I'd Kill For That

by Marcia Talley

  “Sigmond was a sociologist, Peter. He studied people. That was his business, just as spiritual healing is yours. I wanted his advice about what to do when I met Dr. Jefferson.”

  “Doesn’t my advice count?”

  “You’d just discourage me again, dear. That’s why I wanted a professional opinion.”

  “Discourage you again, you say? Oh, that. You mean, he’s one of those Jeffersons?”

  Laura Armbruster had been born a Hemings. She was one of the great-great-great-great-grandchildren of Sally Hemings, the smart and beautiful young slave who had given birth to at least one of Thomas Jefferson’s children. Although many of Jefferson’s white descendants still battled the realities of the roots of the family tree, twenty-first-century DNA technology had confirmed the blood relationships and paternal heritage.

  “What exactly did you tell Sigmond?” Peter pressed.

  “I told him about my ancestors, all of whom are still denied burial rights in the family plot at Monticello. And I told him I had traced the genealogy of Charles Jefferson, and could prove that we were indeed related to one another. I asked his advice about how to tell Dr. Jefferson the story when I meet him next week.”

  “Why in damnation do you want to tell him the story?”

  “To enlist Dr. Jefferson’s help. To lean on him, if you will.”

  “And was Sigmond more encouraging than I’ve been?”

  “Indeed he was, Peter,” Laura Hemings Armbruster answered. “Sigmond actually encouraged me to study some of the new arrivals in Gryphon Gate—the Upshaw twins, little Samantha Lynch, those darling Anderson boys. I’ve seen them all over at the pool. Sigmond was right.”

  “About what?”

  Laura focused her pale green eyes on her husband. “There are far too many babies who look alike around here for that to be an accident of nature. I’m going to talk to Doctor Jefferson about that while he’s here. And about getting his help to see that my relatives finally have their proper burial.”

  * * *

  Vanessa Smart-Drysdale telephoned the clubhouse as soon as the switchboard opened at 7 A.M. on Friday morning. She asked the operator to transfer her to the valet parking area.

  Ray Flynt picked up the phone. “Good morning, ma’am. How can I help you?”

  “I woke up in knots today, Ray. I’ll be there in an hour. I’d like a massage, please.”

  “Kimberly doesn’t work on Fridays, ma’am.”

  “I know that. That’s why I’m calling you.”

  Ray blushed, remembering what had happened one time last year when Vanessa had asked him to rub her shoulders. “I’m not licensed to do no body work, ma’am.”

  “Let me be the judge of that, Ray. I’ll meet you in the spa at eight. Get someone to cover you in the parking lot.”

  “But—”

  “Don’t worry, we’ll just talk business. I’ve got some ideas for the Web site.” Her voice softened. “A star quarterback like you has probably had more massages than anyone I know. I just want you to knead some tightness out of my calves before I go out on the course this afternoon. Besides, you’re gonna love what I’m going to have you do on the Web.”

  “The Web?”

  “Sort of a sneak preview of a coming attraction that I want you to post over the weekend.”

  Ray was excited just thinking about talking to Vanessa. He tried to tell himself that it was her enthusiasm about his Web design that made him so happy, but then he had a flashback to the way her small, slender body had responded to his large, firm hands when he rubbed her down just before the New Year’s Eve party.

  At five minutes to eight, Ray spotted Vanessa’s red Corvette heading for the valet stand under the clubhouse canopy. He bolted to the driver’s side and opened the door for her.

  “Any problems?”

  “No, ma’am. Bill Oberlin’s gonna send one of the guys over from the pro shop to take my shift for an hour. You wanna change and get set up, I’ll be ready to go in about ten minutes.”

  * * *

  Vanessa strolled through the lobby. A black bunting was draped around the board that listed the club members’ names, and standing on the bar was a posterboard with Lance McClintock’s photograph above the words Semper Fi.

  She continued into the ladies’ locker room and had just removed her heart-shaped diamond necklace and unscrewed the back of her pierced earrings when Babs Blackburn pushed open the swinging door and walked into the bathroom for one more look at herself in the mirror before heading out to the first tee.

