Obsession, Deceit and Really Dark Chocolate (31 page)

“I don’t know, but I think you may have to find a way. And there’s also something else that you may want to tell her.”

“What?” I asked warily.

Without another word Dena scrolled further down the favorites menu. She stopped when she got to a site titled STD Fact Sheet.

“Don’t tell me,” I moaned.

“I’m afraid so.” Dena clicked on the site in question.

I leaned over her shoulder and read the information on the page that came up. When I was done Dena showed me a few other bookmarks that she had stumbled across. They all dealt with the same disease. Just as I was digesting all this Chica came out of the bedroom, a kangaroo dangled helplessly from her mouth.

“Chica, no! Drop it,” I yelled. “You’ll get chlamydia!”

19

A pervert by any other name acts just as freaky.

—C’est La Mort

DENA AND I MET UP WITH TIFF OUTSIDE THE CAFÉ A HALF HOUR LATER. WE
had done a little more snooping before leaving Peter’s place. The kitchen hadn’t been as bad as either of us had anticipated. It appeared that when it came to food Peter preferred items that were filled with a maximum amount of preservatives. Say what you like about candy bars and pretzels; the one thing everyone has to agree on is that they don’t rot. I also found a new box of dishwashing gloves under the sink and used a pair to go through Peter’s garbage. I had been terrified of what I might find, but much to my relief there was no evidence that Peter ever practiced safe sex while messing around with adorable inanimate objects. What I did find was an empty bottle of Zithromax, the medication used to cure chlamydia. I stuck this in a Ziploc bag and then used a larger freezer bag to store one of the stuffed animals. It seemed like it might be important evidence, although the idea of bringing the items into my home made my skin crawl.

Tiff greeted us with a half-eaten biscotti in her hand. “It’s my fourth one,” she said sheepishly as she took Chica from me. “I used to bite my nails when I was nervous, but the owner of the salon gave me a hard time about it so now I eat instead.” Tiff sighed and took another bite of her snack. “It’s so stupid. You can hide a nail-biting habit with silk or acrylic, but a weight problem is obvious to everybody.”

“There’s nothing wrong with your body,” Dena said. “If anything, you should be showing it off in a new wardrobe.”

“Yeah, right,” Tiff said with a polite laugh, not picking up on Dena’s subtle jab at her outfit. “So, did you two find anything?”

Dena looked at me and I looked at the sidewalk.

“Oh, God,” Tiff murmured. “You
did
find something. What is it? Did you find something that makes you think it was my fault? Could I have done something that would have stopped him from jumping out that window?”

“I don’t think so, Tiff,” I said slowly. “Your brother had a few…issues.”

“Issues?” Tiff repeated.

“
Issues
is such a judgmental word,” Dena lamented. “Your brother just had peculiar tastes. He liked his sex on the wild side.”

“Sex?” Tiff’s eyes widened. “My brother was having sex? I didn’t even know he was attracted to anyone!”

“Well,” I said, “this isn’t really about
anyone,
more like
anything.
”

Tiff was looking increasingly alarmed. “What do you mean?” When no one answered, she studied Dena, me and finally Chica, who was the only one willing to return her gaze. “Somebody better tell me what’s going on.” Tiff’s voice had taken on an edge that made me wince.

“You know what? I’m hungry,” Dena said. “There’s got to be an outdoor café around here. Somewhere we can take the dog.”

“Are you stalling?” Tiff asked.

“No, I’m just hungry,” Dena said impatiently. “And after snooping around an apartment that hasn’t been aired out in more than two months, I would like to sit outside and enjoy the breeze.”

Tiff hesitated for a moment. “I guess that would be okay.” She scratched Chica behind the ears. “I think I saw a sandwich place with outdoor seating while we were driving over. It can’t be more than a few miles from here.”

It only took us five minutes of driving around to find the sandwich shop and less than ten minutes to get our food and find a spot at one of the tables that lined the sidewalk. Dena treated herself to a BLT, Tiff got a milk shake and I got a ginger tea that I prayed would abate my queasiness.

“So,” Tiff said as she poured a little water into a plastic bowl our cashier had provided for Chica. “Why don’t you tell me what you found out about my brother while I still have the courage to hear it? Who exactly was he sleeping with?”

I took a deep breath. “Tiff—”

“You know what my first thought was when I saw you?” Dena asked Tiff, completely cutting me off.

