“And if she’s a late-comer?”
“Then I’ll have to leave you there and handle the uptown expedition solo.”
I nodded. “Sounds like a plan. Now, let’s do breakfast.”
Lana’s kitchen had red tiles, orange Formica counters and bright flowered curtains. We found a pot of hot coffee on the stove and a serving dish filled with smoked salmon, cream cheese and bagels on the table. We dug in.
My aunt walked through the back door. Her hair was in two long braids. A knee length Batik sarong was tucked around her breasts. Her face and arms were covered in perspiration.
“Gardening?” I asked.
“No. I’ve been in my pottery studio.” She poured herself some coffee and sat at the table. “How did your gardening go last night?”
I said only, “No tablet.”
Lana patted my hand. “I thought that was a pretty formidable task.”
I glanced at Benita. “Think we should go back and try again before we leave for the city?”
“In broad daylight?”
Lana set down her coffee cup. “So, what else happened?”
Benita saw me balk and jumped quickly into a rundown on Lady Viv and the possibility of the stolen Kwan Yin figurine.
“But how can you prove it’s Saylor’s?” Lana asked. “Is yours catalogued or registered?”
“No.” I slumped in my chair.
My aunt sat forward. “Did you include it as missing in your police report? Did it have any distinguishing marks?”
“There’s tiny chip underneath the right elbow,” Benita said. “And, yes, we did put it in the report.”
I forked a piece of salmon and draped it over my bagel, feeling hopeful again.
“Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy” rang out. Had to be Eldridge. My heart did one of those flutter things. Bad sign, Saylor. Caller ID told me it was Inez. Was I disappointed or relieved? Actually, I was worried. “Hola, Inez. Are you all right?”
“Yes, everything is fine here. But where is my daughter? Why is she not answering her phone? I know there is more danger than you’re telling me.”
“Don’t worry, Inez, she’s safe.”
The frustration grew in her voice. “I’ve been calling her since early this morning.”
I looked up at my friend. “Your mami’s been trying to get through to you.”
Benita shrugged. “I turned off my phone.”
Lana gave her a sympathetic smile. “Sounds like you’re afraid you’ll answer it if Fippy calls.” Knowing Benita’s feelings on the subject, Lana stood up. “I have to check something baking in my kiln.” She walked into the back yard and headed for her pottery studio.
“Benita’s right here,” I said to Inez. “I’ll put her on.”
“Wait, florecita, first tell me…what did she do when she saw the headline and that terrible photo?”
“Headline?”
“Then she hasn’t seen it yet.”
“What?”
“Today’s Post. There’s a photo of Benita and Fippy on the cover.”
“Oh no.”
“Go get a copy. And call me back, floricita. I know my daughter won’t.”
***
The New York Post lay there on the bed. Big thick letters spelled out: “Lovesick Weatherman Wants Her Back.” Below that was the photo taken of the happy couple at last year’s Metropolitan Museum fundraiser. Benita unfortunately was caught with her mouth wide open as usual. Not a flattering shot. Fippy, of course, had that well rehearsed pose of a man who’s on camera every night.
The story was on page six with the rest of the celebrity gossip. Its started out in bold lettering that read: “The entire tri-state area awaits her answer. Will Benita take him back? And if so, will he keep his pants on this time?”
Oy vey. I’d had no luck trying to calm her down. You’d need a sense of humor the size of Jay Leno’s chin to absorb this kind of shock. Lana did the smartest thing and reminded her of that grinding noise in the Camry’s engine. Benita had told my aunt she wanted to check it before we left. A perfect way for the doer side of my friend to shed some of her frustrations with a little hands-on work.
I glanced out the window at the driveway below. All I could see was Binnie’s derriere and those awful shorts of Jaleel’s. The rest of her was underneath the steel panel hood. She was adept at fixing many things, but I gave her a C in auto mechanics. Let’s hope we made it home.
