Blue Goodness (Michael Kaplan Mysteries)

by David W. Cowles

  Michael’s entire body shook in desperation. “I don’t know what I’m going to do, Kimberly. Once Myra gets an idea in her head it’s impossible to make her change her mind.”

  “The only thing you can do is give her some time and space. Right now, Myra’s very upset and angry with both of us; and, rightfully so. She’s absolutely convinced we’ve been having an affair.

  “She’ll cool off in few days—all women do—and then we can explain why you happened to be in my shower tonight. I’m sure she’ll listen to reason. You’ll have to tell her about your estrous girlfriend, though.”

  “Please—don’t mention Soozie’s name.”

  “I didn’t. You did.”

  The doorbell rang. Both Michael and Kimberly ran to the door, thinking perhaps Myra had returned. It was not Myra, it was the pizza delivery. The clouds were trying to empty all at once, and the deliveryman, a pimply-faced teenager, had been soaked by the downpour in just the short distance from his truck to Kimberly’s front door. Michael handed the youth a twenty, told him to keep the change, carried the food into Kimberly’s kitchen, and dropped it on the counter.

  “Don’t you want dinner now, Michael?” Kimberly asked.

  “No. I’ve lost my appetite.”

  “I have, too, but we might as well sit down and try to eat. The food’s already here, you haven’t had anything since breakfast, and we’ll be able to think more clearly on a full stomach. Starving yourself won’t change the situation with Myra.”

  “Am I supposed to sit at your dining room table wearing nothing but this damn towel?” Michael grumbled.

  “Of course not,” Kimberly replied. She removed her robe and handed it to Michael. “Here—put this on. I promise I won’t look while you change.” She turned her back, but, when Michael dropped the towel, she could see his reflection clearly in the large mirror hanging over her buffet.

  For the first time that evening, Michael took a good look at Kimberly. He liked what he saw and was tempted to compliment her, but changed his mind. After everything that had happened that day, he did not want her to get the wrong idea. Still, to Kimberly’s great satisfaction, she received Michael’s unspoken message. All night his eyes had appeared dull and glazed, but, when she seductively removed her robe, a momentary spark rekindled the fire in them.

  Kimberly brought the food in from the kitchen and poured them each a glass of wine. As if by design, at that very moment a lightning bolt struck a nearby transformer and the electricity went out, leaving them in sultry darkness, except for the shimmering glow of the candles.

  For a man with no appetite, Michael dug in with exceptional zeal. They avoided talk of Myra or Soozie during dinner, but, after Kimberly cleared their plates and poured coffee, she decided it was time to get down to business.

  “This is a fine mess you’ve gotten us into, Ollie,” she said.

  Michael’s brow wrinkled. “Me? Why me? Why did you say that?”

  “When you ran out of my bedroom wearing nothing but that towel, what else was Myra to think? Now, she’s certain we’ve been sleeping together.”

  Michael was beginning to become upset with Myra. “She should have trusted me,” he pouted.

  “Of course she should. It wasn’t your fault you had sex with another woman all afternoon,” Kimberly goaded him. She lit a cigarette and poured herself another cup of coffee.

  “Believe me, if it was my intention to cheat on Myra—which it wasn’t—it would have been with you and not with Soozie the floozie. I’ve gotta admit, Kimberly, you really turn me on. What’s more important, I enjoy being with you—I really care for you and feel close to you. If we’d met before I met Myra, you and I would probably be married now, not Myra and me.” There. He’d finally said it. Kimberly’s eyes glowed with joy. He had said everything she wanted to hear except “I love you.”

  “As you know,” Michael continued, “I’m definitely a one-woman man. I respect Myra, you, myself, and my marriage vows too much to have an affair. Even with you.”

  “Well, you know what they say. If you have the name, you might as well play the game. Since we’ve already been accused, tried, and convicted by Myra, why not?” Kimberly regretted making the proposition the moment the words left her lips. She had pledged not to talk to Michael that way any more. “Uh, just kidding, of course.”

