Chapter Five
The ten-thousand-square-foot penthouse in Crystal City, Virginia, was tomb quiet at five o’clock in the morning, as it should be. It wasn’t that the penthouse was empty, because Pilar and Gabriel Sanders, the owners, lived in the luxurious quarters. They were a quiet couple even when they were together. Now, though, only Pilar Sanders, who was five feet ten inches tall and weighed 120 pounds soaking wet, moved about the blinding white and stainless-steel state-of-the-art kitchen. She moved silently, pressing buttons that would activate the quiet built-in coffee machine. The machine was so high tech, it didn’t even make the plopping sound common to all coffeemakers when it finished brewing.
Pilar Sanders wasn’t beautiful, though she was reasonably attractive, thanks to Botox injections, contact lenses that were changed daily depending on their color and her mood, pricey dental work, a sculpted nose job to the tune of eight thousand dollars, a chin tuck to erase the turkey wattle that seemed to attack most women when they hit the magic five-oh, along with a plethora of hair extensions. The breast implants that threatened to spill from the satin dressing gown had been a must-have no matter what, as had the tummy tuck. Then there were the acrylic nails, the dyed hair to match the extensions, and the tattooed brows and eyeliner. The end result was Pilar Sanders. As her husband, Gabriel, put it, she was a walking, talking hundred-thousand-dollar bill with a five-thousand-dollar-a-month maintenance tab.
It was all true, and in private she had no problem admitting to it when fighting with her husband, which was a constant, ongoing part of their lives.
Gabe, as he liked to be called, had wondered countless times what his wife looked like under the heavy makeup she was never without. Even this early, at five o’clock in the morning, Pilar was perfectly made up, perfumed, and powdered, every hair in order, the hair extensions perfectly placed. “How,” he’d asked thousands of times, “do you sleep?” Pilar’s answer was simple. She didn’t sleep, getting by on catnaps and perhaps an hour or so of actual sleep here or there. Her favorite saying was she would have plenty of time to sleep when she was dead.
Pilar glided in satin slippers across the exquisite floor tiles, poured her coffee, and settled herself in the cozy breakfast nook she’d designed for just these early morning alone times. She flipped open the laptop on the table and brought up the nightly reports from all eleven Supper Clubs. Then she checked her e-mails, fully expecting nothing of interest since she’d checked them around eleven last night, before shutting down her computer. She frowned when she recognized an e-mail address belonging to Martha Howell, the housekeeper/spy at the Supper Club One residence. She bit down on her lower lip. An e-mail from Martha could mean only that something was up with her number one dancer, Toby Mason.
She childishly crossed her fingers that the e-mail wasn’t going to pose a problem and disrupt her plans. She delayed the inevitable by sipping the dark French roast coffee she was addicted to as she concentrated on what she considered to be real and imaginary problems where Toby Mason was concerned. The main problem was that Toby was too smart for his own good. It was entirely possible that Toby was her first and only mistake since she and Gabe had embarked on what she called their Supper Club Adventure. It wasn’t that Toby was asking questions or doing something he shouldn’t be doing. It was more that he wasn’t doing anything.
When a routine of several years’ making was the rule of the day, and then that rule was bent or ignored, it threw up a red flag. Pilar was constantly on the alert for red flags. Her gut had warned her months ago that Toby bore watching. She’d hired a top-notch investigative firm, which had proved to be not so top-notch, because they kept losing Toby and filing reports that simply said “The guy is onto us.” She didn’t believe that for a minute and had fired the firm and hired a new one, which hadn’t fared any better. Like it or not, she finally had to admit that Toby Mason was smarter than she’d given him credit for.
And now this e-mail.
Pilar clenched her pricey dental work and clicked open the e-mail. She scanned it, then read it word for word. Then she smiled. So the young man was in love. Well, that certainly explained things. Or did it? No, not really. Toby had been acting peculiar for months now. According to this e-mail, he’d fallen in love virtually overnight. She read the e-mail again, noting this time that Martha had gotten the license plate of the fancy sports car that had dropped him off last night.
Without stopping to think, Pilar sent an e-mail to the second investigative agency, asking for an in-depth check on one Mia Grande. She added an ASAP in bold red letters. She was confident that by ten o’clock, she’d be reading the in-depth report she had requested. There was a lot to be said for young love. A lot.
Pilar finished her coffee and was about to refill her cup when she looked up to see her husband standing in the doorway. She cringed at his bed hair, which was standing out at all sorts of crazy angles, at his dark stubble, and the potbelly pressed against his pajama top. She said what she always said when she saw him like this. “Gabe, you really need to get that fat sucked out of your stomach.”
To which he replied, “Not going to happen, babe. You’re the beautiful one on this team.” Pilar shook her head.
