Nip, Tuck, Dead

by Lori Avocato

  “Umm. Fine. We’re…” Suddenly he lifted me up and all my motion worries vanished.

  The bright sun had settled below the horizon, casting a reddish-pink glow across the sky and water. The waves seemed to calm in order to give us a few special minutes to…

  How fabulous!

  I figured Neal knew what he was talking about by letting the boat float around all by itself. What’s the worst that could happen anyway?

  We’d drift out to sea and have to spend more time together?

  “I seem to be getting my money’s worth-” I kissed him behind the ear and amid his moans finished with, “-out of this date.”

  A deep chuckle tickled my cheek. Neal’s arms were around me, over me, and like some testosterone-soaked octopus, on every wonderful part of me. Getting a little rough, but guys will be guys.

  This time we moaned in pleasure together.

  “Ever made love out at sea?” he asked against my cheek.

  I paused. There was that one cruise I’d taken, but with all the murders, making love had not been on my itinerary. “Nope.”

  Neal lifted me up and carried me toward the stairs, which led down to a cabin-the likes of which were fancier than my condo at home, and I’d never tell Miles that since he owned and decorated it.

  The sandstone walls were circular, as were the mahogany dressers built into said walls, which surrounded a-you guessed it-circular bed. Gold, brown and navy striped covers neatly sat on the mattress with pillow shams, with drapes and two stuffed chairs to match.

  Very nautical bachelor.

  “Beautiful,” I said as he set me down on the duvet. “You the interior decorator?”

  He chuckled. “Surgeons-make that most men in general-are not very good at that stuff.”

  Then who was? Damn it! I had no business asking that question.

  While I chastised myself, Neal busied himself with removing my jacket, unbuttoning my blouse and slipping it off. He then very gently set it on the bedside chair. How cute.

  Not the most spontaneous person around, I asked again, “Are you sure no one needs to be upstairs driving this thing?”

  “I’m sure, Pauline. I’ve been sailing since I was about nine.” Oops. I thought I’d just insulted him. He gently undid my pink locket and carefully set it on the pile of my clothing.

  “But you’re not sailing.” He nuzzled my neck at the spot just below my jawline. Oh…wow. Good thing he’d taken off the locket or it might have accidentally sprayed him. That would be a real sexual deal breaker for sure.

  “She’s well-equipped with instruments, lights, an anchor and all kinds of fancy stuff so that we can…do what the hell we want down here. Besides, it’s a quiet night, but with the bright full moon any other boats that pass by will clearly see us. Stop worrying.”

  I hadn’t even thought of another boat ramming into us. “Thanks for that,” I said.

  Neal lifted me up slightly to yank the duvet and covers down. The sheets had to have been woven with a thousand thread count. I felt as if I could slide right off the side with the tilt and roll of the boat.

  And my mind had been too preoccupied with Neal to remember that earlier I’d felt like seasick crap.

  I did yawn again.

  “No, it’s not the company,” I said as I undid the zipper on Neal’s jacket.

  Soon he was only in his jeans-and I realized I had a real “thing” for shirtless, well-built jean-clad guys.

  I, however, had my jeans gingerly removed in one sensual moment by Neal. Hey, he was a doctor for crying out loud!

  My vision blurred a bit as another damn yawn snuck out. Although I didn’t want to admit it, the damn Benadryl had knocked me for a loop. Shit. I decided staying “active” would help keep me awake.

  Neal bent over to lift his jacket and shirt up from the floor. I had to smile to myself at the guy’s perfection qualities. Jagger would have walked all over both of our clothing without a thought.

  But the doc pulled his red shirt from the jacket, folded it, stuck it on the bedside stand and started to fold the shirt.

  “Force of habit. I’ll be right with…”

  Neal was talking. I knew it because I could hear his voice. But I wasn’t comprehending a thing as I watched him fold his shirt so carefully.

  Red.

  Expensive looking.

  Hmm. Intriguing.

  Shirt with the one side pocket…missing a tiny piece.