The time had come to head back to DUMBO. I hustled around the bedroom gathering my clothes, make-up and shoes and zipped them into my large floral travel bag. I wrapped the Tinkerbell jewelry box in my bathrobe and stuffed it in. Last night I’d opened and sniffed all six bottles of Heaven’s Daughter once again. Sure enough, every one held the same fragrance. It was an odd perfume with notes of jasmine and bitter orange. Maybe also coriander. And some deep earthy scent I’d never encountered. I carried my bag downstairs, prepared to greet the dragon.
My feet crunched on the gravel drive. Benita stopped her grumbling and looked up at me. “What a mess that silly ex of mine has created.” She sounded better already. “How could he do this to me? After six years of marriage, Fip should’ve known. If there’s one thing I can’t stand, it’s a bad picture of me.”
“Your dress looked nice.” Always emphasize the positives.
Benita flipped me the bird. “Do me a favor, sweetie. Start the engine.” She tossed the keys to me.
After putting my bag in the trunk, I climbed into the front seat and cranked her up. “I don’t think Fippy expected the papers to jump on it like this.”
“That’s because he’s an idiot. The media loves it when celebrities show their cracks.”
“I doubt Fip thinks of himself as a celebrity.”
“Yeah, well, he sure got some mileage out of it when it came to his pinga.”
“At least somebody loves you,” I shouted over the engine. “Mr. Mace doesn’t even have the courtesy to call me after last night.”
I was hoping for some encouraging words, but instead she said, “Told you from the get-go to steer clear of the Mace-man. He runs through women like dominoes.”
“Well, there’s still Walsh Plunkett. He called again. Maybe nature’s trying to tell me I should quit aiming for those passionate guys I fantasize about and learn to accept that I’d be better off with men like, well…like Walsh.”
She rotated her hand, signaling me to turn off the ignition. “What about Alan? Or do you think it’s the aftereffects of the perfume?”
“Of course it is. In a little while it’ll all wear off. Then he’ll go searching elsewhere for that little puppy he never had as a kid.” I hopped out of the car. “We also can’t rule out the possibility that Alan could be in league with Capricia. Pisses me off. All this ‘could be’ stuff. I thought by now we’d have something solid to hand over to Detective Roach.”
Benita wiped the grease off her hands with a rag and slammed the hood closed. “Too bad there’s no time to stop at Darryl’s on the way back. You might have been able to work the perfume on him. Make him talk.”
“Gee, thanks for volunteering me.” I cleared my throat. “Um, Binnie, I promised your mami we’d give her a call.”
She shook her head. “No way.”
“Be-ni-ta.”
“I’m no mood for one of Mami’s lectures.”
Oooh. She could be sooo stubborn. I reached inside the pocket of my sundress, pulled out my cell and punched in Inez’s number. Benita knew instantly what I was up to and tried taking off. With one hand on my cell, I used the other to grab her by the waistband. Her humongo sized shorts seemed to stretch half the distance of the driveway.
“Let go,” she said, slapping at my hand.
My hand tightened into a vise-grip. I knew my roommate was stronger than I, but I also knew she prized any of Jaleel’s boxing gear, so she’d never want to tear the shorts. And, unlike Lana or me, Benita was too modest to disrobe here in my aunt’s driveway.
“Hello, Inez. Y
es, she’s seen it. I’ll put her on.” I pressed the button for speakerphone, held it near Benita and released my grip on her waistband.
“Why are you making a fool of your husband?” Inez asked.
Benita let go with some choice expressions making her position clear.
“Must you talk like those titeres on the street? When I came here from Puerto Rico I had nothing. We worked so hard for you to go to college and get a degree. Today you have a big job. We are so proud of you. Show some dignity when you speak. Now, when are you going to take my advice about Fippy?”
“He’s a cheater, Mami.”
“Fippy is a man. And men are all the same when it comes to sex. You think your papi Carlos never acted like a typical man? Let me tell you about Loretta Ramos.”
“Not this story again.”
“Carlos did it with her twice a week for almost a year. I know this. The orishas and saints told me so. Loretta had the nerve to try and use her powers on me in hopes of stealing Carlos. That evil woman even took his underwear. He was missing two pairs one month.”
