Syrah and Swingers

by Sandra Woffington

  In the kitchen, Joy had little luck extracting anything useful from Faith Bakken. She’d grown up in a world unlike the one in which Joy grew up. She had her own convictions, her own truths, her own sheltered experiences.

  “I love Mary. A mother always loves her children, no matter what they’ve done.”

  That shoved a stake through Joy’s heart, but it was a salve too. Sam did love her—even when she dressed up like Wednesday in the Addams’ family for Halloween in middle school and when she shaved her head right before starting high school. And Sam clasped her hand in his as they held a funeral for the dead critters she’d collected. “Yes, Faith. They do. Don’t give up on Mary. I’ve met her, and she’s a remarkable, caring girl. Give her time. My father gave me time.”

  The oven buzzer shattered the temporary silence. Mary grabbed hot pads and pulled a golden loaf of bread from the oven. She set it down to cool. “I will. Joseph is frustrated, but he’s a good man and a good father. Despite their differences, Mary knows we’re here and that this is her home.”

  At the station, Max and Joy sat across from each other at their desks, but each focused on their computer screen, deep in research and deep in thought.

  Joy dug into Ted’s history. He’d never been arrested. Next, she located Asia’s social services’ records. She’d been placed in Ted’s family at thirteen after her mother, who had a long history of prostitution and drug addiction, died of an overdose. Joy could only imagine the life she experienced before being taken in by Ted’s family. They’d need to interview her again. She seemed well-adjusted, considering.

  Max’s phone rang. The display was from the ME’s office. “Hi, Angelo. What have you got?”

  “I rushed the lab to test for Rohypnol and it came back positive. Alcohol we knew about—not excessive. The concentrations aren’t high enough to rule this as anything but an accidental overdose. It could have been the combination. Hard to say. Other indicators, likewise, are not strong enough to rule this a homicide. There is no saliva on the pillows from Ted. So, unless you guys find otherwise, this goes down as an accidental death.”

  “What about the trash?” asked Max. “Did you find a cup with the drug?”

  “No. So Ted may not have been drugged. He might have taken a pill, thinking he was going to have a good time. Or, someone ate the paper cup.” Angelo laughed. “Max, that was a joke.”

  “Thanks, Angelo. We’re still following a few leads.”

  “Good luck.”

  Max filled Joy in on the cause of death.

  “Let’s go back to Nicole,” suggested Joy. “We have conflicting stories—Ted was a line cook, so why the a raise and a new job?”

  Max gave her a call. Nicole offered to stop by the station.

  19

  Nicole strolled in wearing tiny red shorts, a red and white striped tank top, white sandals, and a wide-brimmed white hat. She removed the hat and sunglasses, and the desk clerk led her back to Max and Joy’s workspace.

  “Thanks for coming in,” said Max, grabbing her a chair. “We just have another question or two.”

  “Bien sur,” said Nicole. “Happy to help.”

  Joy leaned in. “We’re confused, Nicole. Henri said Ted was a line cook, but others say Henri promoted him.”

  “And gave him a raise,” added Max.

  “Well…Ted is a good cook.” Nicole picked at the white band of her hat.

  Max didn’t buy it. “Well, then, just give us the name of the assistant chef that quit.”

  “Was he threatening to expose you?” asked Joy.

  Nicole’s eyes cringed with concern. She peered around, as if to assure herself that no one could hear her. “Oui! That man is horrible!”

  “What did he do?” Max pressed.

  Nicole whispered, “Ted promised he would keep his mouth closed, you know, about the parties, if Henri gave him a raise and a promotion. Ted took advantage. He even wanted me in the deal.” Nicole’s gaze narrowed, ready to throw daggers at Ted, even after death. “Henri threw a tray of silverware to the ground when he realized Ted had been with me. He was so angry. In the alley, he told Ted to keep his distance. ‘Nicole is not a bargaining chip,’ he said, but he gave him the rest, at least for a while. Henri introduced Ted as the new assistant chef, and Joe quit, on the spot.” Nicole hung her head. “You know, the rage I saw on Henri’s face matched the rage on my face when I discovered he had cheated on me. I never intended to hurt him—even if he felt the same pain I felt.”

