by Norah Wilson
I could have helped her there, but I digress.
“But I’d never kill anyone,” she said.
Her words confirmed what I’d felt all along. It was in her eyes and on her face and in her posture and every fiber of her being. She hated Albert Valentine, wanted him dead, but Brandy did not kill him.
“Ask me if I’m sorry he’s dead, Dix Dodd,” Brandy said.
“I don’t have to; I think I know.”
“Damn straight.”
“The problem is,” Dylan shifted in the seat as he slid back into the conversation “you had access to the Deleonex.” He held up a hand before Brandy could protest, and profess her innocence again. “I believe you didn’t kill Albert. But, Brandy, who else could have gotten to the drug?”
“Eva?” I suggested. “She could potentially have access to that drug. Gotten your mother’s office keys. I assume she didn’t take them with her on sabbatical.” No, I didn’t suspect Eva. But I wanted to raise that edge of protective anger in Brandy, so she’d let her guard down.
“That’s ridiculous! Eva wouldn’t have even known what she was looking for! Even if she did, she wouldn’t know how to find it. Hell, I’m not even sure where to look! You think there’s one big cabinet labeled Old research stuff?”
Well, okay, not anymore I didn’t.
Brandy groaned her frustration. “Mom worked on Deleonex way back in ’05 or ’06. I knew about it like I know about all her research—we really are like-minded. But that stuff’s been mothballed for years!”
I closed my eyes. Tightly. I swallowed hard.
“Dix?” Dylan said. “You okay.”
I was more than okay. I was feeling it. The bang-on beat of it. And it pounded and it pounded—that intuition of mine. I knew. I knew as sure as I knew my own freakin’ name, who killed Albert Valentine.
“You’ve got that look on your face,” Dylan said.
I opened my eyes and looked at him. “Bet it matches your own.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Because we both know who killed Albert Valentine.”
“Who?” Brandy asked. “Oh God, you gotta tell me.”
“We will,” I said. “Tonight. At a special meeting of the cuddle club.”
And with that I grabbed my cell phone, and started calling that meeting.
Chapter 24
WE DIDN’T get to call the cuddlers personally. Not even the most cooperative company would share its membership list with a PI, for obvious protection of privacy reasons. However, Babe agreed—with Gaetan’s grudging consent—to make the calls for us. We told her to tell everyone that this wouldn’t be your typical cuddle club meeting. (Of course, after the last one where Gaetan had his panic attack and revealed all about the pheromones, how could it be?) We further instructed her to tell them that if they wanted to know who killed our Albert—and possibly others—they should plan to attend to get a briefing from Dix Dodd, PI.
Suffice it to say, no one refused the invitation. Everyone would be showing up at Gaetan Land tonight.
Dickhead, however, was less enthusiastic.
“What the hell are you trying to pull?” he’d roared. “If there’s something the police should know about—”
“Just show up,” I’d said.
He would.
I was excited. I was so very pumped up. Not to mention thrilled that I didn’t have to wear pajamas in public again.
Yeah, that’s right. Dylan and I would get to dress normally this time. By which I mean we’d not be wearing those extra PJs that Dylan had picked up from Aunt Gert. Though I’d checked mine out—they were from Gert’s Moonlight Nights collection and were made from a beautiful indigo satin. Yes, I was keeping them.
Dylan dropped me off at the condo, with an assurance that he’d pick me up on the way to the cuddle club later. (That settled it. I was getting wheels—pronto! No more borrowing from Rochelle or waiting on Dylan.)
So how to kill the time? What does any normal 40ish woman with time on her hands do?
Yeah, I laid down for a nap.
Well, I lay down anyway. And the longer I looked up at the ceiling, the more I knew sleep wasn’t coming my way. And the more I knew what I had to do about Dylan.
It didn’t take a dream. And it didn’t take (just) Mrs. P strong talk. It didn’t take just this case of Death by Cuddle Club where the young, handsome and sexy Dylan Foreman had pretended to be my boyfriend. It didn’t take just his brilliant work on this case. It was all of those things.
My relationship with Dylan Foreman? It was about to change. It was changing.
