“You really want to know?”
“My choices are yes, or watch Celebrity Apprentice.”
“Phyllis works all the time and she’s lonely.”
“Lonely? How do you know?”
“On her desktop there’s a hand sanitizer and—”
“Move along, Donovan. It’s getting old.”
“She has only a couple of photographs on display. One is with her sister, the other with her parents. No messages on her answering machine.”
“What’s on her walls?”
“Art, mostly silk-screen.”
“Of?”
“Faces.”
“Famous ones?”
“Sad ones.”
“You’re breaking my heart,” Callie says.
“What heart?”
“Good point. Don’t forget to check her closet.”
“Yes, Sensei.”
“Women love to hide things in their closets.”
“Right.”
“And also in their underwear drawer.”
“I’ll be sure to check that one carefully.”
“I’ve no doubt.”
I end the call, walk down the hallway, enter the master bedroom. Phyllis’s king-size platform bed sits low and has a single mattress on a wood base, with no box spring. The bed is unmade on the right side, which tells me she slept alone last night. On the night stand are two prescription bottles: a statin drug and sleeping pills. After checking the date, I dump them out on the nightstand and count nineteen of each. If she started taking them on the fill date, there should be twenty. It’s a fair assumption she’s not coming home tonight, which works for me, since I need a place to stay.
According to her website, Phyllis’s office opens at nine. I’ll sleep on the left side of her bed tonight, shower, get up early, and break into her office at dawn. That’ll give me time to search the place for anything that looks like a lethal, brain-melting device. Ideally, Phyllis will be the first to arrive, and we can settle this business without involving her staff.
In the nightstand drawer, behind a stack of People and US magazines, I find two boxes of condoms. One has been opened, and there are two packets missing, which tells me Lucky appears to have gotten lucky at least twice.
The bedroom also has a chest of drawers and a small sitting area that faces a stucco fireplace that’s never been used. The chest has five drawers, including a narrow one at the top, where she keeps her jewelry. I look through it and find nothing of significant value. I move from there to the bottom. The fifth drawer is pajamas, all bright colors, all cotton. Fourth drawer is socks in every size and color, and stockings. Third drawer is bras only. I count an even dozen, in various colors. Five are Ibex, Body by Victoria, 34-B, padded. She’s also got a couple of jog bras in there.
Second drawer is filled with panties. I remove a few, and note they’re all medium. Most are basic, but one is downright obscene. It has a circular hole cut out of the crotch. With red lips around it! I toss them back in the drawer, then think, no one has this many panties. I move my hands through them until I feel something.
It’s my opinion that all women hide something special beneath their panties. But Dr. Phyllis Willis is hiding something lethal beneath hers.
4.
Phyllis keeps a single-action Smith and Wesson .22 automatic with three ten-round clips in her panty drawer, next to a small sex toy called a Pocket Rocket. I wouldn’t pin high hopes on killing an intruder with a .22, but she’s probably comfortable with the recoil and figures the sound would be enough to scare a guy away. Once he’s gone, she probably breaks out the Pocket Rocket to celebrate.
I look at it a moment, then flip the switch and feel it buzz in my hand. Noting briefly that the buzz is more pleasant than the one in my head, I think about where the device has been. I toss it back in the drawer, march into her bathroom, and thoroughly wash my hands before getting back to business.
The clothes hanging in Phyllis’s closet tell me she’s a size eight. She has an abundance of cocktail dresses and business suits, which makes sense for a plastic surgeon who has to attend fund raisers and cocktail parties and hobnob with the rich and famous. For the most part, her clothes, shoes and handbags are basic, tasteful, and functional, and I find nothing extravagant here. I check through the sweaters, the hat boxes and other items on her shelves. I stand there, looking around the closet, wondering if I’m missing anything. I think about the Pocket Rocket again, and call Doc Howard.
“What about a Pocket Rocket?”
“Donovan, check your watch.”