  “Maybe it’s time to quit,” suggested Joy.

  “Maybe.” Nicole nodded.

  “Does Joe have a last name?” asked Max.

  “Joe Cisneros. Henri did not kill Ted. I’m sure of it. He was with me and Victor and Gloria.”

  Joy soothed, “There had to be times he was apart from you.”

  “Qui, of course. But minutes, you know.”

  “That’s all it takes,” said Joy. “But we’re still looking at this as an overdose too.”

  Max asked, “What about Sophia and Elwin or others? Did Ted threaten them too?”

  “When we walked into the party, Henri saw Ted, and he pulled Elwin aside. He asked, ‘Why is he here?’ and Elwin told him to just ignore him. If Ted put pressure on Henri, he put pressure on others too. I think oui.”

  “Thanks for coming in,” said Max. “We’ll call if we need anything else.”

  Nicole nodded her agreement and rose to her feet. “All of this is terrible! I’m so tired of worrying. First about Henri cheating on me. And now about being found out and pointed at by my neighbors in this is community. I love the people here, but they are tres conservative, you know?”

  “Nicole, let’s try to keep this in perspective,” said Max. “Ted had problems. He had hoped to start a good life in this community. You know what’s really terrible: he’s dead.”

  Max and Joy found Joe Cisneros working in the kitchen at a new upscale restaurant called The Purple Vine. Max flashed his credentials, and Joe led them to the back alley. The smelled of grime and rotting food floated across the back lot from dumpsters.

  “Why did you quit working at Le Chevalier Noir?” asked Joy.

  Joe Cisneros was short and rotund. His gut pressed against his white chef’s jacket. He had tawny skin, a stocky frame, and stubble born of neglect more than a purposeful fashion statement. “I quit because I’ve been the assistant chef for ten years. And the new guy, Ted, rolls into town and everything changes. One day, Nicole walks in and the kitchen becomes a war zone. Henri throws a tray of silverware to the floor. Nicole calms him down. Henri storms outside. Nicole chases after him. Nicole asks to see Ted outside, and when they come back in, Henri announces that Ted is his new assistant chef. I quit! That night, I called Henri, but he wouldn’t answer my questions. He said it was a personal matter. He said he would fix it and told me not to get too settled in at a new job.” Joe waved his hand as if to wipe Henri out of his life.

  “What did Ted say?” asked Joy.

  Joe broiled. “That piece of trash chewed on his gum and joked that he had ‘slept his way to the top.’ He said I should try it. I asked Ted what the hell that meant. He grinned ear-to-ear and said ‘never mind.’” Joe waved the air again.

  Max added, “It sounds like Henri was angry.’”

  Joe’s eyes lit up. “Angry? He screamed that Nicole needed to keep Ted away from him or he’d kill him.”

  “Did Henri ask you to come back? After Ted died?”

  “I turned him down. He turned his back on me. I turned my back on him. I’d been preparing my own recipes for the past five years—recipes that I gave to Henri, and he used them in his menus. I’ve even been writing a cookbook. The Purple Vine gave me a chance to be head chef. I’m on my way. Henri can go stuff himself—with a filling of his choice.”

  Max dropped Joy off at the station before heading home. Joy found Steele at his desk.

  “Shall we go?” he asked.

  Joy put a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t hate
me, but I’m wiped out. You head home, and I’ll go crash until the sun comes up tomorrow.”

  “You do look tired. Everything okay?”

  “At this very moment in time—yes, all is right with the world.”

  The moment Joy stepped inside the house, dropped her bag, and kicked off her shoes, her phone rang. “Dr. Burton here.”

  “Dr. Burton, this is Raymond Reyes from Chowchilla. Ursula Winters would like to see you again.”

  Joy stopped to process that little gem, setting it in context with the myriad of other gems she currently juggled.

  “Hello? Dr. Burton?”

  “When, Mr. Reyes?”

  “Call me Ray-rey. Everyone does. Tomorrow. Same time. She says it’s urgent. That she can prove something to you. She thinks her life is in danger. That she doesn’t have much time. I’m sorry for the short notice.”

