“So is that VCD thing what I think it is?” Mavis asked Toots.
“What do you think it is?” Sophie couldn’t keep quiet if her life depended on it.
“It sounds like something vulgar.”
Toots, Ida, and Sophie couldn’t restrain themselves any longer. They burst out laughing even louder than they had before.
Sophie said, “Let me explain it in terms you can understand. It’s like a . . . bicycle pump, only instead of pumping up a flat tire, you’re pumping up a . . . limp noodle.”
Once again, they cackled with laughter, hooting and hollering until their sides were aching. Ida laughed so hard, she snorted. Toots managed to use all the napkins on the table to dry the tears of laughter streaming down her face, and Sophie wore an evil grin a mile wide. Mavis, poor naive Mavis, just sat there while the salmon burned.
Suddenly, Mavis jumped out of her chair, “I’m ruining our dinner. I hope you girls don’t mind overcooked salmon. Maybe ‘overcooked’ isn’t the proper word. Burned salmon.”
Toots replaced the napkins, Sophie poured each of them a cup of coffee, while Ida helped Mavis scrape the salmon off the bottom of the pan. Toots put the asparagus in a serving dish and placed it next to the salad in the center of the table.
“Let’s eat; I for one am starving. Mavis, this looks divine,” Toots lied, then forked an asparagus spear.
For the next ten minutes or so, no one spoke. The only sounds were those of silverware clinking against the glass dinner plates and Sophie slurping coffee like a pig. Toots cast her a dirty look. Sophie slurped even louder. Ida glanced at Toots as though silently asking her to tell Sophie to mind her manners. Coco sat in Mavis’s lap, stretching her skinny neck just high enough so she could swipe her little pink tongue over the edge of Mavis’s plate and snatch bits of salmon and asparagus.
“I don’t think I will go to La Jolla with George after all,” Mavis said out of the blue.
“Do you really want to?” Toots asked. “Don’t let a bunch of crazy old sex-starved women like us make your decision for you. If you want to go, I think you should.”
“I do, I mean I did, but now that I know about that . . . thing, I’m not sure. I haven’t been with another man since Herbert. He is the only man I’ve been with and—”
“—Don’t choke, Ida. Sorry, Mavis, go on,” Sophie said.
“Shut up, Sophie!” Toots admonished. She turned her attention back to Mavis. “You were talking about Herbert being the only man you’ve been with.”
Mavis rubbed the top of Coco’s tiny brown head. “Yes, well, I’m not sure if I can have a romantic relationship with George.”
Ida finally chimed in. “Can I ask if you were considering a romantic relationship with him before Toots enlightened you?”
Sophie had remained silent much too long. “Romantic relationship? Enlightened? Give me a frigging break. I swear you two act like virgins. Mavis, were you planning to screw George before you knew he needed a penis pump to get it up?”
“Sophie Manchester, you’re a crude old woman. Now shut up and let Mavis speak.” Toots turned to Mavis. “I’ll kick her if she interrupts you again.”
“And I’ll shove my foot so far up your ripe old ass, you’ll wish you’d been slapped,” Sophie said, her eyes full of mischief.
Mavis picked up where she’d left off. “I may have been. We haven’t known one another very long; I still can’t believe he’s interested in me. He’s handsome, wealthy. He has a Porsche.”
“That alone is reason enough to sleep with him?” Sophie interrupted.
“I don’t care about all those material things. We do have a lot in common, though. He has all those dry cleaners. I love to sew. George said he would take me to a fabric show someday. He goes to learn about the new fabrics and how to care for them.”
Toots thought Mavis looked happy, really happy. Her eyes sparkled, her peach-colored hair had grown out a bit and now, because she was spending so much time on the beach, she’d gained a few blond streaks. Her creamy skin was now a warm gold color. On top of all that, she’d lost another twenty pounds. She was a miracle makeover. Toots thought Mavis was beautiful. Her skill with a needle still amazed them. All the clothes Toots had purchased for her at Catherine’s in Charleston had been remade into simple and elegant designs. Toots often wondered why Mavis had never chosen a career in fashion. She had no doubt she would’ve been a roaring success.