  Twenty-Four

  I knew it wasn’t the Benadryl that had my mouth drier than the sandy beaches of Newport. No. It was Neal. Neal folding his shirt. The red, expensive shirt. The fabric that looked exactly like the swatch I’d found on the bushes of Cliff Walk where Ian had died.

  Suicide?

  I didn’t think so.

  Perfect Neal was wearing this particular red shirt as if mocking me. Giving me some kind of signal. Yikes.

  Neal set the shirt on top of his jacket and turned back.

  My jaw dropped.

  Apparently he was better at reading body language than I was at hiding my reaction. His look became rather ominous, eyes darkening, face scowling.

  He knew, just knew, that I had caught on about the shirt.

  “Goddamn it, Pauline.”

  I wrinkled my forehead and tried to chuckle. “What?” I asked, moving to the side with the hopes that maybe I was wrong. Maybe he wasn’t as crafty as I’d given him credit for. Or should I say devious? “I’m fine.” I tried to sit, but he pulled me back. “I have to use the powder room.” And get my pepper spray.

  He looked at me and shook his head.

  This time that body language said, “Doesn’t matter. You ain’t going anywhere. We have things to do.”

  In my gut I knew Dr. Neal Forsyth wasn’t talking sex here.

  And in my medical opinion, Neal brought me out there for one specific reason, and in the interim he snapped. Snapped like a twig. I could see it in his eyes. The guy was nuts.

  I had to think fast.

  “Let me go, Neal.” I leaned over and tried to kiss him on the cheek (as a diversion despite my nearly gagging), but he pushed me away.

  Oh, boy.

  This was not looking good.

  Suddenly Neal was standing above me, and with his shirt off looked more like my older brother than the young doctor that he was. I pushed myself over to the other side of the bed and stared at him.

  That ominous, dark look deepened in his eyes…and I realized…Neal Forsyth was not as young as I thought he was.

  The guy must have had plastic surgery.

  Oh, yeah. Neal probably had BDD too-or was hiding something.

  Or had plastic surgery to change his appearance. Oh…my…God.

  How could I have not noticed before? Okay, I cut myself some slack since it was so dark in Forsyth Manor the other night, Neal didn’t take off his shirt, which should have been some kind of clue, and I’d had…maybe a bit too much expensive alcohol.

  I moved one way.

  He followed.

  I had to do something fast. “Oh, are we role playing here?” The words slipped out of my mouth in hopes that Neal would believe that I thought he was kidding. Then I could get away from him-and go where?

  “Yeah, Pauline. We’re role playing.” He came to my side of the bed and looked down.

  I tried to ease back and grab my jeans.

  If something menacing was going to happen-and my gut was screaming that it was-I certainly didn’t want to be found in my floral pink undies.

  I knew I needn’t worry since shark bait didn’t need to follow any fashion trends. Who the hell would ever see? I gave up trying to grab my pants and concentrated on what to do.

  Save my life came to mind.

  I yawned and felt my body getting lighter. My arms actually felt heavy, and I knew if I had to get up and run, my legs would fight me. The Benadryl could be my undoing here.

  Benadryl that Neal had “encouraged” me to take.

  All right, I’d been in th
is situation before. Facing the murderer and probably fraud criminal too. But despite my getting through it unscathed before, my mind was so woozy that I couldn’t remember what I’d done.

  So I said a silent prayer.

  Neal grabbed my arm. “Get up.”

  “I’m cold. At least let me stick my jeans back on.” I tried to pull away, but he held me tightly. I told myself I should poke his eyes with my nails, but the damn antihistamine really had done a number on me and I could barely focus.

  Why was I so vain that I didn’t want to barf in front of a hunky doctor?

  “What are you doing, Neal? I thought we were…I mean…I really wanted to-” I leaned forward and whispered in his ear (all the while fighting back the nausea my words caused), “-make love to you. Real hot, naughty nurse sex, I’m talking.”

  Long shot. Sure. But a guy was a guy was a guy.

  For a few seconds he started to cave. I could feel him stiffening next to me so I continued prostituting myself in order to…live…and stiffen him.

  I kissed him behind the ear and his grip loosened.

