I’VE SAID IT before; I’ll say it again (like I need to convince anyone—ha!): Dylan is the shoulder to cry on in our dynamic duo. And Babe practically soaked that shoulder with her tears. Poor kid. Gaetan was such a bully. But you know, I thought I was seeing some encouraging signs.
Rhonda Mary Gough, aka Babe, was getting sick and tired of taking this crap from big brother. Through the sniffles and the hiccups, I could see that something else was budding. Anger. Babe was realizing that she didn’t want this life anymore. Even more important, she was realizing that the only person who could change things, ultimately, was Babe. Oh, there was help out there; Dylan assured her of that. But she’d have to take the first step (however big, however small) herself. I knew she would. After all (you know it, sister), that’s a woman for you.
So while Dylan consoled Babe, I moved quietly away. With Babe’s back to me, her head on Dylan’s shoulder, I busied myself around Gaetan Land. That is to say, I snooped through the files marked private in the small filing cabinet. Risky, I know, but Dylan was making it easy for me, keeping Babe focused on him, talking and totally distracted.
Soooooo... I started with the payment information. How interesting to see that Elizabeth Bee’s Gaetan Land membership was indeed being paid for by Hugh Drammen. Albert Valentine’s attendance had been frequent right up until his demise. But whoa, hold the phone. There were no recent invoices in his file. The billing had stopped weeks ago. Oh, man, that didn’t seem right. If I was any judge of character, it wasn’t like money-grubbing Gaetan to let something like that slide. But wait? Wasn’t Babe in charge of the billing?
The medical histories were interesting. Holy shit! Drammen was old! Ruth-Ann was diabetic. There were three in the group taking meds for depression (poor Eva one of them; wasn’t always easy being a young woman), and one took meds from time to time for erectile dysfunction (I can’t believe he put that on there!). Heart problems: Faynelle St. James hadn’t listed any, but had admitted in her comments that her weight, lack of fitness, and job stress were motivators to join Gaetan Land. All of those factors made a heart condition seem pretty damned feasible. Telly had disclosed that he had high blood pressure. Interestingly, Albert Valentine seemed to have skipped the section on health information almost completely. He’d ticked yes to a couple of minor things, but failed to tick any nos. Had he been lying by omission?
Frankly, I thought all three probably had heart issues. But did I believe they’d all just spontaneously suffered fatal events? Not a chance. Well, Faynelle maybe.
Alrighty then. Looked like I was back to my theory of pheromones. Pheromones that potentially caused people with heart conditions to keel over dead.
Except we knew that Gaetan wasn’t using the Cuddle-Uppies to introduce the pheromones, nor were they being delivered via the smoothies. But that whole changing the air filters thing? I think we had a winner for the mode of delivery.
Presuming my theory was right, the question was, did Gaetan know his secret cuddle addiction-inducing ingredient could cause potentially fatal heart problems?
If so... that was manslaughter, plain and simple. Or reckless endangerment, at the very least.
I was going to so nail Gaetan’s ass on this.
There was a loud, shuddering sigh from across the room. One of those I’m-all-cried-out sighs. I slid the filing cabinet door closed (oh so silently), then turned to smile at Babe. Then Dylan.
“Time to go, Dylan, dear?”
“Yes, Dix, darling.”
We exited the tiny office.
But our visit wasn’t over.
“Hey, Brittney,” I called over to Brandy. “You missed a spot!”
I turned to Babe, who’d followed me out of the small office. “She really should clean that, you know.”
Babe looked down at the mess, sheepishly.
I meant the pile of glass on the floor where, in her tantrum, Babe had broken the vases. It would take randy-Brandy no more than a few minutes to clean that up with her power to suck. (I mean, she still was holding the vacuum cleaner, after all.) Yes, Babe had made the mess, but in my humble opinion, Babe had better deal with the little brat right now. With Gaetan gone, Brandy’d walk all over Babe if she didn’t assert herself.
