Black Widow df-15

by Randy Wayne White

  The woman pulled her hands away. “I don’t tolerate that kind of talk, mister. Why say something so nasty?”

  I sat up. “Because you’ve got too much going for you to make a living giving hand jobs to strangers. There has to be another reason.”

  She was flustered by my reaction. “I’m… I’m just trying to make you feel good. You’ve got knots and ching chi blockages from your feet to your neck. You don’t want me to get rid of those things?”

  “Sex isn’t allowed-that’s what they told us at orientation. You’re a pretty woman, Norma. Beautiful, in the right gown, the right makeup. I’m attracted-obviously. But who am I supposed to believe?”

  People paid to act like drill sergeants seldom receive compliments. I was surprised at how she softened. The woman touched a hand to her hair; her tone became confidential. “You’re right, but not all the way right. Novitiates aren’t allowed to have relations with their partners. It’s a way of purifying-so the man and woman can start fresh together after they leave.”

  I asked, “But it’s okay to have sex with someone who’s not your partner?”

  The woman gave me an odd look, her expression asking, Are you kidding?"It’s possible that’s why some clients come back. It’s a spiritual thing, experiencing other human beings. Just another form of therapy, like we’re doing right here. Don’t think of it as sex.”

  When she reached to continue, I took her hands in mine, and squeezed them fondly. “It is tempting. You’re more than attractive-you’re spectacular when you get rid of that frown. But what would I tell my lady friend?”

  Norma looked at me like I was crazy. “Man, why do you have to tell the woman anything? What happens in this room stays in this room, I promise you that.”

  I was tempted to wink at one of the cameras. Instead, I said, “If you were dating a man who didn’t tell the truth, how would you feel?”

  “Not surprised. I buried one man, got engaged to another, but it didn’t last. Neither told the truth.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that. But I think the lady and I should at least be engaged before I start lying to her. Don’t you?”

  Instead of bristling, Norma smiled, then chuckled. It was genuine, and she softened even more-a good-looking woman with tropical eyes, sweat beading on her skin where her blouse was open, showing rims of beige bra cupping her breasts.

  “You don’t want me to go any further? You’re serious.”

  “This time, yeah.”

  “You must be in love with the woman.”

  “Will I be breaking a monastery rule if I say no?”

  Norma grimaced and gave me a warning look. “It’s plain you’re in love. You won’t do your therapy. I’m done trying to talk you into it, so you’re just gonna have to live with those toxins.”

  Had Norma turned off the cameras?

  Maybe. As I got dressed, she faced the wall, cleaning her hands with a fresh towel. Before turning, I noticed that she tried to block my view as she flicked toggle switches near the lights. The sound of ocean waves stopped. Maybe the cameras, too.

  “The woman you brought, I saw her picture in a magazine. She’s pretty for a woman her age. Has looks, a fine education. You’ve got good taste, Mr. North. But you have to learn not to talk so free while you’re at the monastery.”

  Yes, the cameras were off.

  I said, “The walls have ears?”

  “I’ve got ears, just like the rest of the staff. That’s what I’m telling you.”

  Gossip traveled fast here, so I wasn’t surprised Norma knew I’d arrived with Senegal. But why would she bother to offer a warning?

  “I hope I don’t get you in some kind of trouble by refusing that ching chi business-”

  She cut me off. “Don’t worry your head about me. Worry about yourself. I expect that’s a full-time job for a man like you. I heard what went on at the Lookout this morning, when they were fishing the boy out of the water. I heard you told Fabron to mind his own damn business-be best if he showed some respect for the dead. Isn’t that what happened?”

  I said, “Something like that,” recalling the face of the tiny woman in the maid’s uniform, picturing her smile.

  “How’d Fabron swallow that? That man, he’s dangerous.”

  “Then I’m glad you gave me the massage, not him. He wouldn’t have gotten nearly as far.”

  She chuckled, shaking her head. “You are a piece of work, you know that? Only men ever said no to the treatment weren’t really men, if you understand my meaning. But there’s something I want you to know-personally, I mean. I was only offering my hands. Nothing else. Never have. That part of me’s not for sale. I’m no damn B-girl, like some others. I’m a health-care therapist. I take it seriously, whether you believe it or not.”