“I think you should go. If you don’t want to have a sexual relationship, just tell him. I remember when I was married to . . . I think it was . . . I can’t remember which husband, but one of them had the same problem as George. We had a sexless marriage, but we were the best of friends. Sex isn’t everything. Love, respect, and friendship do make for a happy, satisfying life. As you all keep reminding me, I’ve been around the block a few times, so I should know.”
“This salmon is starting to smell,” Sophie said to no one in particular. “Let’s clean up and go sit on the deck. I want to smoke so bad I could die.”
“Me, too. I’ll make a pitcher of frozen strawberry daiquiris. We can get rip-roaring drunk if we want,” Toots said.
Thirty minutes later, the kitchen was so clean it sparkled, the dishes were in the dishwasher, the fishy smell long gone. Toots carried a pitcher of strawberry daiquiris and four glasses outside to the deck. This is the life, she thought, but it would never be Charleston. That was home.
Ida, Sophie, and Mavis looked comfortable as they relaxed in the bright blue-and-green-striped lounge chairs she had shelled out a small fortune for. Nothing was too good for friends and family. Now if Abby and Chris were here, this night would be close to perfect. She looked at her watch. It was too late to call either of them, as they both had to be up early for their jobs.
Toots put the tray on the patio table. “Okay, I’ll pour the first round. Raise your hand if you’re ready to get smashed.” Three hands rose high in the air. Toots filled the glasses with the sweet frozen concoction. She’d put in enough rum and strawberry schnapps to knock a 500-pound gorilla on his ass.
Tonight, Toots and her dearest friends were going to get snookered.
She’d worry about the killer hangover tomorrow.
Chapter 22
“Dear Ida found out about your nasty little fetish, didn’t she?” Mohammed asked Patel. His dark eyes were like two angry slits in his face. His angular jaws were clenched, his wide nostrils flaring with fury. “You make me sick, old man! If she goes to the police, our asses are as good as dead. You couldn’t wait, could you? No, you just had to . . . I can’t even say what you do, it is so disgusting. Did it ever occur to you that she can stop that wire transfer? You are stupid, Patel, goddamn you!”
When Patel spoke, his voice was cold and full of contempt for the arrogant punk who stood before him, the man he had treated like a son. “It is none of your concern. You and Amala may continue with your scheme to rip off the doctor. If you are smart, you will leave now and no one will be the wiser, no one gets hurt. When Dr. Sameer comes back from his sabbatical, he will discover his secretary found employment elsewhere. Amala volunteered to stay and oversee the center, remember? It was not expected by the doctor. I am sure he will find another woman or possibly a man to work for him as soon as he returns. She is not indispensable. She is trouble, I have always told you this. You laugh at me now. Someday you will wish you had listened to me, taken my advice.”
Mohammed raked a hand through his thick black hair. He hadn’t told Patel of his plan to take the redhead. Now, with Dear Ida out of the picture, Mohammed had to rethink his idea. Without the old woman, there was no reason for him to go to the beach house. Without the old woman, he had no decoy. He paced the length of the deck, jammed his hands in his pocket. “You have ruined more than you know, old man! I should kill you, feed you to the sharks. Dangerous creatures, but smart. They would spit you out and give you to the bottom feeders.” To emphasize his point, he spit on Patel’s shoes.
Mohammed turn
ed toward the railing that encircled the deck. Before he had time to react, Patel shoved him against the wooden ledge and used his left hand to hold Mohammed down. The younger man tried to free himself, but Patel was too quick. The old man elbowed him in the throat, making it almost impossible for him to breathe. Mohammed tried to escape from his death grip, but Patel had the advantage as he towered above him. With his free hand, he slammed Mohammed’s head against the wooden ledge. Once, then again and again, he bashed the younger man’s head against the hard wood as blood spewed forth like a fountain and soaked the wood of the deck.
“Stop it! You will kill him!” Amala screamed. She ran up behind Patel and jumped on his back, wrapping her arms around his eyes so he couldn’t see. He tossed her aside like a limp rag doll. She hit the deck hard, but not hard enough to stop her from inching her way across the floor of the deck and sneaking behind him.
