by Norah Wilson
Well, she did have great designs, even if some of them were a little far out there.
And getting more out there by the minute.
Oh, boy.
“These are for you, Dylan, dear.” Aunt Gert presented the one-piece long john delight on a hanger, holding that hanger way up over her head so the attached slippered feet wouldn’t drag on the floor. Oh. My. God.
All Dylan would have needed was a stubbly growth of beard, knitted socks, and an ax propped over his shoulder and he’d blend in perfectly as the stereotypical woodsman. The lyrics of Monty Python’s Lumberjack Song started playing in my head. I couldn’t help but snicker into my hand, careful of course not to let Aunt Gert notice. But yet making sure that Dylan did notice.
“This,” Aunt Gert said, waving a hand dramatically over the long fire-engine red one-piece, “is from my Canadian Winter collection.”
Yep, we were all lumberjacks and fishermen up here in the Great White North.
Aunt Gert must have caught my skeptical look, for she quickly said, “When I go international—and you know I will—I have lots of collections in mind—Toronto Nights, Nova Scotia Blues. Oh yes, I’ve got big plans for my little business.”
Wow. Dylan had said she’d been bored since handing over her small restaurant business to her sons. I guess he was right! I sure hoped she knew what she was doing. I mean, I loved her enthusiasm, but I was hoping she wasn’t basing all her business decisions on how much Dylan and I were buying.
Dylan was thinking the same thing. “Well, Aunt Gert, Dix and I really love your designs, but...”
“Don’t worry, sweetie,” she said. “I’ve already opened my online shop.”
“You what?” Dylan asked.
“I opened an e-store,” she replied cheerily. “I got my friend Mary’s grandson to build the site, including the merchant piece. He did the SEO optimization, too. And Hal—you know my friend Hal? I hired his granddaughter—she’s a professional photographer, you know—to corral some models and take pictures of the wares. It’s going very well, I think.”
“Yeah, Dylan,” I said, giving him a reproaching look. “She knows what she’s doing.”
Aunt Gert scooted out of the room to retrieve the PJs she’d made for me. She was carrying the garment front and center as she came back into the room. “Here you go, Dix!” Yup that hanger-arm was up high again, another one-piece floating down from it.
I was speechless.
“Part of the Canadian Winter collection again, Aunt Gert?” Dylan asked.
“Yes it is! Do you like it?”
“I sure do!” Dylan was grinning ear to ear as he turned to me. “Don’t you, Dix? Dix?”
Oh my fuck! Apparently when Aunt Gert had designed these pajamas, she had the female lumberjack in mind. They were almost identical to Dylan’s with the exception of one very fine feature. Where Dylan’s had a frontally placed buttons for those jaunts out to the frost-covered outhouse in the middle of the night (or who we kidding, around the corner; he’s a man), the pajamas Aunt Gert had made for me had that trap door in the back.
I repeat: Oh my fuck!
“I’ve blown you away!” she cried. “I can see by the look on your face!”
Oh, she’d done that all right.
Dylan and I couldn’t get out of there fast enough. And yeah, we did leave with parcels in hand as we climbed into the SUV.
“Any chance we could solve this case before we don these PJs tonight?” Dylan asked hopefully. I’d told him about my conversations with the decedents’ families. And though he didn’t really have his money on Cathy Valentine either, he had the same feeling that I did, that this affair Albert had been having was somehow connected to the cuddle club deaths.
I shrugged. “We’re close to... something.”
“So who was Albert having the affair with?” Dylan asked.
“My guess is Ruth-Ann. She’s about the same age range.”
“That isn’t always a factor, you know.” He gave me a devilish smile. “Age isn’t all there is to these things.”
Yeah, I got it, he was talking about us.
“True enough,” I sank back in the seat. “But you know, Ruth-Ann was on him in no time flat, administering CPR. Yes, I know, she was a nursing instructor, but she seemed so dogged.”
“True. And now that you mention it, if she hadn’t been totally done in, I get the feeling she wouldn’t have yielded to me.” He keyed the ignition and the SUV roared to life. “Maybe you’re on to something, Dix.”