  Michael took a sip of coffee. “It bothers me tremendously that Myra thinks you and I’ve been having an affair. We know we haven’t. We’re completely innocent, and neither she nor anyone else can prove otherwise.

  “Soozie really scares me, though. The woman’s a walking time bomb. She threatened to send Myra a copy of the video of us having sex, if I don’t do everything she wants me to do. Seeing that would really cause Myra to flip out.”

  “So, do you know what Soozie expects of you?” asked Kimberly.

  Michael shook his head. “Not entirely. She thinks I’m going to be her lover, but I’m not. I’ll never have sex with her again.”

  “Tell her you have herpes,” Kimberly suggested. “That should cool her passion. Nobody wants to catch a sexually-transmitted disease.”

  “That might work. I’ll definitely try that if she attempts to maneuver me into bed again.

  “What do you think I should do regarding Soozie’s crazy story about scores of bodies being dumped down a mine shaft? She even gave me a detailed map of how to get to the mine.”

  Kimberly pondered the question for a few minutes. “Suppose, Michael, that her story isn’t so crazy after all. Suppose it’s true. Maybe Soozie is afraid of what might happen to her if the person who dumped the bodies down the mine shaft found out she’d become a stool pigeon. Maybe that’s why she wants you to find the bodies. She knows you’ll go directly to the police and she won’t have to be involved.”

  “Well, I guess anything’s possible. Do you think I should check Soozie’s story out myself, or just call Mark Caruso and let Metro handle the investigation?”

  “You’re a newspaperman. If you want a scoop, you’re going to have to follow through personally on the lead and tell the police afterwards if you find anything. Otherwise, all of the media will get the story at the same time.”

  “You’ve made a good point. Want to take a drive out to the desert tomorrow?”

  “I’d love to, with you.”

  “Okay. We’ll get started first thing in the morning.” Michael looked at his watch. It was nearly midnight. “I have to get out of here and find a hotel room. How soon do you think my clothes will be dry?” he asked.

  A twinkle appeared in Kimberly’s turquoise eyes. It was more than just a reflection of the candlelight. “Oh, about an hour after Nevada Power gets the electricity back on. Of course, that might not be until morning. You’ll have to spend the night here with me.”

  Michael looked shocked. “I can’t—Myra would be furious if she ever found out.”

  Kimberly laughed. “You’re funny, Michael. Myra is already convinced you’ll be sleeping here tonight. That’s what she told you to do. So, in a way, Myra even gave us her blessing. But you don’t have to bed down with me—unless you want to, of course. You can use the second bedroom. I promise I’ll never admit to Myra we didn’t sleep together, though. Why burst her bubble?”

  Michael grinned feebly. “I guess I’m stuck here for the duration.”

  “You’d rather be with Soozie?” Kimberly teased.

  “Hell, no. That isn’t even funny,” Michael fussed. “I should be home in my own bed with my wife.”

  “Well, that’s obviously not going to happen tonight. Probably not for the next several nights, either. So, you’re welcome to stay here as long as you need to.”

  “I appreciate that, Kimberly. You’re really taking this in stride. I’m sorry Myra accused you falsely. That wasn’t right.”

  “Michael, both of us need our sleep, if we’re going to get an early start tomorrow. I’ll turn the bed down for you now. If you need me for anything else I’ll be right in the next ro
om.”

  “Thanks. You’re a true friend, Kimberly. Would I be out of line if I kissed you good night?”

  “No. I’d be hurt if you didn’t.”

  The kiss was soft and sensual. To Michael’s surprise, Kimberly broke away first. Within minutes of getting in bed he fell into a deep slumber. Once, he dreamed Kimberly was lying beside him, but when he woke up he was in bed alone.

  KIMBERLY’S TRAVEL ALARM CLOCK sounded at six and she jumped out of bed immediately. She flipped a light switch and found the electricity was back on, then went directly to the laundry room and transferred Michael’s clothes from the washer to the dryer.

