Death by Cuddle Club

by Norah Wilson

  “Like what?”

  She beamed. As if she’d never been asked what she wanted to do with her life, but always wanted to be asked, Babe elaborated. Short version of the long story: she wanted to run her own business, or at least be a partner in some sort of business. And not just the yes partner. She was very good at business, and very creative. But the baby of the family had always been seen as the baby of the family. Every one of her siblings and both her parents were against the idea of her striking it out on her own. Education? Fine. Life? Not so much.

  Just as Babe was wrapping up, the door opened.

  “Richie!” Babe said. She gave Detective Head a curious smile. “What are you doing here?”

  He nodded (a tad efficiently) and said, “Dylan needed my help with something.”

  I pointed the way. Babe looked at me confused as Dickhead shut himself inside the small janitorial closet with Dylan.

  “Boys, huh? What are ya gonna do? Can’t even ask a woman for directions in changing a vacuum bag.”

  Seconds later, Dylan and Dickhead came out of the closet. Both nodded to me in a meaningful way. Then Dickhead left holding onto the stuffed-out pocket of his overcoat. He had it—the vacuum cleaner bag. Tagged and sealed no doubt, and soon on the way to the lab for analysis.

  Dylan started cleaning.

  “I really appreciate this,” Babe said, as Dylan picked up the larger pieces of glass and vacuumed the floor.

  “Well, we appreciate the beautiful blouses you made. Oh, and Babe, don’t tell Gaetan we were in.”

  “How come?”

  Oh, so many reasons!

  “Well, if he doesn’t know we were here, then he won’t give you hell when we show up for cuddle club tonight.”

  We. Yes, I’d thrown that in on purpose.

  “Well,” she replied sheepishly, “Gaetan didn’t ban Dylan from the club.”

  Of course he hadn’t. He’d have had a small riot on his hands if tall, handsome Dylan were kicked out of cuddle club. Mabel might become deadly.

  “I just really want to come back,” I said. “Just this one more time.”

  Babe looked dubious, but with a hesitant nod, agreed.

  Dylan and I walked quickly, silently, out to his SUV. Dickhead’s unmarked car was long gone from the parking lot, with the evidence.

  “The air filters,” I said. “That’s where those deadly pheromones were coming from.”

  After a hesitation, Dylan nodded. “Seems like it.”

  We drove away in silence.

  Stupid, stupid silence.

  Chapter 16

  DYLAN AND I had plans for that evening. Namely: crashing the cuddle club. Again.

  Ah, got to love working on an expense account. But oh boy, when Dickhead got the bill for this...

  Not many things give me that warm and fuzzy feeling, but that did. I sighed.

  “You look warm and fuzzy, Dix.”

  I gave Dylan that cocked eyebrow look. “Huh?”

  “I mean, there’s a dreamy little smile on your face.”

  It wasn’t just the prospect of lightening Dickhead’s wallet that put that smile on my face.

  It was the impending aha moment. Yeah, I like those center-of-attention times. Modesty is so overrated. Seriously overrated.

  But I knew who wouldn’t be shouting my praise to the rooftops alongside me. I knew whose voice wouldn’t be ringing out with my own with shouts of “Oh, Dix Dodd, you’re the greatest!” That would be Gaetan Gough.

  Why?

  Because Mr. Heading-to-California wasn’t going to be hopping on any planes soon, I highly suspected. I’d told Detective Richard Head to bring his shiny badge along tonight. Unless I was badly mistaken, he’d be coming out of paper salesman persona and going into cop persona to arrest Gaetan Gough himself. (Yeah, Constable Pivans was taking a backseat, and Head was at the, well, head of this operation as far as the police were concerned.)

  I couldn’t wait for cuddle club to begin. Oh, shit, in fact it was a damn long afternoon. I delivered the blue-patterned Babe blouse to a delighted Mrs. Jane Presley (who then insisted I join her for lunch). When I went home, I played Tetris (new high score!), I changed the desktop background on my laptop three times. Oh, and online, I started my Christmas shopping. (I got myself a Dexter charm bracelet complete with miniature knives, cleavers, syringes, and various other serial killer accoutrements. God, I love that show.)

  And then I did one more thing. I made a phone call. It was time to invite someone else to cuddle club this evening. Oh they’d definitely want to be here. And I damn well wanted them there. ’Cuz I was damned sure I’d cracked the case of Death by Cuddle Club.

