I’d splashed on Paloma Picasso’s men’s fragrance, Minotaure, to bring out some of my male side. Lavender, bergamot, geranium. Although I counted several lesbians among my friends and clients and had done my share of experimenting in my twenties, I seldom went to girl bars, and our mission here made me feel a shade nervous.
At least we picked a good night to see Raffy. Even in New York City, things ran a notch slower early in the week, and especially in Brooklyn on a Sunday in July. A handful of women were gathered at the far end of the bar. The tables were almost empty.
I recognized Raffy immediately. She looked like a female version of Tony Soprano, except she wore an earring and had a little more hair. Hers was short brown and combed straight back. She wore a short-sleeved, pin-striped button-down shirt. Scorpion tattoo on her forearm.
Benita and I exchanged a conspiratorial glance and sat at the bar directly in front of Raffy. She gave us a casual once-over and said, “What’ll it be, girls?”
“Two Coronas. With a wedge of lemon,” Benita said.
I made eye contact with the bartender and added, “You’re Raffy, the artist, right?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Isn’t Raffy short for Raphael?”
“Uh-huh.” She set two glasses on the bar and poured our beers. If Raffy remembered us, she didn’t show it, but the confirmation of her full name was a good sign.
“I’m Saylor and this is Benita. We met you through Gwen Applebee.”
“Uh-huh.” She took my twenty and turned to the register. A friendly sort. Not.
“Sad what happened to Gwen,” Benita said.
“Yeah, it is.” Raffy sounded flat and void of emotion. Or holding it back.
I sensed she suspected something. Could she be the murderer? Could Gwen have written the poem after her killer left? Then why did she disguise everything else, including my name? And how did Gwen’s body end up in the basin? My guess was Raffy could tell we were focused on her. Time to be up front. I’ve always found people respond more favorably when you’re direct and to the point. When she faced us again, I said, “We’d like to ask you a few questions concerning Gwen.”
“Get the fuck outta here!”
Behold the words of Raphael.
My roommate shot up from her stool. “Make my day. Come around the bar and say that to me.”
“Easy, Binnie. Easy.” I touched her arm, but she shook me off.
Before I knew it, Raffy hopped the bar. She ate two punches, her head snapping back, and still she managed to throw my friend to the floor in a ferocious tackle. I’d guess Raffy weighed at least fifty pounds more than Binnie. Never mess with a woman who welds sculpture from auto parts—even if she sprays them with fragrance.
I perched on top of Raffy, trying to pry her off Benita, who was cursing in force and wriggling wildly beneath her. I felt like I was riding a mechanical bull. Help arrived by way of two formidable ladies with killer biceps. Steroid specials in racer-back tank tops. Bouncer-lady number one tapped me on the shoulder. No argument, I got off. She and bouncer-lady number two teamed up to separate the pair of crazed warriors.
When the three of them—please note it took all three—began roughly escorting Benita to the door, I transformed into the munchkin from hell. Stomping my way to the entrance, I blocked their path and glared up into Raffy’s face. “Listen to me, you rude piece of shit. Binnie and I know Gwen was murdered. And anybody involved is going to pay. Now, maybe you’re trying to hide something, so unless you feel like seeing the inside of New York State’s biggest bed-and- breakfast, you will call off the muscle and make nice with us. Do you hear me?”
The corners of her mouth twitched in a half smile. “Hold off,” she said, releasing her own grip on Binnie. Her warm, fuzzy colleagues dropped their hands to their sides. Raffy made a curt gesture toward a table at the back of the room and moseyed in that direction. “Cover the bar for me. This is private.”
“Binnie comes, too,” I said.
One of the bouncers did a double take. “Wait a second, are you Binnie “The Bitch” Morales?”
Binnie’s temper was still smoldering. “Yeah. Need a little proof? One at a time outside.”
Words of love to the ears of her Klingon admirers. They began fawning around her, pouring out the adulation. “I thought you looked familiar. I saw every one of your fights. Never forget that night you took it away from Lakisha Brewster. What a comeback. You’re having a drink on us.”
