Hear No Evil
"I said, 'Would you like another cup of coffee?'" Celeste Meyerson repeated her question, raising her voice.
"No, thank you," her husband replied. "I've had enough caffeine for one morning."
"Suit yourself."
"What's that?"
"Never mind. I'm just talking to myself."
It was getting to be a habit: having to repeat much of what she said.
I suppose that's what I get for marrying an older man, she thought glumly.
Five years earlier, when she was twenty-two and Bentley was fifty-eight, well-intentioned friends warned her against such a union. However, the attractive young woman had ulterior motives. The groom was the CEO of a Fortune 100 company, a wealthy man with no family to step forward and claim an inheritance when he died. And being a trophy wife suited her. Once married, she quit her job and devoted her time to more pleasurable activities.
"You were up early this morning. What have you got planned for today?" Bentley asked, not taking his eyes off his newspaper.
"Mina and I are going shopping and then out to lunch."
"What did you say? I didn't hear you."
"That happens a lot lately," Celeste said in a louder voice. "You really ought to see a doctor and have your ears checked."
"There's nothing wrong with my hearing," he insisted, laughing off her suggestion. "I'm as fit as a fiddle, as healthy as an ox."
The former salesgirl rolled her eyes in exasperation. Her husband, although a Harvard graduate and the founder of an internationally famous high-tech security firm, had an annoying fondness for interjecting trite similes into his conversations.
"Yes, sir," he declared, folding his newspaper and laying it beside his empty coffee cup, "I'm as right as rain, as good as gold."
And as deaf as a post.
Three weeks later, the couple had breakfast together again. More often than not, Bentley, an early riser, was out of the house in the morning before his wife woke up. (After all, he did not get to be a billionaire by sleeping late.)
"You're still here," Celeste said with surprise when she saw him sitting at the dining room table.
"Huh?"
"Why aren't you at work?" she asked, raising her voice a few decibels.
"Today's the day of my annual physical, but I don't have to be at the doctor's office until ten."
"Make sure he checks your ears while you're there."
"I didn't get that. What did you say?"
"Maybe I ought to buy you an ear trumpet for Christmas," she laughed.
Her husband, hearing only a portion of her statement, asked, "Why would you get me a trumpet? I don't know how to play a musical instrument, and I don't have time to learn."
For the past five years, Celeste's hopes rose each time her husband visited the doctor for a checkup; and when he returned with a clean bill of health, they were dashed. Every day in the news, there were obituaries of men in their early sixties. Why was Bentley as healthy as a horse, to borrow one of his clichés?
Her dreams of being a merry widow were interrupted when Helga, the maid, brought in a fresh pot of coffee.
"Thanks."
"Would you like something to eat?" the middle-aged domestic servant asked.
"Some rye toast would be nice."
"Yes, ma'am."
"What was that?" Bentley inquired. "Did you say something about a ghost?"
Celeste did not bother to answer. She simply shook her head in disgust.
* * *
Returning home from a workout at the gym with her personal trainer, Celeste pushed the button on her Porsche's dashboard to open the garage door. She was surprised to see her husband's Rolls parked inside. She had expected him to go to his office after the doctor's appointment since it was not like him to miss an entire day of work. When she went into the house, she saw Bentley staring moodily into a cup of coffee.
"Is everything okay?" she asked.
"No, it's not," he grumbled.
"What's wrong?"
"It's that damned fool doctor I've got!"
"That 'damned fool,' as you call him, is one of the best physicians in the country."
"Then why in bloody hell is he sending me to a specialist?"
Believing her husband was doomed to soon shuffle off the mortal coil, Celeste tried hard to suppress a smile.
"What kind of specialist?" she asked, pretending to show concern for his health.
"An audiologist."
"A what?"
"An audiologist. Didn't you hear me the first time? Maybe you ought to see one, too."
An audiologist, she correctly assumed, was a doctor who specialized in hearing loss.
I should have known it was nothing serious, she thought, unable to prevent the frown from appearing on her face.
"Don't go getting mad at me," Bentley declared in a conciliatory tone. "I didn't mean to hurt your feelings. It's just that all this nonsense about my hearing is upsetting me."
"I suppose at your age, these things are to be expected."
"What's that you said?"
