by Kyra Davis
“Right, I’m sorry.” Fawn shifted from foot to foot. “We’ll go…or I’ll go wait in the car if you want to stay a little longer, Rick.” She looked up to Rick in a silent request for instructions.
“Rick doesn’t need to stay,” I said shortly. “You can both leave.”
Rick crossed his arms across his chest and for a moment it looked as if he was going to stomp his foot in protest, but instead he nodded to Fawn, who quickly fell behind him as he strode toward the elevator. Fawn turned to me and mouthed “sorry” as Rick jammed his finger against the call button. She didn’t protest when he pulled her inside as the doors parted.
It hadn’t been that way when Rick had been with Mary Ann. He had doted on her. Once, after consuming one too many glasses of scotch Rick had told her that she owned his soul. But men were always making wildly romantic declarations to Mary Ann. Just last month Monty had thrown rose petals at her feet and pronounced her to be queen of his heart. Anatoly didn’t do stuff like that. Thank God.
In what couldn’t have been more than ten seconds later, the bell of the elevator rang again and this time it was my sister, Leah, who walked out holding what might have been the biggest gift basket I have ever seen. She had to strain her neck to see over the large purple-and-white ribbon. She raised her eyebrows up and down in what could only be described as a facial wave when she saw me.
“I think I just saw Rick Wilkes getting out of the elevator while I was getting on,” she said once she had made it to my side.
“Yep, you did.” I sighed. “He’s such a jerk.”
“We were at his house last year for Mary Ann’s surprise party. You appeared to like him well enough then.”
“That was before I knew he was a cheater.”
“That’s right, I forgot about that,” Leah said in a voice that implied she wasn’t all that interested in remembering. “Anatoly told me I’d find you here. What did you bring Dena? It wasn’t spa products, was it?”
“I brought flowers,” I said as I tried to count the myriad number of spa products in the leather basket. “But I forgot to bring a vase.”
Leah rolled her eyes. “Typical. You know what else is typical? It’s typical that I had to find out about this through Anatoly. Of course I was listening to Mornings on Two while making breakfast this morning and they reported that someone in the Lake Street area was shot last night, but they weren’t releasing names and it never occurred to me that I might know the victim! Why didn’t you call me, Sophie?”
“You don’t even like Dena.”
“I disapprove of her,” she corrected. “There’s a big difference.”
“Is there?”
“Absolutely. I can honestly say that Dena is the only brazen hussy I have ever genuinely liked.”
It was a joke meant to lighten the mood but the worry in her eyes undermined it. Even her most recent Botox injections couldn’t hide her distress.
“Look, Dena’s getting examined or something right now. Why don’t we grab a cup of coffee down in the cafeteria?”
“I don’t eat in hospital cafeterias,” Leah said distractedly. “Is there a waiting room around here? We could talk there.”
A little shudder went up my spine as I remembered last night, sitting in that awful room waiting for news on Dena. “There’s a Starbucks a few blocks away.”
Leah sighed. “You can’t expect me to lug this all the way to Starbucks. Which one is her room?”
“That one but—”
Leah marched over and used her foot to knock on the door. I watched as the nurse opened the door and then after a moment let Leah in. I hesitated before approaching the door myself, but Leah walked out before I got there.
“The nurse is about to help her to the bathroom,” Leah said, her voice slightly less assured than it had been a minute ago. “And after that she’s going to be meeting with a physical therapist.” She looked down at her hands. “Why don’t we go for a walk? We need to talk.”
When we got outside I noticed that a slight wind had picked up and I had to work to keep my hair out of my face as we walked down the sidewalks of Parnassus. Leah’s hair, which was plastered with God-only-knows-what hair products, stayed stubbornly in place.
“Where’s my favorite nephew?” I asked. Four-year-old Jack was my favorite as he was my only nephew. I’d love him more if he would just stop trying to kill my cat.
“He’s at a morning playdate right now. I’ll pick him up in an hour.”
“Nice that you get a break.”
Leah stopped and turned to me. “Are you all right?”
“I wasn’t the one who was shot.”
“You could have been.” She reached over and plucked out a small leaf that had secretly blown into my hair. “You were so close, Sophie. Only a room away!”
“I might as well have been in another city. I didn’t even see who did the shooting.”
Leah hesitated and then seemed to decide this was an acceptable enough answer and started walking again. A passing truck driver called out something suggestive but neither of us bothered to turn our heads.
“We could walk to your house from here,” she noted.
“We could. But I’d rather not, seeing that both our cars are in the hospital parking lot.”
Leah nodded and picked up her pace, forcing me to do the same. It was a few more minutes before she spoke again. “What if I told you that I might know who did this?”
“What?” Now it was my turn to stop.
“I don’t know for sure,” Leah said quickly. “It’s just a possibility. An unlikely possibility at that.”
“Leah, what are you talking about?”
Leah hesitated and then pointed to the Starbucks across the street. “Maybe we should get coffee after all.”
CHAPTER 5
They say the road to hell is paved with good intentions. Of course I don’t have to worry, since my intentions are usually pretty messed up.
