I said gently, “Take it easy, Shay. The blame’s not all yours. I’ll print out some stuff I researched and bring it to the hospital in the morning. I was right when I said you were targeted by pros.”
“That’s what I think. Those lowlifes!”
I had returned to the computer. On the screen was an article about a party drug known as “Icebreaker.”
Now was not the time to tell Shay.
I listened to her say, “Know what those pretty boys deserve? What Dexter Money would’ve done. Daddy would’ve tracked them down and shot the sons of bitches dead. You know who feels the same way? Beryl. We talked about it—we’re going into attack mode. She’s so pissed off about what Vance did, she’s been trying to get him on the phone to unload. He won’t answer, of course. She didn’t tell you tonight?”
Through the window, I heard the shower stop, along with a woman’s muted humming. I said, “No. Beryl didn’t mention it.”
“Beryl was at the party, wasn’t she?”
“Yes.”
“I bet she was all over Eddie now that her engagement’s off. I told her I liked him a lot, so it’s practically guaranteed she’ll hit on him.”
An interesting friendship, these two women had.
I said, “Maybe they talked, I’m not sure. Eddie said to give you a hug.” He’d also said some things I wasn’t going to repeat to an engaged woman—Eddie had a thing for Shay, too.
“I don’t blame Beryl, it’s just the way she is. Probably because of what happened.”
“What’s that mean?”
There was a silence—Shay getting calmer as her brain began to put things together. “I . . . I got the impression she was going to take you aside and have an honest talk. I told her it was the best way—you’re big on honesty.”
Cupping the phone, I said, “Beryl mentioned it. Thanks.”
“But she didn’t tell you anything . . . personal? She said she would. I told her you should know where she stands. Beryl and I feel the same when it comes to the three pretty boys. All bullies, period, and guys who victimize women. If the cops don’t do their jobs, hey, what’s the alternative?”
“Beneath those beautiful faces, you both have hearts of steel.”
“Don’t make jokes. It’s the way a woman has to be. With me, you understand because you met Daddy. With Beryl, though, it’s because of something that happened when she was thirteen. It took her a long time to recover—that’s the reason she started college late. But if she didn’t tell you what happened—”
I interrupted, “Actually, she brought it up. She said you’d tell me if I asked.”
“I’d tell you?”
“Yes, that maybe you’d give me her background. So I’m asking.”
I listened carefully—also hearing a woman’s bare feet on the deck outside—as Shay said, “Well, it was on the national news, so it’s not like some deep, dark secret. Think back—it was a long time ago. Fifteen, sixteen years—you might remember. Beryl was abducted from her bedroom. Some man, they never caught him—this was in Colorado. He kept her for three days. A couple of Boy Scouts found her wandering in a state park near Boulder. That’s why her family moved to Florida.”
I was thinking, Woodward ... Colorado ... schoolgirl missing, picturing the headlines, but possibly confusing her abduction with others. One missing child is a tragedy. Hundreds of missing children, year after year, is a statistic.
I said, “No wonder she left it up to you to tell me,” turning to get a glimpse of the woman through the east window, wearing a towel like a sarong, using another to dry her hair.
“Thing is, she doesn’t mind talking about it. She doesn’t get into the details, of course. But generally, how the legal system should deal with men who do that kind of sick crap. That’s why Beryl’s the way she is.”
“Tough, you mean.”
“Yeah, tough. But also . . . well, she’s different—” Shay lowered her voice. “When it comes to men, I mean. I don’t know how Elliot put up with it for as long as he did. I don’t know if I told you, but Elliot and I were close friends.”
I said, “Were?”
“It’s a long story. Beryl has a problem with jealousy. The woman’s like a sister, Doc, but you’re family, too, which is the only reason I’m telling you this—”
I interrupted, “Let’s talk in the morning, okay?” as Beryl came through the door, still toweling her hair, but already talking, saying, “That’s an amazing shower. It’s like washing in a thunderstorm. It is rainwater, isn’t it? Nothing else leaves your hair so soft—” She stopped, seeing I was on the phone.
