Buch lesen: «Obsession, Deceit And Really Dark Chocolate»
Obsession, Deceit and Really Dark Chocolate
Kyra Davis
To my readers. Your letters and e-mails of support
and praise never fail to inspire and motivate me.
Contents
Acknowledgments
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I want to thank my wonderful editor, Margaret Marbury, for all of her help and encouragement, and Police Chief John Weiss for helping me with this book’s ending. I also want to thank my stepbrother, Chris Sullivan, my mother, Gail Davis, and my stepfather, Richard Sullivan, for taking care of my son while I wrote this novel. Last but absolutely NOT least I want to thank my son, Isaac, for being my biggest fan and greatest motivator. Isaac, I love you with all my heart and soul.
1
Why sleep with the enemy when you can screw ’em?
—C’est La Mort
It’s not often that an old friend and mentor asks you to seduce her husband. I suppose it was the bizarre nature of the request that made me want to do it. Or perhaps it was because I knew that Melanie O’Reilly was at least partially responsible for my becoming a novelist. Or maybe I just agreed because I thought it would be a good way to get my mind off my ex-boyfriend, Anatoly Darinsky.
Whatever. The point is that after years of very sporadic contact Melanie invited me to lunch and asked if I would do her a big favor. My initial assumption was that she wanted me to donate some money to one of her favorite organizations or charities—the Salvation Army, the Symphony, the Boy Scouts…what have you. It even occurred to me that she wanted me to attend one of those five-hundred-dollar-a-plate dinners to support Flynn Fitzgerald, the majorly right-wing Contra Costa County congressional hopeful whose campaign was currently employing her husband, Eugene. The last really would have been a huge favor since I disagreed with almost everything Fitzgerald stood for, but for my favorite former writing professor I would have done it. But this…this one came out of left field.
It seems that Eugene had not been the same since he and a few of his evangelical buds had returned from a Moral Majority road trip, an excursion not unlike the MTV Rock the Vote road trip, except this expedition involved more Jesus talk and less talk of body piercing. Melanie was convinced that the Jesus van had doubled as a magnet for wayward sluts, and that her husband had been nibbling on the forbidden fruit.
But I digress. My mission had nothing to do with Jesus, nor was I supposed to emulate the Virgin Mary. My mission was to tempt Eugene by behaving like Mary Magdalene during her party years. Melanie explained that I was the only “younger woman” friend who had never met her husband. At thirty-one I wasn’t sure I still qualified as a younger woman, but it was true that I had never met Eugene O’Reilly. I was supposed to have gone to their wedding but a bout of strep throat put an end to those plans.
I wasn’t going to sleep with him, of course. Apart from the fact that this was only a fact-finding mission, one look told me that the man’s weight had to be somewhere under one hundred and twenty pounds. If a guy looks like Brad Pitt I’ll willingly compromise my political ideals in exchange for a little face time, but when confronted with a conservative who’s twice my age and skinny enough to make me feel fat, I emphatically refused to cross the party line.
I’d simply be testing him: if Eugene O’Reilly wanted to play “break the commandments” with me I would simply ditch him and report back to Melanie. If he resisted my charms, all was right with the conservative world.
I took one more sip of the lemon drop I had been nursing while scoping him out from my seat in the darkened corner of the Antioch bar, screwed up my courage and then crossed the room to Eugene.
“Is this seat taken?” I pretended not to notice the way my short red dress rode up when I climbed onto the bar stool.
The man didn’t even bother to look up from his Scotch and soda. “Not that I’m aware of.”
So far so good—still, I couldn’t help but feel a little hurt. I mean really, when an older man doesn’t bother to give you the time of day after you stick your boobs in his face you have to question your own sex appeal.
I tried to discreetly glance at myself in the mirror behind the bar. No major pimples, and as far as I could tell I didn’t have food in my teeth. My hair was a little out of control but no more than usual. My father was African-American and my mother had curly hair that was typical of her Eastern European Jewish ancestry, so when it came to my hair “a little out of control” was the best-case scenario.
I rested my elbow on the bar and tried another tactic. “I’ve never been to this place before.”
