Lizzy squared off with Max and Joy. “Haven’t we suffered enough? I told you before, Max. Sally is the poison. She kicked Linus out of the company, stole Elliot away from me, waved her affairs under Elliot’s nose and Todd’s, and finally, she got my son drunk and seduced him! I’m not sorry Sally is dead. So arrest us, go ahead, try to make it stick. Sally battered and belittled everyone around her. She twisted the knife every chance she got—it gave her pleasure. And from the grave, she forced me to see a picture of her, naked with my son and smiling like the devil himself. Sally poisoned me! Sally poisoned Elliot! And Sally poisoned Alice! Alice just happened to give her a dose of her own medicine! And who knew—she served it to Todd too.”
Max met her gaze and shook his head. His voice softened to a near whisper of contempt. “Lizzy, the only flaw in your speech is that if we hadn’t have gotten here when we did, you’d be eating, as Alice called it, ‘just desserts.’ You’d have three more dead bodies, both of your sons. And, Elliot, you’d have been dead too. Killed by your own poisonous hand. You’re right. We can’t prove any of what we just said. I know that, and so do you. And knowing you, I suspect neither of you inteneded to administer enough poison to Sally to kill her. Just a little. Just a slap across her smug face. But I think…” Max stopped to glare into each of their faces. “I think you’ll both live the rest of your lives with the knowledge of what might have happened had another five or ten minutes passed. No wonder Kate’s arrest had you so upset. You’d set his ball rolling, and it nearly ran over my godmother, that saintly, mouthy wonderful woman.” Max bore his eyes into Lizzy’s. As he did so, a tear streamed down her face.
Joy’s voice kept a hard edge. “There are some bridges that when you cross over, you can’t go back. You two will live on the dark side of the bridge for the rest of your lives. Welcome to the club.”
Max rose to leave, but before he walked away, he added, “I know you didn’t kill Sally. Not directly. But you could have stopped Alice! You could have saved her. Gotten her help. You could have tried. Instead, you used that girl to get what you wanted.” Max stormed away.
Lizzy hung her head. “What have I done, Danny? I miss you so.” She broke down and cried. “I need you.”
Joy followed after Max.
As Max drove away, Joy asked, “How do we write it up?”
“We can’t prove Lizzy or Elliot had anything to do with Sally’s death.”
“And Oliver slipped her some eyedrops. It wasn’t much.”
“Threshholds are tricky beasts, Joy. One step over, you’re on the other side.” Max shook his head in disbelief. “The facts are that the only confession we have is Alice’s. And Todd had the other poisons in his freezer. And he’s dead.”
“Lizzy wasn’t in her right mind. And Elliot—watching the pain Sally caused Lizzy when she confronted Sally about Rio, pushed him over the edge.” Max added, “No one deserves what Sally got, but she was a cobra.”
“This time, the mongoose killed the cobra. Sally never cared who she hurt. She didn’t see a four-year old among her enemies.”
“We write up the truth,” said Max. “Alice confessed, but not to using belladonna or foxglove.”
Joy stared ahead out the window. “Lizzy and Elliot created their own prison, Max. They won’t know how to live with this. It will eat at them every day, as much as if they sat behind bars.”
Max turned into into the shaded parking structure of the station. “Knowing Lizzy, when she realizes what she has done, she’ll probably spend the rest of her life trying to make ammends. Elliot too.”
“That’s the view from the other side of the bridge. You try to stop people from walking across, but they walk right past you and cross anyway.”
Max knew he and Joy had crossed lines too, by meeting with Belladonna and by lying to others about the fact they were half-siblings. But Kate was innocent; she was safe. No outcome could be better.
When Max reached home, he wasted no time. He ignited the wood logs in the fireplace—the hacienda had been built prior to gas lines. The fire roared to life and crackled. It flashed in angry light and singed the air with blasting heat.
Max usually opted for a glass of wine, but he found whiskey in the bar and poured himself a stiff drink. He set the DNA report on the glass-topped, wagon-wheel coffee table and sank down into the plaid sofa. He swilled his drink in the dancing light and shadows and heat of the fire. He grimaced with pleasure as the alcohol warmed his throat.