“So, anything going on?” Gabe asked as he scratched at his chest as if he were digging for gold.
Pilar winced again. Where, oh where, was the buff, muscled man she’d married so long ago? “Not really. There was an e-mail from Martha. She said Toby is in love. Check the e-mail for yourself.”
Gabe did just that as Pilar refilled her coffee cup and also filled one for her husband.
“Well, guess you feel pretty foolish now, don’t you? The guy is in love. That explains everything. You were stewing and fretting over nothing and spending a fortune on those private detectives.”
“No, Gabe, it does not explain everything. Toby was acting peculiar months ago. He wasn’t in love then. In fact, I doubt he knew this girl back then. Martha said they’d met just recently. I requested an in-depth background check on the woman. I should have it by midmorning.”
Gabe nodded. “How did the club do last night?”
“Stable. You know that revenue is down when it’s just dinner. I think we should start having the guys dance on Wednesdays now, until the holidays are over. Carlie told me yesterday that people are already calling for Christmas reservations.” Carlie Fisher was the Sanderses’ business manager and the person responsible for all the scheduling of the dancers.
“Works for me if it works for you. Did you sleep at all last night, Pilar?”
“Actually, I did, Gabe. Don’t I look fresh and rested?”
Gabe snorted as he eyed his wife. “Someday, I’m going to drag you through a car wash so I can see if you look anything like the young girl I married all those years ago. You’ve been nipped and tucked, sliced and diced to the nth degree. And those pillow lips! What the hell is up with that? Believe me when I tell you they look slutty. Don’t you care that people whisper behind your back? What you really look like under all that war paint is still a mystery to me these days. What happened to that bright-eyed girl I married?”
“You mean that scrawny, knock-kneed, ugly duckling with the space between her front teeth, the crooked nose, and the thick glasses? That bright-eyed girl?” Pilar asked with a warning bite in her voice.
Gabe shrugged. “Yes, that’s the one. The one I fell in love with. Look at you. You look like you’ve been shellacked and lacquered from head to toe. You don’t even look real anymore. You look like one of those plastic mannequins you see in department stores.”
Pilar sighed. They had had this same talk so many times that she’d lost count. Well, what was one more time? “Look, Gabe, the time before we picked up and left that trash heap back in Alabama and made our way up to this place is not something I like to dwell on. How many times do I have to tell you the past is past? I don’t want to remember wearing rags and going hungry and looking like a starving refugee. I like where I am, and if you don’t like how I look now, just say so and be on your way. No hard feelings.”
As always after this little speech, Gabe backed down. In his heart, he knew he would never be happy unless he was with Pilar, because somehow, someway, she was ingrained in his DNA.
“What’s on the schedule for today?” Gabe asked as he rubbed at the stubble on his face. He asked the question, not caring if Pilar answered or not. Anything to keep the conversation moving in this overly bright, institutional-looking kitchen. He took it a step farther and said, “You should get some flowers for the table. This place needs some color. It would also be nice if from time to time we could smell something around here besides air fresheners. Like frying bacon or cinnamon.”
Pilar stared at her husband over the top of her laptop. They’d had this same conversation just as many times as the one where they discussed her physical appearance. Secretly, she had herself convinced that somehow Gabe had programmed himself. Not that she cared. “That’s why they have restaurants and coffee shops. When we moved in here, I told you I wasn’t going to do any cooking. You said it was okay with you. And if you want flowers, go out and buy some.”
Gabe felt his insides start to shrivel. He didn’t like his wife’s tone. She was always nasty, but today he was hearing something strange. Worry? If Pilar was worried, that had to mean it was time for him to panic. He swallowed hard. This whole past year he’d been warning his wife that it was time to downsize, time to pack up and head to the islands, like they’d originally planned when they started out in this crazy-ass business.
“Pilar, we need to talk seriously. It’s time to shut down Supper Club Five, Eight, and Eleven. They are deadweight. Supper Club Eleven is a black hole. We moved too fast on those. We should have stuck with the nine, but oh, no, you got greedy. We also need to think about clubs three and six. Breaking even isn’t worth it.”
“I know, I know. But I think we should wait till after the holidays. Carlie seems to think things are picking up. They always do during the Christmas season. If we stay open until the first of the year, we can recoup some of our losses.”
Gabe stood up and leaned over the table so he was eyeball-to-eyeball with his wife. “Listen to me, Pilar. I want out of this business. Out, as in all the way out. My gut has been warning me for a year now. I’ll be honest with you. I can’t imagine going it alone without you at my side, but I will, because I cannot handle this any longer. So far, we’ve been lucky. That luck is not going to hold forever. We both know that. We have, at last count, fourteen million dollars in our accounts. That’s more than enough to keep to our plan and head for the islands. If we shut down totally the first of the year, sell off everything, we’ll end up, if we’re lucky, with three or four million dollars more. If we invest wisely—and I think you have to agree that I’ve done a good job so far—we can live just the way you want for the rest of our lives. I do not want to be a drug dealer, Pilar. I can’t do it anymore. I don’t want to do it anymore. We’re pushing our luck, honey. Can’t you see it? I know how fearless you are, but that’s what is going to do you in, in the end.”
