Monkey See, Monkey Die

by Cynthia Baxter

  I kept my observations about Nicole’s own preference for expensive designer clothing to myself. Besides, what she was saying about her father and stepmother’s buying habits seemed to skyrocket them to an entirely different level.

  “Then there are all the trips,” Nicole added. “I mean, the two of them travel so much you’d think they wouldn’t even be able to remember what country they were waking up in.”

  “Where do they like to go?” I asked, expecting her to name the world’s most desirable and expensive destinations. The French Riviera, Tahiti, St. Bart’s . . .

  “Africa,” Nicole replied disdainfully. “South America. Weird places like Indonesia and Thailand and a few I’ve never even heard of. Sometimes I wonder if they’re just going to the far corners of the world so they can get away from me.”

  Interesting, I thought. Ben Chandler is working his butt off while his business partner is on a nonstop honeymoon.

  Then again, it didn’t exactly sound as if Donny and Darla were flying all over the globe so they could soak up the sun and sip umbrella drinks on some beautiful beach. In fact, their vacations sounded a lot more adventurous than I ever would have expected.

  Aloud, I said, “I’m sure that’s not the case, Nicole. It sounds as if they’re simply trying to enjoy their money.”

  “Oh, it’s definitely all about the money.” She practically spit out her next words. “As long as it’s in the showiest, most obnoxious way possible. And as long as it doesn’t include me.”

  Nicole seemed convinced that the arrival of her silicon stepmother was responsible for the dramatic changes in her father’s lifestyle. But I wasn’t so sure.

  As for all that money, I had yet to learn where it was coming from. But what interested me more than the sports car, the yacht, and the sparkling new wife were the trips. Somehow, I couldn’t picture Darla rafting down the Amazon or trekking through mud in a pair of Manolos en route to the great temples of Thailand.

  It just didn’t fit. And the fact that something odd appeared to be going on in the Drayton household made me realize it was time to add Ben’s business partner to my list of murder suspects.

  I was still pondering the juxtaposition of three such different personalities within the Drayton household as I pulled into the slow lane of the Expressway. I jumped when my cell phone began to trill. I automatically checked caller ID, and while I’m usually vigilant about not using my cell phone while driving, the fact that Kimberly Walsh’s number had come up made taking the call irresistible.

  “Hi, Kimberly,” I answered.

  “Are you busy today?” she asked, her breathlessness telling me immediately that something was up.

  “I’m on my way to a house call,” I said, “but I’ve got some free time later. Where are you?”

  “I’m at Erin’s house. I’ve been cleaning out her stuff. Ben kept insisting that he’d do it, but I barged my way in.”

  She was silent for a few seconds before she said, “Jessie, you’d better come over here as soon as you can. I found something I think you should see.”

  Chapter 11

  “I feel more comfortable with gorillas than people. I can anticipate what a gorilla’s going to do, and they’re purely motivated.”

  —Dian Fossey

  As soon as I finished my calls, I rushed over to Ben and Erin’s house. In fact, I made the trip in record time. The urgency of Kimberly’s tone—not to mention her mysteriousness—made it hard to resist stepping on the gas pedal a little harder than usual.

  My heart was thumping as I knocked on the door. Kimberly opened it within seconds.

  She greeted me with a nervous smile. “I’m glad you made it.”

  “It sounded important,” I replied, stepping into the foyer.

  Her smile faded. “I think it is.”

  I followed her up to the second floor and down a very long hallway. At the end was the master bedroom. Like so much of the rest of the house, it was decorated entirely in white. Everything sparkled, from the wall-to-wall carpeting to the bedspread to the silk throw pillows. I felt as if I was watching a bleach commercial.

  The room was absolutely huge. Between the square footage and the cathedral ceiling, the king-size bed looked like a piece of dollhouse furniture. The space included a sitting area with a couch and an upholstered chair, two tremendous walk-in closets that were practically rooms in themselves, and a big-screen TV that probably made the room’s occupants feel as if they were spending the night at the multiplex.

  But what impressed me most was that there were two bathrooms—not one—jutting off opposite sides of the room. His and hers, one with peach-colored walls and the other painted a masculine beige.

  If there was ever an invention to promote marital harmony, I thought enviously, this is it.

  I reminded myself that I’d come to see whatever Kimberly had stumbled upon, not to develop a bad case of House Envy.

  “What did you want to show me?” I asked.

  Frankly, I didn’t know what to expect. A packet of flowery love letters from Walter, perhaps, indicating that in addition to being a lizard aficionado, he had a talent for writing mushy poetry? Some sign that Erin had been leading a secret life, like an ID card from the CIA, the FBI, or the DEA?

  Or maybe something as basic as a gun, hidden between two thongs in her underwear drawer?

  A wave of disappointment swept over me when Kimberly ducked into one of the walk-in closets and emerged carrying nothing more intriguing than a plastic bag with the red Target logo.

  “I found this hidden in the back of the closet,” she announced, handing it to me.

  What could this possibly tell us about Erin? I wondered as I took the bag. That Erin liked cute housewares and inexpensive designer clothes?

  Without looking inside, I reached in and pulled out the first thing I touched. As soon as I saw what it was, I understood why Kimberly had called.

