by Libby Klein
You could hear a pin drop in the dining room. Except for Angelo, who dragged the container of orange chicken to his plate and scraped out a scoopful. He looked at Gia with wide eyes, put the spoon down and folded his hands in front of him.
I put on my poker face. “I do, yes. I’m glad you had a good time.”
Faelynn pulled out a coupon. “And look at this funny little thing they gave us. If you go to the Beauty Expo, stop at the La Dolce Vita booth to tell them Paleo Diva is better. Paleo Diva will give you a free item and twenty percent off your purchase. Isn’t that funny?”
I looked from the coupon to Gia. “Aren’t they a riot?”
Gia gave them a gracious smile. “Will you ladies be using your coupon?”
Rita shook her head. “Oh no. That’s not for us. We just got a kick out of it.”
Gia put his hand out. “Would you mind if I had it? I’d love to check out the Paleo Diva booth.”
For just a moment I was kind of hoping Gia was in the Mob. I’d like to see him have “a little talk” with Gigi. I had to tell myself to snap out of it. You couldn’t pick and choose acceptable Mob activity. Could you?
“Oh, of course.” Faelynn handed the coupon over. “I’m sure it’s all in good fun.”
The four of us nodded and said in unison, “Mm-hmm. Sure.”
Angelo ate a surreptitious forkful of his orange chicken.
The ladies said good night and started to climb the stairs. When I heard one door after another close, I said, “Well, one of them is your admin for Fraudster. So the other one must be the wife of a plastic surgeon.”
Aunt Ginny passed around the fortune cookies. “How will we find out which is which?”
“Tomorrow, before they check out, we interrogate them.”
CHAPTER 45
After we made a solid plan for the morning, and everyone had left, Angelo making sure that Gia was not alone with me to break any vows, I cleaned up and went to bed. I left Figaro and Portia in the foyer, playing soccer with my unwrapped fortune cookie. I didn’t need to open it to know my fortune would be swelling and stomach pain if I ate the cookie.
I woke up to the sound of purring in stereo, followed by the shrill call of “Porrrtiaa!” Figaro had convinced the white Persian that my pillow was better than her fancy bed, and I had a fluffy cat on either side of my head. I picked the girl up and gently ushered her out of my room, and shut the door behind her.
Figaro jumped off the bed with a soft thud and scratched on the door.
“You can’t follow her home. She’s way too high maintenance for you anyway.”
Patsy called up the stairs. “Porrrtiaa! Here, baby. Come to Mummy. It’s time for your brushing.”
Note to self: post quiet hours. I picked Fig up and looked into his smooshy face. “That would be your mother-in-law. Do you feel like wearing a bow tie every day?”
Figaro put two paws over my mouth and purred.
My mind shifted to what I had to do today, and the sting Aunt Ginny and I planned to carry out before breakfast. I did some yoga, then showered and dressed in jeans and a T-shirt. I hadn’t worn these jeans in so long I couldn’t believe they zipped. I was kind of regretting that I didn’t have a scale anymore.
It was warm this morning, so I went downstairs to the empty guest rooms to air them out. I was in the Monarch Suite, cracking open the window, when I spotted the garbageman leave the curb in front of Mrs. Pritchard’s house and roll toward mine. There was a hint of movement down below, and I saw eightyish-year-old Mrs. Pritchard come out on her porch in a full-length, white-cotton, prairie-style nightgown and foam curlers. I was about to holler a friendly hello when she hoisted a rifle to her shoulder and took aim through a sight at Benjamin Bunny. She fired off a shot, and Rabbitzilla began the slow wheeze to the ground once again. Mrs. Pritchard gave a nod to her handiwork and turned to go back in her house. I must have moved, because she spotted me in the second-floor window watching her in horror. Her hand flew up to cover her mouth, and she scurried back inside and slammed her door.
How was I supposed to tell Aunt Ginny that the woman who’d knitted my pink baby afghan had just performed a kill shot on her precious Benjamin Bunny? I had to find some way to shake the image from my mind because Rita and Faelynn would be down for coffee any minute and we had a plan to divide and conquer.
