by Kyra Davis
“I still don’t see where you’re going with this.”
“Your brother had his own style, too,” Dena explained. “I’m not talking about clothes now, I’m talking about sex.”
Tiff swallowed, hard. “What exactly did you two find?”
“Your brother had a thing for stuffed animals,” Dena said bluntly.
“He had a thing…I’m sorry but I don’t understand.”
“Stuffed animals,” Dena repeated. “The kind you buy in toy stores. Peter liked to have sex with them.”
Tiff didn’t respond this time. I don’t think she knew what to say.
“I know you probably find that shocking,” Dena continued. “And maybe the idea of using a teddy bear as a sex toy offends you, but it’s not like the guy was hurting anyone. If a person owns a teddy bear, they can do what they want with it, and if what they want is to stick it in their underwear and use it for a little adult entertainment, then who are we to say that’s wrong?”
“You…you can’t be serious.”
“I’m serious. Sophie put one of Peter’s stuffed animals in a Ziploc. It’s kind of his Monica Lewinsky dress, if you know what I mean. Want to see it?”
“What? No!” Tiff gasped.
“Suit yourself,” Dena said with a shrug. She took another bite of her BLT before adding, “We think he also liked to have sex with people dressed up as sheep and shit.”
Tiff’s eyes were about the size of silver dollars. She looked over at me as I tried to figure out how I could make myself disappear. “She’s serious?” Tiff asked me.
I nodded silently.
“So you’re saying my brother was a freak.”
“But in a nonoffensive way,” Dena insisted.
“I don’t know how I’m supposed to react to this.”
“Well, if I were you I’d feel relieved,” Dena said.
“I should be relieved that my brother liked to sleep with sheep?”
“People dressed as sheep,” Dena corrected. “But, yeah, you should be relieved. My guess is that some asshole threatened to expose Peter as being a furry and a plushy.”
“A what?” Tiff asked weakly.
“A furry is what you call people who like to dress up as animals in order to have sex, and a plushy is the term used to describe those who like to have sex with stuffed animals. Anyway, having something like that exposed could really damage a person’s reputation, particularly in a puritanical society like our own.”
“I’m not sure you have to be a puritan to find this upsetting,” Tiff whispered.
Dena shrugged again, obviously impatient with Tiff’s more conservative take on the situation. “I’m just saying that I seriously doubt that Peter ended his life because of anything you did or didn’t do. You have nothing to feel guilty about.”
“Is she always like this?” Tiff asked me, pointing to Dena with her thumb.
“I know she’s abrasive,” I said carefully, “but she may be right. I think that Peter’s furry tendencies played a role in his suicide. We know what he did to his stuffed animals, so I think what we need to do now is figure out if he was actually sleeping with a human furry as well, or if he was just ogling them on the Internet. He did have a couple of animal costumes in his closet.”
“They have furry porn sites?” Tiff asked, her voice now a high-pitched squeak.
“A lot of them,” Dena and I said in unison.
“We also need to think about who might have wanted to expose…” My voice trailed off as I was struck with a new realization. “Oh, my God, I am so slow sometimes! This is what the letter to Eugene was about!”
Dena snapped her fingers. “Bingo!”
“Yes! He wrote that if Eugene went to the media with what he knew, he would not only be destroying political careers but also the lives of—” I stopped short as everything suddenly fell into place. The three of us looked at one another, clearly thinking the same thing.
“Anne Brooke,” Tiff whispered, “is a furry! She was dressing up as a sheep and sleeping with my brother!”
“It could have been any animal, not just sheep,” Dena said. “But other than that I think you may be on to something.”
“No one would elect a furry to Congress,” I said quietly.
“Probably not,” Tiff agreed.
“So what if Anne Brooke f lipped out when she realized that her secret could become public?” I suggested. “She could have gotten desperate. Maybe she decided she needed to do whatever was necessary to shut up everyone who knew about her fetish. And there’s only one way she could have guaranteed that was going to happen….”
