Not Your Everyday Housewife (12 page)

A single red rose appeared on the porch steps of The Bird’s Nest the following morning with an envelope addressed to “Cynthia”.

“This here’s for you.” Tula Rae handed the rose and the envelope to Cyn who sat at the kitchen table finishing her first cup of coffee and the raspberry crepes Tula Rae and Derry made at 6:00 a.m. “I got a notion as to who’s behind this, and I got the why, too.”

Cyn tore open the envelope and lifted out the card. On the front was a quote by William Shakespeare. Inside were the words
, A Rose by any other name would smell so sweet. Meet me at The Beanery tonight, 7 o’clock. Come alone, unless you want pictures of your beautiful naked body plastered all over the internet. What would Sam think of that? Can’t wait to see you. Love, Steve.

She barely made it to the bathroom before she threw up.
Oh, God, what have I done?
Dr. Sinegal warned her there could be repercussions. The man wanted something, and if it wasn’t sex, it was probably money.

“Jesus. H. Christ. I have half a mind to drag that boy out from whatever rock he’s hiding behind and smack him upside the head.” Tula Rae’s anger blasted through the kitchen and snaked its way to the tiny bathroom where Cyn crouched on the floor, sweating and exhausted.

“I’ll take care of this,” Derry said.

“What you planning to do? We can’t afford another one of you girls to go missing and end up plopped on the front lawn.”

“I’ve got a plan.”

“Great.” Shea was in the kitchen now. “Anytime Derry’s got a plan, usually means trouble.”

Cyn grabbed the edge of the sink and hoisted herself up. This whole mess was her fault and she was not going to risk anyone else getting hurt. She rinsed her mouth, splashed water on her face, and worked her way back to the kitchen. “Derry, you are not going to do anything. I got myself into this mess, and I’ll figure a way out of it.”

“How? He’s going to blackmail you, Cyn. You know all that money you made in the market? He’ll blow through that and still go after Sam.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I’ve known people like this my whole life,” Derry spat out. “You’re the one who doesn’t know. He’ll eat you up alive.” She waved the letter in front of Cyn. “What do you plan to do? Go there and try to work a deal?”

“I was considering that.”

“Save it. It’s all bullshit and it won’t work.”

“And you’ve got a plan that will?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

“Which is?”

“You meet him, see what he wants. I’ll trail him”—her smile turned cold—“and become his next victim.”

***

Cyn stood beside The New England Beanery wrapped in a fleece jacket, jeans and a sweatshirt. She wore two T-shirts beneath the sweatshirt and a pair of tights. If she could’ve found a hat and gloves, she’d have worn those, too.

Steve Miller would not get close to her again.

She just wanted to go home, disappear into the mundane existence on Randalee Road with her new Orange Blossom Maid-for-You mixer and her Scrubbing Bubbles. Life there was good, predictable. Safe. She’d tell Sam about the investments, beg his forgiveness and promise never to look at a stock again. She’d do anything to get back her old life. But first she had to find a way out of this mess.

He was late. She’d begun to think he’d spotted Derry hiding in Tula Rae’s station wagon a block away and wasn’t going to show. Derry had drawn up a very precise plan which included using a vehicle that didn’t have out-of-state plates.
A dead giveaway
, she’d said.

“Hello, Cyn.”

She jumped and swung around. Steve Miller stood three feet from her, dressed in khaki’s and a polo, his handsome features pulled into the same boyish smile that had intrigued her the first day she met him.

“Don’t be afraid” His rich voice poured over her. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

“What do you want?” How could he sound so sincere? So innocent?

“Well, I’d say
you
, which is true in part, but I never mix business with pleasure.” His smile deepened. “No matter how pleasurable the business might be.”

“Get to the point.” She scrubbed the emotion from her voice, just like Derry had told her to do.

“Are you hungry?”

“No.”

“I’ve been thinking about you a lot, Cyn.”

When she said nothing, he laughed and said, “I guess a drink is out of the question, too.”

What would Derry do?
And then the words came. “I’m not interested in being one of your desperate housewives.”

