Sugar & Spice (3 page)

“You remember this song?” I asked him.

“Uh-huh,” he said in a low semi-conscious voice.

I laughed. I could tell he was on his way to Never-Never Land. It had been a long day. We had been at the Universal Theme Park from the time it opened at eight a.m. until eight p.m. and he was tired.

We had lunch at the Hard Rock Café, which was full of Hollywood legend look-a-likes. Our server was Sidney Poitier. Rarely do I allow my daughter to eat junk food, but today I let her have whatever she wanted. We ate Buddy Holly burgers, French fries, and Haagen-Dazs ice cream.

After we finished eating, Savannah dragged us to the
Back to the Future
ride, Steven Spielberg's
Jurassic Park,
Ron Howard's
Backdraft
, Kevin Costner's
Waterworld,
James Cameron's
Terminator 2:3D
and everything else in the park. It had been hot and the lines were long. We baked in the sun for at least an hour and a half at each ride. But Savannah loved it and that's all that mattered.

Loud music blared from the Connelly mansion, awakening the twins who had fallen asleep in the guesthouse. After a few seconds, they recognized the tune. It was Levert's “Casanova.” Evidently, the party was underway. According to the digital clock resting on the fireplace mantle, it was a little after eleven. Alex picked up the high-powered binoculars and looked through the lenses toward the mansion. It looked like every light in the house was on. Alex could see Heather, Sandra, and Paula in the recreation room on the first floor.

The man that Heather had had sex with earlier was sitting in a chair, watching Paula peel off her clothing. Sandra, the natural blonde, was leaning against the eight-foot pool table watching the show. She was wearing a leopard jacket and a short black skirt that barely covered her derriere.

“You ready, Sam?” Alex asked.

“Yeah, let's go.”

They grabbed their backpacks, put on a pair of surgical gloves, and walked out the door. It was dark outside, but they found their way back easily by following the paved trail past the tennis courts, past the swimming pool, and up the stairs. Suddenly the music stopped. By the time the twins finished climbing the stairs, Heather and Sandra were locked in a vise-like kiss near the pool table, ripping at each other's clothes. Paula, completely nude, was on her knees in front of the man
sitting in the chair. Her head bobbed up and down rapidly like a crack whore who had been promised a vial full of the addicting drug.

The twins walked around to the front of the house. They wanted the element of surprise. When they reached the front of the mansion, they saw the red Diablo and the black Carrera GT parked in the circular driveway. Alex turned off the alarm and they entered the house undetected again. Their hearts began to pound the moment they entered the residence.

“This is going to be absolutely delicious,” Alex whispered.

“I know,” Sam whispered.

Slowly, so as not to draw attention to themselves, the twins unzipped the backpacks and pulled out an Omega stun baton that was guaranteed to make even the fiercest assailant behave. The baton had one hundred fifty-thousand volts running up and down the entire unit above the handle. Any part of the baton would render an assailant unconscious. They tiptoed down the hallway past the living room, through the kitchen, and past the formal dining room.

As they approached the recreation room, they could hear the sound of raw sex emanating from the room. The sound was so distinct—so animalistic—so erotic that it aroused the twins. With their backs against the wall, they peered around the opening and saw Heather Connelly's face buried in Sandra Rhodes' blonde crotch. Sandra's black skirt was pushed up over her butt, her feet flat on the table with her legs at a forty-five-degree angle. Her surgically enlarged breasts were exposed and her leopard panties dangled on her right ankle.

The man and Paula were on the floor facing the pool in a doggy-style position. He was thrusting in what looked like an angry fury. Paula's sighs were high-pitched and rhythmic. She twisted her long neck so that she could look back at the man. Paula was a very pretty brunette with dimples and thick black arched eyebrows. Her hair was short and curled to the back.

The twins waited until Paula faced the pool again before entering the room. The couples were so absorbed in their eroticism that they had no
idea the twins were there. They walked over to the bar and poured a glass of chilled chardonnay. They sat down, ate a few shrimp, some cheese and crackers, and watched the show. After a few more voyeuristic minutes, they walked over to the man and Paula.

