CoverBoys & Curses

by Lala Corriere

  I didn’t mention the offer to move to The Centre. I can be an idiot but I’m not plain stupid.

  Brock noticed the jewelry-pitching blonde I’d seen on what seemed like every other commercial on television. She arrived at a table next to us and it seemed to me she secured the best viewing advantage to take in Brock’s abs-fitting black tee. Now I was the twelve year old.

  Coal spoke up when he saw us all stare at the magnificent spokesperson. “So-called stars read lines someone else wrote. They step where someone else has directed them to step, and then they rely on someone to splice and dice their films to take out all of the real stuff.

  “Lauren has a first class magazine that rocks. Carly has a successful design business and a dream. That’s real world and world class.”

  Brock downed his beer.

  Carly drooled under the pool of accolades that kept on coming from Coal’s perfect mouth.

  I pulled on Brock’s arm and asked if he’d go to the bar with me. He jumped to his feet.

  “Why don’t you tell me why you and Dr. Coal have to keep going at each other all the time?”

  “Because he’s playing mind games with me. He’s a psycho-nut playing mind games with all of us.”

  “He’s just trying to be supportive of his patients,” I said.

  Brock grabbed the cold beer offered by the bartender.

  “Why do you think he’s here? You think he just showed up at the same time we happen to be here?”

  “You heard him. He has a meeting here.”

  “Right. He signed for your drinks. That means he’s a member. Mr. Doctor Good with no need for worldly possessions went and joined a country club. My country club.”

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  A Change of Names

  CARLY POSH SHOPPED the shops, and especially any with a For Lease or For Sale sign in front. Demographics didn’t factor in. She’d become the demographics. Her growing clientele grew along with her reputation, and she knew in her gut the business would come to her.

  Although her mission was largely a secret, she gave Gabriella Criscione a heads-up. Look for maybe two thousand square feet to begin with, and grow from there. Calculated and most wondrous baby steps.

  VICTOR ROMERO SAT at his desk and drew in several deep breaths. Again. Again. Upon his retirement he took Vinyasa Flow Yoga classes. Too damn slow for him. But he had learned to breathe nice and slow. Breathing is a good thing, he thought.

  Now he was back swimming with the sharks. And he had spotted one of them. And his breathing quickened. He liked that.

  One more deep breath, if only to placate his wife, and she was spending the night in Sedona. But like all wives she had eyes in the back of her head that could see over mountains and count the pixels in his mind.

  Romero moved to the patio overlooking the Catalina Mountains and placed the call. “Hey, good old Wray! It’s Vic. Que Pasa?”

  “You’re the good old fart and I’m just plain good. And what’s up with you? Pretty early in the day for you to be calling me in your golden retirement years,” Detective Tom Wray said.

  “Cut the bullshit and listen up. I think I have a lead on that missing boy.”

  “What missing boy?”

  “It sounds like it’s your mind that’s taken early retirement. I’m talking about the brother of the friend of your Lauren Visconti. Ring a bell?”

  “Oh, yeah. She won’t let me forget it. That’s why I pawned her off on your fat ass!”

  “The kid’s last known address was some shantytown crack house in New York. But funny thing, the kid disappeared about the time a slew of kids went missing. Some psycho guru doctor lost his license to practice up there. Something about money laundering, espionage, and toss in some pedophiliac complications for good measure. Makes for one helluva recipe. I’m convinced the missing Doukas kid is somehow involved with this guy. The guru fled New York and headed to Tucson. I still don’t know much about that fling, right here in my own backyard, but rumor has it that the creep moved to your neck of the woods and took his favorite followers with him, whatever that means.”

  “So you’re telling me that missing kid may be in my backyard and with some psychotic psychiatrist?”

  “We always loved working together, didn’t we, Champ?”

  “Shit. Shit. Shit. We have a dynasty of cults and ashrams and guru wannabes. The missing kid might as well have fallen off that ship with Osama Bin Laden. Better chance of finding him.”

