Black Widow Page 7

  Her face was swollen, raw in spots from the air bag. Skin around her eyes was pale purple, edged with magenta. Not too bad. “Raccoon eyes” is another medical term, but the girl was going to be okay.

  I replied, “Corey’s alive. That’s the truth. You did everything you could to help her. That’s all a friend can do.”

  “I did something else.” Shay touched a finger to her lips, whispering.

  “Corey left a note, and I took it. It’s in my purse. No one’s read it but me. Take a look.”

  It was to her parents.

  Papi and Mami

  I am so tired and afraid all the time and I’ve done something I know will never go away.You were wonderful and I never wanted to make you ashamed. I am so sorry and tired of being afraid. Forgive me . . .

  It was written on paper torn from a spiral notebook. Written in a rush by a woman desperate for relief.

  In the world’s most dissimilar languages, pet words for mother and father are touchingly similar. The Chinese say baba and mama. In Arabic, they are ami and omi. When conquistadors invaded, Aztec children ran screaming for apå and amå.

  The first two words we learn as infants echo humanity’s first words. They are the sound of primal bleating; a child’s plea for help. Those two words are hardwired in the womb, and we carry them with us to the grave. It is known, from voice recorders recovered at crash sites, that mama is often the last word a pilot speaks.

  Corey had called for help, but silently, as proud people sometimes do.

  I folded the note as Shay said, “Was I wrong to take it? A suicide attempt . . . all I could think about was how bad it would look on her record. She’s given up on the acting thing, but the design department loves her at Chico’s. Without the note, they can’t prove it wasn’t accidental, can they?”

  I said, “You did the right thing,” as I returned the note to her purse. “She needs help and protection but, yeah, I think Corey will thank you—” Then I said, “Hey,” watching her yawn. “Enough for now. I’ll come back this afternoon.”

  “But I don’t want you to go. I’m not sleepy.”

  Yes, she was. The nurse had also told me she’d been given a painkiller. But the girl reached and took my hand, something else on her mind.

  “I’ve been a good friend to everyone but you, Doc. I needed to say that. And apologize.”

  “I’ve got no complaints.”

  “But I haven’t been straight. Even now. The real reason I missed Corey’s call was because I was at the computer. There was an e-mail waiting when I got home. He wants more money. The full quarter million. He knows my wedding’s a week from Sunday. If he doesn’t get the money by Friday, he’ll . . . he’ll ...” The girl closed her eyes and touched fingers to her head. “He’s going to put the video on the Internet. That’s what Corey meant, the part about her parents being ashamed.”

  “I see.” I gave it some time, as if surprised by the news, then said, “But maybe he did us a favor.”

  Her expression read, You got to be kidding.

  “Think about it. At least he showed his hand—better now than later. And he gave us time, seven days. We have space to deal with it.”

  “But I don’t have the money, Doc. And . . . there’s something else. My bridesmaids got the same e-mail. They knew from the beginning. The four of us chipped in to pay the hundred and nine thousand.”

  I sat back in mock disbelief. “Dex didn’t leave a fat insurance policy?”

  “All that man left me was a couple of guns, a junker Cadillac, and some real bad memories. Dumb, I knew you didn’t believe me. But it was the only thing I could think of.” She squeezed my fingers, her grip childlike. “I lied to you, pal.”

  I smiled. “So what? Compartmentalization—the smart way to handle it. I would’ve done the same.”

  Again, she squeezed.

  “If I was smart, I wouldn’t be in this mess—I think Michael knows.

  Vance stole Corey’s password and read the e-mail before she did. Michael hasn’t mentioned it, but Vance told him something. I can feel it, the way he looks at me now. There’s not going to be a wedding.”

  “Did he tell you it’s off?”

  “While I’m in a hospital bed? No, he’ll wait.”

  “What about his mother? Would he have told her?”

  “Uh-uh. If he had, the only reason she’d come to the hospital is to spit on me. Mrs. Jonquil’s French, not Swiss, and a serious Catholic. The woman wouldn’t be here if she knew.”

  “Were there files attached to the e-mail?”

