Aphrodisiac

by Alicia Street

  “I know you won’t. Jill and the twins will be back from the swim club in forty minutes.”

  One didn’t have to be highly intuitive to catch his meaning. Not that we had any time to waste. This was day five of seven, and we were still no further than day one. I tried to be optimistic about our new leads, but after last night my confidence in our investigative skills was somewhat dampened.

  Hands in his pockets, Darryl swaggered lethargically through the living room. We followed him past a mix of French and Victorian antique tables and chairs. The fireplace mantel was covered in framed photos of his children.

  Darryl swung open a narrow paneled door that blended in with the dark brown woodwork of the kitchen. “All her stuff’s in the basement.” He reached in and flicked the light switch, then flapped his hand with an impatient “let’s go” gesture.

  Clumping our way down the wooden stairs, with Darryl standing at the top watching, I had visions of meeting the ghost of Vincent Price. The dungeon of Applebee Castle wasn’t all that bad. As basements went, it was neat and well organized. There was a Windsor rocker and some rolled up rugs. A five iron with its shaft clenched inside a vice on the tool bench awaited doctoring.

  A stack of eight boxes sat next to a Lifecycle that was no doubt the one that had functioned as Gwen’s favorite clothes rack. Benita and I each lifted a box to the workbench and began picking through the contents. Working quickly, moving from one box to the next, we kept checking our watches, growing tense, since the forty minutes would pass quickly. Darryl stopped in the doorway at the top of the cellar stairs a few times, listening, and no doubt keeping tabs on our progress.

  We found neither the yoni bracelet, nor anything resembling a cuneiform tablet. But I did choose three photos of Gwen from our teenage years, her signed copy of The Mermaid Chair, plus a few items for Raffy and tucked them into the tote bag I’d brought along. “I was hoping to find another one of Gwen’s journals. Or maybe a revealing letter or note from someone during those last days.”

  “E-mail, sweetie,” Benita said. “And that evidence is gone with the missing hard drive. Either stolen or destroyed by someone looking for her formula.”

  Somehow we managed to search all the boxes before Darryl came strolling down the stairs acting warm and friendly. “Saylor, you might want to take a look at that old exercise bike of Gwen’s.” He smiled. “I’ll let you have it for a hundred and a quarter.”

  “No thanks.”

  “Really? After all these years I thought you were one of those people in a constant battle with their weight.” He started trotting back up the stairs then stopped halfway and pointed to the rear corner of the basement to an elongated eight-foot runway covered in fake grass with a plastic hole at the end. “Careful not to lean things against my putting green.” Back to being terse, “Try not to break it.”

  The instant the door closed at the top of the landing Benita said, “I don’t care what you say. He’s on my list of suspects.”

  I was more concerned that Darryl might have thrown out the tablet. I knelt on the floor and sorted through a pile of stuff that was clearly meant for the trash. “Oh. This is Gwen’s old Tinkerbell jewelry box. I gave it to her for her tenth birthday.” I held it and brushed my fingers lovingly along the rectangular top where the pink enamel paint was scratched and chipped.

  Benita looked at me like I was nuts. “Pretty beat up. Couldn’t even peddle that one on eBay.”

  “I’d never sell this.” I tucked it into my tote bag and looked up at her. “How about you?”

  “I’m taking her Che Guevara tee shirt,” Benita said.

  About five minutes to four we climbed the stairs. Darryl walked us to the door, obviously pleased we were making our exit before wifey came home with the kids and ran into those annoying friends of her wacky late sister-in-law.

  The mail was spread out on a table in the foyer. Next to the usual white business envelopes were some magazines. Newsweek, Allure and a copy of…Dub. As in Chub Dubs? I turned to Benita and nodded toward the table. Her eyes lit up.

  “Why, Darryl, I see you read Dub,” she said.

  “That’s right. I like cars.”

  I remembered him as a teen working on cars. And only last year Gwen told me he sold his classic ‘57 Thunderbird convertible.

  “Bet you go for those twenty-inch spinners.” Benita said.

  He offered a blasé shrug.

