“Is it or isn’t it?”
“You know I wear size small. This is a large,” said Valerie, and handed the chemise back to Deirdre.
“Oh. I didn’t see that tiny tag,” said Deirdre, accepting the chemise.
“It must be yours. Maybe you forgot you had it.”
“I don’t wear large either. I’m medium.”
“Maybe it’s Lupe’s.”
“Why would she throw her lingerie in our closet?”
“You’ll have to ask her,” said Valerie, leaving the room.
Deirdre was suspicious of Lyndon to begin with, but this chemise added fuel to her smoldering suspicions. Was it a trophy of a woman he had seduced? Did he keep trophies of his conquests? Could it be Lupe’s? Deirdre doubted Lupe could afford Gucci lingerie.
Chapter 30
Feeling bummed out in his apartment, Brody logged on to the Elysian Fields chat room.
Myshkin: Anyone there?
Teddy Roosevelt: I’m here.
Caligula: Me too.
Brody wondered what jobs these guys had, since they always seemed to be logged in to the chat room.
Myshkin: Do any of you feel alienated because of your epilepsy?
Teddy Roosevelt: I hear ya.
Caligula: And how.
Myshkin: It’s not something you want to talk about, because people will think you’re sick.
Caligula: They’re the ones that are sick.
Teddy Roosevelt: I always feel like I’m on the outside looking in. Story of my life.
Margaux Hemingway: Just don’t think about it.
Myshkin: Are you there, Margaux?
Margaux Hemingway: I just got back from walking the dog.
Myshkin: What kind of dog do you own?
Margaux Hemingway: A Belgian Malinois.
Caligula: The Secret Service uses Belgian Malinois to guard the White House. They can sniff explosives.
Brody figured he should be working instead of chatting. He didn’t plan on chatting too long.
Teddy Roosevelt: Hi, Margaux.
Margaux Hemingway: What did I miss?
Teddy Roosevelt: We were talking about alienation because of our condition.
Margaux Hemingway: If you don’t tell anybody about it, there’s no way they can know unless you have an attack while they’re with you.
Caligula: Still, you feel like there’s a wall between you and them.
Margaux Hemingway: Not if you don’t think about it. It’s not like people can tell you’re an epileptic just by looking at you.
Myshkin: Do you feel like you belong?
Margaux Hemingway: Belong to what?
Myshkin: Being part of something.
Margaux Hemingway: Sometimes I feel cut off. But we’re not lepers. We don’t look different than anybody else.
Teddy Roosevelt: We’re not alcoholics either. Alcoholism is a disease by choice. We didn’t choose to be afflicted by epilepsy.
Myshkin: It’s something we’re born with, in most cases.
Teddy Roosevelt: That’s what I’m saying. AA is a different kind of animal.
Caligula: What’s AA got to do with it?
Teddy Roosevelt: I’m just saying.
Caligula: Are you in AA?
Teddy Roosevelt: Why?
Margaux Hemingway: Are epileptics prone to alcoholism?
Caligula: Are you saying we’re a bunch of rummies?
Myshkin: Do you ever feel like quitting your job because of your condition?
Margaux Hemingway: No. Why should I? I can do my job as well as the next person.
Myshkin: But maybe you should be doing something else. Maybe epileptics shouldn’t have certain jobs.
Margaux Hemingway: That’s got nothing to do with epilepsy.
Caligula: They can have any job they want. Otherwise, it’s discrimination.
Margaux Hemingway: AA members have all sorts of jobs.
Caligula: There you go again. Are you saying we’re a bunch of rummies?
Margaux Hemingway: My dog is barking. I have to go.
Teddy Roosevelt: I think we should form a group.
Caligula: What kind of group? A secret group?
Myshkin: This is a secret group.
Margaux Hemingway: Let’s talk later. Bye.
Caligula: Do you ever think about getting back at society for alienating you?
Margaux Hemingway: It’s not all of society. Just certain people in it that misunderstand us.
Caligula: You joined this group so you could get back at them?
Margaux Hemingway: Not at all. That had nothing to do with it.
Caligula: I’m trying to understand.
Teddy Roosevelt: I thought you left, Margaux.
Margaux Hemingway: This time I really do have to go. Bye.
Brody had to get back to work.
Myshkin: Next time.
He logged out.
Chapter 31
Sitting in the living room with her legs crossed, Deirdre decided to confront Lyndon when he returned home from work.
She heard him enter the house. She wasn’t going to tolerate his cheating on her. She heard his footfalls approach.
“Deirdre?” he said.
“In here.”
“What’s for dinner?”
“I looked for your blue suitcase today.”
“Did you find it?” he said, his eyes lighting up.
“No.”
“Damn. I have to get it back.”
“I found something else, though.”
“What?” he said, not paying much attention.
“A pink chemise.”
“What?”
“A pink chemise in your closet.”
“It must be one of yours,” he said, shaking it off. “It must’ve got misplaced.”
“It’s not one of mine.”
“Maybe it’s Val’s,” he said, distracted, still thinking about the suitcase.