I should introduce her to Alan.
Benita sighed. “I do not want to hear about your sex life.”
Inez only increased her resolve. “I tell you, every man is weak when it comes to his pinga. Carlos is a good man, and so is Fippy.”
“Okay, Mami. I hear you. I love you. Thank-you for calling. Gotta go.”
“Dios te bendiga, mi hijita. Now put Saylor on. I have something to tell her.”
“I’m here, Inez.” I switched the phone off speaker and put it to my ear. Benita tossed me a weary smile and went into the house.
“Florecita, I’ve consulted the orishas. I had a vision. A message came for you from Oshun.”
I nodded. “Go ahead, Inez. I’m listening. What was your vision?”
“You are on a high cliff. You are trapped there by a woman. She is a big, round woman in a little girl’s dress.”
Sounded just like Raffy’s description of Lady Viv. There had to be a reason Inez picked up on her as opposed to the others. “I think I know who that is.”
“Help will come from the sky.”
The sky? Meaning what? They’ll fly me out by MedEvac? “Gracias, Inez. Is everything okay around your place? No phone calls or strange guys lurking?”
“Don’t worry about us. You and Benita are the ones in trouble. You should both eat lots of lettuce, and each time ask Oshun to guide you. And no pumpkin pie. Oshun doesn’t like anyone eating her sacred pumpkins. I will be praying for your safety.”
I signed off and walked toward the house wondering if Oshun, the Santeria love goddess, and Inanna, the Mesopotamian love goddess, were the same. Just in case, I decided to make a bowl of salad with lots of lettuce for Benita and myself before we headed back to the city.
With less than twenty-four hours to prove Gwen was murdered and who did it, we needed all the help we could get.
TWENTY-THREE
I swung the car up alongside the curb in front of the entrance to our apartment building. The two of us jumped out and grabbed our travel bags from the trunk. Benita placed hers next to mine on the sidewalk. “Do me a favor. You take these. I need to go pick something up for that meeting tonight.”
“Let me guess,” I said, handing her the car keys. “It’s back to RadioShack.”
“Nope,” she said, making her way around the car. “This calls for something a little more advanced.”
“And what marvel of technology will it be this time?”
“You’ll see.”
“Benita, I have a feeling your getting off on this.”
She slid into the driver’s seat. “What can I say? I like spying on people.”
I watched the Camry take off before dragging my tired, aching body and two bags into the lobby.
“Let me help you.” Caspian, our doorman-concierge trotted over from the desk to greet me. “By the way,” he said, bending down for the bags, “your boyfriend was here to see you.”
“Boyfriend?”
“That’s right. Said he’d be back in a couple minutes.”
Who would it be? Was Eldridge still following me? What about Alan? He did tend to show up wherever I was. Hmm. Or maybe…my thoughts flipped through the last few men I’d dated in the past year. “Did he give you his name?”
“No, but he…oh, here he comes now.” He nodded towards the door.
Boyfriend? I don’t think so.
Curtis Bardarson made his way across the street. Sunglasses beneath an orange cap, mouth tightened in a short, angry line, chin jutting forward. In his denims and ribbed undershirt, Curtis plainly embodied the kind of man he was—almost three hundred pounds of pure gruesome.
He strode into the lobby, saw me and broke into that sicko grin. “Howdy,” he said, moving closer until he towered over me.
I fought off the part of me that felt like withering into a wet cheese doodle at the sight of the man and barked out, “What is it you want?”
The terse quality in my voice tickled him. Curtis’s grin stretched wider across those wretched yellow teeth. “We gotta do some talkin’.”
“I’ll say.”
“Now.” He took me by the arm and pulled me toward the door.
Caspian looked a bit concerned. And confused about the right thing to do. He rested Benita’s small suitcase and my carry bag down onto the floor and stepped forward, frowning up at Curtis. The Monster, a good foot and a half taller, stared down at him with the icy composure of a snake.