  “Tell me, Darryl.” She jumped to the point, the challenging tone in her voice way too unsubtle. “Any of your cars have dubs?” Still, with one car out and the other in the garage, I was curious if they either of them were sporting the flashy rims.

  “The Mercedes.” He replied, visibly irritated.

  Benita got that ready-to-spar look in her face. “Did you ever find the hard drive that belongs to Gwen’s computer?”

  “No.”

  “And what about—”

  Enough. I nudged the steamrolling Detective Morales aside and cut in. “Thanks, Darryl, for letting us go through Gwen’s boxes.” Benita glared at me but backed off.

  “No problem. You didn’t take much.” Darryl strolled behind us to the Camry.

  Sitting inside the car, I glanced up at him. “If you ever need to talk, you know, about Gwen, just call me.”

  “Gwen, Gwen, Gwen,” Darryl snapped. “Frankly it gets a little draining.” He rubbed the tension from the back of his neck. “Don’t hear this the wrong way. I loved my sister. What happened was tragic. But after a while…”

  I jumped in. “Sorry, Darryl. I know you must be exhausted after managing all the details of your sister’s passing. But you’ve done a great job.”

  “I always do, but do you think anybody sees it? Gwen was always the one who got all the attention. Just like when I was growing up. All my parents ever talked about was Gwen and her academic prizes. Now even after she’s dead, that’s all I am to people, Gwen’s brother.” Suddenly looking embarrassed by his outburst, Darryl stepped away from the car.

  I tried to say a few therapeutic and nurturing things, but he wasn’t listening. When his wife pulled into the driveway, we waved good-bye and left.

  We were half a block down the street when Benita blurted, “Did you hear that? How much more proof do we need? Got the dubs on the Mercedes. Hated his sister…”

  “Hold it. Hold it,” I said. “Darryl did not hate his sister. Tensions between siblings are completely normal.”

  “Didn’t you tell me that when you, Gwen and Darryl were graduating high school together, Darryl boycotted the graduation because Gwen was valedictorian?”

  “Well, yes. But…”

  “No buts. The dude is obsessed. Just hear me out.” Her hands danced above the steering wheel, accentuating her talking points. “Goes right back to my original twin rivalry theory. Darryl’s uptight about his sister outdoing him. So, he becomes the overachiever. Winds up making all that money in the insurance business while his sister ends up a low-income academic slumming it down in the Hook. Then one day Gwen comes up with a discovery that could revolutionize the entire perfume industry and take her from rags to riches. She’d be worth millions. Bingo. Twin bro has a meltdown.”

  I gazed out at the pretty houses in the neighborhood. “But why would Darryl want the tablet? He’s got plenty of money.”

  “Drummond had way more bucks, but he wanted that tablet. You know, people have their secret sides.” She turned into the parking lot of a gas station. “What doesn’t fit is how Darryl found out about the perfume when Gwen kept it classified. They weren’t all that close.”

  “That part I can fathom. For one, he had keys to her place. And for another, they were still family. In which case anything’s possible.” I hopped out of the car and filled the tank. Soon as I finished paying I walked back to the driver’s side window. “Ready to switch?”

  “I’m good. How about you drive when we get to the Island.”

  “Fine with me.” I got back in the passenger side, and we were off when
the thought struck me. “Ohmigod.”

  “What is it?”

  “Darryl. He’s in the insurance business.”

  “So?”

  “I’m not sure if he’s still with the same firm or not, but he once worked for…the Chubb group.”

  “First we got the Dub,” she said. “Now we got the Chub.” She jammed on the brakes and pulled a screeching about-face in the middle of the four-lane road.

  “What are you doing?” I yelled, gripping the armrest.

  “You’ll see.”

  We pulled back into to the gas station and parked in a slot next to the air hose machine. She pointed to a pay phone on the wall alongside the restrooms. “Time to make a little call.”

  “You drive like a maniac to get us to a pay phone? Are you nuts? We do have mobiles.”

  “Don’t want him seeing our caller ID. Damn, I wish I had a Spoofcard. Give me Darryl’s number.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m calling Mr. Appleebee.”