  “You’re stepping over the line here, Ray-rey.”

  “I know. It’s just that everyone deserves a second chance. Right?”

  “No. That’s not true at all. Everyone definitely does not deserve a second chance. I’ll call my partner and get back to you.”

  Joy poured herself a small whiskey and had a sip before she called Max.

  “What’s up?”

  “Ray-rey, the guard who chauffeured us around in Chowchilla, wants us back tomorrow. Ursula wants to see us.”

  “Why?”

  “She says she wants to prove something to us.” Joy swigged the whiskey, enjoying the burn as it slid down her throat.

  “Pandora wants to go. I can tell.”

  Joy didn’t answer.

  “Okay. Your bodyguard is on board.”

  “She’s the one who needs a bodyguard, Max.”

  “Then you can be my bodyguard. Sleep well.”

  Joy tossed back her whiskey, set the empty glass on the table, and marched to the bedroom to visit with Monty, take a shower, and dive into the dream world, hoping that Blackmoor stayed the hell away from her thoughts. But he didn’t.

  As Joy fell asleep, Draven Blackmoor stepped out of the shadows and into her mind. “Joy, it’s time we broaden your horizons. Unleash the beast I know you can be.”

  Suddenly, Joy sat at a computer, waiting for the newest data from the outreach center to download. The computers in the lab were notoriously slow. Even though neither she nor Draven did any kind of flask-and-test-tube type of science, Blackmoor conducted interviews or compiled data analysis on the Yale campus at one of the labs within the psychology department. The moment Joy had left high school behind and entered the forensic psychology program, she could not slake her unquenchable thirst to unlock the secrets of the mind: she soaked up neuroscience, conceptual ideology, moral and social cognition and judgment, mental disorders, memory, and intelligence, and she applied that knowledge to the realm of crime. “No, Draven, I’ve worked a lifetime to keep my beasts at bay.”

  Draven came up behind her. He slid his arms around her waist and pressed his chest against her back.

  Joy rolled over to avoid him, but the sheets tangled, trapping her.

  “You said you’d try it.”

  “I said that to please you.”

  “I’m okay with that, but I know you, Joy. You’re a natural-born boundary breaker. Break free, this once. Even if that’s it—you’ll have felt the true power of freedom, the power to reach beyond the limits arbitrarily established for the less intelligent people who cannot fathom the beyond.”

  “Oh, so only smart people swing?” she mumbled.

  “Only smart people reach into the depths of themselves and explore without restraint. They sever the bonds of social mores constructed by others. They reach out to grip beauty by the throat, and they squeeze life out of every drop.”

  Joy felt his breath on her neck, but it was eerily cold. She pulled the sheets up to tuck herself in a cocoon of protection, but Draven would not leave.

  Draven grasped her wrist and led her through a door. She stepped into a dark room full of bodies. Pairs of eyes—men’s, women’s, and half-human-half-beast creatures—danced over her and undressed her. Where was she? Was this Pan’s realm, the Greek god whose name lent itself to the word “panic.” Her heart raced like a frightened deer.

  She resisted moving forward, but she felt Draven’s hand press against her bare back and push her forward. Hands reached out and stroked her arms or calves as she passed by. She gasped in fear. Her head whipped around, searching for a way out.

  Her clothes began to disappear: first her black dress, then her bra, then her panties, leaving her naked and afraid. She swung her arms over her flesh to conceal herself.

  Draven let out a sadistic laugh as they reached a doorway. She willingly stepped through, ashamed that her feet had betrayed her. She glanced over her shoulder. The others disappeared. When she turned ahead, Draven Blackmoor nudged toward a gorgeous, muscular, black man and a petite blond girl with Goldilocks’ curls.

  The black man was rock-star handsome. His smile fell upon on her and then to Draven with a wink and a nod.

  She floated forward, despite the fact that her feet took no steps. The room was dark, except for a light that struck a mirrored ball and flashed, shooting shards of light that made her dizzy. Was she there to dance? The thought eased her mind. Her nerves fired a warning. No, not there to dance.