The pillow lips puckered up in a pout. Pilar nodded ever so slightly to signal her agreement with her husband. “I thought we both decided never to use that hideous term. I hate it. We need the score this year to even things out. I know we’ve been lucky, and now is the time to get out, especially with . . . well, whatever it is that’s going on with Toby Mason. For now, let’s plan for a retirement party for New Year’s Eve.”
Gabe was stunned at how easy that was. When Pilar agreed with him, though, it was always suspect. He looked at his wife and struggled for a smile. He knew he wasn’t pulling it off, because he saw his wife narrow her eyes.
“I mean it this time, Gabe. Relax.”
Like he could really relax with what they were doing. He tried to remember the last time he’d truly relaxed and simply could not remember. He hated looking over his shoulder all the time, hated wondering when he would be hauled off to jail and be separated from Pilar. Maybe she was finally seeing things his way. Maybe. But he didn’t believe it for a minute.
“Why are you looking at me like that, Gabe? You don’t believe me. Is that it?”
Gabe stared at his wife for a very long minute before he turned and walked away. He had to stiffen his spine, make a decision he could live with. Stick around or go it alone without his wife at his side. A no-brainer really when it came right down to it. Going it alone was a hell of a lot better than living in a nine-by-six cell alone. He turned and said, “No, Pilar, I don’t believe you. I’m tired of preaching to you. Do what you want, but don’t count on me for anything other than keeping track of our investments, which, by the way, will be split right down the middle if you backwater come the first of the year.”
Pilar stared at the spot where Gabe had been standing. A small worm of fear crawled around her stomach. He had sounded so . . . so final. Was that an ultimatum she’d just heard? They were a team; they’d always been a team from the time they were youngsters. Surely, Gabe wouldn’t kick her to the curb. They were just words to scare her, the way she used words to scare him when she wanted things to go her way. Teamwork was all well and good when it was just business, with each member pulling his or her weight, but when you were involved in drug running, there was only one rule, and that was “Do not get caught.” With Gabe watching her back, she hadn’t worried too much, but now that he was turning on her, she knew she was going to have to alter her plans. Especially with Toby Mason being front and center.
Pilar looked around the kitchen. She saw what Gabe had seen, the starkness, the shiny appliances, the white light. He was right; it looked like no one lived here. He was right about the flowers, too. Clutter bound you to a place. She’d tried numerous times to explain that to him. With clutter, with doodads, junk, stuff, you couldn’t cut and run. While Gabe said he understood, he didn’t, not really.
Pilar rubbed at her temples. She was getting a headache. It would turn into a migraine if she didn’t nip it in the bud. Migraines were her curse in life. She got up and walked into the foyer, where she’d dropped her purse. She picked up her purse and rummaged around until she found the prescription bottle she was looking for. She shook out three yellow pills and dry swallowed them. She was back in the kitchen moments later, filling her coffee cup.
Now all she could do for the moment was wait for the investigative report to show up in her e-mail.
Pilar looked around the stark kitchen again and tried to imagine what it would look like with stuff in it. Colored place mats. Colored cushions on the futuristic-looking chrome chairs, flowers on the table, bowls of fruit and some green plants on the counters. She didn’t know if she could live with that, because stuff meant home. This penthouse was not home. Just the word home conjured up too many ugly memories she was not prepared to deal with. Not now, not ever. That was all behind her. This penthouse was the place where she slept, showered, dressed, and applied her makeup. A stopping-off place. An investment. Nothing more. Why she was even thinking about such things was beyond her. Why? Because of her suspicions about Toby Mason. This new information from Martha the housekeeper, the failed investigative report? December? The second month of the year when she broke the law to fatten her and Gabe’s bank account. Yes, it was dangerous, but she was careful and smart. She had a handle on it all.
Or did she? Gabe was really antsy. She had to pay attention to that. While her husband was mostly docile, he did have a stubborn streak, and he’d aired it just a little while ago. If he wanted out, then he would do just what he said. She needed to be mindful of that stubborn streak and start to play nice. Really nice.
Pilar looked at the watch on her wrist, the tiny diamonds surrounding the bezel winking in the bright overhead light. She opened up her laptop again and proceeded to do what she did every morning, check everything that went on the night before and prepare for the coming night. It always took a full two hours. By the time she was finished, the report from the investigative agency should be in her in-box, and Gabe would be back with toasted bagels slathered with butter and cream cheese. After eating, she would get dressed and head out to check on the Supper Clubs. The rule was that she would take six and Gabe the rest. They never missed a day, which qualified them both as hands-on owners. Then they would do a nice leisurely lunch and head back to the penthouse so Gabe could take a nap and she could do whatever she wanted, which was pretty much nothing other than watching reruns on television or counting the money in their various accounts.
