a toy and tossed me into the back of the Hummer.

I found myself pushed on top of the rear cargo area in between the two backseats. I sat facing front in the boxlike space, with my brawny abductor in the seat next to me. The instant he pulled the door shut, the bald, heavyset man at the wheel hit the gas pedal. I heard the clunk of the doors being locked. Where are you taking me? I asked, holding back my panic. Were off to see the wizard . . . Dr. Oz. Tell me Im dreaming. How did he know my name? My foreboding reaction to the unidentified Hummer was apparently very real. The oversized ringleader smiled, his eyes and mouth a trinity of narrow slits. A short buzz cut accentuated the squareness of his cinder blockshaped head. Hed taken my pocketbook and now rested it on the floor next to a large knife. Yep. We got ourselves a real live sex therapist. Aint that right, Doc? Id done enough crisis intervention work to witness how trauma can induce bizarre interpretations of events within the victim, but Id never experienced it personally. Tonight my horizons were expanded. For a moment I actually believed this was all a spoof. The guy in the front passenger seat even reminded me of Forrest Gump and kept staring at me with that same dim-witted expression. My delusionary fantasy ended quickly when the ringleader said, I think the Doc needs an exam. Fifty bucks says shes gone Brazilian. Nah. Something tells me shes old school, the Gump guy said. No Southern twang. Just a dose of South Jersey. I clamped my knees together and folded them to my chest. Aw, she dont wanna play, Curtis, the driver said. Curtis? He began stroking my leg. Keep your filthy hands off me, you bastard! I smacked his arm away and scrambled toward the opposite window. Pounding on the tinted glass, I shouted for help. The man they called Curtis grabbed me by the hair and yanked my head back so hard I thought hed break my neck. Ill do whatever I fuckin please, woman. Now shut your mouth. No one can hear you, anyway. I broke into a sweat as his hands found their way up my legs. Oh no. I realized something else. Ooo-eee! No panties! He nearly shattered my eardrum. The laughter in the Hummer eclipsed my cries for help. I tried to close my legs together again, but Curtis held them apart. Smooth as a babys behind, he said. Prettiest pussy Ive seen in a long time. Faux-Gump chimed in, Yeah, man. Really sweet. I wanted to slap the grins off their damn faces. I started kicking, punching and flailing my arms and legs. Anything to get me out of this car. Curtis held me down. Relax. Relax. Dont be nervous. We wont hurt ya. I reminded myself that Id dealt with dangerous people before. Years ago while working with violent schizophrenics at a state mental hospital out on Long Island, a particularly mean psycho, nicknamed Happy Harry by the staff, cornered me in my office, and I walked around for a month with the bruised imprint of Harrys fingers on my throat. One things for sure, the staff on hand this time werent exactly trained in the helping professions. So, get a grip, I told myself. Study the surroundings. Commit everything to memory. Black Hummer with tan interior. Guy with first or last name of Curtis

in white T-shirt, baggy camouflage pants and boots. All three men had numbers tattooed on their forearms in black ink. The one on Curtis read thirteen. I tried to think of what details the police would need when I got away. If I got away. Faux-Gump had unzipped his fly and pulled out his love club. Definitely Gump-Gone-Bad. Curtis sat up and cracked him in the head with his hand. Put it away. Remember, we got orders. Orders? From whom? With shaking hands, I straightened out my dress, covering myself. Curtis didnt stop me. I was beginning to think I might actually get out of this Hummer in one piece. He lowered his face close to mine. I liked to encourage all my clients to stare their demons in the face, but his foul pepperoni pizza breath nearly made my eyes water. How about you lead us to it right now? Lead you to what? Dont fuck with me. What were you doing the other night down on Beard Street? Bingo. Gwens loft. They mustve caught a glimpse of me and Binnie climbing down the fire escape. I went bold. Why were you there? A hard slap cracked the side of my face, bouncing me against the window. Curtis grabbed my arm and shook me. I ask the questions here. You got it hidden somewhere, dont you? Honestly. I dont even know what youre talking about. Gump-Gone-Bad leaned back. Chub Dubs is gonna be pissed if we dont come up with something. Shut your mouth, Curtis snapped. His teammates words obviously hit a nerve. They were working for somebody else. Who was Chub Dubs? Curtis slid his hand under my dress and put a nasty clamp on my privates. My precious poo-poo would never be the same. No more games, fuckin bitch pussy. Interesting choice of words. Say hello to Uncle Petes diction coach. Big surprise. Youre gonna be real sorry, lady, if you dont tell us where it is. Where what is? Your friends little recipe. Recipe? Of Gwens? She was the worlds worst cook. Believe me, the only recipe of hers that I know is the one for her apple-walnut brownies. Gump-Gone-Bad lit up. Man, I love brownies. Especially apple-walnut. That cost him another whack on the head from the big guy. Curtis turned back to me. Dont play innocent, he said in a low growl. You were in on it. You and that bony egghead bitch. And I can prove it. He slid a paper out of his pocket and unfolded it in front of my face. I recognized the postcard. Gwen used to keep it tacked on her bulletin board. It announced the seminar she and I had presented together called Fragrance and Sexuality. Between my website and the phone book, finding my address must have taken them five minutes. Curtis waved a blank-book journal with a floral cover. Check this. A little goodie that was tucked under her mattress. I glanced at him. Was I actually looking at the person who murdered Gwen? I shuddered at the thought. Listen up. Curtis flipped open the journal. Straight from the horses mouthOnly Saylor knows where I hid the tablet. Hid the what? Youre making this up. Trying to sucker me.

He held it open for me to read. There it was in Gwens handwritingOnly Saylor knows where I hid the tablet. I do? Gee, thanks, Gwen. Just what I needed. A reason for them to kill me. Way to go, you brilliant klutz. Come up with an ingenious way to conceal my name in the suicide note, but leave it in your journal. Then again, I doubt she was expecting a visit from the people-snuffers. Meanwhile, what the hell was she talking about? What tablet? Gwen did use the word tablet to refer to some of the inscribed stone and clay relics shed deciphered in her work. But most of them belonged to the university. She had her own small collection of fossils and shards, though I doubted any were of great value. I looked at the other text on the page. Nothing in it specific enough to give me a clue. Fragments of poetry, some archaic terminology. Typically idiosyncratic of her. I went to turn the page, but Curtis snapped the book closed and threw it on the floor. The look in his eyes tripped my motormouth into gear. Cool your jets. This can all be explained. You have to understand Gwendolyn Applebee and the way she did things. Were talking major-league eccentric here. Really off the wall Whap! I tasted blood on my lip. Dont tell me what a nut she was. His hand grabbed my throat. I tell her shes gotta write a suicide note and she makes a stupid crock of shit good-bye poem. Says her friends would expect that of her. Pissed me off. I know her kind. Snobby bitch. Thinks shes one up. So cultured. Like I never read no poetry? And hers stunk. Meet Gwens killer. Was I next? He released his grip. Were going back to the Hook, and youre gonna show us what you were looking for. Or you aint coming back. Fight the panic. Think fast. Wait a minute. If you kill me youll never get the tablet. Curtis twisted my arm behind my back and pulled. A searing pain traveled through my entire body. He upped the pressure. I grimaced and squealed out, Please. Stop. I struggled to speak, my words intermingled with groans. Youve got to believe me. I dont know what youre talking about. He let go of my arm and acquainted me with what must have been the biggest, meanest hunting knife this side of the Yukon. Using the tip of the blade, he lifted up my dress and poked it gently into my stomach. He pressed a little harder on the knife. I felt a prickle, then a sting. My body trembled uncontrollably. Do you think Id risk my life over one of Gwens crusty old tablets? Im telling you the truth. I dont know anything about it. Thats not what your friend said in her journal. He pulled the knife from my belly and now placed the sharp blade against my throat. Tears rolled down my face. If she did tell me, it must have been a while back. Gwen was always yapping about her fossils. Honest. I never paid much attention. He didnt blink. Think fast. Real fast. I raced my words. Give me a few weeks. Just because I dont remember now doesnt mean I cant figure it out. I knew Gwen better than anybody. So, why kill me if Im the only one who knows? Your life dont mean a thing to me. Refuse to cooperate, what good are you? That answer your question? Ill say. His reply sucked the air right out of my lungs. But I really dont remember. Shes too scared to be lying, said Gump-Gone-Bad. I dont think she knows.

Remind me to bake him some brownies. I tried to steady my voice. Please, just give me some time. Curtis tilted his head and squinted his eyes. Portrait of a hit man lost in thought. Ill give you one week to refresh your memory and come up with it. He pulled away the knife. My body let go of its tension, and I felt myself take a complete breath. The pudgy driver snorted. Shell head for the cops. Nah. She aint that stupid. Curtis snatched my pocketbook off the floor in front of him and rifled through it, taking the twenty dollars I had left. He found my tin of Peppermint Peckers, looked up at me and shook his head. I shrugged nervously. Good conversation starters. He grinned and slid the tin into his pocket. I got a conversation piece youll really like. Next Curtis picked up my cell phone, fussed with it until my number showed, then handed it to me. Youll need this. Cause Ill be calling you. I spotted the keys to our DUMBO loft on his index finger. Ive moved to a building with twentyfour-hour security. And I can change my locks. If I want in, Ill get in. Curtis dropped the keys back into my pocketbook and stared me hard in the face. And dont think any kind of police protection is gonna keep you safe. Same goes for a freakin PI or bodyguard. I got me and my posse. Go to the cops, and I promise youwell find you before they find us. What if I have to leave the city as part of my search for the tablet? For all I know it could be in Connecticut or New Jersey. Just bring me the tablet next Saturday. And dont pull any crap. Cause if you do, remember this: you have a mother in Florida, that queer you got for a brother in the Village and your fat aunt with the red hair. He caught the surprise on my face. Got em all marked down as collateral. Oh yeah. Theres that Latino sidekick of yours, too. Dont show, or go running to the copswe go straight down the list. He leaned in close. You got till next Saturday. Dont mess up. Otherwise, Im gonna take care of that little pussy of yours real good next time. With those endearing words, Curtis jammed my pocketbook into my chest. He told the driver to pull over. The car stopped. Curtis opened the door. Out. Scrambling over his knees, desperate to reach the sidewalk before he changed his mind, I felt his hand grab my naked butt. A rough squeeze, then a shove that sent me stumbling out onto the curb. As they pulled away, the light from the streetlamp made it possible to get their plate number. I was repeating it to myself when I got distracted by their bumper sticker: Practice Random Acts of Kindness and Senseless Acts of Beauty. Was I missing something? I stood there alone, feeling numb, but refusing to slip into gaga land. Time for a little self-applied crisis intervention. I focused on whatever strengths I had going, no matter how slight. Anything to keep me out of victim mode. I had survived. It might not have been pretty, but then neither was living through a tornado or a train wreck. In my own way I had kept my head about me and managed to use my big mouth to keep myself alive at least for the next seven days. Should I risk going to the police? Not if it meant putting my family and Benita in danger. I had no doubt Curtis would make good on his threat.

After all, he murdered Gwen. There was no question about that. Not anymore. And Curtis settled my debate with Benita over the PI. Scratch that option. But what about this tablet of Gwens? This recipe? What could possibly make it worth killing for? The answers were no doubt in her final message. If I could just figure it out. I tidied up my dress and fluffed my hair. Opening my purse, I found a tissue and dabbed the blood off my lip. I took out my Healing Garden Pure Joy spritz and doused myself. With the promise of a hot bath to wash away the Curtis coo-ties, I got my bearings and walked home.

Chapter Seven
That gringos gotta die, Benita said. He sounds like some sicko redneck. The kind who shoots at Puerto Ricans and liberals. I paced the loft with my cell phone pressed to my ear. Two hours after my rendezvous with Don Juan Curtis the battle to control my fear and anger was still in high gear. Thinking of that bastard hurting Gwen is just plain horrifying. If theyd beaten or raped her the medical examiner wouldve found signs. Not that getting boozed up at gunpoint and dumped off the Beard Street Pier isnt bad enough. Im sure thats what they did. Slick work. Weve got to find out why. And get proof. And stay alive to do it. DUMBOs shadowy landscape seemed more sinister than romantic tonight. Id pulled down all the blinds and turned on every light in the loft. Maybe we could go the witness protection route. Forget it. Thats only for big stuff. Like mob hit men who rat on their boss. We dont rate. Just as well. You want to change your name to Cooper and be stuck in Idaho for the rest of your life? And stalker protection wont help, I said. I know from working with battered women that it requires a civil suit that takes forever. This Curtis guy would find out and kill us. Not if we do him first. I want the pleasure of taking him out myself. Stop it, Binnie. Just because some people are sick and demented doesnt mean we have to act that way. After what he did to you? Thats still no reason to stoop to their level. Im buying a forty-five semiautomatic. Will you please slow down and weigh the circumstances. You weigh. Ill slay. Soon as I get back, Im going for a permit. Listen to me! I quit my pacing and sat down on the edge of the sofa. Number one, getting a license for a handgun in New York City can take up to six months. And that killer has given us only one week to come up with Gwens tablet. Item number two, dont think Im not filled with rage. Im the one who got the gyno exam in the back of the Hummer. Im the one who supposedly knows Gwens secret. But weve got to stay cool and methodical. Item three, I love you for being such a loyal and protective friend. Im so lucky to have Benita Morales in my life. I heard sobs from the other end of the phone. Then silence. Then, sounding fragile and barely audible, she said, The thought of anyone hurting you . . . More sobs. Right back at ya, sweetie.

Ill chill. I promise. Well stick to game. Her voice grew stronger. But Im also freaked about your laptop they ripped off from our old apartment. All they needed was to figure out that goofy password of yours, and bang, there it is. The names and addresses of our families and everyone we know. Youre telling me? I called my mom and my brother to be sure they were okay as soon as I could get my head straight. Steven and his boyfriend Marc were in Provincetown doing theater work, and my mother was in a Florida senior community with security guards, but Curtis made it sound as if distance were no obstacle. Both were fine. Still, I wondered . . . What about your uncles house in Puerto Rico? Maybe you could go there with both our families and lay low until this is over. No way. Im in this with you, Saylor. And if we tried rounding up everybody and shipping them off on a surprise sojourn, wed have to tell them why. Can you imagine my papis reaction? Not to mention my brothers or Uncle Ramon. Talk about protective. Theyd be out for blood. I dont want to start a war. Cancel that plan. I stepped into the living room for a quick look at Uncle Pete, who was sitting quietly in his cage, cleaning his feathers. I did memorize their license plate number. Maybe I could use one of those online services to give me the name and address of the Hummers owner. Using an Internet service is hardly the same as turning to the police or a private investigator. Give it a try. But dont get your hopes up, Benita said. Probably stolen plates. They arent gonna make it that easy. Weve just got to play it super tight. Dont give them any reason to move on our families. I caught myself biting my nails. Hadnt done that since seventh grade. Good thing Aunt Lanas going back to East Hampton tomorrow. I want her kept safely out of the loop. Be careful you dont break down when she comes in tonight. Shes so hot on Irv that she wont be back till morning. I went to the bathroom, turned on the tap for the bathtub and sprinkled in some lavender oil for a relaxing effect. Boy, did I need it tonight. For the first time in my life, I felt skittish about getting naked. Aftershock. But, unlike our place in Williamsburg, this building had great security. Any stranger would have a hard time getting past the lobby. Of course, there were other things that worried me. Could this Curtis guy be tapping our phones? Not unless he works for the Radical Right. Sure sounds the type. Be serious. Answers no. Tough thing to get away with. All wed have to do is have the phone company check it out and the law would be on his ass. Try not to get too paranoid. What I cant fathom is how Gwen got her hands on an object that valuable. And why she put that note about me in her journal. She never told me about hiding a tablet. Im guessing its one of those archaeological shards. And once we find the thing Benita cut me off, saying, We give it up. Its too late to save Gwen. I disagree. I think we should set a trap. Set a trap? Eres loca? This aint no Hollywood movie. This is real time. I have no intention of getting dead over Fred Flintstones letter to Barney.

Sorry, but if Gwen was willing to die to protect this tablet and spent her last moments trying to contact me with a secret message, Ill be damned if Im going to let those Hummer hounds get their mitts on it. I just have to come up with that tablet without Curtis and company finding out. If I let Gwen down, her death was for nothing. I paused, letting my intentions sink in. Then I added, Since were talking about harsh realities, lets not kid ourselves. Her killers probably plan to do away with us even if they get the tablet. In other words, were dead if we do and dead if we dont. You sure I cant talk you into an Uzi? Benita was pissed again. The possibility of being murdered does tend to put one in a foul mood. Well let the evidence be our weapon by finding proof of who murdered Gwen before our time is up. Enough proof for the police to make an immediate arrest. Convincing the cops should be interesting given Gwens documented history of depression, an examiners report that showed her blood was ninety proof and no signs of violence. And dont forget the suicide note in her handwriting. At least weve already got a pretty good idea who did it. Yes and no, I said. Curtis spoke about sticking to orders, and his buddy mentioned someone called Chub Dubs. Sounds like a nickname of the person who hired them. Okay. Let me see if I got this down. Unravel the secrets in Gwens poem. Locate the tablet without letting anyone know weve got it. Do whatever Gwen might be telling us to do with it. Figure out how and why Gwen was killed. Link this Curtis dude and his choirboys to Gwens murder. Figure out who this Chub Dubs is. And, oh, yeah, get the police to book these assholes before they whack us. All in just one week. Hey, no problem. Im a multitasker. Early the next morning Aunt Lana and Irv Monsky woke me up. Luckily it was Saturday and summer, so I had no therapy sessions scheduled. I was curled up on the living room sofa in my purple chenille bathrobe. The TV was still on. QVC. After my joyride in the Hummer, state-of-the-art leaf blowers had more appeal than the standard cable fare of murder, rape and drug deals. Id spent a good part of the night mulling over old conversations with Gwen. I had absolutely no recollection of her ever mentioning a special tablet, much less where she might have hidden it. I also searched through Gwens personal items in the box Darryl sent us. Nothing offered a clue. My aunt changed her clothes and gathered a few of her things while her limo driver waited outside to take her to East Hampton. Guess shed invited Irv to join her out there to continue their lusty still doin it marathon. After running in place and performing a set of fifty push-ups, Irv went for an abdominal routine on Benitas Swiss ball. Feet planted on the floor, his back arched over the large yellow orb, he proceeded to knock out a frenetic succession of one hundred sit-ups. From where I sat I had a pretty good shot at his left hip. All I needed was a tranquilizer dart. I switched off the TV and peeked out the window. No sign of the black Hummer on the street below. Trying to look and sound normal, I shuffled about in a grog, tilting the blinds, flooding the place with sunlight. I cut up a slice of cantaloupe into bird-sized pieces and put them in Uncle Petes cage along with a few soft-bill pellets. Fuckin bitch pussy. Fuckin bitch pussy. Now, Petey, that is one phrase you are going to unlearn.

When Lana and Irv left, I made myself scrambled eggs and toast, smearing on gobs of comforting butter. Benita wasnt here to lecture me. Once I cleared my head with three cups of coffee, I went to my bedroom, taking Uncle Pete with me for company despite his untidy habits. The red message light on my business phone blinked away. Last night Id been too chicken to listen to any messages. I couldnt deal with the possibility of hearing Curtiss voice again. Especially since this whole thing was real now. I was no longer just following a hunch. Gwen had indeed been murdered. And this was day one of a deadly seven-day race. It felt like reality TV except the stakes couldnt get much higher. I pushed the playback button. One message. I held my breath until I heard the familiar voice of a client. Just another going-on-vacation cancellation. In the summer months people were in a hurry to blow this town. Normally Id bemoan the financial downside, but not now. My latest project demanded attention 24/7. My cell phone sat on my dresser, where Id left it last night. It rang twice while Lana and Irv were here, but Id carefully ignored it. With a touch of butterflies, I flipped it open. Not Curtis, please. A message from Rochelle Thomas: Just wanted to remind you about our picnic down at the Lot. I know Benitas in Atlanta, but were expecting to see you for Jaleels birthday. My mans turning the big four-oh. Well be right outside your door, so boogie on down, girl. Party starts at noon. Be there. After yesterdays episode, I figured Id pass on the picnic. Jaleel probably wouldnt notice if I didnt show. But his wife would. Rochelle was a corporate lawyer with a head for details, and she always remembered everything about everybody. Shed be royally pissed. Especially since my out-of-town roommate already told Rochelle Id be bringing Jaleel a special birthday gift. Dammitall. It was bad enough Id probably lose a couple of clients from this mess, did I have to lose my friends as well? I played the message again and decided that sunshine and good company would be therapeutic. Would hiding out really save anybodys life or help me find Gwens tablet? And in the back of my mind I knew that Mr. Mace would no doubt be there. But did I want to see him? Tabling that question with a big sigh, I sat on the bed in my bathrobe and focused on more urgent matters. A logical step onephone call to Darryl Applebee. Careful not to give any hints that I was in sleuth mode, I started right in thanking him for sending me those perfume bottles of Gwens. It was so thoughtful of you. Dont thank me. Im just doing what my sister would have wanted. You said there was more in the basement that was up for grabs. Sounds great. Id love to come over and browse. Sure, he said. Maybe we can set up a time in the next few weeks. Actually I need to do it right away. Excuse me? Im sort of in a hurry. Why? You want to be the first to claim her old Scrabble game? Its my mothers birthday, I said. Ive been racking my brain all day for the perfect gift. Oh, the joys of pathological lying. I had no idea how much fun it was or how easily it would come to me. Amazing how the fear of death tends to bring out ones hidden talents. And I decided on a tablet.

A what? A tablet. Ill be glad to pay you for it. Saylor, what the hell are you talking about now? A tablet that belongs to Gwen. I waited. Darryl obviously had no idea what I was after. Come to think of it, did I? Who knew what Curtis was talking about? Gwen always used the word tablet to refer to those inscribed fragments. Could it be anything else? Did you find any kind of engraved shards of pottery or stone hidden among her things? Or maybe stashed away in her safe-deposit box? No I did not, he said. Benita would say he was lying. And although my dear roommate might be ultra-practical in many respects, she had an imagination that sometimes went bonkers. I could never picture Darryl as an evil godfather who gave the orders to put a hit on his own sister. Not in a million. Are you absolutely sure? My mother will be very disappointed. The only artifacts I found were an urn and a figurine. And I already have a buyer. Due to his emotional state plus his innately impatient personality, Darryls observation skills might not be one hundred percent lately. Which was why I needed to go through Gwens leftover belongings myself. But out of respect I had to leave the ball in his end of the court. A risk I had to take despite my deadline. Tell ya what. How about you call me as soon as you think its okay for me to come over and look around. Will do. After hanging up, I nearly had a panic attack over the possibility of Darryl unwittingly throwing out the tablet along with whatever else he considered worthless clutter. I used my counseling skills to calm myself. Anything to keep a case of the dreaded what-ifs from incapacitating me. What reassured me most were the words from Gwens journal: Only Saylor knows where I hid the tablet. So, it couldnt have been thrown out, because shed hidden the damn thing in a place where Darryl may not be able to find it. And somewhere deep within the synapses of my brain, I knew where that place was. The reclining position allows the subconscious to surface. I lay back on my queen-sized bed, arms and legs wide, and asked my inner mind where the tablet was. If only I could remember my old mantra. Let me see, what was it? Zahroooo? No. How about zah-rinng? Or was it zahnaaammm. I gave up and stared out the window, settling my eye on a passing cloud. Its odd shape and squiggly contours made me wonder what it must be like trying to interpret the symbols of some ancient writings. One thing was for sure, a world-class thug like Curtis was no expert in hieroglyphics. He was obviously just the errand boy. But who was the person identifying the tablet? Very few people knew how to decipher the ancient scripts Gwen had been able to read. Which brought me to another unpleasant realization. Neither could I. Duh. How was I supposed to recognize this tablet of hers? I sat up. Time for some research. I grabbed Gwens poem off the night table and went to my desk. I turned on my new computer and used Google to look up the word tablet. Mostly pharmaceutical and software programs. No help. I looked at the poem. No mention at all of a tablet. After a few more searches that led me absolutely nowhere, I studied the poem again and noticed something: Embark for the Jewel in the center

of Pearl. Behold the words of Raphael. Embark. She wants us to go somewhere. And Gwen didnt write the pearl, just Pearl. Capitalized. Pearl might be a place. The location of the tablet? If she saw this tablet as precious, maybe she dubbed it a jewel. Except why did she spell Jewel with a capital J? Hmmm. I entered Pearl and couldnt believe what came up: Chamber of Commerce for Pearl, Mississippi. About two years ago Gwen did a consultation at an archaeological site in Mississippialong the Pearl River! This had to be it. I continued perusing. Wait a minute. There were two towns named Pearl and one named Pearl River. All close to each other in the river basin area. Okay, so Id either find out exactly where Gwen had been, or else wed drive around and check out all three. Hot on the trail, I clicked on some of the travel links. Benita and I could fly into Jackson. And wed probably need to stay overnight. Now the accommodations. Plenty of hotels and motels listed near the airport. And in the area around Pearl. I read through the list. Ohmigod. Can it be? The Jewel Motor Lodge. The Jewel! Eureka! I was so excited I called Benitas cell and told her everything. Her reaction to my discovery didnt exactly score high on the happy meter. A Nuyorican and a Jew in the heart of the South? Those dudes in pointed hats will take us out before Curtis does. Stop it, Binnie, there are nice people everywhere. And if we can find the tablet quickly, itll give us more time to nail the sucker behind Gwens murder. I dont know. Sounds like a pretty hairy idea to me. You never like my ideas. Whole thing seems totally off-the-wall. Too bad. Im booking a flight tonight. I can go it alone. No way, she said. Were in this together. Ill leave the conference early. Meet you at the Jackson airport tonight. Lets set a time. Ill try to coordinate our flights and get back to you. Bin, do you remember that guy I met at Gwens funeral? Conrad Schumacher, that professor of ancient languages she used to date. Didnt he go with her for that Pearl River excavation? Yeah. Thats where he and Gwen started their fling. Can you imagine having sex in a cave with your ass pressed up against some moldy stone wall? Not exactly Club Med. I wish Id questioned him more at the funeral. Looked like you wanted to do a lot more than question him, she said. Oh please. Did you see the way he was chowing down on those tea sandwiches? I thought he was going to start filling his pockets with turkey slices. Uncle Pete waddled across my dresser. Wonderbra! Wonderbra! Ooh, I can hear Uncle Petey, Benita cooed. Cant wait to get home and see my bebe. She started lecturing me on how to get rock-bottom airline prices, but luckily she had a meeting scheduled, so we signed off. I marched to my dresser and opened the top drawer, where I kept a bundle of miscellaneous business cards in a rubber band. Professor Schumacher could help us cut corners. I tried his home phone. Got only voice mail. I left a message, and then called his office at Columbia University. I reached a grad assistant who told me Schumacher was working in a remote area of the Andes where there werent any cell towers.

Just my luck. But she did agree to check his files on the Pearl River site and fax me anything with Gwens name on it. Next I called the Jewel Motor Lodge. The phone seemed to ring an awfully long time. A tape came on. A man cleared his throat. Uhm, ahumng. You have reached . . . ahemmm . . . The Jewel . . . ahhum. Say yur piece and uh, well uh . . . ahemmm . . . Beeeep. Poor man needs a lozenge. I left my name, number and an urgent request for a double room this very night. After arranging our travel, I left our flight times on Benitas voice mail. I also contacted the pet sitter to schedule a caretaker for Petey. Then I phoned clients to cancel my appointments for the early part of the week. Not a great move, but wed probably need some time down there to zero in on the tablet. And I did not intend to come back empty-handed. Uncle Pete was pecking at the box that sat on my dresser. It contained Jaleels birthday gift. A new pair of sky blue eighteen-ounce training gloves Benita picked out for him. I nudged Petey away and wrapped the present, while he tried to make off with the tape and ribbon. I signed the card, To our favorite Leo. From Binnie and Saylor. It was through Jaleels guidance and expertise that the pro female boxer named Binnie The Bitch Morales was born. When she was a twentythreeyear-old grad student, she found a teacher, role model and friend in Jaleel. Although her dad and her five brothers had all boxed, they werent too keen on women entering the sport. But when Binnie started showing her mettle, there they were, sitting ringside at every match. So was I. But to be honest, I have a lot of trouble watching two people act out their combative disorders. Id often envied Benita growing up in a warm, noisy, demonstrative family headed by two fearless parents. Having a father who taught her how to use his carpentry tools, and a spontaneous mother who talked about spirits. For me, thered only been my one brother, Steven, a quiet, creative kid four years younger than I. He now designed theater costumes and lived in the West Village but traveled to Provincetown every summer working backstage with a mens troupe. No doubt he thrived on the chaos and bustle of a theater family after years of skulking beneath the tense and lonely atmosphere produced by our emotionally repressed, hardworking parents, whose affection for each other had long ago evaporated. All their silent brooding and unspoken resentment used to make me wish theyd just come out and have a riproaring brawl. Fertile ground for a future therapist. The clock read twelve thirty. My flight left LaGuardia at five twenty, so Id have to leave the party early and pack. Id just wish Jaleel a happy birthday, catch up with Rochelle . . . and see if a certain boxer happened to be there. I took a quick shower, tamed my wild curls with some mousse and did some last-minute eyebrow plucking in the bathroom mirror. For about twenty minutes I actually forgot about Curtis. But the fear rolled back in when I got to my lipstick. My upper lip was still split and swollen. I covered it with three layers of semi-matte Orchard Rose. Maybe I could pass it off as a bad collagen injection. Next, what to wear? As if on cue, Uncle Pete chanted, Big butt! Big butt! Like I needed that. I stood in front of my bedroom closet getting cranky before pulling on lowslung blue and black striped pants and a navy Vneck fitted tee. Aside from Eldridges insulting estimation of my weight, I hated picnics. Bugs attacked your food, and grass made walking in heels

tricky. Time for my fringed clogs with a four-inch wedge. At least I wouldnt sink into the dirt. Now for the most important accessory. What perfume should I wear? Dont laugh. Scent has power. The English once passed an Act of Parliament allowing marriages to be annulled if a woman used perfume to seduce a man into marrying her. And during Elizabethan times, a woman would place a peeled apple in her armpit to soak up her personal odor and present it as prized gift to her lover. Naturally, I recommend organic apples. I chose a scent with a vanilla, peach and rose combo and some other weird but interesting smell and dabbed it onto my pulse points. It was one of Gwens originals. Probably her best. Shed called it Forget Me Not. Today it seemed frighteningly appropriate.

Chapter Eight
The Lot at the end of Main Street was now called Brooklyn Bridge Park. It connected to the larger Empire-Fulton Ferry State Park that spanned the waterfront between the Brooklyn and Manhattan bridges. And as Rochelle Thomas mentioned on my voice mail, it was an easy stroll from our loft. Right across the street. The playground used to be an abandoned parking lot filled with garbage. Today it was teeming with mothers and kids. I saw Rochelle there with two-year-old Andre, the youngest of her three children. Judging by the shouts and wails going on, Id say Andre was having a little run-in with Mom. Better save my hellos for later. On the lawn to my left a circle of buff guys in oversized shorts cackled at each others jokes. Jaleel and Rochelles ten-year-old ran zigzagging across the lawn with two friends. A lanky Jamaican woman, I couldnt remember her name, hurled a green Frisbee to a trainer I recognized from the gym. I waved to Jaleels brother. He wore a yellow and black print dashiki and sat in a lawn chair next to his girlfriend, who was playing a conga drum. I spotted Jaleel standing under the trees by a picnic table spread with sandwiches, pastries and cakes. This being my first outing since my rite of passage ceremony into Curtiss clan of the cavemen, I had no appetite. But I did notice a bowl of Jaleels famous Gatorade punch. Liquor wasnt allowed in the park. My guess was that Jaleel accidentally spilled an entire bottle of vodka into this mix while hurrying to get things ready. I added our present to a pile on the table and dipped a cup into the punch bowl. Rehydration never tasted so good. Jaleel caught me in his sights and said, Check out the booty wagon coming my way. The foxy doc is on the loose. I wished him a happy birthday, and he responded with one of his famous bear hugs. Feeling tiny was fun with Jaleel. It meant being safe and fussed over. Unlike yesterday, when I would have sold my soul to be the Incredible Hulk. He touched my lip. Sup with this? Um, I had a little mishap with a door. My lipstick cover-up was obviously inept. Almost as lame as resorting to the generic bumping into a door crap. Gonna say, somebody put a shot on you, just gimme da suckas name. I only wished it were that easy. Thanks. And if anybody ever lays a finger on you, give me the suckas name. And Ill do therapy on him.

Jaleel flipped me a baby-faced grin. You smell real nice today. Its a fragrance Gwen Applebee made. You remember her? Sure do. We met her a few times over at your place. He shook his head. Terrible thing. I know you and Binnie were pretty tight with her. I nodded. The three of us spent our college years together. And she was my friend since grade school. Too bad. From what she told Rochelle, she had some ambitious plan cookin round her business. Plan? I remembered Jaleel and Rochelle seated across the table from Gwen last March at Benitas birthday. Still, knowing how fanatical Gwen was about her privacy, it seemed uncharacteristic of her to blab about business matters. Much less at a dinner party. And particularly when she hadnt even told me. Strange. Do you remember what exactly it was about? Not a clue. Jaleel turned to the table and cut himself a slice of cheesecake. She buzzed Rochelle a couple months ago for some legal advice. Something about patents and trademarks for all those fancy-smelling oils she was into. A fellow trainer from Gleasons grabbed Jaleel and pulled him aside for some shoptalk. I looked around for Rochelle and didnt see her. But I did see Eldridge Mace. The sight of him in sleek Astro pants and a sleeveless tee brought a deep, involuntary sigh from my chest. And wouldnt you know, right next to him, sliding a wedge of melon into his mouth, was Tara Buckley. It wasnt Taras professional success that bothered me, it was her annoying habits. Well, maybe I was a tad miffed that my book, Literal Clitoral, got remaindered after one season, while hers was still topping the lists. But what really got me was the way she would corner me after my conference lectures and give me corrections on material she undoubtedly never studied. Or helpful hints on dressing to hide those problem areas around my hips. In any case, I was in no mood to pit myself against the long-legged beauty. I turned and headed for the playground where Id seen Rochelle earlier. Hey, Saylor. Come have some watermelon. Tara was too fast for me, as usual. And today she was a knockout in shorts and a halter top. Probably a real ego trip for Eldridge around his friends from the gym. I strolled their way and managed to force out a pleasant greeting. I felt like offering Eldridge my therapeutic analysis of men who like to tell themselves they arent in relationships while they continue to date the same woman week after week. But I suspected it wouldnt go over too well. Luckily, Tara was sticky from the melon, so I was spared one of her over-the-top embraces. Tilting her head, she popped the biggie. What happened to your lip? Where was my brain? Did I think Taras scrutinizing eye would miss such a luscious opportunity? I had a small accident with a . . . door. Might as well be consistent. She gave me the phoniest sympathetic smile this side of General Hospital. Poor baby. Doors can be tricky. And you know what they say about the metabolism as you approach forty. You get a little slower. Oh please, Universe. Somewhere out in space there must be a small asteroid that needs a place to land. Shouldve splashed on my Jo Malone. A clinical trial showed that women wearing a grapefruit scent tend to appear several years younger.

Eldridge seemed to be studying me. I couldnt tell what he was thinking. He had a face that was difficult to read. Didnt show his feelings. Maybe that was his Mohawk side. Suddenly he said, Excuse me, Tara. I need a couple minutes alone with Saylor. Do you mind? Was I hearing things? This was too good to be true. Taras expression went from surprise to a silent implosion. At one point it looked as if she might even have a seizure. Gee, this was better than the asteroid Id prayed for. Eldridge didnt wait for her response. He gripped my upper arm and led me to a quiet area. I shot him a flirtatious smile. Thanks for carrying me to Benitas car on Wednesday night down in the Hook. Guess I drank a little too much. I expected a playful wisecrack but instead got a dose of stern parenting. Tell me the truth. What kind of trouble are you mixed up in? Oh. I see. Tara was the hot babe, while I got the role of needy puppy. Sure, a part of me was dying to spill my whole story to Eldridge. To cry in his arms and ask him to go beat up the bullies for me. But he was only a boxer; no match for real killers. And frankly, Id never been comfortable in the helpless female role. Maybe I was a wimp who puked at violent movies, but I also spent my life troubleshooting other peoples problems, being the rescuer rather than the rescued. Thats just who I am. Theres no way Id accept Eldridge playing big brother protector. I met his commanding eyes with a firm gaze of my own. I told you. I ran into a door. You of all people ought to know what a klutz I can be. Get real. Youd never admit to me that youre clumsy. Which means youre hiding something. What do you care? You already have a girlfriend. Oops. He looked pleasantly stunned for a moment and was about to say something, when Tara shouted, Ridge, get over here. Paulie said youre washed up. I think he needs a beating. You beat on him, he said without taking his eyes off me. I think hed like that. Eldridge stared at me so long I thought he was going to kiss me. I prevented my legs from turning to Jell-O by reminding myself he was probably just examining my split lip. Or maybe he was using some Mohawk technique to get me to tell my story. Our little powwow was interrupted again by another call from Tara. Eldridge brushed his fingers down my arm. Gotta go. Guess my two minutes were up. As he turned to leave, I couldnt resist grumbling under my breath, Yeah, hurry back to your flaming bitch. He paused mid-stride. Sorry, I didnt hear you? Nothing. I saw big-boned, square-shouldered Rochelle on the boardwalk and joined her at the guardrail. We exchanged a peck on the cheek. Standing beside her, I gazed out at the East River pretending I wasnt about to have a complete and total emotional breakdown. Barely sixty seconds into our conversation I asked her for the details concerning the legal consultation Gwen had requested. Rochelles hand perched on her hip. You want me to disclose on a client? Would you do that to one of yours? This do-it-yourself detective work definitely took a toll on my social and professional etiquette. Rochelle had me dead to rights. But that was better than being just plain dead. I pressed on. You know I wouldnt ask if it werent extremely important. Please. She cocked her head, then shrugged. Theres really nothing to tell. Gwen wasnt actually a client yet. We only spoke on the phone for a couple

minutes. She wanted me to sit in on a contract meeting and negotiate for her. Sounded like she was trying to market her aromatic oils to some big company. I didnt get much further than that. We were supposed to have lunch and get down to details, but she never called me back. This jived with what Gwen said that day when she was all excited over the possibility of selling her latest perfume. Could her little home business selling aromatic oils and fragrances to boutiques and friends have anything to do with her death? Shed used a perfume name in her poem. But it was an ancient artifact that Curtis wanted. An artifact I had seven days to find. Rochelle studied me a moment, then zoomed in for a close-up. Whats going on with your lip? Did I tell myself this party was going to be therapeutic? Benita and I met at the Jackson airport around nine p.m. We rented a Taurus sedan, drove through Pearl and saw hotels that were postcard perfect with manicured lawns and sparkling pools. But none were the Jewel. Our computer-generated directions took us down one road after the next and finally onto a long, lonely stretch of highway. I checked my voice mail. Nothing. Gee, the management at the Jewel never confirmed my phone reservations. Must be one great place if the guy at the car rental agency had never even heard of it. We arent here for the luxury, Bin. I just hope they have rooms for us when we get there. If we get there, she said. Think we missed our turn? I dont know. Maybe we should go ask at that diner we just passed. Arent you hungry? It was ten oclock, and we hadnt yet eaten dinner. We pulled in next to a tractor-trailer and made our way across the paved lot. The primarily male clientele gaped at us as we walked in. Benita had come straight from the conference in Atlanta, and her navy silk pants suit seemed a bit upscale for this glorified truck stop. The jersey knit dress I wore clung to my skin in the muggy Mississippi night. A truckers bloodshot eyes fixed on my breasts. At least he wasnt staring at my split lip. I brushed my wrist across my cheek, balancing myself with my Angel perfumes chocolate-vanilla scent, and slid across the cool vinyl seat of the booth. Benita perked up when she saw banana pecan waffles on the menu. She ordered them with eggs and sausage. My appetite was still on hold, so I stuck with a garden salad. By the time our food arrived Id filled her in on the info Rochelle gave me about Gwen. I nibbled sparingly at my salad and planned our strategy for the next day. When we get to our rooms at the Jewel we should go over the material Schumachers assistant faxed me. Thatll tell us which archaeological dig sites to hit. Too bad you couldnt get a hold of the professor himself, since he was down here with Gwen. Tomorrow is day two out of seven, and we dont even know exactly what were looking for. Whatever it is, it could be in any one of those rooms at the Jewel. Why else would Gwen specify the motor lodge in her poem? Benita reached for the syrup. We should make a complete search of the place. Which is why I brought some extra money. Good idea. Pay the guy off. How else are we gonna get into all those rooms? When our friendly waitress returned, I told her we were trying to find the Jewel Motor Lodge.

Why does that ring a bell? She paused then turned to the waitress at the counter. Hey, Molly. Jewel Motor Lodge. That the place they shut down last year? Shut down? I said. Molly nodded. Board of Health, our waitress added. I been told they reopened, Molly said while wiping down the counter with her bus rag. Lets hope those things dont come back. Benita put down her fork. Things? Some kind of weird-looking insects growing out of his cesspit. Getting in peoples beds at night. Left some pretty nasty bites on folks ankles and legs. She read our concern. But dont you worry. He had the place fumigated. Far as I know the Jewel is good to go. Benita gave me that pre-knockout look of hers. Its only for a couple of nights, I said. She leaned forward. I refuse to shack up in some dive hole with bugs that come out of a poop pit. I held my ground. If the Jewel is where Gwen hid the tablet or left a clue thatll lead us to it, then that is where we belong. She wiped her mouth with a napkin and pushed away her plate. Okay, heres the deal. We are going back to the airport to find ourselves a hotel. From there we can drive out to the Jewel in the morning to investigate. But no checking in. Agreed, I said, keeping the peace. The coffee here was really good, and after several refills we were both feeling a much-needed caffeine rush. I took the poem out of my bag and quietly read the whole line that brought us here. Embark for the Jewel in the center of Pearl. Behold the words of Raphael. Do you think the part that says the words of Raphael is related to the Jewel part? Theres a period after Pearl, but its all on the same line. Depends on who or what Raphael is. Binnie drummed her fingers on the table. Could be the Renaissance painter. Or the angel. Possibly some author or poet. Or a person were supposed to find here. I sipped my coffee, the excitement of closing in on Gwens mysterious tablet finally hitting me. A strange elation came over me despite the obstacles we faced. Binnie, there are special moments in life when you just know youre on the right track. Times when you sense that youre in the right place at the right time, as if guided by some cosmic force. I looked into her eyes. Trust me, sweetie, serendipity is in play. We are on game. Hark. Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy. I checked caller ID and picked up. How ya doing, Darryl? Im getting by. Listen, if youre still interested in looking over the rest of Gwens belongings, Ill be free on Wednesday afternoon. You can come by at three. Sounds good. Best to keep all options open. We chatted briefly. I was careful to keep Darryl in the dark about our situation, as tempting as it was to tell him I was right about his sisters so-called suicide. Benita whispered from across the table, Ask him about Raphael. By the way, Darryl. Did Gwen ever mention anyone by the name of Raphael? He paused. There was that artist from the Jewel. Bingo. I gave Binnie the thumbs up. We were definitely onto something. Did you say an artist at the Jewel?

Yes. She was supposedly the queen bee of the place. Probably still working there. Interesting. An artist working out of a motel. And in Mississippi. What the hell are you talking about? Darryl heaved an exasperated sigh. You get more bizarre every time I talk to you. Who said anything about a motel in Mississippi? I mean the Jewel bar on Pearl Street in Brooklyn. Its right around the corner from where youre living in DUMBO. Oops.

Chapter Nine
Because it was Sunday we couldnt get a return flight until afternoon. Benita refused to speak to me all the way back to New York. It wasnt until after we made it home to our loft and Benita had smoldered for a while that she finally broke her silence. So much for your big moment and those cosmic forces of yours. Try and see the positives, I said, while polishing off some leftover cucumber salad and cold lentil soup Id found in the fridge. Positives? Oh yes, Dr. Oz, I am so glad I compromised my professional reputation by ducking out of the conference early for that trip to Mississippi. So what if we were seventeen hundred miles off the mark? But you liked the banana pecan waffles. Dead-eyed stare. By the way, what happened to all your analytical talents, Doc? What happened to yours, Ms. Financial Analyst? She turned away and began frying rellenos de papa. When her cell phone played You Sang to Me, she checked it and flipped it open. Hola. Rebecca. I was just thinking about you. My mother. She and Benita frequently enjoyed long phone chats covering a range of subjects from fashion and cooking to Hollywood gossip and the stock market. And oh, yes, their favorite topichow to deal with Saylor. Im concerned about her, too, Benita said, resting the spatula on the counter. Saylor does seem to be a little confused. Let me put you on speakerphone. My roommate liked to move around and keep busy while she was talking. No matter who was on the line, no matter how personal, she put all her calls on the speaker and turned up the volume. Conversations with her brother filled the loft with salsa music. The worst were the tearful discussions with her ex-husband. Did I want to hear this one? Did I have a choice? My mothers voice sounded scratchy and whiney. Jerome runs a very successful mold removal business. Hes the Mold Genie. Saylor met him last time she was here. Now I ask you, would it hurt her to go out with him once? Not Jerome Markowitz again. Benita slid her potato-and-meat dumplings onto a plate. Your daughter would be very lucky to land a man like that for a husband. And Lord knows Saylors not getting any younger. I knew youd agree, my mother said. And such a good boy. Jerome comes down here all the time. Unlike Saylor. Plays golf with his father, shops with his mother. Of course, he does that funny thing when he talks. Right. Its called a lisp. Benita aimed a sadistic smile in my direction. Oh go on. Give him Saylors number. I flipped her the middle finger salute and retreated to my bedroom. Funny how my best friend gets along better with my mother and I with hers. My thoughts drifted back to the time when I was seventeen. When my

father ran off with the woman who owned the travel agency two doors down from The Foam Barn. Of course, my mother being the injured party, I took her side. During the divorce settlement, Dad had a fatal heart attack. The last words Id ever spoken to him were I finished the inventory on the mattress pads. The whole thing dismantled my mothers already limited coping skills. Ive been prodding her for years to open up, to talk, to feel, but she never fails to misconstrue my words. She prefers to keep things concrete and on the surface. Like Benita. Five minutes later, my roommate knocked on my door. When I opened it she said, Listen. While we were sitting on the plane, it dawned on me. The woman named Raphael that Darryl mentioned? We already met her. Enlighten me. This past January. We went to an opening at the Dumbo Arts Center. Gwen had collaborated on an installation using plants and fragrances with that artist who made sculpture out of auto parts and flowers. Her name was Raffy. Gotta be short for Raphael. The clouds parted. Raffy DiNardo. And she did work at a lesbian bar! Has to be the Jewel. We used Google to search for lesbian bars in Brooklyn. No website, but it showed up on a listing. The Jewel. And it was on Pearl Street. I gave Binnie an appreciative shot in the arm. Ace detective work. Why didnt I think of that? She shrugged. We only saw her a couple times. Gwen got so secretive whenever she was having a romance with a woman. Guess she was afraid to accept the fact that she didnt really like men. I just made a point not to pry. Maybe if we had, wed know what this was all about. She carried her plate to the dishwasher. Crime of passion between lovers? No way. Gwen would never have put the killers name in the poem. Its clear someone was watching her write it. She had to disguise her instructions. And she was banking on our remembering Raffy. So, youre saying the perp had to be someone who didnt know anything about the artist named Raffy. Assuming she is our Raphael. Right. And Behold the words must equal this woman has something to tell us. I checked my watch. Its only eight oclock. The listing said the place was open Sundays until two a.m. Why dont we head over to the Jewel? The Jewel bar was an easy-to-miss hole-in-the-wall next to an upholstery warehouse on Pearl Street. We took three steps up to an old loading dock covered in graffiti and swung open a battered metal door stenciled with the fading number eighty-three. Benita and I were greeted by a huge painting of a nude woman with her legs spread. A flowerlike jewel formed her vagina. Janet Jacksons Nasty added a touch of slinky to the ambience. This was to be classic undercover work. In jeans and T-shirts, we swaggered into a long, skinny room with no windows. Talk about monochrome. Walls, tables, bar, everything in black and gray. The only accent of color came by way of the blue pendant lamps spotting the bar. Id splashed on Paloma Picassos mens fragrance, Minotaure, to bring out some of my male side. Lavender, bergamot, geranium. Although I counted several lesbians among my friends and clients and had done my share of experimenting in my twenties, I seldom went to girl bars, and our mission here made me feel a shade nervous.

At least we picked a good night to see Raffy. Even in New York City, things ran a notch slower early in the week, and especially in Brooklyn on a Sunday in July. A handful of women were gathered at the far end of the bar. The tables were almost empty. I recognized Raffy immediately. She looked like a female version of Tony Soprano, except she wore an earring and had a little more hair. Hers was short, brown and combed straight back. She wore a short-sleeved, pin-striped button-down shirt. Scorpion tattoo on her forearm. Benita and I exchanged a conspiratorial glance and sat at the bar directly in front of Raffy. She gave us a casual once-over and said, Whatll it be, girls? Two Coronas. With a wedge of lemon, Benita said. I made eye contact with the bartender and added, Youre Raffy, the artist, right? Uh-huh. Isnt Raffy short for Raphael? Uh-huh. She set two glasses on the bar and poured our beers. If Raffy remembered us, she didnt show it, but the confirmation of her full name was a good sign. Im Saylor and this is Benita. We met you through Gwen Applebee. Uh-huh. She took my twenty and turned to the register. A friendly sort. Not. Sad what happened to Gwen, Benita said. Yeah, it is. Raffy sounded flat and void of emotion. Or holding it back. I sensed she suspected something. Could she be the murderer? Could Gwen have written the poem after her killer left? Then why did she disguise everything else, including my name? And how did Gwens body end up in the basin? My guess was Raffy could tell we were focused on her. Time to be up front. Ive always found people respond more favorably when youre direct and to the point. When she faced us again, I said, Wed like to ask you a few questions concerning Gwen. Get the fuck outta here! Behold the words of Raphael. My roommate shot up from her stool. Make my day. Come around the bar and say that to me. Easy, Binnie. Easy. I touched her arm, but she shook me off. Before I knew it, Raffy hopped the bar. She ate two punches, her head snapping back, and still she managed to throw my friend to the floor in a ferocious tackle. Id guess Raffy weighed at least fifty pounds more than Binnie. Never mess with a woman who welds sculpture from auto parts even if she sprays them with fragrance. I perched on top of Raffy, trying to pry her off Benita, who was cursing in force and wriggling wildly beneath her. I felt like I was riding a mechanical bull. Help arrived by way of two formidable ladies with killer biceps. Steroid specials in racerback tank tops. Bouncer-lady number one tapped me on the shoulder. No argument, I got off. She and bouncer-lady number two teamed up to separate the pair of crazed warriors. When the three of themplease note it took all three began roughly escorting Benita to the door, I transformed into the munchkin from hell. Stomping my way to the entrance, I blocked their path and glared up into Raffys face. Listen to me, you rude piece of shit. Binnie and I know Gwen was murdered. And anybody involved is going to pay. Now, maybe youre trying to hide something, so unless you feel like seeing the inside of New York States biggest bed-and-breakfast, you will call off the muscle and make nice with us. Do you hear me?