Although the thought of going off alone with Curtis made my stomach do cartwheels, I quickly intervened with my best acting skills. “Oh, by the way, this is my friend Curtis.” Anything to save Caspian from a trip to the ER. “Would you just put our bags behind the desk for now? Benita’s out parking the car. Shouldn’t be long. Please tell her I went for a walk and will be back real soon.”
“Whatever you say.” Caspian took a last suspicious glance at my so-called boyfriend and went back to his post with our belongings.
Once we stepped out the door, he said, “Let’s stroll along the park.”
Good. Because I sure as hell wasn’t getting in any Hummer today.
We walked toward the Brooklyn Bridge, passing the weather-beaten red brick walls of the Empire Stores, a row of defunct coffee warehouses dating back to the Civil War. I always liked New York for being a city of diversity, a place where extreme opposites in ethnicities and cultures can coexist side by side. But the picture Curtis and I made wasn’t exactly my cup of tea. The amazing seven-foot Monster and his pint-sized playmate. It must have looked like circus performers’ day off.
“You and I made a deal, and you broke it,” I said. Don’t ask me where my boldness came from, but after my near-death experience outside of the retreat house, I had a few sharp words for this man. “I’ve stuck to your damn rules. You owe me the same. Why was I chased and shot at last night?”
“Guess you’re a popular lady,” he said. “Wasn’t me, sweetpussy. If I was shootin’ at ya, I wouldn’t have missed.”
“Maybe you weren’t there, but it was your boys. One of them was driving your Hummer on the day you picked me up. And they both had those ugly number tattoos on their forearms.”
This gave him pause. He mumbled to himself, “Guess the boss is gettin’ impatient.” Then he got quiet for a while. Maybe he was worried about being passed over on the East Hampton caper. Or maybe he was just lost in some deep meditation on how to break a man’s neck in less than two seconds.
My nerves were shot and his silence was starting to irk me. Plus the orange cap on his head that read “Nuke ’em,” didn’t exactly conjure up happy images. My voice disintegrated to a whiney screech. “Can we please cut the bullshit? What the hell do you want? I’ve been through about all I can take. ”
Curtis didn’t even flinch. “Now, be nice, or you won’t get any ice cream.”
“You be nice, or you won’t get your tablet.”
“You ain’t got that f
uckin’ tablet.”
“If that’s what you think, then why not leave me the hell alone?”
“Because my boss insists you’ll find it. But my bet’s on that you ain’t ever gonna have it.” Curtis leered at me in a way that made my skin crawl.
I didn’t debate with him. I didn’t want to hear him tell me again all those lovely things he intended to do to me.
We chugged our way down along the river to a quaint ice cream shop on a side street. Yup, we went inside. There were a few tables and chairs in the small, cramped space. Curtis and I grabbed a spot in line. When we reached the counter he ordered us each a large sundae. I went for peaches and cream. Curtis chose butter pecan.
Behind the counter, a young guy with acne said, “That’ll be fifteen.” Yes, dollars. This is New York, babe. I waited for Curtis to pay him. Our little outing was his idea, not mine. I didn’t even think I could make myself eat right now.
He just stood there looking at me. “Well? Let’s go,” he said. “Give the man his money.”
I wanted to knee him in the groin. But, of course, I opened my purse and forked it over. Sundae in hand, I beat it out the door. If he wanted to talk to me, let him chase me down. Cheap sonofabitch.
His big mitt of a hand was around my elbow in no time. “This way.”
Crossing the street, we both noticed a police car sitting at the end of Fulton, a stone’s throw away. I wanted to bolt for the car and tell them everything. Let him take his unbridled self-confidence and flush it down the toilet in some prison cell where he belongs.
“How’s your brother doing these days? Still up there in Provincetown?”
Point taken. His message put a knot in my stomach and sapped the fight right out of me. Did he have someone watching my brother Steven?
“Course I ain’t surprised about his having a place down on Grove Street. West Village is queer heaven, right?”
He had me where he wanted me. Imprisoned by fear, intimidation and threats. I shot Curtis an evil look.
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