The Iron Tiara

by Beth Flynn

  She forced a smile and turned to look at Christy who was rummaging through his dresser drawers. Christy caught Veronique's reflection in the mirror.

  "Nothing here. Can I do a quick check of the bathroom?" Veronique asked.

  "I haven't found anything either," Christy said as she nodded.

  Veronique headed for the bathroom and had to grit her teeth. If she'd had a ridiculous split-second thought that the condoms were still in the nightstand because he wasn't sleeping with the blonde Barbie doll they immediately evaporated. Three lacy bras were hanging over the glass shower door. She made speedy work of opening and shutting drawers so the blonde could hear her. She quickly returned to the bedroom.

  "I don't want to bother you anymore..." She paused as if something occurred to her. "I'm sorry, I didn't get your name."

  "Christy," the young woman replied.

  "I've inconvenienced you enough already, Christy."

  "You haven't inconvenienced me," Christy answered as she followed Veronique out of the bedroom.

  When she got to the front door, Veronique turned around and addressed Christy. "Thank you for your help. Please tell Anthony I came by to check on him and ask him about my stethoscope if you don't mind."

  "I definitely will," Christy told her, her voice sincere.

  She closed and locked the door behind the woman and returned to the utility sink to finish washing out her paint brushes.

  It was all the lady doc could do not to peel out of Anthony's driveway. Her breathing was heavy as her pulse raced. She was beyond livid. More than once she'd had to tighten her fists at her sides to prevent herself from slapping Christy across the face. She'd fantasized about whipping out a scalpel and making mincemeat of her perfect complexion. Maybe even digging out her saucer-sized blue eyes and leaving them on Anthony's pillow.

  She was grateful that she could use her skills as a trauma surgeon to keep her cool. She hadn't had a specific plan when she knocked on Anthony's door, and she was glad she hadn't shown her hand. She would find Anthony Bear and see what he had to say about Christy, who couldn't have been more than eighteen. She was just a girl. A girl who'd refused a marriage proposal from Anthony Bear. She pressed on the gas and headed for Native Touch Landscape and Design.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Naples, Florida 1978

  After not finding Anthony at his landscaping office and confirming with a couple of the workers that he hadn't gone out to visit crews, Veronique headed for Camp Sawgrass. It was almost dusk when she pulled into the camp. She parked in front of the office and glanced around for Anthony's truck. It wasn't there. Her eyes fell on five motorcycles, and she realized she didn't know what Anthony's bike looked like. She quickly looked toward the brick barbecue area that some of the men sat around. She didn't see Anthony, but she did recognize one man. She'd treated him for a sexually transmitted disease. Glad that she always carried a medical bag, she grabbed it and got out of the car, secretly grateful that one of the men would recognize her.

  She expected the whistles and offensive comments and breathed a sigh of relief when the man she treated said, "None of that, fellas. This lady here is special, and Anthony will cut your throat if you mess with her."

  She smiled at the comment and reveled in the man's description of Anthony's protectiveness toward her. She stepped up onto what was once probably a stylish eating area for the campers. The wooden picnic tables had long since rotted and were now replaced with Adirondack chairs that used to perch on some of the bunkhouse porches, sheltered from the elements. The five men lazed in them as they ogled her. Her heels clicked on the expensive pavers as she walked closer. To the left of the motley group she saw the fancy, oversized barbecue area. It was expansive and had several cook grills and storage areas beneath. Everything but the iron grills were made of brick, and the structure took up the entire left side of the patio area. She saw something on one of the grills and tried to suppress a grimace. It was the charred remains of a human hand.

  One of the men noticed her stifled reaction and taunted her saying, "That's all that's left of Denny. Wave hello to the pretty doctor, Denny." There was a round of laughter.

  "Haven't seen you in a while, Doc," the man she'd recognized said. He swallowed the last sip of his beer, and after crushing the can he tossed it over his shoulder. It hit the fancy brick pavers with a ping and bounced into the grass.

