by Ashley Papa
I cranked up the focus on the binoculars even more. This woman had a black or very dark brown bob hairstyle. If she weren’t already in costume, then she was living in the wrong era. I assumed it had to be her attire for the night.
“Make a note for me, please…in case these photos don’t come out clear enough,” I began dictating to Adam, who was hastily jotting my words down. “Two men embracing…man with arm around women with dark-haired bob and red jumper…also…write down, swing set, old grill, and trampoline in backyard.”
The phone pinged at 5 p.m., which usually meant it was time to take my birth control pill, but also that we had been on watch for an hour. Once the group scattered, there hadn’t been any noticeable movement. I could tell Adam was getting a bit antsy, so I sent him back to the marina to get the car. I didn’t want anyone getting suspicious of the Jeep being parked there after sunset.
It was getting darker and cooler. Nighttime fell faster in the woods and I knew that whomever was in that house would have to be leaving soon. I looked down at my phone, which I had placed on silent. Three missed calls displayed on the screen: The Gotham Post, Liam, and an “unavailable” number. All left me voicemails.
“Hi, Paige. Connie here. Our sister company, News 6 New York, is interested in doing a joint feature with us on this piece. It wouldn’t require extra work on your part; we’d just be videotaping the interview so they can air it later that day. Give me a call. I’ll be in the office until five.”
On air?! What if Walter doesn’t want it taped? Just worry about it later.
I took a breath and then played Liam’s voicemail. It was hard to even concentrate on his words as I had become so distracted by the thought of having my article go from print to television.
“Hey, beautiful.”
His words instantly calming.
“I wanted to see if you’re around tonight and/or tomorrow. Actually, and selfishly, both nights,” he continued. “I have a friend’s birthday party tonight I would love to take you. If you can’t tonight, then tomorrow it could just be you and I. Maybe we can try for Nobu again. Or I can cook for you. Call me back…where are you, by the way?” he innocently asked before hanging up.
As much as I wanted to call him and hear his voice, I ignored it for now. I’d text him later. My nerves started firing up again as I prepared to listen to the message from the mystery caller.
“You’ll find the answers you need in the desk,” the robotic voice said.
There was a long pause and I could hear some breathing and then nothing.
Anything else? That’s it? What the hell did that mean? What desk?
Suddenly, it felt like the woods were caving in on me. I had missed my chance to get out while I could still see and now I had the sinking feeling like I was being watched, again. With every rustle of wind and snap of a branch, the hairs on my body stood a little straighter.
I started gathering my belongings. Chatter was coming from the house. I lifted the binoculars. I could make out the people now! They were exiting through the garage. Walter Wilcox, Richard Brownstein, Jimmy DeFazio, the Roches, a slender blonde with a boob job, the bobbed-haired woman in the red halter and last, and surprisingly, Police Chief Mitchell. There were more, two of whom I didn’t recognize.
“Wait a minute,” I quietly said aloud. “That man. He kind of looks like the guy who gave Walter that file on the street.”
He was short, stocky, and dark-skinned, just as I remembered. His face was most unrecognizable. Before the motley crew hopped into the Cadillac I snapped some zoomed-in photos of the man’s face in hopes my facial recognition software might put a name to his mug.
“Hey, you out front?” I whispered into my phone to Adam, who I felt was taking a long time to fetch the Jeep.
“Sorry. I got distracted,” Adam shakily said.
I could tell something was wrong.
“Adam? You okay? What are you talking about?”
“Someone had left a photocopy of a picture under your wiper blade,” he blurted out.
“What? A picture of what?”
While trying to make sense of what he was telling me, I could see the giant SUV begin backing out of the driveway.
“A family…the mayor’s family.”
“Just…hold on to the picture and listen to me, I need you to swing back around here right now and follow these guys. They’re leaving to go somewhere and it’s way too early for that party. We’ll worry about the picture later,” I instructed Adam.