  Sometimes survival was all out sickening.

  “Neal, what happened? I mean, I thought you were younger than you appear.” I ran my fingers through his hair and nearly groaned in disgust. But a girl had to do what a girl had to do to get out of this treacherous situation. “Um, not that you still aren’t a hunk,” I lied, trying to appeal to his vanity.

  He started kissing me back.

  Bingo.

  I swallowed hard so bile wouldn’t rise up in my throat. When faced in a life or death situation, I realized it was an out-of-body experience and pretended this really wasn’t me.

  It wasn’t me he was kissing.

  It wasn’t my neck he was breathing heavily on.

  It wasn’t me Neal would have sex with-then flip overboard.

  It was me thinking over my dead body.

  But I did keep my mind on the problem at hand, all the while fighting like hell to stay coherent. I knew I could never take him, especially on the Benadryl jag, so I had to keep my wits about me and use my brain.

  “What is really going on, sweetie? You were kinda scaring me for a few minutes.” I tried to chuckle, but it came out a strangled sound.

  He eased back as he tried to undo the buttons on my top.

  To buy time, I took his fingers from the clothing and kissed each one very slowly and deliberately. Ick.

  “It has to end, Pauline. It has to end,” he whispered near my ear.

  He wasn’t talking finger kissing, that much I was certain-and hoped to hell that I wasn’t the “it” he’d just mentioned. “What, Neal? What has to end?”

  Slowly his hands relaxed and he eased me down on the bed. But thank goodness he balanced himself on his arms. Then he looked so very odd. Almost as if in another world. Neal really wasn’t with me right then as he said, “The deception. The killing. My own brother.”

  My heart stopped.

  When it started again, my hands were shaking so badly I worried Neal would notice. Don’t show fear to the enemy became my motto-although it was much easier to repeat in my head than to actually do. “Deception?” The killing could wait since I figured out that he must have pushed Ian off the cliff. But was Ian his brother? How to get away from this wacko?

  “I told Mother this could never work. She’s never left me alone in my life. Never.” Tears streamed down his cheeks, falling onto my chest.

  How I wanted to push him away before I vomited, but my strength hadn’t returned despite the adrenaline that pulsed through my body. Besides, Neal had gotten me confused. Mother? In past cases I’d learned to get the murderers, who usually loved to brag, to confess more and more once they got on a roll.

  Neal was almost there.

  And Neal was no longer rational.

  The question was, what the hell would I do with the information since getting off this yacht alive looked…like a slim chance.

  For a second I shut my eyes and prayed again, asking Saint Theresa for a miracle.

  Neal looked up, his tear-filled eyes eerily glassy. He wasn’t seeing me any longer. But he was still talking.

  “She should have stayed in Europe where she could have made a life for us. Damn her for dragging me here. I could have been a doctor in Austria and never gotten into this mess.”

  This mess? I needed to know more about this mess. “I’m not following, Neal. Mess?”

  He didn’t acknowledge me talking, but as if in a trance continued, “Killing Ian because the fool fell in love with Mr. Perlman.”

  I gasped. My Goldie!

  On one hand it was handy that Neal had snapped and started confessing, but on the other…I sure didn’t like his admissions.

  Neal shifted his weight from one arm to the other. I glanced down to see he was in no “readiness” for sex (thank you, Saint Theresa), so I didn’t try to push him off but lay there listening.

  “Because they are gay?” I asked, fishing for clues.

  Neal scowled at me. “Because Ian’s loyalty shifted. He was going to risk our moneymaking surgical scheme for love. Love. Ha!”

  I tried to weed through what he’d said, clearly admitting to the fraud, yet what else?

  “Mother could have been set for life if she could only control herself.”

  “Control,” I muttered in a subliminal sort of way so as not to pull Neal from his rambling.

  He relaxed a bit, crushing into my chest, but I took a long deep breath and remained silent. “I did all that surgery on her, and when she came to America and married Chandler I was nearly twenty…”

  Chandler? Olivia Wheaton-Chandler was Neal’s mother!