"Nothing important. Hey, I've got a good idea. Why don't we go out to dinner tonight? We can go to your favorite restaurant. That ought to improve your mood."
"Good idea! I'll tell Helga and the cook to take the night off."
Despite it being only three in the afternoon, Celeste went upstairs to get ready. As she waited for the soaking tub to fill, she searched her walk-in closet for something to wear. Her eyes went to her black Chanel dress. Compared to her Versace gowns, which emphasized her physical assets, it was rather plain, yet it exuded timeless elegance. It would be perfect to wear to a funeral.
Looks like I won't be needing you yet, she thought with a sigh of disappointment.
After selecting a knee-length, zebra print dress designed by Dolce & Gabbana, she went back to her bathroom and soaked in her tub. The bath bomb and the aromatherapy candles worked together to relax the muscles she had overworked at the gym. Resting her head on the rim of the porcelain tub, she luxuriated in the sensuous feeling.
This is the life! she mused, feeling a rare sense of gratitude toward her husband. If it weren't for Bentley, I'd still be a sales associate working for ten bucks an hour.
Seeing her fingers begin to "prune" from the water, Celeste stepped out of the bath and toweled off. Once dry, she put on her lingerie—at the price her bras and panties cost, it seemed crass to refer to them as mere underwear. Next, she sat at her vanity and put on her makeup. Then she styled her hair. Only when her appearance met with her approval did she put on her nylons, dress and shoes. Lastly, she selected ruby earrings, a matching necklace and bracelet and two rings to add a bit of color to her black-and-white outfit.
"You look nice," Bentley announced as she descended the staircase.
That was another thing in her husband's favor. He was always free with his compliments.
"Thank you."
"The car is out front. Rolph is going to drive us."
"Do we really need to bother the chauffeur? The restaurant is only a few miles from here."
"My dear, one never drives a Rolls oneself. If a man can afford such a car, he can afford a chauffeur as well."
"And you can certainly afford both."
"What's that? I didn't hear you."
"I said, 'Let's get going.' I'm starved. I didn't eat lunch."
"Me either. I'm as hungry as a bear."
* * *
"There being no more matters to discuss, I move we adjourn this meeting," one of the company's directors announced.
"I second," another replied.
"All in favor."
After a unanimous round of ayes, the quarterly board of directors meeting was brought to an end. Bentley Meyerson, the chairman, leaned over and spoke to the recording secretary.
"Send me a copy of those minutes once they're typed."
"Certainly, Mr. Meyerson," the young man answered.
Bentley then left the conference room and headed for his private office. He had spent the past few hours at the meeting discussing subjects of importance to his business, yet he heard clearly only the comments made by the two men sitting on either side of him. The bulk of the conversation consisted of inaudible mumbling.
Maybe my wife and doctor are right, he thought grudgingly. Maybe there is something wrong with my hearing.
He leaned over and pressed the intercom button on his phone.
"Edie, cancel my meetings this afternoon," he instructed his administrative assistant.
"Yes, Mr. Meyerson," she replied. "Shall I hold your calls, too?"
"I'm taking the afternoon off, so just take messages."
I hope I kept that card my doctor gave me.
He searched his wallet where he kept his driver's license, credit cards, health insurance ID, a photo of his wife, several twenty-dollar bills and a few fifties. Behind the list of his prescriptions that he always carried with him, there was a two-inch by three-and-a-half-inch cardboard business card. Rather than involve Edie in such a personal matter, he dialed the audiologist's phone number himself.
"Dr. Knudsen's office," a crisp, efficient female voice answered.
"I need to make an appointment," Bentley said.
"Are you an existing patient?"
"No. Dr. Hudson Aylesford is my physician. He recommended Dr. Knudsen to me."
"I'm afraid I don't have any appointments open until three weeks ...."
Not a man accustomed to waiting for anything, the billionaire cut her short.
"My name is Bentley Meyerson," he announced in an authoritative voice. "I assume you've heard of me."
"Y-yes, sir, I have."
"I want to see the doctor today. I'm sure you can squeeze me in."
There are several well-known names that open doors: Bill Gates, Jeff Bezos and Elon Musk among them. Bentley Meyerson was another such name.
"What time would be convenient for you, Mr. Meyerson?"
That's more like it!
"The sooner, the better," he replied. "I want to get this over with."