  “I’ll be there,” came the reply to my invite.

  Fine, one more who’d see me in my trap-door pajamas, and Dylan in his lumberjack-style boys-pee-standing-up ones from Aunt Gert’s Canadian collection. Ah, but it would be worth it.

  Dylan and I wanted to arrive late to cuddle club. On purpose. Well, not late-late, but perfectly-timed late. Yes, we wanted everyone gathered and ready to cuddle before we broke the news that Gaetan Gough, their cuddly guru, was a murderer.

  Were we worried about the cuddlers cuddling? About Starla and Ruth-Ann or whoever had the next turn, passing out the smoothies tonight? Nope. Not even a little bit. Gaetan had changed the air filters. He was onto us that we were onto him. I suspected—oh fuck, I knew—it was going to be a pheromone-free night.

  Didn’t I?

  Damn, where was that reassuring niggle?

  So Dylan drove a little slower along the streets of Marport City to 33rd Street. Then he drove a little faster as I started to sing Monty Python’s The Lumberjack Song. Repeatedly. (Ahaha! He didn’t like the jammies he had to wear any better than I liked the ones I was stuck wearing.) Ah, but then, he joined in on that catchy tune.

  “For the love of God, speed up!” I begged.

  “Think we’re running late, Dix?” he said, pressing his foot to the pedal.

  “Yeah... yeah, that’s it.”

  As it turned out, our Gaetan Land arrival was perfectly timed. Or would have been had someone not stolen the show. Instead of pitching tents, they were all gathered around the center of the cuddle floor. Brandy was there, fawning over something. So were Zoey and Eva, though to a lesser extent. Mabel, Starla and Ruth-Ann too were snugged into this huddle. In the background, men were back-slapping each other.

  It could only mean one thing.

  “Someone’s gotten engaged,” Dylan observed.

  “Yep.”

  “Squeeeeeeeeeeee, Dix! Dix! Wait till you see!”

  Totally freaking out, bouncing and charging, Elizabeth made a beeline toward me.

  The rock on her hand must have been three carats. I’m not an expert on jewelery, but holy fuck! Unless that sucker was one helluva convincing cubic zirconia, it must have set Hugh back somewhere between thirty to fifty grand. My money was on it being real.

  “Hugh-Bear and I are engaged!” Elizabeth gushed. She squeeeeed again (argh, right in my ear) as she pulled me into a hug.

  Dylan went over to shake Hugh’s hand while I extracted myself from Elizabeth’s crushing hug. I caught Dickhead’s eye, quickly, as Dylan joined the menfolk. Yes, it was just a glance, but I could tell by that glance that paper sales were dropping and Detective Richard Head, cop, was on the premises. The sweats were gone, the obligatory sports jacket and boring tie were in da house.

  “Um, congratulations,” I said to Elizabeth.

  She beamed a smile at me. “You’ll have to come to the wedding. All the cuddlers are invited.”

  “When is it?” (As if I needed to ask.)

  “As soon as possible!” she said, sharply. “Maybe even as soon as next weekend at Hugh’s place. He has a huge house, a mansion, practically. Well, soon it’ll be ours. Imagine, little ol’ me, Elizabeth Bee, living with all that splendor! In a mansion of my very own...”

  And yes, there it was, that newly-engaged sparkle in her eyes.
/>   I smiled to myself. Good for her!

  “What the hell are you doing here?” Gaetan yelled.

  Before I even turned around I knew that was meant for me.

  “Babe was supposed to call you!” Gaetan said.

  Babe popped her head out the office door, that had for a change, been left open. “I... I...” Her face was beet red; clearly the girl was no good at lying.

  “I had my phone on vibrate all day. And then forgot where I put it.” I said. “Silly me.”

  “You’re not welcome here, Dix,” he said.

  “What?” I said, pretending shock. And I waited for the gasps from around the room. And waited. Apparently they weren’t as shocked as I was.

  “Dix and I are paid up for three months,” Dylan said.

  “You’re welcome to stay, Dylan. But that one—” He pointed an accusing finger at me, as if there was a question as to who he meant. “She’s a troublemaker.”

  “And she’s all elbows,” someone called out. “And they hurt!”

  “Plus she uses all those British expressions!”

  “It’s Coronation Street, people!” I shouted. “Just Coronation Street.”

