A Dead Husband (Jessica Huntington Desert Cities Mystery)

by Anna Burke

  “Who’s watching you?” Jessica didn’t really need to ask. She knew the answer already. And how does she know the funeral’s tomorrow? Jessica wondered.

  “Al and his men, that’s who. He’s crazy jealous, completely crazy. Pleeshe, Jessica, I need to talk to you. I made appointments for us late afternoon at the spa La Quinta. The funeral will be over. I got it all figerred out. You get there before me and leave after me so they won’t know we ever were there at the same time. They won’t even know you were there at all, or have any idea we made a meeting. I’ve got to tell you what’s going on. You have to know, for your own sake.”

  Jessica’s heart took off, pounding in her ears.

  “Why don’t I get the police to pick you up at the spa? They could be waiting there out of sight when you arrive. They can protect you if you’re in trouble or...”

  “No! No poleesh!” Margarit nearly shouted the word no, then dropped her voice to a near-whisper when she added, no police. Jessica heard the ice tinkling again as Margarit took a big slurp of whatever she was drinking.

  “Do you think I trust poleece? How do you think Al’s boyz know where to find you, Jessica? I heered they gave you a surprise in the El Paseo yesterday. They tried to get your purse so they could take a look. There’s plenty of people in the poleece that will tell anybody anything for a few dollars. You theenk it’s so different in the US of A than in the other countries? You theenk wrong. So you want to know what I know or not?” A bitter harshness had entered Margarit’s voice that was chilling. Jessica tried to consider her options, as rapidly as she could.

  “Okay, Margarit. What time should I get to the spa?”

  “I make your first appointment for a massage at 2:30. I show up at 3:30 and will meet you in the leetle lounge area. That way you will be relaxed for when we have our talk. Pleesh, don’t let me down, Jessica. I’m desperate for your help. After we talk, I leave. Then you stay for a facial. It’s all on Alan, but he won’t know. What he don’t know can’t hurt him or us. What you don’t know might hurt you or Roger’s wife maybe. You said you wanted to help her. She needs your help, and I do too.” The wheedling tone had come back into her voice, more likely for effect than real. Beneath the simpering desperation was a deep well of defiance, perhaps inflamed by the alcohol Margarit was consuming. And she was obviously willing to use threats, just in case wheedling wasn’t enough.

  “Okay, okay. I’ll be there.” Jessica heard her inner Detective Hernandez shouting at the top of his lungs. “Oh no you won’t!”

  Jessica hung up the phone and tried to sort out her thoughts. What should she do? Could Margarit be right that someone in the police department was feeding information back to Bedrossian and his men about the investigation into Roger’s death? A lot of personnel were involved in the investigation, for sure. But could Alan Bedrossian actually have someone on the payroll? If they were watching Margarit how could she get away with a secret meeting at the spa? If someone had been tracking Jessica close enough to follow her to El Paseo surely they’d see her arrive at the spa. No one would believe it was a coincidence that both she and Margarit were in the same place at the same time.

  Maybe she should call Uncle Don and ask him what to do. She knew what his answer would be. He’d be on the phone to Detective Hernandez as soon as she told him what was up. She thought about asking Jerry what to do, but decided against it. It might take him about 30 seconds longer than Uncle Don to act, but he’d get the police involved too. She had to hear what Margarit had to say. She didn’t want to put anyone else in danger or give them the option to stop her from going to that meeting.

  Wednesday morning, it was that phone call from the night before, and the meeting set to take place later in the day, that had Jessica on edge. As the minutes at Roger’s visitation ticked away, Jessica continued to consider her options. What else could she do if she wanted to find out what was going on? How would she get away without arousing suspicion among the members of her little band of comrades who would be at the house for the lunch Bernadette had planned? Jessica might get lost in the crowd like she was doing at the moment, but the crowd would be considerably smaller. Roger’s parents had already begged off, so it would just be Laura’s parents. Dave was going back to work after the funeral, and their kids were in daycare so Sara would join them on her own for lunch. Uncle Don and Aunt Evelyn were planning to stop by for a burger, and maybe cousin Frank who was driving in from Riverside for the funeral service. Tommy’s parents, Sammy and Monica, were invited so they would be there too.