The corners of her mouth twitched in a half smile. Hold off, she said, releasing her own grip on Binnie. Her warm, fuzzy colleagues dropped their hands to their sides. Raffy made a curt gesture toward a table at the back of the room and moseyed in that direction. Cover the bar for me. This is private. Binnie comes, too, I said. One of the bouncers did a double take. Wait a second, are you Binnie The Bitch Morales? Binnies temper was still smoldering. Yeah. Need a little proof? One at a time outside. Words of love to the ears of her Klingon admirers. They began fawning around her, pouring out the adulation. I thought you looked familiar. I saw every one of your fights. Never forget that night you took it away from Lakisha Brewster. What a comeback. Youre having a drink on us. Ill get the beers, the other bouncer said. You cant leave, Champ. Not till you sign the backs of our T-shirts. Benita looked at me. Go on, I said, relieved. Im pretty good at individual sessions. She headed to the bar with her fans. Raffy and I stopped at the wait station along the rooms side wall. Tearing off a paper towel, she dabbed a trickle of blood from the corner of her mouth. Gwen never told me her friend was a boxer. Judging by her tone she remained unimpressed. I accepted her offer of coffee and watched as she fueled her cup with six packets of sugar. Yikes. Now theres an insulin rush. She placed my cup on a table. Grab a seat. I took the chair across the table from her. How come youre so pissed at us? Raffy fixed her eyes on me with a challenging look. How come nobody invited me to Gwens memorial service up in White Plains? Afraid people might find out she had a lesbian lover? I had no idea you werent told. That explained her attitude. When I offered to help her brother, Darryl, he said hed handle everything. I should never have left it all to him. Im so sorry. Listen, Gwen never made a will, but her brother gave me some of her personal things. Feel free to come over and choose a keepsake. After I apologized three more times, she put out her hand. We shook. So, how come you think Gwen was murdered? The police ruled it a suicide. They mustve had good reason. I took a deep breath. At first it was just a hunch. But Gwens suicide note convinced me. It was written as a poem filled with symbols and hidden meanings. In the first line she disguises my name as if shes addressing me. The third line reads, Embark for the Jewel in the center of Pearl. Behold the words of Raphael. Sounds like she wanted us to talk to you. Raffy shifted uneasily. Always hated the name Raphael. I didnt let nobody but Gwen call me that. Actually its even worseRaphaela. She took a sip of coffee and peered over the rim of her cup. Gwen wrote lots of mystical poems. Its no surprise that shed write one as a good-bye to her friends before killing herself. Doesnt mean she was murdered. Let her go in peace, already. I leaned forward and lowered my voice. What Im going to say now is classified. If it leaks to the wrong people, Im the next one dead. Literally. Okay? Her eyes widened. Im listening. That hunch of mine was confirmed by a messenger working for a person who wants something Gwen had. Theyre probably the ones who made it look like a suicide. I think they forced her to write the good-bye note before taking her life.

Thats a pretty bold theory. Did you ever see her wear a fanny pack? She didnt like themdidnt even own one, yet she was pulled out of the river wearing one with all her ID in it. Convenient. And thats only the beginning. Somebody wanted something Gwen wouldnt give over. Binnie and I dont know why its so valuable, but we do know theyre willing to kill for it. Because our lives are now on the line if we dont find it. And the only map we have is her final poem. Looking doubtful, she rocked back in her chair, tipping it onto its hind legs. You should be telling all this shit to the cops instead of me. I tried at first, but the police werent too impressed by my genius. And now I cant. I gave her a brief rundown of my experience in the Hummer. Shudder. These scumbags-on-wheels presented me with an ultimatum. I have one week to find some kind of tablet for them, otherwise Im toast. They told me theyd know if we run to the cops. Promised to hurt Benita and my family. And swore to find us before the police find them. Scary warning, and Im not about to test it. Not yet anyway. Not until we have some real hard evidence. The kind detectives at the Seventy-fourth Precinct would take seriously. The kind that will get them moving and send these guys Up North. Raffy tilted her head, brows knit. You said something about a tablet. Thats right. A tablet. My heart jumped a beat. If its what I think, then . . . She hesitated. Look, my fling with Gwen only lasted a few months. Her hands fidgeted restlessly with the coffee cup. During that time I was breaking my ass on an art project. It was supposed to be a joint effort. The gallery listed both our names. We planned the idea together long before we were lovers, back when Gwen and I met through the sisterhood and discovered we both worked with florals and scents. Id just told this woman my life was on the line, and shes talking about her art. Please, Raffy. The tablet. What do you know about it? Ms. Machos face revealed a touch of hurt and annoyance. Relax, Im getting there. Everybodys in such a rush these days. She ambled over to the wait station, poured herself another cup of java and studied me as she sat down. Gwen and I met through the Circle of the Sacred Yoni. I know. I watched Raffy stir her coffee slowly. Very slowly. It was clear this lady would not be pushed. Time to go Eastern. Follow the path of least resistance. Flow with the river. You were telling me something about Gwen and the art project? At first Gwen was all into it. Then suddenly she drops out. Leaves me hanging. So I confronted her. We had this big blowup. Not like the kind I just had with your friend. She studied the blank emptiness of the back wall for another thirty seconds, while I fought off an oncoming attack of facial tic. I can be pretty tough, but when it comes to love and art, I feel things deep. I was the one who broke down and cried. Afraid she had somebody else. And what about the tablet? Id run out of Zen. Her voice at this point slid into a dirge. That night after our big fight, Gwen felt bad. So, she poured the two of us a drink. We sat by the windows in her loft staring out at the river. She told me her reasons for screwing up around the show. It was a secret. Not a soul was to know about it. Breathy swoon. Makes me wonder. Another long moment of silence.

I cleared my throat to remind her I was there. Raffy? She put a cigarette in her mouth and prepared to light up. Mind? Thanks, Id love one. At this point I was desperate for any form of pharmacotherapy. She aimed the pack of Winstons at me. I plucked one out. First cigarette Id had in fourteen years. Sinner. I could still hear my mother saying it would stunt my growth. Of course, she maxed out at five feet and never smoked a day in her life. Was this secret about a tablet? Raffy blew two neat little rings of pollution across the table. Gwen had some incredibly grandiose ideas about a goofy perfume of hers. She got really carried away. Drove me nuts. The perfume. Omigod. Emotional orgasm. Its a wonder I didnt start panting like a dog. Reaching into my purse I pulled out a square of folded paper and spread it open in front it of her on the table. Read the second line. Was this the name of her perfume? Her brows went through the roof. Fuckin A. Thats it. Heavens Daughter. Now read the first letter of each line. Going downward. She almost swallowed her cigarette. They got me. Raffy heaved a long sigh. Only Gwen could pull off something that ingenious in the eleventh hour. She had one of those computer-fast minds. And balls. She probably wrote this poem with a gun pointed at her head. I grabbed her wrist. We cant let her down. Please, Raffy. Tell me. Are you saying this perfume was somehow connected to a tablet? Maybe the tablet these guys are searching for? She nodded. It was baked clay. Looked kind of like a flattened dog turd. About the size of my palm. Written in cuneiform, no less. How anyone can learn to read all those tiny little scratch marks. Beyond me. Gwen and I hooked up shortly after shed been working on one of those overseas expeditions. Thats where she discovered it. Claimed its inscription was a formula for a sacred perfume of Inanna. You know, the ancient goddess of love. The words of Raphael finally hit home. I wanted to kiss her. I remember that Gwen traveled to Turkey last summer to consult on an archaeological project for Columbia University. So, this tablet must be in the schools archives. Raffy started laughing. Not quite. Gwen lifted it. Youre kidding. She was obsessed and just had to have it for herself. Dont ask me why or how, but Gwen believed this tablet was going to change the course of history for women. She spent forever deciphering the ingredients. And just reading the thing was only the first step. She had to keep guessing what all those weird ancient names referred to. Because nobody really knows what a nignagar plant is or a mothers finger plant or even if an amashum is a plant. That language hasnt been used in three thousand years. I knew Gwen was highly skilled at reading cuneiform with its hundreds of tiny wedge symbols that all looked alike. And she was a brilliantly intuitive archaeobotanist. But I still couldnt fathom why someone would kill her over this tablet. Raffy had given me a truckload of info. Everything except . . . So, do you know where this tablet is now? Havent a clue where she put the damn thing. My heart sank. I ground my cigarette into the clear glass ashtray. Figures it couldnt be that easy. But at least we were getting somewhere. I

looked over at Benita. She appeared to be having a great time reenacting scenes from the ring. Id be damned if the lousy gutterworm who had Gwen murdered was going to do the same to her. Or me. I switched my focus back to Raffy. One thing still bothers me. I was Gwens closest friend, but she shared her secret with you instead of me. Come on, Raffy said with a yawn. I dont have to be a sex therapist to answer that one. I was sleeping with her. And even then it took a lovers row for Gwen to open up to me. Made sense. Is it possible anyone else might know about the tablet? Im pretty sure theres no one, except for Tim Donnelly. Whos Tim Donnelly? I asked. Hes a nose. A nose? A perfumer. Creates fragrances for FWI, Fragrances Worldwide Incorporated. Its one of about five big companies that make and supply the fragrances for most of the perfumes on the market. Apparently Tim was intrigued by the whole story of her ancient perfume. And Gwen went wild when she heard about him because hes got contacts in several of the major fashion houses. After she got together with him she was talking fame and fortune. That had to be why Gwen bragged to me that Chanel, Dior and Calvin Klein would soon be fighting over her perfume Heavens Daughter. But when Benita and I called them, no one had ever heard of Gwen Applebee. Maybe we didnt reach the right people. Or we were looking in the wrong places. But would someone actually kill over a fragrance? Considering how easily they made knockoff perfume copies today, it didnt compute. There had to be more to the puzzle. Do you know Tim, the nose? Yeah. I introduced Gwen to him. Ive been consulting with Tim on my olfactory art for the past three years. Can I have his phone number? Ive got it at home. Raffy lit up another smoke and puffed out a set of rings. Give me your card, and Ill e-mail it to you tomorrow. With two of my seven days now gone, the word tomorrow started a mosh pit going full swing in my stomach. Please, would you do it tonight? No matter how late. Ill be awake.

Chapter Ten
So far it rated four stars, as dreams go. I was frolicking on a sunlit beach with Eldridge. Celebrating, dancing and removing our clothes. A seagull turned into a yellow taxicab and we got in the backseat. A distant chirping came from somewhere outside my dreams protective bubble. I fought the intrusion. The Mace-man was kissing me now, and it was heaven. The sound repeated itself, insisting on being heard, pulling me rudely out of my REM world. My arm flopped across the sheets. I grappled for the phone and forced a barely audible Hello? Any luck in Mississippi? Dream over. The sandpaper voice on the other end snapped me to sitting. I gripped the receiver, wishing I could say something offensive. But now it seemed like I was in one of those nightmares where you try to scream and nothing comes out. Got anything you wanna give me? Or should I come over and look for myself?

I dont have it yet. I wasnt surprised we were being watched, but that didnt make it any less disturbing. Dammit, why had I picked up? Benitas room was on the other side of the loft, so at least she wouldnt be awakened by the call. My clock read 3:17. And Id been up worrying until two. The effects of sleep deprivation emboldened me. Theres no reason for you to call me at this hour. Couldnt sleep, Curtis said. I been thinking about you in the back of my car with your legs spread wide . . . oooh yeaahh. I heard heavy breathing, a moan and a couple of grunts. I slammed down the receiver. Terrific. Phone sex with Captain Hummer and his supposedly oversized wiener. Delete and cancel, please. My phone rang again. Caller ID showed it as a blocked number. Needless to say, I didnt answer. But of course I listened and pressed record when the voice mail clicked in. Its Monday, sweetpussy. Counting today, ya got five days. Unless I get itchy. It aint easy for a man like me to hold himself back too long. I grabbed the phone. Wait a minute, we had a deal. My voice quaked. You agreed to one week. Dont you come near me before Saturday. No answer. I waited. Click. Dial tone. Wearing a knee-length Paddington Bear teeBenita had purchased it at the Less-Than-ADollar storeI blended up a banana smoothie for the two of us. It was the least I could do. But, Binnie, if you use up all your vacation time now, say good-bye to that Carnival cruise. She sat at the kitchen counter, still dressed for work. She was so upset when I told her about my porno phone call from Curtis that she contacted her office and claimed the rest of her vacation days. This did not make her boss too happy. Hey, its my life, too, she said. So dont get into any guilt over it. I thought therapists didnt approve of guilt. Setting two glasses on the island counter, I climbed onto the stool next to my roommate. I ordered a trace on the Hummers license plate number through the web. I wonder if I could risk hiring a PI that way without Curtis finding out. Benita glared at me. Not with my butt on the line, you cant. Besides, we dont need one. Im telling you, we can do this. I found a website with some good do-it-yourself suggestions. And theyre cheap. So, that explains what I saw on the table in our laundry room. Id found a magnifying glass, a small brush and an assortment of Gwens items, plus the note Darryl had sent to us. All covered in some mysterious brown powder. Whats that brown stuff that smells like cocoa? She grinned. Cocoa. Works great when dusting for prints. What? Next youll be doing your homemade forensics in our kitchen, and I will not have skin shavings next to the arugula. Bold times require bold measures. We may even have to go incognito. Wonderful. Ill be running for my life in a Darth Vader mask. And to think I was worried. I cant believe youre actually getting off on this. Damn straight. Time to kick ass. Benita hopped off the stool, rinsed her dishes and turned to me. I need a good sparring session. Boxing keeps me ready. In fact, when this whole thing is settled, I might even come out of retirement. Lets head over to Gleasons this morning. I rolled my eyes. Since quitting the fight game, Benita spoke of coming out of retirement an average of three times a month. Id grown immune to

the announcement. You go without me. Ive been awake since that three a.m. phone call. The gym is the last thing Youre uptight about Eldridge being there with that Buckley chick. Was I that transparent? Well, he brought her to Jaleels party. She shook her head. Ive never seen you fall over your feet like this for a guy. What do you want with a nutjob window-washer like Eldridge Mace? Youre a freakin Ph.D. There are plenty of hot lawyers and doctors and architects. And dont forget the mold removers. Why are you so hooked on Mace? I thought about it, asking myself if this was all about Eddie Rivera and my sixteen-year-old heartache. Having no idea what the answer was, I just said, I better get started. The receptionist at FWI told me the nose would be in at nine thirty. Ive also got to phone the Institute for Sexual Counseling as well as my private clients and the women in my Clitoral Culture Group, to cancel everything for this week. I went straight to my room, determined to make up for my Mississippi debacle. How to bait Tim Donnelly into seeing us this very day? Raffy said he was interested in Gwens new perfume, and if the tablet did relate to that perfume, then he had to know something. Maybe he even knew where the tablet was. That statement in Gwens journal about me being the only one who knew could be out-of-date. She might have told someone like Tim since writing that note. When I used Raffy DiNardos name, the receptionist put me through to the perfumer. He came across as cold and irascible, making things rather disconcerting at first. But my brilliant idea to tell him I had a gift for him from the late Gwen Applebee turned him around. We arranged to meet at three thirty in the FWI building on Fifty-seventh Street. As soon as I hung up, a call came in from Irv Monsky, my aunts lover and the director of the Center for Being. It was about my Do-Me-Good sex toy demonstration party that was scheduled at the Center . . . tonight at seven. Where was my brain? Thanks to all the fun I was having courtesy of my dear, deceased friend, Id totally lost track of my normal life. Too late to call off the demo party. Some of the people coming were referrals from clients and friends. There was no way to track them all down. Plus, Irv had made an effort to round up members of his own flock for me. I couldnt worm out now. And even though Lana was still in East Hampton, shed want to know why I was canceling last minute. As soon as I finished my brief talk with Irv, I rushed out to catch Benita before she left for her workout. I broke the news and added, So, after our meeting with Tim Donnelly in midtown, well both shoot down to SoHo. I need your help with my sex toy party. Do I have to? Benita groaned. Why cant you be like most women and give baby showers or Oscar parties? Come on, I was there to support you at every one of your boxing matches. And I had to watch them with my eyes shut. Saylor, a person cannot see anything when her eyes are shut. Exactly. Make a deal. Ill help out with your sex toy party if you come to the gym. Done. After Benita took off, I phoned the Institute for Sexual Counseling to tell them I wouldnt be available for my usual Thursday appointments at their

clinic this week due to a personal emergency. Next I called clients and got into a mini session with Hannah McClure. Youre not alone, Hannah. Many women still grow up under the bad girl curse, afraid to touch and explore their own bodies. Ridiculous, considering that guys become experts at getting themselves off long before losing their virginity. Given the number of females that still approach their first round of intercourse without ever having experienced orgasm, I urge you to hit the practice green. The sooner the better. By eleven oclock Id managed to either leave voice mail messages or have little chats with all of this weeks clients and the women in my Clitoral Culture Group. Such wonderful people. It made me realize how much I loved my work. And my life. Resolute in my determination not to let anyone take it from me, I decided to dress in spunky, tight black jeans that made my legs look super firm, a low-cut floral blouse and a pair of pastel pink heels. I whisked on eyeliner, caked a matte lipstick over my healing cut and dabbed myself with Chance by Chanel. Hyacinth uplifts the spirits. Too bad I wasnt going anywhere except the gym, where Id be peeling off my clothes and pushing myself through a boring hour that would leave me a frizz-topped sweat-sicle. I tossed a pair of oversized sweatpants and an old undershirt of my brothers into my gym bag. So what if they made me resemble a baby elephant? It was Monday morning. No way Eldridge would be at Gleasons. Right now, hed be somewhere up in the clouds overlooking the city, washing the windows of some office building. The gym was only two blocks away, but I felt skittish and eyed all parked and mobile cars for any sign of Curtis and company. It was another day of blistering heat. Sunlight and people on the street offered a touch of solace and protection. Still, I moved swiftly. When I got to the gym I saw Benita standing next to the second ring. Jaleel was lacing up her gloves. Hey, Bin, I called out. Looking revved in her nifty orange mouthpiece, she lifted a glove to me. Manny, a skinny Dominican fighter from Flat-bush, stood nearby. Dont tell me she was going in with him today? Last time it took about four layers of makeup to compensate for six rounds with Manny. And this afternoon we had a meeting at the uber-company of high-fashion fragrance. I put off going to the locker room to change and hung out near the ring for the first round, pretending to watch. Get off the ropes, Binnie, Jaleel said. She stepped to the side and unleashed a staccato blur of rapid-fire punches, her famous Boricua Flurry. When the bell ended the round, Manny laughed and gave her a love tap on the shoulder. Youre fighting like you old bitch self. You must got a man problem. She didnt answer him, but I knew how few men Benita had gone out with since her divorce. Not that shed ever dated as omnivorously as I. Despite my current dry spell, I normally had one or two play pals around. But my practical roommate had always been tough on men. She wanted a husband and kids real bad, and if a guy didnt appear to be daddy material, she didnt waste her time. Benita leaned over the ropes toward me. Im gonna go a few more rounds. You want Rasheed to help you work the bag?

No, Id rather just . . . I was caught off guard by a hand on the small of my back. I turned. What was he doing here this morning? Eldridge stood close, wearing only boxing trunks that rode low on his hips. A sweatband made his Mohawk features more apparent. His cheekbones glistened with perspiration. So did his buff, bare torso. Guess he liked to work out as near to naked as possible. I clamped my teeth together to keep my tongue from hanging out. Ill put you through some drills on the bag, he said. Not exactly the kind of drilling I wanted from him. Oh, hi. Taking therapy advice Id given clients, I stayed in neutral, thinking it over. Always best to process whats really happening with a guy when youre dying to jump his bones. Not an easy task. His hand on my back was giving me a case of the randy tingles. But the last time he played cutesy-poo with me I watched him walk off into the sunset with Tara. What was he up to? Eldridge dipped his head toward me. Let me show you how to work it really hard. His sultry tone removed any doubt as to the nasty double meaning. Unfortunately, all I had in my gym bag were my baby-blimp workout clothes. Id rot in hell before Id let Eldridge see me looking like a walking tent. Benita started another round, and I feigned interest. Thanks, but Ill just grab a stationary bike. His finger softly brushed my lip. You heal fast. He lowered his voice. Youre a fool not to tell me whats going on. Im not a bad guy to have around when theres trouble. My acting skills were usually pretty good when I dealt with clients, but Mr. Mace dismantled my ability to focus. I stumbled over a few meaningless words, finally getting out, You have an overactive imagination. Depends on the subject. His pale, sexy eyes locked on mine, snaring me in a Mexican standoff that felt decidedly erotic. I considered what Benita said earlier about the effect Eldridge had on me. She was right. I was hooked on him in a way I couldnt quite figure out. In my recent relationships, Id been more disappointed than hurt. But I remembered too well what it felt like to fall hard and be wounded. And I suspected thats just where Id wind up if I got involved with the Mace-man. Well, it was nice to see you, Eldridge. I headed for the dressing rooms. He followed me. I havent forgotten what you said at Sunnys. About Gwen Applebee. I wheeled around. Sometimes I say too much. Especially after one too many martinis. You look like youre not getting enough sleep. A flattering comment. Maybe the sex is too good. Dont put me on. You look tired. And not in that way. Gee, thanks. First Im fat, now Im tired, next itll be I never said you were fat. Im no good at judging a womans weight. You really know how to make a guy feel like a jerk. No wonder you dont date anybody. I wanted to heave my gym bag at him, but I dug my fingers into it instead. Up yours, Mr. Boxer. I have more boyfriends than I can handle. I never see you with anyone. You came alone to Jaleels picnic. And Tara said Tara?! A few people gawked at us. I got control of myself. It just so happens the man Im involved with now would send Ms. Tara-make-mepukeBuckley begging on her knees. This was control? Here I was, making up stuff again. Every time I saw this guy I turned into a maladjusted adolescent.

Guess Ill catch a glimpse of him tonight, he said. At your sex toy party. My mouth went dry. Whered you find out about that? Jaleel told me. Invited me to come along. Panic attack number twenty-four. I was about to say my boyfriend would be working tonight, when Eldridge cut me off. Of course, if youre bullshitting me, the standard out would be to tell me hes got to work and cant be there. Mr. Boxer had me boxed in. An unmistakable call-your-bluff grin sneaked across his face. You have some very serious mental disorders. He started laughing. So, lay me down on your couch, Doc. I stormed into the womens locker room and hurt my toe kicking one of the lockers. Damn Jaleel. Inviting Eldridge to my Do-Me-Good sex toy party. Maybe I shouldve canceled after all. Would Eldridge really show up? What if he brings Tara? And what guy was I going to introduce as my prize hunk? I zoomed through my brain files for male friends. Hed have to be gorgeous, available at the last minute and willing to play along. Did I need this? In less than a week Curtis would be coming for me. I should be spending every second of my time figuring out what brought the likes of Curtis down on Gwen. And making sense of her poem so I could find that cockamamie tablet. And then doing whatever in hell she expected me to do with it. Hey, anything for a friend. I wanted to scream. In the meantime, thanks to my oh-so-intelligent choice of workout clothes, I was stuck in this locker room until Eldridge left. But how would I know when hed gone? I couldnt keep peeking out the door without being noticed. Well, I could try. On about the twentieth peek, I opened the door a crack and saw him hitting the speed bag with his back to me. Flipping open my cell, I pretended to be talking as I slithered past him. Just as I was making my elusive exit, Eldridge called out, See you tonight. As I stomped through the door of our loft I was greeted by Benitas mynah bird. Im horny! Im horny! Dont remind me, Petey. Youre talking to a deprived woman. I threw my gym bag on the sofa and stood in front of the mirror that hung in the foyer. My face did look tired. Id had rotten sleep in the three nights since Curtis gave me a oneweek deadline. Lets hope Tim had some answers. After giving Uncle Pete his food pellets, I switched on my laptop and checked my e-mail. Aha. A response on the license plate trace. The plate number was from a 1990 Honda Civic that belonged to a woman upstate. The vehicle had been reported as stolen. Benita was right. These guys were pros. In my bedroom I wriggled out of my denims. My answering machine blinked, indicating two messages. Please. No more romantic overtures from Curtis. Here goes. Hi, Saylor, its Fip. I need your help. Would you please try to persuade Benita to return my calls? I really miss her. I just need to see her face. You know how much I love her. Help me out, will you? Thanks, Saylor. Youre the best. Sigh. Benita was so lucky. I wished she wouldnt be so hard on him. Next message: Hello, Dr. Oz. This is Alan Grossman. We met at Lana Kleins Love Your Body workshop. Are you free for dinner tonight? Call me anytime on my cell at . . .

Fingertips trembling with excitement, I snatched up a pen and frantically scribbled down his number. Who said there was no such thing as divine intervention? This was a bona fide windfall. A great-looking, intelligent man who also happened to be a world-famous film director. Pinch me. Was he really interested in Saylor Oz, former munchkin? Maybe he was casting for a remake of The Wizard. In any case, he would certainly do as my impromptu trophy guy. Wasting no time, I called Alan and asked if hed mind being my date for my Do-Me-Good party first and then having a late dinner afterward. He loved the idea. I could tell Alan wanted to talk awhile, but I had to cut him off. I needed to reach Fip before Benita came home. I got him on his cell and suggested he come to the demo party. Fippy thanked me profusely, promising to buy several of Do-Me-Goods latest. Was I crazy? I had a lethal deadline, and here I was dabbling in romantic games. Guess even an impending death threat wasnt enough to topple getting laid from the upper echelons of my priority list. Blame it on Eldridge Mace. After making check-up calls to my mom and brother, I showered and threw on fresh panties and a tank top. Trying to de-puff my tired punim, I sat at the kitchen counter with my face in a bowl of ice cubes. A door opened behind me. You better hang your head in shame, girl. Benita was home. What happened to your workout? Run into somebody we both know? I looked up and smiled. There was a slight swelling above her right eye. You could use a little ice yourself. She plucked a cube from the bowl and pressed it to her brow. I dumped my ice cubes and checked her face. Neomycin and concealer should do it. I had to proceed cautiously. Benita would need some breaking in on the Fippy surprise package. Clearing my throat, I started by telling her about Alan Grossman. When I got to the part about Fippy coming to the party, she glared at me, dumbfounded. How could you? I get it. Payback for Jerome Markowitz. No. It was Fippys voice. He was begging for my help. Okay, Ms. Social Worker, Im going right downstairs to invite Mr. Fellows. I hear hes lonely and looking for a good time. Go ahead. Maybe hell buy some sex toys. Although, judging by the way he likes to squeeze my butt in the elevator, I think hes a hands-on purist.

Chapter Eleven
Considering the joys of midtown traffic and parking lot prices, Benita and I opted instead to be gouged by a cab. We had our driver make a pit stop in SoHo at the Center for Being so I could drop off my shopping bags filled with Do-Me-Good demonstration products. By three thirty we were sitting in an office at Fragrances Worldwide Incorporated on Fifty-seventh Street. Id loved perfumes all my life and never knew they were created in a place like this. Yet here I was, in the sunny headquarters of this multinational corporation that supplied perfumes for big names like Givenchy, Dior, Lauder and Halston. Benita wore sleek zebra print pants and a beige silk blouse. I had on a cerulean blue halter dress with a flared skirt and scooped-out neckline. Knowing Id be among scent-conscious people, Id put on an upscale yet casual cologne. Ralph Laurens Pure Turquoise. Cassis, night-blooming cereus and patchouli.

Tim the nose was one of about thirty perfumers making up an elite group at FWI. He was clearly disappointed with the gift Id chosen from my box of Gwens possessions. Pardon me. The 1910 DOrsay perfume bottle could be a museum piece. On the phone when I made up the story about a gift I believed Gwen intended for him, he had warmed up, and even sounded anxious to meet with Benita and me. All of a sudden he became a snoot again. And nervous. What gift was he hoping for? The coveted tablet? So, are you two the executors of her estate? A wall of glass and the Manhattan skyline formed a backdrop for Tim, who slouched behind a crescent-shaped desk that was covered in a sea of bottles and glass vials. He was a chubby forty-something with a Dr. Evil voice and short brown hair combed straight forward. He wore oversized Armani pants with a slim-fitting jacket and a long silk scarf tastefully draped around his neck. All in shades of brown. His eyelashes were painted with mascara, and his subtle touch of green eye shadow matched the color of his tinted contacts. No, Benita said. We were her best friends. Tim seemed suspicious, so I added, Gwens brother gave us some of her things. As well as her suicide note. Benita shot me a dirty look. On the way here wed agreed not to give out too much information. But we needed to get a dialogue going if we wanted to learn anything from him. Wasnt it tragic? I know Gwen was working with you on a perfume for the last three months. Do you have any ideas about why she would take her own life? His eyes darted side to side and his lips went bitter lemon. Was it guilt? How much would Tim stand to gain by getting rid of Gwen and taking her mysterious tablet? He dropped his chin and stared at his hands as he spoke. I keep asking myself the same question, especially since Gwen knew shed have a humongo deal before the year was out. Of course, when Raffy introduced me to Gwen she warned me about her mood swings. Why hadnt I taken Gwen seriously when shed mentioned this to me? Some friend I was. A deal, for her new perfume, the one she named Heavens Daughter? Heavens Daughter. Puh-leez. He placed his fingertips on his cheek. I dumped that name in a hurry and gave it a good old-fashioned number for our tests. Later, the company that bought it wouldve christened it with something hip. So, somebody actually wanted her perfume? Benita asked. Are you kidding? Any company would pay big bucks to own a perfume like Gwens. She couldve had her pick. Especially now with Givenchy and Donna Karan putting out limited-edition naturals. Benita leaned forward, looking like she needed more convincing. We called the offices of several fashion houses and asked about her perfume. No one seemed to know anything about Gwendolyn Applebee. We werent at that stage yet. Even FWI wasnt involved. I took Gwen on as a personal project. Wanted to test things first, see if her claims were real. I wasnt going to risk making an ass of myself with my associates. Tim reached into his pocket and produced a pack of Altoids. Just had lunch. He opened the tin and held it out. We passed. He placed one in his mouth and danced it around with his tongue making squishy sounds. According to a recent news report, Altoids are the best for odor in general, Listerine mints for covering up garlic, and Starbucks mints for coffee.

He forced a smile. Im a fool for test results. Dont care what subject. Anything for a little empirical data. Fascinating. I went back to hardball. What financial arrangements did you and Gwen have? You mustve had some investment to do all this work with her. And what kind of claims were you testing? There was a knock on the door. An assistant in a lab coat trotted in and asked Tim to evaluate a scent. I watched, intrigued and somewhat envious of a person who earned a living smelling beautiful things. The assistant held out a blotter that looked like a skinny white Popsicle stick. Tim discreetly deposited his mint into a tissue and prepared himself with a drink of water. He waved the blotter beneath his nose, paused, then said, This juice needs help. Will you please do what I asked with the top note? Make it greener. When the assistant left, Tims face took on an expression I couldnt quite read. Kind of like an angry hamster. You ask a lot of questions. Who sent you? Benita and I exchanged a quick glance. Nobody, I said. Why? Tim huffed and pushed back his chair. I think youd better leave. He went to the door with a righteous stride and opened it. Out. Now. We walked toward the perfumer, who waited at the entrance like a smug security guard. This couldnt be happening. Tim was the only person who could help us discover if the perfume-tablet connection had anything to do with Gwens death. I refused to leave without getting a step closer to the person who wanted my friend murdered. Even if it was the man in front of me. I let it fly. Gwendolyn Applebee did not kill herself. She was murdered. A group of men were hired to make it look like a suicide. We believe it might have something to do with her new perfume, but the police wont help us based on speculation. We intend to uncover who was behind it and why. And frankly, a lot points directly to you. I handed him my business card. Give us a call when youre ready to talk. Tim looked at the card. He pushed the door closed before we reached it. Had I won him over? Or was this the part when the guy pulls out a gun with a silencer and wastes the two babes who knew too much? Youre the sex therapist, he said. Her old buddy. Gwen told you about me? Honey, Gwen filled me in on you as soon as the test results came in. You were at the top of her show-and-tell list. I also remember her canceling that idea and deciding to clam up till a contract was signed. Gwen got so paranoid I dont think shed have told her priest. He flitted his fingers in space. Pardon the expression. I was raised Catholic. But these days I can think of better things to do in a dark little room than confess sins. Please have a seat. Benita and I did an about-face and returned to the chairs in front of his desk. I thought back to how Gwen had been afraid to jinx her opportunity by telling me the full story. Lets hope Id get it now. Youll have to forgive me, he said, perched on the corner of his desk, but one can never be too careful. You see, I also have reason to believe Gwen was murdered. Was I surprised? Not really. A perfumer had to have keen instincts. Then again, he could be putting on an act. Trying to throw us off. I didnt mean to spook you, I said. We have misgivings about most people these days.

Honestly, I had nothing to do with Gwens death. We got along famously. His sad tone sounded genuine. I really liked her. She was brilliant and creative. I got off on the idea of an oddball outsmarting everybody and getting filthy rich. I dont deny wanting her perfume formula. You have no idea what I would give to have it. But I wouldnt kill for it. How long do you think someone like me would last in a prison? Puh-leez. Anything but that. And even though Gwen and I kept the nature of our project secret, plenty of people here knew we were working together. As youve said, Id be the first one accused. Then you should be willing to help us, I said. I am. He jammed in another Altoid as if it were a downer he badly needed. The man wouldve been a good subject for my paper on Eriksons oral gratification theory. Pursing his lips, he gave the mint a quick isometric suck. Listen, someone hacked into my computers right around the time of her death. I feel certain it was related. The computers here at FWI? Binnie asked. Theyre networked, right? He nodded. FWIs system is enormous. The hacker managed to find a backdoor route into my files. Im sure they were hoping to get Gwens perfume formula. But I dont have it. In fact my file on her fragrance had a record stating that the eccentric creator, Ms. Gwendolyn Applebee, refused to reveal her formula to anyone, including me. And that she was adamant about keeping samples in her possession, allowing me only one tiny vial to work with on my own. So, Gwens nuttiness might have saved my ass. But Im still walking on eggs. This perfume formula had to be the recipe Curtis asked for in the Hummer. But why? Everybody was making counterfeits these days. Did your company investigate? They did, Tim said, but they werent able to determine who gained access. Just between us, I think I know who was behind the hacking. And Ill bet its the same person who put the hit on your friend. Have you gone to the police? Benita asked him. Honey, I cared about Gwen, too, but Im not going to get myself killed over her. If its the man I think it is, believe me, hes not the kind of person you want to piss off. Right now Im just waiting for the day when I can stop looking over my shoulder. I knew the feeling. If you give us this persons name, we promise never to tell anyone where we got it. I held my breath. Tim flung his head back in a sarcastic laugh. Hah. As if he wouldnt guess. You said youd help us. Benita spoke through clenched teeth and looked ready to explode. I put my hand on her arm hoping to settle her down. If we pushed too hard and lost him, we were sunk. Making his way back to his chair, Tim sat down and folded his hands neatly in front of him. Sorry. I need time to think. Give me a couple of days. My feisty roommate sprang from her chair, swiped aside a bottle on his desk and yanked Tim out of his seat by his lapels. We dont have a couple days, Mr. Nose. Tims fingers made a feeble effort to pry her hands loose. He caught my eye. Call off your Doberman or youll be hearing from my lawyer. Oh great. Would getting arrested for assault qualify us for an extension on Curtiss deadline? Stop it, Binnie. Let him go. I grabbed her shoulder. He has no clue how lethal our situation is.

Sorry. I just lost it. She released Tim. He dropped into his chair, shaking a bit, a combination of panic and indignant rage on his face. Benita returned to her seat, and I gave Tim a rundown of my Hummer encounter, minus the pussy wager. When I told him about our one-week deadline and the threat on our lives, he gawked at me with an open mouth. But the thing that really moved him was Gwens journal note saying I knew where the tablet was. His demeanor changed. Suddenly he wanted to be my best friend and help joggle my memory. Interesting. So, I continued, according to both you and Raffy, Gwens perfume was created from instructions on this tablet nobody can find. But Ive heard there are computers that can analyze smells and show the blueprint of any fragrance without knowing the original formula. Is that true? Yes, he replied. We have that technology here. Ive already copied the scent of Gwens perfume. No problemo. Then how come you dont have the formula? If only it were that easy. He massaged his brow with his fingers. The computer was unable to precisely identify some of the ingredients she was using. Believe me, Ive tried over and over. Made several versions with synthetics and even a few with naturals. I could match the scent, but the effects we got from the version made by Gwen simply cannot be replicated. And without those results, were left with just another so-so perfume. Of course, if I had the tablet and another talented archaeobotanist to experiment with me . . . You mentioned results. What kind are you talking about? I asked. You missed out on the best part of the story. Tim leaned forward like a gossip with material suitable for Page Six. His voice dropped to a confidential whisper. Gwens formula happens to be an extremely powerful and unique aphrodisiac. But, get this. The juice doesnt work when its on a mans body, only when its on the skin of a woman. Benita and I looked at each other and let out a simultaneous What? After a hesitant giggle, I asked if he was joking. No, Tim said. This perfume not only makes a man go bonkers over the woman wearing the stuff, it gives him frequent and longer-lasting erections. Naturally, our tests showed the effects vary according to the conditions. Its most intense after about ten minutes in close quarters. You know, candle-light dinner in a quaint restaurant. Backseat of a taxi. Living room sofa. What if it backfired? Benita asked. A woman wearing this fragrance on the street could get mauled. Tim shook his head. Not so. Those ancient perfume-makers were brilliant. The aphrodisiac property seems to be activated by pheromones, but only female pheromones. You know, those biological secretions women release when theyre sexually aroused to communicate with the male olfactory system. In other words, if a woman is not attracted to a man, or if she feels uncomfortable or inhibited, her pheromone production level shuts way down. Meaning, the chemicals in the perfume have nothing to interact with. Recalling Gwens face gleaming with excitement the day she told me her newest fragrance was going over the top, I didnt doubt Tim was telling the truth. But Benita did. Maybe your test results were bogus. Shouldnt they be conducted by an outside company? His eyes flashed her an incensed look. I told you, these were just preliminaries. What do you take me for? Im a professional. I would never

represent a project that put my reputation on the line without first making sure it was the real deal. How do you know one of the test subjects isnt behind Gwens murder? I asked. They were told nothing, Tim said. Not even my coworkers at FWI had a clue about the secrets behind this juice. Gwen functioned as my nameless assistant. She wouldnt allow any samples to be taken away by the test group. Insisted on spraying each person herself. And the participants never met each other or had any way of learning what responses the others had. I know. I recorded all the data. Bang, there it was. Another piece of Gwens poem: You will meet the scribe, magician of a million creations. A person who records dataa scribe. And a perfumer is certainly a magician in his own right. Way to go, girls of DUMBO. Our scribe was still talking. I not only conducted the tests, I also took part as guinea pig. Id read about those studies showing how gay men and women respond the same way to sexual scents, so I wondered if the perfume would work on my skin. Zero results. Boo-hoo. After all the arrogant, self-centered dickheads Ive dated, I only wish it had. However, when Gwen doused herself and invited me to her place for dinner . . . Well, we ended up screwing on her table. And Ive been gay for the last twenty-four years. A bad-boy smirk. She must have been attracted to me. Gwen always did have a tendency to choose men who resembled rodents. Of course every womans got to worry if the competitions bought the stuff, Benita said. Tim waved her off. All great discoveries come with risks. Our findings were positively astounding. Exactly what Gwen believed right from the start. Exactly what the ancient prayer on her tablet predicted. Male subjects involved all described the same experience. A state of being extremely aroused sexually, combined with a sort of dreamlike euphoria over the woman. Almost worshipping her. Wow. How long does this intoxication last in a man? I asked. Cant say. Findings only gave us so much, Tim replied. But I do know the female subjects reported no violence. Their men acted subservient, adoring and eager to please them. Imagine what women would pay for that. This fragrance could revolutionize the entire perfume industry. Not to mention revolutionizing the balance of power for women, I said. He nodded. Thats the part Gwen was ecstatic over. I just saw it as a fun way to get rich. All this blew me away. To think Gwen actually recreated an ancient formula possessing the power to turn men into drooling sex slaves. No wonder she was so paranoid about it. Thats putting it mildly, Tim said. Gwen wanted total control. Even wanted to set up her own factory to make the perfume. But to try and become a supplier for a large-scale fashion house like Lauder or Dior was absurd. When I told her it would be standard procedure for FWI to take over production of the fragrance once it sold, well, she got all upset. She was fanatical about being the only one privy to the ingredients of her formula. Except, why would someone have eliminated Gwen if she was the one and only walking, talking source? Benita asked. He shrugged. Simple. Either they didnt know or else they figured they could hire another cuneiform expert to do what Gwen did. But with all your secrecy, how did this person you suspect find out about it? Clenching his fists, he bowed his head. I told him. While we were in bed. You know how it is. People tend to get loose-lipped after good sex. I

was feeling giddy, and I teased him, saying we were going to put him out of business. Hes in the perfume business? I asked. No. What business is he in? Silence. My nerves could take no more. Tim, its very possible a person has died thanks to your big mouth. Lets not make it three. Blinking back tears, he said, FWI also makes fragrances for drug and household products. Thats how I met Kyle Drummond. Hes the CEO of Milotech Pharmaceuticals. The manufacturers of Erosynol, their bestselling product. It works better than Viagra. Kyle offered me five hundred thousand dollars to slide him Gwens formula. He wanted to make it into a pharmaceutical product for Milotech. The cheap bastard couldve offered me five times that. Hes worth close to a billion. Of course, I didnt have the formula. So, he talked me into making Gwen an offer. And when Gwen refused to sell it to him, Kyle tried to find another copy of the tablet. Went to several archaeologists and learned these tablets were often duplicated. But not this one. No one could find him a copy. They searched everywhere, even the black market. Believe me, if one exists, hed have found it. Wouldnt it make more sense to look for Gwens translation of it? He probably was hunting for that. I told you, I think thats why somebody hacked into our computers. Tim laughed. The joke is, Gwen had the whole thing memorized. Can you believe it? She refused to write it down. I used to beg her to at least put a copy in a safe-deposit box or something. But shed just say, Dont worry, I can always check the tablet if I forget. And were talking two hundred nineteen ingredients. I smiled. A mere nursery rhyme for someone like Gwen. I assume you didnt reveal that info to Kyle. No. Why would I? Tim said. And who knows whether or not another archaeobotanist would ever hit it on the head the way Gwen did. If they interpret just one or two of the ingredients differently, the formula wont do what hers does. But Im sure once Kyle got the tablet hed hire an entire team of specialists to come up with Gwens formula. The mans a vicious competitor. Hates to lose. Even cheats at tennis. Benita had on her game face. We have to nail this pig. Tim dug back into his Altoids. You cant just throw the cuffs on him. Youre going to have to make him talk. Implicate himself. Getting people to open up and talk about themselves is my business, I said. Id even try the old seduction number. If only he werent gay. Tim cocked his head. Ever hear of bisexual? When it comes to his dick, Kyle Drummond is equal opportunity. He buys the priciest whores in Manhattan and L.A. He told me I was his first male experience. Total bullshit. I can always tell. He raised an eyebrow. Although Ill have you know, Mr. Drummond attends church each Sunday with his wife and three children. He also sits on the boards of numerous charities. How can his wife put up with that? Benita said. Power and bucks, sweetie. He makes the mils, she looks the other way. This pharmaceutical bigwig sounded like he had a motive to kill Gwen and the money to pay for the dirty work. Hold on a sec. Tim shuffled through some papers on his desk. Yes. Here it is. Theres a launch Tuesday night. Thats tomorrow, right? Im

certain Kyle will be there. A launch? A premiere party for our latest, a perfume for designer Bas Lugen called Beguine. He held up a blue-green triangular bottle. Not one of my babies. Will you be there? I asked. Of course. I have to show my face at these events. Ill point Kyle out to you, and then split. Remember, you dont know me. Tim handed us each an invitation. Its in DUMBO. Yup. They rented a giant space where some old night club used to be. He looked at my business card. Ill put Dr. Saylor Oz and friend on the guest list. We exchanged cell numbers and made plans to meet. Tim walked us to the door, his arm resting across my shoulders as if we were bosom buddies. Listen, when you find the tabletand once you-know-who is behind barsmaybe we could pick up where Gwen and I left off with the perfume. Find another virtuoso scholar to work with us. I think shed want that. Funny how warm and friendly people get when the potential for big bucks enters the picture. Since the gold mine Tim had been sitting on fizzled after Gwen was murdered, he no doubt hoped our finding the tablet would mean hed be back in business. I offered a blank nod, but the truth was, I still had no idea what Gwen wanted us to do with the tablet. The answer had to be somewhere within her mysterious poem.

Chapter Twelve
Benita and I left FWI and walked to the corner of Fifty-seventh and Tenth hoping to find an available cab amid the rush-hour traffic. I went rigid when I saw a black Hummer parked across the street. The tinted glass window in the rear seat rolled down slowly revealing a stone-faced Curtis in sunglasses. Not a word was spoken. Not the slightest gesture. No glint of recognition. Benita caught on right away. Thats him, isnt it? I nodded. The window crept up, sealing my ghastly chaperone behind it. When the car drove off, I checked the license plate. Vermont plates today. You were right, Bin. Yeah. Switching around from one fake plate to another is a standard trick when you dont want to be traced. I had a lot to process during the ride from midtown to SoHo. After Raffys words last night I was already convinced that the tablet I needed to find had something to do with Gwens latest fragrance. But Tims description of that perfume was just plain mind-blowing. I thought about the seminar on Fragrance and Sexuality that Gwen and I used to give. I knew that the subliminal odor of pheromones played a far larger part in human sexuality than most people imagined. Our olfactory sense bypassed our thoughts and connected directly with the limbic system, where sexual and emotional responses were triggered before our conscious mind had any idea why. But even though I could spout off scientific data on mating habits and trivia about Cleopatras scented crotch or men who rubbed civet oil on their members to increase their

potency, I had no idea something like this was ever possible. And to think my late friend, the dear, daffy, ingenious Gwendolyn, was the re-creator of such a phenomenon. Assuming Gwens ancient aphrodisiac was real, I was itching to try it. When we were leaving FWI, Id asked Tim for a sample. He said when Gwen died he was left with only half a vial and intended to use every single drop trying to replicate it. No doubt Gwens killers took whatever stock she had remaining in her laboratory. But I couldnt help wondering if shed kept a sample or two hidden somewhere. The cab let us off on Broome Street in front of Dr. Irving Monskys Center for Being. He and my Aunt Lana had only recently hooked up as lovers, but shed been holding her Love Your Body, Love Your Self workshops here for years. This was my first Do-Me-Good demo party at his Center. Irv answered the door with an elated look on his face. He wore only a Japanese loincloth. His long gray hair was tied back in a ponytail. I got all the groceries you wanted. And plenty of wine and a chocolate cake. We walked to the kitchen through the main room, which smelled of sandalwood incense. The Center for Being encompassed the entire fifth floor of a building on Broome Street. The meeting room and Irvs office took up about three-quarters of it. The rest was his living space. Benita agreed to help me put together a buffet for the approximately thirty people I expected at my Do-Me-Good demo party. She raced about preparing arroz con pollo. I didnt care that most of my buffet had meat in it. I could barely eat lately. My stomach was such a mess that the size five dress Id bought at Macys summer sale might finally get worn sometime soon. If I was still alive to wear it. Strange how even the expiration dates on the packages of chicken breasts in the grocery store took on new meaning. Five days from now both the chicken and I could end up in a Dumpster. But it looked like I might actually have a future now that I had a real target in my hunt for Gwens murderer: Kyle Drummond. If what Tim said was true, keeping her perfume off the market may have been an even bigger reason to kill Gwen than her refusal to give up her tablet. Irv busied himself playing with the food. This is called the cascade, he said, juggling three oranges. Seventy going on seven, and still wanting attention from Mom. Very good, Irv. Now, watch me up it to four. Irv reached into the fruit basket and picked up a mango. The oranges behaved accordingly, but not the mango. It broke from its orbit and crash-landed into the chocolate cake leaving a crater the size of a softball. Irv, isnt it time for your evening meditation? I asked. He took the hint and exited the kitchen. Benita and I had only a brief respite before the party and studiously avoided discussing Tims overwhelming info and the task facing us with Drummond. Wont be long before your Academy Award-winning director comes walking through the door, she said. You must be excited. I am. But dont you ever wonder why being rich and famous automatically makes someone sexy? She just looked at me like I was an idiot. The buzzer rang. Time to meet and greet. Its probably Fippy, Benita said, a nervous tremor in her voice. Hes always early. Irv opened the door. Mercifully hed gone from Japanese loincloth to his usual tai chi pants. He welcomed in our first guest. Alan Grossman.

Tan and fit, he bounced in with a full dimple smile. I picked up the ginger and nutmeg scent of Guccis Envy. He held both my hands and said, You look fabulous. Thanks. Super ego rush. Soak it up. So do you. In fact, he looked positively scrumptious. His curly black hair tickled the collar of a loose-fitting paisley shirt that was unbuttoned to his chest. The sleeves were turned up, revealing his Rolex and a silver and gold wrist cuff. Bet he liked to do it on silk sheets. Or in the Jacuzzi. I poured Alan a glass of wine, wondering why he was bothering with me. Not that I was a bad catch. But men like him usually preferred twenty-year-old supermodels. Maybe he liked variety. Fippy arrived next. Benitas ex, now in his late thirties, was a small man with an elfin face, turned-up nose and straight brown hair. Alan put out his hand. New Yorks favorite weatherman. Fip grinned. Americas favorite director. That was easy. I introduced my roommate to Alan, while Fips eyes fixed on her, exuding a combo of worship and regret. He gave her a kiss on the cheek. Within minutes guests were arriving in bunches. I greeted everyone, trying to catch the names of all newcomers. Walsh Plunkett, whod called me four times in the last week without yet making an appointment for therapy, actually showed up. Maybe there was hope. He was a slightly built man, probably early fifties, with neatly clipped graying hair. He smelled of Listerine and wore an outof-style bankers suit. His black-framed glasses offered more expression than any feature on his very white, nondescript face. In fact, Walsh Plunkett was probably about the blandest man Id ever met with the exception of one characteristichis feet, in brown oxfords, were positively enormous and way out of proportion to the rest of his body. Poor man. I wondered if kids had poked fun at him, too, as he was growing up. Among the last to arrive were Jaleel, Rochelle and . . . no Eldridge. That rat. I knew it. Hope he had himself a good laugh. What did I care? Id gotten myself a hot date with a man who would indeed make Taraand just about any womancrawl on her knees. By seven thirty it was curtain call. Guests were seated on wicker chairs, two long couches and throw cushions. I stood before a full house. According to a recent survey, most women in their thirties would rather have an extra hour of sleep than have sex. Think about it. Instead of reaching for her mans package, shes going for the Ambien. There was a brief tremor of murmurs and nodding heads. Another interesting fact: Fifty-five percent of men, regardless of sexual orientation, have performance problems when under stress. And sixty-five percent of women answer the phone during sex. Now whats that tell you? I continued with an introductory talk about the need for a little creative help in the bedroom and finding common ground with your partner, respecting their needs and learning to explore without fear or guilt. After that I flipped on the DoMe-Good DVD, which presented a delightful overview of their products. Attractive men and women demonstrated the Happy Rabbit, the Porta-pocket Twitter and the Tunnel of Lube. During the question-and-answer period the bottle-shouldered thirty-six-year-old soccer mom, Candice Stoutz, wanted to know what toys, aside from the usual bondage fare, were helpful in putting a man under a womans control. (Boy, did I want to say, I know a good perfume.)