He stared at the manila envelope. He tossed back his whiskey with impulsive anger and set down the glass. He grabbed the envelope and walked to the fire. He held it over the flames. The corner began to smoke. A small flame erupted.
Max pulled his hand back and blew out the flame. It felt like burning evidence. Once the flames devoured it, turned it black, curled its edges, and smote it to ashes, it was gone.
“No whiskey decisions,” he said to himself. He stepped over to his dad’s prized roll-top desk and stuffed the envelope in the top drawer, before returning to the sofa and pouring himself another drink.
Max’s cell phone rang. He picked it up, but he was too tired to offer any greeting. The voice of the prison guard who had escorted Max and Joy into the prison and out again hung in the air. “This is Ray Reyes. I just wanted to let you know that Ursula Winters will be back in her cell in a day or two. At first the doctor thought she was dead, too, but it was an overdose of Balcofen. It mimics death. We’ve opened an investigation into who poisoned her.”
“Thanks.”
The line went dead.
Max’s mind and heart leaped to wishing Ursula Winters had stayed dead. The thought made him realize how strong an emotion hate could be. Did most people wish someone in their lives dead? Was it as quick a thought as the one he had just had? What if it lingered and grew? Is that the start of the bridge Lizzy and Elliot had crossed?
Seeing Ursula Winters, and hearing her cocky, self-assured speech, had flipped a switch within him. He hated her, but he didn’t fully know why.
A standard white envelope sat on the coffee table. Max stood up, dug in his pocket, and pulled out a clump of hair. When Ursula collapsed and Joy hovered over her body, calling to the guards for help, Max quietly ripped a swatch from her scalp and stuffed it in his pocket.
Max stuffed the clump into the envelope, licked it, and sealed it. He sat back down and sipped his whiskey. He’d get the envelope to Angelo in the morning and have him run a DNA test. “Monster mother? We shall see, Ursula. The genes don’t lie.”
26
Elwin Hansen, mid-forties, was moderately handsome except that his nose veered right due to the beating from bullies he’d taken in high school. He had an unsettling, overly-wide smile, but he had dressed to kill, wearing a white collared shirt, open at the neck, a black vest, and slacks. He could have been a card dealer in Las Vegas, smiling as he took the players’ money, instead of the host of the party.
Elwin played doorman as the guests arrived. He swung the door open in anticipation and checked each couple off of his mental invite list, as each pair strolled through the entryway of his ranch-style older home, built when land was cheaper and front yards and backyards stretched to expansive lengths, keeping the neighbors at a distance. Elwin had planted an impenetrable wall of tall Spartan junipers along the backyard fence line to further maximize privacy.
This was no ordinary party. This was a swingers’ party.
A party of average people with average jobs, who delved into fleshy pleasures and crossed boundaries others dared not cross.
The usual guests arrived first—Victor, a German businessman with close-cropped gray hair, thinning on top, gray eyes, and rigid posture that gave him the look of a general. His wife and business partner, Gloria, a statuesque blonde whose hair fell in lavish curls, followed her husband inside. Gloria wore glistening lip-gloss, double-thick mascara, and a little black dress from which her excessive cleavage spilled. Her buff arms and long legs moved gracefully.
Elwin gave Gloria a peck on the cheek as they passed by. “Welcome, you two. Have fun.”
“We always do.” Victor winked.
“As do we,” jested Tony, right behind Gloria. Tony had curly sandy-blond hair, a receding hairline, and a rugged face that made him seem angry, even when he smiled.
Gloria reached over and hugged Tony’s wife, Christie, once a Plain-Jane until Tony’s hairdresser skills had transformed her into a vixen with short, spiky blond hair with blue highlights, which matched her pale aqua eyes, wan skin, and waifish figure.
“Hi, Christie. I’m glad you’re here tonight,” said Gloria.
“Hi, Gloria.” Christie kept her chin down and her eyes up, like a timid puppy. “We only missed last month, because we went on a swingers’ cruise. Oh, we had such fun!”