“I’ll get the beers,” the other bouncer said. “You can’t leave, Champ. Not till you sign the backs of our T-shirts.”
Benita looked at me. “Go on,” I said, relieved. “I’m pretty good at individual sessions.”
She headed to the bar with her fans. Raffy and I stopped at the wait station along the room’s side wall. Tearing off a paper towel, she dabbed a trickle of blood from the corner of her mouth. “Gwen never told me her friend was a boxer.” Judging by her tone she remained unimpressed. I accepted her offer for coffee and watched as she fueled her cup with six bags of sugar. Yikes. Now there’s an insulin rush. She placed my cup on a table. “Grab a seat.”
I took the chair across the table from her. “How come you’re so pissed at us?”
Raffy fixed her eyes on me with a challenging look. “How come nobody invited me to Gwen’s memorial service up in White Plains? Afraid people might find out she had a lesbian lover?”
“I had no idea you weren’t told.” That explained her attitude. “When I offered to help her brother Darryl, he said he’d handle everything. I should never have left it all to him. I’m so sorry. Listen, Gwen never made a will, but her brother gave me some of her personal things. Feel free to come over and choose a keepsake.”
After I apologized three more times, she put out her hand. We shook. “So, how come you think Gwen was murdered? The police ruled it a suicide. They must’ve had good reason.”
I took a deep breath. “At first it was just a hunch. But Gwen’s suicide note convinced me. It was written as a poem filled with symbols and hidden meanings. In the first line she disguises my name as if she’s addressing me. The third line reads, “Embark for the Jewel in the center of Pearl. Behold the words of Raphael.” Sounds like she wanted us to talk to you.”
Raffy shifted uneasily. “Always hated the name Raphael. I didn’t let nobody but Gwen call me that. Actually it’s even worse¬—Raphaela.” She took a sip of coffee and peered over the rim of her cup. “Gwen wrote lots of mystical poems. It’s no surprise that she’d write one as a good-bye to her friends before killing herself. Doesn’t mean she was murdered. Let her go in peace, already.”
I leaned forward and lowered my voice. “What I’m going to say now is classified. If it
leaks to the wrong people, I’m the next one dead. Literally. Okay?”
Her eyes widened. “I’m listening.”
“That hunch of mine was confirmed by a messenger working for a person who wants something Gwen had. They’re probably the ones who made it look like a suicide. I think they forced her to write the good-bye note before taking her life.”
“That’s a pretty bold theory.”
“Did you ever see her wear a fanny pack? She didn’t like them—didn’t even own one, yet she was pulled out of the river wearing one with all her ID in it. Convenient. And that’s only the beginning. Somebody wanted something Gwen wouldn’t give over. Binnie and I don’t know why it’s so valuable, but we do know they’re willing to kill for it. Because our lives are now on the line if we don’t find it. And the only map we have is her final poem.”
Looking doubtful, she rocked back in her chair, tipping it onto its hind legs. “You should be telling all this shit to the cops instead of me.”
“I tried at first, but the police weren’t too impressed by my genius. And now I can’t.” I gave her a brief rundown of my experience in the Hummer. Shudder. “These scumbags-on-wheels presented me with an ultimatum. I have one week to find some kind of tablet for them, otherwise I’
m toast. They told me they’d know if we run to the cops. Promised to hurt Benita and my family. And swore to find us before the police find them. Scary warning, and I’m not about to test it. Not yet anyway. Not until we have some real hard evidence. The kind detectives at the Seventy-fourth Precinct would take seriously. The kind that will get them moving and send these guys Up North.”
Raffy tilted her head, brows knit. “You said something about a tablet.”
“That’s right. A tablet.” My heart jumped a beat.
“If it’s what I think, then …” She hesitated. “Look, my fling with Gwen only lasted a few months.” Her hands fidgeted restlessly with the coffee cup. “During that time I was breaking my ass on an art project. It was supposed to be a joint effort. The gallery listed both our names. We planned the idea together long before we were lovers, back when Gwen and I met through the sisterhood and discovered we both worked with florals and scents.”