“It’s not hers and it’s not mine. It’s not our sizes.”
“Then it’s Lupe’s.”
“Why would Lupe hide her chemise in your closet?”
“You’d have to ask her.”
“Why did you hide it in there?”
“I didn’t hide anything.”
“It was stashed behind one of your suitcases.”
Bothered, Lyndon frowned. “It’s nothing.”
“Did you have one of your friends in our bedroom?”
“What?”
“You heard me. You can tell her she left her nightie here.”
“This is crazy,” he said, staring at her.
“I don’t think so.”
“Oh, I get it,” he said, relaxing. “This is part of the game.”
“It’s just a game with you?” she said, seething.
“No. The game we play. Finding the chemise. Did you really find it or did you make it up?”
“This isn’t a game, and you know it.”
“Sometimes you take the game too far.”
“Why don’t you admit you’re seeing someone?”
“Because I’m not.”
“What about that letter you sent me?”
“What letter?”
“Where is it?”
“What? Where is what?”
“That’s what the letter said. It said Where Is It?”
“Where is what?” said Lyndon, confused.
“Maybe you were referring to that chemise in your closet. Is that it?”
“I repeat, you’re taking the game too far.”
Deirdre felt her face flush. “That’s what marriage means to you? It’s just a game, so you can fool around?”
“Let’s stop this game. It’s getting out of hand.”
“You’re the one playing games. Who left that chemise in your closet?”
“Where’s my blue suitcase? That’s what really matters.”
“Our marriage doesn’t matter?” said Deirdre, taking umbrage.
“Of course it does. But let’s n
ot take the game playing too far.”
Indignant, Deirdre thrust to her feet. “You always find some way to weasel out. Why can’t you ever level with me?”
“I refuse to play this game any longer.”
“You’re making it into a joke.”
“It’s no joke. I don’t know anything about any chemise in my closet.”
“Want me to go get it and refresh your memory?”
“I need some air,” he said, and stalked out the French door to the pool deck.
Deirdre wanted to scream.
She didn’t know what to believe. She would go nuts if she kept thinking about the stupid chemise. She had to pull herself together. After all, she hadn’t found a naked woman in his bed. There could be an innocent explanation for the chemise secreted in his closet.
The problem was, she had no idea what that explanation was.
Unless—
Could the chemise be part of the game? Had Lyndon planted the chemise in his closet to incense her as part of the game? But how did he know she would paw through his closet and stumble onto the chemise? She didn’t see how he could have predicted her searching his closet.
Then again, he had told her the blue suitcase was missing from his closet. Maybe he figured she would search his closet for the suitcase as a result.
Whatever the explanation, they had to stop playing these games. They had initiated the games in order to instill excitement into their marriage, which had become a humdrum relationship. They had thought the games would ignite a spark to their marriage.
At first, the games had succeeded in their purpose. Now, it seemed, they were backfiring and precipitating more misery than happiness. Instead of being head over heels in love, they were at each other’s throats.
Could Lyndon’s hiring of a stalker be part of the game? she wondered. Did he think terrorizing her with a stalker would rekindle their love? If he did, he had gone too far. She couldn’t believe he would do such a thing. On the other hand, she had never thought he would have Rakowski killed—if indeed he had killed Rakowski.
Maybe she was becoming paranoid. She had no proof for any of her suspicions. Which was why she had hired Brody—to come up with the proof.
If he would do his job, she might be able to find an explanation for what was going on.
Through the French windows she watched Lyndon stalk around the pool, wondering what he was thinking. He looked as unsettled as she was, which indicated events were careening out of his orbit, meaning he wasn’t the ringmaster. Which meant he was as much a victim as she was.
Or was it all a charade with him? Was he even now putting on an act for her as he stalked around the pool in distress?
Chapter 32
Brody answered his door to let Peltz into his apartment.
“What have you got for me?” said Peltz, clad in a business suit, the second button buttoned, and a subdued blue tie.
“Nothing,” said Brody.
Peltz sighed. “That’s not what the Bureau wants to hear.”
Brody didn’t want to tell him about the anonymous letter sent to Deirdre. He didn’t want to tell Peltz anything—unless he thought it was related to possible espionage on Lyndon’s part. Brody didn’t see any evidence of espionage.
He saw Deirdre’s case as possible wife abuse and a motive for Rakowski’s murder. He thought Peltz and the FBI were barking up the wrong tree.
“Can I get you a beer?” said Brody, disappearing into the kitchen.
“OK.”
Brody retrieved two cans of chilled Coors from the refrigerator and offered one to Peltz. They popped open the cans.
“Wanna glass?” said Brody.
“I’m fine,” said Peltz, and took a pull on his beer.
Brody followed suit.
“We need you to put pressure on Fox so he’ll expose himself as a spy,” said Peltz.
“Why can’t you guys do that?”
“We don’t want to tip our hands.”
“This isn’t my job.”
“Aren’t you an American? Don’t you believe in America?”
“Of course.”
“You don’t want spies running rampant in our country, do you?”