I held up a finger—Done in a minute—as Shay whispered, “My God, she’s there. Why didn’t you tell me?”
I said, “Glad to hear you’re better. I’ll give you a call in the morning.”
“Jesus, just you and Beryl alone?” Shay was still whispering, but talking fast. “Doc, listen to me. If she hasn’t done it already, she’ll try to get you into bed. It’s what Beryl does after breaking up with a guy. Don’t do it. Trust me—there’s a reason. I’ll tell you later. When she’s like this, she’ll say anything to get what she wants.”
Looking into Beryl’s blue-jean eyes as she walked toward me, the room suddenly warmer, I said into the phone, “Follow the doctor’s orders, that’s good advice.”
I hung up.
12
BERYL SAID, “That was Shay-shay? I told you she’d call. Did she warn you to stay away from me?”
The woman continued drying her hair, then gave her head a shake, creating a loose amber curtain that framed her face.
“Shay said you two are like sisters. And she told me what happened when you were thirteen. I hope that’s okay.”
“Hmm . . . Interesting.”
“You said I should ask.”
“That’s right. I did.” Beryl turned a tan shoulder to me, towel knotted above her breasts, inner thigh visible as she stepped toward an aquarium, skin whiter where shadows angled upward. “Did she tell you all the nasty details?”
“She said you never discuss the details. I didn’t ask, but she said it, anyway. Shay had an abusive father—I met the guy. He was about as nasty as they come. She was explaining that you two had a lot in common. It helped me understand why you want to return to Saint Arc.”
“I wish she’d given me time to tell you myself.”
I was tempted to tell Beryl she’d had ample opportunity. Instead, I said, “Don’t blame Shay. I pressed for information.”
“Do you think I’m some kind of freak now? A lot of people do. That I’m damaged goods, some kind of psychological cripple. Rescued by Boy Scouts, so I must be some helpless twit. That’s what they think. Men, especially. But some women, too.”
I said, “You’re talking about Shay.”
Beryl said, “Maybe.” She was staring at the venomous sea jellies that oscillated in the aquarium’s cool light. They were translucent prisms, living wafers of light. “We are like sisters in some ways. Territorial. Shay’s always had a thing for you. A physical thing, so she’d be defensive.” Beryl turned to me, eyes hoping for a reaction.
“If she told you that, she was kidding.”
“You didn’t know? No . . . I can see you didn’t. Shay says you’re sort of dense that way. When we first met, she had a bad case of Doc Ford— tried all the little tricks, but you never took the bait. Michael’s still jealous as hell of you. Funny—I didn’t believe her when she told me you never figured out that she was interested.”
“Maybe she had a crush. I would’ve noticed if it was anything serious.”
“It was a lot more than a crush. That’s why she asked my father to give her away at the wedding, not you. One of the reasons. She said it’d be too strange. You know, because she still has sexual feelings for you.”
Apparently there were many reasons.
“Shay will say anything to make sure that you and I . . . that we don’t become more than friends.”
I said, “Anyt
hing?” In my mind, I was replaying Shay’s warning. She’ll say anything to get what she wants.
“Well, almost anything. I love her. She’s one hard-ass girl. But she won’t be happy if she finds out what we did tonight.”
I said, “Why? We didn’t do anything wrong. You told me about Saint Arc. I made notes. We looked up some things on the Internet. Nothing wrong with that.”
“You know what I mean. It was innocent, but she’d still be jealous.”
I knew what she meant.
We’d been out in my skiff. No wind tonight, and the bay was a bio-luminescent soup, bright as emerald paint when disturbed. Beryl had stripped to bra and panties and jumped overboard—“Like jumping into a cloud of fireflies!” she told me when she surfaced. “A billion stars explode. You’ve got to try it.”
That’s why she was showering when Shay called. That’s why I was wearing nothing but running shorts and sandals.