I’d just told this woman my life was on the line, and she’s talking about her art. “Please, Raffy. The tablet. What do you know about it?”
Ms. Macho’s face revealed a touch of hurt and annoyance. “Relax, I’m getting there. Everybody’s in such a rush these days.” She ambled over to the wait station, poured herself another cup of java and studied me as she sat down. “Gwen and I met through the Circle of the Sacred Yoni.”
“I know.” I watched Raffy stir her coffee slowly. Very slowly. It was clear this lady would not be pushed. Time to go Eastern. Follow the path of least resistance. Flow with the river. “You were telling me something about Gwen and the art project?”
“At first Gwen was all into it. Then suddenly she drops out. Leaves me hanging. So I confronted her. We had this big blowup. Not like the kind I just had with your friend.” She studied the blank emptiness of the back wall for another thirty seconds, while I fought off an oncoming attack of facial tic. “I can be pretty tough, but when it comes to love and art, I feel things deep. I was the one who broke down and cried. Afraid she had somebody else.”
“And what about the tablet?” I’d run out of Zen.
Her voice at this point slid into a dirge. “That night after our big fight, Gwen felt bad. So, she poured the two of us a drink. We sat by the windows in her loft staring out at the river. She told me her reasons for screwing up around the show. It was a secret. Not a soul was to know about it.” Breathy swoon. “Makes me wonder.” Another long moment of silence.
I cleared my throat to remind her I was there. “Raffy?”
She put a cigarette in her mouth and prepared to light up. “Mind?”
“Thanks, I’d love one.” At this point I was desperate for any form of pharmacotherapy. She aimed the pack of Winstons at me. I plucked one out. First cigarette I’d had in fourteen years. Sinner. I could still hear my mother saying it would stunt my growth. Of course, she maxed out at five feet and never smoked a day in her life. “Was this secret about a tablet?”
Raffy blew two neat little rings of pollution across the table. “Gwen had some incredibly grandiose ideas about a goofy perfume of hers. She got really carried away. Drove me nuts.”
The perfume. Omigod. Emotional orgasm. It’s a wonder I didn’t start panting like a dog. Reaching into my purse I pulled out a square of folded paper and spread it open in front it of her on the table. “Read the second line. Was this the name of her perfume?”
Her brows went through the roof. “Fuckin’ A. That’s it. Heaven’s Daughter.”
“Now read the first letter of each line. Going downward.”
She almost swallowed her cigarette. “They got me.” Raffy heaved a long sigh. “Only Gwen could pull off something that ingenious in the eleventh hour. She had one of those computer-fast minds.”
“And balls. She probably wrote this poem with a gun pointed at her head.” I grabbed her wrist. “We can’t let her down. Please, Raffy. Tell me. Are you saying this perfume was somehow connected to a tablet? Maybe the tablet these guys are searching for?”
She nodded. “It was baked clay. Looked kind of like a flattened dog turd. About the size of my palm. Written in cuneiform, no less. How anyone can learn to read all those tiny little scratch marks. Beyond me. Gwen and I hooked up shortly after she’d been working on one of those overseas expeditions. That’s where she discovered it. Claimed its inscription was a formula for a sacred perfume of Inanna. You know, the ancient goddess of love.”
The words of Raphael finally hit home. I wanted to kiss her. “I remember Gwen traveled to Turkey last summer to consult on an archaeological project for Columbia University. So, this tablet must be in the school’s archives.”
Raffy started laughing. “Not quite. Gwen lifted it.”
“You’re kidding.”
“She was obsessed and just had to have it for herself. Don’t ask me why or how, but Gwen believed this tablet was going to change the course of history for women. She spent forever deciphering the ingredients. And just reading the thing was only the first step. She had to keep guessing what all those weird ancient names referred to. Because nobody really knows what a nignagar plant is or a ‘mother’s finger’ plant or even if an amashum is a plant or something else. That language hasn’t been used in three thousand years.”
I knew Gwen was highly skilled at reading cuneiform with its hundreds of tiny wedge symbols that all looked alike. And she was a brilliantly intuitive archaeobotanist. But I still couldn’t fathom why someone would kill her over this tablet. Raffy had given me a truckload of info. Everything except…“So, do you know where this tablet is now?”