  “Can you name one character on that show?” Elizabeth asked, always the smart ass.

  Yeah, but I had her this time. “Big Ben!”

  Er, wait, that’s from the British porn...

  The door opened and closed behind us. While this all had been going on, someone else entered the cuddle club. Someone new. “What about me? Am I welcome to stay?”

  Gaetan paled. So he recognized Cathy Valentine, wife of the late Albert Valentine.

  “Oh... um... Mrs. Valentine,” Gaetan said. “I’m surprised to see you here.”

  She doffed her coat. “My husband seemed to liked it here. Why wouldn’t I?”

  “Yes, but—” Gaetan looked about ready to faint. A sheen of sweat appeared on his forehead. One velour swipe later and it was gone. But just temporarily. The lady was making him sweat.

  Interesting.

  He scratched his cloudy-blond head. A small snow of dandruff floated down onto his shoulders. Another sign of nervousness?

  “Well,” Cathy said. “I called this afternoon and gave all my information to your lovely assistant—”

  “Sister,” Babe said. “I’m Gaetan’s sister.”

  He glared at her. (Man, I was going to have such fun nailing his ass.) “Enough, Babe!” Gaetan shook his head, templed his fingers at his forehead as if steadying himself, centering himself. “Fine,” he said. “Mrs. Valentine, you’re welcome to stay.”

  Gaetan turned to the crowd. He sighed, really sighed. “I... I have something to tell you all.” Apparently, kicking me out tonight just wasn’t worth the hassle it had been a few minutes ago. “Where... where is everyone?” he asked. “Did somebody leave?”

  How closely had he been watching this crowd? Oh, my intuition was just jumping.

  Zoey spoke up. “Brandy and Eva had to go to the bathroom. And Ruth-Ann—”

  “I’m right here,” Ruth-Ann said, raising a hand. She’d sat down into one of those chairs lining the wall. “I... I just had to sit down for a moment.” And she did look pale. Sad, even. Why? The reminder of Albert’s death, maybe?

  “Well, this can’t wait for Brandy and Eva. I have something to tell you all,” Gaetan said. “Something important.”

  “Hummph!” That lovely little exhale was from Elizabeth, again at Hugh’s side, who apparently didn’t like her spotlight snuffed out so early by Gaetan’s spontaneous announcement. (Oh, just wait till I took the floor.)

  “I’m... I find myself having to leave you all, my cuddle cups.”

  Someone mumbled, and not out of Gaetan’s earshot. “The guy can be such a windbag.”

  I eagerly nodded my agreement. (Or maybe it was just for emphasis, cause, you know, I was the one who mumbled it.)

  Yet, this evening no one was rushing to Gaetan’s side. No tears were falling. No, “Oh no, please don’t leave us!” or... wow! I looked around the room. Except for the earlier bride-to-be hugs for Elizabeth, this wasn’t looking like a particularly cuddly group tonight. No one was hanging off one another. People even looked... edgy. Young, old, rich, poor, or fresh from the Bombay Spa, no one looked starry-eyed happy to be here. In fact, not even me.

  Yeah, I knew I was right.

  “I wouldn’t be so fast, Cuddle Cup,” I said to Gaetan. “I wouldn’t be cashing in those Air Miles just yet.”

  “What are you talking about, Dix?” he growled, not even trying to hide the exasperation.

  “Sh-sh-show time!” (No, not a stutter, just well, me drawing even more attention upon myself.) “Let me tell you a tale. Let me tell you all a tale, the tale of Death by Cuddle Club. Dun-dun-dun-dunnnnnnnnnnnn.”

  Damn. I really loved the drama.

  Brandy, back from the bathroom, laughed out loud. “Omigod, she’s high!”

  “Not even close, Brandy,” I said. “Not even close. In fact, I’d reckon to say nobody is high here tonight.”

  “Er, I had a glass of wine with supper earlier,” Ruth-Ann said. “Does that count?”

  Eva said, “And I had a shot of tequila on the way over.”

  Oh boy, with anti-depressants, that couldn’t be good.

  A very mellow-looking young man said, “I might have accidentally vaped like, half a gram. Anyone bring Doritos?”

  “I’m on steroids!” said another.

  “I sucked back a Red Bull. Does that count?”

  “Do we have to pee in cups now?” steroid man said. “My agent said I shouldn’t do that under any circumstance.”

