by Anna Burke
“I am so glad you called me, Laura, because I would never have forgiven myself if you had gone through all of this by yourself. Maybe there is something providential about my being here in the desert when all this happened. Like there was that day I met you at St. Theresa’s. I was such a little bitch and you saw through that somehow. You and Kelly were there for me when I was in the middle of something I didn’t understand or ask for then either. Years later I turn up on your doorstep with my life falling apart around me and there you are again. You know?”
“Yes, I know,” she said kneeling down next to Jessica and taking a look at the cut on her foot. “You’re lucky I’m a nurse. I can fix this up for you after you take a shower. Does it hurt much?” she asked as she examined the cut more closely.
“Not much at all now. I stepped on a piece of glass after making the decision that I had a better chance of getting away in my bare feet than in heels. Not too smart, I guess. I used one of them to bean the guy on his forehead, though. Unfortunately, that only slowed him down for a second and it really pissed him off. Thank God, those two bicycle cops were making their rounds when they were. If I had it to do over I’d just throw him my bag and be done with it, but I didn’t know that’s what he was after. I’m pretty sure after getting one of my spikey Jimmy Choo’s between the eyes he had more than purse snatching on his mind.”
“I’m glad, too, those cops were there to help, Jessica. Did they clean up your foot? And your poor knees...”
“Office Parker did that. A good job don’t you think? They didn’t even call the EMTs this time.”
“You fight off two thugs and avoid an ambulance trip to the hospital. Me, I take a nose dive just talking to the police and end up there!” She shook her head, getting back up on her feet, a rueful smile on her face. “You’re a tough cookie. I’m just glad you’re on my side, Jessica. You’re leaving a trail of injured bad guys in your wake. They’d better think twice before tangling with you.”
“I fight dirty, what can I say? Who knew cell phones and high heels could be such deadly weapons? Let’s hope they don’t decide to shoot first and ask questions later.” For some reason this brought on a fit of the giggles, totally inappropriate, of course.
“I’m giddy with relief that you’re okay, Jessica and I’m so glad I’m not playing hide and seek with these creeps on my own. But, in God’s name, what do they want?”
“I was just sort of stewing about the same thing. Not just what they want but how they think they know where to look for it! I presume since Roger didn’t give them what they wanted Friday night, and that gangbanger didn’t find it at your house on Sunday, they’re pursuing other avenues. Perhaps they think you have it, or had it, before passing it along to Eric Friday night, given the timing of your, um, encounter.”
“Nice try at delicacy, Jessica. Poor bastard picked the wrong hookup for a one night stand!”
“Since Eric didn’t have it, I must be next on the list! But I have no idea what it could be. Money maybe? Are you sure Roger didn’t give you anything in the days before his death? Even something ordinary like a letter or a file folder. Not too big if they think it’s small enough to fit into my shoulder bag.”
“As out of it as I’ve been, I think I would have noticed a folder or envelope filled with cash. I’ve racked my brain, Jessica, but I can’t think of a thing. If he had something worth killing for I doubt he would have given it to me anyway. I was really out of the loop in his life for a long time. We haven’t checked out his storage unit yet. I supposed he could have hidden it in there, but we don’t know what we’re searching for Jessica. He was much better at keeping secrets than I ever dreamed possible. One of the things I loved about him was that he was always so direct, hard-working and dependable. A lot of his business came about through referrals because he was so honest and his work ethic ran counter to stereotypes about contractors. I thought I was married to a Boy Scout, you know? Turns out he’s some kind of a crook or cheat.”
“Tell me about it, Laura. My Boy Scout turned out to be a bona fide scum bag. I guess men aren’t always what they seem to be or what we want to believe them to be.”
“Or maybe they changed, Jessica. Remember how Sister Bernice used to go on and on about trial by fire being the true test of virtue, “the measure of a man?” It used to irritate me to no end that she said man when she was talking to a roomful of teenage girls, by the way. But her point was that that even hairline fractures in your soul can shatter under pressure if you don’t work at it—cultivate fortitude and courage—virtues like that. For my Roger, maybe it was the pressure of too little money and for your Jim it was the allure of too much.”