  Michael said they were going to the desert to check out Soozie’s story, so, after she showered, Kimberly slipped into a pair of jeans and a cotton blouse instead of one of the designer suits she usually wore at the Times. Then, it was back to the laundry room, where she ironed Michael’s pants and shirt, even his shorts. When she finished she tiptoed into the guest bedroom and carefully placed the garments on a chair.

  A short time later Michael woke to the aroma of breakfast smells. His clothes were dry and ready to wear, and he wondered when Kimberly brought them into the bedroom. He was usually a light sleeper, but he had not heard a thing.

  Michael took a quick shower—the bathroom was accessible from either bedroom—and dressed. As he entered the dining room Kimberly was putting the final touches on breakfast. She’d prepared bacon, eggs, hash browns, toast, freshly-squeezed orange juice, and coffee.

  He greeted her with a hug. “Good morning, Kim. Everything smells wonderful. Especially you.”

  The warmth of Kimberly’s smile echoed in her voice. “Breakfast’s ready, Michael. For a while there I thought I might have to go in and wake you. But when I heard the shower running, I knew you were already up.” She filled their cups with coffee as he pulled out a chair and sat down.

  “I seldom get to have bacon for breakfast,” Michael commented. “Even though we don’t keep kosher, Myra won’t allow any pork in the house. This is a pleasant treat.”

  Kimberly’s voice hardened slightly. “Myra’s a hypocrite. She eats shrimp and clams, and they’re as trefe as bacon.” She watched the corners of Michael’s eyes tighten as she spoke and decided it was not in her best interest to criticize Myra. Especially now.

  Michael buttered a slice of toast. “I need to go home to pick up some clothes and my shaving kit. By the time we finish breakfast, Myra should be at work. I’ll phone the condo first, though, just to make sure she’s not there. As you suggested, I’ll try to avoid making contact with her until she’s ready to talk to me.”

  “Do you want me to go with you?”

  “No. I do have a few errands for you to run—that is, if you don’t mind.”

  She looked at him enigmatically. “Oh? I thought we were going to take a drive out to the desert today.”

  “We are. But we need to be prepared. We’ll have to get a rope ladder about fifty feet long—the type sold for emergency fire escapes—so I can climb down into the mine shaft. You can probably buy one where they sell safety equipment—fire hoses, fire extinguishers, that sort of thing. If they don’t have a ladder that long, get two twenty-five-foot ladders and I’ll figure out a way to rig them together. At the same place, pick up two hard hats, like the ones construction workers wear.

  “Next, go to a sign shop and buy a couple of sharp metal stakes about four or five feet long—the kind used to post the advertising signs politicians stick up all over town before elections. Make sure the stakes are strong, as I’m going to have to use them to secure the ladder to the ground.

  “Then, at a hardware store, pick up a small shovel; a sledgehammer; a metal pail with a handle; and, a lantern, preferably with a fluorescent lamp. Extra batteries, too. Oh, yes. Work gloves—large. And a snakebite kit. Just in case.

  “We’ll also need a hundred-foot coil of nylon twist rope, like the line used to tow water-skiers. One-quarter-inch-diameter should do nicely. If they don’t carry it at the hardware store, go to a place that sells marine supplies.”

  He reached in his wallet and removed a credit card. “Take my American Express card. The Times will reimburse me for anything we spend. While you’re shopping, I’ll rent a four-wheel-drive vehicle, as we’ll have to go off-road. A Jeep or a Range Rover. I’ll also rent two self-contained breathing apparatus outfits. SCBAs.”

  Kimberly looked puzzled. “Come again—what are those?”

  “They look quite a bit like scuba diving gear. Scuba is an acronym for self-contained underwater breathing apparatus. Each outfit consists of a full face mask, an air regulator, a compressed air cylinder, a connecting hose, and a harness that everything straps to.”

  Kimberly wrinkled up her brow. “I still don’t understand. Why will we need scuba gear? There isn’t water in the mine shaft, is there?”