“Furry politician pushes her plushy lover over the edge.” Dena sat back in her chair. “It makes quite a headline.”
“Dena, could you talk to some of your furry and plushy customers? Find out if they know Anne, or know someone who knows her?”
“Here’s the thing about furries and plushies. Because of the stigma assigned to people who like having sex with anthropomorphic animals, they’ve had to create this whole underground subculture. It’s like a secret club. The only way you’re going to get them to talk is if they think you’re one of them.”
“But you sell them Weenie Babies and leashes!” I protested. “You’re their supplier. Surely that gives you an in.”
“Nope,” Dena said, shaking her head solemnly. “They may buy from me but they’ll never trust me. I’m too…tame.”
“You’re too tame,” I said flatly. Tiff blanched and a little chill went up my spine. I was dealing with people who thought Dena, a woman who owned a whip and a drawer full of edible pasties, was tame. I nervously adjusted the clasp on my watch. “Oh, shit! I’m supposed to meet Anatoly in less than twenty minutes!”
Dena confirmed the time on her own watch. “Okay, let’s go.” She smiled. “I know this is a serious issue but I’m actually glad you got me involved. The furries and plushies are by far my most obnoxious customers. I’m looking forward to throwing one of them to the wolves—pun intended.”
20
I don’t understand my husband. He says he wants to grant my every wish, but then he gets mad when I wish for a night with Matt Dillon.
—C’est La Mort
“You’re late,” Anatoly snapped as I breathlessly burst into the Starbucks we had decided to meet in.
“I know, I know, but I’ve had a really weird day. Listen…”
“We don’t have time for me to listen.” Anatoly got up and threw his jacket on before dragging me toward the door. “We were supposed to be at Sam’s five minutes ago.”
“But I really need to tell you something! Besides, I haven’t gotten my Frappuccino yet!”
“No time.” Anatoly now had me out the door and was pushing me toward the Harley.
“No time?” I asked incredulously. “Are you actually asking me to leave a Starbucks without getting a drink?”
“You’ll live.” He pulled two helmets out of his saddle bags and handed me one.
I made a face and put the helmet over my head. I reluctantly climbed onto the back of Anatoly’s bike and gave Starbucks one last look of longing before we roared off. Fortunately Anne and Sam’s house was less than five minutes away, so while we were late we weren’t excessively so. Anatoly got off the bike and strode toward the front door of the white-and-brown Tudor while I trotted after him. “Anatoly, I really want to tell you about Peter’s apartment.”
“As soon as we’re done talking to Sam,” he said curtly before ringing the bell.
Before I had a chance to insist, the door opened and Sam Griffin stood before us, looking sheepish and uncomfortable. “Well if it isn’t the Tikkun reporters,” he said with a forced laugh. “I suppose I should have known that one was a scam straight away. I’ve never known Tikkun to report on a small congressional race.”
“Do you read Tikkun?” I asked.
“Er…no. I’m not Jewish. Anne and I are Unitarians.”
“I see, then I think it’s forgivable that you d
idn’t recognize the Tikkun thing to be a ruse.”
“Right, right.” He shifted his weight from foot to foot before it finally dawned on him that he would need to step aside if we were ever going to be able to enter. “Sorry,” he said quickly as he ushered us into the house. “I’m a bit nervous. This is the first time I’ve ever hired a private detective, and I was just beginning to get comfortable with Darrell. Now to have to detail my suspicions to two more strangers…” He released a heavy sigh. “I can’t say I’m happy about that.”
“I understand your concerns,” Anatoly said as we followed Sam into the living room and I took a seat on the couch. “We’ll do everything we can to make this transition as painless as possible.”
I surveyed my surroundings. The coffee table looked to be hand carved out of redwood, and there was a beautiful dark wood grandfather clock against the wall. Someone had gone to great pains to ensure that the place struck the delicate balance of being both elegant and comfortable. There certainly wasn’t anything cutesy about it, no figurines, no stuffed animals.