Tony nudged the girls inside. “If you ladies will stop gabbing, we can have some fun too.”
“Patience,” said Elwin. “We have some virgins coming tonight. Steve and Sandy.”
“Wonderful!” Victor clapped his hands together, as if he’d heard the best news ever.
“So be nice,” added Elwin.
“I am way better than nice,” jested Victor.
Before Elwin could close the door, Mark and Mary, the youngest of the partygoers, walked up the brick pathway. Mary giggled at some joke Mark had told her, and Mary shushed him, as if worried that Elwin would overhear it.
“Elwin! Good to see you.” Mark, who looked eighteen but was twenty-four, lived at home while he finished his last year of college. He would graduate in May with a double bachelor’s degree in electrical engineering and computer science. He had a lanky body, protruding ears, and sharp features. He smiled with carefree ease, despite the overlap of his front teeth.
“Hi, Elwin,” said Mary, handing him a loaf of freshly baked bread. Mary had long light-brown hair and wore no makeup, but her youthful skin glowed. She was on the thin side with a rail-like figure, flattered by her attire of simple jeans and a tank top. She worked as a nurse at an assisted living home, which filled her eyes with compassion for her fellow humans.
“My favorite! Thank you, dear.” Elwin set the bread on the console table behind him. “Go on in, you two. You know your way around.”
“Oh, we so do.” Mary laughed and entered the house. “But we always find new nooks and crannies, don’t we, love?”
“We do—you’re so bad,” said Mark.
“I am bad,” agreed Mary. “It’s why you love me.”
“One reason.” Mark’s voice trailed inside and mingled with others.
Henri, a French chef and restaurant owner, came up the walk next, several steps behind his wife, Nicole, who seemed more eager than him to get inside. At fifty-one, Henri maintained a musky, masculine charm. His dark wavy hair spilled over the edge of his yellow polo shirt. Black slacks hung loosely on his hips and, despite being casual, emphasized the narrow six-pack waist he’d carved in the gym. He was clean-shaven but still had a shadow.
“Henri, Nicole.” Elwin kissed Nicole’s cheek. “Welcome.”
“Thank you, darling.” Nicole hopped about like a sprite in a tight, red spaghetti-strapped dress that hugged her petite figure. Her red hair, in a pixie cut, helped her maintain the façade of a fairy princess. One almost expected her ears to have points. When she smiled, a mischievous twinkle illuminated her eyes. Nicole handed Elwin a bottle of wine. “For you and Sophia to enjoy on a quiet day.”
“Thank you! You’re so thoughtful.” Elwin set a second light kiss on her cheek as he set the bottle on the console table.
The doorbell didn’t ring again until close to the cutoff time for arrivals: ten o’clock. This time, Sophia opened the door. She was a librarian and a stunner. Her brown hair feathered around her face. She had large doe-brown eyes, a delicate nose, and full but unadorned lips.
“Asia and Ted,” said Sophia, “we were beginning to think you’d changed your mind.”
Asia was a beauty, born of a black father and an Asian mother, which resulted in warm almond skin, full lips, and mesmerizing dark eyes. She had her hair pulled back from her face and wore a skin-tight yellow dress. “My fault. Primping.”
“You’re as beautiful as ever,” said Ted, mid-twenties with dark scruffy hair and a skinny mustache. He was tall but his shoulders slumped, as if to reduce his height. “After you.”
Sophia closed the door.
The bell rang again.
“I’ll get it,” shouted Elwin.
Elwin opened the door. A lone man approached. He handed Elwin an expensive bottle of champagne that had a card tied around the neck of the bottle. He reached out and shook Elwin’s hand. “I wanted to personally apologize. My date became ill, so we cannot make it tonight.” The man wore charcoal gray slacks and a black collared shirt, open at the neck. He had bad-boy good looks—broad shoulders and chest, a clean-shaven face, dimpled chin, glossy dark brown eyes, and black hair that swept back from his face like a mysterious, sexy vampire.
“I appreciate the thought, but the gift was unnecessary,” said Elwin.
“Oh, I assure you, it’s quite necessary.”