Before I had a chance to begin discussing the subject, Walsh Plunkett cleared his throat and said, I think youve got it backward. A womans place is to serve the needs of a man. Uh-oh. Heads turned. Eyes widened and female egos bristled. Half guessing, half praying the odd newcomer was just a little clumsy in the sense of humor department, I said, Im sure we all agree that men and women are meant to share the controls when having sex. No, I dont think thats true, Walsh said. I should introduce you to my husband, Candice snapped, leaning forward for a better view of Plunkett. No doubt you only want blowjobs, too. Thats all men seem to care about. All right, I said. Lets not go judging on either side. All couples make their own private decisions about what works for them. Jennifer Martel jumped in. I love giving blowjobs. Jennifer was a twenty-nine-year-old academic whod been sent to me because shed gotten a citation for indecency. She liked having sex in public places, libraries being her specialty. She was an avid reader. Overcome with inspiration, my friend Zino, the internationally acclaimed performance artist, took center stage. The best loving is self-loving, he said, dropping his pants to reveal his famous uncircumcised package. Please dont, Zino. I knew what was coming next. Or rather, who would be coming next. Despite the rave reviews of his groundbreaking work, One Hundred and One Ways to Masturbate, I didnt want a performance at my party. The DoMe-Good Company expected its representatives to uphold a discreet and professional atmosphere. I glanced at Alan and was relieved to see that he appeared to be having a great time. Yo, Z. Benita approached Zino from behind, reached down and pulled up his Bill Blass doublepleated trousers. Shows over, babe. The artist retreated. But before the party ended, he made two more unsuccessful attempts to express himself. Following my talk everyone milled about the buffet and the display table. I chatted with my guests, pouring wine and taking Do-Me-Good orders. So far, my biggest sellers were tickler condoms and edible lubricants. Fippy made good on his promise and bought one of everything with the exception of the strap-on penises. He hovered around Benita all evening. I watched the thaw gradually occur as she succumbed to her sentimental and vulnerable side. By nine thirty she and Fip were giggling and teasing each other with my display models. Jaleel came over and put an arm around me. Along with his standard do-rag, he wore striped overalls that matched Rochelles. (Something only an adored wife could get him to do.) Sorry about the Mace-man. Said hed be here, but hes not the most sociable guy. Rochelle joined us. Trust me, Saylor, some men are just not worth it. I fought off my sinking feeling of disappointment, refusing to let Eldridge ruin my night. It was against all common sense for a woman to waste her time being miserable over a man she hardly knew. And besides, Alan did show up. Thanks, Rochelle. But dont worry. My dates right over there by the erection rings. Youve heard of Alan Grossman, the film director? Her jaw dropped. I beamed, hoping this news would go back to Eldridge. By the way, did I mention Im considered an expert on mature behavior?

Not that Alan was a safe harbor. He had three ex-wives and no doubt a string of babes. I gazed at him, now surrounded by four women. His mischievous brown eyes locked onto mine for a moment. A very sexy moment. He came toward me. After introducing him to Jaleel and Rochelle, we all talked awhile before Alan drew me aside and said, Think your little group will pull out of here in time for us to make our ten oclock reservation at Jean Georges? Its already winding down. I plucked a grape from the table and pressed it into his mouth. His finger traced the low-cut neckline of my dress, moving down toward my Miracle Bra-assisted cleavage. I gently pushed his hand away. I like your dress, Alan said. Blue must be your favorite color. Howd you guess? He shrugged, but his face had lets play written all over it. Wait a sec. Lanas workshop. Duh. Youre the one who stole my blue lace panties. Thats right. Just as I gave Alan a swat on the butt, I heard someone behind me say, You ought to curb that violent nature of yours, Dr. Oz. I spun around to see Eldridge Mace standing there, looking like a magnificent wild creature. Washed-out jeans and a tight black tee enhanced the contours of his gracefully muscled frame. Pale eyes stared out of a chiseled copper face, unnerving me. For a moment I lost my voice. According to Jaleel, the Mace-man had been in some trouble a while back and was still dangerous both in and out of the ring. I wasnt sure I understood what that meant. Any more than I understood how I could be so helplessly drawn to a man who scared the living piss out of me. I, um, didnt hear the intercom buzz. He looked from me to Alan, giving him a quick once-over scan. Did I detect a hint of jealousy? I introduced the two and made some silly remarks about Alans movies and Eldridges boxing. Meanwhile, my fantasies were going wild. I pictured myself having both of them in my bed tonight, protecting me from Curtis and comforting me in all sorts of ways. Alan carried the conversation with his masterful win-you-over charm that no doubt served him well in the entertainment business. A little superficial maybe, but not nearly as fake as Tara Buckley. And, frankly, I wanted to kiss him when he brought up our dinner date, making it sound as if we were an item. Eldridge remained ornery and sullen. One glance at him told me we both knew that neither of us would be standing here playing this stupid game unless we were hell-bent on proving something to each other. Dont ask me where this was headed. It was about two a.m. when I got home to our DUMBO loft. In boy briefs and a plaid pajama top, Benita sat cross-legged on the floor with her laptop on the coffee table in front of her. I was relieved she hadnt asked Fip to spend the night. He was one of those people who started each morning ready to sing and cook pancakes and engage in obnoxiously cheerful conversation. I just wasnt up for that. Any more than Id been up for my dinner with Alan. Id done my best to act amused, but I wasnt able to get my mind off our imminent meeting with Kyle Drummond or the spooky, sexy eyes of Eldridge Mace. I finally had to make it clear to Alan that I wouldnt be going back to his place for the night. He tried to cover his surprise and

disappointmentnot easy for a man who was used to having women jump at the chance. I felt so guilty I almost offered to pay for dinner. But after glancing at the outrageous bill in Alans hands, I decided this famous multimillionaire could survive a disappointing date. And I reminded Ms. Munchkin to stop feeling so grateful for his attention. Of course, it would probably mean hed never call me again. And I had foolishly left a message on my mothers phone about my date with him. Now shed say I screwed things up in my usual way. I flopped into a chair near Benita and listened to her complain about her childbearing clock ticking away thanks to her hopeless relationship with Fippy. Seems they had a screaming argument right after having great sex. (I didnt ask if they tried any of my Do-Me-Good samples.) Then she turned to the computer. Look at this one. She had just begun searching the net for Kyle Drummond before I came in. I sat next to her and read an article from the corporate news department on Milotechs website. Paramus, NJ, April 21, 2004Former Chief Financial Officer of Milotech Pharmaceuticals taking over as CEO. The bulk of it was background about leveraged buyouts and experience in secondary offerings. Boring stuff. Not my territory, but definitely Benitas. A real deal maker, she said. Lets get to the good part. I brought up the bottom of the page where a photograph showed a man about fifty-seven with a full head of dark hair slightly graying at the temples. And challenging owl eyes that spoke of smug confidence. Looks like the type who calls the shots in bed as well as in the boardroom. Next we checked out a spread on Drummond and his wife in Town and Country. Hmm. Not a trophy, Binnie said. Men like him usually do a trade-in when a woman hits the midlife mark. Maybe he doesnt care, given the magnitude of his extracurricular activities. Benita turned her head to me. Now, once were there, rule number onewhen casing somebody out, you get to know them. They dont get to know you. Meaning, avoid introducing ourselves until necessary. First, we hang close to Drummond. Listen in on his conversation. A simple but sound strategy. Let me guess. You got that from Law and Order? No, my cousin Felix. He did time upstate for breaking and entering. My cells ringtone threw a start into me. Benita and I exchanged a questioning glance. Who would it be at this hour? I didnt recognize the caller ID. Was it Curtis? On second glance I realized who it was. Inez, Benitas mother. I picked up. Inez was often aggressive and demanding, but tonight she was in rare form, shrieking and shouting into my ear. There were only two reasons she ever called my cellif she couldnt get ahold of Benita, or if she had some supernatural vision concerning me. From the gist of what I could make out through her frantic tone echoing in my cell, it was the latter. I cut in. Please slow down. Im having difficulty underst Are you in some kind of trouble? Could she have picked up on what was happening? While my Aunt Lana was highly intuitive, Inez practiced Santeria and could be downright psychic. I hesitated. Could I trust myself to lie convincingly? The last thing I wanted was to drag Inez into our mess and put her life in danger. Me? In

trouble? Saint Theresa is trying to speak to you. To me? Or do you mean To you, Saylor. My reading was very clear. Why would Saint Theresa want to speak to a nice Jewish girl like me? Inez grumbled something in Spanish, then answered me as if I were an idiot. Saint Theresa embodies Oya. Oya is the orisha who watches over cemeteries. Orishas were the spirit guardians in Santeria. Cemeteries? I didnt like where this was going. Gwendolyn. Your dead friend. Shes trying to contact you. Oh terrific. Just hope Gwen didnt plan on actually dropping by. Then again . . . About what? Something of great importance. This much I know. We should do a sance. You, Benita and me. What if Inez could actually point us in the direction of the tablet? Cant say I wasnt tempted to see what would come through on her psychic radar. But knowing whod likely follow us to her door, I paused, scrambling to come up with an out. I, umm . . . hold on a sec. I covered my cell and tossed a pleading look at Benita. Your mami did one of her santera readings. Says Gwen is trying to contact us from the other side. No fooling. Her tone was glib. She did not exactly share her mothers reverence for the spirit world. Last time it was the spirit of Sugar Ray Robinson. He had some tips on how to improve my jab. Its serious, Bin. Inez knows somethings wrong, and she knows its about Gwen. Youve got to admit thats pretty accurate. She wants us to do a sance with her. Benita stood up, poised for defense. Forget it. Uh-uh. N-O. No. I dont do conversations with dead folk. But this might help us find the tablet! Sorry. Too early for Halloween. Besides, none of that woo-woo stuff is gonna get us out of this mess. Her mouth formed a grim line, her dark eyes pensive. That Curtis guy didnt mention my family, but I dont want to give him any new ideas. Neither do I. Binnie reached out her hand. Give me your phone. Ill settle her down. My Spanish wasnt bad, but Benita was speaking so fast I couldnt keep up. Aside from the use of gente mala, badass dude, I lost most of their conversation. Hasta. She closed the cell and handed it to me. I told her some guys chased us down Plymouth Street the other night. Nothing else. That should hold her off. Benita gave me a challenging look. And there will be no sance. None. But you know my mami. She shook her head. Insisted I come over tomorrow morning and pick up some protective oils for us to wear. Play along, right? But you stay here. Between your tendency to shoot off your big mouth and that Curtis guy following you around . . . Agreed. At this point sleep was the last thing on our minds. We turned back to the laptop and did a thorough web search on Kyle Drummond. Exhausted, but still too wired for bed, we studied the poem, trying to find hidden references to him or his company. MY FINAL GOOD-BYE

This is my farewell, golden priestess of the sa-zi-ga. Heavens Daughter has brought the storm upon me, I meet my end. Embark for the Jewel in the center of Pearl. Behold the words of Raphael. You will meet the scribe, magician of a million creations. Garden of bells amid beech and oak, my heart sleeps here. Over her words, a crescent moon of lapis blue. The loyal sentry of my youth, this last crusade you must endure. My dream is now your dream, and you are its watchman. Eternity awaits. GWEN I dont get it, Binnie. Nothing here seems to connect to Kyle Drummond. Gwen probably had no idea who hired her killers. I guess not. I yawned. It was nearly five a.m. and the need for zzzs finally caught up with us. With daylight bursting through the blinds, bringing a feeling of safety and optimism, we retreated to our bedrooms.

Chapter Thirteen
My sleep was interrupted by a door closing and the sound of Benitas voice calling to me. Waitll you see what I brought from El Barrio for our lunch, Saylor. Thisll get your appetite back on track. I sat up. A light summer rain tick-tacked against my window. The clock read 1:42. Was it Tuesday already? Day four. Would you believe Mami called me this morning at seven thirty saying, Where the hell are you? I was asleep for a big two hours. I tossed on an old pair of jeans and shuffled out to the kitchen. Benita chattered away. Come on, sweetie. Eat up. She stood at the kitchen island in baggy shorts and her Id love to punch you T-shirt laying out our favorite take-out from a corner stand in East Harlem. Alcapurias, pastelillos and bacalaitos . Enough fried food to kill Jake Steinfeld three times over. Benita pulled up a stool and began stuffing her face. Feel like making some coffee? I swung into action. Almost forgot, Benita said, munching. That bag over there on the counter. Thats Mamis Casa Boricua specials. I knew what she was referring to. The protective oils Inez wanted us to wear. Straight from her botanica on East 116th Street. Unlike Benita, I loved going to Casa Boricua. Loved the mystical aura of the store, plus the sensory overload. Luscious aromas of curative candles, oils, soaps and herbal remedies. Shelves and display cases stocked with statues of robed saints with halos, wooden crucifixes, some Buddhist and Hindu figurines, beaded necklaces in the colors of the different orishas and of course objects painted with symbols of the Taino Indians, who were the original inhabitants of Puerto Rico. I poured the coffee and cooed over the dessert Benita pulled out of a paper bagcarved mango on a stick. So, tell me, I said. Are things cool now with your mami? Think shell keep at arms length? Benita licked her fingers and smothered a laugh. Depends on how you look at it. My mami doesnt exactly know how to quit. She had another one of her vision things. Something about you and this other guy. She started in on her dessert. Wait a second, Morales. You cant just drop that and run. What about me and this guy?

Okay, okay. Something about a dude watching over you. She did a theatrical impression of her mother: Tell Saylor she has a guardian. A man with skin like copper and eyes pale as diamonds. Thats it. There was only one man I could think of who fit that description. I didnt mention this to Benita, since she didnt like the Mace-man any more than her mothers visions. When wed eaten our fill, Benita took her laptop from the coffee table to her bedroom to check up on her office e-mail. As soon as she left, I looked in the bag from Inez. Two items had Benita written on the lids in black marker and two had Saylor. I lifted mine out and headed for my bedroom. Sitting on the floor, I examined my little prizes. I recognized one as a despojo, a flower and herbal remedy for a purification bath. The other looked more homemade. A Ponds cold cream jar with a rubber band around it and a note stuck into that. Must be the protective stuff. The note told me the places to spread it on my body and what to say to Oshun while I did this. Each person has a ruling orisha or guardian spirit. Like most of the worlds earth religions, Santerias guardian spirits were elements of nature. Benitas was Chango the storm god. Mine was Ohsun the river goddess. She was like Venus, Aphrodite and Inannaa goddess of love and the sexual arts. Right up my alley. I opened the Ponds jar. Wow. A greenish unguent that smelled pretty strong. Like the ancient people who wrote the formula on Gwens tablet, santeros believed fragrance had power. And so did I. Mmm. Nothing like a hot bath to calm the nerves and cleanse the body. And this one felt really special. There I was stretched out in the tub, submerged in water filled with medicinal herbs. After drying off, I opened the cold cream jar and followed Inezs instructions: Apply liberally. By the time I left the bathroom I was a walking grease stick, slippery from head to toe with Oshuns floral protection. The rain had tapered off to an almost nonexistent drizzle. Hands tucked inside the pockets of my chenille robe, I rested my hip on the window ledge inside my room and gazed out at the Manhattan Bridge. The pungent scent from Inezs oils was undeniably strong. I sniffed my wrist. With the exception of the rosa de Jerico, I had trouble identifying the other ingredients. However, I had no problem recognizing the familiar figure of a man shadowboxing alongside the East River below. Eldridge Mace. Fluid and powerful as the river itself, he was the classic embodiment of male glory and athleticism. I was certain he was the copper-skinned, diamond-eyed man Inez saw in her vision. Could it be he was more interested in me than I thought? Fighters from the gym often jogged along the promenade. Still, he did seem to be taking an awfully long time working out in plain view of our corner apartment. Considering todays shabby weather, he could have stayed indoors and used the treadmill or done his shadowboxing at Gleasons. I decided it was in the interest of our quest for me to go down there and accidentally run into Eldridge. But first a damage report. Turning to my dresser mirror I examined my injured kisser. A definite improvement in the lip department. Swelling was down, and the split was fading. I smoothed

some Mauve Matte on my lips, threw on jeans and a tank top and slipped into high-heeled sandals. My hair was a tad gooey from the Inez treatment, so I just pulled it into a ponytail. Wanted to get there before he left. Benita had fallen asleep, sprawled out on her bed. I left a Post-it on her door. Gone for walk in park. Back soon. When I reached the park, there was no sign of Eldridge. I did a quick scan for his red T-shirt and black running pants. Hmm. Maybe he was jogging on the promenade. I headed down the wooden walkway along the river. Whats the hurry, Dr. Oz? I had no idea my sprightly stride had escalated into a power walk. I now jammed on the brakes. Eldridge sat on a bench, his arms stretched across the back, his head cocked at a challenging angle. The sight of him shot a strange feeling through me. I almost pulled a retreat. Mr. Mace. What a surprise. No response. As usual, I couldnt tell what Eldridge was thinking. His tight tee was soaked with sweat. He had that spent, post-workout look. Bet it was the same look he got after a round of good sex. Suddenly feeling ridiculous for coming out here, I strained for something to talk about. It was nice of you to make it to my demo party last night. He hadnt bought a thing, and I knew he only came in hopes of proving I lied about my boyfriend. But why should he even care if he wasnt at least a teeny bit attracted to me? You really need all those gadgets to have a good time? How obnoxious. Sex toys are perfectly natural. Were not the only species who like them, you know. Orangutans use sex toys made from twigs and leaves. He didnt look impressed. Some of my clients need a little help. For the rest, its just additional fun. Or dont you believe in fun, Mr. Grumpy? At least that got a smile out of him. Want to go have a pizza with me at Grimaldis? Then afterward we could maybe do something . . . fun? Was Eldridge asking me for a date? Or was I dreaming? Boy, would I ever love to spend this sultry summer evening with him. I cant. Im going out. Where ya goin? Was he disappointed? His face was so hard to read. Im going to a launch party for a new perfume. Its over on Jay Street where the old Club Moonbase used to be. Should be interesting. He nodded silently. I felt guilty. Dont ask me why. It wasnt as if Mr. Popular with the Ladies didnt have Tara Buckley and who knew how many others to fall back on. I looked at my watch. I better head back. Taking my time with my exit, just in case he got the urge to try a little harder, I meandered very slowly along the railing. Hel-looo. Im wait-ing. Ask me if Im free tomorrow night, dammit. I paused to gaze out at the river. Not a word. Forget it. Probably for the best, since Gwen had me embroiled in a do-or-die mess that would ruin any girls social life. I turned and started marching off. Have fun, he said. Benita was awake now. I could hear one of her typical fits of agony over what to wear coming from her bedroom. On the way to my own room, I got a call on my cell. I noticed it was Raffys number. Hi, Raffy. Thanks for sending us to Tim. We couldnt have put this together without him. Or you. Were following a lead of Tims tonight. Going to

a perfume launch. I realized how wired I sounded and made myself slow down and say, Whats up? Listen. We need to talk. Stop by the Jewel on your way home. I dont like phones. Im not sure how late well be. Ill be working till four a.m. Be there. Click. Things were popping. I could hardly keep up. In fact there was also a message on my cell from Darryl Applebee to say he was expecting me to be at his house at three tomorrow afternoon to have a look through Gwens leftover items. I left a quick confirmation on his voice mail as I stepped into my room. The dress Id picked out for the launch party lay across the bed. A one-shouldered silk in deep purple with an asymmetrical triple-tier hemline. My hair was not looking tops, so I swept it up into a knot and secured it with a barrette, pulling down a few curly tendrils. My oily face made putting on makeup a bit tricky, but I managed, adding an extra swipe to my lashes to draw the focus away from my lip. I slipped on my dress and added shiny black slingbacks, plus amethyst earrings and a choker. Voila. One distinct problem remained. The sweet rosa de Jerico had faded and a faint smell of rotting fruit had taken over. Wheeeuw. Couldnt tell if it was rue or some other pungent herb Inez used. I sprayed some J Lo Live Luxe on my arms and throat. And some Opium on my legs and tummy. I figured this ought to cover it up. Didnt make a dent. How about Euphoria? I dabbed on a bit. Sniff. Nope, weird taint still there. Maybe Boss Woman. Not bossy enough. Id gone through about ten of the perfumes on my dresser by the time Benita opened her bedroom door and called to me. Saylor, youve got to help me decide what to wear. After hearing how many celebs and society folk go to these perfume parties, I dont want anybody thinking Im there to bus tables. Definitely worse than her usual clothing quandary. Odd how our past wounds have a way of sneaking up on us. Something even the best therapy cant cure. I understood. Like Benita, Id busted my tail to achieve a lifestyle that offered a little glamour and fun. But deep inside Id always be the working-class daughter of the folks who ran the local foam outlet. I capped my bottle of Wicked and buzzed across the loft. Dont worry, sweetie. Youre the only woman I know who can go five rounds and still look like she walked off the runway. Her room revealed the two sides of Benita. Boxing posters on the wall, and white lace curtains on the windows. Ay, Dios mio! she said. You smell like a backed-up toilet. But I covered the protective oils with floral perfumes. So youre a garden with fresh manure. Thanks. Pick out your own clothes. Then it dawned on me. I stepped closer to her. You didnt put on the oils Inez sent you. Mami means well, but she gets a little carried away. Howre you going to protect yourself against someone like Drummond? Something terrible could happen. Yeah, like some nutcase CEO could hire a couple goons to kill us and our families. Uncle Pete was having a walkabout in her room, his small head cocked to one side as he recited a medley of his favorite dirty words.

I knew Benita couldnt be pushed, so I just pulled a crepe V-neck tank dress from her closet. Try this. You should always wear body-hugging clothes to show off how cut you are. Truth was, the dress code at New York parties often ranged from Gucci to church bazaar Mardi Gras wear. I just realized something. Once we see Drummond, what is it were going to do? We make him talk, Benita said. And I tape his voice on my hidden microphone. Look. I recorded most of yesterdays session with Tim. She turned to the bed and opened her handbag. Inside was a pocket-sized tape recorder. I put it in my Louis Vuitton bag so they dont suspect anything cheesy. Whered you get that neat little toy? Where else? RadioShack. I rigged it up myself. Brilliant. Only one small problem. How do we make him talk? People have a funny way of telling the truth when theyre looking down a barrel. She reached back into her bag, this time pulling out a .38 Smith & Wesson revolver. My eyes went wide. Where did you get that? My cousin Felix. Are you crazy? We could end up in jail! Or else dead in four days. She put the gun back in her bag. I knew shed learned how to shoot from her brother Hector, but carrying someone elses gun was illegal. Aside from that, I hated guns. Yeah, I know what they say about women who hate guns. Totally unfounded. I love penises. Guns were designed for morbid business like blowing grapefruit-sized holes in somebodys chest. Not exactly my idea of fun. Whereas penises, though similar in design, are much more amiable and infinitely more sensitive. The penis actually spends most of the day soft, fluffy and hanging loose, conserving its hardness for when its time to play. You can keep the NRA. Give me a penis. I shook my head. Youll never get through the door with that thing. Saylor, this is an invitation-only event. Very exclusive. High fashion. I doubt theyll be frisking Donald Trump with a metal detector. But Ive never been to a perfume launch, I whined. If we get thrown out, Ill miss all the free samples. Calm down. Any hassles, I just flash my badge. Badge? Yeah. You remember my cop outfit from Ginas costume party. My life was turning into a Ben Stiller movie. Between the gun and phony shield were talking nine years. Maybe you could box in the pen, but theyd probably have me doing some kind of handiwork, and you know I hate arts and crafts. I sat on the bed and folded my arms. I have a better plan. I had no clue what it was going to be, but I had to think of something fast to make Benita leave her gun at home. If Drummonds the one who hired Curtis, then he knows my name and has probably seen my face on my website. So, well use sheer intimidation. Let him see were onto him. Get him nervous enough to say something incriminating while your recorder is running. That is the most ridiculous plan I have ever heard, she said. Then how about this: Tim put Dr. Oz and friend on the guest list. Your name is not on it. If you dont leave your gun home, Ill deny youre with me. Her jaw dropped. You wouldnt. I nodded, smiling victoriously.

Glaring at me and cursing in Spanish, Benita took the gun from her bag. Fine. Have it your way. Only do me a favor. Rinse off. I dont want people at the launch pointing at us and whispering, She pooped herself. Benita turned to her pet mynah, who was in the process of chewing the laces off her newest pair of boxing shoes. Stop it, Petey. Saylor, would you put him back in his cage while I finish dressing? I held out my hand. Uncle Pete hopped on and climbed to my shoulder. The intercom buzzed. Ill get it. I hurried from the room, my foul-mouthed feathered friend hanging on for the ride. The doorman informed me that a Mr. Mace was here to see me. This was odd. Not that I was complaining. Thanks to our plans to lure Drummond I was dressed to raise testosterone levels. Send him up, Caspian. I checked my makeup in the foyer mirror and answered the door. Eldridge stepped in without a word, his eyes devouring me, making me nervous. Hed obviously showered at the gym and put on fresh jeans and a sleeveless tee, which by now I recognized as his uniform. I struck a pose. Hot New York sex shrink in her DUMBO loft with exotic bird on her naked shoulder. She pooped herself. She pooped herself. A soon-to-be-dead exotic bird. I scrambled for damage control. Just ignore him. I had a little mishap. No! What I mean is, well, I, um . . . Oh, thats a sexy intro. She pooped herself! Uncle Pete went for an encore and added a chorus of Big butt. Big butt. Big butt. Forgive me, fellow PETA members, but does anyone know a good recipe for mynah bird soup? Eldridge started laughing. My stellar performance went down the drain. Its not funny, I snapped. Youre right. Its not. In fact, you got a real problem. Do tell, Prince Charming. Is it my bad smell or my oversized caboose? Forget the second part. Hell, youve got the prettiest fanny Ive ever seen. I turned red. The Ozyutikoffsky inverted heart. Confused, but remembering my manners, I escorted Eldridge to the living room. He sat on a bentwood chair without making the typical remarks about the great loft or Lanas one-of-a-kind art deco pieces. To prevent any more delightful samplings of Uncle Peteys latest hits, I excused myself and delivered the loquacious mynah to his cage at the far end of the loft. I closed the door behind me and joined Eldridge, taking the love seat across from him. I needed the security of a coffee table between us. He started right in. When I saw you down in the park, I noticed your strange odor. What? How rude. Dont you ever use a liniment? I injured my back. He shot me a glance that told me he didnt believe a word. You did not. Try another route. Okay, Mr. Nosy, Im experimenting with healing oils for my therapy business. Why should it matter to you? Eldridge stood up, gracefully edged his way around the coffee table and sat next to me. His thigh and shoulder touched against mine. Extremely disconcerting. He brought his face close and spoke in a low, intimate tone. Youre a very unconvincing liar. I know what protective oils smell like. My father was of the Kanienkehaka tribe. My grandmother guided distressed folks with herbal medicines. Somethings going down that aint good. You should let me help.

So, it wasnt my sex appeal that brought him here. I looked into the oddly handsome face Inez had described and saw genuine concern. How could I not appreciate the attention? Every therapist gets tired of being the eternal caretaker. But I wasnt sure I knew how to relate to a guy if I wasnt in that role. Eldridge, were you the oldest child? And by chance did you have a younger sister? No and no. Hmm. Whos threatening you? Tell me. Im no stranger to trouble. Having already leaked our story to Raffy and Tim, I was sleepless with worry over what Curtis might do to themand to Benita and meif he found out. I didnt want to draw one more innocent person into the loop. Besides, we might actually entrap the mastermind behind Gwens murder before the night was done. I shook my head. Believe me. Theres nothing more Id like than to take you up on your offer. But I cant. I get it. That guy youre involved with, Mr. Hollywood, will get all pissed off if he sees me hanging around you. Alan and I are not involved. That was the word you used at the gym yesterday. Involved. And youre not? What about Tara? I didnt come here to discuss my love life, or yours. Love life? Dont tell me youre in love with Tara Buckley? I looked away, totally mortified that he once again brought out the jealous fourteenyearold in me. (Notice I put the blame on him.) I told you, I dont do relationships, he said. And Tara knows that. The intercom rang. Petey added some whistles. Ill take it, Benita said, jogging in from the next room. No doubt she enjoyed eavesdropping on our conversation. She returned and gave me a funny look. You got a visitor. Mr. Walsh Plunkett. Oh great. Hes upped it from phone calls to visits. Eldridge stood up. Competition for Mr. Hollywood? Were not discussing those things, remember? I followed Eldridge to the door, hoping hed catch a down elevator before Plunkett arrived. No such luck. Shortly after we entered the hallway, the elevator door slid open. Inside the softly illuminated chamber stood the short, graying gentleman in black-rimmed glasses and a poorly fitted bankers suit that must have been purchased in the days of Eisenhower. I once again noticed his extremely large feet. Well, it probably meant at least he had really good balance. In his hands, Walsh carried a bouquet of red roses and a paper bag that read BLAZING DONUTZ. Eldridge gave him a curious look and tossed me a thumbs up. My soul yearned to return his salute with a middle finger. Plunkett stepped off the elevator as Eldridge stepped on. My unexpected admirer peered over the top of his specs, scrutinizing Eldridge, then turned to me. I hope Im not intruding, Dr. Oz. Whether he was looking for free therapy or a girlfriend, it was not a good idea to encourage him. But Im such a sucker for troubled guys, I couldnt help feeling sorry for the sheepish, unpolished Mr. Plunkett. Of course not. Please come in. Poor man didnt even look me in the eye when he handed me the flowers and the bag of donuts. I realize its last minute, but I thought perhaps

you might let me take you out for dinner tonight. He recited his words in a slow and careful monotone. Knowing he must have rehearsed his lines several times, I almost felt bad refusing him. Im sorry. I already have plans. Although Ive got a little time before I leave. Can I offer you a glass of wine? No, thank you. I dont drink. He glanced around the loft with admiring nods. But Id love a cup of tea. And one of the cinnamon crullers in that bag. Do you ever eat at Blazing Donutz? The food is quite good. Dont tell me thats what he had in mind for our dinner date. Benita came to my aid, greeted Plunkett and took my gifts, saying, Ill handle these. And the tea. I showed Walsh our view of the Manhattan skyline and caught him wrinkling his nose. Uh-oh. Here it comes again. Thats some perfume youre wearing. Too bad, I thought. I wasnt about to enter the lions den with Drummond minus my protective powers. Forgive me, I said. Its a healing oil. For my back problem. That didnt stop him from moving closer and whispering, Youre some woman, Dr. Oz. Yup. Id reeled in yet another rescue case. The kind who just happened to be deeply attracted to nurses and therapists. The kind Ive dated most of my womanly life. And then there was Eldridge Mace.

Chapter Fourteen
Our destination was close by, but it was raining. And after our recent adventures, nighttime walks on DUMBOs quiet streets had somehow lost their charm. We took the Camry and parked half a block from Ten Jay Street. Benita and I pranced up the sidewalk to join a line of people waiting their turn to be screened by a man at the clubs entrance. Next to him stood the usual security in the form of two oversized doormen in tuxedos. We gave our names and rode the freight elevator to the ninth floor. The enormous space had once been New York Citys largest wine warehouse, cement girders and cinderblock still in evidence. Id been to the original Club Moonbase before it closed, so I wasnt surprised to see flame dancers on platforms or performers twirling from ropes attached to the two-story-high ceiling. Tonight they wore scanty floral-patterned costumes and moved to the sounds of a swing band playing Cole Porters Begin the Beguine. A blissful scent filled the air. I assumed it was Beguine, the new perfume. Id read that companies spent millions launching a new fragrance, and the Caribbean island motif that transformed this place into a tropical splendor must have cost a bundle. Blue laser lights crisscrossed over live palm trees and white, orange and red tropical flowers. A long, low wall of sea green Lucite waves moved in rhythm to the roaming Jamaican drummers. A waiter approached us with a tray of bubbly blue drinks in tall glasses. I took two and handed one to Benita. She peered sideways at the glass. Looks like Sani-Flush. The waiter grimaced. The champagne is tinted blue to match the perfumes label. Gift bottles are on the trees. Help yourselves. Glittering like jewels, tiny bottles of the fragrance dangled from the palm fronds. I walked under a palm and managed to pick off a six-pack of the

samples. Discreetly, of course. Theres Leonardo, I said, trying not to be conspicuous. Wherever a camera flashed, we saw another celebrity. A familiar face caught my eye. Binnie, I see Alan Grossman. Whatll I do if he wants me to hang out with him? Were here on a mission. I dont think you have to worry. He looks pretty occupied with those two aspiring actresses hanging on his arms. How do you know theyre aspiring actresses? Easy. Theyve got that Ill screw both you and your pet Labrador for a part in your next movie look on their faces. We began wandering through the crowd, scanning for Tim Donnelly, who was probably searching for us somewhere on the other side of this twenty-thousand-square-foot space. We passed a table with bright green and yellow plates of finger food. I sometimes ate fish, but never meat, so Benita usually tested party food for me. She handed me a plate of coconut shrimp, sweet mango cheese and rum-soaked kiwi. A waiter refilled our glasses with blue-green champagne. No sign of Tim, I said, doing a one-eighty on the crowd. Never mind. Look over there. She nodded toward a man standing near the band. Maybe six feet tall, mid-fifties, a little paunch at his waist, lemon yellow tie. Thats our guy. Yep, I said. On target. And no sign of his wife. Benita reached into her bag and switched on the recorder. Systems set to go. Thats when it came back to me. Binnie, I just realized we might have a secret weapon. The guys in the Hummer used a nickname for their boss. Chub Dubs. Could be a name only those in his closest circle know. Ill spring it on him and watch him start to unravel. Good. When he talks you should watch to see if he rubs the back of his neck. Or if his eyes start moving all over the place. That means hes lying. What if he has an astigmatism? We inched our way through the crowd. A few yards away, the grand CEO of Milotech Pharmaceuticals held court with a pair of Japanese businessmen. We allowed Drummond to see us observing him. Sure enough, he began casting intermittent glances our way. My roommate looked beautiful and sultry, her dark features blending perfectly with this tropical atmosphere. I saw her catch Drummonds eye. I aimed a teasing smile at him. After a few more coy exchanges, he was all ours. Drummond made a short bow, left the two Japanese men and headed toward us. Let me handle the interview, I said. She nodded. Hes all yours. Drummond flashed us that big come-on grin. Have you ladies begun the Beguine? He wiggled his hips and snapped his fingers. This guy was set to boogie. I went to work immediately. We know. That stopped him in his tracks. Know what? I stepped closer. We know what you know that you think we dont know. That jubilant look on his face vanished. Suddenly he was very uncomfortable. Bulls-eye. Drummond tilted his head. Pheeeuu. What is that awful smell? Benita silently mouthed, Told you so, as the CEO checked the bottom of his shoes.

I kept my focus. Look at my face. I think youll remember. Youve probably seen my website. I tilted my head and smiled, freezing in the same pose I had in my online photo. His brows lifted. I go to a lot of websites, he purred. Do you reallyI paused and met his eyesChub Dubs? Sure, why not. He tipped his head back and laughed out loud. Big joke, huh? Kills my friend and thinks hes going get away with it. I threw out some key phrases about the perfumes secret powers to shake him up. Sexual enhancement? Keep you going all night? Even better than Erosynol? So good, its worth killing for? How about . . . down by the docks? Whoa. You girls dont play around do you? No. We dont, I said firmly. Love it. How much do you charge? Sudden panic. Uh . . . um . . . a thousand apiece. The fury in Benitas face could have singed the hair off my head. A delighted Kyle Drummond placed his hand on my back. Very low on my back. Give me a moment, ladies, and Ill have it all arranged. He walked off to the side of the room with his cell phone pressed to his ear. Benita hissed at me. What did you say that for, you idiot? Now he thinks were a couple of putas. I got nervous, okay? Wait until he sticks his pinga in your face, then youll really be nervous. Well distract him, I said. Keep him busy with stimulating conversation. Judging by the bulge in his pants, I dont think he needs any more stimulation. At least he doesnt recognize me. That gives us a perfect opportunity to pick his brain. Shh. Hes on his way back. Meet me out front in ten minutes, Drummond said. Look for my limo. It reads MILO-1 on the plates. Itll take us to my suite at the Carlington. MILO-1. Cute. But we brought our car. I was in no mood for a backseat maul job. Not a problem, he said. My driver will bring you back here to pick it up afterward. Benita looked like she was about to go comatose. This called for some fancy footwork. Actually, after a few drinks I get carsick. And I wouldnt want to vomit all over your suit. Kyle caught that line like a deer in the headlights and took a moment to process the information. All right. Simply bring your car to the hotels main entrance. Ill tell Enrico, the valet, youre my guests. Ill also have room service send up some Pepto-Bismol. Well, look who it is. Unmistakable voice. I turned to see Alan standing behind me. Oh, hi. Kyle practically pushed me aside. Youre Alan Grossman. The director. He proudly introduced himself as the CEO of Milotech. They shook hands and greeted each other politely. Alan aimed a dimpled smile at me. I really loved that Do-Me-Good sex toy party of yours. Kyle lit up like a neon sign over an adult bookshop. I take it you recommend her? Absofuckinlutely. Man, shes the best. Ohmigod. How could I make Alan go away before either man found out what the other was talking about? This was worse than the roller coaster at Six Flags. Scooping up my hand, Alan continued to shower me with admiration. There must have been twenty-five of us there. And this little lady handled

everyone like the professional she is. Drummond uttered a breathless Incredible. I swear I could almost hear him panting. A womans arm from nowhere grabbed Alan and whisked him off, just in time to avert my oncoming seizure. He joined a group of yapping people, faces glowing from good blow and excessively high incomes. Kyle beamed, no doubt anticipating the joys of anal sex. Time for our little do me good party. I wanted to melt into the floor. Hey. I almost forgot, he said. What are you names? Names? My voice cracked. Right. Our names . . . Benita cut in. Patty and Maddy. Love it, he said, taking aim at us with his index finger. Kyle waved to a man I guessed to be his bodyguard standing by the wall and then strolled off for the elevator. Patty and Maddy? My turn to hiss. Sounds like a pair of D train hookers to me. Her hand went to her hip. Pardon me. Ill try to come up with something better next time you sell my body off to a horny businessman. I heaved out a long sigh. Im sorry, but at least we get him alone this way. Well, we better decide on a game plan, because in a very short time Mr. Kyle Drummond will be expecting us to perform wonders on his dingaling. We went to the ladies room and debated our strategy. Ten minutes later Operation Gotchya Scumbag was born. Benita would leave the recorder running in her pocketbook while we took our time sipping wine and asking him if he was planning on any new sexual-enhancement drugs. From there wed try to skillfully manipulate the conversation to the subject of ancient aphrodisiacs. What we needed was some incriminating evidence; even one single sentence would do. Then, before things got too intimate, my stomach would act up, and wed say we had to leave. Thered be no charge, of course. A chilling thought sent a wave of trepidation through me. Binnie, what if hes acting? What if Drummond does know who I am? And knows that were onto him. Maybe he guessed that we intend to hand him over to the police instead of handing him the tablet. Not that I have any illusions our lives would be spared if we came through with it. But what if this little trip to the Carlington is part of a trap? Benita opened the ladies room door and looked back at me. At this point weve got no choice but to play along. With Beguines launch still in full swing, Benita and I took the elevator down and stepped out into a dark and rumbling summer storm. We ran half a block. The rain was coming down in sheets and soaked us through by the time we got to the Camry. Now I not only smell like a muskrat, I look like one, too, I said. Benita took the drivers seat. I feel like a dishrag. That ought to slow the big guy down. I doubt it. Being wet is very erotic. My sopping dress stuck to my skin, making me feel cold and clammy. The car clock read 10:45. Raffy told me the Jewel would be open until four. Well do our best. If things get complex with Drummond and it takes us forever, our meeting with her will have to wait. Man that chicks head must be made out of cement. I caught her with two good shots. I want a rematch. My roommates ego was clearly still bruised.

Will you please learn to let go? Now is not the time for your obsessive-compulsive tendencies. There will be no rematch. Got that? Raffys our new friend. Without her help wed still be going in circles. We drove down Jay and turned onto John Street in order to go around the block and head back to the bridge entrance. Suddenly I heard a chorus of sirens. Benita pulled to the side as four patrol cars raced past us. Up ahead, police cars and two ambulances blocked our path. Light bars sent their strobes bouncing off buildings, transforming the murky block into a carnival of flashing colors. We slowed to a halt. The epicenter of all this attention was a silver limousine, its windows totally blown out. Shattered glass covered the street and sidewalks, wet and sparkling in the rain. Looks really bad, Benita said. With brusque gestures a disgruntled uniform guided us past the action, ordering us to hug the side of the curb up to the next corner. As we drove by, I stared out at the grisly scene. The limos license plate read MILO-1. Wait a sec, Binnie. Slow down. Thats Kyle Drummonds limo. Her jaw dropped. Check out the door. Those are bullet holes. It could have been us in there. Now I really was carsick. I crossed my arms to minimize the shudder that began in my body. Somebody wanted him out of the way. Those big, powerful dudes get into all kinds of sleazy deals. So much for our undercover work at the Carlington. So much for catching Gwens killer. Benita turned left at the corner, which happened to be Pearl Street. DUMBO was a pretty small neighborhood, just a handful of blocks near the bridges. She parked in a space along the curb not far from the nondescript gray door of the Jewel. Guess well be checking in with Raffy earlier than expected. Give me a minute. I sat there listening to the tinny sound of rain on the car roof. My body was wet and shivering, my mind, numb and confused. Had some enemy of the corrupt pharmaceutical bigwig unwittingly done us a favor? Did this mean our seven-day ordeal was over? Or had someone just tried to kill the woman who was supposedly the keeper of Gwens tablet? Me. Inez would say the orishas saved us. Maybe she was right. Trying to clear my head, I rubbed my bare arms to get my blood moving. I pulled down the visor and checked the mirror. My topknot was still in place, but my hair was even curlier now, with red-gold tendrils shooting out all over. I unfastened the barrette and shook my hair loose. Okay. Ready to go. Dim lights, Patsy Cline on the jukebox, quiet women at tables, maybe five at the bar. I was a bit overdone for the Jewel in my one-shouldered silk dress, and the looks I got from the other ladies as I walked in confirmed it. Compared to the perfume launch this place is a funeral, Benita said. Bad choice of words. We grabbed a couple stools at the far end where it was empty. Raffy wore an aluminum blue short-sleeved oxford. She was her usual humorless self, but she did start things off with two beers on the house and another dose of intrigue. As if we hadnt had enough for one night. Opening two

bottles of Corona and filling our glasses, Raffy lowered her voice. I think I know who killed Gwen. Im not sure it matters anymore. I pointed to the overhead TV where the eleven oclock news was playing. One guess what the lead story was. Better turn it up. She hit the volume. Im standing here right next to the Manhattan Bridge in the fashionable Brooklyn neighborhood known as DUMBO where only moments ago, in what appears to be a mob-style hit, a limousine driver and one passenger were gunned down after leaving a posh launch party for the latest perfume by designer Bas Lugen. EMS workers pronounced both victims dead at the scene. Police are not releasing the names at this time. Well have more later. Raffy did a palms up. Enlighten me. The guy in the limo was Kyle Drummond, Benita said. Does that ring a bell? Should it? Raffy looked at us, puzzled. Hes the one who killed Gwen, I told her. You sure of that? I glanced at Benita, who shrugged and said, Tim Donnelly thought he was. Maybe Tims wrong. A customer at the far end of the bar raised her finger for a drink, and Raffy turned away. Be right back. My cell phone played Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy. I didnt recognize the caller ID. Unfortunately I did recognize the voice. Dont tell me you actually thought he could protect you from me. I almost fell off my stool. What are you talking about? Benita clutched my arm and whispered, Curtis? I nodded and tipped the phone slightly so she could hear. She leaned forward, touching her head to mine. How much did Drummond offer you? he asked. For sex? Dont get cute, Curtis snapped. Drummond was aiming to buy the tablet off you. My boss smelled it coming. His boss? B-but . . . Kyles been poking his nose in all the wrong places. What you saw is what happens when somebody gets too close. I heard Benitas breath catch and suddenly realized what Curtis was saying. My voice trembled. You killed him? Fuckin right, he said. Popping some big CEO or some little nobodymakes no difference to me. Were any of those rounds meant for me and Benita? Nah. I saw who got inside that limo. Hes all I wanted for now. He lowered his voice. If I do you, sweetpussy, its gonna be up close and personal. I gulped air. Such comforting words. It isnt every day you converse with a man whose stock and trade is committing homicide. Just remember, Doc, Im keeping you alive because youre the one who can get your hands on something we need. That didnt stop you from killing Gwen. You sick dirtball. She wasnt cooperative. But I know you will be. You got four days. Click.

Chapter Fifteen
I stared at the blue-green glowing digits on my cell, dumbfounded by what I just heard. Kyle Drummond wasnt the boss Curtis was working for. Was I the cause of the CEOs death? If we hadnt gone to meet Kyle, would he still be alive? A wave of guilt swept over me, heavy and gut-wrenching. Bin, we were after the wrong guy. We brought our search to Drummond, and now hes dead. This is so horrible. I felt a quiver in my lower lip and clenched my fists to keep myself from collapsing into a sniveling ball of tears. Cut it out, Benita said. Drummond was already involved. Its not our fault. She grabbed the phone from my hand, checked the call history and punched in the last incoming call. It rang and rang. I confess to having a morbid curiosity about what Curtiss voice mail message might be. But it kept ringing. She hung on. Answer your phone, dickhead . . . come on. Hello? Who is this? Where are you? She slammed the cell shut and handed it to me. Curtis used a pay phone. Somewhere in Bed-Stuy. Should we tell the police? After his last threat? Are you for real? And what are you gonna tell them, anyway? You dont know where he is, what car he was in tonight, his full name, or even if he lied about shooting Drummond just to spook you. True on all counts, except Im sure he killed him. I sipped my beer, trying to banish images of a bullet-ridden limo on a dark, rainy street, and of Kyle Drummonds face all excited in anticipation of his next round of thousand-dollar-apiece fucks. How did Curtis know we were going to meet Kyle? I said. Its clear were being followed, but did one of his people actually slip into the launch? Maybe. She stared down at the bar. I can only think of one person at the launch who knew us, and who saw us hooking up with Drummond. Alan Grossman. Come on, Binnie, who dont you suspect? Alan moved in on you pretty fast. Thats true. And Im not exactly material for the cover of Vogue. When he can have women so beautiful that people actually pay money to look at them on-screen, why would he want me? The best I can ever hope for is cute. Benita lowered her beer glass. Is that so bad? Loads of guys prefer small, cute women. And speaking of small and cute, what about Tim? He never showed tonight. Maybe he used us to set up Drummond. Then why would he tell us all about Gwens perfume? So we can lead him to it. Then hell get rid of us, too. I dont buy it. Doesnt feel right. I bet hes still at the launch looking for us. Had news of the killing spread through the party? I was itching to let Tim know that Kyle was not behind Gwens murder. I flipped open my phone and dialed his cell. No answer. Just voice mail. Hi, its Saylor Oz. Please call me back as soon as you can. Raffy lumbered toward us, drying her hands on a washcloth. So, did Tim say anything about that ancient fragrance Gwen put together? He never told me diddly. I hesitated. Shed been Gwens lover, and she was helping us, but I didnt want that help to jeopardize her life. Raffy, I think it might be a good idea if you went away somewhere safe until this is over. I dont want you getting harmed because of this mess.

The husky bartender gave me a tender smile, leaned forward and kissed my cheek. Gwen told me what a big heart you got, and what a trooper you are. How youve been scraping her off the floor since your school days. But dont you worry. Tell me what Tim said. I glanced at Benita. She shrugged, so I proceeded to rattle off a brief rundown on Gwens incredible love-slave perfume. Raffy looked at me cockeyed. Wild stuff. Not sure I believe it. Well, somebody does, or Gwen wouldnt be dead, Benita said. So, if you have any more information, nows the time to give it up. Raffy did a once-over on the copper bar with her rag. Youre one of those super goal-oriented bitches, arent you? Benita glowered at her. You owe me a rematch. Anytime, babe. Will you guys stop it! My loud voice drew looks from three women at the bar wearing jerseys that read BROOKLYN BLADES, Park Slopes allwomen hockey team. In a quieter tone, I said, So, Raffy, you wanted to see us tonight because you suspect someone in particular? Yeah, she said. Shes a woman Gwen and I knew through the Circle of the Sacred Yoni. Sacred who? Whats a yoni? Benita asked. Raffy tossed her a sarcastic half smile. That thing between your legs. Before things heated up again, I said, A yoni is a cunt. Both words are ancient and quite venerable. Actually, the early Hindus named womens vaginas according to their flavors and scents. The merry: dates and honey. The lotus: floral. The snail: salty. The elephant: earthy. Kind of like a gynecological Ben & Jerrys. Okay, Benita said, so where is this cult of the sacred cunts? Raffy shook her head. Its not a cult. Its an eco-feminist organization for women. Were spread out across New York City and Long Island. Its more of a network than a place. But we do own a retreat house in the Hamptons. Nine acres, not far from the Northwest Creek. Surrounded by acres and acres of preserved forest. She rested an elbow on the bar and spoke quietly. The womans name is Lady Vivian Hatch-Oliver. Shes a rich English woman accustomed to getting whatever she wants. Lady Viv has this obsession with artifacts having to do with ancient goddesses. And I think she wants Gwens tablet big-time. What makes you so sure? I asked. Raffy offered us a round of coffee, which was just what I needed. After filling three cups at the bar, she emptied six sugar packets into hers and said, In May, Gwen and I were out at the retreat house for the spring celebration. One morning Gwen and Vivian went for a long walk. Afterward, this snooty Brit was all into Gwen. Hovering around her, paying all kinds of attention she never used to. Then, after Gwen died, I started getting these calls from Vivian pretending she was interested in my artwork. Everybody knows that Lady Vivs unwritten law is that she only buys from artists she wants to screw, which accounts for the reason all the art on her walls is done by cute little boys in their twenties. That obviously aint me. Next thing I know shes asking all these smarmy questions. Like do I have any of Gwens relics from back when we were an item? Even had the nerve to ask what Gwen left me in her will. I figure its gotta be her. Benita set down her cup. How can we get ahold of this Lady Vivian?

Reaching her hand out to a stack of postcards on the bar, Raffy flipped one to each of us. I forgot to give you these on Sunday. I caught mine and studied it. Invitations to her art opening. Friday evening, she said. Good news is I seem to be very important to Lady Viv lately. She promised to be at my opening. Thats your best shot. My eyes went from Raffy back to the picture on the card. Shiny blue mangled steel garnished with bright red roses. Really beautiful. Our new friend definitely had a way with demolished Chevys. She read the appreciation on my face. Her voice softened. I dont know if you remember the art piece Gwen and I did together. I decided to include it with my new stuff. Kind of a tribute to her memory. How about an NYC address, Benita said. Fridays cutting it way too close. Our deadline is Saturday. Well be down to our final hours. Raffy took a pen from her shirt pocket and scribbled on a napkin. She owns an apartment on the Upper East Side. Tilting her head and squinting one eye, she looked up. Were in the end of July, right? Shes out in the Hamptons. Isnt everybody this time of year, Benita said. Yeah, but shes not partying oceanside, Raffy said. Vivs at the Circle of the Sacred Yoni retreat house this week. Course those rooms are all filled right now, too. But you could just pop in for a visit. All of a sudden it hit me. Raffy, are there beech and oak trees on the retreat? Yeah, a lot of em. Charged up, I clutched Benitas arm and repeated a line from Gwens poem, which I knew by heart at this point. Garden of bells amid beech and oak, my heart sleeps here. Last fall I was driving to my Aunt Lanas place in East Hampton and I gave Gwen a ride to the retreat house. She told me all about a floral and fragrance garden she was creating for the Circle of the Sacred Yoni. Garden. My heart sleeps here. Thats got to be where Gwen buried the tablet! Lets head out first thing in the morning, Benita said. Why waste time? How will we know Lady Viv if we see her? I asked Raffy. She laughed. Just look for a three-hundred-pound blubber ball in a tutu. Shazaaaam. Benita and I exchanged a glance. Is she called Chub Dubs? Raffy shrugged. Got me. People give her lots of nicknames. She claims she was a ballet dancer way back when. Like I believe it. Color hair? Benita asked. Who knows? Changes it by the week. She took a drag on her cigarette then flicked her ashes into a cup. Trust me. You cant miss her. Chauffeur pulls up to the door, and Lady Viv tiptoes her way across the sidewalk. Wait a sec, I said. Do we have to be members of the Circle to get into the retreat? Raffy nodded. I forgot. You mean everybody there knows everybody else? Benita asked. Nope, Raffy said. We get new members all the time. They come mostly from New York and New England. Benita sat forward. So maybe we could sneak in. How tight is the security? Raffy downed the rest of her coffee. No guards or anything. You ring the buzzer at the front entrance and someone comes out to let you in. But youve got to be wearing one of these bracelets or they wont open the gate. She held out her left arm. The brown leather wristband had a row of painted symbols running across it with carnelian beads sewn into the intricate design. I brushed my fingers over the beaded leather. Any chance I could borrow that?