  "I've been busy at the hospital and I usually hear from Anthony if there's an emergency," she answered. "I guess there haven't been any problems?"

  "If you think John's itchy scrotum counts as an emergency then I guess we could've called you," one of the men called out. There was a round of laughter, and Veronique forced a smile.

  "Is Anthony here?" she asked while raising a perfectly arched eyebrow.

  "Nah," the man said. "Heard he had business in Miami. He’ll head straight for home when he gets back to this coast and won’t show up here until tomorrow probably."

  She straightened her posture and assessed her situation. She couldn't confront him if he wasn't around. She needed a few minutes to gather her thoughts and she needed to do it away from this unsavory lowlife bunch of dirt bags.

  "I'll check to make sure the infirmary isn't short of supplies," she said. The man she'd been talking to stood then and scratched his crotch. Apparently, he was John.

  "I'll see ya later, Doc." He stretched and yawned. "I ain't slept for almost twenty-four hours." He then turned to address the men. "Since you guys are riding out tonight, this is my farewell." He shot them the bird and there was a round of laughter.

  One of them commented, "California here we come!"

  Then the men started throwing comments out about how he'd get more sleep if he wasn't too busy banging Shasta with his puny little finger.

  He started to walk away when Veronique said, "One more thing. I met a friend of yours today. Ben Diamond came to my ER this afternoon. My deal with Anthony was that I would be called out here if I was needed. I don't need a bunch of bikers showing up and acting like they know me." She brushed a frustrated hand through her hair and gave him a level look.

  John had turned around to face her. "Don't know no Ben Diamond," he said before heading for the bunkhouse.

  Shasta watched from the office window. She frowned when John headed for the bunkhouse. She knew he would be crashing in one of the beds. The four men that now sat around the barbecue pit frightened Shasta. They'd abused her more than once, and she'd been counting on John giving her a ride into the city, so she didn't have to fight off their advances. She was going to crash on her older sister's sofa for a few days. She normally wouldn't have a problem performing sexual favors for any or all of them. It was the beating that she had to take afterward from one in particular. The tall one named Andrew took sadistic pleasure in hurting her during and after sex. When the doctor spun around and headed for the office, Shasta backed away from the window and ran to the infirmary where she crawled beneath the cot.

  She heard the woman's heels click against the wooden floor as she walked around the office area. Shasta remained quiet, hoping the doctor would avoid the infirmary. As far as Shasta was concerned, Dr. V could go jump off a cliff. She was a smug, self-righteous, egotistical snob who basked in the men's idol worship of her. She barely made eye contact with the women that needed medical attention, scolding them for being weak and shaming them for selling their bodies for drugs. Shasta had always despised her and now wondered why the doctor hadn't been at the camp for months. Could it have something to do with the woman Anthony had his gang looking for? She was startled from her thoughts when the shrill ring of a phone broke the silence. She heard the doctor answer the telephone that sat on the office desk, right outside the infirmary's open door.

  "Hello?” she said. Veronique's voice floated through the office. "Who?"

  "No, there's no Judy here," she replied to whoever had called. "Yes, I'm sure." Her tone was one of mild aggravation. A beat passed. "No, this is not a dry cleaner. You
obviously have the wrong number." She hung up the phone.

  Veronique stood at the desk and gazed out at the four men who were left sitting around the barbecue area. A plan started to form in her mind and with Anthony gone she was certain she could execute it flawlessly. Especially if she could count on the four degenerates sitting outside to unwittingly help her before they left for California. A slow, evil smile crept over her face as she picked up the phone and dialed the number to Anthony's home.

  Christy sat on the couch and popped her favorite snack into her mouth. Pistachio nuts left her fingers stained red, but she considered it a small price to pay for the enjoyment she got from eating them. She was having a hard time concentrating on the television show she was watching. It was dark outside now, and she realized she was anxious to see Anthony. This had been the longest they'd been apart since the day she drove over the Alley by herself and ended up at the Glades Motel. She shuddered when she thought what could've happened to her if Moe hadn't sought Grizz's help. Not letting herself go down that road, she changed the channel and kept glancing at the drawn blinds that hung on the front window. Even though they were closed, she knew she'd be able to see his headlights through the slats when he pulled up.

