Hooked

by Polly Iyer

He started back to his car, then remembered something Tawny said at the beach about her neighbor watering her plants. Bet he had a key to her apartment. Wonder if she left an appointment book around. He went back to the bank of buzzers and hit the button below Tawny’s with the name Tony Ambrosio on a plastic strip. Tawny’s bell had no name, but they were in vertical order, top floor on top.

  “Yeah,” a gruff voice answered.

  “NYPD,” Linc said.

  “What’ya want?”

  “Buzz me in and I’ll tell you.” He heard a grumble before the intercom switched off, but the buzzer popped the door. Linc bypassed the ancient elevator and took the stairs. The aroma of curry wafting from the second floor turned into the odor of paint when the third floor door opened and a thin, wiry man covered in paint-spattered overalls stood waiting. His black hair was pulled into a pony tail, revealing two earrings, and he was wiping his hands on a wet cloth. Large abstract canvases sat on easels behind him, similar to a painting he’d seen on Tawny’s wall.

  Linc flipped open his badge case and introduced himself.

  “Sorry, I’m a mess. What’s this about?”

  “I’m looking for Tawny Dell.”

  Ambrosio let out a snort. “Ha. You and every man in New York.”

  “No, not that way.”

  “What way then?”

  “She’s, um, a friend.”

  “So it is that way. Jeez, even with the cops.” He unleashed a giant grin. “She’s something, ain’t she?”

  Linc wanted to start over. “No, you don’t understand. We really are friends. I was supposed to meet her here, and she’s not home.”

  “Well, you couldn’t be much of a friend if you don’t know she’s out of here by nine on Tuesdays for her group. So you must be here on…business.”

  Huh? Group? What? Therapy, book club, yoga? “I’m friend enough to know she never does business here. Not that business.” Linc’s uneasiness must have shown, because Ambrosio grinned.

  “How about an espresso?” he asked.

  “No, thanks. I really need to find Tawny. She may be in danger.” That got through to him and the man turned serious. “It’s important,” Linc added.

  “She’s not in any trouble, is she? ’Cause I won’t say anything if I’ll get her in trouble.”

  “No trouble. Honest. Tell me where she is.”

  “She’s a docent at the Metropolitan a couple of hours a week.”

  “Docent?”

  “Don’t you cops know anything? It’s like a guide. No money to the job, but it’s kind of a neat thing, and you gotta be special to be selected. She has a doctorate in art history, ya know.”

  “Yeah, I know.” So that’s why she was there before meeting Cooper. “Hey, thanks. And don’t worry. She’s not in any trouble from me.”

  “Sure you don’t want a shot of caffeine to go? You might need it.”

  But Linc was halfway down the stairs at Ambrosio’s last word, making a beeline for his car, which was now blocked by a delivery van. He played the badass cop one more time, and the delivery driver moved to let him out. In a hurry.

  Wending his way through traffic, he chastised himself for thinking the worst of Tawny and wondered why he was so ready to put her in bed with a john. So ready not to believe in her after she said she’d given up the life. Was he overreacting concerning Tawny’s safety? She gave no indication anyone thought she was prying where she shouldn’t. But she really didn’t have time to tell him everything. Maybe someone was.

  Dirk Hansen’s murder had Linc uptight, and if Cindi Dyson met a similar fate, then someone connected to Upper Eighties would stop at nothing to keep things from unraveling. Didn’t they realize by bumping off those they perceived as threatening, they were inviting scrutiny of the very people they feared?

  Pulling into a rare spot in front of a quick shop near 82nd, he crossed diagonally to the Fifth Avenue entrance of the museum. He asked at the information desk where he might find Tawny Dell without showing his badge. He didn’t want to do anything to expose her dark side.

  The woman referred to a guide. “Oh, you mean Dr. Dell? Let me check.” She flipped through what Linc figured was the day’s schedule. “Right through there,” she said, pointing to his left. “She’s almost finished with her tour, but you can listen in.”