  “Except I’m damn better at my job than you. I can give you the name of the place. Damn simple name. It’s called The Center,” Victor said.

  “Center for what?”

  “Hell if I know. It’s your territory.”

  “Looks like we’re a despicable team, again,” Wray said.

  “Wait. I have more for you. It seems this doctor’s name changes with the seasons.”

  “What the hell does that mean?” Wray asked.

  “Whoever this doctor was in New York may have changed his name. When they yanked his license from the state of New York the guy and his records both vanished. Not sure why. It’s probably under that secret veil of steel red tape called surreptitious payoffs, but rumors have it he then moved to Tucson and began scamming bleeding heart victims for money. All their money.”

  “So that’s your turf. What do you have to give me?”

  “No name. Another vanished doctor. The same guy that came here from New York. This shrink came into town with a bunch of young boys. And the timeline fits with the guy that fled New York.”

  “The shrink with the disappearing name keeps heading west, and now you think he’s here in L.A.?”

  “Something like that. Hey, I’m not God. I turned in a lot of chips to get this information.”

  “I’ll look into it. What about the dead girl down there? The sister of this kid. The suicide?”

  “This is a small town but no cow town. I’m going through the sheriff’s files now. Clean files. I haven’t run into a Barney Fife yet. Seems to be a clear cut ruling for suicide but something doesn’t sit well with me.”

  “God, if I had a nickel for every time you said that.”

  “I’m serious. The ME found bruises around Payton Doukas’s neck.”

  “Ligature marks?”

  “The official finding is that she tried to somehow hang herself before resorting to the gun. Girls don’t like guns, you know.”

  “I guess that makes sense. She wanted to get the job done one way or the other.”

  “The blood pattern can pass for being consistent, but it’s awkward. She would have had to shoot herself standing up and then fall back into her chair. And there’s something else. I see here the gun fired a single 38 caliber bullet. That would decrease the recoil from a .357 Magnum, and the gun residue was a match for recoil. Something a girlie would do if she wasn’t strong enough for the big bang. There’s some tattooing to confirm the short range. The ME also reported bruising on her hands and wrist.

  “Only one shell casing found?” Detective Wray seemed to be getting the same bug up his ass. Things weren’t adding up.

  “That’s affirmative.”

  “One bullet. One death. Close range or not, maybe she had a hard time handling that gun. A .357 Magnum, even with sissy bullets, is a pretty big toy for such a tiny little lady. Maybe she took it outside in the boonies for some practice rounds. Build up her courage. Go check the nearby fields.”

  Victor let out a guttural sigh. “Yo, boy! This ain’t exactly like living in the amber waves of grain down here. We have miles and miles of cacti. You come down and have a look around with me.”

  “You can bet your ass that’s not going to happen. Any other bullets in the chamber?”

  “No.”

  “Where’d the gun come from?”

  “I thought you’d never ask, buddy. The good old Chief in the Sky must want us working together again. The gun was reported stolen five years ago, from a home right there in your quaint little Brentwood neighborhood
. Go check your computer. I’ve sent you all the information I have. You do know how to work a computer these days, don’t you?”

  “Brentwood? You sure?”

  “Yup. Why?”

  “Impenetrable fortresses of money. And crimes that get forgiven. Think O.J.”

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  More Worms

  CARLY AND STERLING arranged for the intervention after calling me countless times, again, for a lunch or happy hour. I kept putting them off. I didn’t want to lose my two best friends. Some may say I was either stubborn, or dim-witted, or ridiculously superstitious. I had a good excuse. I was working on the next cover article. Mostly, I didn’t know what to say to them. And I didn’t want them to die.

  After much insistence I met them for lunch at La Luna Oro. Only because I had news.

  A report from the detective in Tucson. The cryptic email came in the middle of the night, but the brief communication read like a thesis.

  He did not believe that Payton committed suicide. Finally, someone was on our side.

  Both Carly and Sterling lectured me before I could share the news. Lauren Visconti is not cursed. People she loved had died. Poor little Lauren. Poor little rich girl.