  I said, “I believe you. I’m also starting to believe I was a fool to refuse. Maybe I should’ve chosen another spa. Next time, I will-and maybe ask you to come along.”

  The dark eyes became more alert-a woman who rarely dropped her defenses. “Some men toss out lies like chocolates. Others use them as carrots. Which are you?”

  I was buckling my belt. “When it comes to getting what I want? Both.”

  The woman wasn’t expecting that. She studied my face for a moment. “You’re a funny one. Kind of a smart-ass and stubborn, but that’s okay. You’re… different. I’m surprised the bosses let you in here.”

  “Bosses?”

  “That mean-ass German woman at the desk. And the other one-the one who owns everything you see around here. Maybe you don’t know who I mean. The White Lady.”

  She used it as a proper noun, capitalizing the words with an inflection that mixed respect and fear. White Lady.

  I nearly asked, Are you talking about the Maji Blanc? Instead, I said, “I don’t know who you mean. A friend suggested we come here-a last-minute thing. What’s the owner’s name?”

  “Doesn’t matter. She owns the place, that’s all I’m saying. I do my job.”

  “Sounds as if you don’t like her. Tough boss, or a bad tipper?”

  Norma said, “If that’s a joke, it’s not much of a joke. The White Lady’s never come in here for a massage. Never will, either.” She put it out there, hinting at something, but she wasn’t going to let it go much further.

  “A spa owner who doesn’t get massages? That’s not much of an endorsement. She must have something to hide.”

  Norma shrugged. “I never said that.” Done talking about it.

  “Well, if she’s anything like the woman at the front desk, I wouldn’t like her. There’s not much chance I’ll last a week here. This spa business seems like a bunch of silly bullshit, to be honest.”

  “The wrong person hears you say that, man, you’ll be out of here faster than you think.”

  I smiled at her expression of concern. “You say that as if I should be afraid.”

  “Maybe you should be afraid. You seem like a nice man-unusual, in my line of work. Could be, you should be real careful about what you say and do around here.”

  “Friendly advice?”

  “That’s right.”

  “I’m flattered, but why?”

  “Because of the boy you saw them hauling from the sea this morning. You showed respect. He was my…” The woman turned, and began folding towels. “… he was my nephew. The damn people who work here, they pretended not to even notice his body floating down there, but you took the time. You showed respect.”

  I said, “I’m very sorry.”

  “Me, too. You don’t know. He was a fine young man. Had a compass in his head that kept him steady-like you. I wished I’d known him better, but I… I didn’t get the chance. That boy could have been something.”

  “What was his name?”

  “His name was Paul, but-” Norma paused for several seconds as she concentrated on towels. “-but people called him Rafael, so I guess that was his name.”

  It was a complicated subject, apparently. I decided not to press. “My name’s Mari
on. Friends call me Doc. Okay?”

  “You’re a real one?”

  “No. A nickname.”

  “Then you watch yourself… Doc. There is somethin’ different about you, and the bosses don’t miss much.”

  “You lost me.”

  “Senegal Firth-you two don’t fit. She doesn’t like men… not nice men, anyway. Sometimes that’s the only way the cold ones can let go. And I heard you’re from Florida. Yesterday, a very pretty woman about my age showed up. She’s got a spa business same place you live-Florida. Kind of strange, a pretty woman checking in alone.”

  “A lot of people live in Florida.”

  “Maybe so. But the woman asked Miss Bunt-that’s the German manager-she asked Miss Bunt if a man named Ford was here. Dr. Marion Ford. And your name’s Marion North-right… Doc?”

  As I began to reply, she held up a hand. “All I’m saying is watch yourself. Don’t ever go walking outside the monastery walls after midnight. Hear? Ever. And take care what you say and do, especially around the staff.”

  “The White Lady? Or do you mean the Maji Blanc?”

  Norma’s eyes burrowed into mine. “How’d you find out that name?”

  “I can’t remember. I always forget who gives me information-probably because of all the toxins in my body.”