“Having fun, kids?” Alex laughed, and lifted a champagne glass as if a toast was being offered.

The scene immediately switched from one of rampant sexual abandon to that of a deer being caught in the headlights of an oncoming car. The moaning ceased and the man pulled out of Paula. With the exception of Heather, they all scrambled to find their clothes.

“Who the hell are you?” the man asked.

“Don't worry about it,” Alex told him and zapped him with the baton. Paula was about to say something and Alex zapped her also. Both of them were unconscious.

Alex walked over to the bar, picked up a towel and then walked over to Heather and threw it in her face.

“Wipe her juice off your mouth!” Alex demanded.

“Why? You've tasted Sandra already!” Heather shouted back.

Alex backhanded Heather. “Wipe-your-mouth,” Alex repeated through clenched teeth.

Heather reluctantly wiped her face. When she finished, Alex kissed her hard on the mouth. “Did you miss me, baby?” Alex asked.

Sandra had finally put her panties back on and covered her breasts. She was about to say something when Alex zapped her with the baton. She fell to the floor.

Heather frowned. “What did you have to do that for, Alex?”

Alex backhanded her again. “You don't ask me questions! I ask you questions!” Alex told her and slapped her three more times—first with a backhand, then a forehand, then a backhand again. “You got that?”

Heather nodded. Alex zapped her with the baton and she fell to the floor.

“Alex, let's get rid of the guy first,” Sam suggested. “He wasn't supposed to be a part of this. But, he's seen us. He knows what we look like. He's gotta go. The sooner the better.”

“How do you wanna do it, Sam?”

“Let's take his ass out back and toss him over the cliff,” Sam said. “First, we better make sure the women are here when we come back.”

Alex pulled several plastic zip-lock straps and tape from the backpack and tied the hands and feet of the women so they couldn't escape—then taped their mouths shut. They tied up the man, and then one by one, the
twins carried Heather Connelly, Sandra Rhodes, and Paula Stevens upstairs to the master bedroom.

When they came back downstairs, the chardonnay was taken out of the bucket of ice and placed on the bar. Alex grabbed the bucket of ice and they took the man out to the bluffs. Alex tossed the melted ice water into the man's face and he came around. The shock of the freezing cold water snapped him out of it.

“Hey! What the fuck is going on?” the man shouted.

“You were in the wrong place at the wrong time, pal,” Alex said. “I would have let you live, but you fucked my girl. Nobody fucks her but me. So, ya gotta go—right off the fucking cliff. Bye, asshole.”

And with that, they tossed Jasper Hunter over the cliff. He screamed all the way down. His body exploded like a watermelon being dropped when it hit the rocks below. The twins walked back to the mansion and entered through the glass doors that led to the swimming pool. They were about to go upstairs when the doorbell rang.

“Who the fuck is that at this hour?” Alex shouted.

Keyth was dead to the world, snoring softly in my ear. We had fallen asleep on the bathroom floor after seriously getting our swerve on. With the air conditioner on full blast, the chill in the air awakened me.

“Wake up, honey,” I said, and shook my swarthy husband.

“Huh?” He grunted. “What time is it?”

I started to say what difference does it make, but I didn't. I looked at my watch. “It's eleven,” I said. “Don't you want to get off the cold floor and get in bed?”

“Yeah, baby. In a couple of minutes,” he said and began snoring again.

I laughed a little. I knew he was going to say that. He always does. But over the years, I've learned that it's easier to get him up if I let him sleep a little longer and shake him again. Usually I wait about thirty seconds or so, and then shake him again. I looked at my watch. About a minute had passed.

“Keyth, let's get up, baby,” I said a little more forcefully.

“Okay. What time is it?”

“Twelve o' clock,” I lied.

“Okay,” he said and picked up his two hundred-twenty pounds from the bathroom floor and staggered into the bedroom. He fell on top of the bed and was fast asleep again.

