Temptations - The Complete Series Page 4

  I closed my eyes and tried to summon the spirit of the dead guy, Jordan Harris. I had long since blocked out the voices in my head that came from restive spirits. I had to, for my sanity. I had to learn how to make them leave me alone. Now, I was actually trying to communicate with Jordan, which was dangerous, really, because if I let him in, the floodgates could very well open, and I would be the way that I was before I learned to block out all the noise – going literally crazy, unable to function except if I drank to excess. Then my drinking would get me into all sorts of other problems. I couldn’t afford to go there.

  After a few minutes, I realized that I would hear nothing from the dead business partner. It was just as well, really, because I didn’t necessarily want to risk going back to the way that I was.

  Chapter 4

  I slept in the next day. I couldn’t help it – I was greatly fatigued from the stress of having the responsibility of finding out the guilt or innocence of this guy. It was a lot of pressure, and if I was wrong, it could have disastrous consequences. Not only that, but his bed was so damned comfortable. It was a hand-crafted mattress made in Sweden, as Slade had explained, and the brand was Vividus. He didn’t say as much, but I knew that such a mattress tended to retail at around $70,000. After sleeping on it for the night, I would have had to say that the mattress was worth every single penny.

  I tentatively went down the stairs and stopped when I heard the sounds of a piano playing. It was probably a recording, but it did sound live. I would imagine that this guy had the kind of sound system wired that would make anything sound live.

  As I approached one of the dens, however, I saw Slade behind a grand piano. He was playing a complex classical piece that I recognized as being one of Gustav Mahler’s early concertos. He didn’t notice me until he was completely finished with the piece. Then he saw me and broke out into a huge smile. “Hey,” he said. “Did you sleep well?”

  “I did.” That was an understatement. That bed was so damned comfortable, I was surprised that I didn’t just want to stay there the entire week.

  “Where would you like to do this?” he asked me. And then he called on the intercom. “Marina, could you please bring breakfast out to the terrace?”

  He then turned to me. “I’m sorry, you probably think that I’m completely ADHD. I can assure you that I’m not. It’s just that it occurred to me that both of us need some breakfast before tackling what we need to tackle. I’m sure that you agree.”

  I was hungry, famished actually, so I simply said “sure.” I then went over to the carrier to let out the dogs, but they weren’t in there.

  Slade came up behind me. “I put them out. Don’t worry. I do have a large fenced-in area on my land. I’ve always had dogs myself, so it’s been a necessity to have it. I can either get Sven, my personal assistant, go and get the dogs or…”

  “I’ll get them.” I was feeling a major annoyance already with how he apparently couldn’t do anything for himself. Then I reminded myself that getting the dogs out of the fenced-in yard wasn’t his responsibility anyhow. It was mine.

  He pointed to the area where the fenced-in yard was, and I went over to it. My two beautiful girls came up and eagerly greeted me. I had their leashes and harnesses in my hands, and I put them on them and walked them into the house. They went into the house and immediately started sniffing around and exploring. “I hate to ask you this, but is there an area where we could confine these two?”

  He shrugged. “Dogs will be dogs, you know? They’ll settle down after they’ve explored the house, and if they have an accident, I’ll…”

  “I’ll pick it up,” I finished for him. I wasn’t going to let Henry or Sven or Marina or any of his other peons pick up after my dogs.

  “Suit yourself. At any rate, let’s go out to the terrace. Marina will meet us out there with breakfast. I hope you like croissants, eggs and strawberries. I forgot to ask you what you like.”

  I took a deep breath. Croissants were made with butter, and I couldn’t eat eggs, either. “My fault, I’m a vegan. I should have warned you about that.”

  He simply called Marina on the intercom after I said this. “Marina, could you please include regular whole grain toast and veggie sausage links in the breakfast too?” Then he turned to me. “I actually have a wide variety of things in this house that are vegan friendly, and Marina has been trained to cook anything at all. So, it’s not a problem that you’re vegan.” He studied me. “What brings you to veganism?”

  “Well….” I thought that I would get the whole reason why I was there out of the way. “I’m an empath. I can pick up strong vibrations that are translated into feelings for me. These feelings are often put into words in my head. It’s almost like mind-reading, except it’s not. For instance, if you’re feeling guilt or remorse, I should be able to pick up on that, and that feeling would be translated into you saying, in my head, that you killed your business partner. That’s why I’m here, as opposed to somebody on your team who’s a bit more experienced than me.”

  “I see. And you won’t eat animals because you have an unusual bond with them because of your empathic abilities.” He said that as a statement, and I was impressed that he picked up on that so quickly and easily. “That makes an awful lot of sense. I admire your convictions, really.”

  “Thank you.”

  At that, he got out of his chair. “Follow me out to the terrace,” and I obeyed. We got to a table that was small and had a marble top and four chairs around it. Down below was a patio that had a large table with 10 chairs around it, another swimming pool and another sunken Jacuzzi that appeared to seat 20 or more. The area was surrounded by palm trees and Bougainvilleas, a South American native flower which was ubiquitous in California. Bougainvilleas were beautiful flowers that grew into enormous bushes and came in various colors, including red, purple, white, yellow and pink. The Bougainvilleas that surrounded the pool area were in every color and extremely mature, so that they really provided a natural privacy fence for that area.