  It was a home pregnancy test, still wrapped in cellophane.

  I cast her a look of surprise before reaching into the bag again. This time, I took out two items. One was a scrapbook covered in a cheery fabric decorated with teddy bears. The other was a book entitled 30,000 Names for Your Newborn.

  “Erin was pregnant?” I asked breathlessly.

  “The funny thing is, I don’t think that she actually was,” Kimberly replied, her voice wavering. “If she had been, it would have been discovered at the autopsy.”

  Gesturing toward the stack of brand-new items, she added, “But she clearly thought she was.”

  She took the bag from me and pulled out a small slip of paper. “The receipt was still in the bag. It’s dated two days before she was murdered.”

  “Whoa.” I took a few seconds to think about the implications of this unexpected new development. “So the question is, who did Erin think was the father, Ben or Walter?”

  Kimberly nodded. “And the second question is, if she told one or both of them she thought she was pregnant, what kind of reaction did she get?”

  I lowered myself onto the edge of the bed. “If it was Ben,” I said thoughtfully, “I suppose he could have seen the arrival of a child as an intrusion into their marriage. He might be one of those men who wants his wife all to himself.”

  “Could be,” Kimberly agreed. “I always thought he was kind of a baby himself, so maybe he resented the idea of having to share Erin’s attention with someone else—even his own child.”

  Bitterly, she added, “Or maybe he was worried about how expensive a baby would be. Or how much damage a toddler could do to his new white couches and carpets.”

  “It’s also possible he knew their marriage was on the rocks,” I mused, smoothing out the yellow satin bow on the scrapbook’s front cover. “Maybe he’d suspected that Erin was having an affair. Or maybe he was having one of his own. If either was the case, another possible scenario might be that he was planning to leave Erin and saw the baby as a tie to her that he just didn’t want.”

  Nodding, Kimbe
rly commented, “Every one of those theories sounds plausible.”

  “And what if Erin thought Walter was the father?” I continued, still thinking out loud. “Maybe he became enraged because he thought a baby would ruin their affair. That it would take all the romance out of their secret trysts. Or maybe her announcement prompted Walter to insist that she leave Ben once and for all.”

  “And if she refused,” Kimberly added, “he might have flown into a rage.”

  “Or maybe Erin told Walter she was ending their affair because she thought she was pregnant with Ben’s baby,” I suggested.

  Of course, another possibility was that Erin had kept her suspicions that there was a baby on the way to herself.

  After all, she hadn’t actually used the home pregnancy test yet. The wisest thing to do would have been to wait until she was completely certain about her condition before breathing a word to anyone. Erin wasn’t only a mature, responsible woman. She was also a doctor. I would have thought she’d have known that waiting until she’d taken the pregnancy test was the smartest, most reasonable thing to do.

  Then again, I wouldn’t have thought she was capable of having an affair either. But of course the circumstances of people’s lives could make them do all kinds of unexpected things.

  And the reactions they got from other people could be dramatically different from what they expected.

  Those other people could certainly include Walter. Quiet, nerdy, peculiar Walter. While he appeared to have worshipped Erin, no one could deny that he was a little strange.

  Besides, he remained on my suspect list for reasons other than the fact that he was the only person in her life who actually kept scorpions as pets. I was also troubled by his insistence that he hadn’t been at the zoo fund-raiser, even though the way he reacted to my question indicated otherwise.

  Suddenly I had a brainstorm.

  “Kimberly,” I asked hesitantly, “would you mind if I borrowed the jacket Erin wore the night she stuck that cocktail napkin in her pocket?”

  A startled look crossed her face. “Of course you can borrow it.” Still looking confused, she added, “Do you mind if I ask why?”

  I simply replied, “I just want to try something. I’ll let you know afterward if it worked.”

  I didn’t want to promise more than I could deliver. But as far as the jacket was concerned, I definitely had something up my sleeve.

  It wasn’t until Wednesday that I managed to set aside a block of time to pay another visit to Walter Weiner. Now that I’d discovered that Erin had believed she was pregnant, I was more anxious than ever to learn whatever I could about him. After all, the man might not only have been her lover, he was also a lover of scorpions. In addition, I wanted to find out once and for all whether or not he’d been at the zoo fund-raiser.

  Which was why I made sure my fashion statement for the day included the black velvet jacket Kimberly had lent Erin that night.

  Just as I’d hoped, I found Walter at home. As he opened the door, his eyes were glazed, as if I’d caught him in the middle of concocting a particularly complex computer program. Either that or the lenses of his glasses were so thick they couldn’t help making him look distracted.

  “Oh, hello,” he greeted me, blinking as if he was confused about why he’d found me standing on his doorstep once again. “Jessica Popper, right?”

  “That’s right. I hope this isn’t a bad time. . . .”

  “I’m actually kind of busy—”

  “In that case,” I interrupted, “I’ll make it quick.”

  Reluctantly, he opened the door a little farther. As I stepped inside, I noticed he was staring at my jacket. Of course, it was possible that he was simply horrified that someone had the poor judgment to wear velvet on a warm June day. But my radar told me otherwise.