“Mmm.” He took another sip of his Scotch and casually looked around the room. I caught a glimpse of his hands, which seemed to be one of his few saving graces. They were big and strong…I’m into hands, but they need to be attached to a body that is at least a little appealing. Anatoly had great hands, and arms, and shoulders…but I wasn’t going to think of him right now or ever again. I was over Anatoly. Really.
“I don’t usually go to bars,” I said, bringing my focus back to the task at hand, “but tonight I just had to get out of the house. You ever feel like that? Like you just need to go somewhere no one knows you and forget your troubles?”
Eugene looked at me for the first time. “What are you trying to forget?”
I hesitated. I hadn’t really worked this story out in my head yet. “Oh, you know…family stuff.”
He nodded and turned his attention back to his Scotch.
“My younger brother dropped a big bomb on the whole family today,” I said quickly. In reality, the only sibling I had was a younger sister, but he didn’t need to know that.
“Oh?” His disinterest was palpable.
“Yeah…it turns out he’s ga…a homosexual.”
Eugene snapped his head back in my direction. “I’m so sorry.”
“It gets worse,” I said, encouraged by the reaction. “He has a boyfriend and they’re going to Massachusetts to get married.”
“No!” Eugene put his glass on the bar with a thud. “Did anyone see this coming?”
I shook my head and looked away. “He was always such a good kid. He consistently made the honor roll, played lots of sports in high school…he even got a full scholarship to Syracuse University.”
“Syracuse is a good conservative town.”
“I know! That’s why everyone in the family was so happy when he decided to go there instead of to the other university he was accepted to—” I leaned over and lowered my voice to a tremulous whisper “—UC Berkeley.”
Eugene exhaled loudly. “Clearly he made the right choice. But something must have gone wrong. Something must have happened to make him lose his way.”
“Yes, but what? Here we all thought he was busy studying and partying it up with a bunch of nice Republican fraternity brothers, and as it turns out he was spending all his free time campaigning for…for…” I dropped my head in my hands in what I hoped looked like a display of grief rather than an attempt to hide a smile “…for Hillary Clinton!”
“My God! Your parents must be devastated.”
“Oh, they are, and so am I. I keep replaying the whole sordid event in my head.” I glazed my eyes and pretended to relive the moment. “I’m eagerly awaiting his arrival with my parents at their place, he walks in the door, and before you can say ‘Green Party’ my whole world is turned upside down!”
Eugene put a hand on my arm. I held my breath and waited for him to use his thumb to stroke my skin or to somehow make the gesture more intimate, but he released me quickly, leaving me with nothing but the sense of being comforted by a well-meaning stranger.
“You need to have faith that your brother is going to be okay,” he said in a tone that was much gentler than what I was expecting. “People sometimes make mistakes, but with the love and the guidance of a good family many find their way back to the path of righteousness. You can’t give up on him.”
I looked up into Eugene’s eyes, expecting to see some kind of mad religious fervor, but all I saw was sincerity and conviction. He waved the bartender over. “Sir, I’d like another Scotch and soda and the lady needs a drink as well.” He turned and smiled at me. “Put it on my tab.”
I ended up closing the place with Eugene. I kept waiting for him to make a move on me, but everything he did seemed to be motivated by a desire for companionship. He sucked down a countless number of cocktails, and while the alcohol definitely made him more talkative, it didn’t make him more flirtatious.
“This country’s going to hell in a handbasket,” he said as he stumbled to his feet and tried unsuccessfully to help me put on my coat. “Immorality is everywhere—on the TV, radio, don’t even get me started about the Internet.”
“Tell me about it,” I said as I gently guided him out of the bar and into the warm night. “There’s this Web site, www.womenserotica.com—it’s despicable. I go on it every day to read the new entries and I’m horrified every time.”
“Exactly what I’m talking about!” Eugene slurred, too drunk to pick up on my sarcasm. “How are we suppose-ta raise children with good solid Christian values when they’re continually confronted with evil temptations?”
I nodded gravely. “I’m having a hard enough time just trying to shelter my cat from the filth they’ve been promoting on Animal Planet! Do you know that they had a whole show on elephant sperm?”
“My God!” Eugene shook his head. He looked at me in a blatant attempt to focus. “You realize that you’re not fit to drive.”
My lips curved into an amused smile. “And you think you are?”