  “What?”

  “Here’s the deal. I call him up. The second he answers, I disguise my voice and just say, ‘Yo Chub Dubs.’ Catch him off guard. Knock him off balance. Bullshit with his head. Make him give himself away.”

  I shook my head with some serious conviction. “Unh-uh. No way.”

  Benita looked dumbstruck at me. “It’s simple, but brilliant.”

  “It’s not the plan. It’s you. Just listen to yourself. You’re way too agitated. You’re the one who’s liable to give herself away.”

  She nodded. “Good point. You do it.”

  I dropped in some change and punched in Darryl’s number. I was about to ask Binnie what to do if one of his kids picked up when I heard Darryl say, “Hello?”

  I switched into my best baritone. “Yo, Chub Dubs? What up?”

  “Who the hell is this?” His tone was sharp and angry.

  I hung up the phone.

  Benita looked puzzled. “He just hung up?”

  “No. I did.”

  “That wasn’t the plan.”

  “You didn’t hear his voice, Bin. He was not very nice.”

  “Darryl never is.”

  “Yeah, well, this time he was very un-nice. And besides, it just felt so deceitful. Pranking Darryl after all he’s been through. Meanwhile, we aren’t even sure he’s our man.”

  “We are not pranking. We are conducting an investigation.”

  “Plus it bums me out if Darryl’s our killer. He took me to my senior prom.”

  Benita shot me a look she usually reserved for those who fart in public. “You actually dated Darryl Applebee? You never told me that.”

  “Don’t be so mean. We can’t all be Miss Popular. I wanted to go to my prom and didn’t have a boyfriend. Gwen talked her brother into asking me. Typical Darryl, he offered to take me as long as I paid for everything.” I shrugged. “Call me sentimental.”

  We stopped at a deli and Benita volunteered to run in for takeout sandwiches. A roast beef on rye for Benita and a Swiss cheese and mustard for me. While she was in the store, I pulled the jewelry box out of the tote bag that sat at my feet. I still remember that day in the gift shop and the hurt on ten-year-old Gwen’s face after her mother flatly refused to buy the magical little box that so clearly touched my friend’s heart. It took me two months to save up enough allowance money to buy it for her.

  I placed the box on my lap and opened it. A tiny plastic Tinkerbell doll posed center stage on a purple satin lining divided into squares and slots that once held Gwen’s necklaces, earrings and rings. I couldn’t believe she still had this thing. She used to keep her favorite baubles and shells and lucky stones hidden in the secret compartment beneath the base.

  A lightning bolt hit me. Maybe her Circle of the Sacred Yoni bracelet was there. Or even the tablet. I pinched the dividers between my fingers and tugged. Gradually I worked loose the base surrounding Tinkerbell and lifted it out. Tissue paper. Hmm.

  I poked around the white crumpled paper and felt a solid object. More than one. In fact, I found six small but classic perfume bottles from Gwen’s prize collection. Ooh. A 1949 Miss Dior. And a Lelong. And Shiaparelli’s Shocking from the ‘30’s.

  Benita came back with our food, and I showed her my discovery.

  “Not exactly what we’re looking for,” she said, starting in on her roast beef on rye.

  “But really wonderful. So glad they didn’t go out in the trash.” I pulled the tissue wrappings off the other bottles. “Theses were Gwen’s favorites. Especially this one. Guerlain’s Vol de Nuit.” I held up the smoky green bottle and saw there was perfume inside. “Still loaded. Probably the original. All of Gwen’s bottles that Darryl gave me were empty, so this is a rare treat.”

  Benita flashed me the stop sign with the palm of her hand. “Don’t you dare open that now. Yesterday’s olfactory overload was bad enough.”

  “I admit, last night’s shower did come as a relief. But somehow I feel naked without a perfume.”

  “Too bad. Got no where to run inside this car.”

  I resisted the temptation and tucked each bottle carefully back into the box. All of them appeared to be a third or half full. Something to look forward to.