Aunt Ginny and Joanne had split the coffee service in two locations. Whoever came downstairs first, Aunt Ginny would direct them to the side porch to enjoy the morning view of what would now be a deflating lawn ornament. I waited in the kitchen until Aunt Ginny gave me the signal.
The dining-room door swung open. “They’re in place.”
That was my cue. I went across the hall to the library, where Rita was set up. “Good morning, Mrs. Bagshaw. How did you sleep?”
Rita was shaking two packets of Splenda, preparing to rip them open for her morning coffee. “Oh, like a baby. I’m almost sorry to go home today.”
“Well, I’m glad I caught you alone. I need to warn you.”
Her head jerked up and she stopped stirring. “Warn me? About what?”
“Two men from the FBI spoke with me yesterday. They said they were investigating criminal activity.” All true.
She paled and nodded silently.
“It seems that someone on my network has been signing into a libelous website called Fraudster.” Also true.
I watched the rest of the blood drain from Rita’s face. I knew it was serious because she put the spoon down and abandoned her coffee. “Have you heard of it?” I didn’t wait for her to answer. “It’s dedicated to bad reviews and claims of malpractice against Dr. Lance Rubin, the cosmetic surgeon who died the other day.”
“Why would federal agents be interested in a review website?”
“Dr. Rubin had been receiving death threats, and they think there might be a connection.”
“There isn’t. I know about the threats. They weren’t going anywhere. But what do they have to do with this Fraudster website? Is that what you called it? Fraudster?”
When you have that much guilt written all over your face, it’s too late to act coy. “Dr. Rubin thought the threat was serious enough that he hired an IT security company to run forensics on the website and many of his bad reviews. They’ve traced the IP address to your house in Manhattan. And, this week, to my house, while you’ve been here.”
Rita’s hand shook as she took out a Kleenex. She sighed. “Have you ever been married?”
Where is this going? “Yes.”
“Some men will put you through hell.”
I heard that, sister. I resisted the urge to give her a high five; I felt a confession coming on.
“The thing is, divorce is too expensive, and if he went to jail, I wouldn’t get anything.”
“Say what now?”
“Lance is—or was—my husband.”
Well, I did not see that coming. “I’ll be right back.” I had to stop Aunt Ginny before she said too much.
Aunt Ginny was halfway through the sitting room, coming to get me. “She’s his wife.”
I stopped. “I know. She just told me.”
“What?”
“Rita. She’s married to Dr. Rubin.”
Aunt Ginny frowned. “She can’t be, because Faelynn is married to Dr. Rubin.”
“What?”
We said in unison, “Switch.”
I went out on the side porch, where Faelynn was sipping her coffee and halfway through a bagel. “Good Morning, Mrs. Archer. I was just talking to my aunt and I think she may have misunderstood something.”
Faelynn shook her head. “No, she heard me right. Lance was my husband. He was married to me when he died.”
“So, you were the one who’s been logging into the Facebook group Wives of Plastic Surgeons?”
“I’m the admin. It’s how Rita and I found each other and discovered that we were married to the same man.”
“Currently married?”
“Yes. L
ance was a bigamist.”
“And you were okay with that?”
She gave me a look like I was insane for asking such a thing. “No. Why do you think we were trying to destroy him?”
“Okay . . . Did you consider turning him in to the authorities?”
“If I did that, he’d go to jail and I’d lose everything. Rita was married to him first; she’s the only one with legal rights.”
“So, you two started the Fraudster website to . . . ruin his practice?”
“I have nothing to do with Fraudster. That’s Rita’s baby.”
“I’ll be right back.”
I ran into Aunt Ginny in the dining room this time. She was shaking her head and mumbling about scams. “They’re both his wives.”
“I know. And Rita is the one behind the Fraudster website.”
Aunt Ginny leveled me with a dry look. “Because she had to destroy Dr. Rubin’s name before Faelynn took all his money in fraudulent lawsuits.”
“What? Switch.”