I knew what I had to do. But no, that wasn’t all. Damn it, I knew what I wanted to do.
But what would Dylan think?
“What’s in the box?” Dylan asked. We were in the building, and walking down the hallway to Gaetan Land. Dylan was just now noticing the package I’d brought in from the car.
“Oh, just something I thought might come in handy later on.”
Dylan was so focused on the scene to come he let it go at that. He glanced at his watch as we arrived at the door to Gaetan Land. “Eight minutes past eight o’clock. We told everyone to be here at eight, so...”
“So chances are every one’s been here for at least fifteen minutes. No one would want to be late tonight. And just think,” I said. “We won’t even be casting a cuddle.”
Dylan and I had planned our arrival for just after eight bells just to make sure everyone that we’d called, had arrived. Also we were late just to make sure the tension and suspicion were running just that little bit higher.
“Ready?” Dylan asked.
“Oh yeah.”
Dylan opened the door and we both walked through. I set the box of cookies down on the table by the door and we moved deeper into the room. We were greeted with the familiar low murmur of conversation, but as people realized my presence, one by one, a hush fell over the crowd. Eyes widened. And everyone was looking at me.
Correction. They were looking at us. Me and Dylan. I surveyed the room, slowly, thoroughly. Everyone presented and accounted for. “Thank you for coming,” I said to the lot. “But then again, I didn’t expect that any of you would miss such a jolly good show!”
“Jolly good?” Mabel cocked a hand to her ear. “Did she say jolly good? Why, I haven’t heard that expression since I was a little girl back in London!” She looked at me. “Do you watch British TV?”
“No!”
“Oh,” she nodded, thoughtfully. “Must be British porn then. I love that stuff too.”
Okay, we all did a WTF double take on that (mine was with admiration).
“Can we just get on with this please?” Gaetan was close to shouting now. And not even trying to hide it.
Yes, not surprisingly, the guru of cuddle was out of the hospital. Looking alive, but like crap. He wasn’t wearing his blond-cloud wig, nor his blue velour. He was wearing plain old tan dress pants and a very normal-looking Eddy Bauer button up shirt. And those hands were not clap-clap-clapping so much as fisting at his sides.
Babe was right beside him. But she wasn’t jumping now as Gaetan spoke. Wasn’t fretting. If anything she rolled her eyes at her big brother’s outburst, and yeah, I was glad to see it. Maybe she was getting tired of his bullshit. By the looks on the faces of everyone else, they were getting pretty irate with Gaetan themselves. Without pheromones floating around, folks weren’t so very enamored with the cuddle man.
Brandy was there on the other side of the cuddle floor, with one arm protectively around Eva. Zoey was close by, as was a hovering (not to mention angry-looking) Dr. Lincoln Crotty. Though Zoey seemed curious (and slightly perturbed) to be there, both Eva and Brandy spared me a hopeful smile. And no, I wasn’t surprised that Brandy had filled Eva in on what was going on, given the powerful friendship between them.
Dickhead had an expectant look on his face. The guy knew me. Despite his earlier bluster, he knew I wouldn’t have called this meeting unless I was onto so
mething. As if waiting for the moment, Constable Leola Pivans came through the door behind Dylan and me just then, carrying reports. She quickly crossed the room and handed them to her boss.
I waited the nearly full minute it took for him to look the papers over. Then Detective Head nodded at me, with the slightest smile on his face.
No smoothies were being passed out tonight, and both Ruth-Ann and Starla leaned against the front counter as if not knowing what to do with themselves. The rest of the group—and that included a snuggled-up Elizabeth Bee and Hugh Drammen—occupied the various cozy, built-for-two chairs around the room. And sitting quite alone in one of those chairs built for two, was someone else I’d invited this night—Cathy Valentine, Albert’s non-grieving widow. She looked like a million bucks in her designer pant suit, with her new jewelery gleaming.
And everyone, without exception, was looking at me. (And I wasn’t even wearing my PJs!)
And I was liking this very much. So it started—my theme song playing in my head. (Weirdly, it was taking on a strange Benny Hill beat...) This was the moment that I lived for. Oh yeah, big time. I was center stage, life of the party, queen of the PIs. Smartest person ever! Albert Finkelstein, eat your heart out! (I know what you’re thinking, but no, I don’t mean Albert Einstein. Einstein didn’t defeat me in that grade-school spelling bee, did he?)