  Joy twisted the sheets around her. They pinned her down and forced her to see what had happened, even though she so wanted to rewrite it into a lovely dance and no more. The strobe ball disappeared. Darkness consumed her, touched her. She responded.

  She shut her eyes tight to block it all out, but she could not block the physical sensations that increased and drove her desire. In that moment, every rebellious moment of her life flashed before her. In that moment, it climaxed in hate—hate for herself. It was unctuous, slippery, and sticky.

  Joy turned her head to avoid hearing the bald man’s grunts. She threw her arms over her head, refusing to reciprocate. Multiple hands caressed her. Draven’s, Goldilocks, the bald man. She grunted—not in pleasure—but because she had reached the bottom of the abyss. Her back slammed against it. She grunted louder, a beast breaking free of its chains. And louder. Until she erupted. Free at last.

  Draven peeled away and left her in the bald man’s grasp. Her mind seized the control that her body had lacked.

  Joy turned her head to find Draven to let him gaze into her eyes and see that the beast within her had broken free of its chains. Of his chains.

  Draven arched his naked body over Goldilocks’ pale, petite frame. He caressed her neck.

  The blond girl gasped and gurgled beside Joy, their heads only feet apart. The girl’s hands grasped Draven’s and tried to pull them away from her neck.

  “Draven! No!” Joy shouted, but the black man pinned her arms to the mattress. He wanted her to watch.

  The blond girl stopped gasping. Her arms fell to her sides.

  The black man suddenly vanished. He reappeared next to the blonde girl, placed his mouth over hers and blew into her lungs. The girl coughed and gasped.

  The black man helped her sit up.

  Her neck had bruises—old and new.

  Draven arched over Joy. He reached for her neck and squeezed.

  Joy’s fist balled into a medieval mace. She grunted as she socked him in the throat with live-saving force. I

  Draven tumbled backward, stunned.

  Before the stunned onlookers could stop her and pin her down again, Joy raced out of the room, through the crowd, and out of the house. She emerged on a cold, dark, empty street.

  Naked, she trudged home.

  She didn’t care how long it would take to get there. She no longer floated as if at someone else’s command. She put one foot before the other, step after step, on her own two feet. She had control.

  The night became sultry. It warmed her skin until she no longer felt embarrassed by her nakedness nor did she feel the need to shackle herself in clothing. Monty lay in the road ahead. S
he scooped her up and draped her over her shoulders. One star shone brighter than the others. She followed it.

  The blackness enveloped her. It dressed her in a blanket made of her own soul—black but as light-giving as the sun; it clothed her.

  Joy embraced herself in a way she never had.

  She laughed as she walked. The glowing light up ahead split and formed two figures. As she stepped between them, they turned and walked beside her. Their feet marched in unison with hers. Sam on one side. Max on the other.

  Joy rolled over. For the rest of the night, Blackmoor stayed out of her mind. She never did reach the end of the road. She walked all night, a beast at peace in her jungle and heading home.

  20

  Joy entered the station and sat opposite Max. She pulled off her sunglasses.

  “You look like crap.”

  “Thank you, Max. I didn’t sleep well.”

  “Ursula?”

  “Blackmoor. But you were there, Max. You were there for me. Usually, I’m walking home naked in the dark. It was like embracing my soul, which, as you might guess, is also black.”

  “Was I naked?”

  Joy laughed. “No. And I found clothing before you showed up. Sam showed up too.”

  “In my dreams, I’m naked on a horse. Literally bare-back.”

  “Ouch. Sorry.” Joy set up her laptop. “Who are you liking for this case?”

  “If it is murder, Henri is a strong contender, but it doesn’t mean that we can’t rule out the women. Nicole’s livelihood was threatened. Sophia had cause to worry, and Elwin had a lot to lose.”

  “Gloria and Victor don’t have a lot of motive. Nor do Sandy and Steve, but Mary’s father Joseph is a possibility He was there. He has a temper, and he has religious conviction—sometimes a deterrent and sometimes a motivator,” added Joy.

  “Asia came for a visit to see her foster brother. It sounds like her life was a mess until Ted’s family came along.”