“Do not move, or I will break his neck!” Patel shouted. His senses heightened by the rush of adrenaline, he was aware of Amala as she crawled toward him. “I mean it, Amala!” To prove his point, Patel raised his right leg and thrust it out behind him. In one swift motion, using the heel of his boot, he crushed the delicate cartilage in Amala’s nose. He heard her quick intake of breath, then a thud as her limp body dropped against the wooden deck.
“Are you getting my point, Mohammed?” Patel asked, raising his knee, catching Mohammed in the kidney. “I told you never to betray me! You did not listen. This is what I do to people who betray me!” Patel was so enraged, he continued to smash Mohammed’s head against the wood, stopping himself when he felt a chunk of flesh hit his face.
He tossed Mohammed’s motionless body next to Amala’s. He reached down to feel for a pulse and found that both were still alive. He would not kill them, as that was not his way.
Patel’s style was to make them wish he had killed them.
It was after midnight, and Abby wasn’t the least bit tired. She watched two Lifetime movies, both sappy love stories that left her with tears streaming down her face. Like her mother, Abby loved happily ever after. Chester was curled up next to her, his heavy body warming her feet, which were tucked beneath his belly. Not wanting to wake him, but knowing if she didn’t move soon her legs would fall asleep, she slowly pulled her feet out from under the big pooch one inch at a time. When she had both feet out, she tiptoed quietly to the kitchen. She’d left her laptop on the table when she’d come home earlier, and now she was glad that she had. She hit the ON switch, and while she waited for the computer to boot up, filled the teakettle with water, twisted the knob on the stove to the highest setting, and took a mug out of the cupboard. She grabbed a chamomile tea bag from the box on the counter and dropped it into the mug.
While she was waiting for the water to heat, she logged on to her e-mail account. She had several e-mails from her staff, but one in particular caught her attention. She’d sent the e-mail out earlier that morning, and was surprised she’d received an answer so quickly. She skimmed the e-mail, then opened the attachment. Using Word to convert the file from Mac, Abby jumped when she heard the teakettle whistle. “Shit. I know what that means.”
Chester was terrified of the teakettle’s high-pitched whistle. Abby always tried to remove it from the burner before it whistled, but sometimes she missed. When that happened, poor Chester always howled like a wolf, just as he was doing now. She stooped down to rub his belly, then between his ears. When he’d calmed down enough for her to step away, she filled her mug with hot water, careful not to trip over Chester as he rolled over, apparently deciding to sprawl out in the middle of the floor of her small kitchen. She grabbed a doggie treat from the canister. “Just so you know, this isn’t a reward for good behavior.”
Abby crab-walked over Chester, careful not to spill her tea. She pulled out her chair and sat down to read the file she’d received. She skimmed the information, impressed with what she read, though it was no surprise to her, because Dr. Pauley had recommended Dr. Sameer, praised his success in curing patients afflicted with obsessive-compulsive disorder. She ran down the lengthy list of his credentials. A Harvard man, graduated in the top tenth of his class. Very impressive. No wonder Dr. Pauley gave him his gold star seal of approval. She perused the rest of the lengthy document, finding nothing even remotely negative. He had no police record. His driving history was perfect, not even a parking ticket. She continued to read through a laundry list of awards he’d received throughout his career, then stopped. Wait a minute, this can’t be right, she thought. Abby scrolled through the document to the beginning. The dates had to be wrong. Squinting, Abby leaned in close to the laptop monitor, reading the dates again. If the dates were right, and she was sure they weren’t, Dr. Sameer was only forty-two years old.
Abby minimized the screen with the document, then maximized her server’s front page. She clicked on the Google link. As soon as the search engine appeared, she typed in Dr. Sameer’s name, then hit search. There were over a million hits. Damn, this guy must be good. Abby clicked on the blue hyperlink. The home page for the Center for Mind and Body appeared. Nice, easy to navigate. Abby clicked on the link that read MEET DR. SAMEER AND HIS STAFF.
This wasn’t right, it couldn’t be. Abby clicked on the link that read INSIDE THE CENTER FOR MIND AND BODY. Yes, this is where Ida was treated. Abby clicked back to MEET DR. SAMEER AND HIS STAFF. Three nurses, one physician assistant, two office aides, one office manager.