It was my time to shine, baby!
Except it wasn’t. Not entirely.
It was Dylan’s time to shine too.
“Go for it,” I said to him. “You’ve earned it. We wouldn’t be here without your work.”
“You’re the PI, Dix. This is your show. I’m just—”
“Just the one who cracked this thing wide open.”
Dylan smiled at me. Okay, I gotta admit to it, as I stood there on the cuddle floor, his theme song was playing along with mine. Then he clicked off his cell phone and silenced that KOL tune. “Let’s do it together,” he said.
“Amen to that.”
Dylan began. “By now you all know that Gaetan Gough has been using pheromones at this cuddle club of his. Putting the stuff into the air filters so that you’d have a nice pleasant feeling here. A feeling of arousal. Sexual arousal”
“Son, when my lawyers get through with you...” Hugh Drammen was clearly addressing Gaetan.
“Oh, please, Mr. Drammen.” Dr. Crotty’s request was pleasantly sinister. “Let my lawyers take the first crack at him.”
Both men nodded approvingly. How much those lawyers could actually do was yet to be seen, but I must confess I did enjoy seeing Gaetan squirm. But if Dylan and I had our way, he’d soon be squirming more.
“Well, before the lawyers get involved, I think we can all agree it was a pretty sleazy thing happening here at Gaetan Land,” Dylan continued. “Filling the place with chemicals so you’d keep coming back, keep paying those outrageous fees.”
“But that wasn’t the biggest crime committed on these premises,” I interjected. “Not by a long shot.”
Dylan turned to Gaetan—or rather turned on him. (Okay, since that day Gaetan had insulted me, Dylan has wanted to let loose on the guy. And yeah, that gave me a warm fuzzy—I’ll cop to it.) “Murder’s the biggest crime committed here. Faynelle, Telly and Albert. Three heart-related deaths in such a short period of time? Dix and I were sure it was the pheromones. And we blamed you, Gaetan, for introducing those pheromones to this environment.”
Gaetan looked as if he were about to have a panic attack all over again, or maybe this time he was heading for an actual coronary episode. “I didn’t kill anyone!” he protested, looking around for help. His desperate stare shot to Starla, Ruth-Ann, and finally to Babe.
Babe turned her gaze away from big brother.
“No, Gaetan,” Dylan said. “You didn’t kill anyone. All you’re guilty of is being an obnoxious and unscrupulous creep using chemicals to manipulate people without their consent or knowledge.”
“Oh, yes! Christ, thank you!” Gaetan said. “Er, wait—”
Ah, there was Dylan’s legal training! Hugh Drammen’s and Lincoln Crotty’s lawyers would have a field day with that admission.
“And then there was Babe,” I said, before Gaetan could backpedal or go on the defensive.
“What about me?” Babe cried.
“Yes, the bullied little sister. All that pent up anger, all that frustration! It’s not too much of a stretch to imagine you being responsible for the deaths at the cuddle club.”
“That’s ridiculous! If I were going to kill anyone...”
I finished that sentence before she could: “It would be Gaetan.”
“I’d never do it, though.” She gave an almost apologetic shrug. “He’s my brother. As tyrannical and opportunistic as he can be, I could never kill him.”
“Yeah, I know you didn’t do it. You’re not the killing kind.”
“And, in fact,” Dylan said. “We were wrong about the pheromones inducing those fatal cardiac events. They were potent—crazy potent—but not especially dangerous and certainly not deadly. Clearly, someone else wanted death to come to the cuddle club.”
“But why would they?” Starla asked. There was an ache in her voice. “I mean, Faynelle was a sweetheart. Telly, just a quiet guy. Albert was...” Her words petered out as she glanced at Albert Valentine’s widow.
“Albert was an asshole,” Cathy Valentine said. “And everyone here knows it.”
“Yes,” I said. “They do. But none so much as you do, right, Cathy.”
She looked at me steadily. Her eyes narrowed. “I believe you are right about that, Dix Dodd.”