–Fatally Yours
Leah refused to talk any more about it until we were both seated across from one another at a corner table. I allowed her this because I had my doubts about how useful her information was going to be.
There was no one at the neighboring tables but she still took the time to look over both her shoulders before leaning forward to reveal her secret.
“Remember when that horrible little group of protestors stood outside Dena’s store a few years ago? They called themselves Moral Americans Against Pornography?”
“Are you talking about MAAP?” I asked. “They’ve protested twice. I think it might even become an annual event. Dena loves it. Each time they’ve shown up she’s called all her customers and offered them what she calls the Wrath-of-God discount. That’s fifteen percent off any item in the store that’s provocative enough to piss off an antiporn picketer.”
“In other words, everything in her store.”
“Exactly. It’s her busiest day of the year.”
Leah smiled. “It’s just impossible not to admire her ingenuity. Anyway, the woman who founded MAAP is Chrissie Powell. She serves on the San Francisco symphony fundraising board with me. She’s nice to the people she needs to impress but no one else. Wretched woman. Would you believe that she wouldn’t even hire me to plan her wedding? She actually told me that she wasn’t sure if I was qualified to handle such a big event! I have organized corporate parties for five hundred people. I’ve planned the bar mitzvahs for the children of some of the most respected families in this city! Mr. and Mrs. Jenkins are still talking about the twenty-fifth anniversary party I threw them—”
“Leah,” I said irritably and motioned for her to get on with it.
“Right,” she said, only slightly chastened. “Chrissie founded MAAP on the pretense that the group’s purpose is to fight against all pornography.”
“It’s not?”
“Hardly. Perhaps that’s what some of the members believe, but Chrissie formed the group for one reason. She wanted to torment Dena.”
One of t
he baristas behind the counter turned on the blender and the grinding whine of the appliance played devil’s advocate to the mellow notes of Paul Simon coming through the speakers. “Why would anyone form an entire group just to torment one person?” I asked. “It’s not like Dena’s a politician or even a real pornographer. She just sells sexy lingerie, toys, a few naughty books and a couple of adult videos. Is that really so offensive?”
Leah cocked her head to the side. “You do realize that literary erotica and adult videos are the very definition of pornography, don’t you?”
“Yeah, okay, but she’s not making the videos. She’s just selling them.”
“I see. So if you’re just selling the cocaine but not actually growing the coca plants, are you really a drug pusher?”
“Can we not get nitpicky about this?”
Leah rolled her eyes. “It’s not really about what she sells in her store anyway. Chrissie’s trying to get back at Dena because approximately two years ago Dena slept with Chrissie’s husband, Tim.”
I nearly dropped my plastic cup. “What? Did Dena know the guy was married?’
“He wasn’t. Not at the time. They were just engaged. Whether or not Dena knew he was engaged is anyone’s guess, although I don’t see how she would have. Engaged men don’t wear rings, and it’s not as if Dena asks a man a lot of questions before inviting him into her bed.”
“That’s not fair.”
“It’s completely fair. But if it makes you feel better, let’s say she did ask him if he was involved with anyone else. What are the chances he would have told her the truth?”
“Okay, I’ll give you that. But…you just said this was before they got married?” A couple took the table next to us and I scooted my chair closer to Leah so we could continue our conversation in quieter tones. “If she knew her fiancé was messing around, why did she go through with it?”
“Apparently Chrissie didn’t find out about what Tim did until after the wedding. God only knows how it all came to her attention. Of course if she had hired me to plan her wedding, I would have been able to alert her to the problem. I can always spot a cheater.”
“Leah, you were married to a cheater and you didn’t have a clue until he announced he was leaving you for a twenty-two-year-old.”
“Well, I learned from that,” Leah snapped. “Now I can spot a cheater from a mile away. Of course, I didn’t get within a mile of Tim. I’ve never even met the man. But if I had been allowed to plan the wedding I would have seen right through him and then—”
“And then there wouldn’t have been a wedding to plan,” I said irritably. Listening to Leah chastise another woman for marrying a cheater was like listening to Lindsay Lohan complain about reckless drivers.
“Perhaps there wouldn’t have been,” Leah said with a shrug. “On the other hand, perhaps they would have worked it out. It’s not as if she’s left him now that she knows.”
“And yet she’s still after Dena?”
“Yes.” Leah fingered the stiffly starched collar of her pale blue linen shirt. “That part’s understandable.”
“How? Dena’s not the one who cheated. Tim is!”
“Yes, but Chrissie’s not married to Dena,” Leah pointed out. “If Chrissie puts all the blame on Dena’s shoulders she doesn’t have to worry about finding a good marriage therapist or divorce attorney. Focusing all her bad feelings on Dena helps her salvage the good feelings she has for Tim. Really, Sophie, it’s Psychology 101.”
“Leah, I took Psych 101. There isn’t a textbook in the world that names scapegoating and the displacement of blame as good coping strategies.”
“All right, fine. But are you honestly going to tell me that you’ve never done it? You’ve never blamed your ex-husband for all of your problems?”
“That’s different!” I shot back.
“Why?”
“Because…because he’s fair game. Ex-husbands were put on this earth to be blamed for things. That’s just the way it is.”