Sure, but it means only one of you gets in. Raffy removed the band and handed it to me. Bring it to me at the opening. Benita lit up. I remember Gwen wearing one of those bracelets. Maybe hers is in some box at Darryls house. Saylor, arent you supposed to meet him and look through Gwens stuff? I almost forgot, I said. Were supposed to go to Connecticut tomorrow. How can we do it all? No problem, said Benita. When were finished at Darryls house well shoot over to New London and grab the Cross Sound Ferry to Long Island. Good thinking, Raffy said with a toothy grin. And they say boxers are dumb. See that? Benita said, holding her fist up to Raffy. When we left the Jewel I saw a silver Pathfinder pull out into the dark street behind us. We turned up Water Street, and it rounded the corner behind us. It followed our Camry three blocks to Main, turned when we did, and trailed us all the way down to Plymouth, where Benita hung a right and parked along the curb. I watched the silver SUV slow up, idle, and back into a slot on Main Street. But no one got out of the car. Binnie? Yeah, I see it, too. What happened to their Hummer? Bet they used it for the hit on John Street and took off. Benita sank down in her seat. Im not in the mood to be blown away tonight. They didnt wait for Drummond to get out of his car. We could get it right here. Then again, Curtis said he wasnt going to kill us. At least not yet. Dont tell me you trust that dirtball. Wiseguys never let you know if and when theyre gonna whack you. Trust me. I saw Goodfellas three times. I think it was six. Maybe theyll leave if we just stay put in here awhile. And the way you smell tonight, that wont be easy. I sniffed my arm. Gotten faint. Raffy didnt say a word about it. If that mofo is here to shoot us, Id rather just get it on. But you had to insist I leave my cousins gun at home. Ive got a scary-looking vibrator in my bag. Youve always got a scary-looking vibrator in your bag. After a few minutes, she gave a cynical snort. Im sick of hiding in this car. Me, too, I said. Lets go. Our heels clacked against the cobblestones as we headed for our apartment building. Across the street the driver opened his door and emerged from the shadows. Eldridge Mace. Dont tell me youre part of the action? Benitas tone was sharp and belligerent. But, what can you expect from an ex-con. What? Eldridge did time? Binnie never told me. Could he be working for Curtis? Was that the reason he kept questioning me about this? He stood motionless, thumbs tucked in his jeans pockets. Looking so damn sexy. I tried to ignore that and study him with fresh eyes. Having been a therapist for over a decade, Id heard so many unusual personal histories from my clients that I wasnt easily shocked by surprises like this. But then, a therapist-client relationship wasnt exactly what Id had in mind. Benita rushed toward him until they were nose to nose. I ought to give you a boxing lesson right here and now.

Not in those heels you wont. Eldridge grinned at her. Crazy Boricua. Relax. Its not what you think. He shifted his focus to me, and although his expression was masked, his gaze pierced me with that same feeling Id gotten when I first saw him. This guy had animal magnetism out the wazoo. And I was a pushover for that strange sadness in his eyes. Diamond eyes. According to Inez . . . a guardian. My defiant amiga moved closer to Eldridge. If she were a few inches taller, theyd have been forehead to forehead like two rams in rutting season. I raced between them and pulled her back. Listen to me, Binnie. This is partly my fault. I should have told you earlier. Eldridge has been offering to help us ever since that night at Sunnys when he guessed what we were up to. Ive asked him to stay out, but hes obviously as stubborn as you are. Im certain hes the man your mother saw in her vision. Why do you think he came to the loft earlier today? Dont tell me you werent listening in on our discussion about the protective oils? Yeah, I was . . . She paused, glanced at me and released a long exhale. Look at me standing here in my fancy-ass dress and tacones, ready to lose it. I feel like such a fool. I rested my hand on her back. Its been a long one. My bad, Benita said, and gave her gym mate a quick hug. Cant say I wasnt dying to do the same. Then something dawned on me. Thats why I saw you hanging out in the park across the street from my place, isnt it, Eldridge? And why you asked me where I was going tonight. This isnt the first time youve followed me, is it? He shrugged. Lets just say I wish I couldve been there to save your friend. She was so good to my nephew before he died. Least I can do is make sure you dont end up the same way. Why did he have to be so damn heroic? This was not going to be easy, but I had no choice. I do not want your protection. I am touched by your sentiments, but I do not want you hovering around me. I can think of lots of women whod like me to do that. No fooling. Well, not this woman. I cant bear having a man crawling all over me. His luscious mouth widened in a slow smile. I blushed. Before I could amend my clumsy phrase, Benita said, So, that means you followed us to Jay Street? He nodded. Then you saw what happened to the man in the limousine? No. Eldridge leaned back against his SUV. You guys were still inside the party, so I was waiting across the street. I heard the shots but didnt see anything. Caught a glimpse of it when I followed you down John Street. Pretty ugly. Still angry with myself for once again botching this ridiculous hunt for Gwens killer, I said, That man is dead because of us. He is not, Benita said, waving off my words with an annoyed gesture. They already had it in for Drummond. You heard what Curt Shush! I cut her off and whispered, Ms. Motormouth. Eldridge hopped on it. If tonights hit had something to do with you two, then you do need protection. No! I said. Youve got to stay out of this. His brows knit. Says who? Truth is, I would have loved to have him be my bodyguard ... and a few other things. But after Kyle Drummonds murder I didnt want anyone elses

blood spilled on account of me. Please, Eldridge. Stop this. Get too close to us, and you could be next. I gave him a look of genuine warmth. He met my gaze with something a little hotter. We remained there staring at each other until Benita broke the silence. You two can work this out. Im heading inside. She turned and strode across the empty street and into our building. I hesitated, then started after her, but Eldridge reached out and took hold of my wrist. He pulled me up against him and slid his arms around my waist. Mind my doing this? he asked, his voice a soft murmur. Not at all, I said, on the verge of fainting. Having the length of his hard body pressed along mine was enough to send me reeling, but in my skimpy one-shouldered dress I also felt his breath on my naked skin. He dipped his head and gently licked my lips, parting them as his mouth settled on mine. Holy moly. If he was this good with his tongue, think of the possibilities. He brushed his lips across my bare shoulder and said, That limo hit has to do with Gwens murder, doesnt it? I pushed my hands against his chest and backed away. Your timing is really peculiar. And not very flattering. Why wont you take my help? I respect the feelings you have about Gwen and your nephew, but enough already. Its ridiculous for you to go out on a limb for me. A woman you hardly know. Too bad. Its my nature. I waited for him to say more, but he didnt. Jaleel was right. This guy was strange. And the last thing I needed was to once again end up as just another conquest for a confident cocks-man. Stop trying to play Superman, Eldridge. Go home and get some sleep. I wouldnt want you falling off some building and landing on your squeegee. With the Mace-mans long kiss still burning on my mouth, I crossed the street and retreated into my building. I offered a greeting to the nightconcierge and headed to the elevators. Behind me I heard the familiar sound of a dogs nails on the marble floor, moving in tandem with shuffling feet. A scratchy voice called out, Dr. Oz, hold the elevator. Just what I needed. Mr. Fellows, his poodle and me alone on the elevator once again. Then again, female elephants have a distinct preference for older males. Maybe they know something we dont. I held the door open. Thats quite a dress youre wearing. Shuffle, shuffle. Press number seven for me. I checked my watch. Its eleven oclock, Mr. Fellows. Isnt it late for you to be out walking Renoir? I couldnt sleep, he said. Feeling restless. The elevator doors slid shut. I recommend warm milk and Chopin. Works for me. I saw you with that man outside. You were kissing him. Before I could think of a response, he tossed the dogs leash to the floor in front of us. Oh, I dropped Renoirs leash. Very clever. Either I bend on one knee and give him a view up my short, tight dress or I bend forward and give him my butt. I stood my ground silently. I was not going to become an enabler to this dirty old man with sexual harassment issues. Dr. Oz, would you mind picking it up for me? he said in his croaking voice. I just dont have the flexibility I used to. My back always aches from

that old war wound I got on the beaches of Normandy. I clenched my teeth together. Whats a trained member of the helping professions to do? I waited until the elevator stopped at my floor. As soon as the door opened I felt safe enough to quickly bend over and grab the leash. I handed the leather strap to Mr. Fellows. He beamed. I have two little words for you. No need for a thank-you. Butt plug, he said. The doors slid shut. The lofts warm lighting and comfy furniture offered me a sorely needed welcome. I sank onto the sofa and pried off my shoes. Good thing Petey was asleep in his cage. Any rude comments out of him, and Id get myself a cat. Why didnt you tell me Eldridge had been in prison? I forgot. And I dont know the details, anyway. Benita sat in the club chair, her legs stretched out, hands on her thighs. Hope we can trust Raffys directions to this yoni place in the Northwest Woods. Ill call around in the morning for a bedand-breakfast in that area. Were not supposed to be at Darryls until three, I said, so who knows when well get to the retreat. And dont ask me how were going to go about finding the tablet in the garden that Gwen made for them. We should have a plan for when we see Lady Viv. Please, Bin. I just cant deal with any more tonight. Lets wait till morning. A faint pressure behind my eyes signaled a migraine on the way. It wasnt every day you saw a man get gunned down in his car. Especially a car that you were about to ride in. And, I hated to admit it, but I was finally sick of that special odor bestowed upon me by Inez. It was quite faint now, but with all due respect to the orishas, I headed straight for a long, hot shower.

Chapter Sixteen
Wednesday morning we were buzzing around the loft making arrangements and packing up whatever might be needed for our little excursion. First to Guilford, Connecticut, where Darryl Applebee lived. Then across Long Island Sound to a bedand-breakfast in East Hamptons Northwest Woods in striking distance of the Circle of the Sacred Yoni retreat. Id dressed in jeans, heels and a lavender crocheted tank. Benita wore sneakers, beige capris and her usual Yankees tee. At one point she rushed out of her room with a wild-eyed look. Are you ready for this? She stuck a newspaper in front of my nose. Jackpot, baby. I took one look. Oh please. You know I hate that movie tabloid crap. I pushed the paper away. Fine, Benita said. Ill read it to you. CapriciaOut Of Control. Capricia, former star of the female detective series K. T. Heller, had to be restrained during a Bounty for the Homeless fundraiser at MOMA after viciously attacking rising young actress Courtney Ditinfass with a champagne bottle. Apparently Courtney was flirting with Capricias latest beau, restauranteur Bobby Borlock. Ditinfass had this to say about her assailant: Capricia cant bear the idea that shell never be the number-one sex goddess in movies. And those magic pheromone injections shes desperately searching for arent gonna do it for her. That final remark may be more fact than fiction. Rumors have been circulating that Capricia has found the man shes been

looking for. No, not a husband. Shes discovered her Merlin in Conrad Schumacher, professor of ancient languages at Columbia University and a leading authority on ancient spells, medicinals and aphrodisiacs. She has offered him an undisclosed sum to devise an elixir that would endow her with legendary allure. Blown away by what she read, I rested my weight against the kitchen island. Impossible. I cant believe the Conrad Schumacher we met at Gwens funeral played a part in her murder. That bone-digging fruitcake set Gwen up! Youve just got a thing for those offbeat professor types. I remember how hot you were for that chemistry professor at NYU. At least I wasnt the one who had a wet dream over Fat Bastard. Benita hovered closer. Doesnt Capricia spend her summers in East Hampton and see your Aunt Lana for therapy during those months? Yes. Shes been doing that for years. And dont Lana and Capricia also hang together once in a while? Yes. The article brought to mind the conversation Lana and I had after her Love Your Body, Love Your Self workshop. In fact Lana told me Capricia was upset about turning forty. And that she hired someone to make her a wonder formula. So that part is true. And you didnt tell me? I just never put it together. Plenty of women would pay for a formula that makes them sexually attractive. That doesnt mean theyre killers. Besides, Lana asked me not to break professional confidentiality. Confidentiality, my foot. Were talking about peoples lives here. But Lana never mentioned the professors name. And we cant be sure its the same Conrad Schumacher. Come on, Saylor. Columbia U. Ancient languages. And wasnt he the one Gwen consulted when she was translating stuff? Not to mention dating the freak. Benita started pacing the large open room, tapping the newspaper against her palm. Its plain as day. Gwen and Schumacher often worked side by side, right? He had to know about her discovery of the special perfume tablet. Along comes Madame Capricia, whose fame, glamour and bucks easily enthrall a boring pendejo like Schumacher. He opens his big mouth about it. She works on his head. He falls right in and lets her take control. It fits together perfectly. But why wouldnt Capricia just hire Gwen instead of Schumacher? Tim said Gwen wouldnt sell out to Drummond, so why would she sell to Capricia? And if Capricia knew Gwen not only had the very thing she was desperate for but intended to make it a power tool for all women, that ravenous, competitive shrew mustve gone ballistic. As for Schumacher, his greed probably got the best of him. Well, Capricia does have the money, plus a rep for being a heartless bitch. A dangerous combination. Or do you think Schumacher acted on his own? She waved off that idea. Hed have to spend every penny that Capricias paying him to keep a retainer of bully boys. But it wouldnt hurt to check out his digs if we dont get enough info for our case in the Hamptons. So, youre saying the two of them are in on it together?

Most likely. Didnt Schumachers assistant tell you the professor was deep in the mountains of Peru? Unreachable? How convenient. And not surprising. The wimp hides out in the Andes while Capricia hires some leg-breakers to do the dirty work and get him the tablet. An upsetting thought shot through me. Were all those sweet things Alan said to me part of his act? As a rule, I was good at sizing people up, but lately Id been off by miles. Benita read the tension on my face. Whats up? Maybe Im stretching things, but Lana told me Alan has been a regular at the rehab clinics. Has this terrible weakness for drugs, particularly those that increase sexual pleasure. And considering that he and Capricia are buddies, is it possible hes in on it with her? A woman driven by her vanity and a man by his addiction to sexual pleasure? Would Alan take it that far? Frankly, I thought it a bit strange that he approached you at the launch just before we left with Drummond. Sigh. I definitely got the bonus special, thanks to Gwen. Not only was I a target for a deranged hit man, Id also drawn in two Romeos with ulterior motives. Wasnt there one uncomplicated, sexy man on this planet who could just plain fall in love with me? My cell phone sat on the kitchen counter. I flipped it open, scrolled through the call history and selected the number for Schumachers office. After three rings a young woman picked up. I didnt know if it was the same grad assistant Id spoken to before, but when I asked for Professor Schumacher, she told me he was no longer on the faculty. Thats funny, I said. Only a few days ago someone told me hed gone to South America on a dig for the university. Well, they were wrong. One of his former assistants was probably covering for him. Covering for him? Why? She cleared her throat. He was involved in a scandal concerning the theft of some artifacts. Im sorry, but I really cant go into it. I shouldnt even be telling you this. Our department has to protect its reputation. Please, can you just tell me if the police are involved? Was the professor indicted? No. The university doesnt want any publicity on this. Theyve settled for ruining his career. Professor Schumacher will never work in academia again. The young woman hung up, and I gave Benita the goods. So, Schumachers probably desperate enough to do anything Capricia wants. Well, the mans clearly into some dirty work himself. He sure had me fooled. I tried his home phone a few times. No voice mail. Nothing. Just endless ringing. Benita faced me with an all-business expression. Looks like we better skip the bed-andbreakfast and stay at your Aunt Lanas. And get her involved? Shes already involved. That big enforcer guy, Curtis, told you he knew the whereabouts of your family. Am I right? I nodded. Hearing those words made me positively sea-sick. Benita slid onto a kitchen stool. But he didnt say you couldnt see your family or talk to them. That threat was only if you screwed up or went running to the cops. So, Lana wont be any safer if we steer clear, but shed be a lot safer if we caught the person who murdered Gwen. And she can help by showing us where Capricia lives.

Yeah, I guess. Bad news is so draining. Another thing. And I hate to say it. For all we know Capricia may have been picking your aunts brain to get background on you, me and the rest of our families. Okay, Ill cancel the b-and-b and give Lana a call. I took the seat next to Binnie, feeling spun around for what seemed like the umpteenth time. But what if its not Capricia? What if its Lady Vivian? Thats just it. We dont know. And we cant risk overlooking any lead. So, once were out in the Hamptons, why not take care of two birds with one shot? We go to the Yoni retreat and interview Lady Viv. And we find Capricias house and investigate. But what are we going to do? Hide out in the bushes and peek through her windows? No. Were gonna plant my Teddy Cam in her house. Not the Teddy Cam. Worked with Fippy. Thats debatable, I said. You could only see the top of her head. Yeah, but it was going up and down. Doesnt a Teddy Cam have to be hooked up to a TV monitor? You, Saylor, do not have an electronic mind. Thank you, Ms. RadioShack. My Teddy Cam is wireless and works up to fifteen hundred feet away. Lana tells us where Capricias house is, and I, as an adoring fan, take the big star a gift, which just happens to have a spy cam. I program my handheld TV to the receiver, then we check out whats happening from across the street inside our car. Excuse me, but just what are we expecting to find? I asked. If Capricias our perp, you can bet all this is front-burner material for her. We just want to catch her thinking out loud. Are you sure what were doing is legal? Benita shrugged. Probably not. The phone rang. Uncle Pete joined in with a medley of shrill whistles, punctuated with Where are the stinking tampons!thanks to my roommates early-morning menstrual tantrum. Benita scolded him. Now, Petey, dont you go saying that to the pet sitter. I picked up. Its a floral delivery. For you, Binnie. Guessing the sender, I busied myself in the living room, hiding a smile. Eyebrows knit, she answered the door. Ooh, red roses, I said when she stepped toward me, bouquet in hand. Being in a rather foul mood this morning, she glanced quickly at the card, and with a look of exasperation tossed it along with the flowers onto the sofa. I retrieved the card and read it. Fippy wants you to watch his weather forecast at eleven tonight. Like I dont already know its ninety degrees and humid. Come on, be a sport. I handed her the card. He must have something special in mind. Yeah, like maybe hes gonna drop his pants on TV. I pulled a vase out of the cupboard. Well, if he does it in a sweet way . . . Oh, the charming Mr. Weintraub knows how to act real sweet when hes getting anybodys pants off. She set the vase back into the cupboard. Why put the roses in water if were not going to be here? Ill give them to Marci on the third floor. Shes always home on weekends. Benita

grabbed the paper-wrapped bundle. You still want to go out for breakfast? Im up for it. General Store? Sounds perfect. Love that place. Meet you in the lobby in ten minutes. We were headed down Front Street. Through the noise of the overhead trains and the constant building construction I heard a mans voice yelling out, Ladies need a ride? Lo and behold, it was Jaleel Thomas behind the wheel of his cobalt blue BMW, his shoulderlength dreads swaying as he bobbed his head to The Notorious B.I.G. Riding shotgun was his cousin, Sub Z, an up-and-coming rap artist. We stopped to say hi and invited them to join us. Jaleel was clad in a red Chicago Bulls basketball jersey. Sub Z wore shades, a lemon yellow bandana and a tailored white shirt with delicate green pinstripes. Jaleel never went in for much bling, but Sub Z wore heavy gold on his neck and wrists along with diamond stud earrings. Sub Z knew Benita from the days when she trained professionally under Jaleel. They topped each others fists in greeting. Once inside the General Store I sat next to Benita and across from Jaleel and his cousin. While my friends ordered omelettes, panini and espressos, I stuck with my usual. Scrambled eggs, toast and about a gallon of the housebrewed American coffee. A note on caffeine: while it is widely known not to be the prescribed substance for those stricken with high levels of anxiety, it also offers the amazing benefits of stimulating ones brain functioning capabilities for problem solving. And considering this was day five in our seven-day race to do the impossibleand Id just as soon crawl back in bed and pretend none of this was happeningthe latter rationale easily won out. Besides, Im addicted to the stuff, anyway. Jaleel had just finished training his early morning clients at Gleasons. He leaned back, folding his arms behind his head. Sub is thinking of getting himself a condo along the river. Came here to meet some realtors. We chatted briefly about the ever-developing DUMBO neighborhood before Benita and Jaleel wound up talking about the future of boxing. Could it survive amid the growing popularity of mixed martial arts competitions, namely the UFC or Ultimate Fighting Championship? Not my favorite subject. I glanced at the rap artist sitting across from me and thought it might be a good idea to get an interpretation or some intuitive feedback on a dilemma somewhat closer to home. I kept my tone conversational. Excuse me, Sub Z. Ever hear of someone named Chub Dubs? He traced his fingers calmly along the edge of his chin. Once knew a graffiti dude from Philly named Chub Head. Then course theres my man the rapper Chubb Rock. Everybody know him. Sabout it. Why you askin? Well, youre an expert in the use of words, I said, avoiding his question. How about if you were to analyze the name Chub Dubs. Do you get any clues that might tell you something about that person? He set down his cup of espresso. First is obvious. Name like Chub usually mean he or she is overweight or fat. Now as far as the second word. A dub can mean a twenty-dollar bag of smoke. Or else we talkin bout twenty-plus-inch rims. Got the smoke part. However, Im not sure what you mean by rims. Chrome spinnas that add flash to your whip.

Suddenly I felt very white. I made an educated guess. Spinnas meaning hubcaps? And whip meaning car? Right. Hmm. Was I looking for a pudgy stoner or a fat gangsta? As I downed yet another cup of coffee, Benita gave me her parental eye. We got a long drive, Saylor, and I dont want to be stopping every twenty minutes for a bathroom. Where you off to? Jaleel asked. Give you a clue, Benita said. The place where you polished off two bowls of oysters last May. Lanas. He looked toward his cousin. Saylors aunt got a beautiful house out in East Hampton. Rochelle and I joined Benita and Saylor there over Memorial Day. Went for long walks on the beach. Burned off at least some of what I knocked down that weekend. Jaleel gazed at me inquisitively. Why the long face? You should be up about it. Oh, its nothing, I said with no conviction whatsoever. He knew me too well. I feel ya. Still upset over Gwen. Tell me something. What makes you think some chump bodied your friend? Guess our secret investigation wasnt so secret anymore. I glanced at Benita, who gave me a not-me shrug. How did you Mace. He worried. Keep asking me all kinds of shit about you. Interesting. Maybe it was time for me to get the goods on Mr. Mace. Eldridge has been following me around. He claims hes trying to protect me. But dont you think its strange for him to go that far for a woman he just met? Jaleel gave me a warm grin. Hes just like that. Eldridge do all kinds of crazy shit. Got arrested for diving off the Verrazano once. Sub, you know the dude Im talkin bout. Sub Z nodded. Mohawk wild man. Jaleel continued. And a couple years ago he pulled a guy out of a burning oil truck that flipped over down on the Belt. Mace got no fear. Woulda been a great stuntman. Or a cop. Except he hates the law for sending him up. So, Eldridge did go to prison. Four years in Sing Sing. What was that about? Some dude raped his mama. Mace was around nineteen. He come home and found her lying there. Beat up bad, too. She pointed out some mean-ass punk from the hood. Mace found him and worked him silly. Dude hits his head on the street. Dead gone. Eldridge gets penalized for involuntary manslaughter. He couldnt help himself. Mace-mans super loyal and protective. He still blame himself for not being there to guard his mama. Poor Eldridge. I thought of that sad, hurt look that always seemed to be there in his beautiful eyes. There was no way Id allow him to put his life on the line for me. Curtis and his boys wouldnt hesitate to kill him or anyone who got in their way. That much Id learned.

Chapter Seventeen
It was about three when we drove into Guilford, an attractive, upscale suburb in Connecticut, but Id only been there once before, so a few wrong turns chewed up the clock. We finally found Darryls place, a big Stephen-King-creepy New Englandy house at the top of a hill. The place gave me a case of the Gothic willies.

Lets make this fast and efficient, Benita said. No time for getting lost in memories. Keep your search focused on the tablet, the Yoni bracelet, or any clues about our four suspects. Four? Yeah. Capricia, Schumacher, Lady Vivian. And Darryl. Not that again. Benita hopped out of the car before I did and rang the bell. A teenage girl answered. You mustbe the new housecleaner. Right? I could see the steam coming out of Benitas ears. I rushed to the door. Youre Shannon, right? Im your late aunt Gwens friend, Saylor Oz. Remember me? Oh yeah. The crazy one. She turned and called to her father, letting the door slam shut in our faces. I just gave Benita a half smile, and she grumbled, Doesnt anybody teach their kids manners anymore? Darryl appeared at the door. Gwens twin brother stood about six feet. He had the same narrow body and boney face as my dear deceased pal, but without the overbite. Same straw-colored hair, but clipped short. At thirty-two, he looked prosperous and attractive in a sky blue dress shirt and gray trousers. Youre late. Such a warm hello. Darryl always had a way of making me feel like a pain-in-the-neck little sister, but considering hed lost his twin only seven weeks ago, I chalked up his ornery frown to the distress and disbelief that had to be lurking in his psyche these days. I stepped forward, giving him a hug that he accepted with indifference. Rather than bring up the painful subject, especially since my knowledge about Gwens death was now vastly greater than his, I said only, Thanks for letting us come by. We wont be long. I know you wont. Jill and the twins will be back from the swim club in forty minutes. One didnt have to be highly intuitive to catch his meaning: we were supposed to be gone by then. Not that we had any time to waste. This was day five of seven, and we were still no further along in the hunt for the tablet than we were on day one. I tried to be optimistic about our new leads, but after last night my confidence in our investigative skills was somewhat dampened. Hands in his pockets, Darryl swaggered lethargically through the living room. We followed him past a mix of French and Victorian antique tables and chairs. The fireplace mantel was covered in framed photos of his children. Darryl swung open a narrow paneled door that blended in with the dark brown woodwork of the kitchen. All her stuffs in the basement. He reached in and flicked the light switch, then flapped his hand with an impatient lets go gesture. Clumping our way down the wooden stairs, with Darryl standing at the top watching, I had visions of meeting the ghost of Vincent Price. The dungeon of Applebee Castle wasnt all that bad. As basements went, it was neat and well organized. There was a Windsor rocker and some rolledup rugs. A five iron with its shaft clenched inside a vice on the tool bench awaited doctoring. A stack of eight boxes sat next to a Lifecycle that was no doubt the one that had functioned as Gwens favorite clothes rack. Benita and I each lifted a box to the workbench and began picking through the contents. Working quickly, moving from one box to the next, we kept checking our watches, growing tense, since the forty minutes would pass quickly. Darryl stopped in the doorway at the top of the cellar stairs a few times, listening, and no doubt keeping tabs on our progress.

We found neither the Yoni bracelet nor anything resembling a cuneiform tablet. But I did choose three photos of Gwen from our teenage years, her signed copy of The Mermaid Chair, plus a few items for Raffy and tucked them into the tote bag Id brought along. I was hoping to find another one of Gwens journals. Or maybe a revealing letter or note from someone during those last days. E-mail, sweetie, Benita said. And that evidence is gone with the missing hard drive. Either stolen or destroyed by someone looking for her formula. Somehow we managed to search all the boxes before Darryl came strolling down the stairs acting warm and friendly. Saylor, you might want to take a look at that old exercise bike of Gwens. He smiled. Ill let you have it for a hundred and a quarter. No thanks. Really? After all these years I thought you were one of those people in a constant battle with their weight. He started trotting back up the stairs then stopped halfway and pointed toward the rear corner of the basement to an elongated eightfoot runway covered in fake grass with a plastic hole at the end. Careful not to lean things against my putting green. Back to being terse, he said, Try not to break it. The instant the door closed at the top of the landing, Benita said, Cant stand people who only act nice to you when theyre after something. It wasnt the first time Darryl had been after something from me. I couldnt help recalling Gwens birthday party three years ago when Darryl invited me to slow dance and pressed his stiffy up against my leg while singing When a Man Loves a Woman in my ear. Afraid that Darryl might have thrown out the tablet, I knelt on the floor and sorted through a pile of stuff that was clearly meant for the trash. This is Gwens old Tinkerbell jewelry box. I gave it to her when were ten years old. I held it and brushed my fingers lovingly along the rectangular top where the pink enamel paint was scratched and chipped. Benita looked at me like I was nuts. Pretty beat up. Couldnt even peddle that one on eBay. Id never sell this. I tucked it into my tote bag and looked up at her. How about you? Im taking her Che Guevara T-shirt, Benita said. At about five minutes to four we climbed the stairs. Darryl walked us to the door, obviously pleased we were making our exit before wifey came home with the kids and ran into those annoying friends of her wacky late sister-in-law. The mail was spread out on a table in the foyer. Next to the usual white business envelopes were some magazines. News-week , Allure and a copy of . . . Dub. As in Chub Dubs? I turned to Benita and nodded toward the table. Her eyes lit up. Why, Darryl, I see you read Dub, she said. Thats right. I like cars. I remembered him as a teen working on cars. And only last year Gwen told me he sold his classic 57 Thunderbird convertible. Bet you go for those twenty-inch spinners, Benita said. He offered a blas shrug. Tell me, Darryl. She jumped to the point, the challenging tone in her voice way too unsubtle. Any of your cars have dubs? With one car out and the other in the garage, I was curious if either of them were sporting the flashy rims. The Mercedes, he replied, visibly irritated.

Benita got that ready-to-spar look in her face. Did you ever find the hard drive that belongs to Gwens computer? No. And what about Enough. I nudged the steamrolling Detective Morales aside and cut in. Thanks, Darryl, for letting us go through Gwens boxes. Benita glared at me but backed off. No problem. You didnt take much. Darryl strolled behind us to the Camry. Sitting inside the car, I glanced up at him. If you ever need to talk, you know, about Gwen, just call me. Gwen, Gwen, Gwen, Darryl snapped. Frankly, it gets a little draining. He rubbed the tension from the back of his neck. Dont hear this the wrong way. I loved my sister. What happened was tragic. But after a while . . . I jumped in. Sorry, Darryl. I know you must be exhausted after managing all the details of your sisters passing. But youve done a great job. I always do, but do you think anybody sees it? Gwen was always the one who got all the attention. Just like when I was growing up. All my parents ever talked about was Gwen and her academic prizes. Now even after shes dead, thats all I am to people, Gwens brother. Suddenly looking embarrassed by his outburst, Darryl stepped away from the car. I tried to say a few therapeutic and nurturing things, but he wasnt listening. When his wife pulled into the driveway, we waved good-bye and left. We were half a block down the street when Benita blurted, Did you hear that? How much more proof do we need? Got the dubs on the Mercedes. Hated his sister . . . Hold it, hold it, I said. Darryl did not hate his sister. Tensions between siblings are completely normal. Didnt you tell me that when you, Gwen and Darryl were graduating high school together, Darryl boycotted the graduation because Gwen was valedictorian? Well, yes. But . . . No buts. The dude is obsessed. Just hear me out. Her hands danced above the steering wheel, accentuating her talking points. Goes right back to my original twin rivalry theory. Darryls uptight about his sister outdoing him. So, he becomes the overachiever. Winds up making all that money in the insurance business while his sister ends up a low-income academic slumming it down in the Hook. Then one day Gwen comes up with a discovery that could revolutionize the entire perfume industry and take her from rags to riches. Shed be worth millions. Bingo. Twin bro has a meltdown. I gazed out at the pretty houses in the neighborhood. But why would Darryl want the tablet? Hes got plenty of money. Drummond had way more bucks, but he wanted that tablet. You know, people have their secret sides. She turned into the parking lot of a gas station. What doesnt fit is how Darryl found out about the perfume when Gwen kept it classified. They werent all that close. That part I can fathom. For one, he had keys to her place. And for another, they were still family. In which case anythings possible. I hopped out of the car and filled the tank. Soon as I finishing paying I walked back to the drivers side window. Ready to switch? Im good. How about you drive when we get to the Island?

Fine with me. I got back in the passenger side, and we were off, when the thought struck me. Ohmigod. What is it? Darryl. Hes in the insurance business. So? Im not sure if hes still with the same firm or not, but he once worked for . . . the Chubb Group. First we got the Dubs, she said. Now we got the Chub. She jammed on the brakes and pulled a screeching about-face in the middle of the four-lane road. What are you doing? I yelled, gripping the armrest. Youll see. We pulled back into the gas station and parked in a slot next to the air hose machine. She pointed to a pay phone on the wall alongside the restrooms. Time to make a little call. You drive like a maniac to get us to a pay phone? Are you nuts? We do have cells. Dont want him seeing our caller ID. Damn, I wish I had a SpoofCard. Give me Darryls number. Why? Im calling Mr. Applebee. What? Heres the deal. I call him up. The second he answers, I disguise my voice and just say, Yo Chub Dubs. Catch him off guard. Knock him off balance. Bullshit with his head. Make him give himself away. I shook my head with some serious conviction. Uh-uh. No way. Benita looked dumbstruck at me. Its simple, but brilliant. Its not the plan. Its you. Just listen to yourself. Youre way too agitated. Youre the one whos liable to give herself away. She nodded. Good point. You do it. I dropped in some change and punched in Darryls number. I was about to ask Binnie what to do if one of his kids picked up when I heard Darryl say, Hello? I switched into my best baritone. Yo, Chub Dubs? What up? Who the hell is this? His tone was sharp and angry. I hung up the phone. Benita looked puzzled. Did he hang up on you? Not exactly. I hung up on him. That wasnt the plan. You didnt hear his voice, Bin. He was not very nice. Darryl never is. Yeah, well, this time he was very un-nice. And besides, it just felt so deceitful. Pranking Darryl after all hes been through. Meanwhile, we arent even sure hes our man. We are not pranking. We are conducting an investigation. Plus it bums me out if Darryls our killer. He took me to my senior prom. Benita shot me a look she usually reserved for those who fart in public. You actually dated Darryl Applebee? You never told me that. Dont be so mean. We cant all be Miss Popular. I wanted to go to my prom and didnt have a boyfriend. Gwen talked her brother into asking me. Typical Darryl, he offered to take me as long as I paid for everything. I shrugged. Call me sentimental.

We stopped at a deli and Benita volunteered to run in for takeout sandwiches. A roast beef on rye for Benita and a Swiss cheese and mustard for me. While she was in the store, I pulled the jewelry box out of the tote bag that sat at my feet. I still remember that day in the gift shop and the hurt on ten-year-old Gwens face after her mother flatly refused to buy the magical little box that so clearly touched my friends heart. It took me two months to save up enough allowance money to buy it for her. I placed the box on my lap and opened it. A tiny plastic Tinkerbell doll posed center stage on a purple satin lining divided into squares and slots that once held Gwens necklaces, earrings and rings. I couldnt believe she still had this thing. I wonder where Darryl found it? She used to keep her favorite baubles and shells and lucky stones hidden in the secret compartment beneath the base. A lightning bolt hit me. Maybe her Circle of the Sacred Yoni bracelets there. Or even the tablet. I pinched the dividers between my fingers and tugged. Gradually, I worked loose the base surrounding Tinkerbell and lifted it out. Tissue paper. Hmm. I poked around the white crumpled paper and felt a solid object. More than one. In fact, I found six small but classic perfume bottles from Gwens prize collection. Ooh. A 1949 Miss Dior. And a Lelong. And Shiaparellis Shocking from the thirties. Benita came back with our food, and I showed her my discovery. Not exactly what were looking for, she said, starting in on her roast beef on rye. But really wonderful. So glad they didnt go out in the trash. I pulled the tissue wrappings off the other bottles. These were Gwens favorites. Especially this one. Guerlains Vol de Nuit. I held up the smoky green bottle and saw there was perfume inside. Still loaded. Probably the original. All of Gwens bottles that Darryl gave me were empty, so this is a rare treat. Benita flashed me the stop sign with the palm of her hand. Dont you dare open that now. Yesterdays olfactory overload was bad enough. I admit, last nights shower did come as a relief. But somehow I feel naked without a perfume. Too bad. Got nowhere 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. Binnies 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 awhile, stretching our legs and taking in the salt waters moodenhancing ions. Dance of the Sugar Plum 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. Cant recall her name. Please understand, Walsh, I generally reserve my cell 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 youre worried about a sexual problem, Ill 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 moneys an issue, I do have a sliding scale. Sexual problem? Pause. His tenor voice turned husky. Dr. Oz, if you think because Im 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 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 its difficult to talk about certain Good day, Dr. Oz. The phone slammed in my ear. Not unusual. Hed call back. Benita snickered. Dont you see whats going on? That Plunkett guy doesnt want therapy. He wants to be your next hardship case boyfriend. Yeah, well, this time Im not picking up the bait. At Orient Point I took the wheel and drove through the wine country of the North Fork, with still more than an hour to go before we hit East Hampton. Good time to organize. Benita and I discussed our plans and concluded the following: One: Good chance wed 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 Capricias house or planting the Teddy Cam for us. Three: If Gwen buried her tablet in the fragrance garden shed created at the Circle of the Sacred Yoni retreatand her poem definitely implied thatwe had some digging to do. Four: I was the designated digger. Benita would go undercover inside the main house using Raffys Yoni bracelet to gain access. Wed 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 universitys archaeological dig, I said. Not directly. Theres 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, hes the one who walked away with the tablet from the university. Benita looked over at me in surprise. 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. Cant answer that one, Raffy replied. But Gwen told me he never wouldve deciphered it right. Didnt 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.

Chapter 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 aunts 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. Theres a man in your front yard. You mean Michael? Its okay, hes sees me this way all the time. Isnt it late in the day to be trimming the hedges? But it wont be dark for an 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 youre sorry. The smell of incenseand freshly smoked Mary Janewafted 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 couldnt hire the PI she had suggested. Then there was the night they wasted Kyle Drummond down on John Street. I watched my aunts 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. Its 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, dont. Gwens killers stole my laptop and know where Mom and Steven live. But Steven is in Provincetown for the summer. Im hoping that keeps him safe, but I cant be sure. Curtis knew Mom was in Florida, and distance was no obstacle when he made it clear hed 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. Im calling in the authorities. Benita sat forward. The police cant lock up a guy on hearsay. Even if they bring this Curtis dude in for questioning, they cant hold him without evidence. And as soon as they release him, both Saylor and I are marked. Or maybe sooner, since hes not in this alone, I added.

Ive seen five others working for him. So, whoever hired them has some money. And after what I saw down on John Street, Im convinced theyre not playing. Until Binnie and I can prove who is behind Gwens 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 cloisonn 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 youre our only way of getting into Capricias 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. Im not exactly hard to find. Since youre her therapist, I realize you might be reluctant to help us, but theres a chance Capricia may be one of the people behind Gwens murder. Murder? She coughed out a wad of smoke. Capricia? She shook her head, waving the smoke away from her face. Granted shes 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 shes 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 Gwens. In fact she dated him as well. Im not sure if he and Capricia worked together in the killing of Gwen, but I have reason to believe its a possibility. But why would they want to murder Gwen? Lets just say it has to do with a very special perfume. Perfume? Benita and I dove in, telling Lana all about Gwens ancient tablet and Heavens 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 its a part of life. A wolf cannot feed its young unless it hunts. Her hand cupped my cheek. Lord knows, I adore my two sons and their children, but you, Saylor, are the daughter I never had. Ill tell you this. Youre 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 youre 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 its a chance weve 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 that as a kid? Benita quickly added, Or a current slang name? The answer to both questions is, not to my knowledge. And I should caution you. Men, particularly those who like to ridicule, often use derogatory terms to describe their boss behind his or her back. Without it being an acknowledged nickname. 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 a box of 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 perfume bottles in Gwens carefully hidden collection. I thought about how much shed loved these and how precious theyd 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 Capricias house in nearby Bridgehampton in her hybrid SUV. Yes, my aunt did put on clothing for this event. A gold floorlength 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 Benitas tape recorder rigged up inside. If Capricia was the one behind the sordid plan that took Gwens 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 of a childs 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 calflength skirt looked at us and said, Can I help you? She peered over the top of her sunglasses. Oh, its you, Dr. Klein. Shes poolside. Thats Capricias personal assistant, Lana said to us as we walked up the driveway. In the backyard 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 on 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 queenhoney blond hair, an oval face, a 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 shed 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, Saylors 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 after what Id seen them do to Drummond, this could get very real indeed. Yikes, Id forgotten to turn on the recorder, and 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. Oops. Capricia shook her head and my hand at the same time. Somebodys got the jitters. Lana put her arm around Benitas 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 dont say Lets open it up and share with the guests. Even Lana looked worried. As soon as Capricia said, That would be 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, Shouldnt I stick close to Capricia and, you know, try to, um, interview her, so to speak? Avoid her for now, my aunt said. Youre way too edgy. You shouldve smoked some weed before coming here. After ordering me to make myself a vodka and tonic, she went back to join Capricias 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 clock ticked. No sign of her. I wanted to stay where she could see me until she returned from her mission. Feeling self-conscious, as if everyone knew why I was there, I killed time 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 oclock 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 third person joined our conversation. It was a gymnast in Speedo trunks. A compact, greeneyed hunk who was just my size. Say hi to Chip, Capricias fitness instructor. He kept touching my arm and talking about the wonders of anatomy. Definitely the type who likes to wrestle in the sack.

With Mr. Neiman Marcus Catalogue on my right and Mr. Bowflex 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 youre the most beautiful woman in the world? What? Hes right, Anthony said, sounding as if he were in a trance. Was I dreaming? I mean, Im fairly good-looking, but lets 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 a mnage 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 isnt a bacchanal. They both stepped back. Whatever you want, Anthony said. Ill do anything you ask. Just say the word. Me, too, Chip said. Ill even give you free personal training for the rest of your life. Capricia smacked him hard on the arm. You will not. I pay you two hundred fucking dollars an hour, you somersaulting idiot. She raked me up and down with her eyes, clearly pissed. I shrugged, my mind racing for something to say. Hot fun in the summertime? She lowered her voice and moved closer. You like to play games, dont you, Dr. Oz? Except some games can be risky. That sent a chill down my spine. For a moment I floundered, afraid to look Capricia in the eye. Regroup, Saylor. Mo-ti-vation. Time to get my claws out. Is that a threat, Ms. Chibnib? No, I mean, Chuggerug or, um, uh . . . Chim-ch-ch . . . I was so nervous I couldnt get my words out right. Poor thing, said Capricia. I didnt know you had a speech impediment. Lana joined us and put a hand on each of our shoulders. Do I detect the need for some crisis intervention? Were fine. Capricia patted her beloved therapists hand and said as she walked away, Your niece is such an odd little person, but we obviously share a common interest. Did she mean the guys? Or Gwens tablet? Meanwhile, Chip and Anthony were still watching me with hungry looks. Why, after a three-month dick drought, was I suddenly deluged with men? Did I now possess that certain something that only a life-and-death threat can bring out in a woman? I picked up the bag and scampered to the other side of the pool, away from my lovesick groupies. No loss that the mic in my bag was probably out of range during my little exchange with Capricia since it offered nothing in the way of evidence. Lana followed me. Listen, bubuleh, are you sure you know what youre doing?

Good question. And the answer, I hate to say, was an emphatic no. However, I was not about to tell Lana that. Rest assured, Benita and I have a plan. Everything is under control. I had a funny feeling my aunt wasnt buying it. Especially since I displayed the equanimity of a hairdresser during prom week. Ive got to go to the bathroom. If you see Binnie, you know where I am. Once inside, I was directed by a Mexican lady to a small powder room at the end of the hall. I was barely finished when some obnoxious person began hammering on the door. Okay, okay, I responded. More insistent knocking. Boy, somebody had too many margaritas. As soon as I opened up, Benita leaped in and locked the door behind us. She pulled a thin, square plastic box out of her shirt. Check it out. Gotta be Professor Conrad Schumacher. Found it in her office while I was planting the Teddy Cam on the desk. It was a DVD. Scrawled across the disk in black ink was Meeting with Conrad S. I stuck it inside my bag. Great work, I said, hoping she wouldnt ask how my sorry interview with Capricia went. Lets get out of here before anybody finds us. Im heading back to the pool by way of the garage, Benita said. I want to check for the possibility of a black Hummer. And any sign of dubs. Catch ya later. I hesitated at the back door. Could this be the command headquarters for the Hummer pussy patrol? Was Curtis out here right now, lurking somewhere in the background, chowing down at a local clam bar? A voice behind me said, We have to stop meeting like this. I turned and saw Alan Grossman in a beautifully fitted blue and white seersucker shirt, his mischievous brown eyes on me. Was it only last night that I ran into him? Yes. I was with Kyle Drummond. Moments before Kyle was gunned down in his limo. Interesting timing. Was Alan in on this scheme with Capricia? Had he followed us to the Hamptons? Maybe Benita was right. Maybe his attraction to me was just part of the game. Alans hand slid under my elbow. Come have a drink with me. I didnt exactly need another, but I could sense hed take it personally if I refused. And besides, the recorder in my bag was still running. He led me to the bar in Capricias entertainment room. It reminded me of an airport lounge, only smaller. Cushioned window seats ran along floor-to-ceiling panes of glass. A black-and-white cat was curled up on one. I set down my bag and did the same. Some party last night, Alan said, handing me a vodka and tonic. Heavy on the vodka. He clinked his glass to mine. Now here we are again the very next day at another get-together. Celebrating what? The worlds a mess. No argument there, I said. We shared our concerns on the man-made causes and effects of global warming and vented our complaints about crooked corporations. Alan smiled and sat close to me. Thats what I like about you. Youre smart, sexy, sophisticated andhe paused you smell terrific. I thought about the easy rapport we had the other night at dinner. It was sad to think he might be using me to get to the tablet. To satisfy his pitiful addiction to pleasure drugs and help his no-talent cohort at the same time. I wished he werent so damn appealing. Looked like he swam and played tennis every day. I had to remind myself I was here with a goal. I gave

the wedge of lemon in my drink an extra squeeze and dropped it back in. Alan grabbed my hand and sucked on my fingertips. My female mojo must really have been cooking today. I decided to test him to see if he acted guilty about Drummond. What did you think about that horrible murder right outside the launch last night? He blew out a sigh. Awful. Thats it? So, um, tell me. Do you hang with Capricia a lot? Is your house close by? Great idea. Lets go to my place. He snuggled his nose into my neck. Oboy. Neck snuggling. I had a weakness for that erogenous zone. Now he was nibbling. Whew. I like nibbling even better than snuggling. Before I knew it, he had me pinned against a pile of throw pillows, and we were into some very serious kissing. I want you, Saylor, he said, catching his breath. Please dont refuse me. Youre so beautiful. All aglow. After years of being a munchkin, I now had three different men are calling me beautiful? Hearing some voices in the kitchen, I pushed his hands away and sat up. Alan, maybe wed better not get into this here. Ive never felt this way about a woman in my entire life. Riiight. Three wives and who knows how many live-ins? He must have read my thoughts. I mean it, Saylor. Never before, I swear it. Whatever happened to Alan Grossman the Hollywood film mogul and master of the universe? He was acting like a schoolboy with a crush. This was getting weird. In fact, Alan was beginning to sound like Chip and Anthony. Downright spooky. Were they all part of Capricias evil network, trying to sucker me into a trap? Everybody gives up secrets during sex. He brushed his lips over mine. You are a goddess. This was getting embarrassing. I started to leave. Alan grabbed me by the wrist and reeled me back into his arms. Ill make you a star. I can do that. You can have the lead in my next film. Im a lousy actress. Anything you want, Saylor. Let me make love to you. His voice took on an eerie quality as if he were suspended in some mysterious fog. Make me your sex slave. Hold it. Goddess? Sex slave? Same words Tim the nose used. Now I understand why those bottles were hidden away in Gwens Tinkerbell jewelry box. Whats in them isnt old perfume from the thirties. I hadnt put on Vol de Nuit. I was wearing Heavens Daughter! Hmm. That meant I, Saylor Oz, possessed the love-slave elixir people were willing to kill for. I looked into Alans warm brown adoring eyes and felt a surge of power. It was unbelievably delicious. Sure, Id had sex with guys who were really hot on me in the past, but this worship stuff was a whole new experience. Id always envied the great confidence some women had in seducing any man they wanted. Women like Tara. No wonder Capricia was willing to kill for it. Alan just offered me a starring role. Wow. Maybe I should think about this. Would it really hurt if I zipped over to his place for some much needed eros? Get a grip, I told myself. Wednesday was nearly over. Curtiss deadline was closing in fast. Too bad my newfound gift came at such a rotten time. Sticking to mode, I decided to pull out the stops, rewording my question to take advantage of my newfound abilities. Alan. Listen to me. I command you to tell me the truth. Is Capricia after me for the perfume? Are you helping her? And is her nicknameokay, lets get it right this time

Chub Dubs? Alans hand began a little journey up my skirt. This kind of undercover work was hard on a woman in heat. Dont ask me how much longer I could have said no to this guy. It took all my strength, but I reached down with my hand and intercepted his. First you will answer my questions. All right, he said, Ill start at the beginning. He was muttering about Capricias roles, assuring me repeatedly that I was the one and only, when Benita entered the room. Her eyes went wide. I pried off Alans hands and walked toward her. He came after me. Dont go. Not yet, he pleaded. His long arms draped around me like a hungry octopus. I love you. Ill do anything for you. Benita was at a loss for wordsan event about as rare as a snowball fight with Big Foot. I tried wriggling out of Alans embrace. A small shove finally did the trick. I whispered in Benitas ear, From what I can figure, Im wearing Gwens perfume. You mean the perfume? But where did Those old bottles from her Tinkerbell box. She watched, dumbfounded, as Alan sank back onto his seat, head in hands, dejected. Dont do this to me, he whimpered. Ay, bendito. Things are definitely getting out of control here, Benita said. You better tell those pheromones of yours to ease up. I cant. You know how it works. If a woman is attracted to the man, it releases the power of the aphrodisiac. Excuse me, ladies. Lana breezed in. The partys breaking up. Capricia is going to dinner at Nick & Tonis restaurant. Dropping the volume to confidential. She probably wont be back until sometime around midnight. Benita nodded. Guess wed be making a return trip for our Teddy Cam viewing. Suddenly Lana caught a glimpse of Alan. Oh dear. Her hand flew to her mouth. What happened to him? Tell ya later.

Chapter Nineteen
Back at Lanas I showered off the elixir in the downstairs bath. My aunt disrobed and began whipping up a late dinner for the three of us. One of her soba noodle recipes. After slipping into one of Lanas many kimonos I went up to Benita, who was busy making a salad. We need to talk. Alone, I whispered. Keeping our voices hushed in the far end of the living room we made an agreement. Putting our eagerness aside, wed wait until Lana had gone to sleep before watching the DVD Benita took from Capricias office. Much as my aunt tried to conceal it, I could tell the recent events that involved her longtime client and friend had taken their toll on her. I couldnt put her through any more on that subject. We set the long, low table in Lanas Japanese room and sat cross-legged on floor pillows. My aunt hesitated before beginning her meal. She looked directly at me and said, You know where Capricia lives now. If you want to continue your investigation, I certainly wouldnt stop you. But I just cant take part in it anymore. Im feeling the terrible guilt of betrayal. Capricia has put her trust in me as her therapist. And as her therapist, I just dont feel she is capable of murder.