  A slight woman with blond hair soon appeared with a tray. Slade took baskets off the tray that were filled with strawberries, muffins, scones, and warm bread. Also on the tray was a plateful of eggs for him and veggie sausages for me, plus a pitcher of orange juice. “Thanks Marina,” he said, taking everything off the tray.

  I glared at him. “She’s a small woman with a very large tray that she apparently has to haul all through that enormous house of yours. I think that you probably should have helped her with all of that.”

  He just shrugged his shoulders. “She’s stronger than she looks. She’s Russian for god’s sake. She’s gone through many more hardships than carrying a tray full of breakfast through a house.” Then he paused. “But I like that you’re sticking up for her all the same.”

  I calmed down just a little, but still felt out of sorts that this was a guy who apparently could do very little for himself. Then again, that’s how the wealthy lived, so I probably needed to let it go.

  “So, protector of the underdog,” Slade began, “let’s chat over breakfast. We can get these preliminaries out of the way, and then I have to get some work done while the workers set up for a party tonight.”

  I took a deep breath. “You were just arraigned for murder yesterday, and this evening you’re having a party? Are you quite sure that’s such a good idea?”

  “No, I’m not quite sure that’s a good idea, but who cares? Life has to go on even if you are suspected of murder. The grand jury hasn’t returned an indictment, so, as of now, I haven’t been formally charged with anything.”

  “Nonetheless, do you want the media to get a hold of this? They’re going to crucify you.”

  “Like they already haven’t. Listen, I know that you’re thinking that I don’t give a crap about the fact that I have a murder charge hanging over my head, but you’re dead wrong about that. This party was scheduled a month ago, and I couldn’t just cancel it. I am very aware that the people in this country an
d the media believe that I should be withering away alone behind closed doors, secluding myself and clutching pearls because of what I allegedly did. And my answer to all those people is that they can all go to hell.”

  I had to admit he had a twisted sort of logic. I dug into my veggie sausages and strawberries. “Are those muffins made with butter or oil?” I asked him. I had to admit that the blueberry ones looked scrumptious – they were enormous, with whole blueberries and a crumble topping. I knew that crumble toppings were usually made with butter and so were muffins, so I was hoping that somehow, someway, they were vegan.

  He was studying me carefully, his green eyes penetrating the armor that I had so carefully built around myself. I suddenly felt vulnerable, like he could see inside of me. Maybe he was the empath, not me, because, thus far, I hadn’t had any negative intuition at all about him. “They’re made with butter, of course. If you would have sent word about your dietary restrictions, I would have accommodated you better.”

  “Of course, that was my mistake.”

  He merely grunted at that, and then summoned Marina to come to the table. She was there in a flash, and, before I had the chance to protest, he was asking her to make special muffins for me. “Marina, could you please whip up a batch of blueberry muffins for Serena? She doesn’t consume animal products, so everything must be made with oil, even the topping.”

  “I will do that,” she said, and she disappeared.

  “You didn’t have to do that,” I said. “I just scolded you for overusing your help, and then you go and make extra work for her on my account.”

  He raised an eyebrow at me. “You really are a piece of work. I pay my help good money, more money than any of them can make anyplace else. And they’re more than happy to pick up dog poop for me or make special muffins or what-have-you. Why you have to pass judgment on this is beyond me.”

  Chastised, I turned my attention to my orange juice and took a sip. I glanced at the grove of orange trees that lay just beyond the pool area and surmised that the juice was freshly squeezed blood orange. “Very good juice,” I said. “And I’m sorry for giving you grief about having your help do everything. I’m sure that you have enough on your mind without having to worry about dog poop and special muffins and all of that.” I meant that sentence sincerely, although I realized it could be taken either way.

  “Apology accepted. And, by the way, I picked the oranges for this juice myself. I didn’t squeeze them though.”

  “It’s very tasty.”

  “Of course it is. My horticulturist is one of the best in the world, so the fruits that grow on the trees around here are truly premium.”

  I bristled at that, too, and wondered what was wrong with me. I had to admit that the trappings of wealth were something that didn’t come naturally to me. My family was solidly working class, and, even though I made good money as a law partner in New York City, my earnings never came close to this guy. So, everything about his lifestyle felt just a little bit wrong to me.

  Marina soon appeared with the special muffins, and I eagerly dug into one. It was delicious, moist and fruity. “Where do you get these blueberries?” I asked him.

  “They grow wild on my property. Not this property, but a property that I own in Oregon where it’s a bit cooler. I have farmers up there harvesting the blueberries all summer long. There are other kinds of fruits up there as well, as well as hazelnuts and marijuana.” Then he smiled. “When pot was legalized in Oregon, I made a killing, I’ll tell you that.”

  “I’ll bet you did,” I said. “A lot of people are getting rich off the green.”

  He shrugged. “It’s a nice little side income. The farm is projected to bring in about $10 million this year, and it should be growing every year thereafter.”

  $10 million was a side income. Must be nice.