The SUV roared away. I giant-stepped my way out of the brush to make sure no thorns got lodged in my stretch pants and trench coat. The house was now dark. Everyone had left. My blood pumped harder the closer I got to the home. When I finally reached the grass, I scanned the corners of the roof for any faint lights to make sure there weren’t any security cameras installed.
I was golden. The house was much bigger up close and I was barely tall enough to see inside what I assumed were the living room windows. I pushed two large rocks against the cement exterior. It was just enough height to allow me to peer inside. Without touching the ledge, I examined the inside. I had to be careful not to disrupt any dust that may have accumulated on the outside of the house. The room was empty with the exception of some beer cans and an open bag of potato chips on a cheap-looking coffee table. It would be easy for someone to think the place was abandoned. Two couches faced each other and I could see by the open floor plan that there was a small kitchen table with four chairs and a pool table.
After snapping some pictures, I carefully made my way to the opposite side of the house. There was an old, tin garbage can, that I moved under the window to stand on.
My legs shook as I tried to maintain my balance all while making sure not to leave any traces of myself behind. I couldn’t tell what room I was looking into with the curtains drawn.
Looks like an office.
Through a skinny crack in the curtains, I spotted what looked like a pathetic bookshelf with three books. There was also an old rolltop desk that reminded me of the one my mom used to have. She used to sit at it day and night while typing her manuscripts on her vintage Remington Standard typewriter. I could almost hear the sound of her vigorously clicking away on the keys.
Just as my mind drifted to that place 30 years ago, the garbage can gave way and down I fell into the dirt. The tin can fell over, its contents spilling out beside me.
Thankfully, a small pile of mulch helped cushion my fall. I stood, brushed the dirt off my pants and shined my flashlight over the trash to make sure none of the discarded banana peels and Chinese food landed on me.
What’s all this?
Condom wrappers, empty bottles of lubricants, and a few other pieces of kinky sex paraphernalia were scattered about. I grabbed a stick and started poking through the trash. There was also a pair of furry handcuffs, a man’s G-string with a hole cut out in the front, a gag ball, and some sadomasochist-type toys I didn’t know what was used for.
Geez, do they hold orgies or something here?
I snapped some pictures for evidence, and rummaged through the rest of the disposed goods hoping for more than some bondage wear. Amongst the trash—a crumpled piece of paper. It looked like a receipt. I slowly opened it hoping that the sound of crinkling wouldn’t alarm any wandering wild animals. I shined my flashlight over the faded writing. It was a receipt for $900 from Agent Provocateur. The ink displaying the date and place was too far gone to make out when and where this was purchased but I could only suspect that it was in Dallas and right around when Victoria came to me with her questionable credit card statement and list purchases.
I folded up the piece of paper and tucked it away in my back pocket. Using leaves as mock gloves, I carefully pushed the garbage back into the can. If anything, someone would suspect raccoons over the Vixen Investigator rummaging through their trash.
I had
lost all track of time. I could continuously feel my phone vibrating in my bag, but ignored it. I had to answer to the adrenaline surging through me.
One of the small basement windows was slightly open.
It’s either my lucky day…or someone conveniently left it open for me.
Still careful not to leave any imprints of myself, I covered my hands in more big leaves, and forced the window to open completely. I took off my trench and fedora and carefully dropped them down onto the basement floor below. Then, I shimmied myself through the window and executed the perfect two-foot landing. With a quiet thud, I was now inside the pitch-black basement, which was empty with the exception of some clear storage bins with linens inside. I tiptoed my way up the stairs, which led to the kitchen. There were some suitcases with DFW to JFK tags on them. No names, however. I figured they were the Roches’. I proceeded to the office. The three lonely books on the shelves were dusty, but something about the irregular subject made me ponder who would read such material; Chemicals and The Human Body: The Everyday Chemicals that Can Kill Us, How the Mob Got Away with Everything, and How to Win Friends and Influence People by Dale Carnegie.