Tiff shook her head mutely.

“I thought your sense of style was beyond atrocious.”

I inadvertently spit out my mouthful of ginger tea all over my side of the table.

“Come again?” Tiff asked.

“Your clothes, Tiff,” Dena continued. “I hated acid wash when it was first introduced in the eighties and my feelings about it haven’t changed since then. And your shirt…you can do animal prints and you can do sequins, but together?” Dena shook her head. “At first sight I considered your outfit to be a shocking, full-scale assault against good taste. I even thought that you didn’t have the
right
to dress that way.”

Tiff’s mouth was now hanging open; mine was, too, for that matter. “Is this your way of distracting me?” she asked. “Are you trying to make me angry?”

“No, I’m making a point. You see, you
do
have the right to wear that stuff.” Dena waved her hand towards Tiff’s ensemble. “Just because it’s not my thing doesn’t mean that it shouldn’t be yours. Furthermore, somebody
made
that shirt. And then some retailer liked it enough to carry it in their store and dollars to doughnuts you’re not the only one who bought it. Yeah, it’s different and it freaks me out a little, but obviously there are people out there who think that shirt is
da bomb
and who am I to tell you and your kind that you’re wrong?”

“I still don’t see where you’re going with this.”

“Your brother had his own style, too,” Dena explained. “I’m not talking about clothes now, I’m talking about sex.”

Tiff swallowed, hard. “What exactly did you two find?”

“Your brother had a thing for stuffed animals,” Dena said bluntly.

“He had a thing…I’m sorry but I don’t understand.”

“Stuffed animals,” Dena repeated. “The kind you buy in toy stores. Peter liked to have sex with them.”

Tiff didn’t respond this time. I don’t think she knew what to say.

“I know you probably find that shocking,” Dena continued. “And maybe the idea of using a teddy bear as a sex toy offends you, but it’s not like the guy was hurting anyone. If a person owns a teddy bear, they can do what they want with it, and if what they want is to stick it in their underwear and use it for a little adult entertainment, then who are we to say that’s wrong?”

“You…you can’t be serious.”

“I’m serious. Sophie put one of Peter’s stuffed animals in a Ziploc. It’s kind of his Monica Lewinsky dress, if you know what I mean. Want to see it?”

“What? No!” Tiff gasped.

“Suit yourself,” Dena said with a shrug. She took another bite of her BLT before adding, “We think he also liked to have sex with people dressed up as sheep and shit.”

Tiff’s eyes were about the size of silver dollars. She looked over at me as I tried to figure out how I could make myself disappear. “She’s serious?” Tiff asked me.

I nodded silently.

“So you’re saying my brother was a freak.”

“But in a nonoffensive way,” Dena insisted.

“I don’t know how I’m supposed to react to this.”

“Well, if I were you I’d feel relieved,” Dena said.

“I should be relieved that my brother liked to sleep with sheep?”

“
People
dressed as sheep,” Dena corrected. “But, yeah, you should be relieved. My guess is that some asshole threatened to expose Peter as being a furry and a plushy.”

“A what?” Tiff asked weakly.

“A furry is what you call people who like to dress up as animals in order to have sex, and a plushy is the term used to describe those who like to have sex with stuffed animals. Anyway, having something like that exposed could really damage a person’s reputation, particularly in a puritanical society like our own.”

“I’m not sure you have to be a puritan to find this upsetting,” Tiff whispered.

Dena shrugged again, obviously impatient with Tiff’s more conservative take on the situation. “I’m just saying that I seriously doubt that Peter ended his life because of anything you did or didn’t do. You have nothing to feel guilty about.”

“Is she always like this?” Tiff asked me, pointing to Dena with her thumb.

“I know she’s abrasive,” I said carefully, “but she may be right. I think that Peter’s furry tendencies played a role in his suicide. We know what he did to his stuffed animals, so I think what we need to do now is figure out if he was actually sleeping with a human furry as well, or if he was just ogling them on the Internet. He did have a couple of animal costumes in his closet.”

“They have furry porn sites?” Tiff asked, her voice now a high-pitched squeak.

“A lot of them,” Dena and I said in unison.

“We also need to think about who might have wanted to expose…” My voice trailed off as I was struck with a new realization. “Oh, my God, I am so
slow sometimes!
This is what the letter to Eugene was about!”

Dena snapped her fingers. “Bingo!”