  She moved her eyes. No.

  “How was it worded?”

  “What I just told you. He wants the rest of the money.”

  “Can you remember specifics?”

  “I should, I read the damn thing a dozen times before I trashed it. It was kinda like the first one, the way he tried to be clever. It went, ‘Some vacation memories are priceless, so your vacation video is a bargain. Either pay the rest of the money, or ...’ No, that’s not right.” She thought for a moment. “No, he said, ‘Pay the balance or you’ll be sinning with your new boyfriends on the Internet—’ It went like that.”

  I said, “Sinning. That’s a strange way to put it.”

  “Yeah, he’s nasty clever. Called me a slut—that was in the subject line. And he said ‘porn sites,’ not Internet. But he didn’t attach any more video files.”

  Like before—it wasn’t just about the money. The blackmailer got a charge out of humiliating victims.

  “Is there a chance Michael or his pals can retrieve the earlier files if they go hunting through your computers?”

  “No. We trashed everything. Then I found a special software that we all used to make sure it stays gone.”

  “That includes his latest e-mail?”

  She nodded.

  “What about the other girls?”

  “They got rid of it while we were still talking on the phone. But poor Corey, she didn’t know that Vance had already snooped.”

  I said, “In that case, Michael doesn’t really know anything.”

  “Of course he does . . . or soon will. He’ll find out the girls and I are being blackmailed about something bad enough we already paid a chunk of the quarter million. That and whatever else Vance slapped out of Corey before she OD’d. He’ll know about the video. There’s no getting around it.”

  I looked into her eyes for a long second before saying, “Video? I don’t know what you’re talking about. What video?”

  Shay stared back, her expression blank. Huh?

  I said it again, deadpan. "What video?”

  She continued to stare. “You’re serious.”

  “Very.”

  She tried to sit, but I placed my hands on her shoulders until she was lying back.

  “But they’ll know.”

  “They don’t know anything. Michael and his fraternity pals never saw what’s on that cassette. Neither did you. Neither did your bridesmaids. I have it. No one’s going to get it. So, as of now, it doesn’t exist.”

  “But Vance read the e-mail—”

  “An e-mail doesn’t prove anything. Some freak in the Caribbean is hounding you about a film he doesn’t have, and about a night that never happened.”

  The girl took a deep breath and settled back, thinking about it. “My God, I’d give anything if it was true. But . . . but how do I explain why we paid all that money? Michael can check my bank—” She stopped, her voice turning inward. Her expression changed. “Wait . . . we have separate accounts. Same with Beryl, Liz, and their guys. We all chipped in, so we didn’t have to dig into our wedding accounts. They can’t check. But what about Vance and Corey—”

  “Vance is a loser and liar. They had a fight last night. I’m sure it wasn’t their first. He’s jealous, pathological, so he made up a bunch of crap as an excuse for hitting his wife. You got involved after hearing Corey’s phone message.”

  “Doc . . . I don’t know. Will it work?”

 
I leaned and kissed the same bare space on her temple. “Maybe, maybe not. Either way, it’ll buy us some time—as long as nothing else happened on Saint Arc. Something worse.”

  “What the hell could be worse?”

  “You tell me. An accident? If someone got hurt, and the camera caught it?”

  “No. What we did was bad enough.”

  I looked at her, letting her know this was serious. “Is that the truth?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay. Then that’s the way we’ll play it. There is no video. Got it? The party, the swimming pool, the three locals, it never happened. Keep telling yourself that. I’ll send Beryl and Liz in so you can tell them—”

  “No,” she interrupted, already ahead of me, “it’s better if I call their cell phones. If the three of us are in here alone, the guys will think we cooked up a story.”

  I smiled. "Okay. Call them. Then go to sleep. Spend the next few days getting healthy.”

  “But what happens next Friday? It’s the night of our rehearsal dinner. If we don’t pay the money—”

  “Friday’s a week away. A lot can happen in seven days.” I turned, my hand on the edge of the privacy screen. “Maybe I’ll fly down to Saint Lucia, take the ferry to Saint Arc, and try to reason with the guy.”