Such a random collection.
Thinking about what the mystery caller said about “the desk,” I began analyzing every nook and cranny of the rolltop. There was nothing on or even inside it. Feeling defeated and mislead, I pressed on and made my way up to the bedrooms. My heart thumped with every footstep. Each one put me one step closer to a possible clue. All the bedrooms had perfectly made queen-sized beds, with the exception of one room. It looked used, like it had been slept in.
Someone slept here last night.
In the connected bathroom, there was a brush with some brown hair strands in the bristles and a reddish purple MAC lipstick. I grabbed a few strands of hair left in the brush and since I was short of time, grabbed the entire tube of lipstick and tossed it in my purse. In the trash, a bag with a label on it for a brown-haired wig caught my eye. It looked like the style the woman with Walter and company was wearing.
With the bedroom appearing like the only room in use, I planted one of my wireless and self-destructing audio recorders and a video recorder under the bed and on the door hinge to the bathroom. It was the only angle that would give me a complete view of the entire bedroom. These devices were so micro one would mistake them for a fly. I had them custom-made for me by my ex-Secret Service friends, and the best part about them was the self-destructing feature. The audio and video would stream and automatically save to my smartphone and computer. Then, once I was done with the equipment, I’d tap the destroy feature on my phone—masked under the name “menstruation tracker” in case my phone ever got stolen—and the recorders would melt. To the unsuspecting offender, my melted device would look like a simple ink stain.
With not much time to spare before the party, I hurried out of the house. The fools didn’t even lock the front door. Down the driveway I hustled to where Adam was waiting. I quickly brushed off the broken leaves and dust from my pants and out of my hair and hopped into the Jeep.
“Find anything?” he asked, while pulling away before another car coming by could see us.
“Oh yeah…condoms, banana hammocks, and wigs, oh my,” I sarcastically replied. “And you?”
Trying my best to multitask, I pulled the visor down to smooth out my hair and reapply my lipstick and eyeliner.
“Umm…ok. I’ll let you explain later. It looks like they’re having dinner at Kennedy’s right now. I think they reserved the entire restaurant because they were the only ones in the parking lot,” Adam informed.
Knowing we had some time to kill, we found ourselves a small pizzeria and ordered some slices to eat in the car. We’d hold it down in the Jeep until it was time to crash the party.
“So, here’s what I think,” I started. “The mayor is going to be at this party, in disguise, I imagine. He’s with a few of his staff, including two women.” I took a big bite of pizza; the cheese scolded the roof of my mouth. “One woman is in a wig, but her face looks familiar. I think I’ve seen her before.”
“Was it one of the guys’ wives or girlfriends?” Adam asked.
“It could be, but the Texans didn’t bring their wives up here. Unless it was one of Brownstein’s or the security guard’s,” I theorized.
“Maybe they’re with the Roches.”
“Nah. They’re obnoxious and flirty but they’re just not the cheating kind.”
Neither one of us looked “1920s chic” as we approached the estate for the costume party. But, with me in my trench coat and Adam in my fedora, which I let him borrow, I figured they’d think we were old school detectives or something.
After getting near interrogated by the svelte brunette girl at the “check in,” Adam and I were finally allowed through the home’s mechanical gate. She had given us each a white wristband, which apparently meant we were important enough to have access to the entire grounds.
The music bumped louder and louder as we approached the backyard. A mix of swing, house, and rap echoed over the property. The closer we got to the actual house, the easier it was to see how much it resembled an actual castle. A miniature moat wove its way through the landscaping. We were led to the heated pool in the back, which was where the bikini-clad girls were swimming around. It was only in the 60s, and yet, you’d think it were a hot evening in July.
“Let’s scope out the scene, get a drink, and try to find the mayor,” I said to Adam above the music.
Surely, Lord Max was paying off the neighbors and the police department or the noise would’ve had this party shut down as soon as it started. We took a seat in the exclusive area for white wristband-wearing attendees on one of the horrendous-looking vintage sofas.