“You understand that my concerns about my wife’s fidelity may very well be nothing more than unjustified paranoia,” Sam said as he sat down on an expensive-looking brown leather armchair and propped his feet up on the ottoman. “Darrell has been following Anne for three weeks and he has yet to catch her in the arms of another man.”
“You don’t say,” I mumbled distractedly, still studying the room. “Do you guys have a pet by any chance?”
Sam furrowed his brow and Anatoly gave me a sidelong glance, both clearly confused by my seemingly irrelevant question. “A pet?” Sam repeated. “No, we don’t have any animals.”
“I see. Does Anne like animals?” I asked. “I mean, does she ever talk about getting a dog, maybe a wolfhound or something?”
Now both of my male companions looked completely baffled. “Why a wolf hound?” Anatoly asked.
“I don’t know. Anne just struck me as the kind of woman who would have a dog. A really big furry dog.”
“We don’t have a dog, and Anne’s never mentioned wanting one,” Sam said slowly.
“Okay, I guess I was wrong about that. Anyway, what were you saying before about your suspicions?”
“He was saying that Darrell hasn’t caught Anne doing anything incriminating,” Anatoly said crossly. He then smiled at Sam apologetically. “I’m hesitant to tell you this because I sincerely like Darrell…”
Bullshit.
“…but he’s not exactly a stellar private detective. As uncomfortable as it may be to switch detectives three weeks into the investigation, it’s probably for the best,” Anatoly explained. “I wouldn’t be surprised if Anne knew she was being followed and that was the reason for her chaste behavior.”
Sam sucked in a sharp breath. “You think she knew? Jesus Christ, what if she figured out who hired him!”
“She probably just figured it was one of Fitzgerald’s goons checking up on her,” I said dismissively. “I personally hope Anne wins the election. She seems like a candidate who would really go out of her way to protect the environment. What is her position on the upkeep and funding of wildlife preserves? Is Anne…you know…passionate about wildlife?”
“Sophie, we can talk about Anne’s politics later,” Anatoly said quickly, but now his tone was more bewildered than irritated. “Sam, why don’t you tell us what it was that made you think Anne might be being unfaithful.”
“Well, I’m sure you’re familiar with her history. Everyone is, thanks to Fitzgerald. She did have her reasons for cheating on her first husband. I’m not excusing it, mind you, but she didn’t have the connection with him that she has with me.”
Oh, so he was one of those she-won’t-cheat-on-me-I’m-different types. I sighed inwardly. When will people learn that men and women don’t cheat because of the way they feel about their partners? They cheat because of the way they feel about themselves.
“I’ve never loved a woman the way that I love Anne,” Sam continued. “I didn’t ever feel this strongly about my first wife, and I did love her.”
“You were married before?” Anatoly asked with practiced casualness.
“Yes, when Anne met me I was a widower.” Sam coughed out the last word as if it took a little extra effort to say. “Jocelyn was killed in a drive-by shooting when we were living in Oakland.”
“That must have been a very hard thing for you to cope with,” Anatoly noted. “Did the police ever catch the person who did it?”
Anatoly and I both already knew that they hadn’t. Anatoly was feeling Sam out. Trying to gauge his reaction to his questions. Of course, if Anatoly had taken half a second to listen to me, he would have known he was barking up the wrong tree. Anne was the “goddamned furry shit” we were looking for, not Sam.
“They never did.” He started fiddling with a corner of a throw pillow. “Jocelyn did a lot of volunteer work, and that night she was in one of the city’s poorer areas handing out clean needles, and then some car just drove by and she was shot. No one saw a thing.”
Of course they hadn’t. No one ever sees anything in the poor neighborhoods of Oakland. Better to suffer from periodic bouts of blindness than be pegged as the person who ratted out a gang member to the cops.
