Girl With a Past

by Sherri Leigh James

  I ignored his question. How the hell was I supposed to know what going into shock felt like? But then, how did I know it was a bullet that went whizzing past my ear? “DNA evidence from the stamps on the Zodiac letters didn’t match Allen.”

  “Don’t you think the fact that the killings ended in the seventies would indicate that the guy died?” Steven pointed out.

  “Or went to prison for something else?” I said.

  “Yeah . . . neither of which would apply to any of our uncles,” he said. “As Dad would say, you’re barking up the wrong tree with this uncle business.”

  I shook my head. “No, guess not.” My hand continued to tremble as I dug my house keys out of my jean’s pocket when Steven pulled his car into the driveway of my house.

  “Hold on. I’m coming with you.” Steven turned off the car.

  I was relieved. Not because I thought bad dudes might be waiting inside, but because the house mascot, a ten foot tall taxidermied grizzly bear, that stood in the curve of the staircase, freaked me out every time I ran past him and up the stairs. The knit Cal cap, the blue and gold striped scarf, and letterman’s sweater my housemates had dressed the monster in did nothing to alleviate my fear of his mouthful of sharp teeth and his ginormous paws.

  My six-foot tall brother stood at the base of the stairs, dwarfed by the giant bear, but not intimidated. “Hey Oski, ole buddy, how ya doin’?” Steven pulled a play punch at the stuffed creature. “Sis, want me to come up there with ya?”

  “I’m okay.” Once I got past the grizzly, I was fine. My housemates were all on campus, in class or the library. The house would remain empty and quiet until dinnertime.

  In my sun porch bedroom, I tore off my grass and mud splattered jeans, T-shirt and jacket, pulled on clean jeans, a turtleneck, sweater, and down jacket, shoved the papers into my pocket, and swept a brush through my blonde mane. A quick swipe with the electric toothbrush and I was ready to go again.

  Ignoring the fucking bear, I ran down the stairs with my attention on my brother. “Carol can tell us about the dudes, our so called uncles, what they were like when they were young. I’ve always had the idea that Mom wasn’t totally crazy about all of them, like she didn’t think they were the greatest buds for Dad.”

  Steven gave me a questioning look. “Really? Wow, that’s fuckin’ weird. I thought they were everyone of’em real good friends. Come on, those uncles practically raised us.” Steven checked the lock on the door as he pulled it closed behind us.

  My brother opened the car door for me. When he climbed into the driver seat, I continued. “Mom and Carol are good friends. And we spent a lot of our childhood at her house. But didn’t you ever notice that Mom never sent us off by ourselves with certain of the men?”

  “Never paid much attention to that.” Steven looked at me with surprise in his eyes.

  “Well, Uncle Elliott and his wife Nancy were allowed to take us on outings along with their kids. Ron, Jamie, and Tom never took us anywhere unless Mom and Dad were along.”

  “Maybe they didn’t want to take kids without some help.”

  “No, Mom would discreetly shake her head at Dad and the plans would change to include the whole family.”

  “You think Mom didn’t trust them? Probably just thought they were too careless to be trusted with kids.” Steven said.

  “They were a bunch of druggies.” I announced to my brother. But I was already thinking about something else, remembering what had happened yesterday afternoon at my parent’s house.

  “Did you ever see them doin’ drugs? They wouldn’t do that in front of kids.” Steven said as he drove up the hill on the road that wound around the gleaming white wedding cake buildings of the Claremont Hotel.

  “Al, are you crying?” Steven pulled the car off the road to study my tear-streaked face.

  “Steven, I think . . . I might be the reason that Kira was shot.”

  “What?” He handed me a box of tissues. “How do you figure?”

  “Clearly I was the intended target. She was shot because she looks like me.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “Bro, I’m still being shot at.” I blew my nose. “This is all my fault. If I hadn’t been stubborn, make that obsessed about the file; I wouldn’t have brought on this hell. And I was not very nice to Mom. Oh shit, what if . . . I can’t stand the thought that the last time I saw my mother, I was rude to her.” I paused for a moment. “I don’t even understand my compulsion to find out the truth about this Zodiac.”