“Are you sure?”

“More than sure.”

He smoothed his wavy hair with both hands and tilted his head to one side, as if considering his next move. “I look at it like this, if a woman’s here alone, she’s looking for something she’s not getting at home.”

“That is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Why?”

“Everything is
not
about a man.”

“It’s always about a man. You think the woman in the stilettos and leather skirt is doing that because she likes stilts and animal skin? She wants a man to see her and
want
her. Same with the ignored wife who totes her Louis Vuitton bag full of designer clothes and perfume off on vacation. She wants a man to notice her, any man if she’s desperate enough. And the poor bastard husbands don’t get it, which is where I come in.”

“That’s sick.”

“Why? I’m providing a service, call it marriage counseling. I snap a few pictures, threaten to send them to the husband, collect a little pocket change, and
bam,
they’re running back to their old man’s bed faster than a bitch in heat.”

“And then you send them little reminder notices every few months?”

“Sometimes.”

God, she felt sick. “How much?”

“Twenty thousand.”

“I don’t have that.” She stopped before she said more. It was her turn to smile. She could take care of this all by herself, and Derry wouldn’t even have to get involved. “Give me the pictures and the negatives, and forget you ever saw my face. You do that”—her smile deepened—“and I’ll give you
fifty
thousand.”

***

Why in the hell was Cyn waving to her like that? Didn’t she know this was a covert operation? Damn, the woman would never make an investigator.

Steve Miller pulled away in his black Spider and headed west. Derry merged into traffic, tossing a wave to Cyn who stood with her arms extended like a referee.

She puttered along in Tula Rae’s shitty brown station wagon, trailing several hundred yards behind Steve Miller. When they reached the outskirts of town, traffic thinned and she fell further behind.

The Spider turned down a secluded road, kicked into gear and disappeared. Derry followed, passing houses buried between trees and winding drives. She’d just rounded a wide bend when she spotted Miller’s car easing into a two car garage attached to a gray contemporary. Derry drove past and parked in a vacant lot two houses away.

When she stepped out of the LTD wagon, her stiletto’s sunk in the soft dirt.
Great.
She unstuck one heel and then the other, working her way onto the paved road. It would be too obvious to say she just happened upon his house, miles from the main road, dressed in a low cut dress and three inch heels. Only a hiker would travel these roads.

So, Derry opted for plan B. The truth.

She trudged up the long drive, admiring the hedge of red roses. Even scumbags enjoyed beauty. She stopped to smell one of the clusters, and then walked the ten steps to the arched entrance and rang the bell.

Within seconds, the front door opened and there he was. “Well, hello.”

Steve Miller was handsome, she’d give him that.

“Hello. Steve, is it?” She extended her hand. “I’m Derry.” She paused. “A friend of Cyn’s.”

He hadn’t expected that. His dark brows inched up just enough to indicate his surprise, but he recovered quickly. “Well, come in, Derry.”

She flashed him a smile to match the one he’d given her, and crossed the threshold.

“I must admit, I’m a bit surprised to see one of Cyn’s friends here.”

“Why?”

“Cyn and I concluded our business earlier.”

Derry removed her leather jacket and smoothed her royal blue dress. “Cyn’s never been much of a businesswoman.”

“I guess that depends on which side of the table you’re sitting at,” he said.

“What did she offer you?” Derry followed him into the living room and sank into a leather chair.
Is this where Cyn sat?

“Fifty thousand to disappear.”

“That’s more than generous.”

“It is, considering I was only asking for twenty.”

“She knew you wouldn’t go away for twenty.” Derry crossed her leg and let the dress ride high on her thigh. “Will you do it for fifty?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

He had a way about him, Robert Redford
and
Paul Newman. Damn convincing, if one weren’t on alert.

“Why would you?” she countered.

His laugh spilled over them. “What is it you’re offering?”

“Insurance. I want to see you destroy the negatives. And the originals. And I’m assuming you’ve got a darkroom here somewhere, since I doubt you’d want to advertise your trade to the local drugstore film developer.”