  I saw Norma ready to smile, but not quite there. I reached and squeezed her hand. “The White Lady’s no lady, Norma. But you are. Thanks for the advice. What would happen if she knew you’d warned me?”

  Norma gave a weary shrug-Who cares?-before replying, “I’d lose my job and a place to live. That’s all. And I’m going to be leaving soon, anyway.”

  “Quitting?”

  “In a way.”

  “I didn’t know the staff lived on the grounds.”

  “Not all of us. It’s a seniority deal. You come by helicopter, so you wouldn’t’ve seen them, but there’re cabins down the mountain, maybe a quarter mile by road. I’ve got a pretty nice place, set off by itself. I like it. Got it fixed up nice. Getting fired and losing that cabin-that’s the worst they could do to me.”

  Norma was wrong.

  28

  Beryl told me, “Corey’s dead. She died Sunday morning, the day after you left. The doctors aren’t sure what happened, an aneurism, maybe.”

  We were standing in a closet so cramped that my lips were next to her ear. Candlelight bounced shadows around the adjoining room, showing a stone floor and Beryl’s bed, where the pillow, the mattress, were still imprinted with her weight.

  I whispered, “Dead?”

  “I know… unbelievable. When she was in intensive care, they think one of the procedures maybe caused a blood clot. She was fine, sitting up, talking… then she said something about a pain in her head, and closed her eyes. That was it. She never woke up. I’m still in shock. Damn it, I won’t let them get away with it.”

  Beryl didn’t sound in shock. She sounded cold, in control-a woman who was experienced at concealing rage. But she didn’t bother hiding her impatience with me.

  “The party boys are responsible-and whoever took the video. From your phone message, I expected to find them working here. So where are they?”

  I shook my head. “I’m not sure. I’ve seen them, but it wasn’t here.”

  “Then where? Why come to this freaky place if it wasn’t to deal with those three? I think you’re wasting my time.”

  This was the same woman who’d come into the lab wearing a towel, eyes smoky as the candlelight that now illuminated her nose and eyes in a flickering triangle. Cold voice, cold eyes. Finally, I was meeting the Ice Queen.

  I said, “It’s more complicated than that.”

  “Damn right it’s more complicated-as of Sunday morning. They killed Corey the same as using a gun. And she didn’t do anything-not compared to the rest of us. But they blackmailed her anyway, and she’s dead. If we don’t pay up by Friday, they’ll try to destroy my life, too. And Liz’s life. Shay’s already such an emotional wreck, I’m worried she might be next.”

  The first thing Beryl had told me was that Shay’s wedding had been postponed for two weeks, then gave me the bad news about Corey, when I asked, “Why?”

  The funeral was on Friday-the day of the rehearsal dinner. It had to be the all-time worst week in Shay’s life.

  I put my hands on Beryl’s shoulders and squeezed, trying to reassure her. Trapezius muscles, beneath pale skin, felt like rope left too long in the sun. When my fingers began exploring for knots, she shrugged my hands away, and said, “Those bastards. We have to find them. I’m going to find them.”

  I said, “Take it easy. I’m working on it.”

  “You’ve had three days to work on it. We’re running out of time.”

  In more ways than Beryl realized. It was nearly midnight.

  An hour earlier, for the benefit of the hidden camera, I’d made a show of getting ready for bed. The only thing I’d brought to read was the article Sir James had given me on the Knights Templar. I took it from my bag, adjusted the reading lamp, and lay on the bed.

  The Knights Templar was a fraternity of warrior monks founded in 1118 by Andre de Montbard and Hugh de Payen. These two knights, along with seven companions, presented themselves to Godfroi de Bouillon, ruler of Jerusalem…

  I paused to clean my glasses. Andre de Montbard? If James Montbard was a descendant, how many generations separated the two men? Twenty-five? Thirty? In the U.S., the time span was incomprehensible. In Great Britain, ancestral records and properties might date back even farther.

  It was their intention, they told the monarch, to organize an order of able monks to protect pilgrims traveling to Jerusalem-the Knights Templar. Because the Templars took sacred oaths of honesty, chastity, and loyalty, they soon became the trusted guardians of travelers to the Holy Land, and also the world’s first international bankers. They accumulated enormous wealth during the Crusades.