  “Try to . . . reason with him?” Shay said the words slowly, testing them for euphemism.

  “Why not? The island has a reef system . . . and there’s a species of sea jelly I’m interested in. It’s rare—a dark blue medusa, so dark it’s black. I can do research.”

  “Research.” Her tone was the same.

  “I’ll need help on this end. We can stay in touch by e-mail. And someone has to look after the lab—Ransom’s going to Seattle with Tomlinson. He’s teaching at a retreat.”

  “Just like that, you’re ready to go.”

  “Why not? It’s not like you to quit. Remember the night we saved your chocolate Lab?”

  The reaction was instant. She smiled, and I had her attention again.

  “He was such a sweetie. Davey Dog. Daddy’s pit bulls got him, but we pulled him through. I see what you’re saying. He never gave up.”

  “That’s better. You’re a tough woman, sister. Smart. The poor bastard on Saint Arc has no idea who he’s dealing with.”

  The smile broadened. Then it faded as her eyes began to tear. She found a tissue and used it, studying me. “My dear, sweet mysterious biologist. I wish to hell now I hadn’t asked Bill Woodward to give . . .” Her voice caught. “. . . to give the doctors hell if they don’t take good care of Corey. I should’ve put you in charge.”

  “Don’t worry,” I said. “If he mentions it at the wedding, I’ll pretend not to know.”

  BERYL WOODWARD was in the parking lot arguing with her fiancé when I walked outside into the sodium glare of security lights.

  I didn’t make the association right away. I’d been awake for twenty-four hours. I hadn’t worked out or gone for a run, and my swim with the whales wasn’t exactly therapeutic. Birds were testing darkness with an experimental twittering that inflamed nerve endings in the back of my brain. But because her silhouette was unmistakably female, the woman registered on an instinctual level that never tires. Unconsciously, I noted height, hair, heft of bosom as I walked.

  It was a coincidence my old Chevy pickup was parked a few cars away from where Beryl and her fiancé stood. They were nose to nose, voices hypercharged but so low I was on them before sentence fragments revealed what was going on.

  “. . . October wedding? Why the hell should I? You go off for a girl’s weekend, then I find out . . .”

  “. . . you believe Vance? You accuse me?”

  “Something happened on that island, goddamn it . . .”

  “. . . hold it! You get caught making out with one of my best girlfriends. But now I’m the one who can’t . . .”

  “You have changed! You’ve been acting so freaking weird . . .”

  “. . . I had fun! That’s a big change, I agree.”

  By the time I realized it was Beryl, she’d recognized me, so it was too late to do a polite about-face. But I slowed my pace and made a show of concentrating mightily on something in my hand. Truck keys. I had nothing else. When their voices went silent, I filled the silence by whistling a tune that didn’t resemble the Buffett song playing in my head.

  I pretended not to hear her fiancé whisper, “. . . and I’ve had enough of your Ice Queen bullshit.”

  I pretended not to hear Beryl reply for my benefit, in a voice almost cheery, “Understandable. That’s fine, Elliot. I’ll give you a call later from work. Okay? Okay?”

  Elliot snapped, “Okay!” as a Corvette beeped and taillights flashed. He slammed the door and revved the engine. Because I didn’t want to get run over, I waited until Elliot was accelerating toward the exit before continuing to my truck.

  BERYL WATCHED ME APPROACH. She leaned to take a remote key from her purse, eyes momentarily holding mine. Behind her, a convertible beeped and blinked, a Volvo, maybe. The engine started remotely. She could leave anytime she wanted.

  “Dr. Ford? I’m sorry you had to hear that.”

  I said, “Hear . . . what?” Then I noted the way her head lifted and tilted, so I amended, “Which is bullshit, and we both know it. Don’t apologize. I’m sorry you recognized me.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yeah. It was just getting good.”

  “Is that supposed to be funny?”

  “An attempt. It’s also the truth. You never eavesdrop?”

  “Of course. But I at least try to be discreet.”

  I pointed. “That’s my truck. It’s not like I was sneaking up.”