“You’re very astute.”

“I want to see the darkroom, too.”

“What’s in it for me?”

“I’ll write you a check today.”

“Really? Why does every woman love to toss around their husband’s money?”

“It’s not his. It’s mine.”

He studied her with renewed interest. “I like that. Let’s talk business, but first, how about a drink?”

“The same kind you fixed Cyn? No thanks.”

He laughed. “No. A celebratory drink. What’ll you have? You look like a scotch woman.”

“Dewar’s on the rocks.”

“Dewar’s it is.”

He poured two scotches and handed one to her. “To the culmination of a successful business deal. May both sides get what they want.”

“Cheers.” She clinked her glass against his, pretended to sip. “Now, how about getting those pictures?”

“What’s the rush?”

“No rush. Curiosity.”

“Ah, I see.” His lips pulled into a wide smile. “A little voyeurism, huh?”

Derry wanted to kick his balls but she held his smile and shrugged.

“I’ll be right back.” He rested his scotch on the glass table and left the room.

As soon as he’d disappeared, Derry opened her purse and pulled out the crushed valium she’d placed in a baggie. She dumped the powder into Steve Miller’s scotch, swished it around with her finger, and hurried back to the couch.

“Why don’t we look at these together?” he said, carrying a large manila envelope into the living room.

“A little foreplay?” She forced the words out of her mouth.

“Yeah, I think so.”

She grabbed their glasses and stood. “Sounds like my kind of fun,” she purred, handing him his scotch.

“Thanks.” He took a drink, pulled her to him. “Kiss me.”

She blotted out images of Alec and Charlie, and stuck her tongue in his mouth.

“More,” he groaned, throwing the pictures on the couch and grabbing her ass with his free hand.

Derry sucked his tongue, moaned in his mouth, then eased away. She wanted to puke, but Cyn needed her. “We have to slow down or this is going to be over way too fast.”

His breathing came in quick, uneven gasps as he lifted his glass and gulped. “You ever have a threesome?”

“A few times.”
What was one more lie?

“You want one now?” His eyes glittered with sex.

“No.” She sipped at her drink. “I want you all to myself right now.”

“I want to screw you from behind. Let me see that ass.”

She threw back her head and laughed.
God, knock him out!
“What about the pictures?”

“We’ll save those for round two.”

She almost gagged as she said, “Cyn’s my friend, but she’s hot.” And then, “She makes me hot.”

“Have you done it with her?”

“No.” The words rushed out. “She’s too straight.”

“Not like you, huh?” He smiled.

She smiled back.
You sick bastard. I will make you pay for what you did.
“Not like me.”

He swiped up the pictures and sat on the couch. “Sit, here.” He pointed to his lap. “Touch me.”

Derry picked up his drink which was a third of the way gone, pretended a sip from it and handed it to him. “Drink up.”

“I don’t need to get loosened up to screw you,” he said.

“It’s not about loosening up, it’s about enjoying.”

He stroked her breast through the thin jersey of her dress. “Well put.” And with that, he downed the rest of his scotch.

He unclasped the manila folder and slid the pictures out. His hand faltered as he rifled through the photos. “Shit,” he mumbled, rubbing his forehead.

“What’s the matter?” She ran her fingers through his hair.
Night-night, you sick piece of shit.

“Just give me a minute.” He fell back against the sofa, his eyes drifting shut. “Just a… minute.” His hand flopped forward and the photos slipped to the floor.

“Steve?”

His head lolled to the side as he groaned and passed out.

Derry climbed off him and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “There you go, you bastard.” She scooped up the photos and slid them back into the envelope. If Cyn wanted to see them before Derry torched them, she could but Derry didn’t need proof to see what a sick freak the guy was.

Asshole.
He looked like such a decent guy, innocent even, with his clean-shaven face layered with sleep, and his lean body decked out in Ralph Lauren.

You just never knew. She’d like to give him one swift kick in the balls for what he did to Cyn, but then he might wake up. Besides, she had a better plan.