by Nic Saint
She smiled when she thought of her name appearing on top of the Forbes rich list. “Oh, yes, it is,” she said, her voice practically quivering with delight. “I’ll do anything to make that happen, Tabitha. You know that.”
Tabitha smiled. “I do know that, and that’s why I chose you, Tisha. You’ll see this through—I just know you will. Now simply do as I say, and this won’t take much longer. You may not think Cassie is weakening, but I know the woman better than anyone. She’s definitely about to break down.”
“What about the triplets?”
“What about them?”
“Won’t they try to stop us?”
Tabitha uttered a curt bark of laughter. “I want to see them try. Nothing and no one can stop us, my dear. The process has been put in motion and the end is nigh.” She patted her arm again. “Mark my words. Soon you’ll be the most successful female entrepreneur since Diane Keaton launched that line of gourmet baby food in Baby Boom.”
Chapter 15
That night, it was full house at Casa Cassie. We were all seated around the dinner table, my sisters and I, Gran, and our houseguests Helmut Totti, Jerome Cursons and Prince Fonzie. For the occasion Sam, Pierre and Skip had also put their feet under the table and were devouring Gran’s fabled pot roast with visible and audible relish. For a while there was no talk, only the sound of people thoroughly enjoying their food, which is always a good sign.
Gran was smiling broadly as she accepted the compliments to the chef, and soon conversation flowed freely.
“Is it true that you’re in town to fight some pharmaceutical company, Mr. Cursons?” Sam wanted to know from Jerome.
Jerome Cursons looked like an accountant, with his large glasses, pale face and horrendous combover, but in actual fact he was the former owner of a Honda dealership in Wisconsin. He’d suffered a stress-related breakdown a year ago, at which point his doctor had put him on medication. He now claimed that this medication had made him addicted to gay sex and gambling, and that his life had turned into a living hell because of it. So he was suing, and had come to New York with the express purpose of taking on Mega-Pharma, the company he blamed for his predicament.
“Yeah, I’m going to destroy Mega-Pharma—because Mega-Pharma destroyed me,” he said as he sliced into the succulent meat and then forked a large piece into his mouth and bit down with his pearly white chompers. “They made me addicted to gay sex and gambling and now I’m suing.”
“And I’m helping him,” Stien announced proudly.
Sam clearly didn’t think he’d heard right. “Mega-Pharma made you addicted to…”
“Gay sex and gambling. I liked women before—just ask my wife. Now all I can think about is large gay men who are hung like a horse and enjoy performing acts of gay sex on me. It’s turned my life into a living hell.”
“I can only imagine,” said Sam, raising an eyebrow. “Addicted to gay sex, huh?”
“And gambling. Don’t forget about the gambling. I’ve lost all of my savings, and as a consequence my wife walked out on me. The fact that I spend all my time fooling around with big sweaty gay men might have something to do with that.”
“Yeah, she might not have enjoyed that,” said Sam diplomatically.
“She stood by my side for a long time, but when I brought home my first hairy biker she finally drew the line. Said it was all very hard on her, seeing me like that.” He turned to Stien. “Her testimony is going to be gold, Stien. Pure gold.”
“Is she willing to testify?” asked Stien.
“Oh, yes, she is. In fact she’s dying to testify. She’s also writing her autobiography. It’s called. ‘How Big Pharma turned my sweet husband into a gambling gay sex fiend.’ I read a preview. Powerful stuff. Real powerful.”
“That’s great, Jerome,” said Stien. She was frowning now, no doubt weighing the legal ramifications of this autobiography.
Pierre darted a quick look at Stien. “I didn’t know you were back to being a lawyer, Ernestine?”
“Oh, well, I’m just dabbling at the moment.”
“Stien is taking evening classes,” said Gran proudly. “Very soon now she’ll have her degree, and then she can launch herself as a legal specialist. Isn’t that right, Stien?”
“That’s the plan,” said Stien airily, but I could tell she was extremely excited about the prospect of finally getting her law degree and entering the profession she’d always dreamed about.