  Michael laughed. “Not to my knowledge. If there is, I’m not going down into it. That is a possibility, though. Even though we’re in a desert, the underground water table is quite high and many of the old mines in Nevada are flooded.

  “The type of equipment I want isn’t intended for underwater use. It’s what firemen wear to prevent smoke inhalation when they’re fighting fires, or what OSHA requires industrial workers to put on when they have to go inside chemical tanks or other enclosed places that may contain gases or toxic vapors.

  “If Soozie’s story pans out there’s going to be a terrible stench at the bottom of the mine shaft from decaying flesh. I’ll probably want to puke all over the place anyway, just from seeing the dead bodies. With the SCBA, at least I’ll have clean air to breathe and won’t have to smell them.”

  Kimberly wrote a list of all the items she was to purchase. “I’ll stop by a deli and get us some sandwiches and cold drinks, too. I’m sure we’ll need them before the day is over.”

  Michael nodded his head appreciatively. “Especially the cold drinks. I’m glad you thought of them. It’s liable to be 125 degrees where we’re going.

  “Call me on my cell phone from time to time and let me know how you’re doing. If I finish before you, I can pick up some of the items on the list.”

  Kimberly dug in her purse and located a spare key to her house. “Okay, I’m on my way. Take this key, Michael. If you get back to the house before I do, just let yourself in.” She was tempted to tell him to keep the key and use it whenever he wanted to see her, but she bit her tongue and swallowed the unspoken words. It was not yet the time.

  Ten

  STEPPING INTO OSCAR STEIN’S OFFICE was like visiting another continent, like being in the opulent drawing room of a member of European nobility. Individually illuminated oil paintings—if not actually originals by the old masters, reproductions good enough to fool most any except the very learned in the arts—graced the alabaster walls between six-foot-wide mahogany cases full of hard-bound law books that climbed all the way to the twelve-foot coffered ceiling.

  Hand-woven Persian rugs were layered on top of highly polished marble floors. A monstrous hand-carved desk dominated one corner of the huge room. Behind it sat an immense black leather chair. Elsewhere, an antique couch upholstered with needlepoint fabric, flanked by antique end tables and fronted by an antique coffee table, provided a cozy sitting area. At the end of the room opposite the desk, an amply stocked wet bar was ready to satisfy the needs of any drinker. Armloads of fresh flowers were brought in daily.

  Other features of the ostentatious lair were less obvious. Both Stein’s desk and chair sat on a four-inch-high platform. The slight difference in elevation was barely noticeable, but required his guests to look up at the man instead of on a common level—a technique often resorted to by Napoleon-sized men, but seldom by those of Stein’s six-foot-four height. And the front legs of the chairs surrounding Stein’s desk had been planed down so they were a full half inch shorter than the rear legs, to keep visitors slightly off balance and therefore ill at ease in the man’s presence.

  Each
of the lamps in the low-voltage lighting system could be adjusted from a moonlight glow to blinding intensity, all by remote control from Stein’s desk. Concealed video cameras and microphones recorded everything that went on in the room. There was no sign of a computer evident, though one was instantly available. All Stein had to do was push a button on his electronic console and a credenza to the left of his desk opened magically to reveal the latest electronic hardware. Also out of sight was a private bathroom with a bidet, a steamer in the shower, and a Jacuzzi in the tub. And a hidden bedroom—its presence unknown to all except his closest confidantes, most-trusted employees, and certain female clients—with a king-size four-poster canopied bed.

  The office suite was expensively decorated and luxuriously furnished. Stein could easily afford the best. His going rate was three hundred an hour, plus expenses, and, by creative timekeeping, he managed to bill more than a hundred hours per week every week of the year, including the weeks containing the holidays of Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. Stein was credited with being one of the top criminal attorneys in the country, and had even argued several times on constitutional issues before the Supreme Court of the United States. Not bad, he often thought, for a fifty-year-old Jew from Brooklyn, a second generation immigrant whose father wheeled a pushcart around on the streets from which he sharpened knives and mended cooking utensils.