“No, no. I’m gonna walk back to my hotel. I live in Walnut Creek. I’m jus’ here on business, my hotel’s only a mile away,” he slurred.
“It’s two in the morning, kind of late for a long walk.”
“Normally I’d take a cab,” Eugene conceded, “but tonight I need fresh air. You’re not the only one who had a bad day, ya know.”
I spotted a park bench on the other side of the street. “Why don’t we sit down for a while and talk? Like you said, I can’t drive and you’re obviously not in any big hurry to get to sleep, so you might as well hang out with me and talk while I sober up.”
Eugene nodded and followed me to the bench. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a green SUV parked at the end of the city block. Other than that, the area had already been deserted. The vehicle probably belonged to one of the bartenders closing up. I sat down on the bench and patted the seat next to me, but Eugene hesitated.
“Sophie, you’re a very nice girl and you’re very beautiful…but I’m married.”
“I saw the ring.”
“My wife’s been impossible lately, but I believe in the sanctity of marriage,” he said matter-of-factly. He sat down next to me and gazed at me with bloodshot eyes. “I practice what I preach.”
I felt myself soften toward him instantly. “I respect that, Eugene.”
“That’s the real problem with the world today,” he said, grandly gesturing out into space, “no one ever means what they say anymore. They’re all a bunch of bloody hypocrites. Moral corruption is everywhere, Sophie. Everywhere. Look! Look at that!” He jumped to his feet and picked up a discarded candy wrapper featuring a cartoon sea animal. “We now have sponges promoting deviant behavior!”
“Eugene, I think maybe we should get you a cab so you can sleep this one off.”
“Damn furry freaks if you ask me!”
How did Melanie end up with this man? I mean, he was honest and honorable, but his view of the world was incredibly whacked. I stood up and smiled at him sympathetically. “I think it’s time for me to head home. I have a long drive ahead of me.”
“But you’ve been drinking.”
“I switched to soda water a while back, you probably just didn’t notice—” because you were too drunk to notice anything “—because soda water can look like vodka and tonic.”
Eugene nodded. “Let me walk you to your car.”
I shrugged and waited as he staggered to his feet. I thought I heard the sound of an engine start up a ways behind me on the otherwise quiet street. We walked in silence for the three blocks to my car. I’d decided to be cheap and forgo the nearby garage, which meant that I had been forced to park a bit off the main strip. When we got to my Audi I turned to Eugene and put a hand on his shoulder. “Can I please give you a ride back to your hotel? It’s really no trouble.”
He shook his head and rubbed his eyes. “I wanna walk.”
I suppressed a giggle. “I really think you should let me drive you.”
“No thanks, Sophie.” He lifted my hand to his lips and kissed it gently. “It’s nice to know there are some decent people out there. You give me hope.”
And with that he stumbled off. I watched him until he turned the corner before getting into my car. I felt sorry for him. I wasn’t sure why he seemed so dejected, almost disillusioned.
I sighed, fastened my seat belt and turned the key in the ignition.
Just then I heard a quick series of loud bangs and the sound of a car screeching away.
My heart stopped. I quickly checked my rearview mirror, but there was no one on the block. The commotion had happened on one of the streets nearby.
Eugene.
Obviously the smart thing to do would have been to stay in the car and call 911 on my cell phone, but common sense temporarily abandoned me. I jumped out and ran to the street corner where I had last seen Eugene. As soon as I rounded the corner there he was, lying on the sidewalk, motionless. Blood was seeping through his previously white dress shirt.
I could see lights being turned on in the surrounding buildings as some of the residents tried to figure out what was going on. I sprinted to Eugene’s side and kneeled down. His eyes were at half mast and I heard a gurgling coming out of his throat.
“Eugene, it’s Sophie. Eugene, can you hear me?”
“Goddamned furry shit,” he muttered.
“Eugene, you’re delirious, just stay calm and I’ll get an ambulance.” But even as I said the words I heard the distant wail of sirens.
I also heard Eugene take his final breath.
2
People expect so much from the individuals they bear a fondness for. That’s why I focus my energy into being as disagreeable as possible.
—C’est La Mort
“Thank you so much for coming.” Melanie gestured for me to sit on her tan leather couch as she settled herself into an overstuffed armchair.