Beryl touched a finger to the aquarium, tracing the path of a sea jelly as it descended. “I shouldn’t talk that way about Shay. You two are close. But she should be more understanding about your feelings and mine. After two years with Elliot—Mister Perfect—it’s nice to be with a guy like you.”
I said, “I’m anything but perfect. The rumors are true.”
“Are they?”
“That I’m not perfect? Yes.”
She smiled, watching the sea jellies. “It wasn’t a cut. It was a compliment. I like it here, Ford. Everything neat and orderly. It has a nice smell—sort of like living in a tree house.” She turned. “And I like you. A lot.”
I said, “You’re welcome here anytime.”
“True?”
“Yes.”
“But you’re not going to change your mind about me going to Saint Arc.”
“No.”
There was a towel next to the computer. I put it over my shoulder as I tapped the monitor, eager to change the subject. “I found this while you were outside. It’s about party drugs.”
She smiled. “I’ve heard of them.” Said it as if I was the naïve one, not her.
“Well, maybe there’s one you haven’t heard of. A friend told me about an amphetamine derivative that’s popular at resorts in Jamaica.”
“The tall hippie-looking guy?”
“That’s him. Guys slip it into girls’ drinks. Or they soak marijuana in it. The medical abbreviation is MDA—methylenedioxyamphetamine. It could explain your behavior that night.”
“They drugged us? I kind of suspected it. More than just the grass, I mean.” Beryl crossed the room and put her hand on my bicep, pivoting behind me so she could see the screen. I could feel the heat of her fingertips. I watched her breathing change as she read, chest moving beneath the towel.
“Unlike most stimulants, MDA does not increase motor activity. It suppresses it in a remarkable way. Inhibitions normally present in group situations are reduced(although it can have an opposite effect on a small percentage of users, causing paranoia).
“In group MDA experiences, people typically want to explore mutual touching and the pleasures of physical closeness. Even a group of strangers may feel very loving toward one another. They describe a ‘warm glow’ that radiates gradually into the penis or clitoris, but the experience is not always explicitly sexual because MDA tends to decrease the desire for orgasm.
"Some subjects, however, feel it heightens the sexual experience because pleasurablesensations do not end abruptly with orgasm . . .”
After several seconds, Beryl said, “My God, that describes exactly the way I felt. Sort of dreamy and unreal. I loved everybody. And the part about people in groups, the way they behave . . .” She hesitated. “Did you tell Shay about this?”
“I’ll print it out. I may drop it at the hospital tomorrow—or you can give it to her. We need to make sure she’s strong enough.”
Beryl read the article again. “Those damn little manipulators. I suspected, but it’s so obvious now. You know what’s most humiliating? That night in the swimming pool, with this guy—a stranger. A sort of weaselly kid, really. For the first time, I . . . I—” She turned away, then shook her head and made a growling sound. “—I’m too mad to talk about it.”
“No need.”
She said it again. “They drugged us.”
“I think it’s probable.”
“It would explain a lot. In the pool, it was never like that with Elliot. It was always routine with him, more like exercise. Never really . . . exciting. And all because of some damn drug?” Now she sounded unconvinced. Or disappointed.
I said, “My friend, the hippie-looking guy, he says a drug can’t give you anything you didn’t bring to the party. You felt what you felt.”
“But they used me—all four of us. Like those sick blow-up dolls they sell at sex shops. If that was all they did, it wouldn’t bother me so much. But now they’re making a small fortune off us, too, while they ruin our lives. Ford? They’re not going to get away this. I won’t let them get away with it. You have to let me help.”
Her hand was on my shoulder now. I put my hand on hers—comforting, but also to free myself. “You already have. Get dressed while I shower. It’s late.”
As I opened the screen door, Beryl stopped me, saying, “Can I ask you something? The video—where is it?”
Before I could answer, she added, “What I’m thinking is, it would be smart to watch it—for information. You’ll know what the guys look like instead of just descriptions. And personally? I’d like to find out if we really were drugged, or just drunk and high. I’ll know from the way we act.”
I said, “Even if you were serious, I don’t have a TV.”