“Hey, don’t drive straight back to the office,” I said as I buckled my seatbelt. “Let’s head over to Gaetan Land. Those shirts we ordered from Babe should be ready by now.” (And despite how wonderful it would have looked on my mother, I was keeping for myself the one Babe had slipped to me that smoothie-spilling night. Trendy or not, I looked awesome in it.) ”And if Albert was having an affair, I’m betting she’d know about it.”
“Babe? You think she’d have the inside scoop.”
“I’m counting on it.”
I called Babe from my cell en route, telling her to expect us shortly. She sounded upset, but I didn’t offer to defer our visit, and she didn’t ask me to. And if she had, I was fully prepared to fake some kind of static/cellular interference and hang up.
I was damned curious about why Babe was upset. I suspected her turd of a big brother was behind it. And with any luck, we’d walk in on that family drama. When emotions run high, lips tended to run looser.
“Can you drive a little faster, Dylan?”
He could and he did. We got to the building on 33rd within minutes of my clicking the cell shut. And we heard the crying even as we neared the suite. Hysterical crying. Babe’s.
Something smashed against a wall inside, and Dylan stuck his arm in front of me and pushed past. “Hang back, Dix. Let me go first.”
I bit down on a growl.
“Relax,” he said. “You can quit growling.”
Okay, so maybe I didn’t bite down on that growl very hard.
“I know you can take care of yourself in any situation, Dix, but the cuddle crowd doesn’t. Think about your audience. You can hardly go in there flying your kick-ass colors. Not unless you want to blow our cover.” Those dark brown eyes bored into me.
Well, when he put it like that... “Fine. Go ahead.” I shrugged my acceptance. “You be the big, strong boyfriend.”
Dylan opened the door to Gaetan Land to the sound of a second object smashing.
A broken vase (one of two matching ones that had adorned the reception desk) was shattered on the floor at Babe’s feet.
“I hope you don’t expect me to clean that up!” Brandy said from across the room.
Babe glanced our way, and I could clearly read her embarrassment at our witnessing her tantrum. Then she promptly broke into tears. Real ones.
Ah, crap. I so suck at the touchy feely stuff.
Brandy looked at Dylan, the angry, rich bitch tone she’d been using with Babe morphing into sultry vamp. “Hi Dylan,” she purred. “I’m filling in for Eva today.” She cut a look to me. “Oh, and Daisy, is it? You’re still here?”
“Ain’t going nowhere,” I said.
She chuckled in that we’ll-see-about-that way.
Okay, I love women. Really. Well, not in the way my sister Peaches-Marie does (which, by the way, is totally fine), but in a chicks-rule, you-go-sister kind of way. Seriously, we women are no less than amazing. But Brandy Crotty was just not that likeable. In fact, I wanted to smack her. But first things first. Business before pleasure. I had to attend to Babe.
“Babe? What’s wrong?” I asked.
She snuffled back the tears, noisily, as Dylan and I ushered her into the office.
“What is it, Babe?” Dylan asked, his voice kind as he closed the door behind the three of us. “What’s the trouble?”
“Gaetan’s going back to California!” she wailed. “That’s what the trouble is.” With a few more wet snuffles, she plunked down i
nto the chair behind the desk.
“You mean he’s closing the cuddle club?” I asked. The notion filled me with a small wave of panic, and let me tell you, I was not at all pleased at the sensation. Dylan and I sat across from the distraught Babe.
“No, not closing it,” she said. “He says he’ll be back. I’m supposed to take care of things while he’s gone. It’s just that... just that...” She started bawling again. “I have to take care of... like everything! Starting now!”
Okay, I was getting a little perturbed. Seriously, I mean she was this upset because she had to manage the club for a couple weeks? How hard could it be? Throw a blanket on the floor... mix up a few smoothies in that... blending thing. Unless she knew something I didn’t yet... something illegal that she was scared of being caught doing...
“But you’re more than capable of running this place, Babe,” Dylan said. “You don’t need to be concerned about that.”
She waved him off. “Oh, I know. That’s not what I’m worried about.”