Two and two was not adding up to four. She glanced at the clock on the stove. Almost one in the morning. She debated calling her mother. It was late, and Abby was sure her mother and the godmothers were fast asleep.
She clicked through every link on the center’s home page. The last link read, A NOTE FROM DR. SAMEER. Abby moved her cursor over the blue letters, then clicked on the link. A small picture of Dr. Sameer wearing a white lab coat smiled down at her from the upper left corner of the page. This was not good. No. Something was definitely awry. Before she had second thoughts, Abby grabbed her cell phone from the charger, punching in Chris’s home number. He was a night owl like her, so she didn’t care about calling at such a late hour. A brief thought flashed through her mind; what if a female answered? She would hang up, of course. Three rings. Hell, for all she knew Chris was out with some two-bit actress.
“Chris Clay.”
Abby was so relieved she was momentarily stunned when she heard his voice.
“Chris, you’re home,” she said, then wished she could yank back the words. She did not want him to suspect that she was suspicious of his whereabouts. Lame, Abby, lame.
“Where else would I be at one o’clock in the morning?”
“I haven’t a clue. Listen, I have something I want you to see. Are you near your computer?”
“I can be in 1.2 seconds. I’m there now.”
God, she loved this man’s sense of humor.
“Go to Google and type in Dr. Benjamin Sameer.”
“Okay.”
Abby heard the keys clicking as he typed. “When your results show, click on the link for the home page for the Center for Mind and Body.” More computer clicks.
“I’m there, now what?”
“Go to the links on the right side of the page. Click the hyperlink that says ‘Meet Dr. Sameer and his staff.’ I’ll wait while you read through it.”
“Hmm, give me a minute,” Chris said.
“When you’re finished, find the link at the very bottom of the page that says ‘A Note from Dr. Sameer.’ I’ll wait.”
“Good, because I’m a slow reader.”
“Sure you are,” she teased.
“Wait until you really get to know me. I’m not only a slow reader, but I’m very slow in other areas, too.”
She heard his soft chuckle. Damn, if this wasn’t a form of phone sex, she didn’t know what was. She was not going to dignify that comment with an answer, no matter how sexy she thought it was.
“This isn’t the same doctor Ida is seeing, is it?” Chri
s asked, all traces of humor gone.
“No, but she goes to the Center for Mind and Body. I looked at the address and the picture. It’s definitely where she’s been going the past couple of months.”
“Then who has been treating Ida? It doesn’t say anything about another doctor taking over while he’s on sabbatical. Of course that doesn’t mean there isn’t one. Maybe he referred his patients to this doctor treating Ida, and he just didn’t post this to the Web site.”
Abby twirled her hair in a knot. “I suppose it’s possible, but with the same name?”
“Abs, they’re probably related. I bet the older Dr. Sameer is his father.”
“True, but what about the rest of the staff? Where are they? I distinctly remember mom telling me that Dr. Sameer’s daughter worked at the center. She’s the receptionist or secretary. Neither Ida nor Mom has ever mentioned any other employees.”
“Are you really worried about this, Abs?”
“Right now I’m more concerned than worried.”
“This just hit me. Why were you doing Google searches on Dr. Sameer?”
“I’ve had too much tea. Mom took me aside and asked me if I or someone at the paper could check into Dr. Sameer’s past. She said there was something about him that didn’t ring true. She didn’t have anything specific to add, just that she was suspicious. I put one of my second-stringers on this earlier today. I was ready to call it a night, then I decided I’d better check my e-mail, just in case. I saw I’d received a response. And you know the rest.”
“Are you up for taking a ride to the beach?”
Hell yes! She’d go anywhere with Chris. The moon. End of the earth. Pink’s.
“Mom will kill me if this turns out to be nothing.”
“And if it isn’t?”
“Then Ida will kill me. She’s been dating him ever since he cured her OCD.”
“Can you be ready in half an hour?”
“Shit, in half an hour I can be decked out ready to attend the presidential inauguration.”
Fern Michaels' Godmothers Bundle: The Scoop, Exclusive, Late Edition, Deadline & Breaking News Page 43
