Wicked Craving (14 page)

“A
re you feeling all right?” Savannah asked Dirk when they got back into the car.

“Yeah, why?” he replied.

“Because you're looking pretty flushed to me. Do you have a fever?”

She leaned over and placed her hand on his forehead. He felt cool to the touch.

“No, I'm okay.” He glanced at his reflection in the mirror and frowned a bit. “What do you mean, ‘flushed'? Do you really think I look…you know…red?”

“Not red exactly. More like a weird shade of orange.”

He reached for his sunglasses that were lying on the dash, and she caught a good look at his hands.

“Dirk! Your palms! Holy cow, boy! What have you done to yourself?”

“Huh? What are you talking about?” he said, curling his fingers into fists and trying to tuck them under his thighs.

“What in tarnation?” she said. “You have orange palms. Your elbows are this weird, dark color, and your face is starting to look like an Oompa-Loompa!”

“A what?”

“An Oompa-Loompa, one of those little orange guys in
Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory
! That's exactly what you look like…only older and taller and not as cute!”

He yanked down his visor and stared at his image in the vanity mirror. “Oh, shit! I do!”

Turning around in his seat, he reached into the back floorboard. He grabbed a bottle of water and a bunch of old fast-food napkins.

Most hadn't been used.

He dumped half of the bottle of water onto the handful of napkins and began to scrub at his face with the sodden wad.

“Dirk, have you gone plum crazy out of your mind? What the heck are you doing, boy?”

“Rubbing this junk off before it gets any worse.”

“Ohmigawd!” she said. “You've got that fake tanning junk on you!”

“I do not.”

“Oh, don't lie to me. I thought I recognized that stink. My sister, Marietta, uses that fake bake lotion all the time…the cheap crap. Makes her smell like a wet dog. A wet dog that rolled in cow manure.”

She started to laugh. And the louder she laughed, the madder he got and the more frantically he scrubbed.

“That's not going to help,” she said between giggle fits. “It'll make it worse…all streaky. You'll be a striped, blotchy Oompa-Loompa.”

“Stop laughing. It's not funny! I have to look good for—”

“For what?” She was instantly all ears.

“Nothing!”

“No, no, no! You almost said it. Now spit it out. What's with all this dieting, working out, and now the fake tan?”

He put down the napkins for a moment and gave her a suspicious, piercing look. “What working out? What about me working out?”

She caught her breath. “I didn't say anything about you working out. Have you been working out?”

Tossing the clump of sogginess onto the back floorboard, he said, “What I have or haven't been doing is nobody's business. And so what if I decided to do some stuff to improve my personal appearance? Since when is that some sort of crime?”

“What's her name?”

His mouth dropped open, and he stared at her. “What's whose name?”

“The girl who you're getting all gussied up for.”

“Gussied? Who the hell's gussied?”

“You're dieting, going to a fancy hair cutter, putting on sunless tanning lotion, working out at a gym—”

“Who said I've been working out?”

“Um…you said something about it.”

“No, I didn't. How would you know that I've—”

His cell phone began to chime, and the phrase, “not a moment too soon” raced through Savannah's mind.

When he hesitated, she said, “You'd better shake a leg and answer that. Could be something important about the case.”

He pulled his phone from his pocket and looked down at the caller ID. “It's Ryan,” he said.

“Well, find out what he wants, quick!”

He gave her a suspicious look but answered the phone. “Coulter.”

He listened, then frowned. “Really? Are you sure? Hm-m-m. That's not what I expected. Okay, thanks a lot, buddy. We owe you one. Yeah, I'll…uh…see you later about that…um…right. Bye.”

Dirk hung up the phone and turned to Savannah. “They weren't there,” he said.

“Who wasn't where?”

“Ryan and John just left the Island View Hotel. They know the manager personally, and they talked to him about Wellman and Karen Burns.”

“Okay, and…?”

“And the manager knows them well. Said they've come there a lot and always ask for the same suite. But they weren't there the night Maria was killed.”