  Linc lined up at the counter to get his entrance button and left a donation, then walked into another century, into another civilization. Tawny was speaking to a group of rapt listeners. She gazed up and saw him. Without missing a beat, she continued her explanation of the depiction on a Grecian urn. Linc stood in back and listened. So much for johns.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Breakfast Interruptus

  After the kids left, Benny went back to bed. He’d suffered through another sleepless night, and after reading about Dirk Hansen this morning, he doubted tonight’s sleep would be much better. He managed to nod off, but visions of Hansen and lovely Cindi, her broken body suspended in space, jarred him awake. Were the cops on to Upper Eighties? Would they barge in, snap on the cuffs, and haul him away?

  Eileen brought a second cup of coffee to the bedroom, along with the newspaper, and left him to enjoy a morning in bed. She had no idea what was going on in his head, and he didn’t want to worry her by venting. No doubt she’d be back to cheer him out of his doldrums.

  He wanted to ignore his chiming cell since the only news lately had been bad. He looked at the readout. Colin. Colin rarely called, but when he did it was something Benny didn’t want to hear. He braced himself for the worst.

  “Thought you should know this, Benny,” his tech guru said. “That Dell woman was asking all sorts of questions. ’Fraid Charles might have said too much. A couple of the girls too.”

  Benny put down the coffee cup and looked up at the ceiling. He didn’t see the black cloud, but he knew it was there, floating over his head like a curse. Did he really want to know this? “What was she asking?”

  “Darlene said she was asking about the girls. How many worked here, who they were? Like that.”

  “What’s wrong with that? She asked me too. She’s trying to be friendly, get a feel for the place.”

  “Yeah, but when one of the girls let slip that Cindi hasn’t shown up in a more than a week, she pumped Charles for her last name, saying maybe Cindi was a friend she’d lost touch with. Darlene said she kinda tricked him.”

  Benny’s stomach took a dive. He pushed the paper off his thighs and reached for the drawer in the bedside table. Where in hell were his antacids? He belched and belched again, but it didn’t relieve the acidic burning sensation gnawing like hot coals in his gut. “Eileen,” he called. Take it easy, Benny.

  “I’m sure it’s innocent curiosity, Colin. You know how women are. Always gossiping. Nothing out of the ordinary. It’s not like she’s a spy or anything. Who’s she gonna tell? Relax. Tawny Dell came with well-established bona fides. She’s been turning tricks for more than a dozen years. More than anyone working at Upper Eighties.”

  “All right, just saying.”

  “Maybe, to be on the safe side, you should tell everyone to keep their mouths shut about Cindi, not that anyone knows what happened to her except Melody. And you, me, and Reggie, of course.” And Eileen, he thought. “No, wait. Just remind them not to discuss Upper Eighties’ business. If we mention Cindi, it might make them suspicious.”

  “You think Melody talked?”

  “No. Do what I told you, and we’ll be fine. We can’t be too careful. I’ll talk to Charles myself and then to Tawny on Thursday when she has her second appointment. I’ve arranged a very special client. Reserve the same room, and make sure there’s champagne―Dom Perignon 2000 Brut―and some hors d’oeuvres, this time. You know the drill.”

  “Done, Benny. I guess if you aren’t worried about the other thing, neither am I.”

  “Glad we’re on the same page.” Benny flipped his cell closed and massaged eyes that felt like they were filled with acid.
/>   “What was all that about? What about Tawny Dell?” Eileen plopped down on the bed next to him.

  “Oh, nothing. Darlene got suspicious because Tawny was asking about the girls, especially Cindi.”

  “Really? Why would she do that?”

  Benny lost his train of thought when he removed his massaging fingers from his eyes and saw his wife. She wore the one-piece jumpsuit she wore only for him at home and only when the kids weren’t there. She’d be arrested if she wore it anywhere else. It showed off her curves and had cutouts for her boobs and pussy. Her naked body was ultra-sexy, but this little number got him hard on sight. He could go right to work without undressing her, and a little tug of the Velcro seam up the back made getting it off a snap. He wanted her to manufacture them, but she said then it wouldn’t be special for him anymore. She had a point.

  “You look yummy enough to eat.” He pulled her down on the bed. “Two minutes ago I had a headache, burning eyes, and acid reflux. Now, I’m ready to boink my wife.”