“What are you worried about?” Dylan probed gently.
“Well, Gaetan wants me to tell one of the cuddlers they have to go. He says there’ve been complaints...”
Ah, yeah. I could see that would suck. No doubt it was that fellow with the hairy ears.
Babe looked at me. “It’s you, Dix. Gaetan said you can’t come back.”
What... wait... me? I lifted a self-conscious hand to my ear. “Complaints about me?” Um, you see what I mean about tweezers...
“That’s what Gaetan said, but really... I think it’s mostly Brandy Crotty. Though I know Starla Good said something too. And, well, Gaetan himself doesn’t much care for you.”
Well, that was pretty diplomatically put. Gaetan Gough no less than hated my guts. And he wanted his kid sister to do the dirty work in telling me I couldn’t come back. Man, what a total jerk.
“So why’s he going to California?” Dylan leaned forward in the chair and handed Babe a tissue.
“He says there’s some business he has to attend to back home, but I know for a fact things there are running smoothly. He just... he just wants to saddle me with all the hard stuff, as always. Doesn’t know when he’s coming back.”
Or if. Dylan caught the questioning look I cast and acknowledged it with a look of his own.
“So he just dumped all this news on you today?” I said.
“Yes.” Babe balled up the tissue in her hand. “He came in, signed a few cheques, ordered the tickets, and did some of the maintenance.”
“Maintenance?” I asked.
“Yeah, he changed a florescent tube in one of the lights—though come to think of it, I don’t think any were burned out, or even flickering—and changed the air filters on the A/C vent. That’s why Brandy’s bitching,” she confided. “When Gaetan changes the air filters, dust and particles from the ceiling tiles and... all that stuff, falls from them all over the place. Any other time Eva would be doing it, and Eva never complains, but she’s sick or something.”
“Wow, that’s very proactive of Gaetan,” Dylan said.
Babe shrugged. “He can be very particular. Well, about some things. I mean, he changed those filters when we first moved in, and did it again today. We’ll have the cleanest air in Marport City, but with other stuff—the paperwork and paying bills and ordering inventory and stuff—he can’t seem to lift a finger. If I didn’t stay right on top of those things, this business would fall apart!”
“Air quality is important,” I said, shooting Dylan another look.
“I suppose.” Babe shrugged. “Anyway, after tonight’s cuddle, Gaetan says I am in charge until he gets back.” She sighed. “Well, at least there’s one good thing.”
“Yeah? What’s that?”
“Gaetan said that as of tonight, I’m allowed to join in the cuddle too.”
Chapter 15
I’VE SAID IT before; I’ll say it again (like I need to convince anyone—ha!): Dylan is the shoulder to cry on in our dynamic duo. And Babe practically soaked that shoulder with her tears. Poor kid. Gaetan was such a bully. But you know, I thought I was seeing some encouraging signs.
Rhonda Mary Gough, aka Babe, was getting sick and tired of taking this crap from big brother. Through the sniffles and the hiccups, I could see that something else was budding. Anger. Babe was realizing that she didn’t want this life anymore. Even more important, she was realizing that the only person who could change things, ultimately, was Babe. Oh, there was help out there; Dylan assured her of that. But she’d have to take the first step (however big, however small) herself. I knew she would. After all (you know it, sister), that’s a woman for you.
So while Dylan consoled Babe, I moved quietly away. With Babe’s back to me, her head on Dylan’s shoulder, I busied myself around Gaetan Land. That is to say, I snooped through the files marked private in the small filing cabinet. Risky, I know, but Dylan was making it easy for me, keeping Babe focused on him, talking and totally distracted.
Soooooo... I started with the payment information. How interesting to see that Elizabeth Bee’s Gaetan Land membership was indeed being paid for by Hugh Drammen. Albert Valentine’s attendance had been frequent right up until his demise. But whoa, hold the phone. There were no recent invoices in his file. The billing had stopped weeks ago. Oh, man, that didn’t seem right. If I was any judge of character, it wasn’t like money-grubbing Gaetan to let something like that slide. But wait? Wasn’t Babe in charge of the billing?