“It was almost ironic that Jocelyn would die because of her own beautiful idealism. She was younger than I and had just received a master’s degree in political science. She honestly believed that with compassion, love and reason she could change people. Make them better, more whole. Before she met me she had a habit of dating abusive, controlling men with the hope that she would be the woman to get them to face their childhood issues and become better human beings. Anne would never subject herself to the kind of treatment Jocelyn put up with, not for a second. She knows there are villains out there, men who love war and materialism. Anne lashes out against them. She doesn’t try to convince the people who are in power to be good. She fights to give all the power to the good people.”
I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. There was a big problem with this strategy. Assuming you weren’t talking about people like Mother Teresa and Ted Bundy, “good” and “bad” were subjective terms. If you weren’t going to discuss ideas with people who you thought were bad and gave all the power to the people who you alone decided were good, then you were basically advocating fascism. But the dreamy look in Sam’s eyes told me that he didn’t see it that way.
“Oddly enough, it was my wife’s death that brought Anne and me together,” he continued. “We met at an anti-gun rally. We were both speakers. She talked about the legislation needed to get guns out of the hands of civilians and I spoke about my personal experiences, driving home the point of why gun control is necessary. We had a drink afterward. We were both going through a difficult time…she was only recently divorced and her son had actually asked to go to boarding school—he’s still there now. He has less than a year before he graduates high school and Anne only gets to see him on holidays and long weekends. We comfort each other. We only dated six months before she proposed.”
“She proposed?” Anatoly asked.
Sam gave him a pitying look. “Anne and I don’t believe there should be any difference in the roles of the sexes. She decided she wanted me to be her husband so she asked and I said yes. We went to a locally owned jewelry store that afternoon and bought an engagement ring that was made by Pueblo Indians. It was love. It still is.”
“But now you’ve hired a private detective because you suspect she’s cheated. What makes you think that?”
Sam looked so pathetic and sad, sitting there with his legs propped up, picking at the fringes of a throw pillow, that I almost felt embarrassed for him. He lacked both confidence and bravado, two qualities you would expect to see in a killer.
“A month ago I went on a yoga retreat,” he said. “I was supposed to be there all weekend, but I wasn’t happy with the meals they were serving—can you believe that they were actually trying to serve us cereal t
hat contained high quantities of corn syrup?”
“My God, what is this world coming to?” I asked. Anatoly coughed into his hand.
“My thoughts exactly,” Sam continued. “I brought it up with the director and we had a bit of a row so I left a day early. When I got home Anne didn’t hear me come in and I inadvertently overheard part of her phone conversation. She was talking about Fitzgerald and speculating on what he was going to do next. It was probably just a business associate—that’s what she told me later when I asked. But there was something about her tone that was more intimate than what she usually uses with her staff, and she called the person on the other end of the line ‘baby.’ I know there are women who use that term of endearment for any person they’ve known for more than five minutes, but Anne isn’t one of them. Lord, I don’t think she’s called me by a pet name since we took my niece to Disneyland for her seventh birthday!”
I perked up. “You guys went to Disneyland?”
“Yes,” Sam said, “but that’s not really the point….”
“I just love Disneyland,” I said quickly. “What did Anne think of the place?”
“She liked it, I suppose,” Sam said uncertainly.
“Did she get really, you know, cozy with Mickey Mouse?”
“I’m sorry, Sam,” Anatoly said quickly, “but would you mind if I spoke to my partner alone for just a moment?” He stood up, grabbed my hand and yanked me to my feet. “We’ll be right back.”
Anatoly dragged me out of the house, releasing me as soon as we got to the driveway. “All right, Sophie, what’s with the animal references?”
“I think Anne is an animal person.”
“So?”
“No, I mean a real animal person. As in a person who periodically dresses up like an animal.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“And when she’s dressed up,” I continued, “she gets a little frisky.”