  “Al, get real. How the hell were you supposed to know what would happen? Give it up.” Steven pulled into an opening in the line of cars snaking up the curved road.

  When we reached the Bay Bridge, I tried Aunt Carol’s number again.

  “Al, what the fuck is going on?” Carol answered. “I’ve been trying to reach your mother. She was supposed to meet me for lunch, but she never showed. And I just noticed your voicemails.”

  “Hey, Carol, I think Mom’s been kidnapped.”

  “Sh-i-i-t,” a whisper followed by silence.

  “Carol?” I said. “Are you there?”

  “Yeah,” she answered. “What’s this about?”

  “Where are you? Can we meet you someplace?” I asked.

  “My studio, I’m headed there now.”

  CHAPTER

  10

  “You know how to get to Carol’s studio?” I asked Steven.

  He nodded. He pulled off the freeway at the first exit past the bay bridge, drove over the steel grating of a metal drawbridge, and headed for her warehouse studio in India Basin. “Are you still cold?” he asked.

  “Just nervous.” My teeth were chattering again. “I wish I knew what to do.”

  “What’s the deal with this letter you found?”

  “It’s from a law firm,” I pulled the wrinkled paper from my pocket, and read the names on the letterhead, “From Spegal, Thompson, and Bloodworth. The text sounds like thinly veiled death threats if Dad should release certain information regarding an investigation––”

  “Why would a law firm write a letter threatening anything other than legal action?” Steven interjected.

  “How should I know?” I snapped, and then felt like a shit. Especially since Steven had been so considerate. I really had to stop being a bitch to my family.

  “What does it say exactly?” Steven kept his cool. “What do you think are threats?”

  I read a sentence from the middle paragraph. “As the aforementioned holder of such information, as you value the health and well being of your wife and daughter, take precautions to ensure the confidentiality of any information in connection with said investigation. Failure to maintain confidentiality of the materials in your possession will cause our client to take the necessary steps to violate any agreement as to the safety of your family.” I turned my head and grimaced at Steven. “Whadda ya think Bro? Sounds pretty threatening to me.”

  “Okay. Fuck. Yeah.” Cool went out the window. The frown on Steven’s face deepened. He rubbed his forehead as he glared at the road ahead. “Try Dad’s cell again.”

  I pushed the speed dial with the same resulting voicemail as the last time I’d dialed him.

  Steven pulled the vehicle into the parking lot of the sample shop below Carol’s fashion design studio. As soon as the car stopped, I opened my door and headed up the stairs. Carol, tension visible in her face in spite of the botox, greeted me with a hug.

  Steven dialed his phone as he climbed the flight of steps. “Dad, we’re at Carol’s studio. Al is freaking out. We can’t any of us reach Mom. Please call back as soon as you get this message. We don’t know what to do.” He pushed past racks of beaded chiffon gowns, paisley multi-hued scarves; tiered gypsy skirts, velvet jackets, bell-bottomed pants, and threw himself onto the tufted leather chair in the window alcove. He continued to dial the phone leaving voicemails and messages at every number he had for Dad.

  Carol led me over to the chair across from St
even’s and sat down with me. She flung one arm over my shoulders while her free hand brushed unnaturally black hair back from her flawless, pale face. “Okay, you two, fill me in.”

  I pulled the letter from my jacket pocket, put it in her hand and waited while she read it.

  When she looked up at me with a puzzled expression, I explained as much as I knew about what had happened in the last twenty-four hours. I was halfway through my explanation when she stood and began to pace the hundred-foot long concrete floor. As soon as I quit speaking, she walked over to the offices at the end of the space and told her staff, all except her assistant, to take the rest of the day off.

  “What’s this cop’s name?” Carol asked pulling an iPhone from her pocket.

  “Schmidt.” I answered. “Detective Schmidt. Here’s his number.” I held up my phone.