  Eileen pulled away, even though her breast was in Benny’s mouth. “Who’s the client you have lined up for Tawny Dell?”

  “You know I never talk names,” Benny gurgled, unwilling to release his mouthful.

  “I know you almost never get involved in setting up clients too, Benny. So I’d say it’s an interesting reversal that you’re doing it now.”

  He backed off his hold on Eileen’s mammary. “Come on, baby. You sound almost jealous. You know you’re the only one who matters in my life.” He groped back to the opening in her jumpsuit, but she pushed him away, getting up―something she never did. Rooted to her breast, he moved right along with her until he almost fell off the bed.

  “I put up with a lot from you, Benny. You claim to be my one and only, yet you’re off banging someone else at least twice a week. Would that make sense to you if I did it?”

  “You do,” he mumbled, wiping drool from his mouth.

  “What? How can you say that?”

  Benny sat back, kind of pissed his breakfast nipple had retreated. “Come on, Eileen. I know you’re not schmoozing with those snooty Junior League women every day. You can’t stand them. Nor are you doing whatever those women in garden clubs are supposed to do when they’re not attending those stupid luncheons. You get dressed up, poke your head into those meetings, leave, then get into your Lexus―a car I pay for, by the way―and hop over to the club to play tennis. You do that whenever I’m gone, but the only balls you see are between the legs of that empty-headed pro, what’s his name?”

  Eileen stood with her legs spread and her hands on her hips, her breasts flushed as pink as her face. “Which one? There are two of them.”

  “I suppose the one who isn’t banging Herb Mokler’s wife. Or maybe you two are playing doubles. How the hell do I know?” Benny sat up straighter. “You must think I’m dense as shit. To quote a cliché, leopards don’t change their spots. You and I are sex junkies. It’s what got us together, and it’s what started Upper Eighties. You knew my conditions when we married. All this,” he waved his arms around the house, “and future security, to ignore my minor peccadilloes. Do you think I don’t understand the goose/gander thing? I just don’t want to know. But you had to bring it up, and all because you’re jealous of Tawny Dell. You knew who she was. You’re clever, but you’re a lousy liar.”

  “I am not jealous.” She collapsed on the edge of the bed. “Well,” she trilled, “maybe a little.”

  “She’s business. I told you her conditions. No freebies from management. That’s me, and Colin wouldn’t have her if she put it in his mouth. So what’s disturbing you?”

  “That you might think she’s better than me.”

  “I told you, no freebies. What part don’t you understand? Besides, no one’s better than you, sweetie. You’re the mother of my children, my business collaborator, my favorite sex partner. What more do you want? Monogamy?” He patted the bed. “Now, come over here. Daddy’s had a bad week. He’s overwhelmed with anxiety. He needs a release of tension.” Another bed pat.

  Eileen sniffled and shuffled to the bed, her tits swaying in rhythm. Benny knew she did it on purpose, and he loved every undulating beat of her luscious boobs. By the time she threw one leg over his thighs, he had a boner the size of a 2 x 4.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  One More Night

  Tawny saw Lincoln Walsh slip into the gallery. Even though she found it irritating earlier when he told her—no, ordered her—to wait for him, then hung up before she could tell him she wouldn’t be there, her heartbeat did a little dance when she saw him. What was the big rush anyway? You’d think her life had been threatened.

  She couldn’t wait for him and be late. This was her assigned time, and her boss expected her. She loved her mornings at the museum, and even though she repeated some of the same things every tour, she fed off the interest of her tour group, who were now enthralled by her explanation of the painting on an Egyptian vase that provided a rare example of the actual painting process of the time, encaustic. Leaning closer, Tawny pointed to the figures on the vase as they mixed the pigments with wax to paint a sculpture of Herakles, while Zeus and Nike presided and Herakles himself surveyed his image. Though the backside of the vase was less accessible, she explained the depiction of Athena and other Gods. She wanted her audience to appreciate the painting as a record of life at that time, but also to understand the mythology. She moved from one piece to another to another. Before she knew, the hour’s allotted time had run out. She accepted thanks from the group and answered a couple of questions before they scattered to either another guide or their individual meanderings through the museum.