  “Well, well, well,” Vanessa drawled. “I hear congratulations are in order, Babs. Anything I can do to talk a little sense into you before you take the big step?”

  “Henry says I shouldn’t even listen to you for a minute—that you have nothing nice to say to anyone about anything.”

  “Maybe we should bury the hatchet on our own. You can scratch my back and…”

  “Henry says you’ll just try to twist me around, to use me against him in the development plans for Forest Glen.”

  “No such thing, Babs. Careful.”

  Vanessa pointed at Babs’s pink leather golf glove that had dropped to the floor. A large black spider was crawling into the open end.

  Babs squealed. “I hate those things.”

  Vanessa lifted the glove by a finger and shook out the bug, smashing it with the heel of the shoe she had removed minutes earlier.

  “Don’t be so squeamish, kid. Better get used to it. Those red-toed tree frogs thrive on big, juicy spiders. They’re everywhere in Gryphon Gate. Can’t see the deer tick, but these guys get into everything and really sting when they take a bite. The mayor didn’t warn you?”

  “Henry says—”

  “I’m so damn sick of what Henry says. Have been for years. You got the best part of this bargain. That rock you’re flashing on your finger. You sure it isn’t a CZ? Get out while the getting’s good. Take the rock and run.”

  Babs opened her mouth to speak but nothing came out.

  Vanessa kept going. “Let’s have a drink together one day. Our little secret, okay? Don’t tell Henry. I’ll answer all the questions you ever had about him.”

  Babs belonged in Gryphon Gate, Vanessa thought. She looked just like a doe caught in the headlights.

  “Next time he decides to spend an hour up in his helicopter, you call me and drop by my place. Spiders are just the tip of the iceberg.”

  Vanessa clicked the combination lock into place, wrapped the bath towel around her body, and padded down the hallway toward the massage therapy room, leaving Babs’s mouth flapping soundlessly.

  Vanessa dropped the towel in a heap on the floor, lowered the dimmer on the light switch, lit an aromatherapy candle, flipped on a New Age tape of gushing waterfalls and rain forest bird sounds, and climbed onto the table. She lay on her stomach, her face in the hole in the headrest.

  Dammit, she thought, the only thing Henry Drysdale ever bought me was a one-way ticket to my mother’s house when I told him it was over. I had to wait to meet Ned to get any real jewels. God knows who he put the squeeze on to get the stuff.

  She heard the door open. “Don’t be shy, Ray. C’mon in. We’ve got a lot to talk about.”

  Ray’s shoes squeaked as he walked to the table and stood beside her. She heard him pick up a bottle, unscrew the cap, and begin applying lotion to her back. Ahhh! His hands glided across her shoulder blades and down the bumps on her spine, yet somehow they seemed smaller than Ray’s, and more gnarled.

  She lifted her head. “Silas Macgruder! You sick old goat. Pushing ninety and you’re still looking for cheap thrills. Get your hands off of me. How the hell—where’s Ray? What happened to Ray?”

  “Just shows you the value of a good tip, Vanessa,” Silas chuckled. “I’ve been generous to that boy since he started caddying for me almost ten years ago. You can’t take it with you. Start spending some of that dough you’ve got.”

  “Where’s Ray?” She was sitting up now, gathering th
e sheet from underneath her and wrapping it around herself.

  “Sent him on an errand. Gave him twice the price of a massage. Something we need for the memorial service for Sigmond and Lance. Duty before pleasure.”

  Vanessa’s eyes narrowed. “What do you want, Silas?”

  “Want? I’m here to do you a favor.” Silas winked at Vanessa. “Always try to help the pretty ones. Never know when they’ll be willing to help me in return. Watch your putter, young lady. That’s what I came to tell you.”

  “Watch your own,” Vanessa snarled, glancing down at the fly on Silas’ pants.

  He laughed. “Now, that’s my driver. You ought to know that.”

  Vanessa squirmed on the table. “I’ll count to ten and then I’m going to scream for Laura Armbruster.”

  “Don’t you understand what I’m telling you? It’s about the senator.”

  Vanessa froze.