“Really?” Leah asked, raising her eyebrows. “Did they teach you that in psych class?”
“Oh, shut up,” I responded without any real vehemence. “How do you know all this anyway?” I asked as I took a sip of my drink.
“Two years ago, only about a month before she put MAAP together, Chrissie cornered me after one of our board meetings. She said she had been researching Dena Lopiano and apparently she found a picture of me standing next to her on a Google image search. She wanted to know if I was aware that the woman she presumed to be my friend was really a home-wrecker.”
“And what did you say?”
Leah shrugged. “I told her that Dena wasn’t anything of the sort. She’s just a tad slutty, that’s all.”
“Leah!”
“Are you honesty going to tell me I’m wrong?”
“You can be extremely promiscuous without being a slut.”
“According to what dictionary?”
I gripped the edge of the table and then quickly drew my hand away as I discovered the hardened lump of someone’s old gum. “Oh, that’s great. Do you have one of those antibacterial wipes?” I asked as I examined my fingers with disgust. Leah wordlessly pulled out the requested item. That’s the thing about moms: they’re always prepared for the yucky stuff.
“I’ll wait while you throw that away,” Leah said, pointedly staring at the used wipe.
I wrinkled my nose at her before dutifully getting up to find a trash can for the wipe. When I got back Leah had her iPhone out on the table.
“Tell me more.”
Leah brightened, clearly happy that she would be allowed to continue to dish. “After confronting me about the whole picture thing, Chrissie told me that she had recently learned about the little tryst Tim had with Dena. I assured her that the affair couldn’t have been long-lived since, until her recent arrangement, Dena has never stayed with a man for longer than one full moon cycle. But Chrissie went ahead and put together MAAP anyway.”
“Okay, but Dena’s been faithful to her polyamorous relationship for…well… about a year and a half now, so whatever was going on between Dena and Tim is over. Shouldn’t Chrissie be getting over it, too?”
“One would think,” Leah agreed. “But it would appear that time hasn’t healed this wound. At. All. In fact it appears that Chrissie’s wound is ulcerous.”
“What do you mean?”
“Chrissie’s been upping the stakes of the battle.” Leah picked up her iPhone and started punching things into it. “Last week she posted an article on a conservative online Web site called The Virtuous Journal. Now, you know I have nothing against conservative magazines. I’ve voted Republican all my life. But this particular site is…to the right of Rush Limbaugh.”
“I didn’t think that was possible.”
“And yet it is.” Leah was still madly pecking and stroking her iPhone. “And can you believe that Chrissie actually sent me a link to the article she wrote for them? Ah, here it is. Take a look.”
She handed the phone over and on the screen was the article. I started to skim it but the pure acidity of the words slowed me down. “Oh. My. God.”
“I told you she was wretched.”
But I wasn’t really listening to Leah anymore.
Miss Lopiano and her fellow pornography peddlers have made it their life ambition to make smut a major part of the American way of life. She has purposely chosen to be a social liability; a disease we should try to cure ourselves of.
I stopped reading and stared at Leah. “She’s flat-out telling her readers that the world would be a better place without Dena!”
“That does appear to be the point.”
“And she only wrote this a week ago?”
“And yesterday Dena was shot.”
“Oh. My. God!”
“To be honest, I had a hard time picturing Chrissie killing someone. She prefers emotional brutality to its physical counterpart, so she probably didn’t do it. Still, you have to bring this to the at
tention of the police just in case,” Leah said, taking another sip of her tea. “I’d do it, but I thought you might want the honor.”
“Bull. You just don’t want anyone to think you would report a fellow board member to the cops.”
“That’s unfair,” Leah protested, but the faint sound of guilt echoed around her voice.
“I want to talk to this woman.”
Leah choked on her tea. “What? Why? Just go to the police! It’s their job to question her, not yours.”
“The police will mess it up.”
“What are you talking about? This is what the police do! When they go to the academy they are specifically trained to do two things—question people and shoot them.”
“And arrest them and search a crime scene and…”
“Yes, yes,” Leah said with a dismissive wave of her hand, “but I’m sure that all takes a backseat to the time they spend in the interrogation room and the shooting range. Leave this to them. All you need to do is sit by your friend’s bedside and bring her the occasional flower arrangement…with a vase of course. How you could have forgotten that—”
“Leah, I can’t leave this to someone else. Dena is more than a friend and this bitch may have tried to kill her. And if she didn’t kill her she probably incited someone else to do it!”
Leah narrowed her eyes. “Look, we don’t even know if she’s really guilty. I’d say there’s at least a ninety percent chance that she has nothing to do with what happened to Dena.”
“Ninety percent?”
Leah thought about this for a moment. “All right, maybe more like an eighty-five…or eighty-two…yes, I think there’s an eighty-two percent chance that Chrissie didn’t try to kill anyone this week.”
“But if she did,” I persisted, “I’m going to find the evidence to hang her with and then…”
“And then?”
I pressed my lips together. I didn’t know what would happen then. The truth was that I wanted to…no, not wanted, needed to see this Chrissie person. I needed to look into her eyes and see if I could detect the evil that had seeped out into that article. It wasn’t logical, but that didn’t matter.