“No. But I’m working on a case.”
“We think he might be passing secrets to the Russians when he visits Cabo.”
“The Russians are in Cabo?”
“A lot of politicians and diplomats vacation in Cabo. The Russian SVR knows that and runs operatives worldwide, including in Cabo.”
Had Rakowski run afoul of an SVR operation in Cabo and ended up dead as a result? wondered Brody.
“A private eye that was tailing Lyndon Fox was murdered in Cabo,” he said.
“That doesn’t help us nail him.”
“Maybe Lyndon was the one that did it.”
“Do you have proof?”
“No.”
Peltz paced around the room, beer can in hand. “We need you to get the goods on Fox.”
“How am I supposed to do that?”
“Keep working on his case. He’s bound to slip up. It’s only a matter of time.”
“I don’t see why your agents can’t handle this better. You’re trained for this cloak-and-dagger stuff.”
“We don’t want their covers blown and we don’t want Fox to suspect we’re surveilling him. Which brings me to the point of my visit.”
“Which is?”
“Why aren’t you surveilling him now?”
“I was headed that way when you knocked on my door.”
How did Peltz know Brody wasn’t surveilling Fox unless Peltz was surveilling Brody? The thought put Brody on edge.
“We suspect he’s carrying top-secret, eyes-only documents,” said Peltz.
“How did he get top-secret documents?”
“I told you, he hobnobs with politicians he represents in his celebrity talent agency. Any one of them could be betraying our country.”
Brody got the feeling Peltz was holding something back from him. The guy was too careful about choosing his words, like he didn’t want to reveal too much about the FBI’s undercover operation against Lyndon.
“What’s in this for Lyndon?” said Brody.
Peltz rubbed his fingers together in the universal gesture for money.
“Who’s paying him?” said Brody.
“We believe it’s the deep state and the Russians.”
“The Russians are in cahoots with the deep state?”
Peltz nodded yes.
“To do what?” said Brody.
“To take over our country.”
“These same Russians he meets in Cabo?” said Brody.
“They’re involved, as are Russian hackers working abroad.”
“What exactly do you want me to do?”
“Find evidence that supports our theory.”
“He doesn’t strike me as being a spy.”
“The best spies never do. In espionage appearances are deceiving.”
Brody wondered who he was dealing with. Was Lyndon a spy, a philanderer, a murderer, or all of the above?
“Do you consider him dangerous?” said Brody.
“I’m glad you asked. We do, indeed. Be on your guard. He may have confederates working with him.”
“And if I need help?”
“Give me a call.” Beer can in hand, Peltz made a beeline for the door. “Could you show me out?”
“Yeah, I think I can handle it.”
Brody opened the door for him. Why didn’t the guy let himself out? he wondered. Maybe Peltz liked to lord it over other people to make himself feel important. Feds liked to feel superior, decided Brody, which in his limited experience with them he had found to be the case.
“One more thing,” said Peltz. “Try to bug his house for us.”
“I don’t have bugging equipment.”
“A PI without bugging equipment? Ha,” said Peltz, with a sarcastic grin.
“It’s illegal to bug someone in California.”<
br />
“Not for us.”
“Are you telling me to commit a crime?”
Peltz said nothing, his face expressionless, as if he hadn’t heard Brody.
Was this Peltz’s way of telling him the feds had bugged his apartment? wondered Brody.
Brody’s phone started ringing as he let Peltz out.
Chapter 33
“We need to talk,” said Deirdre at the other end of the line.
“Where?” said Brody.
They met at a Starbucks in Brentwood, where he ordered a cappuccino and she a latte from the twentysomething barista, who wore tattoos on her arms and a nose ring.
They took their drinks to a small black table in a secluded dim section in the back of the restaurant, where the comforting aroma of coffee reigned.
Deirdre appeared unsettled as she sat across from Brody.
“I think I found proof Lyndon’s seeing another woman,” she said.
“You think?” said Brody.
“At first I was certain, but I’ve had second thoughts. It might be part of the games we play with each other.”
“Like when he tied you up and held you at gunpoint to add spice to your marriage?”
“Yeah.”
“What’s the proof?”
“I found a chemise hidden in his closet.”
“Did you question him about it?”
“He said he had no idea whose it was or how it got there,” she said, and sipped her latte.
“And you believed him?”
“Not at first. I got mad and confronted him about it. He accused me of putting the chemise there as part of one of our games.”
“And?”
“And I thought, maybe he put it there as part of the game so I’d find it and think he was cheating on me.”
“Why would he do that?”
“To make me jealous. To give zest to our marriage. That’s what our games are all about.”
Brody pulled a face. “Maybe you’re overthinking this.”
“It’s possible. That’s why I wanted to talk it over with somebody.”
“Usually the obvious explanation is the correct one.”
“He also accused me of stealing his blue suitcase from the closet where I found the chemise. Maybe he retaliated by planting the chemise there.”
“I suppose that’s possible, but I doubt it.”
“You think the chemise is proof he’s cheating on me?”
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