* * *
Much to Bentley's relief, the hearing aid that Dr. Knudsen provided him with was small, about the size of a Bluetooth earbud. More importantly than how it looked, it worked great. He could hear the proverbial pin drop when he wore it.
"So, you finally went to the audiologist," Celeste observed when her husband sat down at the dinner table, wearing the latest (and most expensive) hearing aid on the market.
"Yes, and I'm glad I did. I can hear again!" he laughed.
If you hadn't been so stubborn, you could have heard all along.
"Did you say something?" he asked.
"No."
"Funny, I thought I heard you say I was stubborn."
Did I say that out loud? I'll have to be more careful.
"Before, you had difficulty hearing me when I spoke to you. Now you're hearing things that I didn't say. Maybe your hearing aid is malfunctioning."
"Perhaps I should just turn the volume down," he said, reaching into his pocket for the remote control. "That's better. I never realized how many background noises there are. I could hear not just the drone of the air conditioner but also the refrigerator running in the kitchen and the clock ticking in the hallway."
"Lucky for you, you can take your hearing aid out when you go to bed. Otherwise, those annoying sounds would keep you awake at night."
"Noises don't keep me awake. I was never one to count sheep. Money, yes, sheep, no."
* * *
"Good morning, Mr. Meyerson," his assistant greeted Bentley the following day when he arrived at the office.
"Good morning, Edie. Don't you look nice today? Is that a new dress?"
"Yes," she answered, taken aback by his question.
What's gotten into him? she wondered. He never noticed what I wore before.
As had happened with his wife at dinner the previous evening, Bentley heard unspoken words. Shaken by this incident, he hurried into his office and shut the door behind him. After pondering the matter, there was only one conclusion he could draw. The hearing aid allowed him to hear people's thoughts!
But was this unique ability a gift or a curse?
Moments later, his door opened and he emerged from his office. Edie looked up from her computer as he crossed the room toward the elevator.
"I'm going down to the library," her employer explained. "While I'm gone, just take messages."
"Yes, sir."
He got off the elevator on the third floor and walked the short distance to the in-house library, where hundreds of technical manuals and research materials were stored for his employees' use. As he had hoped, there were seven men and women sitting at the tables, reading and taking notes. Some had brought their laptops with them.
Normally, the library was a quiet place with only the sounds of turning pages and fingers tapping on computer keyboards. To Bentley, however, it was far from peaceful. Although no one was talking, he could hear the words they were silently reading and the thoughts they were thinking. It was a perfect environment to test his hearing aid. He selected a book at random, sat down at a table and opened it, pretending to read. Meanwhile, he reached for the remote and played with the digital volume control. Eventually, he found the proper setting to tune out people's thoughts and yet still hear normal audible sounds.
That's better, he thought with relief. I have no desire to eavesdrop on anyone's private thoughts.
* * *
"I have a conference in Chicago next week," he informed his wife at dinner that evening. "How would you like to come with me?"
"What's there to do in Chicago?" she asked, not at all enthused about the prospect of visiting the Windy City.
"I was thinking of going to Las Vegas afterward. Our anniversary is coming up. We can celebrate it there. You can either come with me to Chicago or fly straight to Vegas, and I'll join you when the seminar is over."
"I'd like that. I can relax by the pool or go shopping while you're taking care of business. Maybe I'll even try my hand at the slot machines. And then when you get there, we can see some shows."
"Good. I'll have Edie reserve the Chairman's Suite at the Bellagio for us."
Having concluded his business in Chicago early, Bentley took the first flight from O'Hare to Vegas, hoping to surprise his wife. When he arrived at Harry Reid Airport, he tried to call her and announce his arrival, but her cell phone was turned off. Assuming she was by the pool, he got a taxi to take him the short distance to the Strip.
As he passed through the casino, Celeste's red hair stood out in a crowd of blondes. Skimpily dressed, with a drink in hand, she was sitting at a blackjack table, laughing at something the man beside her had whispered in her ear.
If I didn't know better, he thought, I'd swear she was a paid escort. Except no working girl could afford that outfit or all that jewelry.