“Laura, you’re amazing, so insightful. I’m going to have to start calling you St. Laura if you go on like that. I’m not sure our Bernadette would approve.” That set off another round of stress giggles.
“Finding out your murdered husband had about a million secrets will set your mind to pondering all sorts of things. I spend a lot of time screaming at him in my mind. How could he have been so stupid and selfish? I don’t think I’m ready for sainthood quite yet. But I’m with you about not wanting to have to deal with this alone.”
“Yeah, maybe if Roger or Jim could have tried a little harder to share the load things might have turned out differently. It’s upsetting and embarrassing to let someone else know what kind of crap you’re struggling with, but it’s a lot better than ending up divorced or dead.”
“Amen. Let’s hope we both get through this without cracking under the pressure ourselves, Jessica.”
“Hey, we’ve got each other’s backs and we won’t let each other cut any corners when it comes to facing things. Even the things we don’t understand and didn’t ask for.”
“It’s a deal! You get your shower, Jessica. I’m going to go find Bernadette and see where she keeps her stash of first aid supplies. I’ll come back in a few minutes with St. Bernadette’s healing balms and soothing bandages and we’ll get you patched up.”
“That’s great, then you can listen to me share my story of woe all over again when I tell Bernadette and the guys about my assailant in Bruno Maglis who got nailed by my Jimmy Choo.”
CHAPTER 28
Wednesday morning came way too soon. Nevertheless, Jessica and the entire Mission Hills entourage, arrived at Desert Memorial just before 8:00 a.m. Laura was the very model of the stoic widow, elegant in the beautifully cut dress Jessica had bought for her at Saks. She was drawn, her skin pale against the coal black cloth. Jessica knew Laura had been crying but her eyes were hidden behind large, dark glasses. She was remarkably composed as she greeted family members and friends who came early for the visitation.
Jessica was anything but composed. As soon as she saw that Laura was seated comfortably and surrounded by family members, she dashed to the table where the funeral home staff had laid out refreshments. She was already wired by a wicked combination of too much caffeine and too little sleep, but poured herself a cup of coffee anyway. She really just wanted something to hold on to in order to keep her hands from shaking.
Her own dress fit perfectly, although she wished she had bought something with sleeves. The bruises on her arm from Sunday’s encounter with the baboon in Laura’s closet were yellowing, but still present. She had a little black Michael Kors shrug in her bag that she could put on if she could stand adding another layer in what would become another triple digit day. She did her best to cover the bruises with Barb Boehner’s miracle makeup but that strategy wasn’t likely to hold up once she was standing out in the heat at the burial site.
The same thing was true for the makeup on her face. She had her dark glasses to hide the worst of the blemishes. A dark pair of pantyhose hid the abrasions on her knees that were just below the hem of the knee-length skirt on her black dress. Although the cut on her foot didn’t hurt too bad she didn’t think she could take several hours in heels, so opted for ballet flats instead. She felt lucky to have pulled it together as well a
s she had, given all that had gone on since the fateful night of her divorce party. In particular, being tackled twice in less than a week by thugs.
Jessica had tried to keep things upbeat at the cookout the night before as they caught up with each other about the events of the day. She relayed the information she had obtained from her conversation with Detective Hernandez about Carlos Ramirez and the murders of Eric and Joe. Then she filled them in on her misadventure in the parking garage. Somehow she and Laura couldn’t find the humor in the story this time, despite the Choo-in-the face part. Maybe it was the look of concern on Bernadette’s face. Jessica recognized that look all too well. Bernadette was worried sick and was on the verge of giving her a tongue lashing, but refrained from doing so. Her reproach would have been easier to bear.