“I think it’s great,” said Fonzie, who’d remained remarkably quiet until now. “I think it’s wonderful that in America dreams really do come true.” He smiled broadly. “And if you want help you can find it. Like Jerome,” he said with a kindly nod at Jerome, who eyed him with a touch of suspicion. Then again, Jerome was suspicious of pretty much everyone’s motives. Except Stien’s, with whom he’d struck up a firm friendship and working relationship.
“So you’re an actual prince?” Skip asked as he poured more gravy on his pot roast and mashed potatoes. “I mean, like, the son of a king and all?”
“Yes, I am,” said Fonzie. “When my father abdicates, I’ll ascend the throne and become Khameit’s supreme ruler.”
“Sweet,” Skip grunted. “Nice work if you can get it.”
“I’ve never met a prince before,” Pierre intimated.
“Well, it’s not that special,” said Fonzie with a sudden attack of modesty. “I was born into the racket, you see. Not something I can really boast about. Unlike you Americans who work hard and strive for everything you achieve. Like you, Sam Barkley. And you, Pierre Farrier. Two actual NYPD cops. I always wanted to be an NYPD cop,” he now announced surprisingly.
“Is that a fact?” asked Sam, scooping up more mashed potatoes.
“That is an actual fact, Detective Sam. And while I’m over here, I hope to learn as much as I can about the profession.” He tapped his chest proudly. “I want to earn my badge and gun and keep these mean streets safe and clean.”
“Well, you can always pick up a badge at a tourist shop,” Sam announced.
Fonzie’s exuberance diminished slightly. “But I want a real badge. A genuine NYPD cop badge. And a genuine NYPD cop gun. Like for real.”
“Then you’ll have to go to the police academy,” said Pierre.
“Yeah, and that’s not as easy as it sounds,” Sam added, picking his teeth.
“Oh, but I’ve seen Police Academy. I’ve seen all of them,” said Fonzie, his excitement returning. “I’m ready to do this, Detective Sam. Sign me up!”
“Right,” said Sam dubiously. “Let’s just do that.”
“I think you would make a terrific singer, though, Fonzie,” said Helmut. “I’ve heard you sing in the bathroom and you have a great singing voice.”
“Thank you, Helmut! Coming from an artist of your caliber that’s a genuine compliment.”
“Have you ever tried out for American Idol? I think you would be great.”
Sam suppressed a snort, but Fonzie didn’t appear to have heard it.
“I think Fonzie can do whatever he sets his mind to,” said Gran. “If you want to become an NYPD cop, go for it. And if you want to become the next American Idol, be my guest. The sky is the limit, Fonzie, and I, for one, am going to support you in anything you do. And that’s a promise.”
Why, thank you, Cassie,” said Fonzie, tearing up. “That—that means so much to me.”
“Not at all. Sometimes we all need a little encouragement to make it past the hurdles of life. Consider me your biggest fan.”
I had no idea if she meant it or not, but soon Fonzie was sniffling away like a jury member on American Idol when faced with the latest prodigy.
“I don’t get it,” said Skip.
“What don’t you get, Skip?” asked Strel.
“He’s going to be the next king of Khameit. What does he need to become a cop or a singer for?”
Fonzie waved a hand. “Being king is highly overrated. I want to become the next American Idol.”
“I th
ought you wanted to become an NYPD cop?” asked Sam, quirking an eyebrow.
“That, too. I’ll be a singing NYPD cop. Spread sweetness and light on New York City’s mean streets. And shoot people up with my gun, of course.”
“Just what we need. A trigger-happy singing prince,” Sam muttered.
“Be careful, though,” said Jerome moodily, waving his fork before stuffing another piece of pot roast into his mouth. “There’s a lot of substance abuse in the music industry. Don’t let them seduce you to the dark side, Fonzie.”
“Well, if they do, I always have Stien to represent me in a court of law,” said Fonzie. He turned to Helmut. “Will you help me become the next singing sensation, Helmut?”
“Of course!” Helmut cried. “I’ll help anyone with the ambition to make it as an artist. Why don’t we go to my room after dinner and practice?”