  “Is something wrong?” I asked, pointedly glancing down at my outfit.

  Looking a little flustered, he replied, “No, not at all. It’s just . . . your coat. I feel like I’ve seen it before.”

  So Walter was at the fund-raiser, I thought, the event at which Erin made those mysterious markings. The question is, why did he lie about having been there?

  Even more importantly, what had happened that night?

  Aloud, I said, “It’s a pretty jacket, isn’t it? But I didn’t come here to talk about clothes.”

  Gingerly I lowered myself onto the couch. I couldn’t help wondering if I was about to sit on a venomous member of the animal kingdom, one clever enough to find a way to break for freedom.

  Folding my hands neatly in my lap, I began, “I guess you heard about the information that came out of the medical examiner’s report. I mean Dr. Stokes’s findings that Erin was stung by a scorpion shortly before she was murdered.”

  “Yes,” Walter replied somberly. He sat down in the rocking chair, the same place as during my last visit. “Amanda Cooper, who works at the zoo, called to tell me. Apparently somebody from homicide questioned Zacarias, since she was Erin’s boss and all, and word got out.”

  I studied his face, searching for some reaction. A flicker of guilt or remorse in his eyes, perhaps, or even a telltale twitch in his cheek. But I didn’t pick up on anything the least bit incriminating.

  In fact, the muscles of his face drooped a little further, as if he was having as difficult a time dealing with this new development as I was.

  I decided to ask the questions I’d come to ask anyway. “I remembered that you were interested in scorpions, so I thought you might be able to give me some information about them.”

  “I’m certainly no expert,” he replied with a little shrug. “I do find them fascinating, however. I believe I told you I have a death stalker.”

  Precisely why your name popped into my head as soon as I heard the news, I thought.

  Aloud, I said, “You did mention something about that. In fact, that’s why you were the first person I thought of when I decided to do some research on my own. I was hoping you could educate me a bit.”

  “I don’t know what you might find helpful,” Walter said thoughtfully. “I can tell you that scorpions are arthropods with eight legs. They’re in the class Arachnida, which also includes spiders, ticks, and mites.”

  Not exactly what I was looking for. “I guess what I’m most interested in is what makes them so dangerous,” I said.

  He brightened, as if I’d finally come up with a topic of conversation he could get excited about. “Actually, even though there are more than fourteen hundred species of scorpion worldwide, only a few are considered medically important—meaning dangerous to humans,” he said. “Scorpions tend to live in areas where fresh water is available, the same way people do. That’s why they’re estimated to account for somewhere in the range of eight hundred deaths a year.

  “And contrary to what some people think, scorpions don’t bite, they sting,” he went on, with the same level of intensity. “The venom they inject doesn’t come from anywhere near their mouths. It comes from a very sharp, pointed organ called the aculeus that’s commonly referred to as a sting. It’s located at the posterior tip of their abdomen. They inject the sting into a soft place and then activate muscles in their venom gland, located at the rear of the abdomen, to inject the venom. The process is kind of like giving someone an injection with a hypodermic needle.”

  The image made me shudder. But rather than wanting him to stop, I wanted him to go on.

  “What part of the world does the one that stung Erin, the yellow fat tail, come from?” I asked.

  “Androctonus australis is mainly found in northern Africa—Algeria, Egypt, Morocco, and a few other countries,” Walter explained. “But it’s also in India, Israel, and Saudi Arabia. It probably causes more illness and death than any other scorpion in Africa and Asia, simply because it’s so common. It’s not that big, only about four inches long. But it has a thick yellow cauda—that’s the tail—that’s really powerful.”

  I bit my lip. “Do you think Erin would have been in ter
rible pain? And if she was, would she have experienced it for very long?”

  “I’m afraid that getting stung by a yellow fat tail would be extremely painful.” Walter grimaced. “In fact, the pain at the injection site would be pretty horrific. A few minutes later, numbness would set in. See, the venom consists of a protein mixture that interacts with sodium ion channels in nerve cells, which means it interferes with electrical conduction and disrupts autonomic function. Since it’s a neural toxin, it spreads through the circulatory system really quickly and symptoms begin appearing within minutes.

  “Over the next hour or so, the symptoms become worse and worse,” he continued. “In fact, anyone who’s left untreated is likely to die from cardiac arrest or respiratory difficulties or some other autonomic problem.”

  “I see.” I swallowed hard, a reaction to the dryness in my mouth. “And how rare are these yellow fat tail scorpions? In this part of the world, I mean.”

  “It’s legal to keep them as pets, if that’s what you’re asking,” Walter replied. “That doesn’t necessarily mean you can walk into your average pet store and buy one. You’d have to get one from a specialty store or a supplier. But those are both easy enough to find, especially on the Internet.”

  “So it wouldn’t be that difficult for someone to get their hands on one,” I commented, thinking out loud.

  Walter laughed, but it was a cold laugh that wasn’t meant to be associated with anything funny. “ ‘Getting their hands on one’ is the last thing anybody would want to do. Believe me, as much as I enjoy keeping a death stalker here at the house as part of my collection, I always make a point of handling him with long forceps. I make sure my fingers never come close enough for him to sting me.”