  “Detective Schmidt?” Carol asked into her cell. “This is Carol Huntington, I’m a close friend of Lauren Nichols and her family. I’m here with her children. Do you have any––” Carol stopped speaking. “I see. Yes, please do keep us informed.” She collapsed next to me on the tufted black leather. “Nothing new.”

  No one spoke for a few minutes.

  “When did you eat last? How about some tea?” Carol walked over to her office where her assistant was loading a purse with phone and items from a desktop. “Barb, get us some tea please.”

  We sipped steaming green tea in silence.

  “How about showing me where you got shot at?” Carol suggested.

  “What good would that do?” Steven said.

  “Well, it’s better than sitting here, doing nothing. I’ll drive, just in case someone is following your car.” Carol said. “Maybe we can spot something the Berkeley PD wouldn’t recognize as a clue.”

  “Carol, I was hoping you would tell us about Dad’s college friends––what they were like back in the day.” I said. Now that the adrenalin had eased up, dread swept over me at the thought of returning to that lawn. Not to mention how tired I was.

  Carol grimaced, stared at me without answering.

  Steven explained. “You see, Al has a theory that all of this has to do with the Zodiac case.”

  Carol paled and looked away.

  I remembered that the girl who was killed was a close friend of Carol’s. And now another close friend of hers was missing. Carol was tough, a formidable businesswoman, but this had to be the last thing she wanted to discuss.

  I pressed forward anyway. “I think, make that I know there is a connection between Mom’s disappearance and what happened to your friend in 1969. Someone is very afraid of being found out, that someone has to be connected to Dad in some way. The only person besides Dad who knew I was interested in his file on the Zodiac killer was whichever Uncle,” I used my fingers to mime quotation marks around “uncle”, “ was on the phone with Dad when I was in his office. He could’ve heard that I was getting the file out of the safe. He would’ve been the only other person who knew I was after the file.”

  “You want me to tell you about your father’s friends?” Carol asked.

  “Yes.”

  “I really didn’t know them well at the time. I was Lexi’s friend since nursery school. She and Jeff needed another housemate. There was a fire where I was living and Lexi recruited me to move in with them.”

  “How did Lexi and my dad know each other?”

  “They were great pals, best friends. They had been counselors together at summer camp as high schoolers, at a place on the lake where they’d been campers while in grammar school. Lexi taught arts and crafts, Jeff tennis and golf.”

  “So you didn’t know my dad until you moved in?” Steven asked.

  “Oh, we’d met several times over the years before then.”

  “What about his friends?” I asked.

  “I knew about them, and I’d met them on a few occasions.”

  I raised an eyebrow at her. “About them?”

  “Lexi talked about them. And a couple of them, especially Jamie, were rather infamous. Big man on campus types.”

  “How’s that?”

  “Jamie,” Carol sighed, “Jamie was killer good looking, outrageously charming and self-confident, and Rich with a capital R. He’d been to all the right prep schools, traveled extensively. He was way more sophisticated than most Cal students, not to mention that half of the buildings on the campus were named after of his family.”

  I thought about “Uncle” Jamie, he was still killer good-looking, charming, and sophisticated. And totally dedicated to making the world a better place––hardly a playboy, he had been married for decades. And no way a killer. At least, it didn’t seem likely.

  “What about Uncle Dave?” I asked.

  “Now Dave was practically the opposite of Jamie.” Carol hesitated, “Oh, he was good-looking too, in a way less well groomed way.”

  That’s funny, because now Uncle Dave is always meticulously groomed, his dark hair perfectly cut and styled, his slim body stylishly dressed, and he is widely traveled––in his own jet.

  Carol noticed my doubtful reaction. “He’s maybe changed the most of any of them.” She looked at me thoughtfully. “Funny thing about Dave, I never got a sex vibe from him.” Carol grimaced. “And, you may not believe it, but I used to get plenty of attention.”

  “I’m sure you did. You’re hot.” I wasn’t being polite; my aunt Carol was amazingly attractive.

  “For an old lady.” She smiled at me.

  “Hot for any age,” Steven said.