“We appreciate good manners. We’ll see you next time, then?”
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” The dark stranger disappeared into the night as two final guests showed up. They both spoke in jabs of anxiety. “Sorry, we’re late, Elwin,” said Steve.
“Steve and Sandy. So glad you came. First-time jitters is perfectly normal,” assured Elwin. “Remember, there are strict rules. No pressure.”
“Right.” Steve let out a sigh of relief. He was middle-aged and short. Muscular legs jutted from his blue shorts, the band of which pinched his pudgy waist.
Sandy brushed her floral cotton dress that ran down to mid-calf. She attempted a smile, but it curved into more of a grimace, and her eyes maintained a fearful not-at-all-sure-about-this expression, despite Elwin’s assurance.
Elwin waved them inside and closed and locked the door.
Tonight, Elwin and Sophia had pulled down every shade and closed every drape.
For the next couple of hours, the couples nibbled the finger-food spread out on the dining room table, mingled, laughed, chatted, drank, and shared specific interests, namely their fantasies—but they did not share personal details about their lives, as it was not that kind of party.
The Hansens’ home had six bedrooms, even though the couple had no children. Some of the rooms had themes. One room was painted like a cave with fur throws covering the bed. The safari room had red walls, black carpeting, a white ceiling striped like a zebra, and various stuffed animals: a lion, a giraffe, and an enormous ape with a leathery chest. The Aladdin room had central rings on the ceiling, from which long sheer fabric draped to the walls and then down to the floor; the room had a round bed in the center on an oriental carpet. A red satin bedspread draped over the bed, edged with tassels, and round pillows added to the Arabian mystique. A swing hung down, suspended from the ceiling. Another room had a mirrored ceiling and walls and a window into the room from the hallway. Occupants of this room could open or close the drapes over the window to keep eyes out or to invite eyes in. Dance bars for practical exercise—Sophia still practiced ballet—lined one wall. Another bedroom had old-fashioned appeal: a plain bed with a quilted bedspread and oak furnishings. The master bedroom had delicate French provincial furniture and paintings with hunting motifs or pastoral images of men and women in aristocratic clothing meeting for clandestine trysts in forest settings.
Before long, the couples splintered off in threes and fours: Victor and Gloria attempted to win over the skittish new couple, Steve and Sandy, but Mark and Mary took them under their wing and led them down the hall to the cave room.
Victor and Gloria and Henri and Nicole rushed to grab the mirrored room.
Tony selected Ted to be with his wife, Christie, and he would watch. They grabbed the Aladdin room.
Asia joined Elwin and Sophia in the master bedroom.
&n
bsp; Before long, the swingers stripped down to bare essentials: flesh.
And unleased their lust.
They heaved and groped with a single intent: to satisfy base carnal desire. To indulge. Unrestrained but for any rules they’d set for their intimate playtime together.
They craved.
Ignited the flames
Of
Fleshy needs
To feed on fervor
Consumed
Touched in excess
Drunk with desire
Thirsty
Gluttonous to savor
To satiate salacious, sensual passions
Hungered for fulfillment
Urged
Indulged
Surged to immodest
Heights
Until
Cresting…satisfied…breathless...
Before long, the party resumed its course, and the partygoers spilled once more into the living room—a nothing-special room with discount furniture, muted beige walls, and prints of Roman baths. They congregated, nibbled on food, poured another drink, and shared their mutual glow. All but one, who lay asleep in the Aladdin room.
As the discussion carried on, one of them slipped away, entered the Aladdin room, closed the door, and approached Ted. He lay on his back, groggy.
Ted tried to lift his head, but could not. His eyes opened.
The visitor gently lay a square of plastic wrap over Ted’s face.
Ted moaned in complaint. But his arms had no strength to object.
A soft pillow pressed down over the plastic to seal off sounds and breath. It remained there, gently compressing with just enough force to maintain a seal that prevented air from seeping into Ted’s lungs.
Ted’s arms flailed like a man drowning and struggling to swim. Time passed. Until he could fight no more.
Pinot Noir and Poison Page 18