  She said, “Ah, a truck . . . so I see,” looking at my old Chevy, emphasizing her distaste by making an effort to hide it. “I guess people don’t go into marine biology to get rich.”

  “No. But when I start to get bitter, I remind myself how much I’ve saved on psychiatrists and expensive women. It keeps me grounded.”

  Along with the keys, Beryl had taken a pack of gum from her purse. She held a piece between her teeth for an instant, letting me see it, then began to chew. “You must be a guy’s guy—you’d have to be to drive a vehicle like that. So let me ask you a guy’s question. Do you think Elliot believed me?”

  “Can’t say. I didn’t hear enough.”

  “Hmmm. That’s not very helpful.”

  “Were you lying to him?”

  “If I was, it wouldn’t be the first time. But it’s the first time Elliot didn’t pretend to believe me. I’ve never seen him so pissed off. And his questions—” She grimaced. “Was my lover older, younger, bigger, better-looking, was he better in bed? What is it with you men? You’re a scientist. At what age does a human male mature emotionally?”

  I shrugged. “You’ll have to ask a human male a lot older than me. Sorry.”

  Beryl raised her eyebrows, shielding a smile, then held out the pack of gum. I took a piece. Cinnamon.

  I said, “You didn’t tell him what really happened on Saint Arc.”

  “If I answer, does that mean we’re confidants?”

  “We’re confidants whether you answer or not.”

  “Okay. No, of course I didn’t tell him. Nothing incriminating, anyway. Why would I? Now it’s your turn. Did you hear what I said about Elliot and a friend of mine? Any of it?”

  “Not as much as I wanted. But enough.”

  “Hear any names?”

  “Nope.”

  “True?”

  “True.”

  I let her consider that, returning her stare before adding, “Don’t worry. I’m not going to ask who the friend was.”

  “She’s still a friend. No need for the past tense. Elliot, on the other hand . . . well, maybe he’s right. I’m different since the island. Everything that’s happened has been so . . . shitty. Quite an awakening. But maybe some good will come of it yet. I just talked to Shay on the cell. She told me about the conversation you two had
.”

  I waited.

  “It’s a good thing Elliot didn’t recognize you, Dr. Ford. Our guys think we made a pact with the devil, trusting you, not them. They can’t decide if you’re part of the drug mob, or a secret government assassin.”

  I laughed, letting her know how ridiculous it was. “Shay has an imagination. She actually says things like that about me?”

  Beryl replied, “Oh, she’s said a lot about you—more than you realize. Yes, that girl can get carried away.”

  Was that a veiled cut? Shay, I suspected, was the girlfriend she’d caught with Elliot.

  I let it go.

  “No matter what your fiancé thinks of me, trust shouldn’t be an issue. You have nothing to hide. Same with Shay and the other girls. Right?”

  “Ah,” Beryl said, “the official story. I haven’t gotten used to it yet. The video doesn’t exist. The night on Saint Arc never happened. But you have the tape, Dr. Ford. You saw what went on in the swimming pool.”

  “Wrong. If the tape was in my hands—and it isn’t—I wouldn’t watch it. And I didn’t.”

  “Oh, please.” I received the tilted withdrawal, like a horse shying.

  I put my hands out, palms up. Honest.

  “You admit you enjoy eavesdropping.”

  “That’s right. But there are lines I won’t cross.”

  “You don’t strike me as the Boy Scout type, sorry.”

  “I’m not. My lines have lots of curves and angles. What about yours?”

  The woman had a gift for draping sarcasm in encouragement. Or vice versa. “I don’t discuss my boundaries in public. But I can tell you this— I’m trusting you, damn it—I’m way too curious to have that kind of willpower. Especially after seeing some of the clips from that tape—my God. I would’ve watched. I’d pretend like I hadn’t, but I would’ve watched from beginning to end.”

  “Because you’re in it? Or because you’re not?”

  “Make up any answer that pleases you. That night’s sort of foggy and dreamy, and maybe I want it to stay that way. I still don’t understand why we did what we did—I’m referring to the party we didn’t have, by the way. On the night that never happened. Elliot would’ve been shocked.”