I gave Benita a so-I-was-right glance. She answered me with an imperceptible nod. I reached across the table and touched my aunts hand. Its okay. We wont ask any more of you on this. Im so sorry for involving you at all. We just had no other choice. I understand that. And, even though I feel that Capricia is not the one, believe me, if I find out that she or anybody else means to harm you or Benita, I will transform into a bitch grizzly protecting her cubs. I promise you that. Look out. I remembered as a child hearing about the time Lana put a subway mugger in a headlock until the cops arrived. Yep. When cornered, the Priestess of Light and Harmony could tangle. I leaned over and gave her a peck on the cheek. Thanks. You know I feel the same about you. Me, too, Benita added. After directing a loving gaze at the two of us, Lana switched into her excitement over the big news wed discussed during the car ride home from Bridgehampton: Gwens perfume Heavens Daughter was not only a reality, but the few remaining bottles of it in existence were upstairs in the Tinkerbell jewelry box. Benita looked up from her plate, eyebrows raised. Alan promised you a career in films? Damn. Maybe Ill splash on some of that stuff. Well, Saylor, Lana said, waving her chopsticks, this ought to be great material for your research on seduction practices. I started laughing. Hard to believe Gwen actually pulled this off. Its outrageous. Benita scooped up some daikon and mushrooms. Looks like everything Tim Donnelly told us was true. But I still have my suspicions about the guy. That reminds me. He never called me back. Bet hes freaked about Drummond. Even though the media didnt release the CEOs name, word probably went around Tims circles. My cell was on the table next to my plate. I always kept it near in case of a client emergency. I scrolled to the address book and punched in Tims number. His voice mail is filled. And its too late to reach him at FWI. Lana refilled our teacups. Didnt you say this tablet came from ancient Mesopotamia? I nodded. Written in cuneiform about five thousand years ago. Supposedly a sacred recipe used by Inanna. She was the only goddess who never lost top billing when male gods started hogging the spotlight. And Inanna liked her men subservient and ready for love. Benita reached for the salt. Im not sure I go for the idea of using a chemical assistant to turn a guy on. A girl should be able to do that on her own. But aphrodisiacs have been around for millenniums, Lana said. Theyre named after Aphrodite, who bestowed sweet-smelling fragrances on mortals to help them lure the object of their desire. It was only a matter of time before someone as brilliant as Gwen re-created one. This seems to be more than an aphrodisiac, I said, chewing and talking. I mean, these guys didnt just want sex. They were ready to serve and obey. Lana tilted her head thoughtfully. Itll be interesting to see if Alan remembers any of this tomorrow. Do you know how long the perfume-induced intoxication lasts? We dont know. Tim said the data on that was inconclusive.

Benita smiled. What if you were to make another appointment with Detective Roach? You could put him under your control. Make him reopen the case. Wont work, I said. A: Theres no time. B: Without my being there each day to reinforce his obedience, chances are he might go back to his old ways. Oh, yeah, C: The worst part. Id have to force myself to get excited over Detective Roach in order to trigger my pheromones. Lana chuckled. Can you imagine the possibilities? Women calling the shots? Running the country? Controlling the industries? Walking around with trophy husbands? I added. We might actually end poverty, clean up the environment and promote world peace. Benita shook her head. I doubt it. There are some mean bitches out there. Regardless of what women might do with the power, Lana said, one thing is certainmost men wouldnt like it. And some would truly hate us for it. Sipping my green tea, I pictured Gwen working away, sometimes using the universitys computer banks, sometimes in her home lab, deciphering the tablet this way and that, testing out all the plants and herbs that might turn out to be one of the strange names used by the ancients. And I was sure now that it wasnt her intellectual curiosity that drove her. Or money. I knew what made Gwen so keen on reviving this perfume. I thought about the impassioned discussions we used to have about overly aggressive male energy ruining the planet. But I also recalled the things we avoided talking aboutthe hurt we shared as the munchkin and the scarecrow, the girls who werent seen as the beautiful ones. The girls who couldnt make a guy turn his head, much less do whatever we commanded. This creation is Gwens revenge. And now its in your hands, Benita said, and quoted the line from Gwens poem: My dream is now your dream, and you are its watchman. Gee, thanks for the reminder. My aunt pointed to the clock on the wall. Its eleven. Werent you supposed to watch tonights weather? Benita rolled her eyes. Oh, yeah, right. Fippy sends me roses and a note. Dont ask what this is about. We began clearing the dishes, but Lana shooed us away. We went to the second-floor den where the TV sat inside a large white wall unit amidst bookshelves and blue ceramics. A subdued Benita squeezed into the corner of the white oversized couch, elbow crooked, her head resting against her knuckles. In a few minutes an animated Fippy Weintraub, brimming with down-home charm, stood before a computerized backdrop of the eastern seaboard. Hes wearing the tie I gave him for our fourth anniversary, she said. Was that it? The tie? Or were we in for something else? I could feel my best friends tense anticipation as Fippy went through his report pretty much as usual. Then he got to the part where his hands moved in a swirling motion over a spiral formation in the Caribbean. As you can see, Hurricane Belinda is picking up steam over the tropics. Were keeping an eye on Benita as she makes her way toward the coast of Puerto Rico. Pardon me, I meant to say Hurricane Belinda. But every time I see that island it reminds me of my ex-wife, Benita

Morales. The love of my life. Benita, I want you back. Please, Benita, marry me again. After an embarrassingly long pause, Fippy continued with the wrap-up and five-day forecast. I hit the POWER button to turn off the TV. Tears trickled from Benitas eyes. I slid over and wrapped my arms around her. Its not every girl who gets a marriage proposal on the TV weather report. She sniffed. Hes trying to manipulate me. You know how I hate being pushed. Do you still love him? I reached for a box of tissues and set it on her lap. Of course I do, but I just dont trust him. She sobbed. Fippy hurt me so badly that I dont know if I ever will again. And dont give me one of your lectures about forgiveness. Or the sex habits of some wombat in Tanganyika. I know what kind of marriage I want. Sorry, Binnie. I know I get carried away with my theories. But who am I? The only guys I attract are pathetic rescue cases. Alan Grossman is hardly that. The jurys still out on the reasons for his supposed attraction to me. Mace is no rescue case. In fact, he gets off on being your hero. Get outta here. You heard what Jaleel said this afternoon. Eldridges heroics are a lifestyle. A bizarre habit hes cultivated over the years. More about him than about me. Yeah, but youre his favorite audience. My cell phone rang. It was Raffy calling to tell me Tim Donnelly had been in intensive care at St. Vincents Hospital since Monday night. Hed been beaten severely. Broken ribs, nose, jaw and arm. Internal bleeding. Yet he refused to tell the cops anything about how it happened or who did it. I tried to talk Raffy into taking off for a European tour immediately, but she just laughed and said she came from an Italian family that had been around Brooklyn a long time and that her Uncle Paulie had ways of fixing things. Part of me wished Curtis would threaten Raffy and come face-to-face with some of his own medicine, but something told me he was too smart for that. Another part of me wanted to go to her uncle for help, but then Id owe the Godfather. And I didnt feel like giving blowjobs to the entire male population of Bensonhurst. As soon as I told Benita, I dialed the phone number I got from Raffy and asked for Tim Donnelly. His first words to me were Dont come here. It didnt take a therapist to know he would be upset and might even blame me, but I wasnt prepared for such a weak and frightened voice from the cheeky, confident perfumer I had met at FWI. Im so sorry, Tim. He whispered into the phone, They wanted to know who it was you were meeting at the launch. They thought I was helping you sell that stupid tablet. I balked for like, two seconds, and this is what they did to me. Bastards. Its my fault Kyles dead. He broke into tears. What could I do? That big, ugly sicko was gonna kill me. I promise you, we are going to nail their butts for this. A sarcastic titter. What a joke. If they could do in a man like Kyle, were all dead meat. You, me, your pugilistic friend, maybe even Raffy. Whether you find that stupid tablet or not, your life is done, sweetie. And so is mine. Tim slammed down the phone.

Ready to roll. Benita checked her watch. I have zero hundred hours and thirty-six minutes. Or is it twenty-four hundred hours and thirty-six minutes? I know I got the minutes right. Will you skip the military crap and give me the time? Half past twelve, Miss Impatience. We said goodnight to Lana, hopped in the Camry and headed to Capricias, where we parked across the street from her house. We were going real time via the Teddy Cam and the micro wireless receiver that Benita held in her hand. Would the fruit basket that shed planted earlier in Capricias office bear fruit? What ripe and revealing scenes would pass before Teddys eyes, giving us the incriminating evidence we needed to step into Capricia? Doing our best not to receive a suspicious-car-parked-outside-my-house rating from the neighbors, we decided it best not to run the engine. Meaning no AC. So, the Camrys interior became a steam room. In dire need of oxygen, we opened the windows and were joined by several squadrons of the hungriest mosquitoes east of the Hudson. The ravenous little buggers zinged in and out of our ears and covered our arms and legs with bites. It made focusing our attention on the tiny two-and-a-half-inch screen all the more agonizing. I say more agonizing because staring at the image of a vacant room with its lights out for over an hour gave new meaning to the word torture. However, the Teddy Cam did pick up the lonely sound of a distant toilet flushing somewhere down the hall. By two a.m. things on Mars were still pretty dead. We decided it would be more productive to go back to my aunts house and view the DVD Benita had found in Capricias office. Trying not to awaken Lana, we crept quietly into her house and used the DVD player on the first floor. I curled up in one of the deep pink overstuffed chairs, grateful that Benita was manning the controls. She sat on the rug, slipped the disc labeled Meeting with Conrad S into the player and clicked the PLAY button. Now for the moment wed been waiting for. Capricia and Professor Schumacher talking strategies behind closed doors. With all due respect to my aunts opinion, I was not convinced of Capricias innocence. Especially after Raffy told us the professor had the mysterious tablet among the artifacts hed stolen from the university dig before Gwen made off with it. I wanted to close my eyes, shut it all out. Was I ready for this? Could I bear to hear them talk about murdering my cherished friend? I forced myself to watch. Whoa, Benita said. New release. The on-screen display told us the shoot took place only three days ago. An odd beginning. We could barely see anything due to a large, pale formation that seemed to blot out almost the entire screen. Was this a meeting or a total eclipse? There was a lot of fumbling around. A mans voice said, There, the camera is set. How about we get started? Suddenly the object began moving away. Oh no. Could it be? Did I recognize the hairy, sagging buttocks of a mans bare ass? There he stood, the leading authority on ancient elixirs, naked, with his beard, bald pate, potbelly and enough body hair to make a furrier yearn. Guess this was just one of the fringe benefits of sleuth work. Benitas face lit up. Its him, all right. Its Schumacher.

Next Capricia appeared on the screen, whip in hand. She wore black undies and garter belts. Youve been a very, very naughty little boy, Professor. I think you need a spanking. Get over here. Benita snorted. Some meeting. Do we really have to watch this? Youre the one who said shed be talking about Gwen in private. They might say something we could use to implicate them with the police. Cant argue. Benita made a face and turned back to the screen. Man, could he use to do some ab work. And he needs a penis enlargement pump in a hurry. Now, Benita, he might not be fully aroused. Give the man a chance. You give him a chance, she said. Youre the one who was flirting with him at the funeral. I was not. I was conducting research. Remember, Gwen dated the guy. Ugh. You think they got into this stuff? How should I know? Dont be so judgmental, Binnie. I shifted closer to the screen. Shhh. Theyre talking again. Capricia said, Bend over the bed. Now! The newly appointed wizard hired to revamp her dull persona, deficient sex appeal and failed movie career did as he was told. Capricia whacked Schumachers behind with her little black whip. Slaps and moans. Harder, the professor cried. Oooowaaah. Yes!! Ive been sooo bad. Another taste of Capricias whip. Who am I? Youre the nasty big mama, Schumacher said in a voice that sounded positively pathetic. Benita sat back on her heels. This dude has problems. Whats your take, Doc? The usual subservient masochism shit. Pretty mild compared to some Ive worked with. And not very creative. No wonder Capricia needs a good director. Arms pulled the professor out of the frame. A glimpse of entwined legs on the bed. Then a loud clump. Heavy breathing and moaning. I think theyre doing it on the floor. Benita snickered. Which one do you think is making that oinking sound? Hard to tell. Think we can fast-forward? What if they say something important? We took turns manning the show. I went to the bathroom and came back. Still going. Benita went to the kitchen for some apple juice. I fed Lanas goldfish. Benita did her yoga stretches. I yawned. Come on, already. Do you think Gwen gave him some of the perfume? Nope. Those scrawny ones always have stamina. They finally finished. Then came the murmurs from the bed. Up the volume, I said. So, Saturdays the big day, Capricia said, lying on her side, outstretched across the bed. Benita and I looked at each other. Our jaws dropped simultaneously. The professor propped himself against the beds head-board. Thats right. And? Im confident, he replied. The boys and I have it all under control. Were meeting up this Friday around seven thirty at our usual place. Talk strategy. At Seventh Ave and 126th Street? You really feel safe up there? You kidding? You should see the place. In fact, I think you should come and join us. Nah, Ill pass. You just want to show me off to those animals.

Gasp. Are you getting this, Binnie? Every word. Capricia laughed. Based on the way you look, I never would picture you as the type of man whod be into this sort of thing. Oh, youd be surprised at the sort of things Ive gotten into in my day. Just as I got up and grabbed a notepad and pen from Lanas bookshelf, the professor walked toward the camera and shut it off. Want me to run that part again? Benita asked. Nope. Ive got it down. It was 126th and Seventh. Friday at seven thirty. Great work, Bin, finding that in her office. Benita ejected the DVD. Except there was no mention of Gwen or anything about the murder. So, weve still got nothing concrete on record for the police. She stood up and stretched. Lets see what we pick up on her tomorrow with my cam receiver. And if we still havent got enough for the police by Friday, we have to make it to that meeting at 126th Street. Without the boys seeing us there. Meaning well have to resort to more high-tech measures. Such as? Youll see. It was 3:10 and we were both wiped. I tried not to think of what we would face on Saturday if all our efforts turned up nothing. As they had so far. Between my guilt over what happened to Tim and his grim predictions, I was duly rattled. We headed upstairs to the bedroom where Benita and I always slept when we visited Lana. At night the stars glistened through the row of skylight windows in the ceiling of the bedroom. Without the citys glare I had a real view of the heavens. To the east I could see a tiny, pulsating glow on the distant horizon. Montauk Lighthouse. The room was simply furnished with two single beds, a cherry wood wardrobe, a night table and a comfy rocker. The walls and dense pile carpet were white. Tranquil. And right now I needed all the tranquility I could get.

Chapter Twenty
Thursday. Day six. No rest for the hunter or the hunted. And right now we felt like both. Bright and early the next morning Benita and I were back on the case, dressed in comfy shorts and tees, sitting in our red Camry parked across the street from Capricias house. Id brought along a cherry yogurt and walnuts. Benita had her protein bars. Together we split a thermos of coffee. Such is breakfast when doing surveillance. After watching a day in the life of Capricias office furniture for a couple hours, we finally got some action. Unfortunately, it was only the housekeeper. Nothing like the endless drone of a vacuum cleaner. Benita set down the receiver in disgust. Is this the best Teddy could come up with? He is a stuffed animal, Binnie. Not to be confused with James Bond. She swigged down some coffee from the thermos. Guess weve got the whole day for Teddy Cam surveillance, since we arent going to the Circle of the Sacred Yoni retreat until dark. Should we bother going there, after what we heard on the DVD last night? Of course we should go. For one thing, were not certain its I am. Too many things line up with Capricia and Schumacher. But what do we have on Lady Viv? Raffys paranoia. Youre just biased because Raffy scored a takedown on you.

She caught me off guard. Look, I said. Lady Viv got extremely chummy with Gwen while she was developing the perfume. Add to the equation her compulsive need to possess rare goddess artifacts. That tends to get those little red lights flashing inside my head. As if an ancient tablet with the goddess Inannas special aphrodisiac perfume isnt something Lady Viv would go nuts for. Its small wonder shes been playing up to Raffy, picking Raffys brain on the subject of Gwens most cherished archeological finds. I shrugged. Plus, shes chubby and rich. And you know how upper-class people like horrible nicknames. Like Chub Dubs. Yeah, well, maybe, she begrudgingly agreed. You also have to go because I need you to get through the gate wearing the Yoni bracelet, so that I can sneak out of the car in the dark and into the garden. Youre actually going to try finding Gwens tablet in their garden? I think its worth a shot. I folded my arm across my chest. I mean, its only our lives that are on the line. And I really think its there. I have a distinct memory of Gwen talking about the garden she made for the retreat, saying she planted pink coralbells because the hummingbirds love them. I quoted her poem. Garden of bells amid beech and oak, my heart sleeps here. What else could that possibly mean? So, youre going to look for the coralbells and dig in that spot? Right. And since youve got to get me in there and wait for me, you might as well take the recorder in your bag and see what you can get on Lady Viv. Will do. Benita and I sat for three tedious hours in a parked car with a temperature humidity index mean enough to dehydrate SpongeBob. We didnt dare run the motor for the AC, and the open windows only let in more hot air. Time to break into our water supply. I went for the liter bottle of Evian in the backseat. We passed it back and forth. After all this coffee and now the water, I said, taking a drink, we wont last here much longer before we have to go find a bathroom. Maybe we should Suddenly Capricias voice came on, sounding far away. Judging by her words she was barking out the usual do this, do that crap to her housekeeper. Benita and I zeroed in on the little screen. We watched her walk into the room and step directly in front of the camera. Oh yeah. One more thing. Get rid of this chintzy piece of shit. Was she talking about our fruit basket? Next came a string of blurred images. Walls. Glimpses of furniture. And what looked like it might be the housekeepers arm. The Teddy Cam was in motion. That ungrateful bitch, Benita said. The picture bounced about twelve times. Teddys headed downstairs. Lots of white and green surfaces. Thats the kitchen. The sound of a door, dark shadows, feet scraping on cement. Topsy-turvy shots of walls, ceiling, a thunk, a loud clank and a black screen. Benita gritted her teeth. She threw Teddy in the garbage can! Dont get any ideas, I said. We are not going trash picking. Just consider that Teddy died in the line of duty.

Benita handed me the receiver, turned the ignition and burned rubber down the road. Some people got no respect. When we returned to Lanas house my aunt was out back doing nude yoga on the deck. Which meant shed finished her nude meditation, and would follow with some nude laps in the pool. Oh, for a swim. It must have been ninety-plus inside that car. The water was very inviting, and we felt like wed stepped out of a roaster. Great minds thinking alike, Benita trotted upstairs and returned in her cobalt blue bikini. Come on, sweetie. We need some serious chilling. Minutes later, I was climbing down the ladder to the deep end in my leopard-print string bikini. (Yes, leopard print; dont ask me why I ever bought it.) After the three of us splashed and floated and talked awhile, Lana and Binnie went inside for lunch. Tonights covert venture in the garden had my stomach queasy, so I sat in a lounge chair and made my daily check-up call to my mother. Amazingly, Mom had found something to cheer herself up for a change. In her search for a new stool softener, she discovered the joys of raisin bran cereal. She described it as being very effective. Considering my fears that shed be calling one of these days to say a seedy lumberjack was stalking her, this was great news. Last night I never got around to checking the voice mail on my business phone. No biggie. My clients all knew they could call my cell for an emergency. I punched in the numbers for my phone in DUMBO hoping Curtis hadnt left any happy little memos for me. Id actually gotten through a whole day without a call from him. The first message was from the little man with the big stompers, Walsh Plunkett. I expected hed try again. His encore came in last night at 7:15, not long after he hung up on me. Dr. Oz, please forgive my rude comment regarding my penis. Lets start anew. Why dont you and I get together tonight at my apartment? Ive got a lovely view of Central Park. Please call me. Youve got my number. I certainly do. At least he took the hint not to use the one I reserve for my clients. The second message came in at eleven p.m. Also from Walsh. Dr. Oz, please call me back. I do want an appointment. I need to talk with you. Now I felt bad. The poor man was crying out for help. He had no way of knowing I wasnt at home, and after that scolding I gave him about using my cell he had no way to reach me. Guilt city. I scrolled through my call history and returned his call immediately. Walsh Plunkett here. Mr. Plunkett, Im so sorry I wasnt there to get your message last night. Im out in East Hampton. If you I could come out and meet you there tonight. What? Oh geez. No, I cant do that. Something very important has come up, and I cant make myself available to meet with you or anyone until next week. However, I could do a phone session with you right this moment if its urgent. No, I dont think that will suffice. Ill just have to wait until your hands are free before scheduling an appointment. Good day. An odd little man. I went into the kitchen and nibbled on Lanas bean salad. Benita had gone upstairs to change. The doorbell rang. Will you get that, Saylor? my aunt said. Im heading to the den for a little siesta.

I scampered to the front door and opened it. Alan. What a pleasant surprise. And it was. His handsome face was smiling back at me on the other side of the screen door. Then I realized I was wearing very little, and he was getting a thorough look at my body. Those old munchkin fears surfaced. I fidgeted, trying to remember how the girl mags advise you to stand to make your thighs appear thinner. Can I come in? Oh, of course. I pushed open the screen door. I just had to see you. There are some things I need to say. He handed me a bouquet of multicolored gerbera daisies. Thank you. Theyre beautiful. Would you like some iced tea? He nodded and brushed a curl away from his eyes, looking adorably shy and sexy in his white tennis shorts, pale green collared polo and loafers. Too bad I couldnt fully enjoy it. Between my forty-eight-hour deadline and his possible connection with Capricia, this was not the time for an erosfilled afternoon. Alan followed me to the kitchen. I put the flowers in water, but before I poured the iced tea he touched my arm. Lets go grab some salt air. We stepped out the back door and ambled down a narrow boardwalk path to a pair of Lanas beach chairs that faced the ocean. We each took a seat and watched the distant surf for a moment. I wondered how much of yesterdays perfume-induced antics he remembered. Alan reached for my hand. I dont know what came over me last night. All I had was two drinks. But it was like this amazing dream. And seeing you now . . . its as if Im waking up from it, and there you are. Yup. Here I am. From princess back to frog. The way it is. Thanks to Gwen, I at least had a taste of what its like to be a Super Vixen. For a big forty minutes. He leaned back in his chair and gazed at me. Ill be candid. With all my years in the film business Ive had one tumultuous affair after the next with the most gorgeous women in the world. When I met you last Friday it seemed a refreshing change. Gee, thanks. He continued with a touch of strain in his voice. The spotlight has its shackles. Im tired of hearing egocentric actresses talk about themselves. With you Ive finally met a person who lets me do all the talking. Sounds oh-so-familiar. Save that model-turned-actress for those fun-filled Hollywood nights. Keep me on hand for heart-to-hearts over coffee the next day so we can discuss your love life. I mustered up a semi-smile. Saylor, I am so sick of dating women who are beautiful and charismatic. Ive reached a stage in my life where Id rather have comfy, cozy and cute. Why not get a gerbil? Alan threw his head back and laughed. Even your sense of humor is delightful. I just sat there behind my Mona Lisa gaze. What was going on here? If this speech was supposed to make me give him Gwens tablet, hed better find a new scriptwriter. He moved closer until his lips were within kissing distance. Seeing you at Capricias yesterday, sitting by the window, frankly, Id never been so aroused in my life. Lady, whatever it is youve got, if you could bottle it, youd make a fortune. Bottle it? Hmmm.

He relaxed back, grinning. Yeah, you could be worth billions. Little Saylors Love Tonic. Had Alan simply hit a nerve using an innocent clich? Or was he toying with me? Could he have figured out that I had the perfume Capricia was after? And now that hes seen how real it is and the money to be made from it, he wants to switch his alliance to me, cutting out Capricia and Schumacher? I didnt know what to think. My hair was flopping in the strong ocean breeze. He tucked a few strands behind my ear, then cupped the back of my neck, pulling me toward him. He leaned over and kissed me. It was a Hollywood Special. The kind of smacker one only acquires after years of practice in a very competitive sexual environment. Was this the residual effect of Gwens perfume? Have dinner at my place tonight, he whispered against my cheek. My live-in cook is the best. Do you like to make love in a Jacuzzi? I knew he was the Jacuzzi type. I cant see you tonight, Alan. He looked surprised and offended. Why are you playing hard to get with me? How much could I say? What was safe? Im sorry. Ive got plans with Benita. You cant share euphoria with Benita. But you can share it with me, Saylor. You and I could fly, baby. Was that it? Was I being played here so that Alan could satisfy his addiction problems with pleasure-enhancing drugs? Lana said he was a compulsive hedonist whod been in and out of rehab three times. Or was this Gwens perfume talking? Was he still under the influence of Heavens Daughter? Either way this was not safe territory. Alan noted my hesitation. Listen to me making a fool of myself. He reached out with his fingertips and stroked my cheek, his voice softening and downshifting into a solicitous croon. Then again, I cant help it. Woman, you really do have me under your spell. Dont leave me stranded like this. Say youll spend the night with me. This was getting uncomfortable. I stood up. Its just not possible, Alan. He stood facing me. You know, most women would run through fire for a chance to spend a night with me. Uh-oh. The most women thing. I agree. So, why are you chasing the not-so-perfect Saylor Oz? I just explained that to you. You have everything I want. Which just happens to include Gwens aphrodisiac that gives men prolonged and ecstatic orgasms. Oh, please. You really expect me to believe all this? Alans face took on a bewildered, almost hurt expression. Then he said, I guess therapists really are as screwed up as everybody else. He turned and walked up the path and around the side of the house to the driveway. I watched him go. Guess Id just lost my chance for an Academy Award. Not to mention a relationship with a sweet, sexy, rich, famous, handsome . . . Stop it, I told myself, or any moment Id find myself chasing after his car. In addition to the directions Raffy gave us to the Circle of the Sacred Yoni retreat, Benita and I printed out a map of the area. It was almost sunset now, and we sat in Lanas office looking up Lady Vivian Hatch-Oliver on Google. Most hits were society pages from newspapers, so the photos were partial and shadowy. But we got some idea of her looks as well as her background. Lady Viv was born with money and married even more. Her husbands family owned some bank overseas.

Benita went upstairs to dress and to set up the tape recorder in her Louis Vuitton bag. I borrowed a garden trowel from Lana and told her about my plans for tonight. When I got to our bedroom I saw Benita standing in front of the mirror in a pencil skirt, pink fifties-style eyeglasses and a wig with straight blond hair that fell to her shoulders. She saw my stunned expression and turned to me. Im going in under an assumed name. Incognito. Terrific. I live with Inspector Clouseau. Binnie, Im the one with a picture on my website. I doubt Lady Viv would recognize you. Curtis told you he knew who I was. Because Curtis and his boys are the ones watching us. I assume thats part of what theyre paid to do. Lady Vivif shes the onemight know your name, but I doubt shes ever seen you. You cant be certain of that. No. But I am certain the women at the retreat will think youre a puta. She gave me a p.o.d look and pulled off the wig. I needed to blend into the darkness, so I donned black capris, a charcoal and gray print halter top and my black high-heeled espadrilles. Okay, Benita said, now wearing a chartreuse cap-sleeve jersey dress. Well have to set a time at X hour when we return to the Camry again and drive off. How long do you need in the garden? Better question is, how do I recognize the tablet when I find it? Come on, Saylor. It doesnt take an archaeologist to see the difference between a clay shard covered in cuneiforms and an ordinary rock. Its not something you generally find in most gardens. Wait a sec. I rifled through my canvas carry bag that sat on the bed and pulled out the poem. Theres a line here in the poem that sounds like a possible clue from Gwen for identifying the tablet. Over her words, a crescent moon of lapis blue. Ill bet her words are the prayer to Inanna that Tim said was on the tablet. What do you think? Sounds plausible. And maybe a lapis lazuli stone is embedded into the clay. At eight thirty p.m. it was all systems go. We drove into the Northwest Woods toward the Circle of the Sacred Yoni retreat house. About a block from the retreats gate Benita stopped the car and said, Okay. Time for you to get inside the trunk. What? You know Im claustrophobic, Binnie. Why dont I curl up on the floor in the back beneath a blanket? Because, A: We dont have a blanket. And B: Even if we did, all we need is for one of those Yoni sisters to glance down at the backseat and notice something covered on the floor that is mysteriously in the shape of a body. She got out of the car and opened the trunk. Get in. You cant make me. Im wearing the Sacred Yoni bracelet, youre the one playing Ninja. Using my penlight flashlight so I wouldnt have a coffin attack, I climbed into the trunk and watched in horror as Benita slammed it shut. I heard the engine turn over, and we were moving. What if we had an accident? What if Benita fell unconscious and was taken to a hospital? Who would know I was locked inside? Would anyone hear me if I yelled? And what if I passed out? There wasnt a lot of air in here. The ambulance workers probably wouldnt bother checking in the

trunk. The car would be towed to some lot and left there. For days. Or, worse yet, put into one of those metal compacters and compressed into a cube. Oh no. I was hyperventilating. Good thing Id taken that course in treating panic attacks. Lets see, count backward, think good thoughts. Screw it. I started screaming, kicking and pounding on the trunks hood. Hellllp! Get me out of here! The car stopped. The trunk flew open. What is your problem? Benita snapped. Are we there yet? Twenty feet to go. Now lie there and shut up. My merciless roommate closed the lid. About thirty seconds later, the car stopped. Soon I heard women talking to Benita and the car began to roll. We were inside the retreat. When the car stopped, Benita opened the trunk a crack and tossed in my canvas carry bag, leaving the lid slightly ajar. I heard her feet crunching on the gravel of the parking lot. Shed be pretending to be a member of the Circle who was on vacation in the Hamptons. Lets hope shed get a chance to talk with Lady Vivian. I remained curled up in the dark, afraid to turn on my penlight until I knew if anyone was outside the car. When it seemed okay, I felt through the items in my canvas bag and pulled out the garden trowel Id borrowed from my aunt. Leaving the bag in the corner of the trunk, I took my little shovel and penlight in hand and quietly slipped out. I stepped onto the pebbled parking area, which had maybe eight or nine cars. For obvious reasons, my eyes had already adjusted to the blackness of the rural night. A massive old farmhouse with all its windows aglow stood a few hundred feet to my left. To my right was the street. Out here in the woodsy far corners, passing cars thinned down to practically nothing at this hour. Though July was peak vacation season, things couldnt get much quieter. I listened to the usual hum of crickets and cicadas, interrupted every so often by a strange shrill whistling. An owl, I guessed. Forest preserves bordered the nine-acre retreat. I looked around. Nobody else nearby. I did hear the squeaky, repetitive sound of a swing and faint voices coming from the backyard in the distance. Raffy had told me that Gwens garden was to the right side of the house, facing the highway. I tiptoed my way across the front yard with no major mishapsexcept for tripping over some football-sized rocks. When my hands hit the ground, I felt petals and earth instead of grass. I was in a garden, but which one? While searching the ground for the trowel and penlight Id dropped, I sniffed deeply, trying to identify what was planted here. It brought back memories of Gwen and the gardens she used to plant each year in her familys yard. Portrait of a young archaeobotanist. She taught me to appreciate flora. Even at sixteen she used to say fragrance was all about danger and sex. If a plant wasnt busy trying to repel a leafeating insect, it was seducing a pollinator. And, like women, plants didnt bother putting out too much if the pickings were poor. Which was why I could barely smell the snapdragons that got crushed under my knees when I fell. No lovers around for them at this hour. So Id have to depend on my tiny flashlight and the strong, sweet scents of moth-loving night bloomers like jasmine and the evening primrose that I knew Gwen had included in her flower patch. I picked up the trowel and got to my feet. My espadrilles didnt take to the uneven ground, but somehow the idea of bare feet and all the squooshy

bugs wandering about kept me in my sandals. The dark form of a willow tree with a smaller dogwood next to it loomed about ten yards away. Aha. Thank you, Raffy. She told me to look for a willow, and just beyond that the oak and beech trees that were hopefully the ones Gwen described in her poem. Inching my way carefully in that direction, I tried to recall anything Gwen might have said to me when she talked endlessly about this garden. Anything that might tell me where the tablet is. Dear Gwen. How many women do you know who can get that excited over lemon verbena, heliotrope and bearded iris? When I reached a giant classic oak, I scanned the area with my penlight and saw what looked like the coralbells. Aha. This must be the spot. Without the glare of city lights, the full, exhilarating brightness of the moon and stars dominated the sky. There was even a soft breeze. Sigh. What a sensuous night. And Id be spending it digging up worms in Gwens garden in hopes of avenging her death. With no time for waxing romantic, I set right to work. Squatting on my haunches, I first loosened up the soil below me with my trowel using rapid short, stabbing motions. Then I sifted through the dirt, probing for objects with my fingers before digging a little deeper. My game plan was to break things up into four-by-four squares. Very methodical. I couldnt help admiring the white blossoms of the moonflowers in front of me and promised myself not to do an Attila the Hun job on the garden. Time passed. So far Id uncovered nothing but rocks. Negativity began to seep in. Was this just another fruitless venture? I began to repeat the old line Quitting is not an option. Chop, chop. Sift, sift. Up and down. Side to side. My hands started to move faster and faster. Of course, the fact that I couldnt leave until Benita came out of the house, plus Curtiss graphic description of what hed do to me if I didnt find the tablet, did provide some inspiration. Not that I intended to give over the tablet to Curtis and Chub Dubs. But what exactly did Gwen want me to do with it? Chop, chop. Sift, sift. Up and down. Side to side. I was a human tablet-finding machine. Determined to succeed. Nothing could stop me now. In fact the more I kept going, the more empowered I felt. A sense of elatedness passed through me, giving way to an almost ecstatic high. Yes, there truly is something wonderful in working the land. A bright light swept across my face. Do you recognize her? a voice said. Nope. Identify yourself. I looked up and saw three women. One had a flashlight. They were not smiling. So much for my Henry David Thoreau moment. I was busted. Me? I, ah . . . Im planting some night lilies. One woman stepped forward. Show us your Yoni bracelet. Oh, right, I said. My bracelet. Well, actually thats what I was looking for when you came along. I thought you said you were planting night lilies. Exactly. And while I was planting them, I happened to drop my bracelet. Whats your name? Oh no. It might get back to Lady Viv if I told them. I wasnt what youd call a member of the club, anyway. Um, um, ah ... I think you better come with us.

We were headed straight for the parking lot. Which is your car? The woman with the flashlight sounded more like a cop. Totally humorless. Guess they didnt like trespassers. This is mine. I opened the door to the drivers seat of the Camry, hoping Benita had left the keys. Not so fast. She grabbed my arm. That car belongs to one of our members. I wonder who. The hand gripping my upper arm did not release. Instead, it turned me toward the street entrance, and the three women walked me to the gate. Get out and stay out! They locked the gate behind me.

Chapter Twenty-one
The house was a long way from the front gate. I considered yelling for Benita at the top of my lungs, but that was not an ideal move in a covert operation. My watch read 9:15. We set our time to meet at 11:00. That gave me almost two hours to sit here and feed the mosquitoes. Of course, Id left my cell phone in my bag, and my bag in the trunk. And the trowel in the garden. At least I still had my penlight so I could see a big two feet in front of me on this ridiculously dark street. Couldnt they spare a few more streetlights out here? Not to mention sidewalks. There had to be a way back inside the retreat. I plodded along, checking out the high, wrought iron fence, looking for some point where I could possibly scale it. A swatch of light caught the tree branches above me, followed by an obnoxious fingers-in-the-mouth hey you type of whistle. Two shadowy figures moved toward me. One of them had a flashlight. My turn to get mad. This time they were violating my civil liberties. Listen, I yelled. You dont own the damn street. So keep your freakin Yoni sisterhood mitts off me. They came closer. Thats when I realized they werent from the sisterhood. In fact, they werent anybodys sisters. They were men. And judging from the gun the tall rangy long-armed fellow was pointing at me, not very nice men. The one with the flashlight was a hefty dude with a shaved head. With a sinking feeling, I recognized him as the chauffeur of my Hummer tour. Lets have it, he said, flashing his light in my eyes. I gave a sort of spastic head shake. Have what? The tablet. So thats it. They thought I just found the tablet. And now that I supposedly had what they were looking for, they wanted to take it and be done with me. The bastards. Could it be Lady Viv heard about the odd newcomer in the garden? Did she alert her private hit squad to swoop in on me? Curtis wasnt on board this time. What was this? The East End division? I held my ground. I dont hand over anything to you until Saturday. That was the deal. Give it up, bitch. Now! The rangy one threw me down and stood over me with the gun aimed at my face. My innate hatred for bullies, and the fact that I was damn sick of these dickheads threatening to rip away my life, tripped off my rage. You want it? Here. Take it! I reached my hand toward my hip pocket, but I grabbed a small rock that I felt under my butt and hurled it over his shoulder. As they went for it, I sprang to my feet and tore ass down the road in a zigzag pattern. Every woman knows running zigzag is the best way to avoid a possible bullet.

From out of nowhere came a screech of tires and bright headlights. A pale-colored SUV roared down the street in my direction. I dove for the side of the road, scraping my shoulders against gravel and getting slimy dead leaf muck in my mouth. Ungraceful, but effective. I watched the SUV swerve and race straight for the two men, bouncing Mr. Long-lanky off its fender. It jammed on its breaks, backed up and zeroed in on the hefty guy, who went bolting for the woods across the street. I couldnt believe what I was seeing. The driver was as loony as my pursuers. It was too dim to be sure who was in the car, but the SUV looked an awful lot like the silver Pathfinder belonging to Eldridge Mace. A crack split the air. Gunfire. It came from my incapacitated assailant, who was lying not far from me on the asphalt, moaning in pain. The SUV pulled up next to me on the wrong side of the street. Not that there was any traffic in this spooky place. Get in. Fast. Eldridge looked down at me from the drivers seat. I was too busy being scared to be surprised. Rather than risk running around to the passenger side, I jerked open the back door and scrambled in. My knees slammed against the hard surface. The seats were all folded down and the back was filled with ropes and things, probably for his window-cleaning business. Let me guess. Jaleel told you where I was. Never mind. Just keep your head down, he said, then pulled a squealing U-ee that sent me and the window-washing equipment sliding across the back. We sped forward. My jaw dropped when I saw the bullet hole in the rear windshield. Two more shots rang out. Id once read a statistic about how few bullets actually hit their mark. Oh, please, lets hear it for statistics. Meanwhile, the fetal position never felt so good. I lay curled on my side, blinking back tears. My mind was riveted on the image of a hairy, tattooed arm extending toward me and a gun pointed right at my head. Had Gwen felt the same horrible fear the night she wrote the suicide poem? Had they forced her at gunpoint to drink herself into a stupor, before dumping her into the basin? Was that my future? We rounded corner after corner, heading who knew where. The AC in the car was a break after my itchy, buggy communion with nature in the garden. I studied the Mace-man in the dim light. His strong arms and hands, his firm grip on the steering wheel. I was relieved he couldnt see how shaken I was, or that my face was covered in slime and panic drool. Finally, Eldridge said, Its safe to come out now. Was it? I sat up cross-legged and brushed dirt off my pants with trembling hands. I owe you one, Eldridge. Fun way to get your heart rate up. He tossed his words over his shoulder into the backseat. His voice sounded calm, almost indifferent. Not a Catastrophizer. But definitely an Excitement Addict. Hungry? Want to go for a bite? Hungry? Hey, if theres one thing that gets my appetite up its being shot at. Was this guy strange or what? Um . . . Couldnt make the drive out here until late this afternoon. I havent had dinner yet. You think its safe? Maybe theyre following us. Along this dark maze of country roads? Forget it. Not with the lead I got on them. I saw how far away they parked their Jeep. Besides, ones probably gonna want to go to the ER at Southampton Hospital. How did you find us?

That was easy. Once I got to your aunts place, I just followed the red Camry. So, I guessed right. Jaleel is your informant. He let out a short laugh. Where do you want to eat? I checked my watch. Nine thirty-two. Binnie wouldnt be looking for me until at least eleven thirty. And knowing there might be people watching for me on both sides of the retreat gatepeople who did not have my best interests in mind trying to get back in there to finish my search would screw up everything. Appetite or no appetite, the idea of being swallowed up in a crowd of people in a public restaurant seemed comforting. And the idea of spending a little more time with Mace did have a certain appeal. You pick the place. He drove back to East Hampton village and parked in the lot of the Hearth Bar and Grill. I stepped out of the car on shaky legs. Dont worry, Eldridge said. Youre with me. Any problems, Ill take care of em. He held open the restaurant door. A hostess greeted us. I was glad when she said wed have a short wait for a table. It allowed me to make a beeline for the restroom. Having Eldridge rescue me and see me as a helpless female grated against my feminist pride. I knew how to take care of myself, dammit. I didnt go for the Me, Tarzan, you, Jane shit. However, it wasnt every day a woman had a loaded gun pointed at her face. I closed myself in a stall and sat on the throne blubbering out my fear and anger into a wad of cheap toilet tissue. My training in Gestalt therapy wouldve had me pounding and kicking the walls, but I decided it might interfere with my sex appeal if Eldridge saw them taking me away for sedation. I stepped out of the booth, washed the dirt off my arms and face, and caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. Boy, did I look like hell. Those lovely post-crying jag eyes. No makeup. And my hair was beyond hope. Oh well. Returning to the main room where two large barn ties held up the cathedral ceiling, I spotted Eldridge seated at a back table. A chiaroscuro portrait nestled in shadow and candle-light. Strong Mohawk features, full lips, and yes, eyes like diamonds. Id always liked the cozy feel of the redbrick walls and cedar posts in this restaurant. Perfect for romance. Couldnt help but wonder how the controlled and mysterious Mr. Mace would react to a dose of Gwens perfume. The small square table had four chairs. I took a seat across from Eldridge. Ordered an appetizer, he said, pouring me a glass of wine from a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon. Guess I looked like I needed it. In fact, I noticed him eyeing me strangely. Turn your head to the side for a second. I gave him my best profile. His hand caressed my hair. Wow. This guy moved in fast. Just as I began to get that tingly sensation, his fingers gently tugged on a few strands. Got it. He held up a dead grasshopper with a triumphant smile. Eeuw. I changed the subject. Poor Binnie. Shes still at the retreat and will freak if she cant find me. Can I borrow your cell? He slid it across the white linen tablecloth. She picked up on the first ring. Hola. Its me. A pause. The sound of walking. She spoke in a hushed voice. Im ready to blow this place. Meet me at the car in five minutes. Im not at the Yoni retreat. Whadaya mean youre not at the retreat? Where the hell are you?

Im out having dinner with Eldridge. I could almost hear her internal computer short-circuiting. Run that by me again. They caught me digging. Threw me out. Two guys tried to kill me. Along came Mace. Now were at the Hearth. Thank you, Doctor, for the concise synopsis. By the way, no sign of it. I figured. How about you? Viv went back to the city this afternoon. But I did get something real juicy on her. Tell you when you get home. She cleared her throat. You will be back later tonight, wont you? After what just happened, I need to chill in a bad way. I estimate six glasses of wine should do it. You didnt answer my question. I know. Pause. You arent wearing the stuff are you? No, dammit. Benita agreed to pick me up if and when I decided to split. Meanwhile, she was heading back to Lanas. Our waiter, a tan-faced surfer boy with windblown hair, placed a dish of clams casino on the table. Eldridge ordered grilled salmon with zucchini and fries. He seemed disappointed that I only wanted an arugula salad but was polite enough not to ask me if I was on a diet. When the waiter left, I said, Thanks again for what you just did, Eldridge. But I dont want you risking your life for me. Slightly ridiculous to say at this point. The gunshots tonight were way too real. Dont tell me you came all the way out here to play bodyguard for me? Im into winter fishing. Bullshit. He leaned in close. I told you before. Youre cute. I wanted to slug him and ram my tongue down his throat at the same time. Sorry about the bullet hole in your windshield. Ill cover the damages. I walked over to the bar, where I borrowed a pen to write both my cell and business numbers on a coaster. Clever way to give a guy your digits. Wreck his car and offer to pay for it. I could feel Eldridge watching me as I strolled back and handed it to him. He stuffed it in his T-shirt pocket. I knew this would happen if you messed around with bad company. Youre in over your head. You need me. Aside from his strong feelings about Gwen and her friendship with his late nephew, I now knew what was perhaps the most powerful reason behind his sudden pro bono protection services. I decided to bring up my conversation with Jaleel. Of course, Id leave out the part where Sub Z called Eldridge a Mohawk wild man. Jaleel told me about the terrible thing that happened to your mother. His eyes searched my face. I have a special loathing for men who abuse women. Want to talk about it? Dont play therapist with me. I dont need that. His controlled voice that was clearly holding back a volcano ready to erupt stopped me in my tracks. Okay, so it was a bad move. I wasnt used to a man who didnt want me to be his nursemaid caretaker. Understood.

He softened. His sexy smile returned. So tell me, got any idea who these guys are? Eldridge didnt know the meaning of the word quit. No wonder he was such a good boxer. I glanced around. We were sitting in a back corner, and the couple at the nearest table was busy cooing and whispering to each other. (Cant say I wasnt envious.) There was no point in my holding back on him after what he did tonight. And the truth was, the thought of divulging the story of our nightmare to this strong, intelligent man comforted me. I took a deep breath. Speaking in a near whisper, I started at the beginning with the ransacking of our apartment, the five men on Plymouth Street, the fanny pack, Detective Roach, Gwens poem, the search being made in her empty loft, the thief who influenced our pet mynah, the Hummer, the journal and the fact that Gwen passed the deadly baton on to me. When I described the slit-eyed hulk named Curtis, Eldridge stopped me. Bad set of teeth? Space between the front two? Thats right. Number thirteen tattooed on his forearm? My eyes widened. You know this man? His energy shifted. The playful seductiveness was gone. Curtis Bardarson, he said. Nickname: the Monster. Ex- drug dealer, ex-pimp, legbreaker for hire. Reputation for being one of the meanest bouncers in Brooklyn. Killed a man once while working the doors. Any convictions? Been up for manslaughter three times. Each time he got off, thanks to some slick lawyers. Dont ask me who paid their fees. Maybe the same person who hired this monster to kill Gwen, I said. A person Curtis lovingly refers to as Chub Dubs. That nickname strike any chords? Eldridge answered with a definitive no. Damn. I took a sip of wine. Anyway, this Bardarson dude said hed hurt Benita or members of my family if I went to the cops. Should I believe him? You have to ask me that after what I just told you? I shook my head, but hearing him acknowledge it brought a chill to my limbs. Plus, hes not working alone. Obviously. He knocked down the last two clams on his plate. When youre dealing with a bunch of jokers who are part of an operation, it wouldnt matter if the police picked him up or not. Somebody else fills in and makes good on the threat. Trouble is, I do have to go to the police at some point, I said. Its ultimately the only way out. But I need to come up with enough evidence within the next twenty-four hours to wake up the homicide division and hope they do something before its too late. So far Im not exactly batting a thousand. I considered going back to the remaining details of why Gwens ancient tablet was so valuable. Getting sidetracked on Curtis, I hadnt yet divulged the tale of the aphrodisiac perfume. But two things stopped me. First of all, Eldridge might think I was making it up, since I already had a quasi-fib-teller status with him. The second was pure Darwin. I possessed a powerful tool other women did not. Why should I reveal it to the one

man Id most like to use it on? Our dinner arrived. Good thing Id only ordered the salad. My hunger drive remained stuck in high-anxiety land. Eldridge, however, ate like there was no tomorrow. I tried to pretend there wasnt, since tomorrow was Friday, my last day before the Saturday meeting with Curtis. For now, I would just be in the moment, as Lana would say. I asked Eldridge how his window-washing business was doing and confessed that I was terrified of heights. He asked about my work and told me about an old tradition of tribal wise ones who taught the mysteries of sex. Like that night at Sunnys Bar in Red Hook, we moved easily from one subject to the next. We discovered we both loved Beethovens piano sonatas and watching Animal Planet. Eldridge was a great listener. Soooo unlike the men I usually dated. Including Alan. Sure, most men have a little trouble being receptive, but I seem to have a sign on my back that says Need to complain, brag, worry or spend the whole night telling your lifes story? Call Saylor at . . . You get the picture. We split a slice of carrot cake for dessert. To thank Eldridge, I insisted on paying the bill. Unfortunately, my wallet was in my canvas bag, which Id left in the Camry. Now thats class. Guy comes to my rescue and in return I stick him with the check. Eldridge picked it up in his usual save-the-day way. My guilt runneth over. You can pay me back tonight with a walk on the beach, he said. I knew Binnie would be waiting for me to get home and discuss new info and strategies, but while I tried to come up with a sweet way to say no, Eldridge leaned forward and gave me a kiss on the mouth that very effectively eliminated any opposition. Once outside, I nervously scanned the parking lot. Mace put a comforting arm around my back, guided me to the passenger seat of his SUV and took the wheel. Suddenly I felt like a nervous teenager on a date. You havent told me where youre staying, I said. Ive got this lawyer friend who lets me use his condo in Amagansett. A white-collar boxer I train at the gym. He only comes out here on weekends. We parked in the lot and sauntered through a corridor that led to a broad yard with a pool surrounded by a two-story U of apartments. Beyond that were the sand dunes with their spiny grasses bristling in the chilly breeze coming off the Atlantic. We followed a long wooden walk to the beach and pulled off our shoes. I dug my toes into the sand. Eldridge took my hand and guided me closer to the water. The surf was so loud, hed have to shout if he wanted me to hear anything he said. But, aside from the fact that wed talked so much at dinner, I had the feeling Eldridge was a person who liked to share quiet. It was one of the few things my mom and I did well together. Whenever it rained, wed sit by a window or on the porch and share the listening. We ambled down the beach and stopped to stare out into the dark waves. I shivered from the night air. He reached out, wrapped his arms around me and pulled me to his chest. Id just been thinking there couldnt be any smell more wonderful than the briny ocean, when I noticed that cinnamon, sweet grass, juniper scent on his skin. Eldridge not only looked and felt like nirvana, he also smelled like it. I didnt ask him about the

scent. I didnt want to break the spell, especially now that his lips were tracing the side of my face, moving slowly down to my mouth. His kiss started out tentative, and then became hungry, passionate, definitely heat-producing. As my hands explored his muscular back, I thought about an essay I was writing that examined whether visuals improved the sense of touch or if it was heightened when you couldnt see. Like now with his strong arms tightening around my waist, gripping me closer, his chest and thighs pressing against me. Ohmigod. Every part of the Mace-man was hard and firm. Every part. I hoped he carried condoms in his wallet, since my bag was in the Camrys trunk. Eldridge easily removed my flimsy halter top, tucked it into his jeans pocket and caressed my breast until the nipple hardened against his palm. Bending on one knee, he moved his tongue from my naked shoulder down to my boobs and then to my belly. Mmm. I threaded my fingers through his shaggy hair and held on. He looked up, grabbed the back of my neck and pressed my face down to his for a five-star smooch. I began sinking to my knees, but he stopped me and stood up. The ground is cold. You want to go inside? I balked, thinking of Taras perfect body and of that tightly stacked twenty-something girl who approached him at Sunnys Bar. I couldnt bear the possibility of encountering disappointment in his eyes when he saw me naked under the cold, harsh lights of his room. Yes, the sex therapist had a few issues of her own. Um, its so pretty out here. Eldridge took my hand. We passed a beach chair over there. You can see a beach chair out here in the dark? He just laughed softly. I knew he was a cat, but this was too much. He led me a few yards, and as he sat in a low cloth fold-up chair, he drew me in and cradled me on his lap. We kissed and cuddled for a few moments before the heavy breathing set in. Eldridges left hand slid under the elastic waistband of my capris and fooled around with my butt. He sent his other hand down the front of my pants, found just the right spot and worked his fingers until I was nearly over the edge. I yanked off his T-shirt and dragged my tongue from the gorgeous hollow at the base of his throat to the clean lines that defined his ripped torso. I wanted him so badly my hands shook as I unfastened the fly of his jeans and stroked him. He tugged at my capris and panties until they were off, then squirmed out of his jeans. Knowing something of the Mace-mans history, I was relieved when I saw him tearing open a tiny square condom package. Refusing him for lack of one mightve been next to impossible at this point. I straddled him, easing him into me. Eldridge let out a small moan, cupped my hips and pulled me hard against him. I breathed out an ecstatic sigh. With my arms around his shoulders, and his around my waist and hips, we rocked and panted, groping and kissing. I could hear the relentless rush of the ocean that seemed to urge us on. Even the wind grew stronger as our intensity built to a screaming pitch and exploded. Afterward, I slumped against the Mace-mans chest in post-coital bliss, wondering if he had controlled the timing of our perfectly unison climax, or if it had occurred naturally. Eldridge wrapped his arms around me, his forehead leaning against mine. I listened to the whispers of surf, dune grasses and ocean breeze, so contented in my spell that when a crack of lightning split the dark I thought it was the gods celebrating the orgasm he gave me after my three-month dick drought.