  I shook my head. “Folks, that’s not what I meant.” I turned to Gaetan once again, oh so ready to make the accusation. “Let me tell you what Gaetan’s been doing here.”

  Oh geez, he was looking worse by the minute. So that set me grinning, the guy had to know what was coming. “Gaetan Gough, your beloved hand-clapping guru, changed the air filters today.”

  “That bastard!” Elizabeth shouted. “How dare we have fresh air.”

  Like I said earlier, smart-assed bitch. I guess she didn’t like being moved even further out of the spotlight. I saw it then, out of the corner of my eye as I smiled over at Elizabeth: Richard Head was moving closer to Dylan and me. Yep, now my adrenaline was surging. I was going in for the kill—and everyone was looking at me!

  “Bastard, indeed,” I said. “But why did he change the air filters today? Why did he change them, and book his flight to sunny California? A one-way ticket I might add. Why? Why? I’ll tell you why? Because he’s been drugging you people.”

  There were gasps all around this time, and not just from me.

  “Well, of course he’s been hugging us, you daft girl,” Mabel said. “It’s a cuddle club.”

  “Drugging, Mabel,” Ruth-Ann said, loudly. “He’s been drugging us.”

  “Oh. That’s not good then.” She looked at me again. “Continue, Daft girl.”

  Ah, there was a vote of confidence. Well, sorta.

  “What... what do you mean?” Eva cried. She looked genuinely scared. (Though not as scared as Gaetan, I couldn’t help but notice.)

  “I mean, he’s been releasing pheromones into the air to make you all that much more cuddly,” I said. “Through the air system.”

  “You can’t prove a thing!” Gaetan said.

  There was a shakiness in his voice—oh that sweet, sweet shakiness—that more than proved it to me that my brilliant intuition had been bang freakin’ on. But that might not hold up with the rest of the, er, cuddle cakes.

  “Mmmm, kinda can prove it.” I said.

  Well, technically I couldn’t. The results weren’t back from the police lab yet, but I was just that confident they’d find pheromones. And Gaetan’s fear as I smiled only made me feel more confident. I was going for it. I clap, clap, clapped my hands, in a very Gaetan way.

  “This morning, Gaetan,” I said, “you changed the air filters in the ce
iling. Those filters—that’s how you were getting the pheromones into the room. Making this one hell of a cuddly environment, huh? Folks would come to cuddle club—on a lark or for whatever reason,”—(I shot Dickhead a glance), “and they’d experience an arousal level.”

  “Ha!” Gaetan scratched his head again. (Oh, yuck, another snowy shoulder shower.) “Prove it! Jump right up there Dix and grab that new filter I put in. Go ahead, make my day. Test it for pheromones or anything else.”

  I threw my head back as I laughed (’cuz I was going for diabolical). “Oh, but you knew we were on to you. So when you changed the filter today, you put a clean one in there. Then you had the place vacuumed so any fallen particles would be disposed of.”

  Gaetan had gone from looking pale to sick.

  “But that’s not all, is it, Gaetan?” I said. “There was a problem with these pheromones, wasn’t there? Somehow, it induces major cardiac events in those with heart conditions. Albert Valentine. Telly Smith—they both died after coming to cuddle club and breathing in that shit you put in the air.”

  “Sounds like manslaughter to me,” Dickhead growled. He flashed his badge around the place, and yes, to the genuine surprise of everyone.

  “I... I have to sit down,” Babe said. But she wasn’t the only one to slide to the floor on that note.

  Big brother Gaetan went down butt first too. And now he really didn’t look good. His face looked absolutely pasty, and I could see perspiration beading on his brow. Then Gaetan did something that drew a collective gasp from the cuddle crowd. He reached up and grasped his amazing blond Richard Simmons hair and pulled it off. Yep. It was a wig. Without it, Gaetan’s head was as bald and round and white as a cue ball. Ignoring the gasp, Gaetan shook the wig vigorously. I blinked as dandruff drifted down to the floor. Huh? Wigs have dandruff? Now, that’s realism.

  Gaetan made a stricken noise and dropped the wig.

  Dickhead quickly retrieved it with a latex-gloved hand, slipping it into an evidence bag. I’m usually pretty quick on the uptake, but it took a few seconds for it to click into place. Of course! When he’d changed the filters, particles didn’t just fall down to the floor; they’d have fallen onto the wig.