  Wait a minute! Nearly twenty? That would make Neal closer to fifty than thirty. Eek! I shivered at the thought. Thank goodness we didn’t do more the other day, but too bad it was so dark, I would have noticed that he was older then.

  “What happened to Chandler?”

  Neal looked at me oddly, as if I should have known. “Heart attack is what the autopsy said.” He grinned an evil look, and I knew he and Olivia had probably given Mr. Chandler some medication to cause the attack-so she could get all his money. How convenient to have a doctor for a son. One who could invent a person. No wonder Adele couldn’t find anything about Olivia’s earlier life.

  There was no Olivia.

  Probably Olivia-not even her real name, I imagined-married for money-and murdered for the same.

  “Your mother looks much younger.” I didn’t expound since I wanted to just shift his direction. The locket was still too far out of reach. Damn it.

  In a rather testy tone he said, “You know I am a board certified, exemplary plastic surgeon. Mother has a penchant for younger men. Mother needs to be kept happy.”

  I’ll just bet. So Olivia was made to look younger and younger but in a very clever way so as not to attract attention to her-and so she attracted young guys like Devin. Men and money. What a combo.

  “Did she love Devin?” I asked, holding my breath as if Neal would snap out of this episode and strangle me in a second.

  “Ha, that bastard. Olivia doesn’t love anyone. She uses him as much as he uses her. But the bastard spent way beyond their means and…that’s why I had to step in to take care of Mother.”

  Made me wonder why he didn’t just “off” Devin. Maybe Mommy put the kibosh on that idea so she could keep her boy toy. Eeeeeeyew.

  So, Neal was committing fraud so that his mother could live her life of luxury. But what about Forsyth Manor?

  “Where did you get your house from?” At first I even stunned myself with that question, but faced with death, I figured I had nothing to lose. Then I had a thought: Maybe my cell would work out here, and I could at least leave a voice mail for Jagger.

  Jagger.

  Tears seeped out of the corners of my eyes. I refused to allow myself to think of any of my loved ones-as that would be my undoing. Nope. I had to keep my wits about me, fight the damn Benadryl and find
out everything from Neal.

  Neal looked off into the distance. “I really did love her. Emily. She gave birth to our daughter seventeen years ago, but died from hemorrhage, leaving me all of her inheritance. Emily was the only heir left to the Forsyth money-but it wasn’t nearly enough for Mother.”

  So to disguise himself, Neal took his wife’s maiden name and their baby. Oh…my…God. I looked him in the eye. “You are the father? Of…Lydia.”

  He didn’t even acknowledge the fact but merely said, “She was too much a reminder of her mother. I couldn’t love her.” He looked off into space and muttered, “The goddamn baby was too much of a reminder of what I could have had. What I’d lost. Well, at least I got all of the Forsyth money and house.”

  That’s it, Neal. The old glass was half full in theory.

  So Lydia’s grandmother, not aunt, raised her. Or at least let her live in the same mansion, but grow up unloved.

  But why not let her go to Yale?

  I asked Neal that question, and after him mumbling a few seconds learned that Olivia kept all of them-Neal, Devin, Ian, and Lydia-on a very short rope. If Lydia moved away, she could draw attention to the family, such as it were, and maybe even uncover their moneymaking scheme.

  That’s what Lydia had meant by only trusting family.

  She knew about the fraud, but had no choice in the matter.

  Poor kid. No wonder she talked of suicide.

  “Does your daughter know who you are?” I asked through clenched teeth.

  “No.”

  “Good,” I mumbled. She was better off not knowing.

  “So you pushed your brother off Cliff Walk so he wouldn’t go to the authorities?”

  “He already had. How ironic. He knocks off Baines, who refused to pay for Daphne’s multiple surgeries, and then found out about the diagnosis scheme we used, yet Ian too was going to bail. Poor Mother.” Neal looked me in the eyes. “And you, Ms. Sokol, investigator, are the reason we are out here. You too are not going to be allowed to ruin Mother’s scheme.”

  “How…why me, Neal? Why pay all that fund-raiser money to get me out here?”

  He laughed. The eerie sound had me stiffen.