  The invitation for lunch had only been extended to family members, and to the little cat pack that would tend to the guests. Jessica had suggested having lunch catered, but she was overruled by Bernadette and Laura and the others who agreed that a cookout would be more relaxed. They had all also agreed that setting up to eat indoors was preferable to more hours outside in the heat. So, what was the point of a cook out if you ended up eating indoors anyway? Perhaps there would be enough cover from the guests milling about that Jessica could slip out unnoticed in time to make her rendezvous at the spa. Half a dozen catering staff hanging about would have given her more cover.

  It was Bernadette who most concerned her. She had that strange sixth sense when Jessica was up to no good. She hated having to lie to her, but wasn’t sure what else to do if she got caught. She was just trying to decide what sort of fib to tell when she heard a familiar voice at her elbow.

  “Well, Jessica Huntington-Harper, what are you up to?” Father Martin asked. Jessica nearly choked on the water she was nervously sipping. She had switched from coffee to water after her second visit to the bathroom

  “Nothing, I’m not up to anything. Why do you ask?”

  “Whoa, Jessica, take it easy. It’s just my way of starting a conversation. not an inquisition.” Father Martin looked amused at his own joke.

  “I’m sorry, Father Martin. I’m uneasy, under the circumstances. It’s been a rough few days...let’s say a rough few weeks. Who am I kidding? Things in my life have been bumpy for a lot longer than that, Father.”

  “I’m happy to hear your confession Jessica, but you need to schedule a time so we can sit and talk. Priests get used to the idea that they inspire existential guilt in the people they run into, like cops, you know? But it sounds to me like you might have some things you need to get off your chest. That’s what confession is really about, you know? Laying down the burdens you’ve been carrying around for way too long. When was the last time you went to confession?”

  “I saw my shrink last month, does that count?”

  “Now you’re just mocking me, Jessica. I’m serious. Therapy is great for dealing with problems in the worldly sense, but I think your soul needs tending too. The losses you’re experiencing have got to be dealt with on that level, too, if you want to heal.”

  “Who says?” she thought. Incredulously, what she heard herself saying was, “Maybe you’re right, Father. I’m just not sure yet what I need to confess. It’s not like I’m going to change my mind about getting a divorce, either.” Despite what she had told Laura the night before, she hadn’t signed the papers after all. In the throes of the havoc evoked by her conversation with Margarit, she had forgotten all about them.

  “Jessica, I’m sure you have ideas about what role you might have played as your marriage came to an end. Confession is the opportunity to unburden yourself about that, to look at your marriage and divorce in light of the sacramental nature of what your marriage was meant to be. You could learn something, Jessica. Something useful to you if you get another chance at this, or any other, marriage. You know the rates of divorce are high for second marriages too. I’m fairly certain that’s because people don’t really figure out what went wrong the first time and bump up against the same problems again, with the same sad outcome. Let’s talk more when we can carve out some time. Why don’t you call me at my office and we’ll set something up?”

  “Okay, Father.” Jessica couldn’t believe her ow
n ears. At the back of her mind was the end to that sentence: “if I live long enough to do that, it’s a deal.”

  The rest of the visitation and funeral went off without a hitch. A number of friends and family members offered remembrances, speaking fondly of Roger and the man he was, more Quaker Circle than a traditional eulogy. They spoke with tenderness and humor, sadness and love, as the spirit moved them.

  Jessica breathed a sigh of relief when Uncle Don and Cousin Frank both showed up in uniform, assisting as pall bearers. Jessica took a moment to thank them for their presence before they placed Roger’s coffin in the back of the hearse. The familiar embrace from old family friends caused gratitude to course through her. She and Laura were so fortunate not to be alone in their sorrow and grief. In silence, they followed the slow-moving vehicle to the burial site nearby. Somewhere during the processional two additional uniformed officers joined them, without saying a word to anyone other than Uncle Don and Cousin Frank. It seemed the most natural thing in the world, as two more mourners joined the procession of grievers. They posted themselves in places where they could keep watch over the proceedings, unobtrusively.