The medical histories were interesting. Holy shit! Drammen was old! Ruth-Ann was diabetic. There were three in the group taking meds for depression (poor Eva one of them; wasn’t always easy being a young woman), and one took meds from time to time for erectile dysfunction (I can’t believe he put that on there!). Heart problems: Faynelle St. James hadn’t listed any, but had admitted in her comments that her weight, lack of fitness, and job stress were motivators to join Gaetan Land. All of those factors made a heart condition seem pretty damned feasible. Telly had disclosed that he had high blood pressure. Interestingly, Albert Valentine seemed to have skipped the section on health information almost completely. He’d ticked yes to a couple of minor things, but failed to tick any nos. Had he been lying by omission?
Frankly, I thought all three probably had heart issues. But did I believe they’d all just spontaneously suffered fatal events? Not a chance. Well, Faynelle maybe.
Alrighty then. Looked like I was back to my theory of pheromones. Pheromones that potentially caused people with heart conditions to keel over dead.
Except we knew that Gaetan wasn’t using the Cuddle-Uppies to introduce the pheromones, nor were they being delivered via the smoothies. But that whole changing the air filters thing? I think we had a winner for the mode of delivery.
Presuming my theory was right, the question was, did Gaetan know his secret cuddle addiction-inducing ingredient could cause potentially fatal heart problems?
If so... that was manslaughter, plain and simple. Or reckless endangerment, at the very least.
I was going to so nail Gaetan’s ass on this.
There was a loud, shuddering sigh from across the room. One of those I’m-all-cried-out sighs. I slid the filing cabinet door closed (oh so silently), then turned to smile at Babe. Then Dylan.
“Time to go, Dylan, dear?”
“Yes, Dix, darling.”
We exited the tiny office.
But our visit wasn’t over.
“Hey, Brittney,” I called over to Brandy. “You missed a spot!”
I turned to Babe, who’d followed me out of the small office. “She really should clean that, you know.”
Babe looked down at the mess, sheepishly.
I meant the pile of glass on the floor where, in her tantrum, Babe had broken the vases. It would take randy-Brandy no more than a few minutes to clean that up with her power to suck. (I mean, she still was holding the vacuum cleaner, after all.) Yes, Babe had made the mess, but in my humble opinion, Babe had better dea
l with the little brat right now. With Gaetan gone, Brandy’d walk all over Babe if she didn’t assert herself.
“Sorry, can’t,” Brandy said. She’d parked the vacuum and was leaning to look out the window (and give Dylan a nice view of her ass, no doubt). But she didn’t look very sorry. “Eva and I are off to have pedicures and manicures.” She turned around. “Ta-ta and all that. But I’ll see you at cuddle club tonight, won’t I, Dylan?”
“Er, yeah,” Dylan conceded.
“Babe,” I urged her under my breath. “I know she’s just filling in for Eva but you really should get her to clean—”
“I’ll do it.” Dylan crossed the room and grabbed the vacuum from where Brandy had left it. “I don’t mind helping out. Especially since Brandy and Eva have appointments at the spa.”
What the fuck?
But I really do know better than to ever seriously question whose side Dylan is on. Always mine. “Let me go change the vac bag first, though. Otherwise the glass might shred it and get dust all through the motor. Where do you keep them, Babe?”
Ah. Got it. Smart lad, Dylan.
“Oh, I can do that for you,” Brandy gushed.
“No,” he said. “I insist. You don’t want to be late for your appointment.”
“Well, it is at the Bombay Spa...” With a superior wave, she floated past Babe and me and out the door.
Babe pointed to an unmarked door that led to the maintenance closet. With vacuum in hand, Dylan went inside. I turned Babe around as he shut the door, drawing her into conversation so she wouldn’t think too hard on why Dylan had shut himself inside the small closet.
I knew he’d need time in there. So small talk it was.
“So you went to California U?” I’d seen that on the degree.
Babe seemed to brighten. “Yes,” she said. “Oh, that was such a wonderful time! I finished near the top of my class. I wish I’d been able to do more with it.”