  Silas had her attention now. “Lance McClintock was clubbed in the head. A putter’s my guess.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I’ve been around a long time, seen a lot of things. I’d say, if you’re as smart as I think you are, you’ll take your golf clubs and drive off into the sunset. And if you’ve got a way to get in touch with Senator Carbury…”

  “Me?”

  “I may be old, but I’m not blind, dammit.”

  Vanessa shivered. She and Ned Carbury had been so discreet. “You know Ned every bit as well as I do,” she sputtered. “Tell him yourself.”

  “I wouldn’t say I’ve been quite as intimate with him as you have. Tried to find him myself this morning. Thought he’d be sleeping off that expensive hangover he must have picked up last night.”

  “Try his office, Silas.”

  “Did that. Won’t be there until this afternoon. Has a tryst. Well, his secretary called it a business meeting, come to think of it, on his way into D.C. Somewhere in Alexandria, if I had to guess.” Silas headed for the door.

  “Wait a minute.”

  Silas stopped in his tracks, turning to look at Vanessa. He laid his hand on the light switch and the room was flooded with light. “If I can’t touch, do you mind if I look a bit?”

  Vanessa’s grip on the towel loosened. The least she could do in exchange for some information was show the old man a bit of cleavage. “So, if I should happen to bump into Ned, what should I tell him?”

  “The senator might want to secure his Big Bertha and all his other clubs, too.”

  “But—but—surely everyone knows how fond Ned was of Lance McClintock?”

  “Used to think so myself, Vanessa. But that was some racket they were kicking up on the seventeenth green last night. I almost expected fisticuffs.”

  “How’d you—?”

  “Wasn’t just me. Mignon and I were teeing off right behind them. She heard it, too.”

  “What else did she hear? And you?” Vanessa was peeved. She had ways of dealing with Silas, but there was no guarantee about who Mignon Gervase might spill her guts to.

  “My hearing’s not so good. I couldn’t make out what it was about. Deer hunting? Swan shooting?”

  Vanessa reached her left arm above her head to throw her rich chestnut brown hair over her shoulder. The towel slipped off her breast. “You said Alexandria, Silas. Whatever made you mention Alexandria?”

  “Live as long as I have, and someday, young lady, you’ll be treated to the joys of a sigmoidoscope. It’s a medical device that lets the doctor see right up—”

  “Spare me.”

  Silas took a step closer, fixing his gaze on Vanessa’s porcelain skin and the firm, taut lines of her breast. “Well, I used to tease Vormeister all the time. I called that little handheld computer his Sigmondoscope. Boy, was he into everyone else’s business. Monkey business. And all there on that little black device. You could get a rear end view of everyone in Gryphon Gate. Bottoms up.”

  “He let you look at his Palm Pilot?” Vanessa found that hard to believe.

  “Just played with it for a minute or two.” Silas stretched out his arm and tweaked Vanessa on the nipple. “Told him I couldn’t see well enough to read anything. Just wanted a quick feel of the little gadget, know what I mean?”

  * * *

  Toni Sinclair pulled her desert silver Mercedes SUV into her designated parking space at the marina. In a community where size truly mattered, her boat was indeed the biggest.

  She looked to the end of the dock, where the white hull of the sloop glistened in the morning sunlight. Sans Sin. She had renamed the graceful vessel after her husband’s death. Not only was she without sin, but without guilt as well.

  Well, well, well. There was Capt. Diane Robards herself climbing out of the cabin of Bob Satterfield’s sleek little cat boat. Toni remembered that the Satterfields were out of the country on vacation for the entire month of May. Their house, sitting near the front nine of the golf course, was empty, and there was no reason for anyone to be snooping around their boat.

  Toni shut off the motor and watched as Captain Robards scanned the dock before stepping onto it. Topsiders had replaced her soiled patent leather uniform shoes.

  Maybe I’ll turn the tables on her, Toni thought to herself. Ask her what she’s doing on Bob’s sexy little wood-hulled twenty-two-footer.

  She opened the door but stopped with her foot halfway to the ground. Someone else was coming out of the cabin. Beneath the black-rimmed baseball cap and dark lenses of the wraparound sunglasses, Toni recognized the strong square jaw of that other young cop. What was his name? She had seen it on the plate attached to his flak vest the night he had come to her house to stop the deer feeding. Leland Ford, that’s who it was.