  The service that Father Martin held at the grave site was poignant. Familiar passages from the Bible were made personal by references to Roger’s life, and to his wife, family and friends. Jessica took some small measure of consolation from Father Martin’s conviction that Roger’s suffering was over. Laura’s shoulders shook with silent sobs as he spoke the proverbial assertion at funerals that Roger was in a better place. Laura’s champion, he was better able to advocate for her now, in his new life, than ever he was able to do in his old life.

  Jessica hoped, for Laura’s sake, there was truth in what he said. During the whole spectacle, Jessica’s own mortality pressed down upon her. As she often did when in crisis, Jessica caught herself praying silently. Her conscious mind questioned the very existence of God, but when she was scared or under great duress, an almost instinctive drive to be heard took over and she prayed. Perhaps it was nothing more than a foolish longing; a desire to believe in something grander and more enduring than her sad little sheltered life of privileged desperation. The tears streamed down her face as she grieved for her friend Laura, for poor Roger and the end of the life the two of them had imagined together. Maybe someday all of this would make sense, but not today. No more sense than meeting with Margarit Tilik at the La Quinta spa.

  CHAPTER 29

  Back at the house, Jessica took a few minutes to change into something more casual, Black Tahari pants and a deep indigo shirt. It was a relief to get out of the pantyhose, and a pair of sandals offered even more relief to her aching foot than the ballet flats. She felt much calmer about her impending meeting with Margarit. It was really a rather clever idea to meet in a place that was so apparently public, but promised ample opportunity to speak privately. Now all she needed to do was keep an eye on the clock and make good on her escape in time to get to the spa as planned.

  As it turned out, escaping was no problem. She caught Bernadette watching her a couple times but she was so caught up in hostess duties, she was forced to move on before she could penetrate Jessica’s veil of innocence. By 1:30, the last of the guests left and they had the place spruced up. The early start to the day, combined with the summer heat, grief, and the strain of entertaining left them all exhausted. When Bernadette said she was going to lie down for a nap, the rest of the cat pack breathed a sigh of relief. They were grateful to have the afternoon free to do the same. Jessica found solace in being able to get away without having to lie to anyone.

  As soon as the house was quiet, Jessica gathered her purse, keys and phone, climbed into her car, and sped away before she could change her mind. As Jessica drove, she continued to search for any evidence that she was being followed. She actually made a couple unnecessary U-turns to see if anyone behind her did the same. No one did. She arrived at the spa right on time, parking in the lot near the front entrance of the resort instead of outside the spa. The air conditioned spa was a welcome retreat after the short hike from her car to the building in which the spa was housed.

  Jessica shed her street clothes and climbed into a one-piece bathing suit along with the robe and slippers provided by the spa. She had the option to wear nothing under the spa robe but felt too vulnerable to do that today. After sipping cucumber-infused water for a couple minutes she decided to take a look around, too anxious to sit still.

  She had been in the women’s locker room before, many times, with its bank of shower stalls, sinks and toilets near an adjoining room with polished marble counters set out before a wall of mirrors. This area was well-equipped with everything you needed to do your hair and makeup before rejoining the real world outside the spa. She wandered out the back door, beyond the lounge area, to the outdoor facilities. On occasion, Jessica had availed herself of a soak in a private tub filled with warm water and a blend of substances designed to obliterate your cares while also leaving behind rejuvenated skin. You could look up at blue skies and sun-speckled palm trees, as blushing pink bougainvillea leaves drifted by, while luxuriating in a tub full of one fragrant concoction or another.

  There were several of these little enclosed alcoves where private baths could happen, as well as the congregate facilities outdoors. Some were coed, unlike the area of the spa in which she had agreed to meet Margarit which was only open to women. Jessica imagined that the men’s side of the spa must be set up in a similar way, but she hadn’t ever been in there, or even thought to ask about it.