At this, Jerome looked up and blinked. “Can I come up to your room, too, Helmut?” Then he blinked again and groaned. “Have. To. Restrain. Myself!”
Stien placed a hand on his arm. “Fight the urge, Jerome. Fight the urge.”
Jerome was wringing his hands, sweat beading his brow. “I’m trying, Stien! But it’s so hard!”
“Oh, Gran, can’t you help Jerome?” asked Stien. “Help him get rid of this terrible affliction?”
Gran raised a finely stenciled eyebrow. “And how do you propose I do that, dear? I’m simply a retired flower shop manager and now Airbnb owner.” Stien shot Gran a pleading look, and finally she dabbed at her lips with her napkin. “I’ll see what I can do—but I’m not making any promises.”
“Thanks, Gran,” said Stien. It was obvious she’d taken Jerome’s legal and other issues to heart, and would do anything to help her first genuine client.
Chapter 16
Sam and I had stepped out into the garden, while the others took care of the dishes. I’d helped Gran cook the meal so I was exempt. Besides, I wanted to talk to Sam about the case, which featured more prominently on my mind than any issues Jerome, Helmut or Fonzie might be facing—which all seemed first-world problems to me. At least compared to Skip’s uncle being murdered.
We put a little distance between ourselves and the house, the cozy sounds of clinking dishes and chattering people like music to my ears. I actually enjoyed living in a full house like this, and couldn’t remember a time in my life when Casa Cassie hadn’t been filled with the sound of cheerful voices and laughter.
The night was warm, and crickets were chirping away in the shrubberies all around us. It was, in other words, a perfect New York summer night.
I threaded my arm through Sam’s, and we sauntered along the narrow cobblestone path, enjoying the fragrant scent of Gran’s garden. She’d recently installed lights along the pathways, which gave the garden a fairytale feel.
“So how’s the investigation going?” I finally asked, deciding to turn the topic to the events that had overshadowed a large part of my day.
Sam didn’t respond but merely gave my arm a squeeze.
“Well? Is there any news? Did you talk to Uncle Gus’s relatives?”
“You know I can’t discuss an ongoing investigation, Edie,” said Sam now, to my great surprise.
“That’s never stopped you before,” I reminded him. “Come on, Sam. This is me. I can help you solve this thing.”
“I don’t think so, honey. Not this time.”
“What do you mean? I’ve helped you before. This is what we do.”
He seemed embarrassed as he spoke the next words. “The thing is—Chief Knox has forbidden me and Pierre to discuss the case with anyone.” He fixed me with a keen look. “Especially you or your sisters.”
I turned to him in surprise. “What?”
“He feels that the neighborhood watch should be kept out of any police investigation. He’s talked to his lawyers and we simply cannot involve outsiders. It might create issues in the prosecution phase.” When I made to speak, he held up his hand. “It’s a legal thing, Edie. And I’m very sorry, but I’m going to have to go with the chief on this one. He’s right. Discussing an ongoing case might jeopardize a potential conviction down the line.”
“Nonsense. We’ve helped you solve cases before. We’re three fine sleuths, Sam. You know that.”
He took me by the shoulders and turned me to face him. “Look, it’s not just the legalese. It doesn’t feel right that you would involve yourself and your sisters in a heinous crime like this.”
“’A heinous crime like this?’” I asked, not hiding my astonishment. “All the crimes we solved have been pretty heinous, Sam. Every single one of them.”
“Yes, but this one is a particularly heinous one, and I don’t feel comfortable with you poking around, and potentially attracting attention to yourself.”
“If you didn’t want me involved, why did you call me out to the scene this morning?”
He shrugged. “That was before Knox brought down the hammer.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “I think I know what this is about. Chief Knox is afraid we’ll solve this case before you do. Get all the credit and make his precious NYPD look like fools.”
“No! Of course not!” He said, dragging his hands through his hair. “It’s just that… I’m worried about you, Edie, is that so hard to understand?”
I raised my chin. “I can take care of myself, Sam, and so can my sisters.”