  We finished our lunch and joined the rush of highway traffic. Bumper-to-bumper at seventy miles an hour. Binnie’s staccato breaking style and liberal use of the horn sent my shoulders up to my ears.

  At New London we took the ferry. A crisp salt air journey across the Sound to Orient Point, Long Island. The ferry, a floating parking lot, bulled its way slowly through the Sound. We got out of the car and stood on the deck a while, stretching our legs and taking in the salt water’s mood-enhancing ions.

  ***

  “Dance Of The Sugarplum Fairy” tinkled from inside the tote bag at my feet. I scooped up my cell and snapped open my phone. “Dr. Oz.”

  “Good afternoon. Walsh Plunkett here.”

  “Excuse me, but how did you get this number?”

  “From a lady at your Do-Me-Good party. Can’t recall her name.”

  “Please understand, Walsh, I generally reserve this phone for personal needs and crisis calls from my paying clients. Has something upset you?”

  “Me? Why would I be upset?

  Defensive. Perfectionist. Impotence Prone Personality. These kind scare easily. I upped my gentle and caring tone. “If you’re worried about a sexual problem, I’ll be happy to discuss it during a session in my office. These things can be helped.” I thought of that old suit he wore. “If money’s an issue, I do have a sliding scale.”

  “Sexual problem?” Pause. His tenor voice turned husky. “Dr. Oz, if you think because I’m a small man I have a little penis, you are very wrong.”

  Why do men think implying they have a big dick is the answer to everything — and that it’s the hottest seduction line in the world? However, I must confess his insinuation did remind me of that old adage about men with big feet having big equipment. “Look, Walsh, I know it’s difficult to talk about certain subjects.”

  “Good day, Dr. Oz.” The phone slammed in my ear. Not unusual. He’ll call back.

  Benita snickered. “Don’t you see what’s going on? That Plunkett guy doesn’t want therapy. He wants to be your next hardship case boyfriend.”

  “Yeah, well, this time I’m not picking up the bait.”

  At Orient Point I took the wheel and drove through the North Fork to the Shelter Island Ferry to the South Fork and on to East Hampton. Benita and I discussed our plans and concluded the following:

  One: Good chance we’d need a second day out here since it was almost dusk and we now had Capricia added to our list of suspects.

  Two: Aunt Lana was the key to either getting us into Capricia’s house or planting the Teddy Cam for us.

  Three: If Gwen buried her tablet in the fragrance garden she’d created at the Circle of the Sacred Yoni retreat—and her poem definitely implied that—we had some digging to do.

  Four: I would be the
designated digger. Benita would go undercover inside the main house using Raffy’s Yoni bracelet to gain access. We’d go there at nightfall, so I could sneak into the garden unseen.

  Our long ride finally brought us cruising down a street lined with upscale boutiques and restaurants in the center of East Hampton village. This was Martha Stewart Living by the sea, with some of the most beautiful homes and highest priced real estate in the country.

  That familiar ringtone. I told Benita to pick up. She reached into my bag and took out my cell. It was Raffy DiNardo, her favorite bartender. Benita put her on speaker. In the background we heard the clamor of customers at the Jewel.

  “Listen,” Raffy said, “I remembered who Gwen stole that tablet from.”

  “I thought she took it from the university’s archaeological dig,” I said.

  “Not directly. There’s a professor who worked with Gwen at Columbia. Conrad Schumacher. I think she used to date him. He was in the habit of helping himself to unrecorded artifacts. Padded his income buying and selling stuff on the black market. Anyway, he’s the one who walked away with the tablet from the university. And Gwen removed it from his cache.”

  Benita looked over at me. “Then he definitely knew about the tablet.”

  I asked Raffy, “Was Gwen involved in his black market dealings?”

  “No way,” she said.

  “Did Schumacher know she took it from him?” Benita asked.

  “Can’t answer that one,” Raffy replied. “But Gwen told me he never would’ve deciphered it right. Didn’t have her knowledge of the ancient plants. At least that was her rationale for lifting it.” She paused. We overheard some commotion at the bar. “Gotta get back to work. Hope to see you at my opening.”