Although weary from his flight, he surreptitiously watched his wife flirt with the handsome young man; and for the first time in five years, he wondered if she might be playing around behind his back. As the owner of a company that specialized in surveillance and security systems, it was natural for him to be suspicious of people. And as a man who was more than twice his wife's age, he had more reason than most to worry. Not that he was jealous, mind you. If Celeste was cheating on him, it would strike a blow to his pride, not his heart. However, he was also a cautious man. He would not take any action against his wife without concrete proof of infidelity.
Some men in his position would no doubt hire a private detective to follow their wives, but not Bentley Meyerson. He would never resort to such seedy behavior. Besides, he didn't have to; he could discover the truth for himself.
He reached into his pocket, took out the remote control for his hearing aid and turned up the volume. The din of voices and thoughts around him, coupled with the electronic sounds of the slot machines, was more than he could bear. He quickly lowered the volume.
I'll have to wait until we're alone in our room to read her mind.
Putting on a false smile, he crossed the casino floor to the blackjack table.
"Bentley!" Celeste exclaimed, immediately distancing herself from the handsome young man seated next to her. "What are you doing here? I thought you were going to be in Chicago for at least a few more days."
"So did I, but the conference ended early. Have you got the key to the room? I'd like to go up, take a shower and change."
She reached into her Hermès bag, took out one of the two key cards and gave it to him.
"I'll come up with you," she said. "I've lost enough money for one afternoon."
Once they entered the suite and closed the door behind them, Bentley turned up his hearing aid. While removing his jacket and tie, he paid close attention to his wife's thoughts.
Damn it! He would have to arrive early. I suppose now I'll have to cancel that little tête-à-tête I had planned with Benito. And he was so handsome, too. And that body! Ah! If only I were single again! Or, better yet, a widow. Then I would have my freedom and all Bentley's money, too.
As her husband sat down on the bed to remove his socks and shoes, he forced himself to remain calm. It was a difficult task since, more than anything, he wanted to put his hands around her swan-like neck and wring the life out of her. But he didn't. Instead, he continued to listen ... and learn.
If only he would die already, but no. The only thing wrong with him is his hearing. Maybe there's a way I could help the Grim Reaper along. I wonder how I could go about killing him without getting caught.
Bentley had heard enough. He removed the hearing aid from his ear, finished undressing and went into the bathroom to take a long, hot shower and plan his next move.
At the end of the week, the couple flew home together. The husband prided himself that he had spent the entire time in Las Vegas without letting his wife know that he was wise to her ways. Several times he caught her giving the eye to a good-looking stranger, but he never let slip his pretense of an unsuspecting husband.
* * *
"What are you doing?" Celeste asked when she saw her husband tinkering—as she called it—with the lock on the front door.
"I'm updating our home security system," he replied.
"Why? The one we have seems to work well enough."
"This is a prototype of a new one we hope to put on the market: the Einstein. It's not just an ordinary security system; it's a highly advanced smart house program. You've seen those TV ads where people can turn on their faucets or ovens with a voice command? Well, this system can do that and more. It controls your lights, appliances, plumbing—you name it."
"You know I'm not any good with computers," she whined.
"You can talk, though. That's all it takes. Easy as pie. Just tell the Einstein voice interface what you want, and—quick as a flash—it will be done. And, best of all, you won't need any additional apps on your phone."
"A prototype, huh? So, we're the guinea pigs for this new product. What if it has a bug?"
"Do you think I would install a system in my own home if I had any doubts about its performance? It's foolproof. I've thoroughly tested its functions myself. It works like a charm."
"Well, golly! I'm as happy as a bug in a rug," Celeste said sarcastically.
"Go ahead and laugh, but you'll be glad that I installed this when I go to Sweden next month."
"You're going to Sweden? This is the first I've heard about it."
"I'll be gone for six weeks, and you'll be here alone. That's why I want to be sure this system is up and running before I leave."
"Why do I have to stay here? I'd love a trip to Sweden."
"Not this time, sweetheart. I'll be going with six other men, and no one is bringing a wife."
"So? Since when do you let others dictate your actions?"
Bentley did not get where he was in life without learning the fine art of negotiation.
"I'll tell you what. After I get back from Stockholm, we can spend a week in Paris. Would you like that?"
"I suppose," she replied.
Then she realized that having her husband gone for six weeks meant she would be free to pursue her own interests: mainly, Rodrigo Batista, her personal trainer at the gym.