“This killer is targeting the neighborhood watch,” he said. “He’s already killed three people and I don’t want you to become victim number four!”
The moment the words were out, he clamped his mouth shut. He’d said too much.
“Three victims? You mean Gus wasn’t the first?”
He muttered something under his breath that didn’t sound fit for print, then blew out a weary sigh. “Gus Brown is the Slasher’s third victim.”
I gawked at him. “The Slasher? You gave the guy a name already?”
Sam nodded, and I could deduce from his tortured profile that he was deeply annoyed he’d let slip the information.
I placed my hands together, Dalai Lama style. “Look, I promise I’ll be very careful, Sam. And that I won’t endanger myself or my sisters.”
“Well, that’s not good enough, is it?” he said, sounding frustrated. “This guy is coming after you—he’s thrown down the gauntlet. So I don’t want you anywhere near him. Am I making myself clear?”
“But…”
“I don’t want to lose you, Edie. I like you… a lot, and…”
I smiled, understanding finally dawning. “You like me, Sam?”
“You know I do.”
I softened. “I’ll tread softly. So softly this Slasher won’t even know I’m looking into his slashy business.”
Sam groaned. “I’m never going to be able to stop you, am I?”
“Nope. He killed Skip’s uncle, Sam, and Skip is family. How can I possibly let this go?”
And I would have said a lot more on the subject if not suddenly a loud cry sounded from inside the house. Moments later, Sam and I were racing through the garden, back to the house.
Chapter 17
My heart was pounding and I was ready for anything. Had the killer suddenly shown up and left a dead body in the kitchen? Or, worse, had he attacked one of my sisters or Gran?
When I swept inside, the first thing I saw was Strel standing on top of the table, kicking plates and cutlery to the floor as she performed a strange kind of dance.
Had she lost her mind? “Strel!” I cried. “Why are you dancing on the table?”
But then I saw it: at her feet, a snake was snapping and trying hard to take a nibble.
“Get it away from me!” she was screaming, clearly in a panic. “I hate snakes!”
Pierre, coming to her aid, was slapping at the snake with a kitchen towel, but it didn’t seem to deter the serpent in the least. I could have told him a towel wouldn’t work against a snake which was witchcraft-induced, but that would have given away our biggest
secret.
I could see that Gran was muttering to herself, her hands describing circles in the air. It was a tough proposition to try and perform magic while concealing the fact from those present. Helmut looked like he was about to faint, Jerome was nervously biting his nails, but Fonzie was filming the whole thing on his smartphone, no doubt eager to show his friends back home how Americans enjoyed a pleasant and entertaining evening at the homestead.
Just then, a loud scream, and Stien was mounting a chair. At her feet, another snake. Where did they keep coming from?!
And just when I was about to take drastic measures and grab a knife from the knife block, Sam yelled, “Edie, watch out!”
Instinctively, I looked down, and saw that a third snake had materialized out of thin air, and was now slithering around my feet, its fangs exposed, ready to attack!
I gave a loud yelp, and jumped a chair, joining my sisters, who were hollering like crazy.
The snakes were not deterred, and simply slithered up along the chair legs, trying to reach us. They were small and green, but with sharp teeth, their yellow eyes expressing determination and malice in equal measure.
“I’m going to get Tisha for this!” Strel was yelling. “She’s so dead!”
Pierre was still slapping away with the towel, but the snakes seemed impervious. Sam had picked up a wooden spoon, and was trying to snap up the snake that was attacking me and flick it away. Helmut, meanwhile, was clutching Jerome’s arm, and Jerome, in turn, didn’t waste time hugging Helmut, his face a mask of mixed emotions.
“Gran! Do something!” I cried.
Gran didn’t respond, but merely waved her hands just so, muttering strange oaths under her breath. I knew she was trying to conjure up a spell to destroy these snakes, but why was it taking so long? Was it so hard to deal with three pesky little snakes?
“This is so much fun!” Fonzie was exclaiming. “Better than charades!”
“Oh, shut up, Fonzie,” Stien growled.