“Haven’t a clue where she put the damn thing.”
My heart sank. I ground my cigarette into the clear glass ashtray. Figured it couldn’t be that easy. But at least we were getting somewhere. I looked over at Benita. She appeared to be having a great time reenacting scenes from the ring. I’d be damned if the lousy gutterworm who had Gwen murdered was going to do the same to her. Or me. I switched my focus back to Raffy. “One thing still bothers me. I was Gwen’s closest friend, but she shared her secret with you instead of me.”
“Come on,” Raffy said with a yawn. “I don’t have to be a sex therapist to answer that one. I was sleeping with her. And even then it took a lover’s row for Gwen to open up to me.”
Made sense. “Is it possible anyone else might know about the tablet?”
“I’m pretty sure there’s no one, except for Tim Donnelly.”
“Who’s Tim Donnelly?” I asked.
“He’s a nose.”
“A nose?”
“A perfumer. Creates fragrances for FWI. Fragrances Worldwide Incorporated. It’s one of about five big companies that make and supply the fragrances for most of the perfumes on the market. Apparently Tim was intrigued by the whole story of her ancient perfume. And Gwen went wild when she heard about him because he’s got contacts in several of the major fashion houses. After she got together with him she was talking fame and fortune.”
That had to be why Gwen bragged to me that Chanel, Dior and Calvin Klein would soon be fighting over her perfume Heaven’s Daughter. But when Benita and I called them, no one had ever heard of Gwen Applebee. Maybe we didn’t reach the right people. Or we were looking in the wrong places. But would someone actually kill over a fragrance? Considering how easily they made knockoff perfume copies today, it didn’t compute. There had to be more to the puzzle. “Do you know Tim, the nose?”
“Yeah. I introduced Gwen to him. I’ve been consulting with Tim on my olfactory art for the past three years.”
“Can I have his phone number?”
“I’ve got it at home.” Raffy lit up another smoke and puffed out a set of rings. “Give me your card, and I’ll e-mail it to you tomorrow.”
With two of my seven days now gone, the word “tomorrow” started a mosh pit going full swing in my stomach. “Please, would you do it tonight? No matter how late. I’ll be awake.”
TEN
So far it rated four stars, as dreams go. I was frolic
king on a sunlit beach with Eldridge. Celebrating, dancing and removing our clothes. A seagull turned into a yellow taxicab and we got in the backseat. A distant chirping came from somewhere outside my dream’s protective bubble. I fought the intrusion. The Mace-man was kissing me now, and it was heaven. The sound repeated itself, insisting on being heard, pulling me rudely out of my REM world. My arm flopped across the sheets. I grappled for the phone and forced a barely audible “Hello?”
“Any luck in Mississippi?”
Dream over. The sandpaper voice on the other end snapped me to sitting. I gripped the receiver, wishing I could say something offensive. But now it seemed like I was in one of those nightmares where you try to scream and nothing comes out.
“Got anything you wanna give me? Or should I come over and look for myself?”
“I don’t have it yet.” I wasn’t surprised we were being watched, but that didn’t make it any less disturbing. Dammit, why had I picked up? Benita’s room was on the other side of the loft, so at least she wouldn’t be awakened by the call. My clock read 3:17. And I’d been up worrying until two. The effects of sleep deprivation emboldened me. “There’s no reason for you to call me at this hour.”
“Couldn’t sleep,” Curtis said. “I been thinking about you in the back of my car with your legs spread wide…oooh yeaahh.” I heard heavy breathing, a moan and a couple of grunts. I slammed down the receiver.
Terrific. Phone sex with Captain Hummer and his supposedly oversized wiener. Delete and cancel, please.
My phone rang again. Caller ID showed it as a blocked number. Needless to say, I didn’t answer. But of course I listened and pressed record when the voice mail clicked in.
“It’s Monday, sweetpussy. Counting today, ya got five days. Unless I get itchy. It ain’t easy for a man like me to hold himself back too long.”
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