Not So Model Home

CHAPTER 26


You Have the Right to Remain Horny

The police arrived, guns drawn until we held up our hands and showed we were no threat. I gave a quick explanation of what just happened, minus the gunshots, so they would not only trust us, but so they wouldn’t mess up the clear footprints left by my assailant in my garbage-covered garage floor, courtesy of the late-summer desert winds. As I looked over at Knucklehead, who was calmly taking everything in, I noticed he was standing on a piece of cloth that he must have torn from the leg of my attacker. That would explain the tearing sound I heard while Knucklehead was growling. I looked at it carefully while the police were calling for more units to arrive. Eureka! The cloth was very fine. I mean, very fine. It should be easy to trace this piece of fabric. I got my iPhone out of my purse and took a picture of the cloth since I would have to give it up for evidence. Knucklehead took a good chunk out the assailant’s pant leg, because the piece was about three by four inches. Good boy! I called the policeman over and pointed to the piece of cloth. There must be samples of DNA on the cloth. The police came, took down our stories (Regina’s being much more dramatic than mine, even though I was the one being strangled), photographed the scene, and to my delight, made two casts of the footprint. Jerry called and said he had two homicides tonight and could he please see me in the morning? He offered police protection, but I said I had another place to stay for the night. I had plans.

If you didn’t count the dented garbage cans or the cop stationed out front for the night, no one would ever know that a life-and-death struggle had gone on right in my carport. Except for a few nosy neighbors, who occasionally peeped out of their curtained windows.

I called Ken first and told him all the details, having left out my meeting with Jerry earlier. He was worried about my safety, but I convinced him I could take care of myself. I told him I would stay at Alex’s house since it was alarmed to the teeth and nearly impregnable. Plus, I would take my suddenly protective Knucklehead as my guardian. Then I called Alex, who was out of town climbing Thunderbolt Peak in the Sierras. I laid my trap and he fell right into it.

“Why don’t you stay at my place for the time being?”

“Alex, that’s so sweet. I hadn’t even thought of that. It’s been a long day, discovering Aleksei’s corpse, investigating the potting shed, talking with Aurora, grocery shopping, and getting almost killed. I’m ready to pack it in for the day.”

“You’ve got a key and you know the alarm . . . turn it on tonight. On another note, you’re a smart woman, Amanda. Obviously someone in that house is worried that you’re getting too close to the truth.”

“Apparently.”

“So what did you do today and yesterday?”

“Why a two-day timeframe?”

“Because if you’re a killer and you’re afraid someone is going to expose you, you’re not going to wait days to strike. You’re going to do it fast.”

“Okay,” I started, thinking about what I did the last twenty-four hours. “I got up, brushed my teeth . . .”

“No, not the stuff you did alone. Anything you did interacting with someone from Ian’s house. E-mailing, telephoning, filming.”

“I’ll tell you the weirdest thing, Alex. As I was walking toward the potting shed, I could swear someone was following me.”

“Did you see anyone?”

“No, not a thing. Just a creepy feeling that someone was watching me.”

“Don’t discount that feeling. Someone probably was there. Did Aurora give you any good clues?”

“Just the usual: anyone could have done it.”

“Well, my dear Amanda, you better get packing and get over to my house. Set the alarm to ‘home’ so that it will go off instantly if anyone tries to get in a door or window.”

“Okay, I will, Alex. And be careful tomorrow. Thunderbolt Peak is a really dangerous climb. I wish you and your team would tackle something easier.”

“Amanda, life isn’t worth living if you don’t throw some challenges in there.”

“Okay, Alex, you go take on a challenge. I’ll stay here in Palm Springs and concentrate on living. Or trying to remain that way.”


The next day, thankfully, there was no filming, but we would be working practically nonstop from now on to wrap up the series. Besides catching up on some real-estate work, I was supposed to sit down with Jerry and go through footage of Keith’s memorial lunch, looking for clues.

I arrived at a local video studio to view the video and was escorted to a small booth where Jerry was sitting there with an editor.

“Hey, Amanda, good morning,” he said as though the other night had never happened. Maybe it hadn’t. I decided to play along. What choice did I have? Plus, it was better this way. I needed to figure out my relationship with Ken before I went out and confused the matter by adding Jerry to the mix.

“Good morning, Jerry.”

“Amanda, this is Steve, our editor, who we can call on if we need him. He’s cued up all the footage from the luncheon. Let me see here,” he said, turning a control knob, which made a monitor in front of us come to life.

We watched as the guys insulted each other, ate food, and revealed dirty secrets about each other. Nothing out of the ordinary . . . at least for this crowd.

Jerry said, “Okay, so Drake is a sexual master to Ian and he’s practiced autoerotic asphyxia with Aleksei before. And Aleksei ends up that night strangled with one of Drake’s ties.”

“You’ve confirmed that the tie belonged to Drake?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Jerry answered. “Brooks Brothers.”

“I guess that doesn’t look good for Drake, does it?”

“I wouldn’t hang the whole case on that fact, Amanda. Anyone could have gotten the tie out of Drake’s room. Nobody seems to lock their doors at Casa Iffy.”

“What about the cum on the floor in Aleksei’s room?”

“Samples are at the lab.”

“So we’ll get results back Monday?” I asked eagerly.

“Amanda, this isn’t CSI. It takes weeks to get results back from the lab in Riverside.”

“Can’t they move any faster? This is important!”

“Tell that to the Bureau of Forensic Services. Amanda, they’ve got hundreds of cases in front of my two samples.”

“Two?” I asked.

“Aleksei’s DNA and Keith’s paternity DNA.”

“You don’t trust what Keith said . . . about Ian being his father?”

“I did some investigating, made some calls to Scotland, and a lot of what Keith claimed checks out. I’m just trying to be thorough. So that’s what this remark from Aleksei about ‘seeing them kissing was disgusting’ is about?”

“Oh, they did a lot more than that, Jerry. They had sex.”

“I heard.”

“So?” I commented.

“What do you want me to do, arrest Ian?”

“No, it’s not the fact that Ian had incest, but that he’s not even remorseful about it.”

“Again, Amanda, I can’t arrest Ian for that. As for the rest of the secrets Aleksei spilled, infantilism with diapers, golden showers, enforced feminization, and pony play . . .”

I stopped Jerry by laying a hand on his. “What exactly is pony play?”

“Pony play is where guys dress up in outfits, usually leather, with masks and hoofs and everything, and act like ponies.”

“Whhhyyyyy?” I asked.

“I think it has to do with the idea of being controlled. Being treated like an animal. Doggie play is the same thing.”

“I thought doggie was where the one partner . . . never mind. Continue.”

“So David is into enforced feminization . . . where he’s forced to wear the clothes of a woman . . .”

“I know what enforced feminization is, Jerry. The point is whether having all these embarrassing sexual proclivities revealed to the world is enough to cause one of the guys to go ape shit and murder because of it.”

“I really don’t know, Amanda. This case has me stumped so far. The motive seems to keep moving around. Money, revenge, paternity, rage.”

“One thing is certain, though, Jerry.”

“What’s that?”

“Palm Springs is anything but dull.”