Confused, Emory eased himself into the chair. “I don’t understand. What’s a cash master? Is it like an accountant?”
Jeff laughed. “Not even close.”
“Don’t laugh at him,” said Virginia. “I had to look up what it was.”
Jeff locked his fingers in front of him and his eyes on Emory. “Cash masters are part of a sexual subculture. It’s someone who dominates other people in exchange for tributes – cash or gifts.”
Emory asked Virginia, “How do you know they had this type of relationship?”
“I hacked into her Twitter account and read through her DMs. She had a long chain that started about a year ago with a MasterZD, an account that has since been disabled. She initiated it, saying how much she liked his pictures. He replied that if she liked them so much, she should get him something off his Amazon wish list. From there, it turned into the whole cash master thing. He would talk… dirty to her, and she would send him money or buy him expensive gifts.”
“Zyus was a male prostitute?”
“Not exactly,” replied Jeff. “Prostitutes exchange sex for money. In most cash master/slave relationships, they never even meet. It’s all online.”
“Then I don’t understand what you’re paying for.”
“It’s financial domination, or findom for short. The slave is basically paying for the master to treat him or her a certain way. A degrading way. A female findom slave is rare, but it looks like Blair Geister was a trailblazer in that arena too.”
“How do you know so much about this?”
“I had a college roommate one semester who moonlighted as a cash master,” Jeff replied, receiving a frown from Emory. “Don’t look at me like that. I had no control over his activities.”
Virginia continued relating what she found. “Anyway, Blair and Zyus would DM each other up to twenty times a day – most of the time chatting like online pen pals, peppered with some S&M talk. She started sharing everything with him, from problems she was having at work to movies that made her cry. And he’d do the same, telling her all about his family and dreams for the future.”
“That sounds like they were dating,” said Emory.
“Except that they never met – at least not until the night of the party.”
Jeff asked, “Why then?”
“Zyus had been pushing to meet in person, but Blair resisted. She mentioned the party in one of her messages, and he said it would be the perfect opportunity to meet. He could play the part of her new personal trainer, and he would leave after the party. He said he just wanted to meet her finally. She relented, and we know what happened after that. The last DM between them was her giving him her phone number and directions to her house.”
Emory shook his head. “Unbelievable.”
“I know. The whole time I was reading, I kept thinking, it doesn’t make sense. She was such a success. Why would she degrade herself like that?”
Jeff swiveled in his chair. “Maybe it does make sense, in a weird way. She was carrying around guilt about her brother.”
Emory wasn’t sold. “Eden told us she went to therapy to get over it.”
“Maybe she just buried it. She achieved monumental success, but part of her – the part that held onto that guilt – felt she didn’t deserve it. Or maybe Blair was just much more colorful than we realized. Another reason we should find rich clients to be on retainer for. They’re freaky and have lots of secrets to protect.”
Emory walked to the drafting table and flipped it up to see the murder board. “I bet that’s the reason for the cone of silence around Zyus’ lawsuit against Blair. The nature of their relationship must’ve come up during the depositions.”
Jeff joined him at the board. “Which means Juniper probably knew about it. I want to talk to her.”
Emory told him, “Even though we know the truth about this situation now, I doubt she’ll dishonor the NDA.”
“That’s okay. I have other questions for her.”
Virginia joined her partners and touched the news photo of the mine foreman’s arrest. “And I want to delve into another nagging loose end.”
Jeff looked to Emory. “What about you?”
“I’m going to follow Hugo Hickory. Let’s hope my heart’s not too dark.”
Jeff descended the front stairs, and after passing two deputies, carrying Blair Geister’s mattress between them, he spotted Juniper and Sheriff Flynn talking in the locutorium. He loitered on the bottom step until the sheriff left her and exited the front door.
“Juniper, could I have a few minutes of your time?”
“It would be a pleasure. I’m sick of answering questions. What is it you need?”
“I need to ask you some questions.”
Juniper’s shoulders slumped. “Very well.”
“One thing I’ve been curious about. Why didn’t you tell us what happened to Zyus Drake instead of referring to him as the man with the disappearing face?”
“Because it’s just so… gruesome. What was I supposed to say? That the skin on his face corroded and fell off?” Juniper shuddered. “I’m really not comfortable talking about this.”
“All right.” Jeff brushed the topic aside. “You mentioned that Tommy Addison had a son. Why didn’t he live with him?”
“Rue got full custody in the divorce.”
“Rue. Why does that name sound familiar?”
“You met her at The Monolith opening. She’s the interim CEO.”
“Seriously? Rue Darcé is Tommy Addison’s ex-wife?”
“She went back to her maiden name after the divorce.”
“Blair Geister’s handyman and her heir apparent used to be married?”
Juniper frowned at him. “He wasn’t a handyman. He was the facilities manager. He had a degree in engineering.”
“Why didn’t you tell us about the marriage?”
“I didn’t think it was relevant.”
“We’re going to need to talk to Rue Darcé again. Could you give me her number?”
“Yes, but she’s actually coming to Geisterhaus tomorrow morning to pick up Tommy’s things. I’ll be back here before she arrives.”
“Great. We’ll talk to her then.” Jeff held up his index finger. “Just one more question. Why were you convinced that Blair’s ghost wanted to kill you? What did you do that would’ve caused her to seek vengeance?”
“I told you I can’t talk about it. I signed a non-disclosure—”
“I remember, but NDAs cover the words and actions owned by a particular entity – in this case, Blair Geister. I’m guessing she wasn’t even privy to the information you’re keeping secret, so she didn’t technically own it. You did. There’s nothing to keep you from telling me what you did.”
Juniper locked her face in a grim stoicism and looked past Jeff on both sides in an apparent move to make sure they were alone. She told him in a soft voice, “I hired you, which I assume means you have a fiduciary obligation to hold any information I share with you in confidence. Is that correct?”