  She tried to discover how men got in and out of the wing of the spa devoted to them. It wasn’t quite clear, so she decided to ask her masseuse who was waiting for her when she stepped back into the lounge area. Asking a lot of questions was another strategy Jessica used to make herself believe she was in control when she clearly was not. With each question she asked and with each bit of information garnered, she imagined herself a little less vulnerable. By the time her massage was complete she was feeling much better about her personal safety, the kinks in her muscles soothed by the skilled hands of the masseuse. It didn’t sound like she was likely to be waylaid by Alan Bedrossian or his mercenaries while meeting with Margarit, even if she was being set up. Of course that didn’t mean they wouldn’t be waiting outside for her, but Jessica was already hatching a plan to deal with that.

  Returning to the lounge area, Jessica felt as prepared as she was going to be for her meeting. Still, her heart did a little flip-flop when she spotted Margarit seated there in a spa robe. Margarit rose to greet her, making small kissing sounds in the air on either side of Jessica’s face.

  “So good to see you again, Jessica. How are you doing?” She gave a little wave to the masseuse who retreated after walking Jessica back to the lounge and confirming that she was scheduled for a facial in a half hour. The big smile on Margarit’s face faded as soon as the masseuse turned her back and left the room.

  “Please, sit. We have only a few minutes to chat before I go in for my treatment. I weel tell you what’s going on so you weel know how much I need your help.”

  “I’ll do what I can, Margarit, once I have a better idea of what kind of help that might be.” A wan smile materialized on Margarit’s face. Perhaps, it was supposed to communicate relief or gratitude, but the edges of the smile were taut. Maybe fear, but something else was also in the curve of her lips and the set of her jaw. Her gaze fixed on Jessica, in an uncomfortably calculating way. Was she assessing Jessica’s trustworthiness or her gullibility? How much of what she was about to say would bear any resemblance to the truth?

  “Roger was trying to help me. You probably know that already. You were his friend, and a lawyer, so I imagine he already told you hees side of the story.” She examined Jessica’s face intensely.

  “Margarit, I am a lawyer, true, and I was acquainted with Roger. But I’m his wife’s friend. It’s Laura, not Roger, who asked for my help.” Margarit continued to peer at Jessica without even blinking.


  “Then I suppose she told you something of what was going on.”

  “No, Margarit, she did not. I came to you because we don’t know anything. If we only have a few minutes you need to get on with it and tell me yourself.” Margarit’s caginess was getting to Jessica.

  “Okay, I tell you. Roger was working for one of Alan’s companies, doing garbage hauling. He was doing jobs until the company got into a leetle trouble and had to shut down for a while. Alan’s guys tell him Roger is a good worker. Also that he’s a safe, dependable, and good driver. My old driver had a, how shall we say—accident? Anyway, I need new driver so Roger comes to work to help me.” Jessica nodded, hoping to encourage Margarit to continue. This all seemed consistent with what Tommy had learned about the waste disposal company Roger was working for, except for the revelation that the company was connected to Bedrossian. And this was also about the same thing that Margarit had told Jessica the first time they met at the spa on Monday.

  “After a few weeks, Roger and me, we become friends. He seems like such a nice guy. He never shows up late or asks no questions and does his job, veery professional. He doesn’t do the leering like some guys or anything like that. I ask him about that once and he just laughed and says he is married man. I tell him so, that doesn’t mean anything to most men. He says it does to him. He has a good wife, too good for him, even. So I tell him how lucky he is and about how unhappy I am. Scared sometimes, too, doing the work I have to do for my fiancé, Alan. I tell him I hope I don’t have to do this all the time. He just listens as he drives. Real polite, you know? A good listener.”

  “Yeah, sounds like the Roger I knew,” Jessica said. “Or thought I knew” Jessica added, to herself, not out loud. “A real Boy Scout,” Jessica muttered.