I sat down and stared blankly at the wall behind her. It had been three days since I called Melanie to tell her that she was a widow, and this was the first time since that awful event that I had seen her. I took three Advil before driving from San Francisco to her Walnut Creek home and now, forty-five minutes later, I still had a headache.
“Can I get you anything?” Melanie asked. “Johnny, Fitzgerald’s personal assistant, brought me a lovely fruit basket the other day. I could cut up a few pieces and some cheese if you’re hungry. Or how about a cup of tea?”
I shook my head mutely. Migraines and food didn’t mix.
There were a few moments of silence. Melanie squeezed her knees causing her linen pants to take on the quality of wrinkled paper. “I don’t really know what to say.”
“Maybe there’s nothing to say.”
Melanie winced. “You think less of me now.”
“That’s what you’re worried about?” I asked, surprise overwhelming my discomfort. “What I think of you? How can that possibly matter at this point?”
“Your opinion has always mattered to me, Sophie. You were a very special student…my favorite, really.” A sad smile played on her lips. “I am so proud of all of your accomplishments. I understand that C’est La Mort hit the NewYork Times bestseller list in its first week! I like to think I played a small part….”
“Melanie, your husband’s dead. Your fanatically conservative, crazy, good-hearted and loyal husband is being embalmed right now.”
“I know.” Her voice was so soft I could barely hear her, and her rapid blinking seemed to imply that she was holding back tears, but her grief didn’t do a lot to alleviate my indignation.
“I’ve spent the last few nights awake berating myself for agreeing to entrap him. I can’t believe he spent the last minutes of his life with me and all I did was lie to him.”
“You always told me you were a good liar,” she tried to joke.
“I’m a great liar! And I enjoy it, but now all of a sudden lying seems ugly and…wrong! I spent all of three hours with your husband, and I know damn well that this was not a man who would have ever compromised his beliefs by cheating on you. What I don’t understand is how could you even suspect him of something like that?”
Melanie ran her hand over the loose skin that draped from her neck. “I did know him, but something had changed. Eugene didn’t like secrets. He always said that a husband and wife should tell each other everything.
“Let me give you an example,” Melanie said, apparently noting my incredulity. “Last year Eugene was trying to organize a boycott against The Da Vinci Code in keeping with the request of the Vatican. But I really wanted to see what all the fuss was about so I went ahead and bought the book, and once I started reading it I couldn’t put it down! I was just finishing up the last chapter when Eugene walked in on me. It was awful. At first I thought it was because he thought that reading it against the Vatican’s advice was a sin and that was clearly a problem for him, but what hurt him the most was knowing that I had tried to hide it from him. He saw that as a betrayal.”
“Not telling him that you were reading a book that everyone and their brother had already read was a betrayal?”
“I know it sounds extreme, but that’s just the way Eugene was.” I could have been mistaken, but I thought I heard a note of respect in her voice. “Lately I could tell that something was bothering him and yet he wouldn’t talk about it. It was so unlike him, and even though I couldn’t imagine him cheating on me I didn’t know what else it could be. We all make mistakes, and I thought that maybe he wasn’t as immune to temptation as I thought he was. I wouldn’t have left him, Sophie, I just wanted to know what I was dealing with. But now…now, he’s gone….”
Fresh tears trickled down the pale skin of her cheeks and I felt the unwelcome pang of guilt. I shifted in my seat, unsure if I should offer an apology, condolences or just get up and leave.
Melanie was right. I did think less of her. The dynamics of our relationship had changed so much over the past twelve years. She had started as my writing professor and then quickly become my mentor. When my father died I completely fell apart and Melanie had helped me pull myself together. After I graduated from University of San Francisco we had stayed in contact, meeting for coffee every few months. During our visits I began to see Melanie for who she really was: an intelligent, kind and altruistic woman with a lot of insecurities. Eventually she took a teaching position at Saint Mary’s College in Moraga and our visits became semiannual occurrences. That was my fault. It just seemed like every time she suggested we get together I had something else I had to do. When she got married to Eugene and moved to Walnut Creek our visits became even less frequent, although she never forgot my birthday or failed to congratulate me when one of my books hit the stands. I often thought of her but rarely picked up the phone to tell her so. I assumed that she was happily occupied with pursuits that didn’t involve me; perhaps mentoring another young writer. But looking at her now it was hard to admire her. For once it felt like I was the stronger one, the one with the most common sense, which was really scary since common sense isn’t always my strong suit.