There were awkward silences as they processed the events of the day. The somber reality of the murders, the assault on Jessica, and Roger’s impending funeral hung over the gathering like a storm front. Part debriefing, part vigil, they not only recounted the new litany of mishaps but continued to review tasks that had been completed and those that still needed to be done.
Laura’s house was clean, according to Tommy. They offered to go with her in a day or two so Laura could take a look for herself. She needed to come up with some estimate about what had been lost during the invasions of her home. She had the inventory from the cleanup crew but needed to take a look for herself.
Tommy had started to send out the letters Jessica asked him to post to Roger’s creditors. And he had tracked down the company that was paying Roger for hauling. It had been cited several times for illegal dumping and was recently closed. Caught up in bankruptcy proceedings, they weren’t ever going to collect on any unpaid invoice from them.
Tommy and Jerry put on a brave face but they were shaken. It had been Jerry’s idea for Tommy to meet him at the apartment complex. The plan was to go from there to have a drink at a favorite watering hole on North Palm Canyon before dinner at Jessica’s house. Joe Abernathy was a “no show” at work again on Tuesday so Jerry convinced the property manager to meet him at the apartment.
When no one answered, the manager agreed to enter and inspect the premises. The situation was instantly apparent. The place was trashed, and both Joe and Eric were dead. Jerry called the police immediately, explaining the connection to the case Detective Hernandez was already working on. Hernandez was at the scene right away, along with his counterpart from the Palm Springs Police Department.
“Jerry do you think it’s possible that Detective Hernandez is right and somebody followed you there?”
“I suppose that’s possible Jessica but not likely. I like to think that I would have noticed if somebody was tracking me. There are so many ways in which information can get out about a case like this. Homicide gets a lot of attention in a place like Cat City where they’re pretty rare events. Who knows, maybe someone with the custodial service or a delivery service overheard something. These investigations are porous. Leaks are the norm not the exception. The only surprising thing about this is how quick they got to this guy Eric. It’s almost like they were onto him before we were, or at least as soon as we were. I can’t imagine how that could have happened unless...” Jerry stopped speaking abruptly.
“...there’s something else going on.” Jessica finished his sentence for him, then went on. “If you look at the timeline, Roger is killed sometime late Friday night or early Saturday morning. Laura discovers him around 6 or so Saturday morning, and the first responders are out in full force not much later. In another hour or so Laura’s in the hospital and by noon she’s on the phone with me. The thing is, the police don’t know about this Eric guy until Sunday when I mention him to Detective Hernandez. It’s not likely that anyone with the police started to look for him in earnest until Monday, but by the time you got to the manager at Lulu’s someone had already been asking about the guy. It just doesn’t make sense.”
“I know Jessica. The only thing I can figure is that whoever killed Roger was watching Laura. If they had you under surveillance, Laura, they could have seen you go home with Eric. But then, why not just confront both of you that night since they ended up killing Eric a short while later anyway? I suppose there’s always the chance that Eric wasn’t as innocent as he seemed to be. Did Eric ask you any odd questions that night about you or Roger? Any hint that he might have been looking for something?”
“Well how can I put this demurely, as appropriate for a grieving widow the night before she buries her murdered husband? Truth is I didn’t give Eric Warren much time to talk about anything that night if you know what I mean?” One of those awkward silences fell upon them all. You could have heard a pin drop until Laura spoke again. “I certainly wasn’t concealing anything on my person, and I suppose he could have gone through my purse. I wasn’t worrying about being in the clutches of some minion of an underworld boss. I’m pretty sure chump fits Eric better. If Eric was in on it, why didn’t he just deliver me up? Why give me the chance to go home, find Roger dead like that, and call the police?”
“I don’t know. There are so many questions. Why wait until Sunday morning to search your house again? The house was empty all night. If they were tracking you they would have known that. I just don’t get it. In the meantime people keep getting hurt.” Jerry was crestfallen. Tommy put an arm around him as if to prop up his drooping spirits.