  “You’re acting like a goddamn Kokopelli,” Carly said.

  “Excuse me?”

  “You’re the symbol of fertility. Lively. Vital. But you’re motionless. You’re framed in an archaic history.”

  “And you’ve given up on us,” Sterling said.

  “You’re right. And you’re all wrong,” I said.

  Drinks and salads arrived while puzzlement splayed across the faces of both Carly and Sterling.

  I had copied the email Victor Romero had sent me. I shared my news. “He believes in us. He believes in Payton.”

  Carly said, “Now we have ammunition and we can get the sheriff’s department to reopen their investigation.”

  “We can’t rely on them. Not after they’ve closed the case once. I think we need to get our butts back to Tucson and find those three saguaro skeletons.”

  “Good god,” Sterling said. “I have to admit. I was the one giving up on that. I thought it best if we all just move on.”

  Carly nodded, “Me, too. Lauren, if it weren’t for you hiring this guy no one would ever get to the bottom of this.”

  “It’s also digging up an old can of worms. Worms that none of us need,” I said.

  “It’s the snakes that scare me,” Sterling said.

  “I’ll make the reservations”, Carly said.

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  Foreign Grapes

  ARRIVING LATE AT Tucson International Airport, we headed directly to Starr Pass, a resort near Saguaro National Park.

  I called Victor Romero and confirmed breakfast the next morning. Perpetual party girl Sterling surprised us by saying she’d meet us at the outside bar later. She elected to plop herself down at the desk and set about getting her computer online.

  Carly and I took seats overlooking the enormous meandering pool designed to flow like a river. The weather cooperated with a gentle breeze. Though decidedly cooler than our last visit, I still doubted we would be in need of the sweaters all three of us had packed.

  “At least we aren’t in Aspen, or Ruidoso,” Carly said. “It could be snowing on us.”

  Carly. Always the one to find the silver lining on a cloud of rust, or the sugar rim on the glass full of castor oil. I smiled and took in the warmth of the sun and the breathtaking views.

  “What exactly is Sterling doing?” Carly asked.

  “She’s looking at the trail map again. And I think she’s intent on talking to a forest ranger.”

  “I love her, but I swear I thought her only talent was in bobbing along with her baubles,” Carly laughed.

  The waitperson arrived with a wine stand, a chilling bottle, and three glasses.

  “We didn’t order this,” I said.

  “And you will love it,” she said. “Compliments of another guest.”

  “Who?” I asked.

  “I don’t know. The order came from the inside lounge.”

  “Wait here,” I said to Carly, and stumbled in my heels as I dashed toward where the waitperson had pointed. I didn’t think of the practicality of wearing flip flops.

  Wedging myself between patrons at the bar, I apologized and begged for the bartender’s attention.

  “Who sent this to us?”

  “I wish I could tell you,” he said. “Impossible. We have three conferences going on right now.”

  “But it must have been charged to a room. You must have records,” I demanded.

  “I’m pretty sure the guy paid cash. Said he didn’t want to charge it to his room, at least.”

  “What did he look like?”

  “Old guy. Dapper, I guess you could say. Seemed real friendly.”

  “That’s all?” I asked.

  He shrugged, turning to reach for the back cabinet and a bottle of Petron tequila as he poured the next order.

  I forced myself to accept the situation. I apologized once again to the other guests and returned to the outside table.

  The decanted wine now filled two of the three glasses.

  Carly said, “Why are you freaking out? It’s not the first time we’ve been offered a free drink. I find it charming.”

  No way was I anywhere near charmed.

  “Look! It’s produced locally,” Carly said. “An Arizona vineyard. Didn’t even know they could grow grapes in this dry heat. That’s a foreign grape to me.”

  Where had I sipped an Arizona wine before? It didn’t surprise me like it had Carly. Arizona had regions with vineyards. Whatever the nagging feeling, I had to agree it seemed out of the ordinary.