“As long as it doesn’t put anyone’s life in danger.”
“Very well.” Juniper placed her fingertips on her lips. “I’ve wanted to share this with someone for so long, but I didn’t dare. The night of the party, Zyus Drake didn’t end up in the unfinished guest room of his own accord.”
Jeff gasped. “You took him there.”
“I didn’t want some stranger sleeping in my bed! On top of that, he was so drunk, I was afraid he was going to throw up. I gave him a pillow and blanket from the linen closet and fashioned a makeshift bed on the floor. He didn’t object.” Tears dripped from her reddened cheeks. “The opposite in fact. He kept thanking me for taking care of him. He passed out almost as soon as he laid down.” She wiped her eyes and threw out her hands. “It’s my fault. What happened to Zyus Drake is my fault!”
Emory stepped into the wine cellar and flipped the light switch. He walked to the center of the room and rested his arms on the back of one of the chairs surrounding the chestnut table so he could stare at the painting on the far wall.
Hugo Hickory’s desiccated face. The heart clenched in the snarling mouth of Waya’ha’s coyote spirit. The answer to the Pangram Box was here. He just knew it.
Emory took a picture of the painting with his new phone. “I need to think like Blair Geister. She was an architect. Architects are creative, which is the impetus for this puzzle. She designed beautiful buildings. No matter how beautiful, a building must be functional. The form serves the function. She put the painting over the first location for a reason. It has to mark the way forward. She wouldn’t have created a random path.”
Emory rubbed his face. “I don’t know.” He did a slow spin, trying to detect anything that would trigger his mind.
“Don’t know what?” asked a voice from behind.
Emory jumped and swung around to see a familiar mask. “Mr. Drake, you’ve got to stop popping up like that!”
“Blair gave me free reign to look around the house – at least for another thirty-seven hours.”
“Yes, but can’t you at least announce yourself when entering a room?”
“Sorry for scaring you.” Zyus pulled his mask from his pocket and slipped it over his head.
“No, I’m sorry. You just startled me.”
Zyus faced the painting. “You keep coming back to this room. Is the Pangram Box in here?”
“I can honestly tell you I don’t believe it is.”
“Have you narrowed down where it could be? Made any progress?”
“I might have a furious compulsion to decode riddles, but I’m not going to help you find it.”
Zyus crossed his arms. “Man, I read you wrong. I thought you were someone who liked to help other people.”
“And I didn’t see you as someone who would extort money from someone.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I know about your former profession, Mr. Drake, and your relationship to Blair Geister.”
Zyus took a chair and rested his pythonic forearms on the table. “Sit down. Please.”
Emory hesitated but decided to hear him out.
Zyus inhaled a deep and whistling breath and compressed it from his lungs. “I’ve had a lot of time to myself these past few months. Time to think about my life now and my life before. I’m not proud of my life before, but that doesn’t mean I feel any guilt about it either. I didn’t start out as a cash master. There was no plan for it. I posted some workout shots on Twitter, and all these people started responding. Guys mostly. They offered to buy me things, send me money, serve me. It didn’t take me long to realize I could get all my bills paid for without lifting a finger. It was a game. Roleplay. I’d post pictures of myself and insult my followers, and they’d send me money for the privilege of serving me. I justified it because I wasn’t having sex with any of them, and if they weren’t serving me, they’d find one of the thousands of other cash masters to send their money to. It might as well be me.”
“You took advantage of their feelings of inadequacy.”
“I guess, but they got something out of it too. I filled a need for them. No one forced them to send me money. I wasn’t there holding a gun to their heads. When Blair reached out to me, there was something different about her. She wasn’t my first female follower, but we clicked. It started out as the same old game, but then I realized I was sharing things with her I wasn’t sharing with the others. And she told me everything. We’d never met, but I’d never felt more connected to anybody. I was falling for her.”
Emory noticed Zyus’ bloodshot, watery eyes and figured the man must be crying, but his tears remained hidden beneath his olive vinyl mask.
“I was excited to finally meet her. She didn’t disappoint. She was just as beautiful in person, and there was this energy about her that you couldn’t help but be drawn to. We met about an hour before the party. I hugged her and wanted to kiss her, but then she reminded me of her ground rules for the party. I was supposed to pretend to be her new trainer, and I promised I would never break her confidence about our relationship. That was between me and her. I made the mistake of telling her how I was feeling about her. Man, it was like someone flipped a switch, and all that energy just turned off. She got all serious and told me we could never happen, not like that. Then she went off to prepare for the party. They were setting up the bar, so I went over and had a couple of shots. By the time the party actually started, I was buzzing pretty good. Well, you know the rest.”
“Did you… love her?”
“I think I did. Then after this happened.” Zyus pointed to his own face. “I begged her to help me.”
“Help you how?”
“Surgery. I needed plastic surgery to fix my face. I couldn’t afford it myself, so I asked her to help. She didn’t want anything to do with me anymore. That’s when I sued her to get the money.”
“And during the deposition, you revealed the true nature of your relationship.”
“I had to. My lawyer made me use that secret as leverage. She agreed to a million-dollar settlement if I’d signed an agreement not to say anything about the incident or our relationship to anyone. It didn’t matter. It was too late. The doctors I went to afterwards said there wasn’t much they could do. If I’d gotten to them sooner, when the wounds were fresh, they could’ve helped repair a significant amount of the damage. But that window was closed and all hopes dashed. Of course, there were other treatments that even a million dollars couldn’t pay for, but Blair refused to give me another dime.”
“Who else was there when you gave your deposition?”
“Me and Blair, our lawyers, the arbitrator and Blair’s assistant, Juniper.”