Pilar shifted into what she called her neutral zone and went to work. When she was finally finished, the clock on the Wolf range said it was three minutes to ten. She leaned back and waited. She hated that she was feeling jittery, because it just proved that something in her immediate world was not right. And Gabe knew it before she did, so she really had to pay attention. She squinted as she watched the digital numbers on the range go past the twelve, then the one, then the two. Finally, her computer dinged at the number three, alerting her to an incoming e-mail with an attachment. She clicked it on and read slowly. She sighed heavily when she got to the end of the report. She couldn’t see any immediate cause for worry, unless Toby decided his dancing career was over. She didn’t think that would happen anytime soon. He would need money to squire the wealthy young woman around town. She would have a certain lifestyle, and he would have to step up to the plate. No fast food and walks in the park for an heiress with a robust trust fund, a Ferrari, and a Black American Express card. Even Pilar didn’t have the Centurion Card.
Pilar clicked on the icon that would allow her to view the pictures of Mia Grande. She was beautiful. Gorgeous, actually, with a body to die for. Designer clothes, just the right amount of jewelry. The girl had bedroom eyes, all soft brown and dewy. She also had a magnificent head of shimmering, glossy hair, which she could just see Toby burying his face in. Men loved long hair for some reason, and this girl didn’t have extensions. One close facial shot showed eyelashes Pilar would cheerfully kill for. A real beauty.
Now, what did this all mean? Why would someone like Mia Grande pick someone like Toby Mason to hang with? Was she slumming, was she playing with him, or did she really see something in him that she could love? According to the report, Mia Grande was a party girl. Toby was not a party boy. Where was the common cord? What attracted them to each other? That was what she needed to know.
How was she going to find that out? Go straight to the source and ask, of course. She had a good relationship with Toby, had always had, from the very beginning, when she found him bagging groceries at that supermarket. While she knew she didn’t exactly project a motherly image, she could still talk a good game and offer advice on love. Toby would listen. She was almost sure of it.
Pilar was so deep into her thoughts she almost jumped out of her own skin when Gabe set a white bag down in front of her. Her daily bagel. With her emotions as bundled up as they were, she doubted the bagel would stay in her stomach. She pushed the bag away. “I’m not really hungry this morning, Gabe.”
“I wasn’t either, but I forced myself to eat,” Gabe said, sitting down at the table, across from his wife. “We really should talk. I mean really talk, the way we used to.”
Pilar nodded. “Say what you have to say. I promise to keep an open mind. I will fight you only if I think you’re wrong.”
“Look, honey. Right now we are in a fairly good place. We’re running on nothing but suspicion. We can change that all right now simply by canceling Mr. December. We can say we are getting ready to restructure the Supper Clubs, and that it is going to take up all our time. We can pay off Toby, because he will lose out on the calendar. You can notify your . . . your sources and tell them we’re off the grid until next July due to circumstances beyond our control. Say whatever you want, since you know those people better than I do. It might not be a bad idea to throw some worry their way so they don’t make waves. We need to get out from under, and the sooner we do that, the better off we are. The longer we’re in the picture, the more things can go wrong.
“I know your gut and all your feminine instincts are telling you that Toby and his new love are not what is on the surface, and I think you are right, which just makes my point more valid. Forget about the money and think in terms of the rest of our lives. If we go out now, we go out clean. If we hang around another year, the odds we’ll make it to next Christmas are iffy at best. Please, Pilar, listen to me.”
Gabe was shocked senseless when his wife reached for his hand across the table. “You’re right, Gabe. You’ve always been the voice of reason. I’m sorry I’m the greedy one. I just don’t ever want to go back . . .”
“Don’t go there, Pilar. This is now. We need to make a plan. Like now.”
“Okay. You get started on how you want to proceed while I get dressed. Let’s take a walk around the Tidal Basin, the way we used to. Bring a notebook, so we can write everything down. Like we used to. We can sit on a bench and talk and formulate a plan. Like we used to. Remember how, back in the day, once we had a plan and put it on paper, it was a go and we never looked back? Back then we trusted ourselves and each other. We need to do that now, so it is official.”
“Works for me,” Gabe said happily. When Pilar was out of sight, Gabe’s shoulders slumped. That was way too easy, was his first thought. His second thought was that Pilar had a plan, and he wasn’t going to like it. His third thought was that his wife loved money too much to cave in the way she just had. He corrected his thought. Pilar didn’t just love money; she worshipped money.