“Was he sure? They weren't just in and out for an in and out?”

“Nope. Ryan said he swears he was on duty the whole night and didn't see them. They looked over the hotel registry, even checked the security surveillance tape of the lobby. Not a sign of them.”

“She lied to us.” Savannah felt a hot wave of anger sweep through her. She hated being lied to. And no matter how often it happened—which was all day and all night when she'd been a cop—she never got used to it.

She was convinced that, someday, someone was going to tell her a whopper, and she was going to take off one of her loafers and beat them stupid with it.

“And we bought it,” Dirk said. “Well…
you
bought it.
I
had my doubts.”

“Oh, you did not. You believed her, too. And you know what that means.”

“That we're going to make her pay.”

“Big time.”

 

Once again, Dirk dropped Savannah off at her house and turned down the offer of a free meal. And as before, he disappeared with a mumbled explanation that made no sense at all. Something about needing to “go talk to Ryan about something” and “having an appointment that the station house set up.”

No sooner had he pulled out of her driveway than she had called Ryan to see if he would confirm that Dirk was dropping by, as he'd said he was. If her guys all had some sort of secret, she definitely wanted to be in on it.

But Ryan didn't pick up, and she couldn't bring herself to leave a message on his machine that said, “If you know what's going on with Dirk, you have to tell me, because I'm so nosy that I have to know absolutely everybody's business or I'll burst my britches.”

After all, the better part of virtue was being discreet about one's vices.

Once she had greeted the kitties, she found a note from Tammy and Gran, saying they were gone to Santa Monica, as they had mentioned before.

Left alone to her own devices, Savannah nibbled on leftovers from the refrigerator, fed tidbits to the cats, and thought about the case. Mostly, she wondered about the fact that Karen Burns had covered for Wellman. Was she supplying an alibi for him or maybe for herself?

She recalled how reluctant Wellman had been to say he had been at the hotel with Burns. She found it a bit strange that he had “admitted” to something that wasn't true.

Although she had leaned on him pretty heavily, pointing out the value of an alibi for a guy who was under suspicion for murder.

Hearing the phone ring in the living room, she left her munching and mulling in the kitchen and went to answer it.

Tammy was on the other end.

“Hi, Savannah,” she said. “Guess what Gran and I just did!”

“You just rode the carousel.”

“Oh, how did you know?”

“I'm a detective. And I know you and my granny. How was it?”

“Wonderful, we're going to ride it again in a minute. I just wanted to call you and tell you about Bonnie Saperstein.”

“Bonnie Saperstein. Hm-m-m…that rings a bell.”

“I told you about her before. I found all these articles on the Internet where she's blasting Wellman for his so-called weight loss program. She's a doctor in Twin Oaks who does the same sort of work he does, only she's legitimate.”

“Wait a minute. Karen Burns told us that she's going to her now. Wellman told her that it wasn't a good idea for them to see each other right now. And apparently she's trying to drop some weight to fit into a wedding gown.”

“Well, I did some more reading and found out that Dr. Saperstein really hates Wellman. It's really obvious in her writings and some interviews she's done about him. It might be worth having a talk with her. She might have some insights into him and what he's doing.”

“True,” Savannah said. “And Dirk left me here at home, high and dry, to go run some mystery errand again.”

“Uh-oh.” Tammy giggled. “Dirk never misses work for anything. She must be a real hottie.”

“And do you think that's funny?” Savannah asked, completely mirth-free.

“Um-m, no. Not really.”

“Me, either.”

There was a long, uncomfortable silence.

“I think I'll go ride the carousel again. Right away.”

“Good idea.”

 

A few miles inland from San Carmelita, nestled in the foothills, sat the small community of Twin Oaks. The town had been named for two large oak trees that grew atop a big hill to the east of the community.

But other than those landmark trees, a small museum dedicated to the Native Americans who had originally inhabited the area, and one exceptional Mexican restaurant, Twin Oaks didn't have much of a reputation for anything. And the residents liked it that way.

