onto the curb.
As they pulled away, the light from the streetlamp made it possible to get their plate number. I was repeating it to myself when I got distracted by their bumper sticker: “Practice Random Acts of Kindness and Senseless Acts of Beauty.” Was I missing something?
I stood there alone, feeling numb, but refusing to slip into gaga land. Time for a little self-applied crisis intervention. I focused on whatever strengths I had going, no matter how slight. Anything to keep me out of victim mode. I had survived. It might not have been pretty, but then neither was living through a tornado or a train wreck. In my own way I had kept my head about me and managed to use my big mouth to keep myself alive¬—at least for the next seven days.
Should I risk going to the police? Not if it meant putting my family and Benita in danger. I had no doubt Curtis would make good on his threat. After all, he murdered Gwen. There was no question about that. Not anymore. And Curtis settled my debate with Benita over the PI. Scratch that option.
But what about this tablet of Gwen’s? This recipe? What could possibly make it worth killing for? The answers were no doubt in her final message. If I could just figure it out.
I tidied up my dress and fluffed my hair. Opening my purse, I found a tissue and dabbed the blood off my lip. I took out my Healing Garden Pure Joy spritz and doused myself. With the promise of a hot bath to wash away the Curtis cooties, I got my bearings and walked home.
SEVEN
“That sickass gringo’s gotta die,” Benita said.
I paced the loft with my cell phone pressed to my ear. Two hours after my rendezvous with Don Juan Curtis the battle to control my fear and anger was still in high gear. “Thinking of that bastard hurting Gwen is just plain horrifying.”
“If they’d beaten or raped her the medical examiner would’ve found signs. Not that getting boozed up at gunpoint and dumped off the Beard Street Pier isn’t bad enough. I’m sure that’s what they did. Slick work.”
“We’ve got to find out why. And get proof. And stay alive to do it.” DUMBO’s shadowy landscape seemed more sinister than romantic tonight. I’d pulled down all the blinds and turned on every light in the loft. “Maybe we could go the witness protection route.”
“Forget it. That’s only for big stuff. Like mob hit men who rat on their boss. We don’t rate. Just as well. You want to change your name to Cooper and be forced to go live in the middle of nowhere?”
“And stalker protection won’t help,” I said. “I know from working with battered women that it requires a civil suit that takes forever. This Curtis guy would find out and kill us.”
“Not if we do him first. I want the pleasure of taking him out myself.”
“Stop it, Binnie. Just because some people are sick and demented doesn’t mean we have to act that way.”
“After what he did to you?”
“That’s still no reason to stoop to their level.”
“I’m buying a forty-five semiautomatic.”
“Will you please slow down and weigh the circumstances.”
“You weigh. I’ll slay. Soon as I get back, I’m going for a permit.”
“Listen to me!” I quit my pacing and sat down on the edge of the sofa. “Number one, getting a license for a handgun in New York City can take up to six months. And that killer has given us only one week to come up with Gwen’s tablet. Item number two, don’t think I’m not filled with rage. I’m the one who got the gyno exam in the back of the Hummer. I’m the one who supposedly knows Gwen’s secret. But we’ve got to stay cool and methodical. Item three, I love you for being such a loyal and protective friend. I’m so lucky to have Benita Morales in my life.”
I heard sobs from the other end of the phone. Then silence. Then, sounding fragile and barely audible, she said, “The thought of anyone hurting you…” More sobs.
“Right back at ya, sweetie.”
“I’ll chill. I promise. We’ll
As they pulled away, the light from the streetlamp made it possible to get their plate number. I was repeating it to myself when I got distracted by their bumper sticker: “Practice Random Acts of Kindness and Senseless Acts of Beauty.” Was I missing something?
I stood there alone, feeling numb, but refusing to slip into gaga land. Time for a little self-applied crisis intervention. I focused on whatever strengths I had going, no matter how slight. Anything to keep me out of victim mode. I had survived. It might not have been pretty, but then neither was living through a tornado or a train wreck. In my own way I had kept my head about me and managed to use my big mouth to keep myself alive¬—at least for the next seven days.
Should I risk going to the police? Not if it meant putting my family and Benita in danger. I had no doubt Curtis would make good on his threat. After all, he murdered Gwen. There was no question about that. Not anymore. And Curtis settled my debate with Benita over the PI. Scratch that option.
But what about this tablet of Gwen’s? This recipe? What could possibly make it worth killing for? The answers were no doubt in her final message. If I could just figure it out.
I tidied up my dress and fluffed my hair. Opening my purse, I found a tissue and dabbed the blood off my lip. I took out my Healing Garden Pure Joy spritz and doused myself. With the promise of a hot bath to wash away the Curtis cooties, I got my bearings and walked home.
SEVEN
“That sickass gringo’s gotta die,” Benita said.
I paced the loft with my cell phone pressed to my ear. Two hours after my rendezvous with Don Juan Curtis the battle to control my fear and anger was still in high gear. “Thinking of that bastard hurting Gwen is just plain horrifying.”
“If they’d beaten or raped her the medical examiner would’ve found signs. Not that getting boozed up at gunpoint and dumped off the Beard Street Pier isn’t bad enough. I’m sure that’s what they did. Slick work.”
“We’ve got to find out why. And get proof. And stay alive to do it.” DUMBO’s shadowy landscape seemed more sinister than romantic tonight. I’d pulled down all the blinds and turned on every light in the loft. “Maybe we could go the witness protection route.”
“Forget it. That’s only for big stuff. Like mob hit men who rat on their boss. We don’t rate. Just as well. You want to change your name to Cooper and be forced to go live in the middle of nowhere?”
“And stalker protection won’t help,” I said. “I know from working with battered women that it requires a civil suit that takes forever. This Curtis guy would find out and kill us.”
“Not if we do him first. I want the pleasure of taking him out myself.”
“Stop it, Binnie. Just because some people are sick and demented doesn’t mean we have to act that way.”
“After what he did to you?”
“That’s still no reason to stoop to their level.”
“I’m buying a forty-five semiautomatic.”
“Will you please slow down and weigh the circumstances.”
“You weigh. I’ll slay. Soon as I get back, I’m going for a permit.”
“Listen to me!” I quit my pacing and sat down on the edge of the sofa. “Number one, getting a license for a handgun in New York City can take up to six months. And that killer has given us only one week to come up with Gwen’s tablet. Item number two, don’t think I’m not filled with rage. I’m the one who got the gyno exam in the back of the Hummer. I’m the one who supposedly knows Gwen’s secret. But we’ve got to stay cool and methodical. Item three, I love you for being such a loyal and protective friend. I’m so lucky to have Benita Morales in my life.”
I heard sobs from the other end of the phone. Then silence. Then, sounding fragile and barely audible, she said, “The thought of anyone hurting you…” More sobs.
“Right back at ya, sweetie.”
“I’ll chill. I promise. We’ll
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