  “I learned something this morning,” Linc said.

  “There’s lots to learn, even for me.”

  “You did good, Doctor.” His tone sounded sincere, with no hint of sarcasm for once.

  “Thanks. So now you know what I do in my spare time. Surprised?

  “Not at all.”

  She snickered.

  “Well, okay, a little surprised.”

  “You obviously went to my apartment, and when I wasn’t there, what did you think about my appointment?” When he didn’t answer, she snickered again. “Can’t get past it, can you, Walsh?”

  He grimaced. “Can we go somewhere and talk? Is there a coffee shop?”

  “There are a few, but the one downstairs is probably the most casual. At the main entrance you’ll see a sign that reads Cafeteria and the New American Wing. Go straight back as far as you can, through Medieval and Vienna Porcelain to the Lehman Collection, then go down the stairs. I have to do some things first. I’ll meet you in a few minutes.”

  “Coffee?” he asked.

  “Great, thanks.” He nodded and took off. Sure, he thought she was with a client. She could tell by his embarrassment when she called him on it. Tony must have told him where she was. Walsh probably pulled his badge and Tony would have told him his bank account number if he was asked. Sweet Tony. She couldn’t expect him to hold back from the cops.

  Tawny signed out and headed for the cafeteria. She found Walsh at a back table in the room. Two coffees and a plate of pastries shared the table. She took a seat.

  “Now, what’s all the fuss about?” she asked.

  “The picture of the guy I showed you? You know, the one with the streaked hair?”

  “What about him?”

  “He’s dead, found early this morning in a Dumpster in Hell’s Kitchen. When I interviewed his ex-wife, she said his new girlfriend’s name was Cindi.”

  Tawny didn’t say anything for a long moment. She couldn’t. The words froze in her throat. “Cindi is the one the doorman referred to in the past tense. He said her name was Cindi Dyson. Not is, Walsh. Was. She’s dead. I know it.”

  “We have enough to close down the place. Someone’s killing off the girls.”

  A funny feeling churned in the pit of Tawny’s stomach. Things were coming together in a way she didn’t quite
understand, and it concerned Mario and Colin and a member of Mario’s inner circle. Someone he was willing to protect. Why? Could it be tied to Cindi? Was that why Mario showed up at Upper Eighties? He didn’t need to go there for a woman. Mario could have a woman delivered to his apartment every night of the week if he wanted. No, Mario went there to tell Benny to keep whatever happened quiet. But what happened, exactly? She couldn’t mention her suspicions to Walsh until she found out more. With Mario involved, if he was involved, she felt the noose tightening around her throat.

  “You still don’t have proof Sarah Marshall worked at Upper Eighties.”

  “One of our guys is questioning Melody Carnes now. You want to bet she rolls on Benny?”

  “Find out what she knows. If she says Sarah worked at Upper Eighties, I’m out of there. If not, you have to give me until Thursday to find out. Go on, call him.”

  Linc punched in Dennis’s number, asked his question, and listened. He turned to Tawny after he broke the connection. “She’s gone. Neighbor said she left yesterday with a suitcase.”

  “See? I can give you a hundred reasons why she left. Would you believe my parents think I’ve worked here for the last fifteen years, with modeling jobs on the side? It’s what women like me do to protect our secret lives. Melody Carnes won’t allow the whole world to find out what she does, even if she’s covering up something she shouldn’t.”

  “She’ll go to jail.”

  “She’s waiting it out, hoping the problem will pass so she doesn’t have to lie. You have to let me go in one more time.” She leaned forward across the table. “These women won’t talk, and I doubt their clients will either. Benny’s too smart to leave a hard copy of his client list. Colin must have it on his laptop, and it’s password-protected. I checked.”

  “You opened the computer? What if someone saw you?”

  “I was in the office legitimately. Benny has a bank of mailboxes where he leaves the money so he never pays the girls directly. While I was there, I booted up the computer, doubting I’d ever get into the program, but I thought it was worth a try. Colin is the only one who knows the code. Maybe Benny.”