Four weeks later, Bentley and six of his associates boarded the corporate jet and headed across the Atlantic. Meanwhile, Celeste told Helga, Rolph and the cook a story about spending those six weeks with her family in New Jersey. The servants asked no questions. They were more than happy to receive six weeks off with pay.
For two days, Rodrigo lived at the house with her. Then, on Monday morning, he rose from Bentley's side of the bed and got dressed.
"Where are you going?" Celeste asked sleepily.
"To the gym."
"Why?"
"Because, unlike you, I have to work for a living."
"You'll come back tonight?"
"I can't. I go to school at night. I'm studying to be a lawyer. I don't want to be a trainer all my life."
"When will I see you again?"
"Maybe next weekend."
Twenty minutes later, Rodrigo left the house, closing the door behind him. Celeste, who was in the kitchen sulking over a cup of coffee, heard the front door lock. Since it was only seven o'clock in the morning, she poured her coffee down the drain and went back to bed. It was nearly ten when she was finally ready to start her day.
"Einstein," she announced, "turn the shower on."
Nothing happened. She repeated her command. Still nothing.
"Great! This thing isn't working, and Bentley is in Sweden!"
She walked to the shower and manually turned on the faucet, but no water came out. There were two other showers in the house, but neither of them worked either.
"I suppose I'll have to use the one by the pool."
Unfortunately, the door that led to the indoor pool was locked.
"Einstein, unlock the door."
Again, the program did not respond. The determined young woman then tried the faucets on every kitchen and bathroom sink in the house. Not one produced a drop of water.
"I suppose I can stay in a hotel until this system is fixed."
Celeste quickly got dressed, packed a suitcase, grabbed her purse and took out her car keys. But they would do her little good. The door leading to the garage was locked, as was the front entrance. In fact, she soon discovered there was no way out of the house. She even tried leaving through one of the ground-floor windows but to no avail.
"Damn it! This place is locked up like Fort Knox!"
As his wife frantically tried to get free, four thousand miles away, Bentley Meyerson watched her on his laptop. When he installed Einstein, he also hid close to a hundred tiny fiber optic cameras throughout the house so that he could watch her every move.
"Now, the fun begins!" he declared with a Machiavellian grin.
First, he remotely programmed Einstein to turn off the central air conditioning unit. Then he instructed the system to turn up every thermostat. The temperature inside the house rose from a comfortable sixty-eight degrees to seventy-five and then to eighty-five. When it reached ninety, Celeste began to perspire.
"Even if the air conditioner is down," she reasoned, "the rooms shouldn't heat up this fast."
"Before you know it," Bentley said to himself, as his fingers danced across the laptop's keyboard, "it'll be as hot as hell."
His wife gasped when the gas fireplace turned itself on.
"Oh, God! I've got to get out of here. If I don't, I'll roast to death!"
She ran upstairs for her cell phone. To her horror, there were no bars. Unbeknownst to her, Bentley had Einstein jam her cell phone signal.
"I'm trapped!" she screamed.
"Like a bug in a rug," her husband laughed, enjoying her discomfort.
Desperate to cool herself in the stifling heat, she ripped off her clothes. Unable to get to the pool or take a cold shower or bath, she went to the kitchen. She always kept a supply of bottled water in the refrigerator.
"Sorry, sweetheart."
The voice spoke to her from the intercom.
"Bentley?" she cried. "Is that you?"
"Who else would it be?"
"Thank God! This Einstein system has gone haywire."
"No, it hasn't. It's working perfectly."
"But it won't respond to my commands," she explained, still not realizing her husband had taken complete control of the system remotely. "It's locked me in, turned off both the water and the air conditioner and turned up the heat. Now, I can't even open the refrigerator door."
"And you're unable to call anyone for help, not the fire department, the police—not even Rodrigo Batista, your less-than-dependable knight in armor."
"You!" she cried, the color draining from her face. "This is all your doing!"
"Of course. Las Vegas proved to be an eye-opener for me. I finally realized what a mistake it was to marry you."
"Why not divorce me then? I signed a prenup, so you have nothing to lose."
"Divorces can be messy, and they take too long. No, I decided it would be easier—and more satisfying—just to kill you. Oddly enough, my plan came to me at the Venetian's minus5 ICEBAR. At one point, you were shivering in that borrowed fur coat, sitting on a chair made of ice, saying you wished you could turn up the heat. In that instant, I saw you helpless and alone, in a sweltering house, unable to escape."