“I didn’t want him to die, Sophie.”
I took a deep breath and forced myself to reassess the situation. Who the hell was I to give her grief? She didn’t give me a hard time when I told her I was getting a divorce after only two years of marriage, nor did she take issue with the content of the novels I wrote even though I knew they flew in the face of many of her religious beliefs. I leaned forward so I could take her hand. “Of course you didn’t want that, Melanie. I know that.”
“It never occurred to me that we would end this way.”
“It was just one of those awful random twists of fate,” I said. “He was in the wrong place at the wrong time. No one could have foreseen this.”
“Yes, a random drive-by shooting.” Melanie said the words slowly, as if trying to convince herself of them. “Or at least that’s what the Antioch police are saying.”
I pulled back in surprise. “You think they’re wrong?”
“They don’t know everything.”
“What else is there?”
“It’s just a feeling I have.” Melanie tucked a gray-streaked lock behind her ear. “As I said, Eugene was keeping something from me and he was so agitated and distant during the past few weeks. Definitely not himself.”
“Okay, but to assume that his recent attitude change had something to do with his death?”
“Thing is, he wasn’t just upset, he was nervous. All of a sudden he started looking over his shoulder when we’d be out in public. He’d double-, then triple-check the locks. For a while I thought that maybe he’d had an extramarital affair with a stalker, like Michael Douglas in that awful movie with the rabbit. In retrospect I feel terrible for thinking that, but still, something was wrong and I’m afraid that maybe, just maybe, that something got to him….” Her voice faded away once more.
“Melanie, you need to talk to the police about this.”
“I can’t! What if he was involved in something he shouldn’t have been? Reputation was everything to Eugene. If I did something to besmirch his name now, his memory would be tarnished—I just couldn’t!”
But testing him to see if he’d make a drunken pass at a woman half his age was okay? I bit back the remark and tried to smile reassuringly. “Eugene wasn’t involved in anything that he felt was immoral or unethical. I’d bet on it.”
“Sophie, forgive me for saying this, but you spent one evening with the man. You’re not in the position to make that statement.”
“Okay, fine. Let’s say you’re right. What are you going to do? Are you going to keep this information to yourself even if it means that the person who killed your husband might get away with it?”
“Sophie, I need one more favor.”
“Are you kidding?”
“I understand you’re dating a private detective. The newspaper mentioned it right after your brother-in-law’s killer was captured.”
My heart fell to the bottom of my stomach. I wasn’t supposed to be upset by references to Anatoly anymore. He was an idiot. A commitment-phobic, womanizing, egocentric idiot…with an incredible body and a sexy half smile that sent tingles down my spine and straight into my nether regions.
“Is he discreet?”
“Hmm?” I said absently as I briefly entertained a multi-orgasmic memory.
“Is he discreet?” she asked again. “Can I trust him to keep any information he digs up out of the hands of the media?”
“Are you saying you want to hire him?”
“I want to find out what happened to my husband, but I don’t want people to know that I’ve enlisted a detective outside the police department. This whole thing is getting enough publicity without making things worse.”
“Ah, right. The thing is, Anatoly’s really expensive. For a case like this he’d charge you at least ten thousand dollars.” I wasn’t exactly lying. Anatoly had quoted that price to me before. Of course that was only because he was trying to piss me off.
Melanie’s eyes fluttered at the figure. “He must be very good at what he does.” She nodded resolutely. “I’ll pay it.”
“Really?” Note to self, those who possess American Express Platinum Cards cannot be scared away by high prices. “But…um…I don’t think Anatoly’s available.”
“I see.” Her disappointment was palpable. I should have probably just put her in touch with Anatoly. No doubt he’d take the case and I could stay out of the whole thing. But for some reason I didn’t really believe that. I was the one who found Eugene. He’d want to talk to me about that. In fact he’d probably spend a lot of time questioning me, coaxing me to go over every detail and nuance. One thing would lead to another and before you knew it I’d be cuddled up in bed with my commitment-phobic Russian love god, sipping espresso. I just couldn’t go there again.