The only crimes that were committed—at least, on a regular basis—happened once a year in the springtime. That's when the graduating high school class would climb the hill by moonlight, all the way up to the trees, drink their illegally obtained booze, maybe spawn a baby or two, and stagger back down.

Savannah didn't particularly like Twin Oaks, mostly because it was hot. Situated inland as it was, the town had no ocean breezes to cool its residents. The hills blocked the onshore flow. And that often made a twenty-degree difference in the two towns.

Seventy-six felt a lot better than ninety-six on a summer's day.

And Savannah could feel the difference as she drove through the center of town looking for Dr. Bonnie Saperstein's office.

Savannah had found the doctor's number and address in the phone book, but she hadn't called before coming. She had decided to just risk it and see if she could catch Saperstein at work.

If she called, she risked being told no. It was a lot harder to turn down someone who was standing in front of you, smiling a down-homey Southern smile and talking sweet.

And if the doctor wasn't in, she was still better off having made the drive than sitting at home. There, she'd be obsessing about what Dirk was up to and feeling sorry for herself that Tammy was riding the carousel with her grandmother and she wasn't.

She found the building—a small but attractive structure with a distinctly southwest design. The plaster walls were painted a delicate terra cotta, and, like Savannah's house, the roof had red Spanish tiles. The heavy wooden door was arched on top and stained a dark walnut. Geraniums flourished in pots hanging from the eaves.

Beside the building was a parking lot, and Savannah noticed that two cars were sitting there—a small compact and a large, black Bentley.

“Ah, maybe the doctor is in after all,” she said to herself. “And if the Bentley is hers, it looks like she's sold a few CDs, too.”

Glancing down at her watch, Savannah saw that it was ten minutes till three. If Dr. Saperstein's appointments began on the hour, she might be finishing with someone very soon.

Savannah decided to wait in the lot and watch.

Sure enough, she was right. In less than five minutes, a young woman, who was maybe in her early twenties, came out of the building, got into the compact, and drove away.

As Savannah debated whether to go on in, another woman walked out, closing and locking the door behind her. She was attractive, middle-aged, with salt and pepper hair held back at the nape of her neck with a silver barrette. She wore a simple white tank top and white slacks with a teal blue, gauzy wrap thrown loosely around her shoulders.

Once the door to the building was secured, she headed toward the Bentley and Savannah's Mustang. Savannah got out of her car and met her midway across the parking lot.

“Dr. Saperstein?” Savannah asked.

The woman smiled, and as she walked closer, Savannah could see that her eyes were the same beautiful shade of blue as her shawl.

“Yes, I'm Bonnie Saperstein. May I help you?”

Savannah extended her hand, and the doctor shook it warmly and firmly. “My name is Savannah Reid,” she told her. “I'm a private investigator from San Carmelita. I'm looking into a matter—the death of Maria Wellman, Dr. Robert Wellman's…uh…wife. Could I possibly buy you a cup of coffee? I'd love to hear your opinion of Dr. Wellman.”

The smile disappeared from Bonnie Saperstein's face, and a fire burned in her eyes with an intensity that Savannah had to admit was a bit scary.

“Oh, you don't have to buy me coffee,” the woman said. “Let
me
buy
you
some coffee. I have quite a lot to say about Robert Wellman.”

S
avannah sat with Dr. Bonnie Saperstein in a cozy horseshoe-shaped booth in La Rosita Cantina and sipped her virgin margarita, wishing it had lost its virginity at the hands of the bartender, the way Bonnie's had.

There were advantages to being off duty.

But whether her margarita had the zip of tequila or not, it still had a salted rim and the tangy citrus taste. And as she looked around the cantina, she savored the ambiance of the place, tequila buzz or not.

The gleaming white stucco walls were decorated with brilliantly colored sombreros, serapes, and matador pictures. Patterns of light danced on the copper-topped tables with their tin luminaries all hand punched with delicate designs. Piñatas in various animal forms hung from the ceiling in each corner, all lending the place the laid-back, festive air of Mexico. The music of the Gipsy Kings filled the onion-and-pepper-scented air.