I’d explained to her on the phone that I wasn’t a student, but actually a PI. Cathy Valentine had seemed more amused than annoyed. She still seemed amused, and not too damn concerned that I’d turned the pseudo-accusatory finger her way.
The only thing she was guilty of was relief. (And hey, that’s no crime.)
“My husband was a controlling, manipulative, misogynistic bastard,” Cathy said. “I know it, you know it—”
“Pfft, we all know it!” Ruth-Ann, interjected. She raised a hand hastily to her mouth as if to cover that ill-spoken thought. “I’m sorry, I don’t usually blurt things out like that.”
Everyone did look a little surprised by her outburst. Everyone that is, except for Dylan and me.
Dylan said, “Well, Ruth-Ann, Albert Valentine brought out the worst in a few of us. Not just you.”
Ruth-Ann sent Dylan a grateful smile. She blinked. Looked at me and looked at all the other cuddlers. Her eyes settled on Eva Mulligan. “He... he really wasn’t a very nice man.”
“No, he wasn’t,” I said. “And that’s why murder came to the cuddle club.”
“What about Telly and Faynelle?” Babe asked. “They were... nice.”
“Faynelle St. James’s death was by natural causes,” Detective Head interjected. He held up the papers Pivans had delivered to him. “Our labs ran tests. Multiple tests. Our Faynelle really did just have a heart attack. But Telly Smith and Albert Valentine... those two men were both murdered.”
“How?” Eva asked, anxiously.
“They were given an overdose,” Dylan said. “The toxicology tests missed it the first time because it’s an experimental drug that never got past trials. Initially, it seemed like it had a lot of promise for impeding the growth of cancers, but all that promise evaporated in the animal trial stage when it was found to be associated with an extremely high rate of sudden cardiac arrest. It was being developed right here at Marport University by Dr. Janis Tascar-Crotty. And someone who had access to that research—to Deleonex—killed Albert and Telly.”
Dr. Lincoln Crotty straightened and he absorbed that last part. “What the hell are you doing, Foreman? Are you accusing me of murder? Oh hell, are you accusing my daughter?”
“We’re not accusing either of you,” I said. With a nod I turned to Dylan.
And Dylan turned to Ruth-Ann. “We’re accusing you.”
&nbs
p; The older woman straightened. She stood there silently for several minutes, saying not a word in either defense or denial. And then, finally, she sagged and asked one very simple question. “How did you know?”
I closed my eyes a moment. Straightened my thoughts. Mentally high-fived myself again.
“Why are you clapping, Dix?” Elizabeth asked.
Oops! Sometimes my mental high fives slip into reality. I lowered my hands to my sides.
“Professor Ruth-Ann Dale, you worked at the university,” Dylan said. “Your specialty was bio-ethics, was it not? And you served on the Review Ethics Board in your last years there before your retirement, just about the time when Tascar-Crotty sought approvals for the Deleonex trials. From that position on the REB, you had to have known about the trials going south.”
“Oh, my, yes,” Ruth-Ann said. “The drug had unforeseen, wildly pro-arrhythmic properties that couldn’t be mitigated. It was a huge disappointment.” She sounded almost conversational. “But help me out here, young man—if nothing showed up in the initial tox panel, what made you pursue it further? What made you dig deeper to discover Deleonex?”
“That’s a long story,” I said. “Suffice to say our investigation moved in a certain direction which caused Dylan to remember a conversation he’d had with a bio-chem master’s student who’d done a summer studentship with Dr. Tascar-Crotty.”
“I see.” Ruth-Ann’s face looked perfectly peaceful as she digested that, except for a small furrow on her forehead. “And why did you connect it to me so quickly?”
“When Brandy told me this afternoon that the drug had been mothballed, I thought of you, Ruth-Ann. It slammed into place.”
Ruth-Ann drew herself up. “Was that a comment about my age?”
“Of course it wasn’t!”
Of course it was.
Dylan said, “You would have had access to the Deleonex. You would have known where such things were kept on campus, and since you have professor emeritus status and still teach the occasional ethics course, you can pretty much come and go without arousing undue suspicion.”