“Maybe you don’t need a detective,” I suggested. “Maybe you just need someone trustworthy who’s sneaky, good at networking and knows how to craft well-worded, probing questions.”
“Someone sneaky?” I could hear the hope creeping back into her voice. “You?”
“And good at networking,” I said a bit defensively. “I could talk to a few people…just try to get a sense of whether or not your fears are founded. If they are, then we could call a P.I. to do some more digging. But if Eugene’s problems can be explained by the typical stresses of working on a campaign then you’ll leave it to the police to find the person responsible for what happened.”
“So this would be a preliminary investigation…a fact-finding expedition, as it were?”
“Exactly.”
Melanie nodded slowly. “I suppose we could do that. Are you up for it?”
I hesitated and thought about what exactly I was up for. A couple of years ago the very idea of using the amateur sleuth tactics I wrote about in my novels in a real-life situation would have been laughable. But within the past few years I had been stalked by a serial killer and my sister’s husband had been killed. I had been instrumental in solving both crimes and I got some satisfaction out of knowing I helped. Furthermore, solving crimes was often a rather enjoyable activity. Kind of like playing Clue with live psychotic actors. Well okay, it wasn’t a lot of fun when people were trying to kill you, but the rest of it wasn’t so bad. Plus, for reasons I couldn’t quite put my finger on, I felt compelled to help Melanie with this. Logic told me that Eugene’s death was probably a random act of violence. If that was the case I could talk to a few of his co-workers, tell Melanie she was imagining things and leave it at that. Melanie could rest easy and I would never have to talk to Anatoly again. That was a good thing. I nodded eagerly. “I’m up for it.”
Melanie offered me a shaky smile. “Very well. Should we start the questioning now?”
“You mean of you?”
“Yes. I assume there’s information that you’ll need from me.”
“Um, yeah…okay.” I quickly tried to formulate a few passably intelligent questions. “Who was Eugene closest to on the campaign?”
“I’m not sure I know the answer to that. He was very close to Flynn Fitzgerald, perhaps more so than most of the other strategists and consultants. Fitzgerald’s media consultant, Maggie Gallagher, was a friend. We had her and her husband over for dinner a few times. Eugene was also an old family friend of Fitzgerald’s top political strategist, Rick Wilkes.”
“Had he complained about any problems at work?”
“No. Well, he was frustrated that Anne Brooke is always neck and neck with Fitzgerald in the polls. Considering her character, she should be trailing far behind by now.”
I took a deep breath. A lot of very unpleasant information had come out about Anne Brooke since she announced her bid for Congress. And if the Republicans had run someone who was a moderate, Brooke’s career would have been political toast. But the Republicans had given their endorsement to Flynn Fitzgerald, a man who was just to the right of Pat Robertson. Although Contra Costa County citizens were definitely more conservative than their Bay Area neighbors, they were understandably reluctant to vote for a man who had blamed single mothers and “queers” for the downfall of our society. Unless Brooke was caught making out with Fidel Castro, she could probably prevent Fitzgerald from getting a double-digit lead on her.
“Anything else?” I asked. “Was he having problems with any of his coworkers? Or anyone at all, for that matter?”
Melanie shook her head. “Eugene was opinionated, and that sometimes rubbed people the wrong way, but in the end most found that he had a good heart. He had a subtle charm that tended to transcend political differences.”
I smiled slightly. I had been exposed to some of that charm. It had been nice to meet a man who had really believed in something, even if his beliefs differed from mine.
“Tell you what,” I said as I pushed myself to my feet. “I’ll find a way to talk to some of the people he saw or worked with regularly and see if I can find out anything.”
Melanie swallowed hard and looked up at me from her seat. “Do you want me to introduce you to anyone? Because—”
“You don’t want people to know that you’re looking into Eugene’s death…or rather his life,” I finished for her. “No, I don’t need introductions, but if anyone in his circle invites you to a social event and you can find a way of bringing me along without it looking suspicious, give me a ring.”
Melanie f lashed me a relieved smile. “I can do that.” She got up and walked me to the door but hesitated before opening it. “There’s one more thing I was hoping you could help me with.”
“You’re pushing your luck.”