  By the 1300s, the Templars controlled more wealth and land than most kingdoms, and they had the largest sailing fleet in the world. There is evidence the Templars were already doing trade in the Americas.

  When the Templars began to exceed the Vatican’s power, Pope Clement V ordered all members arrested. Some were burned at the stake, but most escaped, preserving their order, and their secrets, by founding a new secret fraternity, the Freemasons.

  The Templar sailing fleet disappeared, as did their vast treasure holdings, which included artifacts from the Holy Land taken as spoils of war.

  Some historians believe they loaded their vessels and sailed west toward the land they had discovered two hundred years before Columbus

  …

  No wonder Sir James Montbard, the Freemason and amateur archaeologist, wanted to have a look around the monastery. Lots of linkage. But it had the fantasy flavor of a conspiracy theory. If I ever meet more than three people who can keep a secret, I’ll give conspiracy theories serious consideration.

  Interesting, but I had things to do.

  Before turning out the reading lamp, I took a sleepy look around my room, then tossed a shirt over the clock radio, covering the miniature lens. I spent the next twenty minutes in the dark, expecting spa employees to arrive with an excuse to check the room.

  Nothing.

  I got dressed, poked my head outside, then took a few things from the pack I’d hidden overhead in the gallery bay. Among them was the little Uniden handheld VHF, which I clipped to my belt. Montbard said he would attempt radio contact at 6 p.m., 9 p.m., and midnight, but I hadn’t been able to risk retrieving the VHF until now.

  By 11:30, I was working my way through shadows to the opposite cloister, jumpy as hell, spooking at every sound. It was supposed to be safe inside the monastery walls. Even so, I expected dogs to come tumbling out of the darkness.

  The three fingers Beryl had flashed earlier-the meaning had popped into my head as I suffered through a sauna treatment, sweating imaginary toxins I hadn’t allowed Norma to purge.

  “The gue
st rooms are numbered,” Norma had told me. “It’s one-two-three simple.”

  Three.

  I was in Room 36, Senegal was in 7. Beryl was telling me her room number-3. Obvious, in hindsight, as most puzzles are.

  Now Beryl and I were huddled in her closet, out of the range of the lens hidden in the smoke alarm-a useless precaution if someone had been monitoring the place when Beryl opened the door wide, saying, “Doc?” and I stepped into room.

  Any second, I expected to hear pounding at the door.

  Yes, nearly midnight, and we were running out of time.

  I touched my cheek to Beryl’s cheek, and whispered, “You’re obsessing on the three guys, but it’s more complicated than you think. Trust me, I’ll do something if there’s an opportunity. I’m more concerned about you. We have to get you off this mountain. Soon. They’re already suspicious.”

  "Who?”

  “Everyone, including the woman who owns the place. She’s the blackmailer. You don’t think she knows who she’s blackmailing, for Christ’s sake? The staff’s scared shitless of her. Think about that.”

  Beryl was too angry to think about it. “The woman with the bizarre robes, the hood, all the makeup? You’ve got to be kidding.”

  “No. I’m convinced.”

  “Isabelle? I’ve met her four or five times-at least twice at the trade show in Paris. There’s nothing scary about Isabelle-unless you’re afraid of dyke nuns. Maybe that’s your problem.”

  “Afraid of nuns?”

  “You tell me. Afraid of the party boys, I can understand. If you don’t have the balls for confrontation, okay. But afraid of a middle-aged woman who dresses like Madonna? I think Shay chose the wrong man for the job. The three who came to the beach cottage that night, they’re the blackmailers. If you’re afraid of them, just admit it.”

  I took a breath and released it slowly, letting Beryl know that my patience had its limits. Some people strike out at anyone and everything when they’re angry. Beryl was in attack mode.

  “I wasted an entire day walking around this nuthouse with people in robes. Now you tell me a woman who grows orchids and markets face cream is the one who took the video. Do you really think Isabelle sent those sick e-mails? That she gets her rocks off by filming people screwing? Please.”