  The young security guard took a step up onto the deck of the boat. The tight black T-shirt showed off Leland’s impressive abs, and the ebony jogging shorts revealed the same solid musculature all the way down to his heels. Leland may have been off-duty, but he was definitely on the job.

  Leland came up behind Robards, who was about to jump from the boat onto the dock. Toni blinked. Was it her imagination, or had Diane’s young protégé just given her a friendly pat on the butt?

  Toni Sinclair had seen all she needed. She grabbed her canvas sail bag from the backseat, nestled the chilled bottles of wine between the folds of her cashmere sweatshirt, and set off on the narrow walkway to the dock. She was an hour early for her assignation, and praying now that Jason would be late. Planning ahead was one of her signature traits.

  “Good morning, Captain.” Toni was certainly in a better position at the moment than during the awkward situation a few hours earlier in the den of her own home. She greeted Robards cheerfully.

  The grin that Diane Robards had flashed back at Leland Ford vanished altogether when she came face-to-face with Toni Sinclair.

  Toni smiled sweetly. “Why, Captain Robards, didn’t you get any sleep after you left my home last night? Those frown lines look like they’re embedded in your jawbone. Some of the women at the club have a wonderful new cosmetic surgeon who does BOTOX.” Toni turned her smile on Leland. “Oh my—aren’t you the officer who stopped by at the house the other day? About the deer? It’s Mr. Ford, isn’t it?”

  Toni took a step closer to the Satterfield boat but didn’t stop chattering for a minute. “Is one of my marina neighbors pouring goldfish food into the water? Are you against feeding fish, too, Captain?”

  Ford smoothed his shirt into place and adjusted the waistband on his shorts. His pink face had deepened to scarlet.

  Before Robards could answer, Toni Sinclair held her forefinger against her lips. “How foolish of me to forget. The Satterfields can’t be to blame. They’re in the south of France right now. Has someone committed a crime on their darling little boat?”

  Robards seemed to be struggling for an answer. The loud whirring noise of an engine, almost directly overhead, nearly drowned out her reply. “Got a call that there might have been a break-in on the boat,” she shouted. “Just came by to secure it.
”

  “What?” Toni asked, cupping her hand to her ear. “What did you say? You came by to screw in it?”

  The backwash of the hovering helicopter lifted Robards’s thick, dark hair and blew it back in her face. With her thumb and index finger she picked strands out of her mouth so she could respond to Toni. “False alarm, Mrs. Sinclair. Everything’s fine on board.”

  “Sue will be so relieved! I must give her a call tonight,” Toni shouted over the roar of the rotors. “I’ve got to tell her about Lance, anyway. And poor Sigmond. They might want to cut their trip short and come home for the memorial service. What shall I tell the Satterfields about this ship-to-shore emergency, Captain?”

  The helicopter veered off toward the country club.

  Robards directed Leland off the dock. “No need to mention it at all. No need to upset her, Mrs. Sinclair.”

  “So glad to know you’re willing to take such good care of us on your time off, Officers,” Toni called after the pair as they climbed into separate cars and drove out of the marina parking lot.

  Still smiling, Toni scurried down to the end of the dock and walked the short gangplank onto her beloved sailboat. She went below deck into the cabin and unpacked her bag.

  Plenty of time! She opened one of the bottles of wine and placed it in the sterling silver cooler that Lincoln had won in the club’s first regatta, the year they moved into Gryphon Gate. She stored the second bottle in the fridge. She slipped out of her jogging outfit and into a leopard print bodysuit that showed off her still-willowy figure to perfection.

  In the bottom of the bag was a microcassette tape recorder small enough to be concealed between the cushion of the bunk bed and the wall beneath the starboard porthole.

  Toni slid a Jimmy Buffett CD into the stereo, surveyed her image in the mirror behind the bathroom door, and declared herself ready for her reunion with Jason Salinger.

  But the helicopter had come back with a vengeance. The metallic whirring of its rotors drowned out Buffett, and it completely overwhelmed the gentle lapping of the waves against the side of the boat.