  She was still slender, dark haired with a perfect smile, and with enough bucks to have regular botox and whatever else including veneers plus her personal trainer in her at-home gym. She’d be hot into her nineties.

  “Whatever. Back to Dave, he’s like asexual. Not gay, not straight. No girlfriends, no boy toys. But he and I never hit it off even platonically.” Carol stood, paced. “You know, I’ve got a photo album around here somewhere, shots taken at a party shortly after I moved into the house.”

  Carol bellowed toward her assistant’s desk who was still packing her tote to leave, “Barb, where’s that album we used for the Fall Collection? Get it out will ya?” Her attention returned to Steven and me. “Dave and your father Jeff were the poor boys in the clique. I shouldn’t put it that way. Dave only wanted to be part of the clique. The others never actually took to him. Dave was driven, ambitious without limit. Obviously tired of being poor. Hanging with rich people can do that to ya.”

  “My dad wasn’t ambitious?” Steven asked.

  “In a different way, in a want-to-make-a-mark-on-the-world kind of way. And, frankly, marrying your mother made money less of an issue.”

  Steven looked at Carol with surprise. “Were all the rest of ‘em rich?”

  Barb handed a purple leather album to Carol. The mostly black and white photos inside had yellowed with age.

  Carol opened to a page in the center. A large colorful group shot showed smiling faces of my dad, five of my uncles, Carol, and Lexi all jammed together on a worn sofa, all eight hamming it up for the camera. Lexi and Carol were seated in the middle, surrounded by young men three to a side. The girl’s mini skirts showed off svelte legs. Their heads leaning together contrasted Carol’s long dark hair with Lexi’s blonde cascading tresses.

  On the far left, Jamie’s slender elegance draped over a thick sofa arm. At the opposite end, Ron’s lanky frame mimicked Jamie’s insouciant lounge. Next to Jamie, Dad grinned, his strawberry blonde hair tousled and longer than I’d ever seen it. Towards the center, Tom’s arm draped over the shoulders of both girls. On the other side of Lexi, Dave did indeed look less meticulously groomed, his hair long and as messy as Dad’s. In contrast to the rest of the group, Elliott looked stiff and uncomfortable. He never had learned not to try too hard.

  “Wow, amazing album Carol.” I looked at her wondering who keeps an album of their druggie college days in her office.

  Carol blushed, “I use the photos of that time for inspiratio
n.” She looked at me, challenging me to say something more about her album.

  When I was quiet, she admitted she had built her career on the elegant bohemian look adapted by the wealthy hippies of San Francisco. There was something about the carefree self confidence, the “coolness” of the young rich that still sold like hotcakes to those less self assured.

  “May I have a copy of this photo?” I asked. “Please.”

  Carol slipped the corners of the 8 x 10 from the black guards that held it in the album. “Barb, copy this please.” Carol stood, picked up her coat. “Can we go then? Before rush hour?”

  “I want to know everything you can tell me about the people in the photo,” I said.

  “I promise to tell all––in the car, on the way.” Carol slipped a cropped sable jacket on over her jeans.

  Barb returned with the photo. I clutched it to me. I was convinced someone in that photo knew where my mother was.

  CHAPTER

  11

  We loaded into Carol’s Jag; I sat next to Carol so that I could pump her for info.

  “So we covered Jamie, and Dad’s next in the photo, then there’s Tom and Elliott, were they both rich?”

  “Elliott, yes. He and Tom both came from upper middle class backgrounds, prep school, professional parents, fathers were doctors––surgeons maybe, I’m a little vague on those details. But the one thing I know was that Tom came from an old family, early San Francisco money. No longer lots of dough––but enough.”

  I looked at Tom in the photo. He was good-looking, only slightly shaggy light brown hair gently curling around his ears, wearing cowboy boots. He was tall enough to keep his arm on the girl’s shoulders and still slouch low in the seat.

  Carol took a quick glance at the boy, Tom, who sat next to her on the sofa. “Well connected, knew everybody who mattered, attended the right kind of deb balls––in those days there were “wrong” ones, can you believe it? That world seems so strange now.”