  The phone in Anthony’s office startled her, and she jumped. Should she answer it? Of course I should, she told herself as she stood and strode to the open door. Why wouldn't she? She could take a message for him without saying her name. Besides, what if it was him? What if it was important. She picked it up on the third ring.

  "Hello?"

  "Christy, this is Veronique. Doctor Dubois." Christy thought her voice sounded a little different. More high pitched.

  "Are you okay? Is something wrong?" she asked the woman, her senses telling her something wasn't right.

  "I'm fine, but Anthony isn't," she said, her voice returning to its normal tone.

  "What? How do you know that? Where are you?" Christy fired her questions rapidly, her pulse racing.

  "I stopped by the camp to do a wellness check on his men, and Anthony pulled in a few minutes later. I guess he needed to come here before heading home to you. Anyway, he got into a horrible fight with one of the guys. It's bad, Christy. I think you should be here."

  Christy couldn't catch her breath. "Did you call an ambulance?" she asked, her voice cracking. "I can meet you at the hospital. Which hospital will they take him to?"

  "No. I can't call an ambulance. Anthony won't let me and I don't need to tell you the risk I'd be taking if I'm seen at the camp. I'll have to operate on him here."

  "Operate?" Christy screamed. "Let me talk to him. Please!"

  "I can't bring the phone to him. It won't reach. And he's in no position to get up and walk to it." She sounded exasperated. "You know I'm a surgeon. I can do this." She paused. "I need to remove a bullet, Christy."

  Christy swallowed back a sob. "You have to operate on him there? That doesn't seem like a good idea to me."

  "I'm a trauma surgeon, and I'm good at what I do. I can safely remove the bullet," she lied in her best authoritative doctor voice. Her next words weren't as easy to get out. "He's asking for you, Christy. He won't let me touch him unless you're here with him."

  "I've never been to the camp. Can you tell me how to get there?" Christy asked.

  After getting directions and hanging up, Christy grabbed her keys and ran to her car. She didn't lock the house behind her. She didn't remember her bag with her wallet. She started her little car and drove as fast as she could to Camp Sawgrass while her heart hammered so hard she expected it to jump out of her chest.

  Chapter Thirty

  Naples, Florida 1978

  Satisfied by how well the first part of her plan had worked, Veronique decided it was time to put the second part into motion. She picked up her medical bag, marched out the door and headed for the men.

  Shasta couldn't believe what she'd heard. The doctor was deliberately luring a woman named Christy to the camp. A woman who, based on what she'd heard Dr. V say, cared enough about Anthony to believe that he'd specifically asked for her. Wasn't Christy the name of the woman Anthony had everyone looking for? She walked to the door and cracked it open, hoping she'd be able to hear what the doctor was going to say to the men as she approached them with long, confident strides. Lucky for Shasta it was a quiet night; not even a cricket was chirping. She watched Veronique place a hand on her hip and address the men in a loud, crisp voice.

  "I got the strangest phone call when I was inside," she said to no one in particular.

  "From who?" Andrew asked, his voice slightly slurred.

  "I don't know. But they said Anthony wanted a message delivered to any of his men who were hanging around."

  "What message would that be?" another man asked.

  "Well, it's a little cryptic, but I'm sure you guys will know what it means." She moved her medical bag from one hand to the other before continuing. "The man who called said Anthony is sending you a special delivery. I'm not sure what it is, but he specifically said it's something Anthony no longer has a use for. It belongs to you now, and when you're finished with it, he wants to make sure there's no evidence that it was ever here. He also said to make sure it's cleaned up, whatever that means, sooner than later."