Come on, Eldridge said. Before the rain hits. He set me on my feet and we scrambled to get dressed. Wed just surpassed partial nudity status when another streak of lightning grabbed our attention. Thunder rolled and the sky opened up, drenching us. Laughing and jubilant, the two of us ran for the apartment, grabbing our shoes on the way. We crossed the lawn and clumped up a wooden slat stairway to the second-story walkway that was covered by a roof. Eldridge grinned at me and stroked his fingers along my wet cheek. Fucking on location sure has its benefits, he said, nuzzling his lips along my neck, but when it comes to classic lovemaking, theres nothing like a nice, comfy bed. I think we should make a test, I said, running my tongue around the outer edge of his ear. Definitely need more data. Visions of a gorgeous, naked Eldridge sprawled across the sheets danced in my head. I recalled what Jaleel told me that day at the gym: A woman never come back the same after a night with the Mace-man. He stopped at number 203, unlocked the door, and we stepped in. Hello, Ridge. A familiar, breathy singsong voice. Tara Buckley was curled up on the sofa in teeny-weeny ass-baring shorts and a D-cup lace bra. Miss Playboy Centerfold. Had Eldridge planned this? Was he into threesomes? How did you get in here? he asked, sounding a bit surprised. That nice super I met when we came here last month. Extending her legs, Tara was careful to point her feet to prettify the line of her luscious gams. I lurked near the door, praying Eldridge wouldnt look back at me just now. One guess whod win the compare-and-contrast contest. Id learned over and over that short and cute always loses out to tall and beautiful. Eldridge tilted his head. The super let you in? She flashed her perfect smile, which no doubt cost her a bundle. Uh-huh. He wouldnt want your fiance to be left waiting in the parking lot. His fiance? Suddenly I felt sick. And angry. How could I let myself walk into this again? I was back in high school. Another rendezvous with a sexy bad boy, cut short by the arrival of his cheerleader girlfriend. Eldridge flicked me a worried glance. Was their engagement something he didnt want me to know about? Something that would ruin his chances for spontaneous sex with the dingbat when the A-list lady wasnt around? I struggled to keep my face and body neutral, nonexpressive and perfectly still, fearing that my slightest move would reveal my rage, or worse yet, the tears I was fighting like mad to hold back. If only I had some of Gwens perfume to splash on. Then hed be the one who made a damn fool of himself over me. I ransacked my brain for a hideously cutting and superior insult to drop on Mr. Mace before I left, but couldnt think of any. So, I just turned for the door. Eldridge quickly blocked my way. While holding the door shut with his forceful hand, he looked at Tara and said, How did you know I was here? I went down to Gleasons and asked around. Maces brow creased as if her answer did not compute. Jaleels the only one who knew, and hed never tell you. No, but he told Miguel, and I had no problem getting it out of him, Tara said with self-satisfied glee. Mace dropped his hands to his sides and walked toward her, visibly strained. Please dont do this, Tara. I told you from the beginning that I have

no intentions of getting involved. But you just keep on crowding me and trying to control me. Trying to take over my fucking life. Crashing in on me at my apartment, or the gym, or when Im out trying to get something to eat. All thats bad enough. But this? This is going way too far. So. They werent engaged. Sounded like the fiance thing was just a trick Tara used on the super. And from what Eldridge just said, they werent exactly the hot-and-happy duo Id imagined. Knowing Tara, I was already aware of her obsessive control issues, but I couldnt help wondering if it were more than that. Did the former pro boxer possess a knockout power in the romantic arena as well? A power that left women at his mercy? I wasnt sure I wanted to find out. The door was free to open now, but I realized I didnt have my phone or a car. There was a phone on the coffee table. I lifted the receiver and punched in Benitas cell number. Eldridge touched my arm. Please dont leave. Looks like you guys have some unfinished business to take care of. He let out a sigh. Then let me drive you home. I shook my head. No, thats okay. It was after midnight, but luckily Benita was still awake. After my brief exchange with her, I hung up and slipped my wet feet into my espadrilles. Binniell be right over, I told him. Tara strolled to the refrigerator, opened it and said, You didnt buy any eggs, Ridge. Looks like well be going out for breakfast. Unless you want to spend the morning in bed. That might be more fun. She seemed oblivious to the things Eldridge said. Or maybe she saw my exit as a triumph. Actually, I felt kind of sorry for her. Or as sorry as you could feel for a domineering, competitive megalomaniac. I stepped outside onto the deck, pulling the door shut. I was halfway down the wooden stairway when I heard Eldridge behind me. Dont, I said, hurrying my steps. I couldnt stop picturing him going back to Tara, having a passionate quarrel and then screwing the hell out of her for the rest of the night. Id been telling myself that I only wanted a little sexy fun with the Mace-man, but the deep rage and hurt I felt only moments ago told me I was playing with fire. He caught up with me at the bottom of the stairs and grabbed my wrist. Im not letting you wait in that parking lot alone. Eldridge, I dont want a bodyguard. You did a great job rescuing my butt from those creeps tonight. Who knows if Id be alive right now if you hadnt been there. Ill never be able to thank you enough for that. But from here on Binnie and I can handle this on our own. Too bad. Youre stuck with me. That stubborn tone was back. No. I mean it. Youre fired. And please dont discuss what I told you with anyone. My eyes darted to the door on the second floor. What do you take me for? I answered with an indifferent shrug and hurried through the open yard to the entrance corridor. Eldridge walked next to me, his hand on the small of my back. It felt great, but I pulled away. The rain had slowed to a drizzle. I was already wet, so I strode forward into the parking lot that bordered the road. Eldridge followed and stood next to me, both of us engulfed by an awkward silence that had us fidgeting. Youre angry with me, he said. Because of Tara. But there was never any real love between us. We just dated for a few months.

Why are you telling me this? Its really none of my business. Thats not the point. I dont like you thinking Im a guy who uses women. I may not be ready to settle down, and I enjoy my freedom, but Im not a heel. Even if what you say is true, I said, brushing some rain-soaked hair from my eyes, whats in it for me? A fun spin around the block and then what? See ya later, pal? Hands on his hips, he looked down at the ground and shook his head. I cant answer that. Eldridge raised his gaze at me. Does your next lover have to be your future husband? Next lover? Thats an interesting concept. Headlights swept across the parking lot. Then came that familiar beeping. I was saved by the Camry. Eldridge held the car door for me. I extended a handshake. He instead leaned forward and planted a kiss on my mouth that would keep me awake most of the night. As if my life wasnt complicated enough.

Chapter Twenty-two
As soon as we drove off, I filled Benita in on the particulars of my misadventure, including Eldridges take on Curtis, aka the Monster. Waitll you hear what I came up with, Benita said, referring to her investigation at the Circle of the Sacred Yoni retreat house. First I casually introduced myself to several of the retreats members, being the talented actress that I am. Everybody I met there seemed pretty nice. That Yoni crowd isnt bad. I might consider becoming a member. You should see the inside of the house. Five stars all the way. I rolled my eyes. Is that your big news? The retreat gets a thumbs-up rating? Who were you going undercover for, anyway? Travel and Leisure? Excuse me, but you were supposed to be looking for the tablet, and instead you decided to go out to dinner. You know that is not how it happened. She raised an eyebrow. I see you ended up at the Mace-mans lair. I looked away. Why do screwed-up men have to be so damned sexually attractive? Hey, at least you didnt marry one, she said, hanging a left at the intersection. Fippy made another proposal to me on tonights weather report. The idiots going to lose his job if he keeps it up. Call him, Binnie. He deserves that much. She groaned. You call him. After an awkward pause where I didnt dare make any further suggestions, I returned to our most pressing issue. So, whats the story on Lady Vivian? No sign? She went back to the city. Well have to catch up with her at Raffys show. But I did get some juicy material. During a little chitchat around the coffee table I asked the sisters from the Circle how Lady Viv was doing, and one of the women mentioned her collection of art objects. You remember Raffy said she was obsessed with owning all kinds of artifacts related to goddesses. Now get this. According to two of the Yonis, Lady Viv is real excited because shes about to get a supremely rare artifact from a source she wouldnt reveal. Viv told one of the women she was really pushing the envelope to get it. The other woman implied it was some kind of illicit deal, something illegal, even dangerous. I tried getting more info,

but the only other thing they knew was when Viv expected to be getting this priceless object . . . This weekend. Whoa. Coincidence? I call it interesting timing. Pulling the car into the driveway, Benita switched off the engine and turned to me. Ive got more. Viv just acquired an antique Japanese figurine of Kwan Yin. They said it was eighteen inches high. Carved and painted wood. Sound familiar? That thief. It fit the exact description of a Kwan Yin statuette Gwen had given me years ago. And it was one of the things stolen by Curtis and company when they ransacked our last apartment. I want my Kwan Yin back! I said, stepping out of the car. Eager to pursue matters further, we hurried inside the house. Closing and locking the front door behind us, Benita said, And lets not forget that Lady Vivs appearance might inspire a name like Chub Dubs. If it werent for Schumacher, Id say that seals the deal. We made our way up the stairs. As we passed my aunts room, I peeked in. I was glad Lana was asleep. She had been my crying post since childhood, but I didnt relish telling her about my ducking live rounds out on some empty road in the Northwest Woods. Give the poor woman a break. I could tell she was worried about us. She hadnt smoked any weed all day. We went to our room, where I peeled off my wet clothes and fell exhausted onto my bed. Thanks to Gwen and her notorious perfume, Id been interrogated, forcefully evicted, chased and shot at this evening. Not to mention ending my involuntary celibacy with my voluntary Mohawk bodyguard. Benita changed into yellow plaid pajamas and sat quietly in the rocker. Her short hair stuck out in wisps. Guess we better allow for the possibility that it may not be your Kwan Yin figurine. Youre right. Id been so certain Kyle Drummond was our man, and thanks to my stupidity that poor soul was murdered. Bam! Benitas fist slammed against the rockers arm. Cut it out. Drummond was not a poor soul. He was a rich sleazeball who stuck his greedy nose into the path of Gwens killer. She walked to her bed, and the two of us lay on our backs gazing out the skylight windows at the dark and cloudy night. In my half sleep I heard her murmur, Youre not responsible for anything Gwens killer does. All you can do is prove who the hell it is. Sunlight came bursting through the skylights, painting everything in its brightness and making it hard to have any bad feelings about the world. Salt air and the faint rumble of the surf came through the open windows. I lay there listening to seagulls in the distance and songbirds right outside in Lanas garden. My body felt rested and my brain refreshed. I sat up. Nine a.m. Nothing like six solid hours of deep, uninterrupted sleepa rare commodity in the city. I looked over at Benitas bed and saw that it was made. Obviously shed gotten up and off to a head start. Last night Id taken a hot bath in a soothing remedy Inez had given me, and I could still smell the lemon and coconut. I scooted off the bed and shuffled to the bathroom adjoining our room. I wiped a damp washcloth over my face. Benita came through the door in her running pants. I just went for a jog on the beach. Tossed in a little shadowboxing, some push-ups, sit-ups. This is our last day, and, man, I am ready to kick ass.

Friday. One more day before the boys from Hummerland came to collect. So much for my peaceful morning. Benita stripped and skipped past me with her towel. She turned on the water and stepped into the shower. I found my cell in the heap of yesterdays clothes that Id thrown on the floor. I checked for messages. No clients. And no Eldridge. Too early. Hmm. What if I gave him the wrong cell number? Maybe he left a message at the loft. Best to check and see if any clients called on that phone, anyway. I punched in the digits, entered the code for my voice mail and waited. One message about a client referral from a doctor at Beth Israel Hospital. And . . . who else? Walsh Plunkett. Asking me out to dinner. Again. No mention of an appointment for therapy. I fluffed out my hair and smudged on some eyeliner and lipstick. The split lip Curtis gave me last week had pretty well healed. I flipped on a bright pink and green sundress. The colors lifted my spirits, and it would be comfortable for our long drive back to DUMBO today. Plus I looked pretty good in it. There was that slight chance Eldridge might appear out of the blue. He had a tendency to do that. I couldnt help dwelling on that last thing he asked me about: my next lover. But I also wondered what became of him and Tara last night. Did they kiss and make up? Were they still in bed, or maybe scrambling eggs side by side in that charming little kitchenette? Then again, he may have finally given her the boot. Kicked her out of his life, then driven himself to some lonely Montauk bar to have a beer and congratulate himself for once again successfully preserving his precious male freedom. Cut it out, Saylor, I told myself. Dont get your panties in a twist over this guy. Youve got far more important things to think about. Benita toweled off and hopped into a pair of jet black and hot yellow boxing shorts that looked about ten sizes too big. Where did those things come from? Used to be Jaleels. She pulled on a bright red tank. What say we get to the computer before breakfast? We headed downstairs to Lanas office. If Eldridges hunch about Curtis was right, then we now had a last name on the guy. We used Google to look up Curtis Bardarson, but aside from a chiropractor in Detroit, nothing of interest came up. I dont suppose many hit men have their own websites. Wed searched for Lady Vivian Hatch-Oliver yesterday, but today we entered words that got us a magazine article on her collection of goddess objects, as well as information on her home in Surrey outside London, plus a confirmation of the NYC address Raffy had written on a napkin for us the other night. I knew Lady Vivs address looked familiar, I said. Its the same high-rise where Candice Stoutz lives. Name sounds familiar. Refresh me. A longtime client of mine. Remember the woman who got into a little tiff with Walsh Plunkett at my Do-Me-Good party? Oh yeah. Her husband only wants blowjobs. Right. And Candice is the one who called my cell when the posse had us trapped in that lot last week. What Im thinking is that she might be a

way to get into Lady Vivs place. I tell the doorman Im there to see Candice. She tells him to let me in. After a brief I was just in the neighborhood hello I go to Vivs apartment instead of leaving the building. Fine. But how do you get through the door of Vivs apartment? Pretend Im a cleaning person? Benita shook her head. As rich as she is, she might have full-time live-in help. If not, you can bet the doorman calls her if one of the peons working for her is on their way up. Well, maybe well get all we need at Raffys art show tonight. I braced my forehead against my palm. Wait a sec. How can we go to Raffys show in DUMBO when were supposed to go to Manhattan to spy on that meeting Schumacher is having with his boys? No problem. Raffys art opening starts at five thirty. If we leave by six forty-five we can make it to 126th Street in time to catch Schumacher. Of course, if we get something on Lady Viv that tells us shes our man, well skip Schumacher and just head to the police with our evidence. And if shes a latecomer? Then Ill have to leave you there and handle the uptown expedition solo. I nodded. Sounds like a plan. Now, lets do breakfast. Lanas kitchen had red tiles, orange Formica counters and bright flowered curtains. We found a pot of hot coffee on the stove and a serving dish filled with smoked salmon, cream cheese and bagels on the table. We dug in. My aunt walked through the back door. Her hair was in two long braids. A knee-length batik sarong was tucked around her breasts. Her face and arms were covered in perspiration. Gardening? I asked. No. Ive been in my pottery studio. She poured herself some coffee and sat at the table. How did your gardening go last night? I said only, No tablet. Lana patted my hand. I thought that was a pretty formidable task. I glanced at Benita. Think we should go back and try again before we leave for the city? In broad daylight? Lana set down her coffee cup. So, what else happened? Benita saw me balk and jumped quickly into a rundown on Lady Viv and the possibility of the stolen Kwan Yin figurine. But how can you prove its Saylors? Lana asked. Is yours catalogued or registered? No. I slumped in my chair. My aunt sat forward. Did you include it as missing in your police report? Did it have any distinguishing marks? Theres tiny chip underneath the right elbow, Benita said. And, yes, we did put it in the report. I forked a piece of salmon and draped it over my bagel, feeling hopeful again. Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy rang out. Had to be Eldridge. My heart did one of those flutter things. Bad sign, Saylor. Caller ID told me it was Inez. Was I disappointed or relieved? Actually, I was worried. Hola, Inez. Are you all right? Yes, everything is fine here. But where is my daughter? Why is she not answering her phone? I know there is more danger than youre telling me. Dont worry, Inez, shes safe. The frustration grew in her voice. Ive been calling her since early this morning. I looked up at my friend. Your mamis been trying to get through to you. Benita shrugged. I turned off my phone.

Lana gave her a sympathetic smile. Sounds like youre afraid youll answer it if Fippy calls. Knowing Benitas feelings on the subject, Lana stood up. I have to check something baking in my kiln. She walked into the backyard and headed for her pottery studio. Benitas right here, I said to Inez. Ill put her on. Wait, florecita, first tell me . . . what did she do when she saw the headline and that terrible photo? Headline? I dont know wh Then she hasnt seen it yet. What? Todays Post. Theres a photo of Benita and Fippy on the cover. Oh no. Go get a copy. And call me back, florecita. I know my daughter wont. The New York Post lay there on the bed. Big, thick letters spelled out Lovesick Weatherman Wants Her Back. Below that was the photo taken of the happy couple at last years Metropolitan Museum fundraiser. Benita unfortunately was caught with her mouth wide open as usual. Not a flattering shot. Fippy, of course, had that well-rehearsed pose of a man whos on camera every night. The story was on Page Six with the rest of the celebrity gossip. It started out in bold lettering that read, The entire tristate area awaits her answer. Will Benita take him back? And if so, will he keeps his pants on this time? Oy vey. Id had no luck trying to calm her down. Youd need a sense of humor the size of Jay Lenos chin to absorb this kind of shock. Lana did the smartest thing and reminded her of that grinding noise in the Camrys engine. Benita had told my aunt she wanted to check it before we left. A perfect way for the doer side of my friend to shed some of her frustrations with a little hands-on work. I glanced out the window at the driveway below. All I could see was Binnies derriere and those awful shorts of Jaleels. The rest of her was underneath the steel panel hood. She was adept at fixing many things, but I gave her a C in auto mechanics. Lets hope we made it home. The time had come to head back to DUMBO. I hustled around the bedroom gathering my clothes, makeup and shoes and zipped them into my large floral travel bag. I wrapped the Tinkerbell jewelry box in my bathrobe and stuffed it in. Last night Id opened and sniffed all six bottles of Heavens Daughter once again. Sure enough, every one held the same fragrance. It was an odd perfume with notes of jasmine and bitter orange. Maybe also coriander. And some deep earthy scent Id never encountered. I carried my bag downstairs, prepared to greet the dragon. My feet crunched on the gravel drive. Benita stopped her grumbling and looked up at me. What a mess that silly ex of mine has created. She sounded better already. How could he do this to me? After six years of marriage, Fip shouldve known. If theres one thing I cant stand, its a bad picture of me. Your dress looked nice. Always emphasize the positives. Benita flipped me the bird. Do me a favor, sweetie. Start the engine. She tossed the keys to me. After putting my bag in the trunk, I climbed into the front seat and cranked her up. I dont think Fippy expected the papers to jump on it like this. Thats because hes an idiot. The media loves it when celebrities show their cracks.

I doubt Fip thinks of himself as a celebrity. Yeah, well, he sure got some mileage out of it when it came to his pinga. At least somebody loves you, I shouted over the engine. Mr. Mace doesnt even have the courtesy to call me after last night. I was hoping for some encouraging words, but instead she said, Told you from the get-go to steer clear of the Mace-man. He runs through women like dominoes. Well, theres still Walsh Plunkett. He called again. Maybe natures trying to tell me I should quit aiming for those passionate guys I fantasize about and learn to accept that Id be better off with men like, well . . . like Walsh. She rotated her hand, signaling me to turn off the ignition. What about Alan? Or do you think its the aftereffects of the perfume? Of course it is. In a little while itll all wear off. Then hell go searching elsewhere for that little puppy he never had as a kid. I hopped out of the car. We also cant rule out the possibility that Alan could be in league with Capricia. Pisses me off. All this could be stuff. I thought by now wed have something solid to hand over to Detective Roach. Benita wiped the grease off her hands with a rag and slammed the hood closed. Too bad theres no time to stop at Darryls on the way back. You might have been able to work the perfume on him. Make him talk. Gee, thanks for volunteering me. I cleared my throat. Um, Binnie, I promised your mami wed give her a call. She shook her head. Uh-uh. No way. Be-ni-ta. Im in no mood for one of Mamis lectures. Ooooh. She could be sooo stubborn. I reached inside the pocket of my sundress, pulled out my cell and punched in Inezs number. Benita knew instantly what I was up to and tried taking off. With one hand on my cell, I used the other to grab her by the waistband. Her humongo-sized shorts seemed to stretch half the distance of the driveway. Let go, she said, slapping at my hand. My hand tightened into a vise-grip. I knew my roommate was stronger than I, but I also knew she prized any of Jaleels boxing gear, so shed never want to tear the shorts. And, unlike Lana or me, Benita was too modest to disrobe here in my aunts driveway. Hello, Inez. Yes, shes seen it. Ill put her on. I pressed the button for speakerphone, held it near Benita and released my grip on her waistband. Why are you making a fool of your husband? Benita let go with some choice expressions making her position clear. Must you talk like those titeres on the street? When I came here from Puerto Rico I had nothing. We worked so hard for you to go to college and get a degree. Today you have a big job. We are so proud of you. Show some dignity when you speak. Now, when are you going to take my advice about Fippy? Hes a cheater, Mami. Fippy is a man. And men are all the same when it comes to sex. You think your papi Carlos never acted like a typical man? Let me tell you about Loretta Ramos. Not this story again.

Carlos did it with her twice a week for almost a year. I know this. The orishas and saints told me so. Loretta had the nerve to try and use her powers on me in hopes of stealing Carlos. That evil woman even took his underwear. He was missing two pairs one month. I should introduce her to Alan. Benita rolled her eyes. She was saving your papis sperm in a bottle. Using it to make a spell. So I started collecting it, too. After every time we did it. Mami, youre making me sick. I do not want to hear about your sex life. Inez only increased her resolve. I tell you, every man is weak when it comes to his pinga. Carlos is a good man, and so is Fippy. Okay, Mami. I hear you. I love you. Thank you for calling. Gotta go. Dios te bendiga, mi hijita. Now put Saylor on. I have something to tell her. Im here, Inez. I switched the phone off speaker and put it to my ear. Benita tossed me a weary smile and went into the house. Florecita, Ive consulted the orishas. I had a vision. A message came for you from Oshun. I nodded. Go ahead, Inez. Im listening. What was your vision? You are on a high cliff. You are trapped there by a woman. She is a big, round woman in a little girls dress. I think I know who that is. Sounded just like Raffys description of Lady Viv. There had to be a reason Inez picked up on her as opposed to the others. Help will come from the sky. Meaning what? Theyll fly me out by MedEvac? Gracias, Inez. Is everything okay around your place? No phone calls or strange guys lurking? Dont worry about us. You and Benita are the ones in trouble. You should both eat lots of lettuce, and each time ask Oshun to guide you. And no pumpkin pie. Oshun doesnt like anyone eating her sacred pumpkins. I will be praying for your safety. I signed off and walked toward the house wondering if Oshun the Santeria love goddess and Inanna the Mesopotamian love goddess were the same. Whatever the case, I decided to make a bowl of salad with lots of lettuce for Benita and myself before we headed back to the city. With less than twenty-four hours to prove Gwen was murdered and who did it, we needed all the help we could get.

Chapter Twenty-three
I swung the car up alongside the curb in front of the entrance to our apartment building. The two of us jumped out and grabbed our travel bags from the trunk. Benita placed hers next to mine on the sidewalk. Do me a favor. You take these. I need to go pick something up for that meeting tonight. Let me guess, I said, handing her the car keys. Its back to RadioShack. Nope, she said, making her way around the car. This calls for something a little more advanced. And what marvel of technology will it be this time? Youll see. Benita, I have a feeling youre getting off on this. She slid into the drivers seat. What can I say? I like spying on people. I watched the Camry take off before dragging my tired, aching body and two bags into the lobby. Let me help you. Caspian, our doorman-concierge, trotted over from the desk to greet me. By the way, he said, bending down for the bags,

your boyfriend was here to see you. Boyfriend? Thats right. Said hed be back in a couple minutes. Who would it be? Was Eldridge still following me? What about Alan? He did tend to show up wherever I was. Hmm. Or maybe . . . my thoughts flipped through the last few men Id dated in the past year. Did he give you his name? No, but he . . . oh, here he comes now. He nodded toward the door. Boyfriend? I dont think so. Curtis Bardarson made his way across the street. Sunglasses beneath an orange cap, mouth tightened in a short, angry line, chin jutting forward. In his denims and ribbed undershirt, Curtis plainly embodied the kind of man he wasalmost three hundred pounds of pure gruesome. He strode into the lobby, saw me and broke into that sicko grin. Howdy, he said, moving closer until he towered over me. I fought off the part of me that felt like withering into a wet Cheez Doodle at the sight of the man and barked out, What is it you want? The terse quality in my voice tickled him. Curtiss grin stretched wider across those wretched yellow teeth. We gotta do some talkin. Ill say. Now. He took me by the arm and pulled me toward the door. Caspian looked a bit concernedand confused about the right thing to do. He rested Benitas small suitcase and my carry bag down onto the floor and stepped forward, frowning up at Curtis. The Monster, a good foot and a half taller, stared down at him with the icy composure of a snake. Although the thought of going off alone with Curtis made my stomach do cartwheels, I quickly intervened with my best acting skills. Oh, by the way, this is my friend Curtis. Anything to save Caspian from a trip to the ER. Would you just put our bags behind the desk for now? Benitas out parking the car. Shouldnt be long. Please tell her I went for a walk and will be back real soon. Whatever you say. Caspian took a last suspicious glance at my so-called boyfriend and went back to his post with our belongings. Once we stepped out the door, Curtis said, Lets stroll along the park. Good. Because I sure as hell wasnt getting in any Hummer today. We walked toward the Brooklyn Bridge, passing the weather-beaten redbrick walls of the Empire Stores, a row of defunct coffee warehouses dating back to the Civil War. I always liked New York for being a city of diversity, a place where extreme opposites in ethnicities and cultures can coexist side by side. But the picture Curtis and I made wasnt exactly my cup of tea. The amazing seven-foot Monster and his pint-sized playmate. It must have looked like circus performers day off. You and I made a deal, and you broke it, I said. Dont ask me where my boldness came from, but after my near-death experience outside of the retreat house, I had a few sharp words for this man. Ive stuck to your damn rules. You owe me the same. Why was I chased and shot at last night? Guess youre a popular lady, he said. Wasnt me, sweetpussy. If I was shootin at ya, I wouldnt have missed. Maybe you werent there, but it was your boys. One of them was driving your Hummer on the day you picked me up. And they both had those ugly number tattoos on their forearms. This gave him pause. He mumbled to himself, Guess the boss is gettin impatient. Then he got quiet for a while. Maybe he was worried about

being passed over on the East Hampton caper. Or maybe he was just lost in some deep meditation on how to break a mans neck in under two seconds. My nerves were shot and his silence was starting to irk me. Plus the orange cap on his head that read NUKE EM didnt exactly conjure up happy images. My voice disintegrated to a whiney screech. Can we please cut the bullshit? What the hell do you want? Ive been through about all I can take. Curtis didnt even flinch. Now, be nice, or you wont get any ice cream. You be nice, or you wont get your tablet. You aint got that fuckin tablet. If thats what you think, then why not leave me the hell alone? Because my boss insists youll find it. But my bets on that you aint ever gonna have it. Curtis leered at me in a way that made my skin crawl. I didnt debate with him. I didnt want to hear him tell me again all those lovely things he intended to do to me. We chugged our way down along the river to a quaint ice cream shop on a side street. Yup, we went inside. There were a few tables and chairs in the small, cramped space. Curtis and I grabbed a spot in line. When we reached the counter, he ordered us each a large sundae. I went for peaches and cream. Curtis chose butter pecan. Behind the counter, a young guy with acne said, Thatll be fifteen. Yes, dollars. This is New York, babe. I waited for Curtis to pay him. Our little outing was his idea, not mine. I didnt even think I could make myself eat right now. He just stood there looking at me. Well? Lets go, he said. Give the man his money. I wanted to knee him in the groin. But, of course, I opened my purse and forked it over. Sundae in hand, I beat it out the door. If he wanted to talk to me, let him chase me down. Cheap sonofabitch. His big mitt of a hand was around my elbow in no time. This way. Crossing the street, we both noticed a police car sitting at the corner. I wanted to bolt for the car and tell them everything. Let him take his unbridled self-confidence and flush it down the toilet in some prison cell where he belongs. Hows your brother doing these days? Still up there in Provincetown? Point taken. His message put a knot in my stomach and sapped the fight right out of me. Did he have someone watching my brother, Steven? Course I aint surprised about his having a place down on Grove Street. West Village is queer heaven, right? He had me where he wanted me. Imprisoned by fear, intimidation and threats. I shot Curtis an evil look. We hiked up Columbia Heights to Vine Street, where he steered me into the Hillside Dog Park. Bordered by the Brooklyn-Queens Expressway on one side, the park was a triangular plot about the size of a small ball field covered in wood chips. A favorite playground for local canines. The noise from the expressway traffic hovered in the background. Two black Labs roughed it up while their owners chatted under a tree, and a collie chased a soccer ball up against the fence. Curtis finished his sundae and threw the paper dish on the ground. Ever hear of trash bins? I picked it up and tossed in into a nearby can. He released a loud belch. Attractive. Curtis sat down on a bench and patted the place next to him. Git over here. I obeyed like the other dogs.

Im gonna give you your instructions for tonight. Tonight? I bristled beneath my goose bumps. You said I had until Saturday. What do ya think Im talkin about? Saturday starts at midnight. Now listen up. Three a.m. At that time youll leave your place, make a right on Plymouth and keep walking. Well meet you under the bridge. No cops. No firearms. No bugs or tricks. No company of any kind. This was it. Showtime. The real deal. I repeated a silent promise to Gwen that Id make this cold-blooded scumbag pay. So, use your opportunity, dummy. Did Chub Dubs find a nice place for my Kwan Yin figurine? Tell me, home or office? What the fuck is a kwaan yan? And who gives a shit, anyway? Okay. Bottom of the ninth. Next pitch. Check his reaction. Get him to at least clue me in on the bosss gender. So, have you ever had sex with Chub Dubs? Curtis snatched my arm and shook me, his fingers bruising my skin. Simple rule. Dont ever get cute with me. He glared into my face. Ever. A feeble voice came from my left. Is everything all right, Dr. Oz? It was Mr. Fellows with Renoir. Awful timing. Curtis released my arm. I leaned forward and scratched Renoir on his fuzzy white head, trying to appear casual. Im fine, thanks. Curtis eyed Fellows. Yo, old man, did I invite you into this conversation? A very frightened Mr. Fellows backed up a few steps. Renoir yelped. Thats right. Get the fuck out. Me and my girl here need to talk. Curtis put his arm around me. I grabbed his hand and yanked it off me with all my might. I apologize for his rudeness, Mr. Fellows. And he is not my boyfriend. Sure I am, Curtis said, throwing his arm around my shoulders again with a look that almost dared me to do something about it. And if I had a gun at that very moment, I would have. Mr. Fellows took a hesitant step toward us. The fragile old man puffed out his chest and pointed his finger straight at Curtis. Whoever you are, you have no right to show a wonderful lady like Dr. Oz disrespect in public. Only in elevators. Dont worry about me, Mr. Fellows. Please, go walk Renoir. Please. Yeah, Curtis said. Go play with yourself. I was so afraid Curtis might knock the poor man senseless with one swat of his oversized arm that I just nodded with a weak smile. Fellows turned away, grumbled and walked to the other side of the park with Renoir by his side. Curtis repeated his instructions once more, and then sat there peering out through his shades. Im going now, I said. Three a.m. Under the bridge. Alone. I stood up, leaving my melting sundae on the bench next to him.

Chapter Twenty-four
I raced to keep up with my high-speed roommate, but DUMBOs lumpy cobblestone streets turned my habit of wearing four-inch heels into an Olympic event. Tonight I wore lime green MaryJanes with a green and blue striped dress, strapless with a short flared skirt. Benita dressed in a denim skirt and purplish madras blouse. I refused to let her wear her sneakers, although she insisted we might have to run or climb somewhere during our spy mission at Schumachers meeting. After a minor squabble, she compromised on ballerina flats. Yet another reason she was mad at me.

Benita always got mad when she was frightened. And finding that Id gone for a walk with my boyfriend, who happened to resemble a star from the WWE, sent her over the top. Her nerves were already on overload, between the rush to solve our case and Fippys latest antics. No more disappearing acts, she said. If we miss Lady Vivian, its your fault. Benita and I were late for Raffys opening at the Sappho Gallery on Washington Street. Named after the Greek poet, the gallery showcased lesbian artists from the New York area. Like I had a choice, I snapped. What was I supposed to do? Tell Bardarson, Sorry, but Im late for an opening? Oh, Im sure he would have understood. Stopped in her tracks, Benita gazed down at the sidewalk, her words coming slowly this time. Youre right. Forgive me. Im on overload, same as you. And frankly, Ive just about had it. And while I may act like Im getting off on all this detective stuff, deep down Im scared as hell. I just hate to admit it. I know, sweetie. We gave each other a hug and a kiss. As far as the art opening, I said, I bet Lady Viv isnt even there yet. Have you switched on your recorder? Ill do that as soon as we go in the door. Shed hidden it in her Louis Vuitton bag, as usual. Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy went off inside my striped cloth purse, which hung to my hip from a long shoulder strap. I fished it out. Dr. Oz. Walsh Plunkett here. Excuse me for calling you on your cell, but you didnt answer the message I left at the other number. Im very sorry, Walsh. Ive been busy. And once again youve caught me at a bad time. Of course. I understand. Perhaps we could . . . Im racing to get to an opening for this artist I know. Opening? Where? Here in DUMBO at the Sappho Gallery on Washington Street. Why dont you come see her work? You might find it interesting. Thats very kind of you to invite me. Maybe following the show we could I have to rush out with my roommate afterward, but itll be nice to see you. I said good-bye and turned to Benita with a shrug. I heard, she said. Something about that Plunkett guy bothers me. Gotta watch out for little people with big feet. Like Napoleon. Theyll walk all over you. Really, Bin. As if you have any idea how big Napoleons feet were. I just feel sorry for him and was being polite. He seems lonely. I doubt hell actually make it to the show. She nodded. Hey, Fippy just wheedled out of me where Id be this afternoon. Lets hope he doesnt pull a cameo. You talked to Fippy? Yeah, I broke down and gave him a call. Wanted him to stop proposing to me during his nightly weather spot. That fool is going to lose his job. Besides, people are more interested in hearing about the next break in the stinking humidity. Apparently not, Binnie. A green looping neon sign in the shape of the letter S hung above Sapphos door. From the street we could hear rock music and see clusters of people through the gallerys full-length windows. They were milling about, wine in hand, yapping that artsy yap people do at openings. We made our

way inside the industrial-sized space. Its walls were painted the standard art gallery white. The old wood floor had been sanded and urethaned. Spotlights suspended from a track system overhead threw a wash of light over Raffys freestanding sculptures. Three muscular women in leotards circled the floor on unicycles passing out tiny cheese wheels from a basket. Ti-Jean, the Haitian artist I used to date, until he decided he was gay, blew me a kiss from across the floor. I smiled and waved back. Is that dude with the beer gut his new boyfriend? Benita asked. Yup. And Id been so worried about my pudge when Ti-Jean was making that cast of my belly button. Benita stared up at a ten-foot sculpture of Raffys. Another one of her signature works composed of living plants peeking through nooks and crannies of mangled automobile hoods and doors. Raffy spent her time prowling Brooklyns auto graveyards in search of just the right pieces. Her aesthetics were based on a somewhat morbid premise. Gwen once quoted her as saying, The worse the accident, the choicer the cuts. Stuffs gotta weigh a ton, Benita said, putting her hand on the metal surface of what was once the hood of an old Cadillac. I surveyed the scene. There was no one resembling the description of Lady Vivian. And no sign of Eldridge. My heart sank. Maybe he decided hanging out at the beach with Tara was more fun than dodging bullets for me. But I had no time to think about Mr. Mace. Tonight Id be face-to-face with Gwens killers for a final meet-up. That thought shot adrenaline through my veins. Should I give in and call the police? Ask them to put the bust on Curtis? Would they? So far all I had to nail him on was a sexual harassment complaint. And try making that stick. Who do I have as witnesses? Gump-Gone-Bad and the rest of those Boy Scouts from the Hummer? As to the DVD evidence Benita and I had on Capricia and the professor, it proved nothing. Then add in the big what-ifslike Curtis getting released on bail, or all charges dropped thanks to his lawyer, or his posse moving in on my familyand there was no way out of this thing. We had no choice but to follow this to the end. I just hoped it would be the end of Gwens killer and not of us. The crowd was the standard New York mix of ages, colors, incomes and styles. Manhattan corporate chic, rockers with multiple piercings, a Park Avenue blue hair, a Latina woman in a trucker cap with a tattoo of a leopard above her butt. I recognized the tall African-American supermodel Ninuah in a yellow beaded mini and dreads down to her butt. She was chatting it up with hiphop entrepreneur Swoop E. Tine, who had just recently moved his recording company to DUMBO. A couple female lovebirds in buzz cuts and janitor suits hung with a world-renowned painter wearing his trademark gold silk pajamas and carpet slippers. I couldnt remember his name. Then there was the artists next of kin. A small contingent of Raffys Italian family. We walked over to Raffy, who was decked out in a tux. She was talking with three older women whose Chanel suits, Gucci handbags and Park Avenue inflections told me they were collectors. But when she saw us approach, Raffy said, Excuse for me a minute. She pointed with her chin to a quiet corner, and we followed her. Great turnout for a one-woman show, I said.

Benita handed her the yoni bracelet. Thanks for your help. The artist smiled. Howd it go? Not here, Benita said. Tell ya later. Hows Tim doing? Still laid up. But the doctors say hell be out in a couple weeks. Any sign of the deranged bully boys lurking around you? I asked. Raffy slumped against the wall, hands in pockets. Nope. And I aint worried. Im shacked up over in Bensonhurst at my aunts. She runs a nail salon. Plus my uncle ordered a couple, uh, cousins to hang around me for the time being. Two guys in dark glasses and heavy on the gold jewelry hovered in a corner drinking wine. The pair looked out of place for an art opening. Still, the possibility that there were a couple of goodfellas here to keep an eye by way of her Uncle Paulie felt pretty good right now. No sign of the Lady Viv, Benita said. Has she been here yet? Trust me, Raffy said. Youll know when she arrives. But check this out. Your fans are working the liquor table. She pointed to a far end of the gallery next to a wall piece made from the grill of an ill-fated Mack Truck. In their Harley Davidson tees, the two bouncers from the Jewel were passing out the drinks. Uh-oh. Gotta go, Raffy said. Im getting the wave from my dealer. Theres someone she wants me to meet. As she left she turned to Benita. Notice I didnt say a word about that unfortunate picture of you in the Post. She patted her on the shoulder. Give me points for being a nice guy. Benita growled under her breath. We ambled to the liquor table and were greeted by the two women. They pounded fists with Benita and asked what we were drinking. Just seltzer today. Benita looked at me and added, For both of us. You dont have to be so parental, I murmured. We are on duty. Im not the one who stayed out and partied last night. Suddenly, the longest, pinkest limousine I had ever seen appeared outside the window. Benitas jaw dropped. That is the longest, pinkest limo I have ever seen. No argument there. It pulled up in front of the gallery and stopped. The driver hopped out, quickly went to the passenger side and opened the door. A voice in the gallery said, Shes here. People hurried to stand by the window. We elbowed our way in for a better view. At first, all that was visible were small feet in pink rubber flip-flops dangling over the edge of the back seat. Check the footwear. I thought shed at least be in a pair of Jimmy Choos. Next came the rotund figure of a woman with chin-length brown hair with red highlights. She wore a dress that looked appropriate for a little girls birthday party. Pink, with a mid-thigh hemline and short, puffy sleeves. Even her pink handbag looked like a party favor. Lady Vivian Hatch-Oliver had arrived. Dah-lings and double air-kisses all round. Two photographers from out of nowhere began snapping her picture. Listening to the chatter, I managed to hear that Lady Vivs husband was out on his yacht. A twenty-something boy in paint-smattered jeans and a black sports jacket over a naked chest accompanied her. He was an up-and-coming American artist. And was not her main toy-boy. That role was designated to a Columbian sculptor. Hmmm.

Benita nudged my arm. Somebody else is here. Good day, ladies. Mr. Plunkett stood as if he were at attention. Black-framed glasses on his expressionless face. Same ill-fitting business suit and, speaking of footwear, red loafers the color and size of Mars. Walsh. I see you made it. The three of us toured the gallery floor together, paying our respects to Raffys work. We pondered over a piece entitled Up Yours, Right Wing Fascist Asshole. There was a shiny Texas license plate covered with drips of rich red paint mounted on raw auto graveyard scraps in the shape of an oil well. At the top was a mangled hood ornament that formed a hand giving the finger. Benita and I both agreed it would look great in our living room but would be too heavy to move when it came time to vacuum. Walshs only comment about the work was, Not very ladylike. We went on to the next, a romantic little ditty in steel and flowers called simply Fuck You. Benita crossed her arms, tilting her head. This ones got more lyricism than Go to Hell, Bitch or You Suck. Okay, so maybe Raffy could use a little anger management. Saylor. My roommates tone changed. Here it is. At the far end of the gallery, set aside from the bulk of the shows work, was the joint creation Raffy and Gwen had made together. It was clearly a piece from a mellower period. A statement in flowers, auto parts and floral scents. The Bliss of Inanna. When I stepped closer, I recognized the smell of Heavens Daughter. But wait. It wasnt on a woman, so it couldnt have any effect. And fortunately no liquid perfume appeared to be used in the work itself. The scent was coming from oilcloths that must have been sprayed or dipped in the perfume, then wound tightly around vines to form a kind of rope that curved through the metal structure. Walsh noticed my reaction. Is something wrong? The collaborator on this one was a close friend of mine. Was? he asked. Please, I cant talk about it, I said. A tap on my shoulder. Shes right behind us, Benita whispered in my ear. Time to make our move. Pardon me, Walsh, but I have to speak to Lady Vivian Hatch-Oliver about something. He gave me a gentlemanly bow. Benita and I eased our way into the fringes of her little entourage. I smiled at her. Surprised to see us, Lady Viv? Do I know you? She spoke with an upper-class British accent. I moved in closer. Maybe this will refresh you memory. Want to buy a Kwan Yin figurine? Kwan Yin? Vivian grinned. I just bought one. Bought? Or stole? Benita asked. She raised an eyebrow. Call it what you please. I just like to make sure I have more of whatever it is I want than anyone else. She laughed, and her American toy-boy artist and two other sycophants joined in. My fellow sleuth popped the big question. I heard youre an obsessive collector. Does that mean if someone refused to sell you something you wanted badly, youd kill them to get it? A coy shrug from the Lady. Probably. More laughter from all. Even someone like Gwendolyn Applebee? I asked.

Fingers to her lips. Poor Gwen. We all miss her so. Her face went to instant downcast. Fake as a three-dollar bill. Taking her own life. What a sad waste. Maybe she was murdered, I said. Lady Vivian froze. Her impish smile tightened into a frown. Had we poked the hornets nest a bit too hard? Wasnt that our goal? Her hand reached out and touched my arm. Such morbidity. Such cynicism. I couldnt read her response. So, I went for broke. Thats because we were her best friends. Dont you recognize us? This is Benita Morales. And Im Saylor Oz. Sudden recognition. Dr. Oz? I was ready for her to hiss out some threatening reminder, telling us that our time was almost up and that she was through playing games. Youre the one who gave a little talk at Honey Websters Cuddle Night. I knew Id seen this woman somewhere before. But that night she was a brunette. The toy-boy cast an admiring look at me and cooed, I remember you now. Your theories on touching and hugging were so profound. Why dont you party with us some night? Id love to sleep between a little round person and a big round person. Viv, obviously bored with the conversation, raised her chin and waddled away, ducklings following behind. Grrrr. Hit me where it hurts. I checked my reflection in a side-view mirror on one of Raffys pieces. Benita shook her head. What are you doing? Tell me, Binnie. Am I . . . round? How about you first tell me what the hell a Cuddle Night is? Never mind that. Am I round? Chill, sweetie. The toy-boy meant it as a compliment. But you do have a nice round butt and big round eyes. Now tell me about Cuddle Night. Its an adult pajama party. Not for sex. Just touching and holding. Very therapeutic. Riiight. Benita scrunched up her face. Guys with stiffies farting in their sleep. Sign me up. Uh-oh, we forgot something. The nickname! Benita turned and shouted, Hey, Chub Dubs! Sure enough, Lady Viv wheeled around to see where the call came from. Unfortunately, so did about 90 percent of the people in the gallery. Well done, Bin. Sensitive. Skillful. Very professional detective work. A white limousine stopped outside the gallery. Its handsome VIP occupant with designer glasses and a sweet turned-up nose didnt waste time waiting for the driver to do his thing with the door. Fippy Weintraub hopped out of the backseat and bounded into the gallery. The weatherman cometh, I said. Benita groaned. Is there a back door to this place? Fip looked great in a blue seersucker blazer. The poor guy had barely made it through the door when the two photographers hawked in on him as if they were out to win the shot-of-the-day award. Fippy blocked his face with his hands. No more pics. You guys got me in enough trouble already. Someone yelled, Has Benita said yes? Out came that TV personality laugh. No comment. Fip pretended to be checking out the work while making his way in our direction. Benita gave him her back. Hi, Saylor, he said with a pleading smile. My heart was breaking for the man. I opened my arms. Just about everyone in the gallery watched as

we shared a big hug. I tapped my roommates shoulder. Binnie. He stepped toward her. Theres my girl. She turned halfway. He gave her a kiss on the cheek and took her hand. All I heard was their whispering. Some muffled words from Fippy about his being sorry and how he had no idea. Benita nodding her head one moment, shaking it side to side the next. Just as things seemed to be on the mend, a photographer emerged from behind a sculpture, zooming in on them and snapping off several flashes. Get out of my face! Benita said. New Yorks most adorable weatherman lunged for the camera. Unfortunately, it would have to be one of the three photographers in the world who could defend himself. In what appeared to be a judo move, the man with the cam threw Fippy onto the seat of his pants. Making matters worse, the other photographer captured Fips embarrassing fall from grace. Benita swooped in. Another scuffle ensued as she and the second photographer wrestled for his camera. Knowing better than to get in her way, I just hollered at the photographers to leave my friends alone. Big help. Fip wobbled to his feet. Before he could do anything, Raffys two cousins from Bensonhurst pushed their way through the crowd that now surrounded us. Good. Order would be restored. Not quite. Raffy intercepted them. Yo, Frankie. Mikey. Hold up. The girls 14 and 0. She can handle them. Thanks, Raffy. The photographer made the dreadful mistake of shoving Ms. Morales, which led to the instant rearrangement of his nose. Mikey turned to Frankie. Bet ya fifty on the chick. I heard Lady Viv giggling next to me. I just love to see people getting real. People like Curtis Bardarson? No doubt he could get very real. I wondered if Lady Viv got her kicks sitting in the back of her limo and watching with delight as her chief strong-arm worked somebody over for her amusement. Benita added a few extra blows to the snapshot jockeys cranium. Down he went. Our heads all turned in the direction of a shouting match near the gallerys entrance. The two bouncers from the Jewel stood by the door blocking Mr. Judo Photographers path. You dykes think your tough? he said. Get the hell outta my way. He tried to push through them and was shouldered backward. He tumbled straight into Lady Vivian. As she fell toward me, visions of being crushed underneath a couple hundred pounds of British livestock spurred my reflexes. I jumped out of her path. Vivs entourage rushed to maneuver her back up onto her feet. When I looked away, I noticed the Ladys pink purse on the floor near the wall. Guess it flew out of her hand. In a stroke of brilliance, I took advantage of the confusion and hurried to the bag. I glanced around to make sure no one was watching, scooped it up and headed for the restroom. As I locked the door behind methis was a closet turned into a unisex single toilet bathroomI felt I was re-entering that old hall of shame. What would Mom say? My daughter the purse-snatcher. At sixteen I once lifted a bottle of tanning cream from the local Rite Aid. I had to. My allowance

was gone, there was this cute guy who sat next to me in my Monday morning French class, it was February and I looked hideously pale. On my way out of the drug store I gave the cashier one of those dumb thats right, Im guilty, please apprehend me looks. Which of course he did. But thered be no apologies or feelings of guilt this time. If Lady Viv was behind Gwens death, then I wasnt quitting till the fat lady sang . . . to the police. With nervous fingers I rifled through the brick-sized purse as fast as I could and pulled out a set of keys. Looked like house keys. Viv came here in a limo. These had to be the ones to her apartment. Was I nuts? Maybe. But I was also desperate. Lets see. Id tell the doorman I was going to visit my client Candice Stoutz, who lived on the twenty-fifth floor. That would get me in. If Candice was home. Didnt I hear Lady Viv say her hubby was still out to sea? Excellent. But she probably had an alarm system. More likely she had a live-in maid. Meaning the alarm wouldnt be on. Good. Id just have to find a way to deal with the maid once I got in. A knock on the door. Oh no. Just a second, please. I stuffed the remaining things back into the purse and hid it under my arm. Another knock. Hold on, already. I opened the door. It was Walsh Plunkett. Dr. Oz. Please, excuse me. I gestured to the commode. Its all yours. Enjoy. His brow furled. I have to be honest. This crowd makes me a bit uncomfortable. Your artist friend is a lesbian. And your roommate, that Spanish girl. She likes to fight, doesnt she? I shrugged. Not exactly the Debutante Ball. It certainly isnt, he said. Plunkett went inside and slammed the door. Wow. Somebody was born with a pin up his butt. I lowered the pink handbag to the floor and used my foot to nudge it beneath what was clearly Raffys most ambitious piece in the show. A twelve-foot creation entitled Yo, Dickhead.

Chapter Twenty-five
During the walk home Benita displayed a triumphant bounce in her step. While you were in the restroom you missed the finisher. I paid Mr. Judo back for what he did to Fippy. I just cant take you anywhere these days, Bin. My friends from the Jewel helped me stop him from getting away with the film. No more embarrassing pictures of me in the news. We rounded the bend, hoofing it down the short block of Main Street. Benita had come out of the fray at the gallery without a scratch, but my therapists ear picked up a disturbance beneath her plucky exterior. So, did you and Fip resolve anything? She stared out at the Manhattan Bridge Overpass. I had to tell him we couldnt get it together tonight. Or tomorrow. He kept begging me, asking for a reason. But what was I supposed to say? Im in a last-minute race to bag a killer? So, he gives me some bullshit about a woman whos wetting her pants to spend the night with him. Then he turns and walks away. Im sorry I dragged you into this, I said. It wasnt you. It was Gwen. And no matter how hard I try, I have a load of anger at her for the whole mess.

I understand that. But remember, all Gwen did was use her brilliance to create something no one else could. Its not her fault. She didnt know shed be murdered for it. Or that a little note to herself in her private journal would hurl us into this nightmare race. And its up to me to set this whole thing straight. In fact, I can handle things on my own if you want to see Fip tonight. Why do you always have to be so forgiving? Youd make a terrible boxer. Although it did take some balls to steal Vivs keys. The red Camry was parked across from our loft. Benita clicked her remote, unlocked the car doors and turned to me. My spy gears already in the car. You need to run inside for anything before we head uptown? Guess that meant she was still in this with me. Ready to go, I said, hopping into the passengers side. Benita started the engine and slid in a CD of Olga Taon. Wed set our plan as soon as we left the gallery. Benitas assignment was to record Schumachers meeting with the boys using her latest listening device. A shotgun mini-mic, handheld and capable of picking up conversations from a good distance. Andto be on the safe sideshed finally get to wear her blond wig. I would go solo to Lady Vivs place, gaining access to her building through my longtime client Candice Stoutz, who lived just six floors below. Luckily things had fallen into place on that detail. Id called Candice from the gallery to say Id be in her neighborhood. She insisted I stop by, as I hoped she would. I even had a feather tickler and silk bondage ties to give her. I make it a point to always carry a few Do-Me-Good trinkets in my bag. Little giveaways to brighten someones day. Please be careful, Bin. Youre going headfirst into the lions den. What about you? she said. Are you sure youll be okay going to that Brits place alone? Sure. I mainly have to see about the Kwan Yin figurine. If its mine, therell be no question that Lady Viv was behind the robbery of our apartment in Williamsburg. And if she claims she bought it from somebody, well insist she prove it by leading us to the person who sold it to her. Lets go over what else youre going to do there. Again? Really, Binnie, you can be so parental sometimes. Lot of good . . . She was on a roll. Check the messages and numbers on all phones. You have the flash drive I gave you? Do you remember how to find the port for copying her computer files? Of course. Will you stop assuming Im a total klutz? Benita pointed to a gym bag on the floor. Theres a box of disposable latex gloves in that. Take a pair and use them. Oh great. Now Ill feel like Im hunting for a case of hemorrhoids instead of criminal evidence. I pulled out the box, took two gloves and stuffed it back in with her other supplies. Unfortunately, I noticed that those other supplies included her cousin Felixs gun. Binnie . . . Get real, Saylor. Were talking about Schumacher meeting with Curtis and his men, and you want me to go there unarmed? I guess youre right. From the Brooklyn Bridge we took the FDR Drive. Traffic wasnt too bad. The cars digital clock read 7:02, and daylight was starting to fade. My eyes wandered off to the side-view mirror. Uh-oh. Are we being followed? Benita checked her rearview. I dont see any Hummer. No. I mean a silver Pathfinder. About five cars back.