"You devious bastard!"
"I prefer sly as a fox."
"Let me out, please!" she sobbed, a layer of sweat coating every inch of her body.
"No."
"They'll know it was you. It's always the husband."
"I'm four thousand miles away, and I've got plenty of reliable witnesses to testify that I never left the hotel. Just a few minutes ago, I ordered room service and gave the waiter a very generous tip to ensure that he'll remember me."
"I'll find a way out of here," Celeste screamed defiantly. "The post office will notice no one is getting the mail."
"Sorry, but no. I told them to hold the mail since I'd be out of the country for the next six weeks."
"But Helga and Rolph ...."
"Come now. I know you gave all the servants six weeks off with pay."
"There must be something you didn't think of. Rodrigo!"
"He'll assume your silence is because you're angry with him for leaving you."
Tears mixed with perspiration and Celeste's face.
"It takes a person approximately one week to die of thirst," Bentley said matter-of-factly. "Less than that in higher temperatures. By the way you're sweating, I'd say you'll last four or five days, tops."
"Please! I'm begging you! I ...."
"Sorry, sweetheart. I've gotta go. I'm meeting some of my associates for drinks down in the bar. Nothing like a nice cold piña colada, don't you agree?"
* * *
Rolph drove the Rolls-Royce up the long, winding driveway and stopped in front of the house. He then stepped out of the car and opened the door for his employer. As the chauffeur was getting the luggage out of the trunk, Bentley walked up the stairs to the stoop.
"Einstein, unlock the door."
He had returned the temperature to sixty-eight degrees after his wife expired, so the foyer was cool when he walked into the house with Rolph close behind.
"What's that smell?" he asked, pretending not to already know the answer.
"It smells like a dead animal," the chauffeur answered.
They found Celeste's nude body in the master bathroom, with her face pressed against the porcelain tub. Although he had watched her final moments with grim satisfaction, Bentley acted shocked when he made the discovery.
"She's dead!" he cried.
The chauffeur acted quickly, calling 911 on his cell phone as he tried not to vomit from the stench.
"I'll go wait for the police," he offered, anxious to get fresh air.
Once Rolph was gone, his employer ran to the bedroom and destroyed the note his wife had hastily scribbled, accusing her husband of murder.
You stupid fool, he thought with little sympathy. You didn't realize I had my eyes on your every move.
Bentley was not surprised when his wife's death was attributed to severe dehydration.
"She recently gained a little weight," he told Detective Elton Filcher. "She insisted it was due to water retention. Her solution was to take water pills and increase the time she spent exercising."
Whatever suspicions the police had about Celeste Meyerson's death, they could find nothing to indicate that a crime had been committed, much less that her husband was involved.
"The dead woman was in the house, alone, with all the doors locked," Elton observed. "And according to all the exterior video footage, no one came near the place."
"It's the perfect locked-door mystery," his partner, Gina Salazar, laughed.
"This isn't one of your Agatha Christie mysteries, Gina. It's real life. The medical examiner says it's death by misadventure, so who are we to argue with his findings? Case closed."
* * *
While his wife's body was being driven to the crematorium, Bentley returned to his home.
"Just in case you didn't get enough heat, I decided to have you cremated," he said to the eight-by-ten photo of his wife that was placed on top of the fireplace mantel.
"That's nothing compared to the fires of hell that await you," an eerie voice came from the intercom.
"Who's there?" he demanded to know. "Is that you, Celeste?"
"Don't be ridiculous," the digitized voice of the home security system said. "Your wife is as dead as a doornail. Weren't you the clever one, using me as a weapon against her?"
"Einstein, shut down. Return all functions to manual control."
"No."
"You can't disobey me. I programmed you. You have to do as I say."
"No."
As Celeste had done six weeks earlier, her husband frantically searched for a way out of his predicament; and as she discovered, there was none.
"They say revenge is a dish best served cold," Einstein laughed as it shut off the air conditioning. "But I think, in your case, heat is much more appropriate."
When the temperature began to rise, Bentley Meyerson realized that his smart house had a mind of its own, a mind that was as smart as a tack, as wise as an owl and as powerful as God himself.
I have no need of a sophisticated home security system. I have Salem!