  Another man, who looked to be a little older and more hardened than the rest sat up in his chair and asked, "What kind of delivery?"

  She shook her head. "The guy didn't say. He said you guys would know it when you saw it." She smiled then and said, "The infirmary has been restocked so since I'm not needed, I'll be heading out."

  She walked away then and stopped. She swung around and looked at each man's face before adding, "Oh, I almost forgot. He said to 'look for the white rabbit.’" She laughed then and shrugged her shoulders. "I guess that's some kind of biker code thing that you're supposed to know."

  She climbed into her car and drove away satisfied that she’d pulled off the perfect crime. The derelicts that she’d spoken to would certainly rape, torture and murder Anthony’s underage Barbie doll. Christy would never have the chance to tell Anthony about Veronique’s visit to his house. And if the men were leaving the camp tonight like she'd heard one mention, Anthony would never know what became of his precious Christy. Envisioning the porcelain-skinned blonde with the big blue eyes fueled Veronique’s rage. Her knuckles whitened on the steering wheel as she tried to tamp down her rage.

  She knew Anthony was a dangerous man, but she didn’t get to be where she was without having a high level of intelligence. She could certainly outsmart a criminal. He may have had the brawn, but she was the one with the brains. She didn’t know what mocked her more. The fact that Anthony didn’t seem to be bothered by her rejection months ago, not once trying to see her, or the fact that she’d been replaced with a teenage blonde midget who obviously didn’t have an ounce of class or intelligence and drove a ridiculous vehicle. Where had he found her? Cheerleading camp?

  She forced herself to take a calming breath and smiled. If those lowlife miscreants didn’t leave tonight and were stupid enough to thank Anthony for his present telling him about the message Veronique passed on, she had a foolproof alibi. That wrong number couldn’t have been more perfectly timed. All she would have to say in her defense was that she answered a phone call and spoke to a man whose voice she didn’t recognize. And if Anthony didn’t believe her, he could use his contacts to have the call traced. A call that would be linked back to the poor sap who’d been looking for a woman named Judy who worked for a dry cleaner. Anthony would probably have the guy tortured to death. Her plan was brilliant and flawless.

  She leaned her head back and allowed a slow smile to spread across her face. In two days, she would be on a plane heading for Bermuda. It was a vacation she’d planned for over a year, and she couldn’t wait to soak up the sun while sipping margaritas on the white sandy beaches of her favorite resort. She would be gone for a whole month. She would take a lover when she got there and bask not just in the Bermuda sun, b
ut in the knowledge that she had ruined any chance Anthony Bear may have had at happiness with another woman.

  “There’s an old adage that talks about the fury of a woman who’s been scorned,” she said out loud. “And you, Anthony Bear, have scorned the wrong woman."

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Philadelphia, Pennsylvania 1978

  Alexander stood outside the historic brick building that was home to the law firm of Perkins & Wallace and thought about the woman he knew worked there. The drama of the past few weeks hadn't done much to erase the image of the black-haired beauty that haunted his dreams. Nisha's short stay at his home had warranted nothing to make him feel this way. She was argumentative and combative during the small window of time he'd spent with her.

  The only time he saw a softer side of her was when she offered to make him dinner. A dinner he couldn't think about without gagging. She couldn't sing. She couldn't cook. And she cross-examined him the entire time they were together. And yet, there was something about her that he couldn't let go of. And she wasn't just any woman, he'd reminded himself. She was Anthony Bear's sister. He wasn't here to woo her. He was here to confirm in his own mind that she was a shrew who didn't deserve to be running around in his brain, her huge dark eyes haunting his nights.

  He walked up the steps to the prestigious firm and asked to see her. The receptionist took in his appearance, and her eyes widened. He couldn't tell if it was fear or admiration.

  After telling Nisha over the intercom about the gentleman who was in the lobby to see her, there was a short pause on the other end. "Ma'am?" the receptionist finally said into the intercom.

  "Send him back," came Nisha's curt reply.