“Sorry, can’t,” Brandy said. She’d parked the vacuum and was leaning to look out the window (and give Dylan a nice view of her ass, no doubt). But she didn’t look very sorry. “Eva and I are off to have pedicures and manicures.” She turned around. “Ta-ta and all that. But I’ll see you at cuddle club tonight, won’t I, Dylan?”
“Er, yeah,” Dylan conceded.
“Babe,” I urged her under my breath. “I know she’s just filling in for Eva but you really should get her to clean—”
“I’ll do it.” Dylan crossed the room and grabbed the vacuum from where Brandy had left it. “I don’t mind helping out. Especially since Brandy and Eva have appointments at the spa.”
What the fuck?
But I really do know better than to ever seriously question whose side Dylan is on. Always mine. “Let me go change the vac bag first, though. Otherwise the glass might shred it and get dust all through the motor. Where do you keep them, Babe?”
Ah. Got it. Smart lad, Dylan.
“Oh, I can do that for you,” Brandy gushed.
“No,” he said. “I insist. You don’t want to be late for your appointment.”
“Well, it is at the Bombay Spa...” With a superior wave, she floated past Babe and me and out the door.
Babe pointed to an unmarked door that led to the maintenance closet. With vacuum in hand, Dylan went inside. I turned Babe around as he shut the door, drawing her into conversation so she wouldn’t think too hard on why Dylan had shut himself inside the small closet.
I knew he’d need time in there. So small talk it was.
“So you went to California U?” I’d seen that on the degree.
Babe seemed to brighten. “Yes,” she said. “Oh, that was such a wonderful time! I finished near the top of my class. I wish I’d been able to do more with it.”
“Like what?”
She beamed. As if she’d never been asked what she wanted to do with her life, but always wanted to be asked, Babe elaborated. Short version of the long story: she wanted to run her own business, or at least be a partner in some sort of business. And not just the yes partner. She was very good at business, and very creative. But the baby of the family had always been seen as the baby of the family. Every one of her siblings and both her parents were against the idea of her striking it out on her own. Education? Fine. Life? Not so much.
Just as Babe was wrapping up, the door opened.
“Richie!” Babe said. She gave Detective Head a curious smile. “What are you doing here?”
He nodded (a tad efficiently) and said, “Dylan needed my help with something.”
I pointed the way. Babe looked at me confused as Dickhead shut himself inside the small janitorial closet with Dylan.
“Boys, huh? What are ya gonna do? Can’t even ask a woman for directions in changing a vacuum bag.”
Seconds later, Dylan and Dickhead came out of the closet. Both nodded to me in a meaningful way. Then Dickhead left holding onto the stuffed-out pocket of his overcoat. He had it—the vacuum cleaner bag. Tagged and sealed no doubt, and soon on the way to the lab for analysis.
Dylan started cleaning.
“I really appreciate this,” Babe said, as Dylan picked up the larger pieces of glass and vacuumed the floor.
“Well, we appreciate the beautiful blouses you made. Oh, and Babe, don’t tell Gaetan we were in.”
“How come?”
Oh, so many reasons!
“Well, if he doesn’t know we were here, then he won’t give you hell when we show up for cuddle club tonight.”
We. Yes, I’d thrown that in on purpose.
“Well,” she replied sheepishly, “Gaetan didn’t ban Dylan from the club.”
Of course he hadn’t. He’d have had a small riot on his hands if tall, handsome Dylan were kicked out of cuddle club. Mabel might become deadly.
“I just really want to come back,” I said. “Just this one more time.”
Babe looked dubious, but with a hesitant nod, agreed.
Dylan and I walked quickly, silently, out to his SUV. Dickhead’s unmarked car was long gone from the parking lot, with the evidence.
“The air filters,” I said. “That’s where those deadly pheromones were coming from.”
After a hesitation, Dylan nodded. “Seems like it.”
We drove away in silence.
Stupid, stupid silence.