Who can see five cars back? She flicked me a quick glance. Yeah, I know. You think every silver SUV is the Mace-man. You have lost it, girl. Gone loca on that clown. Okay, Binnie. Enough. Was it Eldridge? Had he tried to reach me? I checked my cell for any message that might have come in during the fray in the gallery. Hope springs eternal. When I saw none, I slumped back against the seat. We took the Sixty-first Street exit and shot up First Avenue. Next stop, Eighty-sixth. I saw the classic brownish gray 1940s high-rise. Here we are, I said. Benita pulled over. I jumped out and went straight for the double glass doors of the entrance. The doorman connected me to Candice right away. Keeping my focus, I trotted through the carpeted lobby and into the elevator. So far, so good. I was in. After a friendly but fast cup of coffee with Candice and her blowjob-obsessed husband, Harry, I said good-bye and headed for Lady Vivs. I reached into my purse for the ring of keys Id stolen. It wasnt too hard to pick out the elevator key that would give me access to the thirty-first floor. On the way up I rehearsed my strategy. First, I would make up a name. Hello, Im Serena Dennis, a friend of Lady Vivs. Here for the weekend. Just flew in from the coast. I stepped out to a hallway with cream-colored walls and a beige carpet. A half-moon table against the wall held a vase of gladiolas and spider mums. Pink. Nervous acids shot into my stomach. Should I knock first? No. The lobby doorman would have called if a visitor arrived. Dammit. Id have to lay on some additional bull . . . I decided not to bother you since Viv gave me a key. With jittery hands, I tried a key that looked like the best candidate. Didnt fit. Tried another. Nope. Four more to go. Take it easy. Keep cool. Im Serena Dennis, I murmured to myself. Here for the weekend. Serena Dennis. I moved on to the next key, plagued by thoughts of a coded burglar alarm with one of those earsplitting sirens. And by a picture of myself hightailing it for the stairwell while an angry maid called security. Suddenly the door opened. A tall man in a white dress shirt, rock glass in hand, stared down at me. Can I help you? Um, uh, Im Sorona Donut. I mean, Doona. Or uh, make that Serula Dula. Yes, I um, just came out of the uh . . . Nuthouse. Wishing there were a faster way to disappear, I backed off slowly. Well, um, sorry I, uh, bothered you, Mr., I mean Lord, um, Hatch-Oliver. Oh, I get it. He shook his head, disgusted. Youre another one of Lady Vivians cohorts. Well, I have news. The silly woman lives on the other side of the hall. He slammed his door shut. Im calm. Im calm. Knees like Jell-O, I took some deep breaths and approached the door across the hall. Good thing there were only two apartments on this floor. Remember, the name is Dennis. Serena Dennis. I cant believe I even botched my stupid alias. The lock turned over on my first try. Holding my breath, I slipped through the door and into an entry foyer. I was surprised to find lights on and the alarm panel on the wall set for disarm. Somebody was home. Viv? a man called from a room up ahead. Is that you, Viv? I froze, certain I was on the verge of a heart attack. Low mumbling in the room. Two people? Gasp.

Faint sound of feet. Move, idiot. Think fast. I ripped off my shoes and scurried into a closet on my left. Viv? Viv? He couldnt have been more than three feet from where I hid behind a row of cashmere and fur coats. I didnt move a hair. I could swear I heard someone come in. He had a Spanish accent. Vivs Columbian artist toyboy? Vee cannot let her find us like dis. A womans voice with a Czech or maybe Swedish accent. Super. When Lady Viv returned, would these two end up hiding next to me in the closet? Sounds must have come from next door, he said. I heard him walk away. After waiting a few minutes, I carefully peeked out of the closet. Coast clear. Go. But where? At the end of the hall I saw a half-open door. From behind it came the unmistakable sound of two people screwing like maniacs. Good. Theyre occupied. My penlight flashlight was now somewhere in the mulch of East Hamptons Northwest Woods, and in my haste Id forgotten to bring along another. But it appeared it I wouldnt be needing it anyway. Tsk. Annoys me the way some people waste energy. Lighting up a whole apartment when all it takes is one room to have sex in. The brightly lit living room sat directly across the foyer. I inched my way there with the utmost delicacy. Oriental rugs on dark wood floors. A Le Corbusier chaise and a purple leather sofa. A wall-sized painting that I recognized as a Jasper Johns. The tables and bookshelves were covered in sculptures, odd lamps and curious objects. The compulsive collector. Uh-oh. Judging by the building crescendo coming from the lovers room down the hall, it was orgasm time. The professional in me couldnt help noticing the womans deep, expressive grunting. So healthy. Something I try to teach my students repeatedly. Many women shout from the top of their throats or make all kinds of high-pitched squeals when having sex. Cant say that isnt fun, but for a fuller orgasm I recommend vocalizing from down low in the stomach. A kind of deep umph, a nice carnal grunt. Kudos to the woman in the bedroom, whoever you are. Except their climax could mean people getting up, walking around, having a drink, a smoke, a shower. Please, guys, go for a twofer. Keeping my ears open, I scanned the bookshelves built into the wall and found one that had several figurative pieces on the upper shelves, which unfortunately were in shadow. I grabbed a leather hassock and stood on it for a closer look. Yes. They were statues of goddesses from India, China, Africa, Greece and some I couldnt identify. If I could just find my Kwan Yin and get the hell out of here. Hmm, nothing resembling mine. Except for maybe . . . On the very top shelf at the end of a line of what looked like Parian Aphrodites I spotted something with possibilities. If only I werent so damn short. I had to reach it somehow. Going way, way up on my tippie toes, I stretched with all my might. The figurine was only a few inches from my grasp. You can do it, I told myself. Just a smidge more. No dice. Id have to climb on the bookshelf to get to it. Lifting my knee, I slipped my bare foot onto an opening in between some glassware. Now to transfer the other foot next to it. Careful. Slowly. There. Both feet were anchored. My fingers had wrapped tightly around the figurine when I realized something. It was too dark up here to check for the chip mine had in the elbow. I had to get down.

Okay. Gripping the object with one hand and the bookshelf with the other, I turned my head in order to see the hassock. Oh no. Vertigo. I felt as if I could just tip backward into space. Dont panic. Breathe. Closing my eyes, I fished around with my big toe until I felt the leather surface. All I needed was to make the shift. Here goes. First the right foot. Perfect. Now the . . . Oops. My bare heel slid off the hassock. I hit the floor with a calump. The figurine fell out of my hands, striking the carpet with a thud. Oh no. I held still, crouched on the floor, and listened. All I heard were the welcome sounds of the happy humpers going for their encore. Whew. Not far from me I saw the figurine . . . the head, that is. I crawled around until I located the other pieces and sat on the rug examining them. Oriental. But not wood. Not even a Kwan Yin. And certainly not mine. But the figurine looked old, rare and pricey. Before it was ruined. By me. I stuffed all the pieces underneath the sofa cushionsa trick Id devised while working for a housecleaning service during college. At least this time they couldnt fire me when it was found. Only arrest me for breaking and entering. Toss in a count of vandalism. I crept out of the living room, paused briefly and heard only low talking from the hot and sexy corner room. Turned down a long hallway. No one in the kitchen. There was a room to my right. I slipped into it and left the door open a crack so I could hear anyone who might approach. The room was dark, but I doubted the lovers would notice one more light. I found a wall switch and flicked it on. In front of me was a Victorian kneehole desk. No computer. Two French chairs and a love seat in varied shades of green. A wall of shelves filled with collectibles. And chotchkas of all sizes everywhere. My excitement mounted when I saw near the windows, on a marble table, a row of Kwan Yin statues. I zoomed in. Twelve of them stood in a line. Four were about twice the size of mine. Rule them out. I took a better look at the others. No doubt one had to be her latest acquisition. Three were carved and painted wood. But the colors werent right. And none had that tiny chip underneath the right elbow like mine. I collapsed into a chair. An unpleasant feeling in my gut told me Id come all this way for nothing. But what about Inezs vision of a chubby woman in a little girls dress? Why would Inez pick up on the danger of Lady Viv if she wasnt the guilty one? I checked my watch8:31. I got ahold of myself. With only six and a half hours left before my three a.m. deadline, this was no time to fold. I strode to the desk. It was bare except for three sandalwood figurines from India, a Chinese vase and a phone. I began scrolling through her caller ID, but something wasnt working right. Maybe I pressed the wrong command. This phone was kind of weird, so I pushed a couple of other buttons. What did all these flashing lights mean? And why wasnt it scrolling? I was startled by a long series of beeps. Oh great. Quickly, I yanked out the power cords, disconnecting the phone. Loud, angry voices. Had they heard the sounds of my techno nightmare? I held my breath and listened. Lady Viv was home. Had someone tipped her off that I was here? Had we been followed after all? Hard to tell. So far the ones on the hot seat were the two birds mating in season. And wouldnt you know, Anya was the live-in housekeeper. Nice of Jorge to keep her busy for me. I tiptoed to the door and peeked out. Viv stood in the hallway outside of the corner room. She was shrieking at a naked coffee-brown hunk with a

goatee. Too bad he was clutching a pillow that blocked the full view. I couldnt see the other woman, but I heard her sobbing and apologizing in broken English. Now if they would just move their quarrel into the bedroom, I could sneak past and get out of here. The apartment was L-shaped, and they were just outside the door to the corner room. So, this scene from Days of our Lives was taking place between me and the front door. Maybe there was a service entrance in the kitchen. But Id have to cross the hall. Impossible. They were standing in the hallway just one door away from my room. Listening to their dialogue was difficult for me. All three could do with some communication skills. They were going about this sticky situation entirely the wrong way. Hard for me not to intervene with some couples counseling. As it stood now, Anya the maid was getting fired. In return she called Lady Vivian a bitch. Hmm. Maybe shed say something useful for me. Something revealing. Yah, I vill get my zings and leave, yelled the maid. When I say so, you little hoochie! Get out of my vay, you big vat vale. Through my doors narrow opening, I saw Lady Viv grab hold of Anyas arm. The maid tried to muscle her off. Oh geez. The two of them began wrestling their way down the hall toward my room. I closed the door quietly and backed away. Next came the sound of their bodies bouncing off the hallway walls. And Jorge in the background muttering in Spanish. The noise grew louder as the action came closer. Boom! They landed against my door. I crawled inside the kneehole of the desk and huddled with my legs bunched to my chest, praying the action wouldnt spill into the office. My hearted pounded. No, Viv. Please, Jorge said. Is all my fault. I was lonely for you. But you go out all the time. You have so many friends. I am by myself. But I asked you to come with me, Viv said. I do not like this girl-man who makes things with cars. You should not buy her work. How dare he pick on Raffy. I wanted to throttle him. I poked my head out of my hiding place and checked out the door. Still closed, but instead of the hall light showing underneath, I saw a pink ruffle. Lady Viv had parked her rump directly against it. Great. Lets go sit in the living room and straighten this all out, Jorge said. Yesss. Im tired, Viv whined. Im staying right here. Nooo. After some murmurs that sounded like making up, Viv said something about Mot, giving me hope that they would move. No such luck. In a few moments I heard the pop of a cork, followed by giggles and chattering. From all three. Marvelous. They were camping out in the hall for a champagne party. I had my cell ringer set on vibrate and felt it go off inside my cloth purse. Sliding back down into the kneehole hiding place, I went for my phone. Binnie? Yeah, its me. She sounded bummed. Whats wrong? I asked, keeping my voice just above a whisper. Dont tell me you missed the meeting?

No, I was at the meeting all right. Listened in on Schumacher and the boys. Shotgun mini-mic worked like a charm. Did you record anything we can use? I listened but I didnt bother to record. Not unless you want to hear about Barry, who thinks the thumb holes on his balls are too loose and that its affecting his release. What? Then there was Jeff. He complained about not being able to carry the corners. Or was he not leading enough with his chest? Make sense, please. Fine, she said. The big rendezvous turned out to be a bunch of guys from a bowling team. And guess whos captain of that team? Conrad Schumacher. They met in the lounge at the Uptown Lanes. Theres a tournament Saturday. Obviously not the Hummer crew. Not one of them resembled any of those who chased us down on Plymouth Street last week. And all they talked about was bowling, the wife, kids. Clean as a whistle. Then either Schumachers not the one, or he likes to bowl when hes not selling stolen goods or getting someone murdered. You find your Kwan Yin? Or any sort of evidence we can use on Viv? No. Were losing every round. Maybe my Darryl theory is right. We gotta talk. Be there in fifteen. Corner of Eighty-sixth Street? Um, Im kind of in a squeeze, I whispered. Right now Im hiding inside Lady Vivs desk and cant get out. Tell me. Which drawer are you in? The one labeled dingbats? Thats not funny. Im crouched inside the slot where you put the chair. Vivian and her maid are sitting outside the door, making amends after fighting over dick rights to her toy-boy. Hes there, too. Keep cool. Ill get over there as soon as I can, Benita said. Dont ask me what you can possibly do. I might have to wait until they go to sleep. And hope they dont set the alarm. Saylor, how do you always manage to get yourself into these predicaments? As if I can help it. You know, Binnie, sometimes you are sorely lacking in the empathy department. Yeah, but I got great legs. Im on my way. She hung up. Simmering in frustration, I cursed the gods for my lousy karma. Why couldnt the grand Lady be living somewhere else? A loft in Tribeca, or a town house on the West Side. Those buildings had fire escapes right outside the windows, unlike these Manhattan high-rises that relied on fire stairs. Benitas disappointing news about Schumachers meeting increased the likelihood that I was in the home of the woman who masterminded Gwens murder. I rose to my feet and returned to the Victorian desk to see what I could find. I quietly opened the center drawer. Nothing there. Pulled out another drawer. Nada. There were four on each side of the desk, and every one was empty. Literally. Next I went through two mahogany file cabinets near the wall. Took my time checking every shelf, drawer and closet. Zero. Sure, it made sense that most of Lady Vivs business might be kept somewhere else. Her main home was in London, and she probably had someone there who

managed her affairs. But I thought there might at least be some personal letters or receipts or photos. Uh-uh. This was a toy office put together by some decorator. In fact, I had a feeling this whole apartment and everything in it, including the people, were Lady Vivs playthings. Was the tablet a rare toy she simply had to own? And Gwens murder another fun game? I crept to the office door once more and listened to see if anything was changing on the other side in the hall. My watch read 8:52 and the champagne was still flowing. Why, oh Universe? Of all the dumb places for them to chill in this grand, luxurious apartment. Shall we do it? The three of us? Lady Viv said. Ready to bolt as soon as they moved to the bedroom, I reached into my purse for her keys so I could unlock the elevator fast and get away before anyone saw me. The latex gloves were still in my bag. Oh well. A little late to worry about my fingerprints. Jorge, fetch the camcorder. Where is it, Viv? You were the one who put it away after we used it last week. Does everybody have the same need to validate their sexual experience through exhibitionism and voyeurism by way of the camera? This condition is obviously not only compulsive, but rampant in our society. Not that I havent experimented to some degree in this area. Okay, I admit to having made a sex video with Hugh, an aspiring filmmaker from Hoboken. Then there was Jason, my ex-supervisor from the clinic. And Ken . . . Right. I left it in your office, Jorge said. On the marble table. Office? Marble table? My pulse rate soared. I spotted the camcorder sitting right next to the Kwan Yins. I dove for cover behind the love seat. No, Anya said. I vill not do sex tape. Thatta girl, Anya. Save me. Benita was probably parked outside waiting for me by now. Oh, come on, dah-ling. Every day theres another celebrity doing it on the Net. Now its time for me, Lady Vivian Hatch-Oliver. Ill show the world how its really done. Have a little more bubbly, and itll be fun. Oh shit. I saw the doorknob begin to turn when Anya said, No. You sit, Jorge. Ve have vun more glass of boobly. Zen I decide. Maybe I will do your fuck-fuck movie. While Lady Viv goaded Anya, my eyes frantically searched the room for an exit or a real hiding place. The closets were filled with statues, boxes of china and glassware, and shelves of vases and small ceramic sculptures. I had nowhere to go. My cell phone vibrated. I snatched it out of my bag. Benita? Guess again.

Chapter Twenty-six
Hi, Eldridge. Now he gets around to calling me. Some timing. Keeping my voice down, I said, I cant talk. You sort of caught me in the middle of something. Gotta go. He laughed. You aint going nowhere. How obnoxious. Thats for me to decide. By the way, I like that striped dress youre in. Shows off your sexy shoulders. I almost dropped the phone. What are you, psychic? Nope. Just observant.

I heard a tapping on the office window and turned my head. Talk about spooky. A lone figure floated in the foreground, the skyline at dusk behind him. The drop-man was dangling in his little swing, grinning, cell phone to his ear. Just what I needed for my already ultra-humbled state. My voice thinned. What are you doing here? And dont say youre cleaning the windows. No, I did them already a couple weeks back. This buildings a regular client of mine. He shoved his cell into his pocket and motioned for me to open the window. Closing my phone, I rushed over, but made the mistake of glancing down at the tiny little cars and tiny little people. Ohmigosh. I began to hyperventilate and instinctively held on to the sill. Get ahold of yourself, girl. It wasnt very polite to leave a guy hanging outside the window thirty-one flights above the ground when he was there to help. Trying to pretend I wasnt miles from earth, I stared into the glass in front of my nose, which no doubt made me look cross-eyed, and opened the first pane, then the second. They were double windows. I listened to see if there was any reaction to this in the hallway. Laughter and chatter came from outside the office door. Safe for now. When I turned back to Eldridge, he was still in the same place, legs spread-eagle across the window frame, his knees bent almost to his chest. He seemed about as relaxed as a man in his favorite easy chair as he was hovering out there in the Manhattan sky. Well? I whispered. Arent you coming in? Eldridge shifted his feet to the ledge and squatted in the open window. This is as far as I need to go. Oh no. Wake up, Saylor, thats why hes here. My legs nearly gave out at the thought. You dont mean were going thataway? I gestured to the window. That cheeky grin again. You do mean . . . I wanted to throw a tantrum but tried to sound in control. Forget it. Absolutely not. I already have a plan. Ill wait here until they go to sleep. What was I talking about? Thanks to Anyas change of heart, they were one or two glasses of bubbly away from showtime. Jorge could come in to fetch the camcorder any minute. It didnt take a whole lot of analyzing to deduce I was on borrowed time. Where are your shoes? he asked. Uh-oh. My shoes. Id ripped them off so I could tiptoe to the closet without Jorge hearing me. And thats where they were obviously going to stay. I shrugged. The dog ate them. He nodded. Interesting. Not really. I remember you told me you were terrified of heights, Eldridge said, but youll get over it. On the way down. Sure. The same way you get over a fatal illness. Did he really enjoy all this dangerous crap? Last night he was dodging bullets and all he could think of was dinner. Strange man. How did you know I was here? I followed you in my car, Miss Paranoid. Watched as you went inside, then waited across the street. So, it was his Pathfinder Id seen on the FDR Drive. But . . . When Binnie showed up with that worried face, I got the details from her. Shes got the Camry parked illegally, so we better get moving.

Give me a chance to think. I tried to keep a lid on my panic. My mind raced. If only there were some other option. I wrung my hands and focused on the wall across from me to avoid facing Eldridge and the windows. Thats when I noticed the framed poster from Brooklyn Botanic Garden showing a sea of blue flowers between two large trees. Something in it reminded me of the art piece Id just seen at Raffys showthe piece she and Gwen made together. I stared at it a moment, and, almost as if Gwen spoke it herself, that line from her poem came to me: Garden of bells amid beech and oak, my heart sleeps here. Suddenly I remembered a sunny April morning with Gwen. And a ceremony. Wed buried her cloisonn pillbox that held something she had called . . . Inannas gift. Holy shit! My crazy, precious, brilliant friend was right. I do know where the tablet is! I felt the Mace-mans pale blue eyes studying me. Sooner or later that doors gonna open, he said. And when it does, youre gonna wish you did things my way. The memory of Gwen and her trust in me bolstered my courage. How could I expect to trap her killers in the next six hours if I was too chicken-shit to get myself out of here? I took three hesitant steps toward Eldridge. Are you sure those skinny ropes can hold two people? I know my business, Saylor. And itll be my ex-business if they catch us in this room. Youre wasting time. Lets go. Thirty-one stories. I nodded and bit on my lip, awaiting his instructions as if I had a date with the gallows. Heres the deal. Just climb onto my lap and wrap your legs around my waist. What a time for him to say those words. You like this position, right? He gave me a sexy grin. I felt my face go red but avoided his eyes. Clasping the hand he extended toward me, I stepped onto the sill. He guided me onto his lap. I put my arms around his neck and squeezed my eyes shut. Hold on tight, he said. His hard body felt heavenly, but the instant he pushed us from the ledge and out into space I thought I might faint from the sheer terror. My eyes popped open. Nothing in front of me but open sky. It took everything I had not to scream. I broke out in a cold sweat. It was like something from one of those terrible dreams where youre dangling off the ledge of a tall building. Wait a sec. I was dangling off the ledge of a tall building. I love being up here. Eldridge sounded positively jubilant. Try to get into it. All I could muster was a little whimper. I hoped I wouldnt barf on him. Dont worry, Saylor, I wont let go of you. A tingling sensation ran from my fingertips to my toes and out the top of my head. I tucked my face into his shoulder. With one arm around me, Eldridge made springy little bounces off the balls of his feet, gliding downward from one floor to the next. At one point he came to a standstill. Heart in my throat, I looked up and asked in a shaky voice, Why are we stopping? And please dont say the lines stuck? Everythings fine. Its just that weve reached the twenty-first floor. So? I like the number.

I wanted to sock him. I hated teasing. Especially when it happened to involve the possible loss of life. And most especially when said life was mine. He gave me a long, lazy smile and covered my mouth with his. Zap. Heat seared through me. Speaking of dreams. In that one magical instant twenty stories above the ground all the fear in my body vanished. Or else the height made me delusional like those people who get lost in the desert and dont care about getting home anymore. Eldridge brushed his lips over my face and said, A sky kiss. Suddenly I recalled Inezs vision: Trapped by a woman in a little girls dress. Help will come from the sky. Wow. Before I knew it, we were on our way down again. Dont be afraid. I wont let you fall, he said. Relax. Enjoy the view. Never before had I let myself become so completely vulnerable in the hands of a man. And never before had I felt so completely protected by one. I allowed myself to take it all in. The warm, strong feel of his muscular body. That junipercinnamon scent of him. To the east, moonlight shed its luminous glaze across the dark river. Central Park with its shadowy uneven contours stretched along the feet of the skyline to the west like a dense pile carpet. Below, the glowing streets hummed and honked with traffic amid a dazzling display of city lights. Everything glittered in a way Id never seen before. When Eldridge touched ground, he set me gently on my feet. A car engine turned over and Benita pulled up in the Camry. I turned to Eldridge. Im running out of ways to thank you. Youll think of something. We locked eyes in silence for a moment, and then he pointed to the roof. Gotta go get my equipment. On the way home to Brooklyn, Benita raved about the Mace-mans surprising window rescue. He was definitely a surprise package, all right. And a level-five kisser. The effect he had on my fear of heights, not to mention my libido, almost made me forget the biggest news of this horrible week. Binnie, I know where Gwen hid the tablet. She jerked her head toward me and had to swerve to avoid hitting the car next to us. Where? Brooklyn Botanic Garden. Leaning back against the headrest, I closed my eyes and pictured Gwen. I can still see her standing in a field of blue flowers, between an oak and a beech tree, hands clasped against her chest, head bowed, saying, After five thousand years, the Rose of Inanna is soon to bloom again and the glory of women will reign supreme once more. Now I know what she meant. Last April she asked me to go with her to bury a cloisonn pillbox. She said it held Inannas gift. Gwen never opened it, but the tablet has to be whats inside that box. We got ourselves a new ball game. Binnie, Gwen died to keep that tablet from her murderer. We cant just give it up to them now. Guess youre right. Not that Im wild over the part about dying for it. She shook her head. As if theyd let us stay alive anyway even if we did hand them the tablet. Dont get me wrong. Now that I know where the tablet is, Im terrified Ill crack under pressure and give it up. But I have to come through for Gwen one more time. The problem is how. Weve got no solid leads. No hard evidence. Nothing for the police.

I hate to say it, but its up to us to finish this job somehow. We just have to rememberwere smarter than whoever killed Gwen. Our apartment building came into view. Murphys Law. No place to park. We circled the block and came up empty. After all that time hiding under Vivs desk, my bladder couldnt survive another minute in the Camry. So Benita dropped me at the front door. Directly outside the lobby, Jonathan, the night concierge, played nursemaid to a small white dog on a leash. He turned and followed me inside. Walking Renoir? I asked. Dont tell me Mr. Fellows is slowing down. Jonathans face went positively bleak. You havent heard the news? What news? Somebody found Mr. Fellowss body over on Doughty Street, he said. Renoir came back here by himself, dragging his leash. What? My mouth went dry. Two stab wounds to the chest. No sign of robbery, either. At least thats what the cops said. They left about twenty minutes ago. Be back to question residents over the next few days. You mean they have no idea who did it? Jonathan shook his head. No witnesses. The detective left his number here, in case anyone has information that might be helpful. A nightmarish thought passed through my mind as I recalled Mr. Fellows earlier today trying in his own feeble way to defend my honor against Curtis. Id like that number, I said, reaching down and petting the newly orphaned dog. What about poor Renoir? The Axelrods in four-twenty-four said theyd keep him until Fellowss son arrives. Hes in China, you know. Jonathan went to the desk and handed me one of the policemans cards. I made a beeline for the elevator. When the doors closed me in, I let loose. That no good motherfucker! I pounded my fist against the wall of the elevator. No wonder they call him the Monster. My lips tightened into an angry vice. Id come to the end of my rope. I was going to the police. What difference did it make at this point? Id tell them everything I knew. Explain it all. Complete descriptions, the threats to my family, the works. I flipped open my cell phone. Couldnt get a signal. No reception in the elevator. I burst into tears. Poor Mr. Fellows. That brave little man stuck up for me. Its all my fault. Everything I do goes wrong. Ill never solve Gwens murder. And who knows whatll happen to my family? The elevator reached my floor. My hands were so jittery, I could barely work the keys to open the loft door. This was the second person to die because of me. And Tim had been beaten almost to death. Waitll Binnie hears this one. My bedroom phone rang. I hurried to my room. Caller ID was blocked. I picked up anyway. Hello? Whos your daddy? You rotten bastard! You killed him. He began to laugh. I collected myself with a deep breath. I get it. You find snuffing out someones life just another part of your little game. You find it amusing. Even funny. Okay, let me add something to that game that I know will really give you a laugh. I know where the tablet is, and you and that sicko boss of yours are never going to see it. Because your time is up, asshole. I am going to the police! I wouldnt do that, sweetpussy, he said, his voice deep and ominous.

Fuck you. And I had never said it with so much conviction in my entire life. He paused, and then said calmly, Got someone who wants to say hello. Another pause. Saylor. Binnie! My whole body started to tremble with rage and my angry determination gave way to desperation. They got me. A chill went down my spine, hearing Benita use the same words Gwen had used in the secret message of her suicide poem. Where are you? The same grim voice came on. Tonight at three a.m. Make a right on Plymouth and keep walking toward the anchorage. Be there alone. No cops. No firearms. No bugs or tricks. And no company of any kind. I smell any bullshit, I put a cap in the Rican. Click.

Chapter Twenty-seven
I put down the phone, cursing myself for failing to push the RECORD button. Not that he confessed to anything. Should I call the police? Or would sending them in be a death sentence for Benita? If I called that detective and accused Curtis of murdering Mr. Fellows would they take the Monster in for questioning? Then let him go? And whether they held him or not, would his posse reward me with Benitas dead body? The thought popped into my head that she might not be the only person Curtis had moved in on. I frantically punched in my mothers number. To my relief, Mom sounded fine, but she started right in questioning me about my date with the rich and famous Alan Grossman. Every mothers dream. My latest fears around Alans possible connection to Gwens murder made it hard for me to enthuse about him convincingly. Not to mention Benita being in Curtiss hands and a three a.m. deadline that could end both our lives. I pretended to have a crisis call from a client, signed off and phoned my brother. Steven answered his cell backstage. He worked as a costume designer for an all-male theater company. There was plenty of ambient chatter. I even heard an actor complain that his dress cut in too much around his waist. Couldnt get much safer than that. At Lanas house I got only voice mail. Same with her cell. I didnt like that. I tried to keep myself level, reminding myself Lana had loads of friends and several boyfriends and was from a generation that didnt believe people should go through life with cell phones growing out of their ears. Id try her again later. I went into Benitas room, where Uncle Pete rested in his cage. Stroking a finger along his black feathers, I said, Dont you worry, Petey. Im going to bring Binnie back home. I promise. I like doggy style! I like doggy style! Yes, Uncle Pete. We all do. After giving him some food pellets, I realized I hadnt eaten anything since the hors doeuvres at the art gallery. I had no appetite but decided some coffee might be a good idea. Especially since the wall clock read 10:05. Five hours to figure a way out of this mess. I had to think of something. I went to the kitchen, filled the coffeemaker and chose an old mug that said Can Do. To stave off my hysteria, I rushed around the loft, closing the blinds and checking locks. Finally I flopped down in a club chair with my coffee and put my head in my hands. Too bad I wasted my time calling the

Monster an asshole instead of getting him to spill out some clues about where they were holding Binnie. My cell rang and I jumped, nearly toppling my coffee. I grabbed the phone off the end table, hoping it was Lana returning my call. Caller ID told me it was Eldridge. He sounded so solid and comforting. I couldnt resist telling him about Fellows, Benita and my impending deadline, although I made a point of holding back on the details. No way Id give him the time and place of the final meeting, or else hed be there, guns blazing. Perhaps it was wrong of me to have aroused his protective warrior spirit while holding back on the particulars. But how else could I stop this wild man from getting himself killed? I agree with not going to the cops, he said. But I can handle Bardarson. Which is why youre gonna tell me where and when this shits going down. Forget it, Eldridge. Curtis warned me if anyonehear me, anyonecomes with me, hell shoot Benita. And this is a guy who obviously enjoys killing as if it were a game of golf. There wont be anybody with you. Because youre not going. I am. Look, Eldridge, youve been a lifesaver so far, and I thank you. But Im the one Gwen chose to see this through. And with two people dead, another severely beaten, Benita captured and my family threatened, I refuse to add you to that list. Its better if I handle this alone. Hows one tiny female going to turn the tide on Curtis and company? Lets leave my being tiny out of this. We both know what youre capable of getting into when youre on the loose, he said, a sassy smile in his tone. You need me. Believe me, Eldridge, you have no idea what Im capable of. I thought about Gwens perfume and what I did to the men at Capricias gathering. Im taking over from here, Saylor, and you cant stop me. End of story. Now as to the main event. Where and when? Typical male. He wasnt listening. But I wasnt listening to him, either. I was thinking of Gwen and why she used her genius to recreate Inannas special perfumea perfume that exponentially amplified the most powerful weapon women have always had over men. Would it work tonight? I have to go. I closed my cell. Seconds later, as if on cue, came my ringtone and Eldridges number in the tiny window. The Mace-man wouldnt give up that easily. It made no difference. Thered be no picking up this time. I went to my bedroom, changed into shorts and a tee and dug around in my dresser drawer for the Tinkerbell jewelry box. Sitting on my bed, I examined Gwens perfume bottles then asked myself, should I, or shouldnt I? Was the delicate mixture sealed within their intricate glass casings to be my saving grace? I had experienced the amazing capabilities of Heavens Daughter, and there was no doubt as to the possibilities. However, what about the variables? As in all chemical trials, conditions mean everything, and tonights were hardly conducive for flicking the ON switch to Innanas elixir. Anxiety inhibits the parasympathetic nervous system that controls our initial sexual responses. And my three oclock confrontation with Curtis and his boys definitely had my knees shaking. I was in no mood for seduction, but Tim said the perfume required stimulated female

pheromones in order to work. Maybe I could just think about having sex last night with Eldridge to get my pheromones going. Or find something appealing about Curtis. Urgh. Pukey. But if I could get the Monster to act like Alan and Chip did two days ago at Capricias house, it would be worth it. The sound of my front doors tumbler lock jolted me. I sprang from the bed and grabbed a pair of scissors. From the living room I heard, Saylor? Is that you? Aunt Lana. I ran to the living room and hugged her. Im so glad youre safe. You didnt answer your phone when I called you in East Hampton. Never mind me, she said, squeezing me tight. Youre the one Im worried about. She released me with a meaningful look. I checked my watch. 11:37. Three and a half hours before my appointment under the bridge. After listening to my news about Benita and the three a.m. deadline, my aunt heaved a long sigh and sank onto the love seat. Its time to give the name of that horrible Curtis to the police. Let them track him down. I paced back and forth in front of her. And find what? An address in Hoboken thats six years out of date? The guy wheels around with dummy plates. Theres not a thing about him thats legitimate. Maybe he doesnt even use the name of Bardarson anymore. Everything he does is calculated. Face it. By the time the cops locate Curtis, itll be way too late. I could see Lana fighting to conceal the anguish in her face as I continued. The other thing is, Curtis is not acting alone. I didnt want to tell you this, but two men tried to kill me out on Long Island. Whoevers running this operation will continue as planned with or without him. This fiend called Chub Dubs wants Gwens tablet at all costs. What about that sexy boxer whos been trying to play bodyguard. Can he help? He wants to. But Eldridge can be a little over-the-top when it comes to confrontation. One boxer is no match for this hit man and his team. Sure Eldridge is tough. And smart. He could probably take out three of Curtiss guys and not give a damn if he got himself knocked off in the process. He has a kamikaze streak a mile wide. But this is something I have to do alone. No way can I allow Eldridge to put his life on the line for me. Theres already been . . . My voice cracked. I told her about Mr. Fellows. My aunt patted the spot next to her on the love seat. I curled up beside her, grateful to accept the nurturing she always gave me when I was upset. She reached her arm around me and began stroking my back. Youre a gutsy little lady with a big heart, and I respect your courageous attitude. But why not simply get the police to follow you? If these murdering bastards suspect anything or see a patrol car, theyll kill Binnie. Actually, I picture more of a plainclothes operation. Undercover. You saw The Departed. Right now that title is not extremely comforting. Not to mention images of Leonardo getting blown away. I tugged at my hair in frustration. I also find it hard to believe the police would bring out their undercover crew based on one womans telephone report. Later is when Ill need the cops. At first I have to play along until I can make sure Binnie is all right. Then, once the creepos see weve complied, that would be a good time to put the bust on them. Except no one will know where we are, dammit. I tossed a throw pillow across the room. Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy rang out. Lana saw the trepidation in my eyes and quickly snatched up my cell phone. Lana Klein here. Whos

calling, please? Pause. Are you in trouble? Has anyone threatened you? Hold on. She covered the receiver with her palm and whispered, Its Benitas mother. Shes all right but sounds very agitated. Says she has an urgent message for you. From Oshun? I shook my head vehemently. Inez would hear in my unsteady voice that I was concealing something, and I couldnt bear telling her about Benita. You take it, I mouthed silently. Saylors in the shower, Lana said into the phone. I can give her your message. Do you remember me? Yes, Saylors aunt. Pause. Ill make sure she gets it. Yes, I promise. After hanging up, my aunt turned to me. Oshun? My Santeria guardian saint. I see. Well, Inez said Oshun sends a warning of extreme danger for you and your sister and advises you to cling to the daughter. The daughter. Heavens Daughter? Hearing this confirmed my decision to wear it tonight. I said to Lana, I know this might sound ridiculous, but Im going to wear Gwens perfume when I meet up with Curtis and his posse. I think its my bestand onlyshot. Her lips made an O. Interesting concept, but youll be taking a big chance. Rising out of my seat, I leaned over my aunt and gave her a light kiss on the forehead. Aunt Lanny, I said, resorting to my old childhood name for her, of all the people I have ever known, you more than anyone believe in the power of woman. Without question. Then we should trust in Heavens Daughter. Lana shifted into mother mode, found out I hadnt eaten dinner and insisted I at least down some scrambled eggs and toast. I sat at the kitchen island forcing myself to eat. Just makes me so mad. After all we went through we still dont have anything solid linking this mysterious boss to Gwens murder. I almost forgot. Lana pulled something out of her overnight bag and placed it in my hand. You do have a tablet now. In my palm sat a little brown wafer of baked clay etched with markings. I looked at her and smiled. You cooked this up for me in your pottery kiln, didnt you? She nodded. I think its pretty close to the ancient tablets I saw on the Internet. As long as the person examining it cant tell that these chicken scratches arent real cuneiform. Maybe itll buy me some time. Thanks. Lana tried to keep me busy cleaning up the kitchen with her. She talked about a new client, pretending to need my advice. But I couldnt keep up the facade. Lana, just tell me I . . . She grasped my hands. None of those macho jerks are as clever as you, Saylor. Youll find a way to beat them. Im certain of it. I went to my room and studied Gwens poem for any clue I might have missed. No revelations. I searched the Net on Capricia, Schumacher, Lady Viv, Darryl, Bardarson, Alan, stolen artifacts, aphrodisiac perfumes, and so forth, until I was seeing cross-eyed. Next I examined anything I had of Gwens. Things Darryl sent or stuff shed given me. Nada. I bent over my dresser, staring at an old photo of Gwen and me at age fourteen. Wed gone to Macys for free makeovers that day, tried every perfume sampler in the joint, and revealed our secret crushes while sharing a booth in the ladies fitting room. Could she really be gone forever?

The clock read 1:20. Were Benita and I next? Would our lives be over by morning? Confused and frightened, I rushed out to the living room, where Aunt Lana was resting in a club chair. I sat on a hassock facing her. Am I a fool not to call in the police right now? Except, if Curtis kills Binnie because of it, Id just as soon be dead. Maybe theres a way, Lana said. Irv told me the government would soon be keeping tabs on our whereabouts thanks to our cell phones. So, how does Big Brother help me? They use what are called GPS coordinates. Sounds familiar. What does it mean? You simply carry your cell phone with you to the designated location and leave it on. The police can track you from the phones signal to pinpoint your location. Curtis is bound to frisk me. So? Its just a harmless cell phone. Not a gun. Okay. Guess its worth a try. But if the cops goof up, Binnie and I are history. Ill make it clear to the police that we have a touchy hostage situation and explain it to them very carefully. I took a long, hot shower, which made me sleepy, so I tossed on my bathrobe and downed one more cup of java. At 2:15 Lana joined me in my bedroom, where we examined each bottle from the Tinkerbell box to choose the one Id use tonight. I think maybe this nineteen twenty-three glass flacon of Femme Divine, I said. Lana agreed. How apt. Of course it wasnt Femme Divine in the bottle, but Heavens Daughter. I could picture Gwen filling each of these lovely bottles with her perfume and imagined her excitement knowing shed actually deciphered Inannas secret formula. I doubt my cherished friend expected to lose her life for it. Guess its time, I said, slipping out of my robe. Lana pulled out the flacon stopper and helped me douse myself liberally with Gwens perfume, covering me with a head-to-toe application. Couldnt risk carrying a bottle. The last thing I wanted was for the precious unguent to fall into the hands of Chub Dubs. Who was Chub Dubs? Who would I see tonight? Lady Viv? Capricia? Schumacher? I thought of how Id feel if Curtis took me to Alan. Or Darryl. Or maybe Id never see the ruthless mastermind who was behind this dangerous gambit. Maybe theyd just kill me right away. Stop it! None of those thoughts allowed. I am going to get myself out of this mess alive. And Benita with me. Fully drenched in Heavens Daughter, I searched my closet. Now, what does one wear to a date with a thug? I decided on a pair of black cotton drawstring running pants with zipper pockets. I paired that with a burgundy tank tee. For once I heeded Benitas advice and wore sneakers. Who knew if Id be running for my life? I pulled my hair into a high ponytail and secured it with a stretchy band. At ten minutes to three, I tucked my cell phone in one pocket and the homemade tablet in the other. I kissed Aunt Lana good-bye, refusing to let her even walk me to the elevator. The instant I hit the street, fear set in. Plus the nagging urge to whimper. What if the buildings blotted out my cells signal? Brooklyns skyline was much lower than Manhattans, but still dense with walls of concrete and brick. Looking out at the river to my left, I pushed back the thought that I

might be floating facedown in it before dawn. I took a few deep breaths and began my march down Plymouth. My neighborhoods acronym, DUMBO, took on new meaning tonight as I headed out to confront my fatedown under the Manhattan Bridge Overpass. At this hour the street was an empty void of ominous shadows. The only sounds were my feet tapping the cobblestones and the deafening rumble of the Q train on the lower deck of the Manhattan Bridge Overpass. Soon two figures appeared in the murky gloom. They stood waiting near the anchorage, the hundred-year-old masonry arches built to support the bridge. I recognized one of them as I drew closer. The hefty guy whod cornered me on the road outside the Yoni retreat house. Tonight he was with a tall, gaunt-faced partner. The tall, gaunt-faced one spoke first. Over here. He stepped into the dark space under the archway. My gut clenched. I wanted to turn and run, but thinking of Benita and seeing the gun in his hand, I had no choice but to obey. I stepped into the shadowy space beneath the bridge. The hefty one with the shaved head frisked me. He found Lanas tablet and put it in his shirt pocket. He took my cell phone and hurled it against the stone wall of the anchorage, splitting it into several pieces. Scratch plan A. I was on my own. I tried to keep myself from trembling when he clutched my arm and led me to a black Hummer parked nearby. The tall one slid into the drivers seat and said, You can check her for a wire on the way. Yeah. Thats a job I like. He opened the car door, shoved me into the backseat and climbed in after me. I tried to muster up some erotic feelings toward this guy, but I was just plain terrified. Why did Gwens perfume have to be so exquisitely designed in its workings? Why couldnt the mixture simply start doing its thing the instant a man came near? Right. That way youd get attacked from all directions by every horny guy on the sidewalk. Face it, Heavens Daughter was perfect in its creation. It was up to me to make it work. But how in the world was I supposed to trigger my pheromones with slobs like this for inspiration? Talk about doing the impossible. After spending the last decade studying, guiding and teaching the techniques of arousal and seduction, I never imagined Id have to use my sex therapy skills as a survival tool. But tonight my life and Binnies depended on it.

Chapter Twenty-eight
The infamous black Hummer only went a couple blocks before stopping in front of Blazing Donutz on Jay Street. Mr. Hefty opened the door and pulled me out. I looked up and down the dark street, hoping to see some people. Empty. His gun in my side prevented me from screaming. Should I risk it? Were we headed for an alley where hed put a bullet through me anyway? Oddly enough, we went into the Blazing Donutz store. Time-out for an apple fritter? At three a.m. the place was closed for the night, but not for us. The front-seat Hummer idiot who reminded me of Forrest Gump unlocked the door and held it open. One fluorescent partially illuminated the stores spanking clean yellow and black tiles. The stark imagery was reminiscent of Hoppers Nighthawks. What were we doing here?

Inside I was greeted by the undeniably welcome aroma of baked goods. I was also greeted by Gump-Gone-Bad, who was sporting a black eye. He brought his face close to mine. Well, if it aint Dr. Sex. Wheres Benita? I demanded. I came here without the police and gave you the tablet. Now you have to let both of us go. That was the deal. My hefty guard cinched his fingers around my arm. Shut up. Obviously, Gwens perfume wasnt working yet. What if I couldnt pull this off? We followed Gump-Gone-Bad through a door labeled Private, walking into a dark kitchen and past a row of industrial ovens. A side door took us to a loading dock. On our left, a freight elevator. Thoughts like Ill never get out of here alive and Binnie may already be dead flitted across my mind, but I did my best to ignore them. The two men accompanied me in the elevator to the third floor, where my hefty bald escort gave me a shove. Straight back. With the men behind me, I walked down a long, bright hallway that had walls covered in happyface decals and signs like START YOUR DAY WITH A SMILE. Sure. And end it with a kidnapping. Peering into open rooms along the way, I saw bags marked flour and sugar, shelves holding boxes and paper goods, and crates of eggs and butter. Steel containers on the floor probably once held milk. Hefty unlocked a door to my right. In here. I glanced at a dimly lit storage room and stood my ground. He pushed me inside and onto a gray metal chair. After binding my hands behind my back with duct tape and sealing my ankles, he said, Later, Gil. He stomped out the door, leaving me alone with Gump-Gone-Bad. Or was I alone? From a nearby closet I heard banging, thumping and muffled, indistinguishable words. Binnie! I yelled. Is that you? Big bang on the door and increased thumping. Shes alive! Had to stick her in the closet, the Gump man said. Shes crazy. Punched me right in the face. Was I surprised? He sat across from me on a wooden crate. I recognized the revolver in his hand. It was the gun Benita got from her cousin Felix. Okay, time to think sexy thoughts. Oh, thatll be easy, considering Im tied up in a room with a deranged killer. Your black eye is so manly. Tryin to be funny, he said. Ill put tape over your mouth, too. I got another closet here if you cant behave. Deep inhale. Long exhale. Increase the dopamine in my system to make it easier for my sex glands to get moving. Now, open my eyes and study him. There had to be something about this guy that could turn me on. Lets see. He had hairy forearms. Like Mr. Miller, my eighth grade history teacher. Thats it. Mr. Miller. He always used to roll up his sleeves and his manly arms would drive me nuts. It would make things easier if I knew your name, I said in a soft voice. Did I hear them call you Gil? Gil what? He hesitated a moment, then mumbled, Gilbert Fleeger. I leaned as close to him as I could, letting him inhale my scent. Gilbert Fleeger. That is such a cool name. I tried to put the Mr. Miller fantasy onto Fleeger, but every time I conjured sexy thoughts my mind kept flashing back to Eldridge and the way he carried me down the side of that building.

Take another crack. Gil, your hands look really strong. Bet youre really good with them. Do you do carpentry? Or crafts? He actually blushed. Yeah I do like to work with my hands. Right now Im taking an online course in taxidermy. Neighbors, guard your pets. How exciting. Would you mind massaging the back of my neck? Bet youre good at that, too. Just dont tell Curtis. Gilbert stuck the gun into the belt of his pants and stood behind me. Using his fingers, he kneaded the muscles on the sides of my neck. Youre a lot nicer than your friend. She hit me and said terrible things about my IQ. For two minutes I engaged in a sensual-thoughts exercise I taught clients whose minds were so tied up with the stress of high-powered careers that their love lives took a nosedive. Of course, most of my thoughts were of Eldridge, but at least it got me feeling sexy. Switching into my breathy, hypnotic mode, I figured a dose of the power of suggestion might egg things on a little bit. Did you know infants can identify the scent of their own mothers? Smelling is our most primal sense. Why, it can jolt us back to a particular time or place faster than anything. I tipped my head back and looked up at him. Aha. His eyes said it all. Gilbert? Dr. Oz, he said wistfully, you are the most beautiful woman in the entire universe. And that includes New York. It was working, even though my erotic thoughts were about Mace rather than Fleeger. Hmm. Something Tim and Gwen hadnt considered. This stuff could be trouble. Any uncouth undesirable could be caught in the crossfire. In the meantime, Id better take advantage. Who owns this building? The boss. And who is your boss? I asked sweetly. Chub Dubs. Yes, I know. But whats your bosss real name? Gee, Im not supposed to tell. His fingers moved from my neck and started down the front of my shirt. Please do it with me, he begged. Fast, before the boss finds out. Not until you tell me his or her name. I caught hold of his wrist and lifted it away from me. I noticed his tattoo. Whats with all these numbers everybodys got inked on their forearms? You have a nine. Curtis has a thirteen. He pouted, and to my relief, pulled back. I get it. You like Curtis better than me. Is it some kind of rank? The tattoos? The size of our dicks. Yep. The oldest male ranking system of all. Reminds us of our power as men, he said. Boss doesnt hire guys with less than nine inches. Curtis, hes got the biggest. Naturally. And where is Curtis right now? On his way here with Chub Dubs. I was right. You do want Curtis instead of me. He had that same dazed and hungry expression Id seen on Anthony, Chip and Alan. No, Gilbert. Youre much sexier. In fact, if youll help me get out of here, we could go somewhere and celebrate our love. His hands went to work feverishly cutting the tape with a pocketknife. I almost felt guilty. Almost. As soon as I was free, I yanked open the closet door to see what shape Benita was in.

You cant do that, Gilbert said. Boss wont like it. Never mind that. If you want me to make love to you, Gilbert, you must please me. Do as I say. Cut her free and remove the tape from her mouth. He obeyed. Benita sprang from the closet. Dont tell me how you did that. This guy is reeeee-pulsive. I shushed her, not wanting to disturb the effects of the perfume. Now, Binnie, I whispered, you can find something attractive in every single person if you look hard enough. I also have an exceedingly fertile imagination. I could feel Gilberts hands and arms pulling at me, his hot, wet breath on my neck. Benita grimaced. Do I have to watch this? Its making me sick. I gently pushed away my devotee. Soon, Gilbert. Not yet. Benita leaned close to my ear. Quit wasting time and get my gun back. Good point. Gilbert. I want you to give me that gun in your pants. Finally, he said, grinning and unzipping his fly. No, no. I mean the one tucked in your belt. He slumped down, lower lip protruding. Gee, I dont know. Benita stepped forward and snatched at the revolver. Gilbert danced away. Only Saylor can have it. Youre mean. You punched me. Thats because youre a mental midget, she said. Now give it up. Their hands grappled for the gun, shoving and pushing. Stop it, I said, afraid the noise of their tug-of-war would bring the other men back. Or lead to a stray bullet. The gun dropped to the floor. Gilbert dove for it, and Benita kicked it away from his grasp, sending the small gray pistol sailing across the linoleum like a hockey puck. We all watched in dumb silence as it slid straight into the open hole of a heating duct vent. Two points for Murphys Law. Benita lay flat on her stomach and extended her arm inside the opening. I cant reach it. She jumped to her feet and glared at our new friend. See what you did? Canto de cabrn! Keep your voice down, I hissed at her. Now will you please let me handle this my way? She answered with an embarrassed tilt of her head. Cupping my hands on Gilberts cheeks, I said, You must guide us out of here. Safely and quickly. Gee, I could get into a lot of trouble . . . I planted a kiss on his mouth. You will do it for me, my darling. He gave me a stupefied gaze. But the guysll hear the elevator. I touched his arm. How many men are here? Four down the hall in the office. Arent there fire stairs? He nodded. But well have to go past the office. We walked out the door and started down the hallway toward the fire stairs at the end. I heard men talking in a room up ahead. Its door was left open. Gilbert went first, gliding casually past the doorway. Benita and I skulked after him. We were almost in the clear when we heard someone say, Whos that with Fleeger? I bolted for the exit as Gilbert held open the door to the stairwell. A mans voice. The bitches. Theyre making a break. The three of us tore down the fire stairs with the men from the office behind us. Skipping over two steps at a time, we made it to the bottom, out the metal door and onto the sidewalk.