  “Let me worry,” I said. “A nice guy buys a bottle of wine for two women without evidence of male companions. A bottle? And why did he send three glasses over?”

  “Good lord,” Carly said. “He spent good money on a full bottle and hoped to join us and partake, but then you go into the bar and scare him away.”

  A bright flash of color headed our way. Sterling’s halter dress popped with orange poppies. Her long blond hair caught the full attention of the breeze.

  “This place is drop-dead gorgeous, but I gotta tell you, I think we’re at the wrong resort”, Sterling announced.

  “What the hell do you mean? We were lucky to get rooms here,” Carly said.

  Sterling swiftly filled the third wine stem. “Turns out I think we may be on the wrong side of town. There’s a Saguaro Park West and it makes sense we’re looking there. It’s the larger of the parks and it’s nearby Payton’s home. But there’s another one on the opposite edge of town. Saguaro Park East. And it has a trail named cactus-something or other.”

  “And you know this how?” I asked.

  “Talked to a smooth talking ranger named Jeremy. He’s walked every square inch of both parks.”

  I sat staring at the table. Maybe my vision seemed obscured by the glowing sunset evidenced by the light it shed on the mountains. Or Sterling’s shiny attire. I winced and squinted, focusing on the sparkling glasses of wine.

  Had our host ever intended to join us or did he know there were three of us?

  Then it hit me.

  The old man at Catrozzi’s Restaurant. A gift of wine born from the fruit of an Arizona vineyard.

  Chapter Fifty-Eight

  Starr Pass

  AS SELF-PROCLAIMED Trail Guide, Sterling was the first to awaken. The tantalizing aroma of brewing coffee forced me to open my eyes and roll off the bed. I tossed on my robe and joined her out on the patio.

  For a long time and only as you can do with good friends, we sat in a sheltered silence.

  “I do love it here,” Sterling said after a slow sip on her coffee. “I loved the brilliant city lights last night. Not an L.A. glitz kind of brilliant, but beckoning. Sitting here now, I love how the sunlight begins to paint the mountains with strokes of inspiration. Kind of a da Vinci
inspired light.”

  I tilted my head and nodded in appreciation.

  “Don’t get me wrong. I’m a city girl all the way,” Sterling said. “I don’t like snakes.”

  Always a caveat with Sterling, but I loved her hidden qualities. Smart, for one. Computer savvy. And an appreciation for Mother Nature? These are things I didn’t know about my childhood friend. Sterling? She grew up with that sterling spoon in her mouth.

  She filled in my lack of words. “I’m only a ditzy blonde when I have an old man walk into the store. He doesn’t know it when he enters through the door, but he’s going to drop a wad of dough right into my lap for more diamonds than he wanted. Lots more. I even get away with charging them extra for gift-wrapping, but only if I play dumb enough.

  “One customer came in and asked for two custom pieces. Mind you, his wife’s name is in our files. He wanted gold dicks with Prince Albert diamonds on the heads, and not one was for the wifey.”

  “And you can accommodate that order?”

  “Our business is custom. But this request? Well, it was extraordinarily custom. We have a gay goldsmith that was perfect for the job. He probably got a rise out of it.

  “But get this. He wanted the same size gold dick for both of his girlfriends. But one got two carats and the other one got three.”

  “Wow. That’s a hefty load for any dick to carry,” I said, “given any Prince Alpert.”

  “That’s Albert, with a B.”

  Funny girl, too. And now I would begin to take her for the smart and calculating blonde she was. She could even spell.

  “So you think we should just pack up and drive to the east side?” I asked.

  “That’s what my lovely Ranger Jeremy suggests. Might as well while we are here.”

  “We look for three saguaro spines, upright or felled. And then what?”

  “Then we look for the secrets of the Sisterhood of Skeletons.”

  Carly stumbled out to the patio, with bleary eyes and a cup of coffee steadied by both hands. She flipped a sealed envelope onto the table.

  “Where did that come from?” I asked.