And the enormous bowl of guacamole and accompanying corn chips in the center of the table didn't hurt, either.

“This is a nice midday treat,” Savannah said as she scooped some of the creamy dip onto a warm chip. “I'm glad I happened to catch you coming out of your office.”

Bonnie Saperstein gave her a sly, knowing grin. “And how long did you have to hang out there in the parking lot before you ‘happened' to catch me?”

“Just five or ten minutes. Not long at all as stakeouts go.”

Bonnie chuckled. “It must be fascinating, what you do.”

“Stakeouts and report writing aren't all they're cracked up to be. But if you catch a bad guy, or gal, and get justice for the victims and their families, it's pretty satisfying.” Savannah took a sip from her margarita, then licked the salt off her upper lip. “Tell me about what
you
do. Hypnosis for weight loss and addiction recovery…now
that
sounds fascinating.”

“The human mind is fascinating. I never get tired of seeing what we do, how we struggle, the coping mechanisms we invent just to get through this adventure called ‘life.'”

Savannah decided to dive right in, even at the risk of ruining the instant rapport they had established. “Dr. Saperstein,” she said, “does hypnosis really work?”

“Absolutely.”

“So, what Wellman's doing…selling people those weight loss CDs…in your opinion, that's all legit?”

Saperstein's demeanor changed in an instant. And, once again, Savannah saw a deep and potent rage flare in her eyes.

“Hold on,” she said. “I said hypnosis works. For a practitioner who knows how to use it, it can be a powerful tool. When used with other forms of therapy, it can make all the difference for some patients.”

“But Robert Wellman isn't one of those practitioners?”

“Robert Wellman is a leech, feeding on people who have enough sorrow and difficulties already. The last thing they need is the false hope of a quick fix for their complex problems. He's far worse than a thief who robs people in a dark alley.”

Savannah leaned back in her seat, instinctively distancing herself from the waves of anger that were coming at her from across the table. She found herself wondering why Saperstein felt so intensely about the topic. To disapprove of a colleague was one thing, but this degree of hostility…?

“What is it about his approach that upsets you most?” Savannah asked her.

Bonnie thought for a moment before answering. “I suppose it's the fact that he's selling half-truths. And half a lie is worse than a lie.”

Savannah nodded. “I agree with that. You can see a lie coming a mile off, but a half-lie can suck you in.”

“Exactly. And he's sucking people in by the thousands. He's telling them that by listening to him, they can instantly reprogram their subconscious minds and lose weight.”

“And they can't?”

“Not by listening, once or twice, to the junk he's selling. No.”

“But don't you sell tapes and CDs and DVDs yourself?”

“I do. And on my tapes I, also, guide my listener through relaxation techniques and visualizations. I talk to them about them releasing the extra weight, surrendering it to the universe, letting go of painful memories, and self-limiting, defeatist attitudes.”

“That sounds like the sort of things he says, too.”

“Yes, he does. But the difference between Wellman and me is—I also have my patients visualize themselves eating wholesome food in healthy portions, daily moving their bodies in some form of exercise that they love, and actively reducing stress in their lives. I encourage them to examine their life priorities and rearrange them so that food isn't their best friend and consolation.”

She took a deep breath and a long drink from her margarita. Savannah watched her, thinking that here was a woman who was, indeed, passionate about her work. And she decided that she genuinely liked Dr. Bonnie Saperstein.

“What Wellman is selling,” Bonnie continued, “is magic thinking, a hurtful fantasy. He's not just robbing them of their money. It's far worse than that. He's setting them up for more self-loathing when they fail…again…like they've failed so many times before.”

Savannah nodded, understanding. “And the last thing anyone needs when they're trying to make a major change for the better in their life is more discouragement and self-loathing.”

“Yes. Because, no matter how much we all would like to think otherwise, nobody is going to lose weight and keep it off without changing what they eat and how much they move. Everything else is a magician's smoke and mirrors.”