Gilbert, I said. Give us a hand. We tripled-teamed a small Dumpster, shoving it up against the fire door as a barricade. Benita grabbed my arm, and we sprinted down Water Street. Not a soul around. Were headed in the wrong direction, I said. Precincts the other way. Im going to flag down the next car we see. She slowed up. We should go home. Need to regroup. I stopped, breathing hard. Thats the first place theyll look for us. We could take a train to East Harlem. Hide out at my brothers. Why? So he can have a gun battle with Curtis when he comes to find us? We were trying to keep our families out of this, remember? No, Binnie, the game is up. Our only hope at this point is to go to the police. Especially since we now know the bakery building is owned by the person who ordered Gwens murder. And our abduction, Benita said, frustration and exhaustion creasing her pretty face in a frown. Youre right. We gave it our best. No ms. She looked around. Hey, where is that Gilbert dude? I dont see him. He must have run off. Strange guy. Understatement of the year. A Rolls-Royce Phantom with tinted one-way windows stopped at the curb next to us. The rear window rolled down and from the shadows of the dimly lit interior emerged a familiar and welcome face. Walsh Plunkett! You have no idea how glad I am to see you. Please, we need a ride to the police station right away. Of course. Get in. He opened the car door wide. I hopped in next to him. Benita followed. What a surprise to see Walsh, in his trademark Eisenhower suit, riding on plush leather in a chauffeurdriven Rolls. It was a small limousine, just one backseat facing front, but luxurious. Complete with refreshment bar, TV, the works. He introduced us to Dr. Garadasi, a tall, bearded man with a large nose, who sat on his right. Plunkett then spoke into his intercom to a driver on the other side of an opaque Plexiglas partition. These ladies would like to go to the police. You wouldnt believe whats going on with us, I said. But dont ask. Id rather not get you involved. He smiled and nodded. Benita leaned back in the seat, picking at the glue marks the masking tape left on her face, and clearly in no mood to chat with Walsh. Still shaken, I felt Plunketts eyes on me. Good thing my panic-driven sprint out of the building and down the street had switched off my pheromones. Last thing I needed was another drooling love-slave. Keep those sexy thoughts at bay. Rather than encourage his attention, I directed my focus on the refreshment bar in front of us. Ironically, what I saw were three cardboard boxes of Blazing Donutz stacked neatly on the bar. Plunkett noticed me looking at them. Care for one? Not really. Dont have much appetite. He took one of the boxes, held it in his lap and opened the lid. I thought of the crullers he brought me a few nights ago and wondered if this guy was like so many people who replace sex with junk food. Youre really into Blazing Donutz. Walsh turned his bland, expressionless face to me. My dear. I am Blazing Donutz. Im the founder and owner of the entire national and international franchise. In fact, this week marks the beginning in my latest line of snacks. Theyre a cross between a corn fritter and cream-filled

donut. Bite-sized. Dainty. Perfect for munching. He held the box out to me. Gwen had always insisted that the olfactory sense was our most powerful medium when it came to sex or danger, and Im a firm believer that trouble does actually possess a scent of its own. And right now, these little golden brown nuggets sent my limbic system a signal I couldnt deny. Try one, he said. Been working on them for quite a while. Theyre called . . . Chub Dubs. Time stopped. My mind raced. The pieces all fit. The crullers. The thugs in the bakery. Plunketts remarks about women. And about his big dick. On impulse I reached for Walshs arm and pulled up his coat sleeve. Number twelve in bold black ink. Binnie, open the door! We have to get out! She struggled with the handle, but we were locked in. Through the window I saw the giant steel door to the Blazing Donutz loading dock roll up. The limo drove straight into the garage-like space. No! This couldnt be happening. Walsh sat back, his face as expressionless as ever. I banged on the opaque Plexiglas behind the driver. Stop the car, I yelled. Let us out! The limo came to a halt, the Plexiglas partition slid open, and from the drivers seat another familiar face turned to greet us. Curtis Bardarson. Four men surrounded the limousine. The pair who met me at the bridge yanked Benita and me from the backseat. They held us at gunpoint in the center of the garage. My jaw dropped as I watched this crew of heavies cowing down to Walsh Plunkett, who stepped out of the car, his normally blank visage suddenly riddled with furious disapproval. Still, his voice remained constrained, tight, oddly polite, when he asked, How did these women escape? One of the men nervously answered. Dont ask me, boss. We turn around and next thing we see, Fleegers tearing down the stairs with the two bitches. He shrugged. Who knows? Maybe they offered him sex. The little man with the big feet was the boss all right. The one who had Gwen murdered. Its Plunkett, Binnie, I whispered. Im stunned. What kind of shrink am I that I didnt see through him? I never did like the guy, she said. One of our guards stepped closer. Hey. Shut your mouths. Curtis stood at his bosss elbow. He was obviously Walshs number one man. Think Fleeger would go to the cops? he asked. Plunkett shook his head. So he can get himself convicted of the crimes he took part in? No. Gils bulb might be dim, but the filament isnt totally gone. Suddenly Walsh wheeled his attentions around to me and Benita, as if an idea had come into his head. Stepping closer, he sniffed the air within inches of my body. I thought I recognized that smell in the car. Youre wearing it, arent you? Dammit. He knew the scent of Heavens Daughter. Not good for my plan. Had his boys found some in Gwens home lab? Hard to believe shed have left the perfume sitting there, considering the place I discovered it. Too bad it was such a short ride, I said. You couldve been next. The beady eyes behind Plunketts black-rimmed glasses fixed on me with a chilling look, although he did back away a few steps. Wheres the rest of the perfume? My searches have turned up nothing. And that homosexual swore to us his measly sample was all that was left. Which meant that I had Gwens only remaining samples. They must have taken poor Tims precious half a vial after beating him nearly to death.

And to think Id once felt sorry for Walsh. Boy, did I read this guy wrong. I felt like pouncing on the arrogant murdering prick and strangling him myself, except the guns pointed at Benita and me deterred my impulse. I returned his cold stare with silence. Theres nothing more ridiculous than a female who tries to outsmart a man, Plunkett said. I read the reports my computer expert acquired for me. The effects of the fragrance you inflicted upon Fleeger usually dissipate into grogginess in a few hours. Hell sleep it off and come crawling back to me. But hes the last man wholl ever be poisoned by it. He turned to one of his lackeys. Get the hoses. Give her a good soaking. Switching his attention to Benita. Shes probably clean, but douse her anyway. Cant take chances. Two tall, brawny men in a plaid short-sleeved shirts and khaki pants faced us with utility hoses that were probably used to wash the trucks and the loading dock. Jets of water that felt like cold hammers pummeled Benita and me. Any attempt to crouch or to cover ourselves with our arms was thwarted by Plunkett, who made us turn around slowly with arms outstretched until we were soaked from head to toe. Thats right. Keep rotating, Plunkett said to us. I want every bit of it removed. A burst of water found its way down my throat, forcing me to cough and gag, sparking my anger. I let my tongue fly. I hope you know by killing Gwen you lost the formula forever. She had the tablets complete instructions in her head. Nowhere else. There may be other scholars who try to recreate it for you, but Id bet a million theres not a soul left in the world who can figure out the formula the way she did. Youll never be able to market that perfume. Plunkett waved his hands crisscross to the guys with the hoses. Enough, he muttered. Our visit to Waterworld was over. Benita and I stood there wet and shivering. He raised his voice for all to hear. She thinks were out to market the perfume. Wrong, Dr. Oz. That perfume is a danger to our society. I must have the tablet in my possession to ensure that no one will ever market that perfume. It will be as if it never even existed. Id been so certain it was greed, jealousy or vanity motivating the one who murdered Gwen. Apparently she wasnt the only one obsessed with the world-changing effects Heavens Daughter could produce. The rant Plunkett launched into made that all too clear. You all saw what happened here tonight. Gilbert Fleeger was transformed into a spineless jellyfish after being exposed to that poisonous fragrance. He lost control of his actions and became enslaved to a woman. This is what I mean when I speak of the dangers. His voice grew sharper and louder. And this is why we will find that tablet and destroy it. As long as it exists, there is a threat to the natural order. Women with the unbridled power to control men will spread in numbers, increasing their influence beyond the household to total domination of businesses, the government, even the military. The divine right of man to have rule over women will be in jeopardy. The warning lights on my therapists cap were blinking red alert. Walsh looked like he was on the verge of a psychotic episode. Somebody really did a trip on this guys head when he was growing up. Hmm. Maybe Dad was a misogynistic dictator. Son usually feels compelled to be just like

him in order to feel powerful. Or an overbearing mommy kept daddys wee-wee in a jar and treated little Walsh like a worthless dweeb, giving him reason to exact his revenge on womanhood. Plunketts next words brought me out of my speculations about his psychological history. You said Dr. Oz had the tablet. He gestured to the hefty fellow who brought me into the bakery. Benita looked at me, wide-eyed. I didnt dare indicate the truth. As it was, she didnt have long to wait for it. The man walked over and handed Plunkett my Aunt Lana special. I held my breath. Plunkett took a quick glance at the newly baked pottery and snickered. Professor, he said, holding it out to him like some worthless token. Which it was. Dr. Garadasi came forward looking very . . . oh no . . . professorial. He removed a magnifying glass from his jacket pocket. Lifting his arm to examine the ceramic in the light, his coat sleeve rode up along his forearm, revealing what appeared to be a black ink tattoo of the number ten. One of the boys. A total fake, Garadasi said. Trash. Walsh didnt even blink at the news. However, the skin on his face seemed to draw back in a tight mask of suffocated rage. As usual his words came out carefully controlled. Times up, Doctor. You are now going to tell me where it is. He motioned to his ace killer. Curtis lifted a large semiautomatic pistol and walked over to Benita. He placed it next to her head. Where is it? Plunkett asked, cold and businesslike. My courageous roommate had seen her share of violence growing up in El Barrio, and she had plenty of mental toughness from her years in the ring, but nothing could have prepared her for this. She did her best to brace up, but I could see the tension in her neck and the fear in her eyes. A part of me refused to believe this nightmare was really happening. Id already lost Gwen. Was I about to see my other best friend murdered right before me? There had to be a way out of this. I reminded myself that Lana had informed the police I was headed to the anchorage. My cell was gone, but theyd still have some way of finding us, wouldnt they? Tell me or shes a goner, demanded the little bully in thick-framed glasses. My body went rigid, a silent scream bursting in my chest. Time to give it up. I had to save Benita. Except, I knew theyd kill us anyway once they had the tablet. How could I have failed so miserably? Gwens death and her desperate suicide note to me would be for nothing. There had to be some other way. He gave the nod and Curtis cocked his pistol. Mississippi! I blurted out. What was that? Plunkett said. The tablets in Mississippi, I said firmly, jutting my chin forward with the kind of certitude that would hopefully gain his confidence. Where in Mississippi? Walsh asked. Just outside the town of Pearl. Near a place called the Jewel Motor Lodge. Gwen buried it behind the lodge in the woods. I had no idea what I was saying. I only knew I had to keep Curtis from pulling the trigger. And I wanted to send Plunkett on a goose chase that would buy some time for

Binnie and me to try and escape from here. And time to be found. You can book a flight to Jackson. From there its an easy drive to the Jewel. Book a flight? Plunkett gave me a terse smile. My company jets can fly me anywhere I please. But I also happen to be a top-notch pilot, and since this is a private little trip, Ill take my Cessna Skyhawk. Its parked out at my New Jersey estate. He turned to Curtis. Youll drive us there now. The Monster uncocked his gun and slid it back inside his belt. I was afraid Id break into tears if I looked Benita full in the face, but a peripheral glance told me she was pale and shaken. Walsh faced Garadasi. My planes only a four-seater. Ill contact you when I have the tablet. He ordered one of his men to drive the professor home. What do we do about Gil? asked Mr. Plaid Shirt and expert with the hose. As I said, Fleeger doesnt worry me, Plunkett replied. Mark my words. Youll see him back here in a few hours when the perfumes effects wear off. He looked over to Curtis. Cuff them. Tape their feet and mouths. Throw them in the back of the Rolls. We are going to Mississippi. We? Did he mean us? My knees almost buckled beneath me when suddenly I felt my arms being jerked behind my back. Next came the vise grip of cold steel biting into my wrists and the screeching of duct tape being yanked off the roll then slapped across my mouth and drawn around my ankles. Theyre wet, Plunkett said. Put them on the floor or theyll ruin the leather seats. We were dragged like sacks of produce and tossed into the Rolls-Royce. At least this time we were being kidnapped in style.

Chapter Twenty-nine
It was almost dawn. We had crossed into Manhattan, headed up the West Side Highway and were now on the George Washington Bridge. Curtis was driving. Hed locked all doors and windows with the master switch. And we could forget trying to signal for help. The tinted one-way windows took care of that. Walsh Chub Dubs Plunkett sat next to him, avoiding the soggy bundles on the floor in the back. But he could check on us easily, now that the Plexiglas divider between the front and back seats was left open. My buddy and I huddled together, wet and cold, our nerves on edge. Neither of us had slept since we left East Hampton on Friday morning. Hard to believe it was only last night when Id felt so safe and happy with Eldridge holding me in his arms twenty stories above the ground. I wondered if I shouldve told him where and when my meeting was. Except, knowing the Mace-man, hed probably rather get himself killed than call in the police. How were we going to get out of this? Benita and I managed to sit up so we could see our abductors as well as the signs on the highway. Being able to watch where they were taking us might have lessened my anxiety if I hadnt heard Walsh tell his well-endowed hit man it wouldnt be necessary to blindfold us. Why wasnt it necessary? Did he figure I already knew his New Jersey addressor was he planning to make our trip one-way? We were driving along the Palisades Parkway. Plunkett didnt speak to Curtis except to give orders. He was totally focused on the tiny screen of his Blackberry.

Curtis, obviously bored, started talking to himself. Or so I thought at first. I saw him tilt his head back and cast a peripheral eye in my direction. Ill never forget that night on the pier. That Applebee dog looked like a clown, the way she flailed her arms when I tossed her in. Her hair all flying wild and pants billowed out. He paused, clearly savoring the horrified silence of his captive listeners. Wasnt supposed to snuff her until I got the tablet, but the bitch was a tough nut. Didnt beg, didnt cry. No fun at all. No matter how much I played with her. Puttin the gun to her head, describing the way Id blow her skullcap off. Made it clear she was gonna die if she didnt cooperate. If I coulda smacked her around, messed her up a little, that wouldve helped. But the boss here didnt want nobody searching if she went missing. Insisted it look like a fuckin suicide. Tears welled up, but I blinked them back, fighting for control. If only we had Benitas tape recorder now. A quiet chuckle from the Monster. Easiest part was gettin her to polish off a couple bottles of vodka. Man that dog could guzzle. Which meant Benita had guessed right. Theyd forced Gwen to get too intoxicated to swim. I glanced at my buddy. Her jaw was clenched, her muscles taut with combative energy. Good thing our mouths were taped or her verbal response might have inspired Curtiss violent nature. Just as I thought his sadistic little monologue was over, he continued with it in an irritated tone. Stubborn bitch, too. Man, did I ever want to bust her. All she had to do was say she was tired of living and sign her damn name. But she insisted poems was her special way of writin to her friends. Said no one would believe otherwise. Boss didnt want no bruises, so I go for my knife. Between her hand quivering and that bullshit gibberish on her papers, I figured she was ready to crack. But she keeps crumpling up papers and startin over. Lookin down her nose at me, telling me shes an artist. Big fuckin deal. Curtis yawned. Yeah, me and my homeys combed every inch of your friends grimy warehouse looking for that tablet. Left everything in place. Nice and neat. No prints. Real professional. Came up empty except for the journal. That led us straight to you, sweetpussy. Plunkett said nothing during all this. Never lifted his eyes from his Blackberry. Not a shred of remorse or sadness for Gwens lost life. Who did I despise more, this demented hit man or his cold-blooded boss? The big Monster or the little one? After a few minutes he spoke in that same bland voice. Reservations to land are set for Mississippi. But the airport says theyre backed up. Well have to hang out a couple hours before we fly down. Had we caught a break? Could we somehow use the time at his house to escape and call the police? I gave Benita a hopeful look, but she just stared mutely out the window at the sky. I wanted so badly to hug her and share a good cry, but that was definitely out of the picture for now. I closed my eyes and dropped my head to my knees. It seemed like ages since I saw the Brooklyn Botanic Garden poster in Lady Vivs office that reminded me of where Gwens tablet really was. Everything had happened too fast for me to process. Mr. Fellows murdered, Binnie held captive. Had Lana convinced the cops to look for us? But how would they ever find us now? My big plans for using Heavens Daughter to overpower the gang were literally washed down the drain. At least I made it work on Fleeger. No

doubt the coward deserted us out on Jay Street because he saw his bosss limo heading our way. If only we had kept on running instead of hopping into Plunketts stinking car. Now I was left with only one card to playWalsh couldnt find the tablets location unless I remained alive. The morning sun was full and bright when Plunketts Rolls-Royce Phantom stopped at a wrought iron gate. I saw a surveillance camera mounted on top. Curtis Bardarson reached his arm out the window and punched in a computer code, which allowed us to enter. We drove down a winding road past rolling hills and fields, patches of trees and streams. Look around, Curtis said. A hundred acres. You got nowhere to run this time. My heart sank. As we rounded the bend, I saw a single-engine airplane on a landing strip near the edge of the surrounding forest. In the distance there was a cottage, tennis courts, a pool, and finally a plain white but stately colonial manor with a semicircular drive that branched off to the side of the house. We parked in front. The back door to the Rolls swung open. Chub Dubs and Curtis stood there peering down at us. Undo their feet, Plunkett said. Unless you feel like carrying them. The Monster reached in and ripped the tape from our ankles, practically scraping a layer of skin off my leg with his coarse fingers. Basement? he asked, while hauling us out of the car. Plunkett nodded. Use the storage room. The spry and deeply deranged Walsh Plunkett scampered up the stairs to the porch and unlocked the door. Walking between us, Curtis clamped one hand on my arm and the other on Benitas, pulling us forcefully alongside him. Yo, boss, he called. Plunkett glanced back at him. Since we got ourselves some time, what about the other thing? Curtis asked. Other thing? You remember what we talked about. Oh, that, Plunkett said. Go on. Have your fun. Was it time for my private session with the Monster? He leveled his awful slit-eyes directly on me as if he was checking out the dessert trolley. I shuddered. Benita shuffled closer to me protectively. Walsh disappeared into the house. Giving us no time to look around, Curtis hustled us down the central hallway to a flight of stairs. Was this to be the site of his dirty deed? Was he going to include Benita? I wanted to bolt, but I knew I wouldnt get far, especially considering the proximity of the gun tucked in his belt. We descended into a wood-paneled room, its white wall-to-wall carpeting dense and spotless. A red leather sofa with matching chairs formed a square in front of a large cookie-thin TV. A gun rack and a pair of movie posters featuring John Wayne and Bruce Willis hung on one wall. On the opposite wall hung a collection of framed photographs. They appeared to be group portraits of men. I noticed that they were all members of some bizarre association. The shiny gold lettering across the bottom of each photo read FOREVER OUR RIGHT. I could swear Id heard of that somewhere. I stepped closer to a solo portrait, guessing who it would be. Walsh Plunkett. The lettering on it said he was founder and president of Forever Our Right. Next to the picture was a lengthy paragraph referring to the founders philosophy behind his organization. I began a quick scan of it, but my

eye was caught by a familiar face in a photo that pictured only three men. Plunkett, a man I didnt know and . . . Kyle Drummond. The CEO of Milotech Pharmaceuticals. Connecting the dots was easy. Walsh must have found out about Gwens perfume from Kyle Drummond, who learned about it from Tim Donnelly. Was Tim right? Would Chub Dubs Plunkett continue his maniacal campaign until the perfume and everyone connected with it was destroyed? Before I could catch Benitas attention, the Monster told us to keep walking, until we entered a rear corridor with a white cement floor. It deadended in a laundry area. Across from that was a door with a padlock. One guess who was going in there. I began to hyperventilate. My feet felt like lead. I had no plan. I wasnt ready. Would I ever be? Curtis shoved us into the windowless storage room. He must have noticed my relief when he said, Gotta go have a bite, because he continued with, Dont worry, Doc, Ill be back. Were gonna spend some downtime together. The door slammed shut. We heard the clicking sound of the lock and Curtis walking away. Mercifully he left the light switch on. First thing I did was to stand behind Benita and lower my face to her cuffed hands. She tore at the tape on my mouth, and I returned the favor for her. I am not going to let myself be violated by that monster, I said, near hysteria. And we cant get on that plane, Benita added. Its a one-way ticket. Maybe we can jump on Curtis when he comes back. Take his gun. Get real. Our hands are cuffed behind our backs, the guy weighs more than both of us combined, and hes not dumb. He only looks it. We sank awkwardly to the floor. Sans sleep, we were both running on empty. At least Id had the meal Aunt Lana fixed for me last night. I knew my buddy hadnt eaten since yesterday. Id never seen Benita look so totally dejected. I tried to bring back the determined spark that usually lit her eyes. It isnt over yet. Were going to survive this and make them pay. I stood up and began searching the room for a possible escape route. We were surrounded by boxes and metal shelves containing everything from laundry detergent, paper towels and shampoo to an old ink-jet printer, a Monopoly game and a stack of Playboy magazines. However . . . next to the magazines I spied a lavender carton with a familiar logo. Do-Me-Goods twelve-bottle variety pack of personal lubricants and lotions in different flavors. Binnie, look. This is Walshs purchase from my sex toy demo party. At least I had some positive influence on him. Luckily it was on one of the lower shelves. I began pawing at it with my foot until it fell to the floor. Hasnt been opened yet. Come help me. She rolled her eyes but joined me. I hope youve got something brilliant in mind. Prying the box with our hands behind us, and kneeling on it and using our teeth, we managed to tear the seals, lift the cardboard lid and open a few squeeze bottles. Put it all over my wrists, I said, and then Ill do yours. See if we can slide our hands through these cuffs. We gobbed up the skin around our handcuffs and went to work feverishly. Who knew when the Monster would return? Did you see the photos? I asked while my hands wriggled away madly inside the cuffs. Didnt really look at them. I was watching Bardarson. Listen to this. Plunkett found out about Gwen through Kyle Drummond. I told her what Id seen and the name of the group founded by Plunkett. Why does that name sound familiar?

She gave me a half smile. Because about five years ago Forever Our Right had a website, hate blog and all. It was this paranoid extremist group. At one point they were under investigation for harassing outspoken women with leftist ideas. But they kind of went low-profile after being implicated in the disappearance of that female journalist who did those articles on battered womens shelters. I drew a short breath. I remember now. Nobody could prove anything. And knowing what Plunkett did to Gwen, Ill bet all those other allegations were true. No surprise that hes the founder. Did I sense my knuckles moving ever so slightly through the cuff? Success. My right hand popped out. Having munchkin hands definitely has its benefits, I murmured. And so does using Do-Me-Good products. I brought both hands in front and began working to free my left. Across from me, Benitas struggle for emancipation wasnt going quite as well. Shoulders and arms twitching, she grimaced in frustration. My big mitts are good for boxing, but they suck when it comes to playing Houdini. The jiggling of the padlock. Oh no. In a panic I stuck my hands behind my back. No chance to get the jump on Curtis. From here on, Id just have to improvise. Up, he said as soon as he stepped through the door. I froze. Curtis reached down, grabbed my arm and hoisted me to my feet. Keep your filthy hands off her you sick sonofabitch! Benita slammed against him with her body, valiantly trying to stop him from taking me. Curtis grabbed her by the face and sent her crashing backward into a pile of boxes. She lay there moaning. Ill be back, Binnie, I promise, I vowed as he dragged me out the door. My mouth went into overdrive. I hurled every nasty insult I could come up with at him. It didnt make the panic disappear, but it sure felt therapeutic. Gripping my upper arm, the Monster took me out a cellar door that led to the backyard. Straight ahead, he said, steering me in the direction of the guesthouse, a gray cottage with pink shutters. My legs felt like rubber. Id kept my wrists crossed behind my back, with the left hand that was still cuffed hiding the right hand that was freed, its fingers merely gripping the cuff. The gun in Curtiss belt was within reach. I just had to wait for the right time. I swallowed hard. Could I do it? The guesthouse had a well-tended lawn in front and dense woodland in back. We walked side by side down a pebbled path that led to the door. This is it, sweetpussy, he said. Just you and me. Up close and personal. There were waist-high hedges on each side of the path, and near the house a colorful garden bloomed with fragrant summer flowers. I couldnt help but think of Gwen and the perfumes she made. Who knew it would lead to this? My mind whirled with thoughts of her poem and how determined shed been to communicate her quest in those final moments. That was her way of beating these murdering scum at their own game. I had to be just as unwavering. We moved closer to the entrance of the guesthouse. If I went through that door there was a good chance I wouldnt come out alive. This violent oversized brutes idea of fun could easily leave me dead. Or at best raped and beaten. I broke into a cold sweat. I could feel my heart pounding like

it never had before. The clock was running out. I had to make my move. My right hand whipped around and snatched the gun from Curtiss belt. Hands shaking, cuffs dangling, I raised the gun up to his face using the double-fisted marksmans grip. Instantly I could see the surprise and anger in his eyes. Do it, I told myself. Squeeze the damn trigger. I hesitated. Curtis did not. Whap! He smacked the gun from my hand. It went sailing over the hedges. Knowing hed have to get to the other side of the bushes to retrieve it, I turned to run. But instead of Curtis going for his gun, he went for me. His gigantic arm hooked around my throat, and he began dragging me toward the cottage. I had trouble breathing and yet still fought with all I had to shake myself loose until finally I sunk my teeth into his arm so deep I tasted blood. Aaghh! he yelled. His grip gave way. As I broke free I felt a glancing blow off the side of my head that had enough force to send me tumbling into the garden against the house. He came toward me. Frantically moving away from him, I crabcrawled backward until I found myself huddled against the wall of the guesthouse. Curtis laughed. This is giving me a hard-on. I could hear myself panting. My trembling legs wanted to run, but he had me trapped. My eyes darted left and right. I spotted an electric weed whacker leaning against the cottage wall not far from me. Last summer I tried doing some lawn work for my aunt, only to learn that its possible to whack more than weeds: I accidentally diced up a poor, innocent toad. Took me months to get over it. But Curtis was neither poor nor innocent. I reached out, took hold of the thing and did a quick roll to my feet. Please, please be plugged in. I flipped on the switch. A high-pitched whine. Yesss! I leveled the trimmer at Curtis. Unfazed, he took a wide swat at it, but the whirling chord of the weed whacker stung him on the forearm. Normally Im a nonviolent, puke-at-thesightof-blood type girl. Not today. Plunketts deranged, sadistic errand boy had murdered Gwen, and I was certain Binnie and I were next on the list. He deserved far more than a dicing. I made several hits to his beefy chest. Yow! He jumped back, looked down at his slice wounds and glared at me, incredulous. Paybacks a motherfucker, I yelled at him. Blood seeped through the torn-up holes in his T-shirt. I didnt know if it was working the bag with Benita or do-or-die necessity, but my reflexes and timing had never been so good. He pulled his knife from a sheath tied to his leg and came at me in a rage. I knew I couldnt keep him at bay for long. I had to get away before he managed to knock me down or take the weed whacker from me. And before his boss in the main house caught the commotion and came running out with a gun. But I also knew I could never outrun this Monster with gams twice as long as mineunless I had a healthy lead. I needed to do a job on him, slow him down. I gritted my teeth and lunged forward, catching him on the cheek and the forehead. Ugh. He bellowed, hands clutching his face. Blood trickled through his fingers. Curtis staggered backward. Had I blinded the Monster the way Ulysses did the Cyclops? Nope. But there was enough blood flowing into his eyes from cuts just above them and on his forehead to make it difficult for him to see.

No time to stand there admiring my work. I dropped the weed whacker and bolted for the woods. One things for sure, adrenaline circulates very quickly through a body when its only four feet eleven. I never moved so fast in my entire life. Suddenly I was very fond of the sneakers Id decided to wear when I left home last night. Running through the trees and thickly wooded brush, I kept checking back for my pursuer. He was gaining on me by the second. I had no idea where I was going. I raced forward, trying to avoid ditches and entangling bushes. Hearing the Monster behind me, I felt like a rabbit, dodging and leaping every which way, terrified one wrong move would mean the end. By now my lungs were ready to burst, and a cramp pinched my side. I saw a ledge in the distance overlooking a lake. Should I make the leap? Did I have enough left in me for a swim? With Curtis breathing down my back could I even make it that far? My question was answered in the worst possible way. I was suddenly swooped up from behind and tucked under the arm of Curtis Bardarson like a sack of groceries. In one motion Curtis squatted down on one knee and ducked behind me. One arm around my waist, the other hand pressing his knife to my throat. Show yourself now! he yelled. Do it, or I will cut her. Someone was obviously out there, and Curtis didnt like it. So now I was his human shield. We waited. Silence. Look, Curtis barked. Both of us know you cant get a shot at me. Be a good boy and come out, or I take her pretty little head off and leave it on a stump for the crows to pick at. But youre forgetting your boss wants me alive. My voice squeaked. Youd think I had a knife at my throat or something. Fuck Chub Dubs, Bardarson murmured. He aint getting that tablet, anyway. His response didnt surprise me, but the person who stepped out of the woods sure did. Eldridge Mace. His diamond eyes hard as steel, the barrel of his rifle pointed straight at Curtis. Which just happened to also mean me. Some nasty cuts you got there, Bardarson. What happened? They botch your face-lift? Crouched behind me, his hot, moist breath on the back of my neck, Curtis ignored the compliment and said, Heave the rifle into the lake before I carve a smile on her throat. Eldridge didnt move. Go ahead, he said. What? No shittin. I will cut her. And when she falls youre all mine. You aint fooling me. Youre here to rescue the slut, and we both know it. Now unless you want her dead, youll do as youre told. Go on. Do it. Curtis sounded frighteningly matter-of-fact. I caught his eye with a visual plea. Not that I thought Curtis intended to keep either of us alive. Still, it would be nice to have a few more hopeful minutes. Eldridge side-armed the rifle. I watched it spin its way over the ledge, hitting the water with a kerplop. Ill go with that pretty sucker strapped to your chest, Curtis said. Toss it to me. Using just your thumb and index. The Glock thudded to the ground halfway between Mace and us. Bad throw? Or did I see the makings of a plan? Did Eldridge deliberately screw up the delivery in order to force Curtis into an awkward reach for

the pistol? Put the Monster off balance to give himself time to make it to the gun first? Bardarsons move. How would he play it? Finish me now, then go for the gun? Or go for the gun and finish me later? Two exciting options. Roll up your pants legs, he said to Eldridge. Wow. The Mace-man came prepared. A derringer on one leg, a knife on the other. More junk for the lake, Curtis said. Do it! he shouted, yanking my head back by my hair, prepared to demonstrate his carving skills. Mace chucked the weapons over his shoulder and into the abyss. A faint splash. That left only one optiona dive for the pistol. Would Eldridge attempt it? Or was the knife at my throat a guaranteed insurance policy for Mr. Big Dick? Curtis eyed the Glock lying on the ground a few feet in front of him. The charming Mr. Bardarson would have to lurch way forward in order to snatch it up. He glanced at Eldridge and said, Hands on your head, asshole. Now let me see your back. Smart move by Curtis. Hed be able to grab the semiautomatic . . . and use it on Mace. Eldridge hesitated. Was I about to witness his death? Please, not that. I tried with all my might to wriggle free, but the Monsters mammoth-like size and strength was far too much. He increased the blades pressure against my throat. I felt a burning sensation. A small droplet of blood ran down my chest. I heard a little voice inside telling me I was destined to be a stiff by the days end. Curtis grinned at my rescuer. Like I told ya, I will cut her. Eldridge raised his arms and turned, facing the lake. With a quick jerk, the Monster flung me aside and went for the gun. I hit the ground hard, but glimpsed Eldridge tearing straight for the ledge. Pop! Pop! Curtis fired twins just as Eldridge leaped and disappeared from view. I heard myself scream. Then I froze, listening for the sound of his body hitting the water. But there was no splash. Just some rustling in the foliage that grew along the steep embankment. Had Mace pulled off yet another one of his death-defying feats? Or had I just seen his last moment on earth? That horrible thought chiseled a piece from my heart and sapped the strength from my legs. I lay there stunned and motionless on the damp earth. I replayed the scene in my mind, seeing my heros body falling from sight accompanied by the tart crack of two fired rounds. It all happened so fast. Maybe the Monster just winged him. Maybe my sexy dream lover lay writhing in agony, bleeding to death. Would Curtis have the satisfaction of looking Eldridge in the eye before making a dime in his skullcap? Stop! Remember, this was the legendary Mace-man. Daredevil Mohawk. Man of mystery. Grand master of the unexpected. If anyone could escape incoming at close range it was Eldridge Mace. Couldnt he? Apparently, I wasnt the only one baffled and concerned by what happened. Gun in hand, brows knit, Curtis quickly picked up his knife, sheathed it and was now scanning the slope and lake below for signs of his victim. Was that confusion or worry I saw on his face? Was this my chance to run? But what about Eldridge? A blur came from out of nowhere. Mace attacked Curtis with shocking ferocity. They fought for the gun, the struggle sending them hurtling over the ledge. I heard thumps, grunts and thrashing about. What should I do? I felt like a helpless dope. I went to the edge and peered down at the two men fighting at the bottom of the embankment next to the lake. No sign of the gun. In fact Curtis

was now wielding his knife. He swiped and lunged at Eldridge, who was busy sidestepping his attacks the way a mongoose dodges those of a cobra. My heart was in my throat. I had to do something, anything, to help Eldridge. I scrambled frantically over the ledge and down the muddy slope. Dont ask me what I planned to do. As usual I underestimated the Mace-man. I have no idea how he pulled it off, but when I reached bottom, Mace was behind the Monster applying a choke hold to his neck. Desperately, Curtis tried to shake off the smaller man, carrying him around on his back like a deadly rag doll. Eldridge hung on for the ride, refusing to let up. They fell backward into the shallows, Curtis on top of Eldridge. The Monster dropped the knife as he desperately struggled for air. Finally his entire body went limp. Eldridge released his grip and rolled Curtis to the side. Mace just lay there breathing hard, half-submerged at the edge of the lake. Curtis Bardarson floated in the water. Facedown. The same way Gwen had been found.

Chapter Thirty
Eldridge turned his head, and his pale eyes settled on me. My nerves were shot, my body and face hurting from Curtiss blows. I wrestled with feelings of exasperation and humiliation. Once again Id needed Mace to rescue me, and this time it almost cost him his life. Come here, he said. I rushed to Eldridge, fell to my knees and flung my arms around him. Thank you, thank you . . . Im so sorry . . . My voice cracked. I couldnt suppress a post-trauma cry. Mace just held me, stroking my back, resting his forehead against mine. After a moment I sat back on my heels, wiping my wet face with my hand. Dont tell me you followed us all the way from the city? No. Just got here. He pointed. I came in over there and was making my way to the main house when I saw you and Bardarson in the distance running like mad through the woods. I couldnt get a clean shot on him from that far off. By the time I got close enough, hed heard me coming. But how did you know they brought us out here? Howd you find this place? Went to the loft, and your Aunt Lana told me about your meeting at the anchorage. Soon as I got down there I ran into this weird guy named Gilbert Fleeger. He was sitting on the curb, calling your name. Not too many folks with that name, so I pulled him aside and asked a few questions. Tells me none of the guys where he worked would give him a ride to New Jersey. I asked why New Jersey? Told me thats where they said they took you. To the bosss place. I asked him if he knew how to get there. He said yeah. So here we are. Where is Fleeger now? Hiding in my car. Hiding? Yeah. Scared to come out. Afraid of what his boss and Curtis might do to him. Meanwhile, his whole reason for coming here was to save you. One confused dude. Eldridge raised his brows. What did you do to the guy? I changed the subject. How did you get your SUV through the gate? Arent there cameras?

He nodded. Knew I couldnt drive through unnoticed. I parked about half a mile outside the entrance. Fleeger showed me some places along the fence line not covered by surveillance cams. Even told me where the main house would be. So, you called the police and told them where we are? He smirked. Screw the cops. My voice turned screechy. The police dont know were here? Guess not. Wheres your cell phone? In my car. Outside the gate? I wanted to scream. Maybe Eldridge got off playing on the edge, but I sure as hell did not. Especially with my best friends life at stake. He unzipped one of the pockets on his cargo pants and pulled out his car keys. Ill explain how to get to my SUV. Once you tell the cops whats up here, ask them where the station is. Drive there and wait. You can either turn in your lover boy Fleeger or dump him on the road. I dont give a damn. Just get yourself to a safe place and stay there. I pushed his hand back. Forget it. Ill find a phone in the house. Im not leaving this property unless you and Benita go with me. You really are crazy, he said with a short laugh. And your Aunt Lanas even nuttier. Absolutely insisted I give you this. He reached back into his pocket and handed me a tiny black cylinder with a gold-colored top. Still in one piece. I gasped and snatched it up, recognizing the sturdy little 1960s Arpege purse spray from the collection that was in Gwens Tinkerbell jewelry box. Heavens Daughter. I wedged it into my pocket. I just might need this. Am I missing something here? he asked. Peoples lives are on the line and your aunts passing out bottles of perfume? No time to explain. I have to make it back to the main house and free Binnie before Curtiss boss begins to wonder whats keeping him. Reluctant to face my next task, I forced myself to stand and waded through the knee-deep water in the direction of the Monster. As I slogged my way up next to the body of the late Curtis Bardarson, my instincts fought me all the way. Run, they said. Hide. Get away. My adrenals sailed. Chalk it up to operant conditioning. I was half expecting hed spring back to life the instant I touched him. That hed reach out, grab my throat and pull me down for one final session. I thought of what he did to Gwen and Mr. Fellows. Lucky for me, and thanks to Eldridge, he lay facedown. I searched through the Monsters clothes for keys, taking every one I found. Sensing Eldridge watching me, I said, I need the keys to Binnies handcuffs and to the storage room shes locked in. He nodded, a distracted look on his face. I started toward the cliff slope. We better get moving. Mace just sat there in the same spot by the lake. Why hadnt I noticed he was in pain? Youre hurt. He rubbed his thigh. Feels broken. Bardarson landed on it. I rushed back and reached out my arms. Im pretty strong. Well, lets not go that far. Ive seen you struggling with fifteen-pound dumbbells at the gym. I bent toward him. We can do this, Eldridge. No way. Ill slow you down. Let me take care of my own sorry ass. You go find my Glock. He gestured toward the bushes. Its somewhere in

there. How many men are at the main house? Only one. But who knows if the others will show up. I found the gun and brought it to him. He tapped the barrel with his index finger. Should have fifteen rounds left. Mace put the semiautomatic in my hands. Finger away from the trigger till youre ready to fire. You know what a klutz I am. Ill probably shoot off my toe. I cant even Just aim and squeeze the handle. Our eyes met and held for a moment before he looked down and said, Sorry I couldnt get you out of here, Saylor. As if saving me from Curtis werent enough. I stroked his cheek. Tell me, what happened when you went over the ledge? How did you manage to disappear like that? Was it some Mohawk trick? Disappearing comes naturally to me. That boyish smile. I was born with fox medicine. He pulled me close and planted an Eldridge special on my mouth. I climbed the steep hill to the ledge, feeling bruised from Curtiss rough handling, worried about Benita, and dizzy from Eldridges kiss. Couldnt help thinking that Maces disappearing talents might be great for combat, but not so good for relationships. I hurried back to the main house, trying my best to remain unseen in case Plunkett should look out a window. I quietly stepped through the cellar door that Curtis had used earlier and checked to see if there were any people, or a phone, in that den area where the photos were. No to both. I tapped my fingernails against the storage room door and kept my voice low. Benita, its me. Saylor. Youre alive! She rattled off prayers of thanks in Spanish on the other side of the door. Told you Id be back. Busily I went from one key to the next until I found the perfect fit. Got it. Flicking off the padlock, I opened the door and went to Benita. Kneeling down, I used what had to be, judging by size and shape, the key to her handcuffs. Victory. Benita wrapped me in a bear hug. Seeing the gun in my hand, she said, Whered that come from? Eldridge. Tell you later. In fact, this is your department. I passed the Glock to her. Heres my weapon of choice, I added, pulling Gwens perfume from my pocket. But they frisked us. How did you sneak that past Plunketts men? I didnt. Eldridge brought it. Lana insisted. I spritzed Heavens Daughter all over my throat, arms and shoulders. Biochemical warfare with a fragrant twist. She put a hand up. None for me, thanks. Especially if youre trying it on the Monster. Curtis is dead. Mace? I nodded, and continued dousing myself. This next round is for Chub Dubs. Are you forgetting last night when you had it on? Plunkett knows the scent. Thats where you and the gun come in. Well phone the cops and make sure he cant take off in his plane before they arrive. Oh, by the way. Bring the handcuffs. You bet. And this. She handed me a roll of duct tape. Holding the semiautomatic out in front of her, Benita led the way as we inched up the stairs to the main floor. Realizing that I had to ignite my

pheromones in order to activate the perfume on Plunkett, I began to mentally prepare myself. And with Eldridges kiss still fresh on my lips, I had no problem. I recalled the Mace-mans sensuous mouth, his strong hands, the smell and feel of him, the way he used his tongue. Damn, I was already halfway to orgasm. We checked each room on the main floor, and at the far end of the house we came to double French doors. Behind them we heard the distinct voice of Walsh Plunkett mumbling to himself. I peeked into what looked like a large study. Benita and I exchanged a ready glance. We made our entrance. Walsh stood over a desk shuffling papers and placing them into a drawer. Freeze, Benita shouted. Plunkett took one look at us and dropped his paperwork. And his jaw. The little speechmaker was speechless. Hands way up there, said Benita. Nice and high. Where I can see them. Walsh hesitated. He seemed to be calculating alternatives. As he slowly raised his arms, he glanced at the open French doors behind us and yelled, Bardarson! Benita cocked the gun. Shut up or Ill blow a hole in your face! Eeuw. We encroached on Plunkett, the gun aimed directly at him. Benita reached inside his coat pocket. He was clean. Next, my cop-wannabe roommate spun him around by the shoulder and pushed him up against the wall. Spread em! she said, kicking his feet apart. She patted him down some more. Nothing. Good thing Benita was with me. I never wouldve thought to do all that. Of course, handcuffs are right up my alley, so I helped her slap those on him. I turned his desk chair around. Benita walked him over at gunpoint and sat him down. Using the duct tape, we trussed his feet together and bound him snugly to the back of the chair. Standing head-on with the delusional madman whod brought hell into our lives and to so many others, I wanted to floor him, but I kept that part of me on hold. I had other plans. Settling a score for Gwen. Dont tape his mouth, Bin. Why dont you call the police while I complete a little unfinished business with Mr. Chub Dubs here? It made the donut mogul very angry. I can smell that perfume. Is that how you got away from Bardarson? Where is he? What happened? He tripped over his dick. Benita hung up the phone. Dispatch says some cars are on the way. Plus an ambulance for Mace. I gave her a thumbs-up and draped my arms around Plunkett. You think youre going to use that perfume. His mouth tightened. It wont work. Not on me. Oh, I beg to differ. I plopped down onto his lap and ran through every hot guy fantasy I could muster. Get off me, you scheming, power-hungry female. Aw, dont you like girls, Walshie? I teased in a breathy voice. Are you kidding? Ive been serviced by some of the worlds most gorgeous women. And you are simply not in that category. Youre not beautiful or sexy. Youre just a ridiculous little munchkin.

Ooooh. Talk about pushing the atomic button. Was this guy psychic, or what? And smart. Not only did I have to pretend I was seducing someone who wasnt present, I also had to fight off my old ego-deflating loser-girl script. Not exactly a pheromone booster. I stayed on his lap and wrapped myself around him like an octopus, trying desperately to feel beautiful and sexy despite his cruel words. My loyal pal heard his comment, walked over and pressed the nozzle of the gun to his forehead. Apologize to her. Its okay, Bin. I got off his lap. Guess even Inannas best wasnt strong enough to crack through the shell of hate Walsh Plunkett had for women. The two of us stood on either side of our captive, chatting and waiting for the police to arrive. I told her about the weed whacker, the chase through the woods and Eldridges fight with Curtis. I glanced at Plunketts face, wondering if hed be as indifferent to the death of his number one man as he was to Gwens. He had a dazed, faraway look. Shock, perhaps. The wealthy tyrant would lose everything. Fleegers confession alone should be enough to send him up. Then there was Garabasi and the rest of the crew. Theyd be taken in, questioned, maybe strike a deal by offering evidence implicating their deranged boss. But then Walsh gazed up at me with longing, his voice having gone mousy and small. How blind I was not to see it. Dr. Oz, you are the most beautiful woman in the world. Benita rolled her eyes. Think hes faking it? I leaned in for a close-up. There it was. The identical look Id seen on Alans face. No, its the real deal. Please let me make love to you, he begged. Ill do anything you ask. Walsh, if you want me, this is what you have to do. Youre going to tell the police how you orchestrated the death of the beautiful and intelligent Gwendolyn Applebee. Promise me? He nodded. Yes, my queen, my beauty. I hear a car pulling up, Benita said. Maybe you should stay with him. I waved her off. Walsh, I cooed, I have to leave you for a few minutes, but Ill be back with your reward. Just wait here for me. Please dont be long, he whined. We raced out the door and into the front yard. No sign of the police. From the driveway off to the side of the house came the sound of a car door closing. We sped around the corner only to end up jamming on the brakes. The black Hummer. Delete and cancel, in a hurry, please! The same two men who met me last night under the bridge now stood there glaring at us. Instinctively we turned to run, when the hefty guy fired at us but missed. With the men in pursuit, Benita returned fire. Another miss. Her next shot dropped him near the Hummer. Unfortunately his tall companion caught Benita on the shoulder. The gun went spinning from her hand. Blood soaked through her shirt onto mine as the two of us scrambled for cover behind the parked Rolls limo. We heard the sound of feet jogging toward us. Should we run for it, Bin? Nowhere to go. Hell just pick us off. His shadow came first. I looked up. The same tall man who held me at gunpoint on that dark road in East Hampton stood over us now. I huddled close to Benita, trembling.

Who wants to go first, girls? he asked casually, then aimed point-blank at my head. I love you, Benita, I whispered. Te amo, mi amiga, she answered, making the sign of the cross. A crack split the air. Then two more in rapid succession. Our rangy executioner collapsed into a lifeless heap. I turned to see who fired. Eldridge Mace. Looking like hed crawled straight through hell. Propped up against the Hummer, he held the fallen mans gun in his hand. Five police cars and an ambulance rolled up. An officer opened his door and hid behind it with his gun pointed at Eldridge. Drop the gun, put your hands on your head and lie flat. Oh no. I couldnt let the justice system screw Mace over again. I sprang to my feet, shouting, Officer, this man just saved our lives! Eldridge dropped the gun. His broken leg gave way, and he fell as gracefully as he had that first day I saw him. While the EMTs loaded Benita, Eldridge and the hefty thug into the ambulance, I led three uniforms inside the house. We were greeted by a delicate tenor voice coming from the large study: Doooo I love you because youre beeeauuu-tifullllll, or are you . . . Shaking his head, a good-looking officer turned to me, his eyebrows raised in a question. Dont ask me what hes high on. I shrugged. Got me. Walsh Plunketts romantic serenade to me continued as the police led him from his study, out of the house and into the backseat of the patrol car. While giving my statement to the handsome officer, I noticed that hed stopped writing and was staring at me. I saw that familiar dazed expression in his eyes. He stepped closer and said, You are the most . . . Uh-oh. I was outta there.

Chapter Thirty-one
Squinting my eyes into the bright noontime sun, Benita and I stood at the front railing of the Tide Muse as it chugged through New York Harbor and up the East River. My friend Sean Kennedy, the tugboats captain, didnt know the real reason I asked him for this little joyride. Id decided to make an offering to two goddesses of love, Inanna and Oshun. A week had passed since our sleuthing adventure. Curtis Bardarson, once a living nightmare, was now merely the stuff of legends, like most wellhung monsters. Gilbert Fleeger had finally come out of his lovesick stupor just in time to cop a plea. And it looked like Walsh Plunkett wouldnt be baking any more donuts. Unless, of course, they needed some extra help in the kitchen upriver, where he could whip up a few batches of Chub Dubs for the gang in orange jumpsuits. I still felt guilty about all the people Id prematurely put the finger on for Gwens murder; even the lecherous and power-hungry Kyle Drummond. As to Professor Schumacher, I doubt he even knew Gwen lifted that special tablet from his illegal horde. He was merely trying to create a sexual empowerment elixir for Capricia. Too bad neither of them had any idea Id been right under their noses wearing the real thing. They were too busy spanking each other. I was pleased that Darryl Applebee wasnt Chub Dubs. But he was still a cranky bore. He offered no appreciation or apologies to me after finding

out his sister was indeed murdered. However, he did ask again if I wanted to buy her old exercise bike. And Lady Viv was enjoying a taste of Internet stardom now that her mnage trois sex tape had mysteriously found its way online. Tim, the nose, was on the mend. And, even though the Plunkett brigade was out of commission, the perfumer agreed with my decision concerning the tablet. Lets not forget Alan Grossman. After I left a message on his voice mail apologizing for my rude behavior, he called me back. I was relieved to hear he was on his way to Europe for a monthlong shoot. I needed time to decide if I wanted to date a man whose primary attraction to me was the fact that Im not a classic beauty. Then there was Eldridge Mace. Dear Eldridge. He was still laid up in the hospital with a broken leg. Each time I visited him there were at least two gorgeous women at his bedside, making me feel rather superfluous. So why do I keep going back for more? Simple. Im not the kind of person who abandons a friendespecially one who risked his life to save mine. Benita stood next to me, her arm in a sling. It would be quite a while before shed do any sparring again. You ready for this? I nodded silently and reached into my bag, pulling out the remaining bottles of Gwens perfume. I took off the caps one at a time and poured every drop into the river. Say good-bye to all that was left of Heavens Daughter, Gwens magnificent obsession. Its the right decision, sweetie, Benita said. And not an easy one. After my encounters with Forever Our Right, aka the big dick club, fulfilling Gwens plan to deal a crippling blow to the world of men with her perfume was tempting. Except I knew most men didnt deserve that. Of course, my decision meant relinquishing the power to make any man see me as knockout beautiful, a power Id always dreamed of having. But the hardest part was denying the request my childhood pal had communicated to me in her final poem. Yesterday Id gone back to Brooklyn Botanic Garden and had a long talk with Gwens memory. I thought about the two of us and the many years wed spent at each others side. The munchkin and the scarecrow. Childhood buddies dodging snowballs. Awkward fourteen-year-olds writing puzzle poems about our deepest secrets. College girls becoming women in the big city. I pictured a teenage Gwen, the class geek with an overbite and thick glasses, the girl Id stuck up for when things got tough. There in Brooklyn Botanic Garden I had knelt on the ground and whispered to my departed friend how Benita and I had gone to bat for her against her killers and had come throughwith the help of her creation, Heavens Daughter. Then I had told Gwen Id make sure no one would ever get their hands on her precious ancient tablet of Inanna. And somehow I knew she understood that this was my way of protecting her one last time. Before leaving, I had poured a few drops of the perfume on that spot in between the beech and oak where a mass of bluebells were in bloom last spring. Where the tablet lay at rest. And where it would stay. Forever. Benita put her good arm across my shoulders, bringing me back to the present. Sorry Im letting you eat alone again tonight. Dont be. Im glad youre seeing Fippy. In fact, Im beginning to think I might lose a roommate.

Now dont get all mushy eyed just yet. Who says Im leaving? The jurys still out on Mr. Weintraub. Besides, I want to be there to watch your back. You sound like youre wishing for more trouble. Be honest, Saylor. Didnt just a little part of you get off on our adventure? I gazed out at the river. Hmm. Did I? Allyson Roy, a former stand-up comic, lives in Wynnewood, Pennsylvania. This is Roys first novel. __