I went to the closet, grabbed a blanket and covered his naked body. I
went into the adjoining room to check on my daughter. She was also snoring. I love my husband, my daughter, and our life together. We're very lucky. I thought about my partner, Kelly McPherson, who had had terrible luck with men. She was a beautiful woman and had no problems getting a man, but keeping a man was a different story. Kelly would leave a man at the drop of a hat and have a new suitor that very day. I wondered what she would do when her looks faded. I wanted to remind her that we would arrive in Washington at eight-fifty p.m., so I picked up the phone and called her. I knew she'd be up reading. She had told me she liked doing most of her reading late at night when her children were asleep.

Kelly McPherson answered the phone. “I know what time the plane lands, Phoenix,” she said. “You do know that Washington is three friggin' hours ahead of Los Angeles, right? I mean, you do know that it's two a.m. here, right?”

I laughed. “How'd you know it was me?” I said.

She laughed. “Who the hell else is going to be calling me from the Universal City Hilton?”

“The technology these days,” I said sarcastically. “Were you asleep?”

“Hell no. Just sitting here reading an Eric Jerome Dickey book.”

“Which one?”

“
Cheaters
, Why? You want to read it when I'm done? Is that why you called this late?”

“Of course. Why else would I call?”

“You want my best guess, Phoenix?”

I could tell she was smiling when she asked the question. “Yeah, Kelly, Your best guess.”

“Okay, knowing a hard-core FBI agent like you, you probably saw the article in
USA Today
about the high-profile murder of a local warden and his wife. I think you were puzzled as hell, probably bothered you all friggin' day. Bothered you so much in fact that you couldn't wait until tomorrow to talk to me about it. How am I doing?”

I smiled. That's how it is when you've been partnered with someone for
as long as Kelly and I have been. You know each other so well. You're almost like a set of identical twins.

“Bothered you all day, too, huh, Kelly?”

“Sho' did,” she said.

Kelly McPherson is white, but she can speak in the Black English vernacular and sound authentic when it suits her; unlike so many of the morning news anchorwomen, who learn a popular word or phrase and still sound too proper when they say it.

“So who's running the show on this one, Kelly?”

“The locals.”

“Are they sharing?”

“Haven't asked, to be honest. I've been on my best behavior, so I'm sure I could find something out.”

“Would you?” I asked.

“Sure. I'll look into it tomorrow.”

“How's the arm and the leg?” I asked her. Coco Nimburu had broken them during an altercation.

“They're as good as new. Better, if you believe what they say about a clean break. Did you sprinkle her ashes at the studio?”

“Yeah, I did it.”

“Well, I've been working out at your dojo on the wooden dummy like you suggested. That shit is hard on the arms, girl.”

“Yeah, but it toughens them up. Keep working at it.”

“We're still going to work out together at the dojo though, right, Phoenix?”

“Of course. Anyway, I'm gonna go. See ya tomorrow night.”

Sam looked through the peephole and saw a man with a briefcase standing there with an armed uniformed guard. The man was well-dressed, sporting a thin pin-striped suit, a white shirt, a black polka dot tie, and a matching handkerchief. The uniformed guard was at least six feet tall, two hundred pounds of steel wrapped around flesh and bones. His sidearm was a Smith and Wesson .38-caliber revolver.

“Alex,” Sam said. “It's a rent-a-cop and a banker.”

“Ask him what he wants,” Alex said.

Sam hit the intercom button. “Who is it?”

“Charles Kirkwood of Kirkwood Jewelers. I'm here at Jasper Hunter's request. Is he available?”

Sam turned off the intercom. “Alex, hand me the baton,” Sam said, and then hit the intercom button again. “Just a second.”

Just as Sam opened the door, Heather, who had somehow freed herself, came running down the stairs. Her hands were still held tightly behind her back with a plastic strap. The tape was still covering her mouth.

Charles Kirkwood's eyes seemed to swell to twice their size when he saw the frightened woman. He was so stunned by the visual that he became temporarily paralyzed and stone-faced.

The uniformed guard had his hand on his Smith and Wesson, on the verge of pulling it out of its holster. Sam zapped him with the baton.