I went back into the library, where Rita was dabbing her eyes. “So, you both knew you were married to the same man?”
Rita nodded.
“And to get back at him, you put up the Fraudster website, and Faelynn . . . ?”
“She’s suing Lance under several aliases. She’s started each one as an anonymous plaintiff based on his real-life cases where things didn’t go well in surgery. His lawyers always try to settle out of court. If she won those lawsuits, Lance would have been bankrupt, and I’d be left penniless.”
“So, you put up Fraudster to ruin his practice before she bled him dry?”
Rita snuffled. “I didn’t want to destroy it entirely. Just enough so he’d turn over a controlling share to me. Fraudster was getting a lot of traffic and Rubinesque was losing clients. I was about to confront Lance and demand fifty percent of the practice to take it all down, but Fae said we should wait. She thought he was up to something even more unsavory than bigamy, and we could get more money out of him if we worked together. She said it was Blackmail 101. So, we came here to spy on him.”
“Did you find anything?”
Rita nodded. “We think he stole another doctor’s invention. He brought it here to debut for the press instead of in New York, where he would get national coverage but open himself up to harsher scrutiny. He never even mentioned working on a UV mask to either of us.” She teared up. “I thought Lance was charming, and sexy, and kind. I guess I didn’t know him at all.”
“How’d you figure out where he was?”
“It wasn’t easy. Lance stays off of all social media, so we never know where he’ll be.”
“Probably because he had two wives and didn’t want you to find out about each other.”
“We aren’t supposed to call his office, but I did, and they let it slip that he’d be in Cape May for the Beauty Expo. We found the Expo website and saw him listed as the keynote speaker. Fae was reading the vendor bios, and you were listed as the owner of the Butterfly Wings Bed and Breakfast. We booked here to see if we could learn what was happening at the Expo without being discovered.” A fat tear dripped on her leg. “But then Lance died.”
“I’ll be right back.”
Aunt Ginny was in the hallway waiting for me. “Mine says she didn’t kill him. She just wanted to take him for everything he was worth because he lied to her.”
“I think mine really loved him. And the two of them have been upset since it happened. They told me at the tea that their eyes were red from allergies when they’d obviously been crying.”
Aunt Ginny placed her hands on her hips. “Alright. Let’s get them in the same room and see if they turn on each other.”
Victory ran interference with the Parkers. She stuffed a pillow under her T-shirt and delivered breakfast to their room to keep them upstairs. We brought both ladies into the neutral zone or, as we called it, the sitting room. Faelynn didn’t want to cooperate, but Rita convinced her that it was all about to come out now that Lance was dead.
“So, you were both trying to extort money anonymously out of your husband and ruin him instead of divorcing him or turning him in.”
The women agreed.
Rita sniffled. “Please don’t tell anyone.”
“How in the world did you find out about each other?”
Faelynn took out her cell phone. “I started the Wives of Plastic Surgeons as a Facebook support group. It’s hard to be married to a doctor. And Lance really is a very good cosmetic surgeon. He did my boobs. He’s only had a couple legitimate malpractice suits. He was in constant demand. I was lucky to see him one weekend a month.”
Rita had worked up the courage to take a sip of her coffee. “And I joined because I was lonely. Plus, I knew Lance was literally handling naked women all day, and I’ve never been tiny. No matter how little I eat or how much I exercise, I can’t lose any weight. He made a fortune giving skinny women giant boobies. How could I compete with that? I thought he was having an affair. I never imagined he had another wife. I told my story to the members of the Facebook group and Faelynn sent me a private message that she thought we might be married to the same man.”
Faelynn put her phone on the table. “We lived so close to each other, I suggested we meet in New York to share information. We were stunned to find out he’d been living a double life and somehow neither of us ever saw him.”
I reached out for Joanne to hand me a cup of coffee. She made a rude gesture and left the room. “Dr. Rubin said he was traveling with Doctors Without Borders.”
Both women snorted.
Rita answered. “We’ve compared notes, and we’re not sure he ever worked with the charity. When he said he was in Africa he was with Fae.”