“If it’s a cassette tape, won’t it play through a video camera? I have a little Sony in the car that we use at the resort. It plugs into a computer monitor.”
I looked at her until she added, “I am serious. I’m willing to watch. We’re both adults, for God’s sake, and if we can learn something, isn’t it kind of adolescent not to have a look?”
Her breathing had changed again. Mine, too, as I watched her combing fingers through wet hair, head back, neck exposed. Blue eyes brighter now as her skin flushed.
Instead of asking, Without permission from the other girls?, I heard myself reply, “Maybe. Think it over while I shower—” But then I stopped when I heard a distinctive bong-bong-bong chiming in the next room.
A phone was ringing. My government-issue satellite phone. Someone had reactivated it.
WHEN I ANSWERED, a male voice said, “Don’t talk, just listen. I’m doing this for a dear, departed lady, not for you.” He sounded like a robot that had inhaled helium because the voice was digitally scrambled.
It was Bernie Yager. By referring to his sister, Eve, he sent a message that also confirmed his identity.
The computerized voice said, “There’s a place nearby that’s safer. Go now. Order a drink. Five minutes.”
He hung up.
I stood for a moment, looking dumbly at the phone. Did he mean the 7-Eleven on Tarpon Bay Road? I’d used the pay phone there before. No . . .
Order a drink.
No . . . he meant Sanibel Grille. It was closer than the 7-Eleven, only a couple hundred yards from the marina entrance. The bar was open until 1 a.m. The year before, I’d called him from there. Bernie would’ve saved the number.
I pulled on a shirt, traded sandals for boat shoes, then poked my head into the lab. Beryl smiled from the computer desk until I told her, “I’ve got to go—but I won’t be long. Fifteen minutes. Twenty-five at the most.”
Her smile faded. “You’re kidding.”
“It’s a business emergency—sort of.”
She stood, reknotting the towel. “Was it Shay? I bet it was Shay—”
“No. It’s business. That’s the truth. Twenty minutes—I promise. I’ve got to go.”
I heard Beryl say, “Marine biologist. Right,” as I went down the steps.
Exactly four minutes later, I was r
eaching for the door at Sanibel Grille when Matt, the owner, came out with the portable phone, and said, “So you are here. It’s some guy asking for you.”
I took the phone to a private spot on the balcony before putting it to my ear. “Bernie?”
“No. Just listen.”
It was Bernie. His real voice now.
I listened to him say, “The trouble your friends are having can be traced to a health resort on the island you mentioned. The Hooded Orchid Retreat and Spa. Got that? Don’t answer.”
He repeated the name twice, before adding, “Take a lot of money ’cause it’s expensive. Exclusive, too—the place is booked way in advance. Which is why someone took the liberty of pulling some strings and holding a reservation. If you think it’s the right move, check-in’s Tuesday morning. You’re booked through Sunday. But don’t be surprised if they’re a little confused because of a glitch in their computer system.”
I could guess what that meant, but I said, “I can’t wait until Tuesday—”
“Then work it out for yourself. Or cancel. Understand what I’m telling you—Dr. North?”
One of my bogus passports identifies me as Marion W. North. The middle initial had once been significant. It defined my operative boundaries. The W stood for world, as in World License.
I said, “I understand,” and noticed car lights on the marina’s shell road. A Volvo convertible.
“This place, I don’t even want to guess what they pretend to heal. It’s couples only. So you’ve got to take a girlfriend. You’ve also got to take a dinner jacket, ’cause it’s fancy.”
I said slowly, “A girlfriend,” watching the car. It was at the four-way stop now, brights on, no turn signal even though it turned left, tires kicking shell, then squealing as they hit asphalt.
Bernie said, “Yes, a girlfriend or a wife—unless you changed teams all of a sudden, ’cause it’s gotta be you and a partner. No singles without special permission. One more thing, Dr. North—the instrument that was deactivated. Get rid of it. The thing has ears—understand?”
Black Widow Page 12