Even Brien seemed sober, for him anyway. He confessed to having fallen asleep while on duty. He had been doing “surveillance” sitting in his beat up Toyota Tacoma pickup truck in front of the house. After drinking a few beers to wash down the burgers he bought for lunch he had dozed off at some point. That’s how Tommy and Jerry found him, asleep, surrounded by empty beer cans and fast food wrappers in the front seat of his pickup.
“They scared the crap out of me when they hollered at me to wake up,” Brien groused.
“We wanted to make sure you weren’t dead. You shouldn’t drink and drive,” Jerry admonished.
“I wasn’t drinking and driving. I was drinking and surveilling. Is that against the law?”
“Drinking and surveilling in your truck, when its 112 outside, may not be illegal but it might just kill you. It can get a lot hotter than that in your truck, even with the windows rolled down.”
“Dude, you’ve got a point,” Brien said in his most serious tone. Jessica found herself gazing intently at Brien. The guy was always ready to learn from any teachable moment. He just didn’t seem to have much capacity to retain what he learned or generalize from one situation to another.
“Yeah, you should switch your surveilling to the back patio at least,” offered Laura. “It won’t do any good if a bad guy shows up to kill you and you’re already dead.” They all laughed awkwardly. The comment was funny, but just barely. Laura had a miserable smile on her face; as much grimace and grit as humor in what she was saying. When they lapsed into silence again, she took the initiative to say good night, thanking them for everything they were doing.
“I’m so sorry I got you all mixed up in this,” she added wearily, tears filling her eyes.
Several voices chimed in at once with variations on the “it’s not your fault” theme. Their little band broke up soon after, deciding to cut it short, given how early things were to start the next day. It would be a sad, stressful day, at best. Everyone pitched in and helped with clean up, working quickly and mostly in silence.
Jessica and Laura headed to their rooms in the wing of the house they shared. When they were almost at the door to the guest suite where Laura was staying, she pulled something out of the canvas tote she had with her on the back patio.
“Jessica, I found these in with Roger’s papers. I thought you might be looking for them. Not that you’ve had much of a chance to think about your own life in the past few days.”
Jessica reached out and knew immediately from their smudged and wrinkled appearance that it was the errant divorce papers, still unsigned.
&nbs
p; “I don’t need to think about it, I just need to sign them and put them in the mail. I’m the one who filed for divorce. It just seems so, so...”
“Final,” Laura interjected.
“Yeah, that’s it. So final and too real,” Jessica added as the anguish of her own situation merged with that engulfing her friend.
“I get it, but we can’t dodge reality for long can we?” Laura asked, putting her arms around Jessica.
“No, I know you’re right.” Jessica hugged Laura back and they stood there for a long moment. The two friends clung to each other, seeking buoyancy in that moment to keep their heads above water. “I’m going to sign them right now,” Jessica said with one last squeeze, as they said goodnight.
As Jessica was searching for a pen to sign the papers, her cell phone rang. She scrambled for the phone, hoping it wasn’t Uncle Don calling to chew her out.
“Hello.”
“Is Jessica Huntington-Harper there?” a woman asked, a little slur in the accented voice.
“This is she.”
“Jessica, it’s Margarit—Margarit Tilik.”
Jessica’s heart started to thump. “Yes Margarit. What can I do for you?”
“I need to talk to you. It’s about your friend Roger. I need to tell you something.” “Something” came out slurred, sort of like “shumthing”.
“Okay, go ahead.” Jessica said sitting down to get off her sore foot and skinned knees that were now starting to feel a little wobbly.
“No. Not now. Not on the phone. Can you meet me at the spa tomorrow? I made appointments for us.” “Us” sounded like “ush.” The woman was obviously loaded.
“Margarit, I don’t think that’s a good idea. Roger’s funeral is tomorrow.”
“I know that. I would like to go but that’s not posheeble. They watch me, all the time.” Her accent and the slurring were getting worse the longer she spoke. Jessica could hear the tinkle of ice in a glass on the other end of the phone.