  I ate the blueberry muffin and then helped myself to another. “Marina is an amazing baker,” I said.

  “Yes, she is. She’s an amazing cook anyhow.” He studied me. “So, Serena, I know that you didn’t come up here to hear me rhapsodizing about blood oranges and pot, so why don’t we get down to business?”

  I nodded my head. “Yes. I need to know your story about what happened. And please don’t lie to me. I’ll be able to tell.” That said, I was hesitant that I would be able to tell if he were lying. Ever since I met him, it was the weirdest thing. I wasn’t getting anything negative from him at all. I couldn’t feel even a hint of guilt, remorse or shame from him. No sadness, either, really, and this is what worried me. I hoped against hope that he wasn’t a sociopath, because then my own life would be in danger.

  The dogs came up to us, having thoroughly explored the house. Slade then summoned yet another person, whose name was Magdalena. She appeared, a beautiful 20ish Mexican woman. “Magdalena, could you please go through the house and make sure that these two dogs didn’t create an accident? They probably did, so if you would be so kind as to clean up whatever is there, I would be much obliged.” And then he said something in fluent Spanish, and she nodded her head and left.

  “I should probably put them in their kennels while we do this, since I can’t watch them,” I said, picking them both up in my arms. I walked through the house and put them in their kennels. “You go night-night,” I said to them. “I’ll be right back.” I never felt foolish for talking to dogs like some people did.

  I went back out on the terrace, where Slade waited for me, sipping his orange juice. He poured me another glass when I sat down.

  “Okay,” I said. “Let’s hear what happened the night Jordan Harris was murdered.”

  Chapter 5

  “Where do I begin,” he said. “I’ll just start by telling you about the relationship I had with Jordan. He and I go way back to college. He was right there when I decided to start up my firm after I got my PhD from Stanford. I was 23, and had big dreams. He had the connections that I needed to get venture capital for the firm, so he was very valuable. I managed to get Ambrose to the market in record time, and we were on our way.”

  Ambrose was a drug that was taking the country by storm. It was apparently the first anti-depressant that worked for many people who were previously drug-resistant, and it did it with a minimum of side-effects. Once it hit the market, and people were finding relief from depression who were never helped previously, it became an enormous hit.

  His eyes were downcast, and I felt sadness emanating from him. I almost gave out a sigh of sheer relief when I felt this vibration, because it showed that he was capable of human emotions. He’s not a sociopath after all.

  Slade continued. “I loved him like a brother,” he said. “I couldn’t have done any of it without him. But he suffered, always. He was like so many others who are highly intelligent – he was pretty socially awkward and I suspected that he was bipolar. It was undiagnosed, but the signs were there. He could literally work seven days straight without a break. Seven days without a wink of sleep. He’d call me from the lab at all hours of the morning, excited about some breakthrough. I finally had to turn off my phone while I slept, because he would be calling me at 2 AM, 3 AM, 4 AM. You get the point.”

  I nodded my head. “I’ve known people like that myself, so I’m right there with you.” I thought of my brother Christopher, who was suffering from a mood disorder and had been ever since he witnessed the murder of our mother. I never knew if he had a chemical imbalance or he was just devastated. He could be a brilliant song-writer when he wanted to, but that burst of creativity always alternated with crippling depression. He could probably be helped by Ambrose, I thought wryly.

  “After the success of Ambrose, we were able to get a team of researchers and developers to patent more and more drugs. Everyone wanted to be a part of our up and coming firm, but Jordan couldn’t care less most days. He would definitely come off his high-highs and sink down into the abyss. Our firm was working on drugs that would help cure him of his bipolar, including Chares, which was going to be our newest drug. I don’t
know now if it will make it to the market.”

  I closed my eyes, trying to feel if there was any deception coming off of him. So far, though, I felt that he was telling the truth. Of course, the most pertinent part of the story hadn’t yet come out, so that was probably why he showed no hint of lying or guilt.

  “On the night when I found him, he was coming off a 5 day binge where he did nothing but work, literally around the clock. And I do mean literally. Medical interns who work 100 hours a week had nothing on him during this period. I always was concerned about him, though, because I didn’t know how he could continue to invent safe drugs while he was in that state. He would start to hallucinate, I guess. Then again, maybe he wasn’t hallucinating at all.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He sighed. “It’s difficult to say. He became very paranoid, but, you know what they say about paranoid people – just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean that somebody isn’t actually out to get you.” He smiled. “But he was paranoid about corporate espionage. He was also terrified that there were shadowy governmental agencies who were trying to shut us down. I do admit that corporate espionage is something that always concerned me as well. There’s always somebody who is looking to rip off a drug that you’re inventing and try to get their ripoff to market and to patent it before you get a chance to.”

  I listened carefully and took notes. The vibrations that were coming off of this guy were slight, nothing that would point to deception for me. “Go on,” I said to him.

  “Well, Jordan was developing a drug that he was really excited about, but he wouldn’t tell me what it was. He said that it was going to revolutionize the industry, though, and it was something that was unlike anything anybody had ever seen before. He was very secretive about this particular drug, however, and I have no idea why he was. I personally was wondering if that drug that he was developing was all in his feverish and paranoid head.”