“Yes! He wrote that if Eugene went to the media with what he knew, he would not only be destroying political careers but also the lives of—” I stopped short as everything suddenly fell into place. The three of us looked at one another, clearly thinking the same thing.

“Anne Brooke,” Tiff whispered, “is a furry! She was dressing up as a sheep and sleeping with my brother!”

“It could have been any animal, not just sheep,” Dena said. “But other than that I think you may be on to something.”

“No one would elect a furry to Congress,” I said quietly.

“Probably not,” Tiff agreed.

“So what if Anne Brooke f lipped out when she realized that her secret could become public?” I suggested. “She could have gotten desperate. Maybe she decided she needed to do whatever was necessary to shut up everyone who knew about her fetish. And there’s only one way she could have guaranteed that was going to happen….”

“Furry politician pushes her plushy lover over the edge.” Dena sat back in her chair. “It makes quite a headline.”

“Dena, could you talk to some of your furry and plushy customers? Find out if they know Anne, or know someone who knows her?”

“Here’s the thing about furries and plushies. Because of the stigma assigned to people who like having sex with anthropomorphic animals, they’ve had to create this whole underground subculture. It’s like a secret club. The only way you’re going to get them to talk is if they think you’re one of them.”

“But you sell them Weenie Babies and leashes!” I protested. “You’re their supplier. Surely that gives you an in.”

“Nope,” Dena said, shaking her head solemnly. “They may buy from me but they’ll never trust me. I’m too…tame.”

“You’re too tame,” I said flatly. Tiff blanched and a little chill went up my spine. I was dealing with people who thought Dena, a woman who owned a whip and a drawer full of edible pasties, was tame. I nervously adjusted the clasp on my watch. “Oh, shit! I’m supposed to meet Anatoly in less than twenty minutes!”

Dena confirmed the time on her own watch. “Okay, let’s go.” She smiled. “I know this is a serious issue but I’m actually glad you got me involved. The furries and plushies are by far my most obnoxious customers. I’m looking forward to throwing one of them to the wolves—pun intended.”

20

I don’t understand my husband. He says he wants to grant my every wish, but then he gets mad when I wish for a night with Matt Dillon.

—C’est La Mort

“YOU’RE LATE,” ANATOLY SNAPPED AS I BREATHLESSLY BURST INTO THE
Starbucks we had decided to meet in.

“I know, I know, but I’ve had a really weird day. Listen…”

“We don’t have time for me to listen.” Anatoly got up and threw his jacket on before dragging me toward the door. “We were supposed to be at Sam’s five minutes ago.”

“But I really need to tell you something! Besides, I haven’t gotten my Frappuccino yet!”

“No time.” Anatoly now had me out the door and was pushing me toward the Harley.

“No time?” I asked incredulously. “Are you actually asking me to leave a Starbucks without getting a drink?”

“You’ll live.” He pulled two helmets out of his saddle bags and handed me one.

I made a face and put the helmet over my head. I reluctantly climbed onto the back of Anatoly’s bike and gave Starbucks one last look of longing before we roared off. Fortunately Anne and Sam’s house was less than five minutes away, so while we were late we weren’t excessively so. Anatoly got off the bike and strode toward the front door of the white-and-brown Tudor while I trotted after him. “Anatoly, I really want to tell you about Peter’s apartment.”

“As soon as we’re done talking to Sam,” he said curtly before ringing the bell.

Before I had a chance to insist, the door opened and Sam Griffin stood before us, looking sheepish and uncomfortable. “Well if it isn’t the
Tikkun
reporters,” he said with a forced laugh. “I suppose I should have known that one was a scam straight away. I’ve never known
Tikkun
to report on a small congressional race.”

“Do you read
Tikkun?
” I asked.

“Er…no. I’m not Jewish. Anne and I are Unitarians.”

“I see, then I think it’s forgivable that you didn’t recognize the
Tikkun
thing to be a ruse.”

“Right, right.” He shifted his weight from foot to foot before it finally dawned on him that he would need to step aside if we were ever going to be able to enter. “Sorry,” he said quickly as he ushered us into the house. “I’m a bit nervous. This is the first time I’ve ever hired a private detective, and I was just beginning to get comfortable with Darrell. Now to have to detail my suspicions to two more strangers…” He released a heavy sigh. “I can’t say I’m happy about that.”