“And when he said he was in South America he was with Rita. We have no idea where he was when he said he was in India. Probably Atlantic City.” Faelynn handed me her cell phone. “Here’s the group page. Our accounts are in our maiden names to protect our husbands’ practices.”
I scrolled through the site. Most of the members were women, but there were a couple of men. And a lot of the posts were of the missed-anniversary, ruined-dinner, you’ll-never-guess-what-they-did-now variety.
Rita heaved a sigh. “This is the group we wanted to bring to tea next month. Fae and I thought we could have the support group meet here and we could get some closure on the horrible accident that took Lance’s life.”
“So, you think what happened was an accident?”
The women gave me startled looks. Faelynn said, “What else would it be? As far as I know, we are the only ones who could have wanted Lance dead.”
“The police will eventually bring that up. Where will you say you were when he died?”
Rita pointed to the library. “I was on the Internet most of the night. You said that yourself. Fraudster is my alibi.”
Faelynn picked at her muffin wrapper. “I snuck into his hotel room the night he died and checked his luggage for his passport. He was supposed to have been traveling abroad right before coming to New Jersey. I was going to use it to prove he was lying to us.”
“Did anyone see you?”
“Just some woman coming down the hall. I pretended like I didn’t speak English and ran, but the front desk checked my ID when they gave me a key, so they’d have a record of it.”
I scrolled down the Facebook page. “Was there anyone else who would have something against him? Something worth killing for?”
Aunt Ginny quirked an eyebrow.
I wasn’t going to tell Rita and Faelynn for fear of what they would do next, but they weren’t the only Mrs. Lance Rubins. I recognized one of the women in their Wives of Plastic Surgeons support group. And she had been within killing distance of the doctor all weekend.
CHAPTER 46
I grabbed my purse to head out the door. I tried Amber’s cell phone again. Still no answer.
I didn’t really care who killed Lance Rubin. I mean I did—only not as much as I wanted to help Am
ber and get justice for Temarius. Corporate espionage/bigamist Lance Rubin was not my problem. If somehow Temarius was involved with someone who was involved with Dr. Rubin, and both of them ended up dead, who was the puppet master?
I stopped by the La Dolce Vita booth to stare at Gia. He gave me a latte and a wink. I gave him a grin, grabbed some Paleo sugar cookies, and kept walking.
The Rubinesque booth had quieted down to a crawl. With no free treatments or famous plastic surgeon in residence, they may as well be a lemonade stand selling wheatgrass juice. Two of the bun heads were at the front desk, talking about plans to rebrand.
I cleared my throat.
The women looked at me with blank expressions.
“I’m looking for Tally.”
They kept staring at me, unblinking.
I held up the bag. “I brought cookies.”
One of the women whisper-whined, “No one here eats cookies.”
I felt as deflated as Rabbitzilla.
Then she pointed to the hanging door. “But Tally’s in the office.”
I walked over and swung the door aside. Tally was sitting at the desk with her head in her hands, crying. On the desk in front of her was a gold wedding band. “Hey.”
She looked up, surprised, and swept the ring into her lap.
“I already know.” I stepped farther into the room and put the bag of cookies on the desk.
“You know what?”
“That you’re married to Dr. Rubin.”
She dabbed a tissue against her cheek. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I read your posts in the Wives of Plastic Surgeons Facebook group. How you felt your husband didn’t respect you. He referred to you as his nurse in front of other women to make himself look more important.”
“How did you . . .” Tally’s eyes drooped, and she blew out a defeated breath. “No one here can know. It was very important that our marriage be kept secret. Do you understand?”
Oh, I understand all right. He really did have a thing for redheads. “Why do you think he wanted it kept secret?”
“We’d only been married for three years. Lance said the staff would respect us both less if they knew about us. I had to call him Dr. Rubin in the office. When we started dating he was worried it would look unprofessional, so he wouldn’t allow any pictures of us together, and I wasn’t allowed to mention him on social media. He insisted we elope to the Caribbean—just the two of us, to keep a modicum of privacy.”