For a man of such wealth, you’d think he’d try and modernize the place a bit more.
Everything from the wallpaper, to the chairs, to the smell screamed outdated. Between entering, taking a quick lap, and finding a resting spot, we had yet to find Walter and his crew anywhere. I texted Rodney to let him know we were here. He didn’t respond.
Odd. He’s always quick to respond.
Adam and I people-watched while sipping our Bellinis. An obvious cross-dresser walked by in leather chaps and eight-inch stripper shoes.
“I thought this was supposed to be a ‘20s party?” Adam questioned carefully to not insult anyone who might overhear him.
“We must have missed the part that said stripper attire optional,” I sarcastically replied.
Adam laughed so hard he nearly spit out his drink.
“Come on…let’s take a walk,” I said and led us back down to the pool.
We found a good spot on two lounge chairs. The night air was crisper and cooler now; the steam from the water helped keep me warm and started to make me sleepy. I eyed the crowd and finally, standing in his gaggle of followers, I spied Walter. They were all in costume. If it weren’t for the woman in the eye-catching red halter jumper, I may have missed seeing them.
With the near-nude girls wading around me, I continued to observe Walter’s group. They were drinking heavily. Some were taking shots with one hand and sipping Champagne with the other. Every now and then, Walter would reach for the woman in red’s hand. But she looked unwilling to hold his as if she were mad.
Wait a minute. Now I know that face. It was the girl from that party in Texas who was with Brownstein. What was she doing here? And why was Walter trying to move in on Brownstein’s girl?
The realization made my heart race. The new details hit me like a narcotic and I wanted more. The puzzle pieces were there but I was having trouble putting them together. I saw Rodney look down at his phone. He clearly had it and was ignoring me. Suspicions grew. I heard Adam say something, but was in my own world. When I saw Brownstein put his arm around Jimmy DeFazio’s lower back and proceed to give him a kiss on the cheek, the shock nearl
y sent me into the pool.
WHA?? Brownstein and DeFazio are together?
“Paige?! Did you hear me?” Adam got a little louder and stared at me as if concerned.
“What? No, sorry…” I turned to him.
“I am going to go to the bathroom, be right back.”
I just nodded and turned back to the scene playing out in front of me. Adam stood and walked off towards the house. Brownstein and DeFazio were still holding each other’s lower backs and Walter was standing suggestively close to the woman in red. They looked more like a couple than she and Brownstein. Lord Maximillian came sashaying out of his castle like a court jester on cocaine and approached the group. He was in nothing but a pair of leather booty-shorts and a cape and his boyfriend was following behind him wearing a white tank top and cutoffs. He went right up to Mayor Wilcox and hugged him! They looked like good friends.
Adam was taking forever in the bathroom. I wondered if he had gotten lost. But, I didn’t dare leave and take my eyes off Walter and his friends, who still held it down in their corner near the replica statue of Michelangelo’s David. Lord Max danced off and just after he did, Walter gave the girl in red a huge kiss. He could’ve broken her neck back.
Holy smokes, it is his mistress! Why aren’t the other people doing anything? They all know he’s a philandering asshole! Shit!
I snapped as many photos as I could and left to find Adam.
“Where the hell were you?” Adam was standing near the front of the house looking down at his phone. “Who are you texting? I can’t have you conducting personal business at a time like this. Let’s go,” I ordered and tugged his arm, nearly flinging the phone out of his grip. “We have to get back to the house before Walter.”
“Sorry. I got talking to the drummer of the band that’s about to perform and then my bandmate, Ronnie, texted me about a gig we just got booked for,” Adam explained with an apologetic, yet excited, tone.
I wasn’t even paying attention to what Adam was telling me. I kept thinking of Walter kissing that young girl and what little effort he put in, in hiding his affair. Now I had real proof that New York’s mayor was seeing someone else and his buddies were all aware.