“So, I guess it's safe to assume that you hate Robert Wellman?”

“Yes. I do.” She closed her eyes for a moment and seemed to be making an effort to quiet herself. “There are very few people on this earth whom I even dislike, but I despise him. And not just for the reasons we've just discussed. He's a vile man and a disgrace to our profession on so many levels.”

And speaking of disgraceful conduct
…Savannah thought. “I understand that a former client of his is now a patient of yours. Karen Burns.”

“I'm sorry, Savannah, but I can't discuss any of my patients with you.”

“I understand, and I won't ask you to. But I'd like to tell you what I know about her, okay?”

Bonnie nodded. “Go ahead.”

“She says that she's been having a sexual relationship with Wellman. She also tells us that she's pregnant with his baby.”

Bonnie said nothing, but she didn't look at all surprised. Apparently, this wasn't news to her.

“It seems she's ass-over-teakettle in love with him,” Savannah said. “Go figure.”

Bonnie shrugged. “Not all romances are the storybook kind…with knights on white horses and fairy tale endings.”

“That's for sure. A lot of those knights on horses turn out to be donkeys' behinds.”

Both women helped themselves to another guacamole-laden chip. Then Savannah said, “You have to wonder how people get drawn into these situations…spending their money and pinning their hopes on Wellman's scam materials.”

She thought of Karen Burns, the baby she was carrying in her belly, and the father of that child who wouldn't even tell his lover his real name. She thought of Lydia Mahoney and her scarred lip. “You wonder why they stay with a guy long after they find out he's a monster.”

“Each person is different. If you talk to one hundred people, you'll find they have one hundred reasons why they allow themselves to be deceived by the cheats of this world. Most of them are in terrible pain and looking outside themselves for relief. My job is to turn their search inward.”

“And I suppose Karen Burns is in terrible pain. I met her mother. Sheez-z-z, what a mouth on that one!”

Dr. Saperstein didn't reply to that, either, but again, Savannah could tell it was old news to her.

“Here's what I'm wondering,” Savannah said. “I'm wondering if Robert Wellman murdered our victim. And I'm wondering if Karen Burns is unstable enough to either help him do it or at least provide a false alibi for him.”

Bonnie was silent for a long time as she stared into the frosty drink in her hand. Finally, she said, “I can't tell you anything specific about Karen. Even if it weren't illegal, I wouldn't do it. My patients trust me with their deepest secrets, and to me that's a sacred trust. But I'll tell you what I know about women…at least some of them.”

“Okay,” Savannah said. “That would be helpful.”

“Some women…for myriad, sad reasons…have terribly low self-esteem. They hate their lives, and they want a way out. They look for a man to provide that new life.”

Savannah nodded. “Oh, I know the story all too well. Prince Charming comes riding through the forest glen on that white steed of his, red cape flapping in the breeze, and he carries them away to his castle in the clouds. That's a pretty popular fantasy. We heard it all the time growing up as little girls.”

“Yes, but once we become big girls, there are no more excuses. It's time to get real and figure out how things really are. We have to figure out our own life plans, not just look for some guy who will allow us to attach ourselves to him and
his
dreams.”

“But some women never make that distinction, between fairy tales and life. It's deeply engrained in us from the start.”

“So true. And when certain women receive attention from a man—especially one who's rich or powerful—they start to believe that their wonderful, new life has arrived. That perfect man is going to sweep them into his arms and take them to his world, a utopia of his making, where they'll always have enough money, be young, be healthy, be beautiful and slender.”

“And when it doesn't work out…”

“When the dream starts to fall apart, these women become desperate. Their fear takes over—that terrible fear of being stuck in their pain like they were before. Only now it's worse because, once again, they're without hope. They'll do almost anything to hold it together.”

Savannah leaned across the table and looked deep into the doctor's eyes. “They'll do
anything
?” she said.

Bonnie Saperstein returned the steady look without flinching. “I truly believe…some of them will do
anything
.”